the best day of my life

Morning trip to the village of Lucan just outside Dublin to give an English lesson to Jacub from Poland. Sent flowers to the nuns via Interflora as a mark of my respect for their proclamation of the truth and their century of service to the people of Kilcullen. Lord they are heroes. Afternoon to meet the luminous Hyunjin for another English lesson. Evening to meet Aljona to learn a spot of Russian. She was luminous enough too, come to think of it. Back home got a visit from Crookstown farmer Edward O'Meara. He told me that earlier today he'd seen Mrs Wright a one hundred year old local woman voting at the polling booth. She'd turned up with Claire her helper and voted from her wheelchair. There had been great excitement and fanfare in the polling station as she arrived. The Mammy remarked: "Mrs Wright would remember when women couldn't vote. That's probably why she appreciates the importance of it so much." The majesty of democracy. Got my recently rammed car back from Pat Fahy Motors. It looked like a new car. He'd cleared up ten years of my dents along with the damage from last week's collision. It's just like holy God has given me a new car. Truly my cup runneth over. Phone call from Doctor Barn. Issuing dire warnings to me not to put money on the Lions rugby team. Pshawww. Who does he think he's warning. It's not like I have a gambling problem.

I see something I want to gamble on.

I gamble on it.

No problem.

The only real problem is a persistent shortage of cash due to my gambling losses which I would otherwise be able to use to finance my gambling. Phone call from Roman Erica looking for English lessons. I said English lessons were something I could definitely provide. Phone call to The Perfect Fit. She's back in Madrid for a while. She is pure joy. Email from Anissa Ladjemi, my expert in Arab affairs. Never in the field of human history has a one line email brought such pleasure. Went up to vote with the Dad. On the way into the polling station, the aged parent advised me to give a vote to Seamie Moore an Independent who apparently has helped our family with advice at some stage. The Irish voting system is Proportional Representation. You assign a number to each candidate you want to vote for. Number one for your favourite, two for your next favourite, three for the next, and so on. If you don't like certain candidates, you don't write any number opposite their name. Today we were voting in two separate elections, ie for Local Councils and for the European parliament. I looked at the local council candidates. I was disinclined to give my vote to any of the regular parties. I voted Number One for Seamie Moore the Independent. I voted Number Two for JJ Power of the Greens. That was all. No more Numbers to hand out. No, I'm not a Green. But a few years ago as Councillors entered a planning meeting, some businessman had handed them all envelopes. JJ Power was the only one to hand his back. He is reputed to have warned the developer: "That better not be money." I always thought well of him for it. (He is a brother of parliamentarian Sean Power, an accomplished fellow who will go far. Without my help. But he'll go far.) Now for the European voting. I looked at the candidates. Searched briefly for any Christians or anyone opposed to abortion. Discerned none. Still disinclined to vote for the main parties. What to do. There was a guy called Raymond Something Or Other, standing for a recently established party called Libertas. They're supposed to have tried to expose corruption in European politicians expense accounts. Some dirty tricks have been deployed against them. I gave Raymond Something Or Other my Number One. Anybody else? I scanned the ballot which came complete with photographs of the candidates. The Sinn Fein candidate Kathleen Funchion looked animalistically sexy. Hmmm. Legend has it that no one in my family has ever voted Sinn Fein. Sinn Fein had always been the political wing of the IRA terrorist movement which from the 1970's was taking its orders from the KGB in Moscow. I had once predicted that if the terrorists ever renounced violence, their energy and commitment would transform Ireland. Little did I know how right I was. I mean, Arooogahhhhhh. Hoo boy. I just never really realised that changing the political landscape would consist of filling up our elected chambers with sexalacious babes. Ah Miss Funchion. Take me to the drive in and swear that you love me. I gave Kathleen Funchion my Number Two. Again, I had no other Numbers to distribute. On the way home from exercising the franchise, I stopped at the King's Garden Chinese takeaway and ordered European style chicken and chips. Back at the old chateau, the Mammy rendezvoused with me in the kitchen to demand who I'd voted for and to steal my chips. "I voted Sinn Fein," I told her. The Lady known as Lil stared. She became absolutely motionless. Save for the barest rhythmic chewing of one of my chips. "I can't believe you did that," she intoned accusingly. "I haven't been so disappointed since your Grandad told me thirty years ago that he'd voted for Charlie Haughey." Outside the heatwave had broken. Lovely kiss of rain. Walked Paddy Pup in it. Debate with MC Hamster about the ontological meaning of whiskers. Full rosary. A little time in front of the Divine Mercy image praising God for what he has done. Bed.