the scarlet heelernel

 

The July sun has burnished me.

I am red as a beet root.

Ah yes.

Now is the bald patch of my discontent, made wondrous red by this sun of Summer.

This afternoon I wandered into Kilcullen church.

I sat there surrounded by the centuries. 

The church was quiet.

I was thinking: If people knew what was here, we'd be discussing how in tarnation we're going to fit ten thousand people in the church today.

Think of all the cures we'd have if people would only come to God's house and ask.

Depression, loneliness, fear, despair... GONE.

As I was leaving I spied a large poster tacked to a pillar.

The poster read: "STAY SAFE... DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING."

Even here the Corona virus gauleiters have left their spoor.

I cross out the Stay Safe Don't Touch Anything edict.

I write in: "Stop panicking you twits. It's the flu. And the vaccines are made out of unborn babies murdered by abortion."

Later today I purchase a tea at the Insomnia Cafe in Naas.

The Polish manageress (the civil one and there aren't too many of those on the Insomnia staff) tells me: "We may be expected to ask customers if they've had a vaccine. The vaccine is not supposed to be compulsory. How can they do this?"

I reply: "Our parents had to deal with Nazism and Sovietism. We've got to deal with this. It's evil wearing another ideological disguise."

She says: "It's completely unworkable. I'm not a scientist or a doctor. How can I ask people if they've had a vaccine?"

I say: "And think about it. If you ask me that question, you're going to know that whatever answer I give, there is no way I will have had a vaccine. That's going to present you with a nice little conundrum too. Hey. Why don't we set up a new political party, one that's capable of telling the pharmaceutical companies and the World Health Organisation to **** off."

Leaving her, I drift into Ballycane church where there is perpetual adoration of the real presence.

On one of the windows of the church office, I see a sign which proclaims: "Help UNESCO help the Third World. Buy one vaccine for yourself and another for a poor person who can't afford one."

This is just the sort of Nazism up with which I will not put.

Unfortunately the sign is behind glass and my ball point pen won't write on glass.

The office itself is locked.

I take a sheet of parish Lotto results which has been left in the foyer and write on the back of it:

"You should not be associating yourselves or our church with these vaccines."

I put my name on it and push it under the door of the office.

Later at the lake, a noisy and demonstrative group of baby swans gather round, poking and prodding.

"Sorry lads. I've no bread. Gregory do not bite me. Stop that. No. No. Bad swan. No pecking. There's no pecking in the bawls."

I call him Gregory Peck. I think it's a good name for a swan. For this one anyway.

Wandering up Main Street I meet a doctor.

He's been dosing the proles with Soylent Green.

He knows my views regarding the barbarism of his actions.

"One thing I'll admit," he tells me, "you've got a point about our government. Those guys aren't in charge. This is all coming down from outside the country.We don't even know who's dictating policy."

Evening to the Dominican church in Newbridge.

I don't immediately spot any Corona Virus posters from the Ministry of Truth so for once I actually do a bit of praying.

The ghost of Baroness Orczy appears beside me.

Presently she leans over and whispers:

"They seek him here,

They seek him there,

Those Statist Nazis

Seek him everywhere.

Is he in heaven?

Or is he in Kinneaveys?

That damned elusive

Jamie Healy."

I nod thoughtfully.

"You've got an interesting name Baroness," I tell her.