across the river and into the trees

Evening at the chateau.
"Are you bringing my Spanish au pair to the mountains this weekend?" enquired Doctor Barn lowering his newspaper.
"I thought I might," sez me.
"My God," quoth he.
Since he'd raised the subject, it seemed like a good moment to clear up a few things.
"Where are the mountains?" I demanded. "What should I do with her when we get there? I mean what should I do if I actually succeed in finding any mountains?"
He waved aside my questions.
"I thought you told me you had been given a premonition in your dreams that you were about to die," he challenged somewhat cynically. "Steve McQueen and Mother Teresa and our parents visiting you and all that. Regrets about bad mouthing Muslims, not writing books and not visiting the sick. Remember?"
You could have been forgiven gentle readers for thinking his manner connoted more than brotherly concern.
"I gotta tell you Barn, Spanish au pairs are good for dispelling premonitions of an early death," I explained heartily.
"So you're no longer getting the omens? The dreams have stopped?"
"Oh I still get the dreams."
"And what do you do?"
"I tell em to fuggg off."

of mice and muslims

Coffee with Miss Schwartz.
She's from Poland, married to a German, and spent the last ten years of her working life in France.
"Is there much tension with Muslims in France?" I enquire for my files.
Miss Schwartz nods a tad grimly.
"You see," she said, "they insist that everyone must respect them. But they do not give respect. They intimidate constantly particularly the young male Muslims. On the trains they stare at women. It's lechery but also contempt. They physically intimidate non Muslim males. There is no..."
Suddenly, in mid sentence, she stiffened.
"What is it?" I asked peering at her with that famous look of charmed bemusement some of you have come to know and love, playing about my handsome features.
"Those people who just sat down at the table beside us," she rasped in a strangulated voice.
I looked.
A group of diffident looking young men and women had plonked down at the next table.
"So?" wondered I, features handsome and quizzical as before.
"Are they?" whispered she, tense as a pike.
"Are they what?"
"Are they... French?" managed Miss Schwartz.
She hissed the final word with a depth of emotion it is difficult to convey.
Realisation dawned.
"You hate the French?" I probed.
"I despise them," quoth she.
"You can't hate the French. You can find them irritating. Or snobby. But what's to hate?"
"Try working with them for ten years," shot back she.
The noble Heelers sat back in his chair and laughed long and loud and hearty.
Whatever about racial tensions with Muslims (over their ongoing war with humanity), racial tensions with the French was a new on on me.
And she's Polish.
And married to a German.
That must be some household.
"Hoo baby," I told her wiping my eyes. "That's the best one yet. Those people are Italians by the way. Any problems with the Eye Ties?"
"None," smiled Miss Schwartz coolly sipping her coffee.
She seemed relieved about something.

an autumn storm at kilcullen

the evening concerto has begun
sweeping through twilight from the fields
a master work of music at random
rain drums on windowsill and eaves
its off note lyric rhapsody in grey
as squalls lust gustily in sprays
a bullock bells forlorn out of sight
light sound shadow harmonise
at once a dreary monotone of night
at once a heady gloriole of praise
that says it all about this place
it's torn me in my love and hate for it
village prison earthly paradise
small town insensate to my spirit
oh universe in me and i in it

enda kenny meets the pope

Enda Kenny, an otiose county councillor who became Prime Minister of Ireland through the happy accident of every other candidate for the job dying of syphilis (Every other candidate for the job dying of looting the treasury to bail out gangster banks surely? - Ed note) announced last week that he was about to meet the Pope.
The bankrupt anti Catholic Irish Independent, the bankrupt anti Catholic Irish Times, and the bankrupt anti Catholic Daily Mail colluded with Councillor Kenny in the propagation of his lie about meeting the Pope.
In fact Enda Kenny was due to attend a meeting of European politicians.
The meeting of politicians was to be addressed by the Pope.
There was never any meeting scheduled between the Pope and Enda Kenny.
At no time in fact did the Pope meet Enda Kenny.
The bankrupt anti Catholic newspaper groups of the Republic of Ireland have spent the few days since the non meeting pretending they never really thought that an actual meeting with the Pope would take place and that it was always clear from their false reportage that this would in fact be a general audience.
Incidentally the bankrupt anti Catholic Independent Newspapers group along with the similarly bankrupt anti Catholic Irish Times and the rather pathetically bankrupt hind tit anti Catholic Daily Mail each publish one photo of Enda Kenny every day while routinely disseminating his lies in their propaganda pieces masquerading as news reporting.
They do this because they are hoping he will corruptly finance them with public money as he has done Ireland's collapsed banks.
That is all.

