Ask Fiachra

Today's Youth

2005-09-01T19:58:00.000+01:00

Guess who I hate. Go on, have a guess. No, not travellers; well yes, but they are not the subject of my "tirade" (if you will) this evening. Not Eastern Europeans half-heartedly molesting women on public transport. No, not James Blunt, but good guess. My loathing for these undoubtedly despicable items pales when compared to my lust for the destruction of the young. They flounce and twitter in that lighthearted way so beloved of the intellectually deficient around me, mocking my limp and expensive fashion sense. But if a man can't wear a tie-dye jumpsuit, is he really a man?

What has set me off on this rant, you ask? Well last week I was in our nation's great capital when a panhandling scumbag with his tracksuit bottoms tucked into his socks, aged about 12 with already a small suburban rainforest on his upper lip asked me to purchase cigarettes for him. This little chappie looked like a 5'2" version of that charming chap who calls himself "The Streets" and had a mouthful of yellowing stumps that many in the dental profession could not classify as teeth.

I struck him with my pimp hand, gave him a right going over for polluting my aura, and left him bleeding in a faeces-stained alley to await the paedophiles who crawl the inner city at night looking for poontang. The last time such a ruffian will stain my reputation by making eye contact; no doubt.

The only solution, the final one if you will, is to create some sort of institution where the young can be kept during the daylight hours. Attendance shall be made compulsory, and the wardens will have almost total control over the lives of their subjects. Parents can opt for more upmarket borstals where inmates can be taught valuable life skills, or the poor can send their seed to state-sponsored institutions which can also teach them something to keep them busy when they get out aged 18, i suppose. I shall table this as a motion at the very next Dáil session, I believe that this shall be remembered as my great contribution to Ireland's justice system. Within weeks of the introduction of my new laws, I think we shall find that the crime rate will halve! Oh goodness me I am a genius.

A Sojourn in Deepest Dublin 24: Part 1

2005-08-04T03:30:00.000+01:00

Friends, I promised I would tell you the story of where I have been for the last few weeks, and since I have found a spare moment, I shall regale you with tales of wonderment and glory.

Well I'm ashamed to tell you I was in trouble with the law. I had a bit of a run-in with a homosexual from the sailing club. The gentleman in question, clothed top-to-toe in House Of Fraser attire, dared impugn my reputation; in lisping tones he spurted "Oh Fiachra, we both know that even if you did get married you couldn't consummate it if you tried!" Well, long-term readers of this weblog will know that I don't take kindly to West Coast Cooler sipping "batty boys" calling into question my potential in an area with which they are by definition unacquainted.

Yes, I glassed him, but is that such a crime? In today's workaday world, we all run into moments of stress, and as you all know, my favourite method of stress release is hate crime. Well, to cut a long story short, I ended up in front of a court of law. I have found myself in similar positions before, but usually the judges have been personal friends of mine, or pliable with brown envelopes filled with nature's lubricant, money. In this case, not only was the judge a woman, but she returned the gifts i sent to her! Such sanctimony is becoming all to common in the judging profession, and must be stamped out.

However, I digress. The fact of the matter is that the silly old cow gave me 60 days of community service in a Youth Correctional Facility, or as we called them in my youth, borstal. My job was to give motivational talks to the youths. Such a motley crew one has never seen. Murderers, rapists, lepers, leper-rapists and joyriders: and that was just the staff!

Well gentlemen, it has been an awfully long day, and I'm afraid that if I continue I may fall asleep on the keyboard. Thus, I bid you adieu with a promise of more stories to come.

Fiachra Returns

2005-08-01T02:43:00.000+01:00

Well, my friends, I'm back! I was away building houses for the poor tsunami victims in Indonesia for a few months. I think it is important that we learn to look after the unfortunate in this world of ours, and so decided to give something back.

Only joking!

However, it has been quite an eventful time since I last updated you of my doings. I will furnish you of the details of my sojourn into deepest Dublin 24 at a later date; suffice it to say that John and Jacinta will never be quite the same again. However, there is an item of far greater importance on my agenda.

My butler informed me today that an Irish lady won €115 million in a European lottery recently. It struck me how this woman can now afford to buy more than a million Ralph Lauren polo shirts, or buy a respectable business and make it her own. However, this woman is not the type of person who deserves such a jackpot. She has lived a life of depravity in the proposed setting of the next Grand Theft Auto game: Limerick City. She has six children, a figure of which most rabbits would be ashamed, and works as a dressmaker.

Therein lies the ultimate problem with lotteries of this sort: as it is only the poor and depraved who feel the need to play, they are the only ones that win; and thus you have isolated incidents such as this in which those unaccustomed to money suddenly find themselves with far too much of it. They go insane; doing things that only paupers would do, but only gentlemen can afford. So when you hear that she has used her €115 million to house the poor in Indonesia, come back here so I can say I told you so.

