My life in a banana Republic, April

Jambo, Jambo!

You know that I live in the Religious Quarter of Belfast?

I have just emerged after much tribulation. On the day of Saint Patrick , all the nation’s leaders go to America and leave the streets to young people, the next generation of leaders. They are drinking  too much alcohol and eat fast food , then they vomit it all over my area. This is called a rite of passage. In my country a rite of passage is like hunting a lion or spending a weekend on top of a scary mountain. This may well be the reason your leaders are soft and the vomiters get jobs in call centres at minimum wage.

On Friday my friend, Dingle, took me to see the opening of a mural about the Battle of Jutland. In Belfast these things are known as “muriels” and sometimes have hidden meanings.

The Royal Navy got a fat lip from the Kreigsmarine at Jutland but it pretends that it won.

Anyway, I met the Great She Elephant, who was unveiling the plaque to the dead. She is a fine woman. Dingle  says that he would. I don’t know what he means by this and I’m afraid to ask. He says that she will pretend that she is not in government with terrorists, “for political reasons”. This is puzzling. In my country , everyone has been a terrorist at some time and jolly good say the people. The next day , Dingle pointed out Danny Kinahan canvassing on the Ballygomartin Road. I asked if he was part of the Dublin gang , involved in many shootings. Dingle said that he outranked him , so he could not say.

I have been reading that the Small Prosecutor has failed to nail a man who was charged with endangering the safety of an aircraft. When I first read of this , I imagined a crazy man. Running up and down the aisle, hammering on the cockpit door, striking hostesses, shouting at passengers. Perhaps I watch too many DVDs. This chap was an American, who was hungry and asked for a snack.


The flight attendants, who come from humble backgrounds, are able to act out their fantasies while at work. Mavis , from Michigan can be placed to save the Free World by bringing down a terrorist. Declan, from Delaware [all male hosties are gay, in my country this is illegal] would like it if a passenger was handcuffed and bound. None of these things happened on this flight. Instead , the captain sprayed the country with tons of aviation fuel , then landed at Aldergrove. Somebody had to pay. The Diminutive Director decided it was this man.  Your sensible countrymen and women saw through this ruse and acquitted him. Adding up the cost of fuel and the prosecution could have paid for many hip operations for your overweight people.

The moral of the story is that if you do not want to spend a year in a foreign country, do not upset the cabin crew. They have enough to do, worrying about their next stopover.

As what you call “Summer” approaches, my mind turns to finishing my dissertation and going outdoors.

Dingle suggested that we see one of the Great Wonders of the World. I thought he meant Martin McGuinness but he meant the Causeway for the Giants. This is a silly piece of rock , sticking out into the sea. Many otherwise intelligent people think that this was created just a few years ago, like the Orange Order. To keep them happy the National Trust has a bit about this. It’s like having a poster at Belsen saying that there is an argument that Hitler knew nothing about the Jews.

It was a nice day out. We dodged the excessive charge by walking through the right of way. I’m always impressed by your Common Law, it saves many pounds.

Now the students are back , so I’m minding my Ps and Qs. Elections are looming. Two good reasons for staying indoors. A woman called the other night. She was buxom and had big eyes. In my village she would have belonged to the Head Man. I was confused by her name. It was a selection of Little, Aardvark, Emma and Pengelly. Perhaps she has had many fathers. She said that she was the best candidate because other women were less effective. I wished to engage her in jovial banter but she was quickly gone to the next door, when she learned that I had no vote. Dingle says that my assessment of her “is not far off the mark”. Dingle often speaks in riddles.

Talking of handsome men, I watched the celebration of the Rising at Easter 1916. The Irish Government got a chap from central casting to read the Proclamation. He looked just like Liam Neeson, who looked just like Collins. Not Tim, the other one. I thought it was a fine display of the military. In my country we do this every year but usually before, not after the elections. Once all those tanks have trundled down the street, the election is a done deal, as they say in New York.

This is all for now. I must be polishing my dissertation. The Dingle is taking me to the Thompson Bridge in Victoria Park. It commemorates Belfast’s only socialist playwright.

Jambo Jambo!

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