Women In Cafe

These are no Lisas, Teresas, or Elaines
These all have incredibly exotic names

There's Aroogah De Ville, table number one
Nightmare of mothers, fantasia of sons

Then over by the door near the fushcias
Sits that stealer of souls Foo Foo Sanchez

But worst by far of the whole damn crop
temptress of temptresses Schwing Du Bois

You might chat with Aroogah
Or give Foo Foo a ring
But I really don't advise you
To chance it with Schwing

"Dishonesty in the racing industry? Don't look at me Guv!"

our mutual friend

Our mutual friend, Chamki from the Indian city of Mumbai, tells me that the government of her country has reacted to the recent terrorist murders there by blocking access to certain websites and blogs.
This means Chamki and others like her now find it extremely difficult to gain access from within India to the service provided by Blogger.
Apparently a tiny number of those writing blogs are terrorist sympathisers and propagandists.
Today I contacted the Indian embassy in Dublin by phone.
I expressed my admiration of India.
I expressed my horror at the murders in Mumbai.
I expressed my doubts about the blanket censorship being used to deny terrorist sympathisers their platform. I added that hundreds of thousands of genuinely good people were being cut off from their friends in India as a result.
I suggested that the policy was stopping dead a conversation between east and west.

The Indian embassy in Dublin may be phoned at (01) 4970843.
It may be faxed at (01) 4978074.
It may be emailed at: ambembassy@eircom.net

hot times in the city

Waiting in afternoon sunshine at the gates of Trinity College for Juliette. A half hour goes by.
She's definitely standing me up. Give her another five minutes.
To pass the time I text Wardles with my tale of woe on the mobile phone. Wardles is an old friend who lives in the quaint unspoilt traditional Irish conurbation of Sallins.
"Korean girl is standing me up," I write dolefully.
Wardles texts back with undue immediacy.
"You're losing your touch."
This reply stings somewhat. But I won't let her away with it. Losing my touch, indeed.
"The problem dear Wardles," I text, "is that Korean girl has not been touched by me at all. Had she experienced some good Heelers lovin' she would never have been able to let go, and would not at this moment be missing out on the chance of a lifetime."
Again with indecent haste Wardles' reply beeps onto my phone.
"You're losing your marbles," it says.
I think perhaps I am.

evensong

sun sets on the sky
nothing now of the war that is to be
just the odour of the musk rose
the night bird winging by
a little peace
me

sun sets on the sky
not now the omens as before
just the artistry of heaven
lord stay this war
give another chance to your children

Fore!!!

Sitting on the doorstep with the Mammy.
The day is going down in a haze of purple gold.
Why anyone should want to break this spell with conversation is beyond me.
Time and tide flows soft.
The aged parent stirs restlessly beside me.
"Why don't you join the golf club?" she proffers without warning.
She probably thinks I'm looking too relaxed by half. A question like this is a good test of the old Heelers blood pressure.
"Ulchh," I reply pleasantly.
Then I go on to outline in a few choice phrases my disaffection for golf in general and golf clubs in particular.
"You might like it," ventures the Lildebeest when I've finished. She is obviously enjoying herself.
This provokes an oration that has all the passion of a young George Washington. Slightly less coherent though.
"Yes," sez the mighty Heelers. "I really need to join a club where snobs gather to feel snobby together. Let's all support each other in our little pseudo conformist anodyne Irish Times reading, Tony O'Reilly worshipping world. Oh you're not wearing a tie. But you're in the tie wearing room. Who let you in here? Oh the humanity. It's the end of civilisation as we know it. Someone's let a low wage earner into our club. Oooh. I've never seen anything like it. And his car. Why it's eight years old."
The Mammy eyes me keenly.
"You really feel that strongly about it?" quoth she.
"Ulchhh," I say again, adding an extra h so she will be in no doubt that I mean it this time.
"Would you join if your brother was in it?" wonders the Lilyhammer.
A weary look creases my handsome features.
"I'm really not getting through to you, am I?" I murmur.
And there our story ends.

eventide