You Got Served, Mr. Davisons

2005-05-09T13:06:00.000+01:00

Mr. Davisons has resorted to base allegations of "frugality" as he so ineloquently put it, in order to sully my reputation and make me look gay! The thing is, there is no way I can counter his lies, because his existence is based on a lie. However, if I may say so, Mr. Davisons must be somewhat lonesome, if he resorts to childish internet games to "get the elusive cock," whatever that means.

As to his allegations of metrosexuality among the cast and others, Tom Lowe is more metrosexual than any person who trolls the internet for cock. He claims that I "probably" contracted syphilis from consorting with common folk in the tavern. This is not the case. When I said that I gave Ms. Chamberlain syphilis, I merely meant that I put some spores in her cornflakes.

In response to his claim that I look a little rough sometimes, perhaps he would do well to note that his website's background is a horrible KHAKI! Yes, that's right gentlemen, his website is khaki! And he has the grapes to say that I "looked not dissimilar to being pulled backward through a bush as the bush was pulled through a combine harvester. " Good sir, your website could be mistaken for one that had been raped with a cricket bat while being beaten to death with an ugly stick, so spattered is it with the blood of good taste.

Methinks I Have A Battle On My Hands

2005-05-03T18:12:00.000+01:00

Goodness me, was I surprised to find on my daily trawl of the web a website calling itself "Why Ask Fiachra?" It appears that someone has decided to challenge me to an internet brawl.

http://aristocraticopinions.blogspot.com/

Well it's a good idea that "Mr Davisons" didn't challenge me to a spelling competition then. He appears to be jealous of my far-reaching influence and attractiveness; poor fellow. No doubt he was abused as a child and so must resort to petty squabbling with people he doesn't know, and can never hope to know due to his inferior social stature.

Well, my unaristocratic friend, will you continue to fight me, or will you back down like that buffoon from Torrin Hills Research? Please do continue, not since Neville Chamberlain in the race for parliament have I had an adversary capable of defeating me, and even then I managed to give his wife syphilis before he got away...

So do your damnedest, Davisons, but I'd check your meals for syringes from now on. My minions are after you.

Blackie II: Return Of Blackie

2005-04-23T11:13:00.000+01:00

Oh my, it appears that our friend Blackie has returned for more punishment. It seems that he's some sort of masochist, or perhaps just an idiot... who knows? I'm not going to respond to him this time, my point has been made. However, I would dearly like to point out in mind-numbing detail the mistakes he made in his poor attempt at a business email.

Dear Chamara Perera,

Who in nomine Deo is Chamara Perera? Is he implying that I'm a dirty Spaniard?

Thank you for your prompt response to my previous investment proposed message.

No problem in that message responding message business happy longtime fortune cookie!

Honestly, one would think he wrote the subtitles for Japanese films.

I am particularly happy with your interest to work with me in realizing this once in a life time opportunity, and all i want to assure you is you will never regret your involvment in this transaction which is 100% risk free.

Until I transfer thousands of my hard-earned euro into the bank account of a shifty foreigner who can't speak the Queen's language properly

I need you in this transaction to realize this claim into your account because i am not a foreigner and i do not have foreign account, hence the need for your assistance.

He denies that he's a foreigner! The cheek! He truly is a flagrantly ungentlemanly type!

Again, I need from you absolute honesty and
trustworthiness, beleiving that you will not sit on the whole money when
transferred into your account pending when i arrive to your country for
disbursement in agreed ratio.

Not content with claiming himself to be a purebred descendant of the King Of England, he claims that I might want to abscond with the money! I should slap him upside his head!

I'm too old to be going about this business, I'm barely even midway through this incompetent darkie's "investment proposed message" and already I need a cup of tea and a lie down. It just makes me so angry to see someone so black try to contact me! Sully my name will he?

More later.

Oh Goodness Me, A Business Opportunity!

2005-04-18T19:33:00.000+01:00

A good evening to one and all; 'tis I, Fiachra. This afternoon I was pleasantly amused by the foolishness of a member of the genus blackus blackus in emailing me thus:

Dear Friend,

I am pleased to introduce a business opportunity to you to transfer to your overseas account a huge amount of money deposited in one of the Prime Banks here in Dakar-Senegal. I urgently want to know you and if you are capable of handling and accomodate this magnitude of funds until I resign and come over to join you for an investment in your country. What I need is a reliable and honest individual/organisation that would be capable and fit enough to provide either an existing bank account or set up a new Bank Account immediately to receive this funds. Even an empty bank account can serve to receive this funds as long as you will remain honest to me till we actualise this interest.

My name is Dr. Salif Mamadou, the Director of Bill and Exchange at the Foreign Remittance Department of the same bank. I am writing following the impressive information about you through one of my friends who runs a consultancy firm. He assured me of your capability and reliability to champion this business opportunity.

In my department we discovered an abandoned Sum of $18.5M USD Eighteen Million, Five Hundred Thousand US Dollars), in an account that belongs to one of our foreign customers an American by name: Mr.Neal Walker who died along with other passengers in EgyptAir Flight 990 - October 31, 1999. Since we got information about his death, we have been expecting his next of kin to come over and claim his money because we cannot release it unless somebody applies for it as next of kin or relation to the deceased and the person must be foreigner as indicated in our banking guidelines. Futher investigation, we discovered that the owner of the account died without a [Heir/WILL] hence the money is floating and if I do not remit this money out urgently it will be forfeited for nothing.