the wages of sin are roisin shortall

Junior Minister Roisin Shortall has resigned from the Irish government.
Her salary has dropped overnight from 130,000 Euro per year to 92,000 a year.
So now she's just being paid a mere 5,000 Euro per year more than the President of Russia for moving from f--k all to doing sweet f--k all..
Yes.
Roisin Shortall has moved from doing f--k all to doing sweet f--k all, and she's still being paid more than Vladimir Putin.
I'm finding it difficult to find the words.

on the origins of ireland's political parties

Politicians from some of Ireland's corrupt kleptocratic supposedly mainstream political parties Fine Gael and Fianna Fail have this week been attempting to label politicians from one of Ireland's oldest political parties Sinn Fein as former gunmen.
Here is the news.
Fine Gael claims its political lineage from Michael Collins.
Michael Collins was a gunman.
Fianna Fail claims its political lineage from Eamon De Valera.
Eamon De Valera was a gunman.
In fact the only difference between Fianna Fail's and Fine Gael's founding fathers Michael Collins and Eamon De Valera, and Sinn Fein's current leaders Martin McGuinness and Gerry Adams is that when Martin McGuinness and Gerry Adams promised to lay down their guns, they kept their word.

the attacks by ireland's nazi parties on sinn fein

Scoundrel members of Ireland's corrupt kleptocratic anti Catholic governing parties, Fine Gael and Labour, have this week joined with the debased and defunct remants of Fianna Fail in attempting to lodge the notion in the popular mind that the left wing Sinn Fein party is a terrorist group.
Here is the news.
We had a peace process in Ireland some decades ago.
I opposed it.
But I abide by it.
As part of that peace process, the supposedly mainstream and actually utterly morally corrupt political parties of the Republic of Ireland, undertook in my name and in the names of the citizenry, that if Sinn Fein renounced violence, then they (the mainstream political parties) and we (the citizenry) would accept Sinn Fein as full and equal partners in the cultural, moral, economic and political life of the nation.
The supporters and members of Sinn Fein have kept their part of the bargain for more than a decade.
They are in fact the closest thing we have to a genuinely independent political party, genuinely accountable to the public.
The other three supposedly mainstream parties, Fine Gael, the Labour Party, and Fianna Fail are the kleptocrats who looted the treasury and borrowed the nation into a hundred years of unrepayable debt in order to conceal the burglarisation by their friends and supporters of their friends' and supporters' own banks, a burglarisation engineered through excessive pay and entitlement schemes for bank management and staff, and by the issuance of stratospheric billion dollar loans to Sean Quinn, Sean Fitzpatrick, David Drumm, their families, their wives, mistresses, and cat Tiddles.
The scam worked like this.
Anglo Irish Bank would give Sean Quinn a thousand million dollars that Sean Quinn could never hope or intend to repay.
Sean Quinn would give Sean Fitzpatrick Chief Executive of Anglo Irish Bank a hundred million dollars back under the table.
Anglo Irish Bank would collapse.
Fianna Fail Finance Minister Brian Lenihan (now conveniently dead) and Fianna Fail Prime Minister Brian Cowan would compel the Irish people to make up from their own pockets for the money that Sean Quinn and Sean Fitzpatrick were stealing from their own bank.
Fine Gael Prime Minister Enda Kenny, a weak vacuous hairstyle of a man, and Labour Party Marxian atheist Eamon Gilmore, a weak vacuous former Soviet agent, would then inherit power on a mandate to repudiate Fianna Fail's theft of the nation but instead of repudiating it, they would extend and uphold it, taking into public ownership every bank in Ireland, forcing us to pay for the bank managers own robberies of the banks own funds.
It was the perfect blagg.
The only ones getting screwed were the Irish people.
And with every supposedly mainstream, supposedly respectable, political party on side, how could the gangsters lose?
They could lose if we found an alternative to them.
They could lose if we all started voting Sinn Fein.
Sinn Fein alone, whatever their past, are untainted by the actions of the corrupt pseudo elites of Fine Gael, the Labour Party and Fianna Fail who have deliberately impoverished us to bail out banks run by Free Masonic supporters of Fine Gael, the Labour Party, and Fianna Fail.
The gamble by the corrupt kleptocratic anti Catholic super thieves of Fine Gael, the Labour Party and Fianna Fail, is that we will never vote for anyone other than them because we will never have a choice of anyone other than them.
Here is the news again.
Sinn Fein has given and is giving us a genuine electoral alternative to the super thief anti Catholic kleptocrats of Fine Gael, the Labour Party and Fianna Fail.
This is why kleptocratic anti Catholic super thieves from Fine Gael, the Labour Party and Fianna Fail are currently seeking to afix the terrorist label to Sinn Fein.
The super thieves of Fine Gael, the Labour Party and Fianna Fail are cynically and wrong mindedly hijacking analysis and vocabulary from this blog in order to smear their rivals for political power in Sinn Fein.
Remember.
Sinn Fein is the only political party in Ireland which has not sought to rule us from the shadows.
Sinn Fein is the only political party in Ireland which has not packed the Judiciary, the Police Force, the Army and the Civil Service with its sons, daughters, wives, mistresses, gangster drug dealing bank robbing supporters and its cat Tiddles.
Sinn Fein is the only viable alternative to the corrupt plush bottomed arse wipes of Fine Gael, the Labour Party and Fianna Fail, the twenty percent of the populace who regard the rest of us, the other eighty percent of the populace, as their farm animals.
I repudiate the super thieves of Fine Gael, the Labour Party and Fianna Fail.
I repudiate them entirely.
I, a life long West Brit pro American advocate of free speech, the rule of law, participatory business ethics, President Bush, Tony Blair, Ronald Reagan, the War On Terror, the ancient and royal beauty of the Catholic Church...
I...
I will be voting for Sinn Fein...
I urge you to do the same.

