confessions of a reformed egomaniac

Thurs 2nd April 2015: Wandered into the Riverbank theatre cafe in Newbridge. Dark haired Latvian waitress seemed to be smiling at me an awful lot. This can mean one of two things. Either she's a friendly waitress. Or she wants me, Beavis. Presently I ask her her name. "Santa," she replies. Ah yes. Not quite the exotic turn on I'd expected. Apparently it's Spanish for holy. But not now or ever is Santa going to be among my favourite girl's names. Her parents have saved me and the sensual sexual Santa a lot of trouble by giving her that name. I'm not even going to try. I mean with the Paddies about to legalise same sex marriage, there is absolutely no way I could marry someone called Santa. How could you even begin to romance a girl with that name? I can't imagine saying such staples of romantic verbiage to her as: "Oh Santa I think I'm developing feelings for you," or "Santa you are the one for me," or "Take me Santa, I'm yours," or even "Santa I love you." Backwards boggles the mind, as we do say in the trade. Anyway if lightning struck and I did marry the smiling Santa, I know lots of people who would deliberately get the wrong end of the stick (Ooh er Missus) and say things like: "The moment they legalised gay marriage, Heelers ran straight out and married Father Christmas."

Monday 13th April: Meeting in Parish Centre to discuss God topics et al. There was a mention of British actor Stephen Fry's recent assertion in an interview with an Irish broadcaster styled Gay Byrne that God does not exist. What's bothering me is whether we can actually prove Stephen Fry exists. I know that people claim to have seen him in old episodes of Jeeves And Wooster but are those people credible? Was there ever such a series? If there was such a series it was made long after the original Jeeves And Wooster books were written. There's no way the original writer PG Wodehouse contributed to the BBC series. So how do we know it remained faithful to the original, And how can we be sure Stephen Fry was really so strong an advocate for the Same Sex relalationships movement? Maybe in real life he was married to Mary Magdalen but the BBC covered it up in order to market a completely different lifestyle. Who can actually prove otherwise? It's all such a long time ago. How can we be sure that the actor in Jeeves And Wooster was really Stephen Fry? There are those who think it was John Cleese who was a much funnier actor anyway and in those days much more famous but for some strange reason seems to have been overshadowed by Stephen Fry. Can you see my basic point that Jeeves And Wooster was filmed long after the Jeeves And Wooster books were written so it's probably not even an accurate portrayal of Jeeves And Wooster even if Stephen Fry is really in it? Then there's talk of Stephen Fry's successful stage career. But have any of us really seen him in anything? I mean live before our eyes? Alright, I accept that the Irish broadcaster Gay Byrne probably exists. There is so much evil in the universe that I admit there has to be a Gay Byrne. But a Stephen Fry? I'm not so sure. 

Thurs 16th April: Riverbank cafe again. That waitress could smile for Ireland. As she handed me a latte, in the strange glamorous half light of the cafe's evening clamour, I saw no shadow of another parting.

Friday 17th April: Spent this morning driving around the housing estates looking for a neighbour's lost dog. I wind down the window to address a woman. "I'm looking for a lost dog?" quoth me. "Is it the one on Brian Byrne's blog?" answereth she. With a snarl I drive on. Trapman! Curse him. How he hath conquered.

Tues 21 April: Back to the riverbank. Santa still smiling. If I know anything about women, that there is an inviting smile. She approaches.I'm genuinely quizzicle. What is she at? "Are you doctor Healy's brother?" she enquires eyes glowing. The jigsaw slips into place. This is like a red rag to a bullsh-tt-r.  "The question should be: Is Doctor Healy my brother," I tell her coldly. "Do you think people went around asking George Best if he was Doctor Best's brother? I'm James Healy. I'm Ireland's greatest living poet. I mean I wrote The Wakening Silence for crying out loud. You people make me sick." Well folks, I'm definitely not  marrying her now.

Thurs 23 April: Chanced one last visit to the Riverbank. Santa smiling much less. As she handed me a latte in the strange glamorous half light of the cafe's evening clamour, I sensed no shadow of a snowball's chance in hell with her.

Fri 24 April: Newspapers full of fawning stories about the 25th anniversary of the launch of the Hubble Space Telescope. The emperor's new telescope if you ask me. A big computer in space that photoshops nice imaginary images of supposed star systems based  on electronic emissions it measures in the sky. Not real photos you understand. Photoshopped images. And Nasa spent all its billions on this over the past quarter century and neglected to build any new space shuttles, the space shuttle being the one invention that actually inspired people, the one invention that might have opened up space travel, the one invention that might have led to the colonisation of the moon and beyond. Seriously though. Instead all the money went on an ephin telescope. This is why Nasa now regularly claims it thinks something it photographed on Mars might be life, or might be water, or might be an alien swigging a glass of water. Because they're so mortified at having no space shuttles. Yes. They're so mortified at having blown a twenty five year multi billion dollar budget on a toy that does nothing except produce images that have been pre programmed into it. I wonder what Santa would say about it all.

Sat 25 April: A new day, a new cafe. The Costa in the Tesco Centre. Lissom waitress smiling at me with a hint of eastern promise. With my luck her name will probably be Lord Palmerston. Ah Lord Palmerston. What a cracking bird you are. Phwoarrr. You know folks, Lord Palmerston is probably a very feminine name down Lithuania way. I wouldn't put anything past the Little Uanians. Ho, ho, ho.