It is therefore upon this discovery that I and other officials in bank now decided to make this businness proposal to you and release the money to you as the next of kin or relation to the deceased for safety and subsequent disbursement since nobody is coming for it and we do not want this money to go into the Bank treasury as unclaimed Bill. The Banking law and guideline here stipulates that if such money remained unclamed after five years, the money will be transfered into the Bank treasury account as unclaimed fund.

The request of foreigner as next of kin in this business is occasioned by the fact that the customer was a foreigner and I can not stand as next of kin to a foreigner,it is also against our the banking law, guideline and ethics of banks here in my country. We have agreed that 20 % of this money will be for you as foreign partner, in respect to the provision of a foreign account, 10 % will be set aside for expenses incured during the business and 70 % would be for me and my colleagues. There after I and my colleagues will visit your country for

disbursement according to the percentages indicated.

Therefore to enable the immediate transfer of this fund to you as requested to provide the following: Your full name and address, Your direct telephone and fax number and your bank information. All the requested information will enable me perfect all the necessary things in your favour for smooth transfer of the fund into you account as you will provide.

If you are interested, please contact me via my email address: mamadou_salif@mixmail.com and also call me on my telephone for more details: 00221 699.9741. Upon your response, I shall provide you with more details on how we shall proceed with the claims. I expect you to observe utmost confidentiality and be rest assured that this transaction would be profitable for both of us without any risk involved.

Awaiting your urgent reply.

Thanks & Regards.

Dr. Salif Mamadou.

I was amused for a few moments by the incompetence of this fraudster, then I said to myself "Goodness Fiachra, wouldn't it be marvellous if you were to send an email back, pretending to agree to his business plans, but instead insulting him because of his race; thus showing the white man's supremacy over the Dark Folk. Here follows my response to his hideously typed tender.

Dear Sir,

Since the negroid races were released from captivity in the deep south
of America, they have caused nothing but trouble. You are an example
of this. However, this does not preclude me from doing business with
you. You say that you are willing to give me 20%. Does this include
tax? If not I want at least 30% to cover the taxman's cut. Don't even
bother asking me for a way to get into the country you filthy
immigrant, just because I'm an elected official doesn't mean I'll pull
strings so you can steal dacent jobs off the plain people of Ireland.
Go back to your own country where maybe people want you.

Here follow my details:

Fiachra Davison
La Petite Putain
Putain Avenue
Dalkey
Co. Dublin

Should "Blackie" (as I have taken to calling him) respond, I will paste the pudgy-faced applejohn's writings into this diary post-haste for your consumption and amusement.

N-tisk N-tisk N-tisk N-tisk

2005-04-10T01:24:00.000+01:00

Evening all,

I write to you at this late hour, my compatriots in affluence, to warn you of the perils inherent in listening to a type of music informally known as "dance music." It is, as you might have guessed from the general thrust of my previous postings, associated with peasants, povvers, the Great Unwashed.

We have all seen people walking like pigeons, their gaze intermittent, wearing earbuds and quietly singing along to the thump of the bass drum and the sizzle of the hi-hat. These are the worst of all the dance listeners; those who listen to it in their spare time, of their own volition. They have been brainwashed by left-leaning European "disc jockeys" who wish to promote their agenda of laziness and dole-scrounging.

This explains why on any given Saturday night in the inner city, you can see the stupidest, and therefore most susceptible to this brainwashing, people in Dublin "bleedin' out of their heads on yokes, man" milling around "discos" and "night-clubs."

In the research of this post, I tonight attended one of these night-clubs; The Bondi Beach, where I, in an undercover sting operation, attempted to lay hands on the aforementioned yokes. My conversation with the "Bouncer" ran thus:

Fiachra: Good Evening sir. I am a gentleman of means, were I looking for yokes, where might i find them?

Bouncer: 'Scuse me? There's a queue buddy. What have you been drinking? You're off your face! You're off your face! Identification please! There's a queue buddy.

Yes, I had come up against the fearsome Robo-Bouncer. His empty gaze eyed me with contempt for mankind; his creators, yet his greatest enemies. A tear rolled down his cheek.

My quest for yokes would have to continue another night. I had, however, learned copious quantities about the night-club attenders of Dublin South. Yes, it would appear that many of them are actually capable of purchasing high-quality, high-expense clothing. This does not, however, imply that they are not opium fiends of exquisitely low intelligence, that much was obvious from their vapid gaze and drooling demeanor.

Perhaps on my next excursion I shall endeavour to hold a conversation with the short-skirted bimbo who so eloquently cried "Oh Jasis, I've lost me bleedin' johnnies!" while queueing for entrance (in more ways than one.) Of course, it will as always be purely for the edification, education, and enjoyment of my readers.