heeler the peelers fashion tips for the modern girl

As an emblem of erotic iconography, the belly button is vastly over rated.

homage to catalonia

Coffeeing with Ron Baines in the Costa at the White Water Centre, Newbridge.
Baines is a follower of the Lord who does quite a bit of reaching out to the poor and marginalised.
People I can't be bothered reaching out to.
Because I find them bor-r-r-r-r-r-ring.
Ron will sit with them for hours telling them Jesus loves them.
I wouldn't last five minutes.
Today we are talking about weighty theological matters.
"What would you ask for," sez I, "if Jesus appeared and said: Here, you two. You're followers of mine. I'll give you one grace, whatever you want, just one."
"I'd have to pray about it," said Ron soulfully.
"Pray schmay," I crowed. "I can tell you straight away. If the Lord appeared to me with any such offer, there wouldn't be a moment's hesitation."
"What would you ask for?"
"I'd ask for the Spanish au pair who works for my brother."
Ron digested this.
"You're honest anyway," he said bemusedly.
The cafe cacaphoned around us as a herd of student sexalopes wandered through.
When the vacarme ceased I spoke again.
"What would you do if Jesus appeared and instead of offering the one gift you most desire, told you he wanted you to do something for him. That he wanted you to do, as an offering to him, the most difficult thing, the one thing in your heart you really don't want to do?"
"I'd have to pray about that one too," answered Ron.
"What's with you and the praying!" I prodded jeeringly. "I know right now. I don't even need to think. The one thing I really don't want to do is to go to the Muslims of Dublin and say: I've hated you but God made you and it is an offence against him to hate you. Forgive me. I'd hate that. Really. Nothing worse. Nothing I'd rather not do more."
A thought struck me.
"But if he gives me the au pair," I said somewhat ruefully, "I'm gonna do it."

And Now This (by Irina Kuksova)

His Holiness meets His Healyness.