days of thunder

Stuck in a traffic jam in Dublin for half an hour with Serafina.
We turned onto O'Connell Street.
The cause of the jam became clear.
A little knot of Arabs standing in the middle of the street.
Maybe about a hundred and fifty of them.
With their silly little little flags.
And their: "End the occupation of Gaza."
And their shoes ready for throwing.
And all that jazz.
I let out a long low sigh.
Serafina wound down her window.
She has no fear that girl.
"What do they want?" she mused. "Is it about Israel?"
I shook my head.
"This isn't about Israel," I said softly. "It's about us. The Arabs are letting us know they're here."

the dance of life

Coffee with Giovanna in the Muse cafe, above Easons bookshop on O'Connell Street.
Pleasant.
She departed.
Enter the South Korean.
She seemed upset about something.
Could barely look me in the eye.
I carried the conversation for a bit.
It didn't get any better.
She was awkward and distant.
"Are you okay?" I enquired.
"Yes, yes, I just don't feel too good," sez she.
The noble Heelers became suspicious.
"Was someone rude to you in the street?" I asked.
"No, no, nothing like that," sez she.
She was looking into the middle distance, a picture of misery.
A dark presentiment crossed my mind.
Could she have figured out that the oriental calendar I gave her for Christmas was a freebie from a Chinese restaurant?
Hmmm.
"Was someone rude to you in this cafe?" I enquired hopefully. "Most of them here are okay but a few of them are unhappy people. If they were rude, it wasn't about you. It was about them. Watch out for the little Brazilian, the one with dyed red hair in a bun. She's going out with a member of the Black Jackets Arab Muslim crime gang. There's a match made in hell. Arf, arf."
South Koreany shook her head without making eye contact.
"No one was rude to me," sez she.
After a while we went our separate ways.
What a rum encounter.
Later back at the chateau I glanced in a mirror.
I nearly fell over.
One of my eyes had swollen up out of its socket.
The white of the eye had turned completely red.
Scariest thing I ever saw.
My other eye looked the same as it ever did.
Beady.
But not like a special effect from Damian Omen Three.
I phoned Giovanna.
"Gio," sez I, "did you notice anything different about me today?"
"Yes," quoth she, "one of your eyes is red."
I laughed bitterly.
"And you weren't tempted to tell me?" quoth me.
"I assumed you knew," sez Giovanna.
"There's a little South Korean girl wandering around Dublin who thinks I'm a zombie vampire ghoul," quoth me.
There was a chuckle from the other end of the line.
"Ah," sez Giovanna, "she's getting to know you."

today they said

"I woke up and there were these burning buildings on my television. Human rights goes beyond Jewish, Muslim, any of that."
Annie Lennox, at a press conference where she was flanked by Iranian television presenter George Galloway and IRA supporter Ken Livingstone. (Shown on Skybollah.)

"What is remarkable about the great Annie Lennox is that she has never hosted a television press conference about suicide bombings in Israel. Hers is a most selective humanitarianism. Not concerned about Jewish, Muslim or any of that? Really? Let's hear you speak out about Iran, and Hezbollah, and Syria, and the Taliban, and Al Qaeda, and all the rest of the Muslim terror elite. Oh right. You're not concerned. Here is the news. Annie Lennox's concerns are solely and perpetually expressed in order to help Muslim terrorists avoid the consequences of their actions. But really she does care about Muslim, Jewish, all of that. She cares enough never to criticise Muslim terror groups in any of the countries where Muslim terror groups have been carrying out murders over the past seven years. Namely, India, Thailand, East Timor, the Phillipines, Bali, Russia, China, Britain, Spain, France, the Netherlands, the USA, the entire Middle East, all of North Africa, Argentina, and let's not forget Ireland. It's a lot isn't it? But only when Israel takes the initiative against the Palestinians, only then does the great Lennox speak out."
James Healy

"This all could end up in failure like the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 2006."
Dermot Murnaghan, former presenter of the quiz show The Eggheads, now a news presenter for Sky News.

"What the great Murnaghan refers to as the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 2006, was in fact a two pronged attack on Israel, featuring the Iranian sponsored proxy terror army Hamas entering Israel from Gaza and murdering and kidnapping soldiers, while the Iranian sponsored proxy terror army known as Hezbollah entered Israel from Lebanon, murdering and kidnapping more Israeli soldiers before fleeing back to Lebanon pursued by the Israeli army. It's not really an Israeli invasion in that context, is it Dermo? In all fairness. What happened in 2006 was just another cowardly Arab sneak attack on a democratic western nation. Irony of ironies. You can see this week how upsetting it is for Arab terrorists when they get taken by surprise. Yet they've been full of suprises themselves for the past fifty years. Go back to the Eggheads Murnaghan. Like Arab terror you're past your sell by date."
James Healy

"Oh the humanity. Children crying. The fog of war. The fog of diplomacy. Oh, I haven't the foggiest. The Israeli elections. All to do with the Israeli elections. Israel doesn't mind terrorism really. It's all to do with the elections. I'm a Sky News presenter. Someday I may graduate to working with Iranian television like that sexy Jackie Rowland. Now there's a broadcaster who knows her humanitarianism from her radical Islam. Anyhoo. Israel bad. Muslim terrorists good. I'm Tim Marshall, Sky News, over and out."
Tim Marshall

"Marshall, oh great Marshall, you're a pill."
James Healy

time begins again

Happy new year folks!

house of the spirits

Alone at the Chateau de Healy looking down upon the wintery fields from the high window in the west wing.
The handsome features of the young laird were pale and drawn.
(Heelers is referring to himself. - Ian O'Doherty note.)
The ghost of John Donne appeared at my shoulder.
He seemed anxious to declaim something.
"Speak Spirit," I commanded.
The ghost of John Donne paused for effect.
Then he began.
"No man is an island intire of itself.
Every man is a part of the continent, a piece of the main.
Every man's death diminishes meeeeee.
Therefore do not send to know whom the Johnston Press has just fired from the Leinster Leader.
They've just fired theeeeeeee."
The ghost of John Donne disappeared again, as is his wont.
I remained like a statue at the window.
The wind skirled in the hedgerows.
I was contemplating a bleak future.
The ghost of Mrs Moran appeared at my shoulder.
"To hell with poverty," she said in her rich West of Ireland accent, "we'll kill a hin."
I thought it was quite the funniest thing I'd ever heard.

a scientists prayer

meteors
bright the sky
the god of miracles
and molecules
sits on his throne tonight
that the humble
and the mighty
may rejoice