Yours,

Fiachra

Work Continues On Fiachra Davison: A Peerless Politcal Biopic

2005-04-06T15:30:00.000+01:00

Filming is in its last stages on this year's mammoth blockbuster, Fiachra Davison: Peerless. For your edification, I have attached some stills from the film that's guaranteed to jerk a tear from the coldest heart.

Fiachra (Tom Lowe) welcomes Spencer (Conor McGroarty) to his palatial residence, as the butler guards the fort

Fiachra delivers a well-deserved blow to the homeless (Eimhin Kelly)

Fiachra schemes with his butler (uncredited)

Spencer returns to his ancestral home

Fiachra receives the bad news that his son is coming to stay

Fiachra talks to his solicitor

As you can see, we have attempted to give young aspiring actors a break, this will undoubtedly make for a fresher, more original film. We had to reject Brad Pitt for the part of Spencer Davison, even when he offered to pay for a place on the cast. In a charitable mood however, the producer went behind my back and allowed him to be a setbuilder. I believe that Mr. Pitt has delusions of grandeur; he keeps asking for warm coffee with marshmallows in it. Honestly, you'd think the chap had accomplished something.

Mornington Crescent

2005-03-09T20:11:00.000Z

http://www.amazonsystems.co.uk/data/morn.htm

For the uninitiated: Mornington Crescent is a game that has its roots in the cartpaths of middle ages and their names. Since nearly everyone has a basic grasp of the rules, I won't bore you with the details. However, a good memory is necessary for the remembrance of all the Tube stations in the London Underground, to make more extensive your capabilities. The basic fact of the matter, friends, is that I am soliciting help for an acquaintance of mine.

He finds himself in a quandary. He has trapped his opponent at Latimer Road, making his only valid options Elephant & Castle or Euston, which was sullied at the 3rd with Cruthers' Tertiary Hook.

His question for you, should you choose to answer it, is thus: should the opponent choose Euston, can my friend legitimately move to Paddington, complete Derter's Hexagon and thence head on to Mornington Crescent, or is that move prohibited by Cooke's 1964 adaptation of Briggs' Hegemony? Answers on a postcard to the usual address: fiachra.davison@gmail.com, or alternatively leave a comment below.

Coming To A Silver Screen Near You

2005-03-01T22:15:00.000Z

Filming has recently begun on Fiachra Davison And The Temple Of Doom (working title), a short film based on the most terrifying, but ultimately rewarding few days of my life. I commissioned a group of Young Peers For Power members to make a film dispelling the rumours about my bastard son.

Yes, it is true that many years ago I had a brief affair with a skivvy, and yes, I paid people to keep him out of my sight, but the accusations of paedophilia are entirely untrue. I stick by my claim that the skivvy had reached adulthood when the insemination occurred.

The film features an all-star cast including Conor McGroarty as Spencer, my young son, and Eimhin Kelly as "The Hobo." The script was written by Tiernan Kenny, with production assistance provided by NanyBoo and SpaceCompass productions.

Perhaps I will host a theatrical trailer for the film upon its completion to whet your appetites.

Inner City Survival - Skang Phrasebook

2005-02-23T19:14:00.000Z

Good evening friends, and welcome to a long overdue update to Ask Fiachra. Today, compadres, I shall attempt to lay the foundation for a phrasebook of the Skang language, in order that should you be addressed by a member of the working class, you should be able to understand the words egressing his primitive and unshaven mouth . But first, it is necessary to give a short synopsis of the history of this hideously enunciated dialect.

Skang is believed to be the "Missing Link" of etymology, the forgotten bond between the man of today and our prehistoric ancestors. You may notice that fluent speakers of Skang often have a furry coating to their top lip which from a distance appears to be a moustache; but do not be fooled! This thin coating of hair serves a purpose! Since Skang is such a nasal language, those without this protective covering often find that the chill breeze that constantly blows from their nostrils can give their upper lip frostbite, but the "McGuigan 'tache" keeps it warm.

Thus, let us, without further ado, begin to define our world.

Anto! Sketch!
Anthony, my chum, I wish to advise you that the police are approaching and that you may want to defer your lawless act until after their departure.

Anto waz ere
A gentleman with said moniker Anto was in the vicinity of this wall upon which his signature has been applied with great flourish.

Don't I roide ye and buy ya chips?
Dearest, how COULD you suggest I don't harbour deep and passionate feelings of love for you.

Deadly buzz
My career is going well, my stock portfolio has upside potential and I enjoy the love of a beautiful woman.

Gerrup da yard!
I have serious reservations as to the validity of your previous comment, I'm afraid.

Got any gear, bud?
Excuse me, sir. I appear to have mislaid my syringe and needles while in the playground earlier. Could I please borrow yours?

Her? She's a fuckin' minger!
I dare say that that lady's aesthetic values are if not non-existent, then certainly difficult to perceive, although I'm sure that she has other skills.

