from our sports desk

The graph shows the triumphant progress of the Johnston Press share price over the past year.

The Johnston Press owns the Leinster Leader from which I was fired in November 2007 barely three weeks before Christmas.

The Johnston Press share price closed at 31 and a quarter pennies on Friday evening.

Seriously though, they're doing a brilliant job.

the knight remembers a moment before the battle

two throngs in silence
the green mead between
the vagrant wind made known itself
grasses rustled
birdsong silked the stream
and hush
the trees the blessed trees
a rabbit
a squirrel
such frail things
their weakness a strength untold
my life
the sun has drenched the field in gold
the moment passed
these things ceased to be
we murdered Christ in the vales of arcady.

soul wars

Desolate of soul.
Feeling completely defeated.
I cannot even begin to see the possibility of victory.
A suppurating spiritual malaise struck me yesterday just hours after the last of my physical sicknesses departed.
Yes folks.
For the first nine months of the year I've been bouncing around between various fascinating illnesses, debilitations and maladies.
Nothing as serious as some of you who visit this Diary have experienced.
But serious enough for me.
My first ever experiences of ill health.
Sometimes I couldn't walk.
Sometimes I couldn't sit up.
Sometimes I couldn't open my mouth without shouting in pain.
During all that time I experienced a closeness to God that was unprecedented.
I had never been weaker in body.
But I have never ever been stronger in spirit.
And get this.
Now all the physical ailments have left me.
Completely.
And hours later.
This overwhelming feeling of hopelessness and defeat.
I knew again that I was facing spiritual warfare.
Somewhat ruefully I recalled the Lord's one liner about the evil spirit that is cast out, going to live in a dry and waterless place, and then deciding to return to the home it had before, only this time bringing more evil spirits back with it for company.
I had thought my spiritual victories might be durable.
That I would never have to fight these battles again.
But here I am.
Beginning again.
Right at the bottom.
As if nothing had been achieved.
In this mood I went to bed.
I dreamt.
In the dream I was without bodily or spiritual strength.
Two angelic beings stood either side of me, caught my arms, and flew upwards with me towards heaven.
My body was without any power of its own but I was flying.
It was a pleasant sensation.
A golden light enfolded us.
Then I was back at home.
Not awake yet.
Still dreaming.
There was a third angel in the kitchen.
This angel was an American actor.
In life he had starred in a Hollywood film version of a famous novel.
I said: "You were in the film based on that book."
He said: "The film was better than the book."
He then asked me what I thought about flying with the angels.
I said: "The real problem is, I don't know if I'm saved or not."
Then I woke.
I awoke for real.
Dream over.
It was morning in the world.
I lay there thinking.
I wasn't sure if the dream was just a dream, or from God.
I prayed aloud: "God if there's something in there that you want me to understand, my heart is open."
No immediate answer.
Just that sensation of serenity which can imply something has come your way from the forces of good.
The doorbell rang.
A jangling discordant disruptive ring.
It was a most unpleasant sound.
Something about it was not right.
I sat up and waited.
The ringing went on for five minutes.
Then it was replaced by heavy knocking.
I felt no inclination to answer the door.
After another five minutes of heavy knocking accompanied by Paddy Pup barking the place down, I heard a car door slamming.
I looked out the window.
It was a police officer who has a bad reputation among many people in this area.
A very bad reputation.
There is a touch of the night about him.
He drove out of the garden at speed.
Strange.
The police would know that my eighty year old parents live in this house.
The ringing and hammering at the door was inappropriate in the extreme.
It was inappropriate anyway, eighty year olds or not.
Of course the two OAP's had slept through everything.
Later in the day I was sitting with a coffee at the Costa Cafe in Newbridge.
The dream was going through my head.
It was making me smile.
The sensation of the angels carrying me towards heaven was still quite immediate.
Even here in broad daylight surrounded by all these afternoon shoppers, I could feel the sense of peace.
Maybe I could understand a little.
Even if we are utterly deprived of physical and spiritual strength, the Lord will not permit us to be lost. He will will see to it that we are uplifted by angels.
Not just as a metaphor.
Not just a dream.
But for real.
A thought struck me.
Last night at my moment of greatest weakness God sent two angels to show me his light.
Another thought.
In the morning Satan sent an angel of his own to try to steal the victory.

septembering at the chateau

the admiral drops by

morning in hibernia

Morning at the Chateau de Healy.
A sound of great perturbation fills the ancient hallways.
I hear it but dimly from my bed where I am ensconced in a mound of blankets.
The world could end and I wouldn't stir.
They'd have to send a few Archangels to drag me out.
Now I hear footsteps and shouting.
Ah yes.
The sounds of a primordial Doctor Barn on the rampage.
The shouting grows clearer.
Warm and untroubled, I attend amusedly upon the following tirade:
"It's that xxxxing robin again. It's after sh---ing everywhere. James has the place turned into a zoo. Get out. Get out. You stupid bird. Get out. Fly out the window damn you. If you can fly up and down the hall for a cr-p you can just as easily fly out the xxxxing window."
Presently I hear a softer voice.
It is my little nephew Brian.
He is saying: "Daddy, is that Santa's robin."
Doctor Barn's rampage stops as suddenly as it began.
"Er yes Brian," he says, "I suppose it is."
There is silence.
I fancy I can hear a few last wingbeats as Robin lets him know who's boss.
Then.
"He's gone Daddy."
"He is Brian."
"He's gone back to Santa."
"Er, yes, yes he is."
The door of my room opens.
The goodish Doctor hisses something he doesn't want my little nephew to hear.
It sounds distinctly like:
"You and your xxxxing robins. I suppose you have the bloody hedgehog under the bed."
The door closes.
I roll over in the blankets and absently address a few words of comfort to the hedgehog who naturally enough is curled up in a ball in a corner of the room.
"Don't mind him Harvey," I murmur. "He hasn't a clue about the important things in life."

what moses saw