heelers defies the swastika

Morning in Ireland.
My computer informs me that someone from the broadcaster Brian Byrne's unreadable arse of a blog has been sniffing around my website.
They should stay away.
Don't they know what Nietzhe said about such things?
"If you would struggle with monsters, be careful lest you become a monster.
And when you look into the Heelers Diaries, the Heelers Diaries look back into you."
Something like that.
Amid all this palavar about the Bubonic Plague sweeping majestically like a herd of wildebeest through Europe or whatever its promoters are calling it, there was one moment of bathetic light relief when Independent Newspapers published an article headlined: "It's Time To Repay Our Parents And Grandparents For Raising Us."
Ah yes.
Let me get this straight.
The euthanasia advocating Irish Independent has moved seamlessly from promoting the extermination of the elderly in death camps to claiming special privilege in exploiting the elderly as propaganda tools for their flu virus panic.
They're sentimentalists at heart in the old murderous atheistic contraceptivist divorcenik abortionist euthanasist Indo.
The moral posturing *******s.
Bless.
Meanwhile Ireland's Stalinist Health Services Executive desperate to jerrymander the flu virus death tolls upwards are claiming another scalp this evening. By which I mean they're claiming another 105 year old person suffering from ten different diseases who happens to have a supposed trace of Corona Virus in his system has in fact died of the Corona Virus.
Must every old codger who pops his clogs this Spring be hijacked and labelled a plague victim?
Can they not let them die in peace?
The Health Services Executive in announcing the death admitted in the small print that the man had underlying health issues.
In other words he died of something else.
Ho hum.
His death brings the claimed Corona Virus death toll in Ireland to four.
Folks not one of those four deaths are genuinely attributable to the Corona Virus.
All four of them were on their last legs, 105 years of age, and with underlying health issues.
A hint of desperation is creeping into our government's propaganda campaigns.
They need more deaths or people will figure out that this thing was a put up job from the start.
The days are getting warmer.
Today was in fact splendid, balmy, almost continental, like an Indian Summer.
Flu season is coming to an end.
What will people make of the engineers of this panic when the whole thing fizzles out?
Pity the manipulators in our government and health boards who have orchestrated this nonsense.
It's hard to foster a flu virus panic when the sun is splitting the trees and everyone is healthier than they have ever been.
I was cutting a hedge this afternoon when the bombshell nurse passed by with her boyfriend, doing their pornographic amoeba impressions.
They certainly didn't look worried.
Any closer and it would have been a crime.
"I thought you were self isolating," I called after her.
"I am," said she.
"You don't look too isolated right now," I opined. "Do you think the virus doesn't know you're with your boyfriend?"
The hours drifted by as I struggled with the hedge.
It's more than a hedge of course.
Ever green trees grow like maniacs.
You've got to trim em and top em or they get completely out of control.
Topping them is the tricky bit.
Things can go wrong.
You can fall off the ladder or you can have a tree fall on you.
My grand uncle the IRA Judge (He was in the IRA and officiated as a Judge in the Sinn Fein courts.) died when a tree fell on him.
It would not be my favourite way to go.
I thought of him fondly this afternoon as a tree fell the way I hadn't intended it to fall, ie towards me.
"Run Jess," I shouted to the sheegdog.
Then it was every man and sheepdog for himself.
With the sun westering, I contemplated the fallen tree.
I was hot and sweaty and scratched and alive.
Winnie the Pooh was right.
What joy there is mullocking around in a garden.
Or was it Toad and Ratty from Wind In The Willows?
No
They thought there was no pleasure in life as great as messing about in boats.
The Corona Virus panic seemed a world away.
Having ruined the garden enough for one day, me and the dog headed to visit a neighbour at the far end of town, the Codger Baines.
We arrived at his door.
I was in fine good fooling.
There was a sign on the door which read "No Visitors Except Immediate Family For The Foreseeable Future."
Immediate family.
Surely that includes me.
I consider myself immediate family.
I mean I see more of him than his family do.
His son Rodney opened the door.
"No admission James, we have to protect Father," he said, "and we have to protect his carer Ludwig."
My mood altered.
For an instant I thought of advising him that if he had concerns about the Corona Virus the best practice would be to let Ludwig go home for the duration because if the Ludwigs of this world get the virus while working as a carer on your property or find a doctor willing to say they have the virus and got it while working on your property, then the Ludwigs of this world are going to separate your financial testicles from their plush over paid pseudo credentialled Little Lord Fauntleroy moorings in such a way that a bout of Corona Virus by comparison would seem like a positively desirable option.
I said nothing.
"Please God this will all end soon," Rodney Baines murmured plaintively as I turned away.
Crumbs.
If a thoroughgoing scoundrel like Rodney is calling on the Deity after a lifteime denying his existence (The Deity's existence. Not Rodney's own.) he must be really panicking.
I walked off smiling at the thought of Ludwig launching a lawsuit against the Baineseses for getting the flu.
Not my finest hour.
But ah it would be fun.
That and if Brian Byrne gets it.