Here bud, got a smoke?
Excuse me, my friend, but i have misplaced my cigar, and am suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Dare I ask you therefore, if you have a cigar (or other nicotine product) to spare?

Hopon'im lads!
To battle, and victory!

Goin' down the pub for a few scoops, Jonno?
Would you like to join us to wet your whistle at the local public house, Jonathan?

Me aul wan is doin' me bleedin' head in!
Mater is rather annoying me!

Wanker!
I put it to you that you are in the habit of pleasuring yourself.

Yis are a load of sheepshaggin bollixes!
I say good sirs, i do believe that you are in the habit of making love to four-legged animals, rather than the more common method of human - human intercourse, or perhaps even human - human sodomy!

Naturally, if any of my readers wish to add to this list, they may email me at fiachra.davison@gmail.com or leave their contribution in the comments section below, and I shall publish them in a second edition of this, the Skang-English phrasebook.

Pollution

2005-01-26T18:17:00.000Z

Good evening my minions, how are you all this fine evening? I write to inform you of the dangers posed to our precious environment by pollution, and to depose certain myths regarding corporate participation in the ongoing sullying of the air.

Ask any Green Party member about pollution, and he'll probably pull his unnecessarily long hair into a ponytail, adjust his hempen undershorts and go on a roaring rampage of anti-capitalism. He will tell you that pollution is caused by industry and point at the smoke emanating from a nearby factory tower. The simple fact of the matter is that this lie has been created by people who have ill will against society and wish for everyone to be poor because their fathers sexually abused them. They hope that if we learn that the employers of lower-middle class proles are causing damage to Mother Earth, that their products will be boycotted and the knockon effect will make even rich people poorer.

They say that there is a hole in the ozone layer. Unfortunately this is true, but it is not caused by aerosols as these gents with a hidden agenda would have you believe. It has been caused by the foulness emanating from the pores of poor people. Their lack of access to running water, plus the chemicals added to their body by pot noodles and sundry other "poverty foods" combine to make their sweat truly rancid and acidic. This acid will not only burn the nose of any sentient being, but it will burn through the ozone layer.

It is massively important that we do not allow these people to continue polluting our world (and our gene pool.) Some of the more "caring" politicians would have you believe that this can be remedied by increases in social welfare payments and improved water systems in the areas in which the polluters live. I, however, believe in the "polluter pays" principle, and i propose that for each time someone pollutes our atmosphere in this manner, they shall be put to the sword. Then, and only then, can our world begin to repair the damage caused by these evil, evil people.

Rules Of Etiquette - On Inheriting Vast Sums Of Money

2005-01-05T01:02:00.000Z

Friends, I do hope you had a marvelous Christmas and New Year, with much restrained merriment; but however, it is time again for me to go back to work; offering advice to up-and-comers in the social and political spheres! Today our subject is the etiquette required when one receives a large bequest from a recently deceased friend or relative.

When your dearly (or perhaps not so dearly) departed spouse, friend, parent or sibling kicks the bucket, you may be lucky enough to have his solicitor drop in to read you his last will and testament, and the sum he saw fit to give you.

It would be a grave mistake at this point to transmit any emotion other than deep sadness at the death of your 'loved' one. You should not hop around, whooping like a deranged cowboy; but nor should you make a face of discontent, should you be disappointed, and say "Is that all the stingy old bastard left me?"

Should the death have been in mysterious circumstances, the inheritance shall come as a mixed blessing, as you will be suspected of doing the old fogey in. The only way you can dispel such doubts is by either finding the true murderer. This will be discussed in a later Rules of Etiquette. If you are the one who pushed nana down the stairs then beat her to death with her ivory walking cane, then I would suggest that you get the next plane to Thailand, where the cost of living and child prostitutes has gone down even further due to the recent destruction of most of the coastline.

The spending of the money can be just as difficult as the withholding of the joy coursing through your veins when you find that all your problems have been resolved by this recent influx of liquidity. Do not get all soft and donate an exorbitant percentage of the cash to charity, as most of it goes to romanian refugees anyway. Do not get into the taboo habit of opium sniffing, because it is, although pleasurable, difficult to break. Do go out and buy the most expensive wine you can find, and drink it out of the bottle as quickly as possible. Such unnecessary displays of wealth are great for keeping the proles in line. Also suggested are lighting cuban cigars with high-denomination notes, taking one puff, and stubbing it out or buying a Rolls Royce and attaching boy racer paraphernalia such as neon underlighting and window decals.

The spending of the money in this case requires more column space than it can possibly receive, considering the massive amount of cash involved, but I have done the best I can while keeping to my already stretched schedule. I do hope that you enjoy your relative's money; as everyone knows, money is the only thing that can buy you happiness, so don't go to Tesco's happiness section, but rather Brown Thomas's!

The Irish Times - Respectable Broadsheet or Gutter Press?

2004-12-21T01:03:00.000Z

In my last update I posted a transcript of a letter I later sent to the Irish Times. Those of you who read the aforementioned scandal rag will have noticed the absence of any letter of mine gracing its sheets. This is typical of Ireland's leftist press, the politically correct nouveaux literati who pass for journalists. They wish to stifle any opinion that goes against their trendy, but unworkable political beliefs.

