morning becomes a heelers

Morning coffee in the Copper Kettle cafe on Kilcullen Main Street.
Mortonson arrives and thrusts a document in front of me.
I read it.
The contents allege that the owner of Independent Newspapers Mr Tony O'Reilly is the son of an Irish Civil Servant and some half wit who slept with him.
That is to say, the document alleges O'Reilly's parents were not married.
A great weariness falls upon me.
After all this time.
This.
So O'Reilly had as big a duty to fight for the Catholic church as I did.
A bigger duty maybe.
For O'Reilly was just the sort of bastard who would have been aborted or contrareceived if Ireland hadn't been a deeply Christian country.
Even our fornicators knew about the sanctity of life.
He owes his very existence to the ancient church.
The same church his leptospirotic employees at Independent Newspapers have been trying to destroy.
I stared bleakly into the middle distance.
It should have been so different.
O'Reilly should have been my closest ally.
His newspaper group should have been fighting for the church.
They should have been on the side of the angels.
Instead of which.
They shall repent in hell fire.