The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Thursday, July 26, 2012


A night of strange and perturbed dreams.
Elaine from the old Seinfeld TV series came to me.
She was the charming ingenue I remembered of old, not the eejit who made that awful New Adventures Of Old Christine crapola.
"Heelers," she said.
"Yes Elaine," I answered sounding more like George from Seinfeld than I might have liked.
"Heelers you've been calling lots of people bald," said she.
"No I haven't," sez me.
"You've referred to the pisspoor Leinster Leader sports writer Paul O'Meara as Baldy Meara."
"That's one."
"You regularly call Irish Nazi Reeducation Minister Ruari Quinn, Baldy Quinn."
"Okay just those two."
"You called a street thug Muslim on O'Connell Street, a little Baldy Muslim bollox the other day."
"That doesn't count. That was under my breath. I wasn't trying to commit suicide."
"Heelers do you see the irony here?"
"You're calling all these people bald."
"You're bald."
I woke in a cold sweat.
What can it all mean?
God, I love her.


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