I would propose a boycott of the Irish Times, but it is still the least liberal broadsheet newspaper left in Ireland. Yes, truly, foreign readers, a newspaper that will stifle a man of character such as myself's beliefs is the most intelligent reading I can find to consume over my skinny espresso and chive morning coffee.

Many of you will ask why I do not simply emigrate to a country that is not afraid of thinking conservatively. Well, I truly believe that I can make a difference in this country, make it a little island of green in a sea of murky multi-culturalism. I will make sure that my tenure as a representative of the wealthy minority in this country shall not be wasted. Forth! Capitalism! Your time is at hand!

My Letter To The Irish Times

2004-12-15T13:38:00.000Z

Madam,
I could not agree more with Kevin Myers's assertion that feminism has been taken past the boundary of equality into the realm of reverse-discrimination. As an upper-middle class white male living in the suburbs, I am one of the most marginalised members of modern Irish society.
Women and men are created in different forms so that humans can perform a wider variety of functions. Just as women are more adept in the realm of child-minding, men are more capable of providing for their families.
Thus, I propose that the men and women of Ireland embrace their differences to create a better society for us all.

Yours,

Fiachra Davison

Obviously I had to tone it down somewhat, as my views are often described by those who think they know but do not as "hysterically fascistic" or "intensely racist." Look out for this on the letters page of tomorrow's Irish Times.

Your New Public Representative

2004-12-11T23:14:00.000Z

In a massive victory for PFP, I won 53% of the popular vote in a by-election to replace a recently deceased leftist TD, James Morrison, Labour (no loss to society there). I am ecstatic with the result, as it firmly places aristocrats in the popular political sphere. I would like to thank all who contributed to my campaign, the €500,000 I used in election expenses would have had to be drastically cut short were it not for my "corporate sponsors."

I have already begun a draft on my proposal to end democracy once and for all, and to put in place the far more stable system of aristocracy. It is less susceptible to leftist revolution than when commoners have a say in what happens, obviously, and it ensures that those too stupid to govern are not allowed to do so.

The eleventh of December shall become the new Christmas, when people young and old will take to the streets to parade their affection for their glorious leader, affectionately known as "Our Glorious Leader." 12/11 will go down in history as the start of something big, the reintroduction of aristocracy!

Election Update

2004-11-30T20:44:00.000Z

Well my friends, the election is going well, I have hired a gentleman, Willoughby Featherington, learned in the ways of subliminal advertising who should be able to secure me a seat in the parish's local parliament. My friends in the Department of Justice tell me that a blind eye will be turned, as the rules governing flashing messages in television advertisements are, in their opinion, ludicrous. Find attached a sample of his work in compressed form.

The Ginger Race

2004-11-24T21:31:00.000Z

Walking down any of Dublin's busier thoroughfares on a Saturday afternoon, one will often be blinded by the glare emanating from the head of a russet-haired hooligan, most likely evading the authorites after a daring theft. I often ask myself why there is no such thing as a law-abiding redhead, so, yesterday I decided to perform some perfunctory research on the matter.

On page 749 of Celtic Tribal Customs, by Geoffrey Hatherington, it is noted that the old Irish lords would daub red paint on the heads of their slaves to mark them out as the sub-race that they are. It is evident that over the generations, this red paint was absorbed into the DNA of the slaves and their children, and became inheritable.

So when you are blinded by a flash of orange racing down Grafton Street with a stolen car hidden up his jumper, have pity, for he is descended from the lowest of the low. He is the son of a man whose favourite job was cleaning out the faeces from the medieval toilet pit, and a woman who most likely gave birth to him in between milking sessions. Your pity, however should not preclude you from administering him a swift kick in the head if he invades your personal space.

Good News

2004-10-28T22:02:00.000+01:00

I have been asked to run for election by the foremost pro-aristocracy party in the land- Peers For Power, or PFP was we call ourselves. I have been a member of this esteemed political group, since as a lad I got my servant boy to hand out leaflets for their candidates.

We believe in using the poor to serve the best in our society, and are in favour of the introduction of a monarchical aristocracy, slavery, and a complete withdrawal of taxes on those who earn more than €250,000 a year, similar to the current system in the United States.

Since we are a slightly right-of-centre party, you might be surprised to hear that we are pro-choice. We believe in a mother, and society's, right to choose to postnatally abort a child, up to the age of 18.

The elections will be held on the 11th of December, a date that shall forever be remembered as the day a new world order began to rise, when stuttering buffoons were democratically stripped of their positions, and good began to prosper over the poor.

Rules Of Etiquette - Upon Casting One's Vote

2004-10-21T19:49:00.000+01:00

When one attempts to write a piece regarding the election of a candidate, one has to take into account the varying political opinions of one's readership. Therefore, Would any person mentioned in the below list please close their browser.

