dances with nazis

The mighty Heelers is standing on Newbridge Main Street on a sweet Autumn day savouring the coldness and the poetry of a provincial town.
Millionaire cinema owner Michael Roycroft strolls by.
"What are you at James?" he enquires.
"I'm getting ready to draw large swastikas and the slogan Fine Gael Nazis Out on Fine Gael's regional office over there," I tell him truthfully. "They're been sneering at my church again and I want them to know where I stand."
Mr R tut tuts pityingly.
"No, no James," quoth he. "You've got it all wrong. You don't do that sort of thing during the day. You do that sort of thing at night."
He continues on his way.
I return thoughtfully to my car which is of course parked outside the Fine Gael regional office.
The reason my car is parked at this particular location is because parking there is free.
If you park on Main Street, you're paying for the privilege.
By the way, Fine Gael is the political party whose leader Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny recently claimed maliciously, mendaciously and malignly in parliament that the Vatican had obstructed an Irish investigation into child abuse.
When challenged to say precisely how or when the Vatican had obstructed any Irish investigation into child abuse, Prime Minister Enda Kenny replied that he wasn't speaking about any specific instance but that he was merely reflecting ongoing public concern about the behaviour of the Church.
In other words he perpetrated a specifically outrageous nay egregious falsehood based on no specific evidence merely to satisfy the mob.
Snatched it out of his head.
As I get into my car someone exits the office.
It is a breezy young Fine Gael public relations assistant with a mane of dark hair.
"James," she calls, "I'll direct you out into the street. The traffic is busy today."
She knows me.
Flattering in a way.
Presumably all the young frauleins in Fine Gael regularly drool over posters from my popstar days in between swearing fealty to the thousand year Reich.
I wind down the window.
"Tell your leader to stop bad mouthing the Church," I thunder.
"Oh okay," she replies, hastily backing away as though I'm contagious.
"And inform Martin whatsisname the local parliamentarian that as he is my public representative and I am his constituent, I want him to tell Enda Kenny on my behalf to shut the **** up," I thunder again.
"I'll pass it on," she murmured.

And there I left her.