the mask of zorro i mean heelers (he makes the sign of the h)

 

Morning.

Checking a computer.

Here's larks.

The computer informs me that someone has accessed an article on my website from ten years ago about parliamentarian Martin Heydon.

Who'd be reading that?

There's two people I hope it isn't.

The police.

And Martin Heydon.

I drive to Newbridge.

The parking machines in the public carpark are out of order.

I'm not inclined to risk a He Said, She Said, We Said, They Said with the clamping company.

So I avail of the only free parking in town outside Martin Heydon's office.

In a cafe the proprietor asks me where I parked.

Rather guiltily I reply: "I parked outside Martin Heydon's office. I always feel a bit guilty parking there because I haven't been a supporter of his. Not that my lack of support has hurt his political career. And then there's an old article I wrote where I was musing about putting graffiti on his office to wit: Fine Gael Nazis Out. That old gag. I was trying to warn people at the time that Fine Gael were going to legalise abortion. But enough about me. Tell me about yourself."

"Me and my boyfriend have just got back to Ireland," she said apropos of nothing at all. "And I quite like Martin Heydon. When I got back here, the Department of Social Welfare didn't want to know me. They wouldn't give me the increased Covid payment for Job Seekers. They were saying: You haven't worked here. And I was saying: Yeah but I'm from here. Martin Heydon was the only one who gave me any help in getting it sorted out."

When I return to my car I notice that there has been some fresh graffiti at Martin Heydon's office.

That is to say someone has placed stickers over the parliamentarian's face on two outdoor posters of him which the office displays.

Fine Gael obviously feels Martin Heydon is a good looking man because there are actually no less than five images of him positioned around the exterior precincts of this office when you include the large near life size pair facing in both directions on a sign at the  street entrance to the parking area.

The large ones are like something from a slapstick version of George Orwell's 1984, with the parliamentarian grinning goonishly at the passers by.

The eyes seem to follow you into the carpark.

"Big Brother Is Watching You And He Finds You Terribly Amusing," and all that.

Spooky.

Two out of the three smaller facial images on the wall of the main office are presently obliterated by stickers.

Some restraint there by the graffiti artists.

If it was me I'd obliterate the lot.

The first graffiti sticker covering a Martin Heyon physog, reads:

"The Media is the virus."

Well I heartily approve of that.

The second sticker covering a Martin Heydon physog, advises "Present data indicates that outdoor face masks are now and always have been completely unnecessary."

The rest of it has been torn away by some vandal.

Yes.

Some vandal has vandalised the graffiti.

It's unholy.

But the basic message about face masks on the second partially vandalised sticker would get another two thumbs up from me.

A thought strikes.

Do the cops and the parliamentarian think I'm leaving these things?

Surely they know my style by now.

I never publish anonymously.

Not even graffiti.

And I never leave the job two fifths done.