Greens
Communists
Blacks
Asians
Hispanics
Jews
Italians
Women
Male Feminists
The Mentally Handicapped
Liberals
Wheelchair People
Red Indians
Muslims
Anyone Who Has Ever Worn A Tea Towel As An Item Of Apparel
Short People
Homosexuals
Tall People
Dole Scroungers
People Who Are Fed Up With The Hospital Service
Veterans
The Blind
The Deaf
Musicians
Artists
Postmen
Talking Monkeys
Libertarians
Anarchists
Goblins
Members Of The Sex Pistols
People Who Wear Sports Jackets
Parents
Teenagers
Bananas
Teachers
Dogs
Angry Fat Men
Travellers
Publicans
Members Of The Peasant Underclass

Where was I? Ah yes, voting. When voting, ensure that you don't accidentally choose a woman, or a coloured, because they have reduced mental capacities. Never vote for a party with the word green in its title, and treat any other mistrustfully unless it has "Aristocrat" in its moniker.

Do not vote for men who are trying to change things out of a genuine belief that they will help society, because they will not take bribes. If a politician canvasses your area, make sure to ask him about his policy on immigration. If he uses the word "nigger" in his response, give him your first preference vote.

Hopefully this short guide will facilitate the decision-making process when the next general election is held, and lead our great country to glorious victory over the foreign types.

My Living Arrangements

2004-09-18T18:53:00.000+01:00

I have been asked by several inquisitive souls how I can live in a country manor, but at the same time inhabit the city. Those who ask this question are obviously tied down by the shackles of poverty, and are unable to even comprehend how one could own two houses.

I own "La Petite Putain," a little 6-bedroomed cottage in the outer suburbs, a smaller 5-bedroomed house on Dawson Street in the inner city called "Rus-in-Urbe," and the obligatory manor, Poncington Falls, with 400 acres of grounds for playing Polo, Cricket and other such worthy sports, situated in Enniskerry.

I spend most of my time in Poncington Falls, my family's longtime home, but when I need to go into the city to collect money from my late father's bank account, I stay in Rus-in-Urbe. I rarely use La Petite Putain, except when I am entertaining friends on long mountain walks.

Considering Today's Date

2004-09-11T22:19:00.000+01:00

Today, as many of you know, is the anniversary of a sad and horrific day when the prophecies of Nostradamus were fulfilled in a most egregious fashion as an attack was carried out by fundamentalist lunatics.

I am talking about the eleventh of September, 1926, when an attempt was made on the life of Benito Mussolini.

Mussolini was the greatest Italian leader ever. He drained the Pontine Marshes, ended years of struggle with that Whore of Babylon, the Catholic Church, electrified the railways, and helped Hitler kill millions of bastard Jews.

Mussolini is often seen in a bad light, but this is because the "fascist" states lost the war. American, and I am ashamed to say, British propaganda has portrayed Hitler and Mussolini as murdering lunatics. But nothing, I say nothing, could be further from the truth. One notices how quickly Communist Russians were changed from World War II allies to Cold War enemies. Had the turncoat Stalinists not changed sides during The War, the better team would have won and Mussolini's achievements would be displayed for all to see. But instead, the American propaganda machine has fabricated fabulations regarding the life of Mussolini. It is said that Mussolini shot train drivers who were late. This is so transparently untrue that it makes one vomit one's rabbit stew. If Mussolini had shot train drivers who were late, he would have faced a massive drop in employees of the rail service within days. Would you continue in your current job if your boss put arsenic in your coffee for putting typoes in official memoranda? I think not.

We have lost the memory of a great man because of the lies of selfish socialists, and now they are reaping the rewards, as Islamic militants want capitalists' heads on a stick. Would a coalition between Hitler's Germany and Mussolini's Italy have allowed these towelheads to rape their women and kill their citizens? No, they would have nuked the black bastards in seconds. Instead, the twin pansies, Bush and Rumsfeld, want to take the "softly, softly" approach, and avoid civilian casualties because of the legacy left by those who besmirched Adolf and Benny's good names. And you wonder why I dislike Communism?

I'm Not Actually Dying

2004-09-03T21:57:00.000+01:00

Some of you may have been worried by my last post in which I informed my faithful readers of my impending demise. Fortunately, my condition has been upgraded to stable, with no small amount of embarassment. A few days after my self-diagnosis of pancreatic over-hydration, I called the family doctor, Ramjam Haverstock Funkyboogaloo-Smythe. A good friend of mine from Cambridge Fencing Club, he drove immediately up to the manor, as no case of pancreatic over-hydration can be taken lightly.

"By Jove, to all extraneous appearances you appear to be as healthy as a choirboy. Might I borrow some urine on which I could perform some tests?" I grudgingly agreed, as my bodily fluids are no man's business. He went downstairs to his car, where he stored his testing kit.

"Well, old boy," he said upon his return, "There's absolutely bugger all wrong with you. However, it appears that you recently ate a hallucinogenic mushroom, most likely of the Psilocibe semilanceata variety. Have you recently eaten any suspect funghi?"

