horatio i mean heelers on the bridge

Winterish day in Dublin.

I drove onto O'Connell Street bridge.

And lo!

My old pals the anti Israeli demonstrators were out in force again.

Those loveable terrorist sympathising goons.

They hadn't stopped traffic this time.

The reason they hadn't stopped traffic was because they didn't have enough people to stop traffic.

There were 70 of them walking up and down on the pedestrianised area which divides the two roads over the bridge.

A grand total of 70 Arabists turning out on a rainy day in Dublin to accuse Israel of war crimes.

Just 70.

I did a slow head count and then added 20.

Important to be fair.

Unlike the Irish Times, Independent Newspapers and the Irish national broadcaster RTE, I think the truth matters.

Yup.

No more than 70.

It really is getting harder and harder for the Arabs to attract a crowd to these things.

The traffic lights were still red.

I was sitting in my car directly opposite the centre point of the demonstration.

I gauged the odds.

The demonstrators were mostly Paddy Whacks.

Very few true Arabs among them.

Wannabes, that's all.

Not a whiff of the Black Jackets Muslim Crime Gang which so often pervades these demos.

But then the Black Jackets haven't worn their black jackets in over a year.

They've gotten awful shy for some reason, perhaps to do with the mildly adverse internet reportage of their activities in Dublin.

It suddenly got to be so much less fun for them hiding in plain sight.

They're still here mind.

Still working in security firms at the Stephens Green Centre, Arnotts Department Store, McDonalds of Grafton Street, etc etc.

The Black Jackets have a veritable vocation to work in security.

I wonder why.

Still working as waiters in the Westbury Hotel, the Cafe Kylemore, etc etc.

They've a vocation to waitering too apparently.

Although they're not very good at it.

In point of fact the only thing that's changed in the past year is their fashion sense.

They don't wear their black leather jackets in public any more.

One of em wears a red anorak.

I kid you not.

Little Red Riding Hood.

Ah, Muslim fundamentalism isn't what it used to be.

But I digress.

The Paddies would be unlikely to kill me surely.

I wound down the window on my car.

It was a gesture imbued with strange high mystic significance.

The last knight of Europe taking arms from off the wall.

Such a simple gesture.

Winding down the window of my car.

I knew there would be no going back.

It seemed for a moment as though O'Connell Street bridge had fallen silent.

"No more Arab terror," I bellowed.

I waited for the mob to surround me.

No one stirred.

A few of them looked kind of sheepish.

Somewhat emboldened by the immediate lack of a murderous response, I decided to up the ante.

"No more Al Qaedas," I bellowed.

Honest to Murgatroyd, the 70 demonstrators looked at their shoes.

They didn't throw their shoes.

Just looked at em.

Why this was easy.

All this time in the Free World, we've been letting the terrorist sympathisers walk away with the discourse.

But they're not so scary.

The lights had turned green.

"No more Arab terror," I bellowed once more with feeling, not even troubling this time to come up with a new slogan.

Above the drizzling rain and sighing traffic, my voice rang out impassioned, resonant and clear.

The voice of the sleeping conscience of humanity.

I suppose I sounded like Minnie Mouse.