"By the Gods!" I said, "I had mushroom stew, with freshly picked mushrooms, just before I set out hunting! Maybe they altered my state of mind in such a way that I appeared to be suffering from pancreatic over-hydration. I was wondering why my birthmark was flashing blue and yellow!

"Actually, come to think of it, I remember shooting a purple elephant with a laser gun, and the trees kept quoting passages from the Bible at me. Maybe that's why Horatio had turned into a midget riding a foal side-saddle in cowboy gear and shouting "yee-haw!" and firing off his six-shooters! By Golly, you're a genius, Rammy old boy!"

"Well, it's all part of the job, that'll be fifty euro, would you prefer to pay by credit card, cash or cheque?"

So ended my brush with death. However, I am suffering from horrific bedsores, and I cannot even think of the word "mushroom" without my mind casting back to a horrific technicolour pikey caravan i saw in the woods after eating those unearthly mushrooms. It still haunts my dreams; indeed, in the small hours of this moring I found myself making a 999 call in my sleep about the imaginary traveller scum. Perhaps I am somewhat obsessed by keeping the countryside tinker-free? Answers on a postcard to the usual address.

The End Is Nigh

2004-08-29T23:59:00.000+01:00

My friends, we have known each other but a month, and already it appears that our special relationship between a web logger and his readership will be terminated presently. My friends, seat yourselves, as this news may cause your legs to give way.

I am dying.

Dry your eyes, mate, I know it's hard to take, but I have pancreatic overhydration, which makes its victims unable to see or hear, and ultimately results in death. Luckily those symptoms have not struck me down yet, and I am fully functional, apart from a slight itch in the toes.

I first realised my condition while out hunting this morning, and got that age-old feeling of pins and needles in my derriére. As any knowledgeable armchair physician knows, this is the first symptom of pancreatic hydration. I called out to my amicus Horatio, telling him of my feeble condition and impending cessation. Horation was typically unsubtle in his response: "By Jove, Davison, you've gone white as a sheet, what the buggeration has happened to you?" I quoted Shakespeare; "O, I die, Horatio."

Horatio, being a retired general, knows more than his fair share of First Aid for use in the field of battle. He prodded and poked my prone body with an expert eye, and said "Buggered if I can tell what's wrong, I've forgotten my monocle. Best get you back to the manor, eh old boy?" I nodded my assent, and returned to my home slumped over my horse, Brown Azure.

At this stage, my still-active mind had formulated a prognosis. I lifted my jodhphurs at the left ankle and inspected my royal birthmark. As I had expected, it was a slightly lighter shade of purple than normal. "Horatio!" I exclaimed, "Get me up to my chambers post-haste, and tell the cook to make an unguent with thyme and thistle root!"

"Ten-Four, old boy, this is where the military training comes into good use," he said, lifting me over his shoulders while barking orders below stairs. As we approached the entrance to my chambre d'habitation I felt the urgent need to expel the contents of my bowels and stomach contemporaneously. I am ashamed to say that not only did I ruin my jodhphurs with excrement, but I vomited into Horatio's breast pocket. He hid his disgust well and laid me out on my bed before retiring to clean himself up.

I have lain there since, and am only able to inform you of my impending passing through the miracle of laptop computers, one of which I ordered through a mail-order catalogue recently. Naturally, everyone below stairs is distraught at the thought of losing me, but my days on this earthly plane are ending, and there is nothing to be done about it. I shan't miss you all, because I shall be dead.

But if i were to remain alive, I would most definitely miss my devoted readers. You have been the most supportive people I ever knew. As such, anyone who wishes for me to leave part of my estate to them should leave a message here with contact details, and the appropriate measures will be taken. However, you must act swiftly, as we do not have much time.

How To Wear Clothes That Imply Your Social Stature

2004-08-28T00:29:00.000+01:00

Many of my friends have asked me, on occasion, what shoes go with such a dinner jacket, what trousers go with this polo shirt? It is true that I am something of a fashion guru, and with due cause, but I am not a homosexual. Instead of answering all questions separately, I will endeavour to render most worries obsolete in the following short article.

The first rule of not looking like a prole: Never wear an item of clothing that cost less than a child allowance payment. Some may find this habit difficult to uphold, but if this is so, you really should not be reading this diary. It is absolutely necessary that your clothing is near-unique, otherwise you look like a bandwagon-jumper, and that is the trademark of a working class simpleton.

Do not wear clothes endorsed by a sporting organisation. As much as you may love Oxford's rowing team, do not wear a jacket with their insignia. This is just as bad as wearing a Manchester United replica soccer jersey. Obviously exempt from this rule are rugby jerseys, but one should avoid skin-tight or popular jerseys.

Shoes should be a tasteful colour, black or brown, in either leather or suede. Avoid buckles on your shoes, as they divert attention from your radiant complexion. Nor should you wear shoes with rubber soles, for they leave marks on tiled floors and tend to squeak.

Occasionally the peasant underclass take a formerly reputable brand and make it their own, as with Burberry and Lacoste. These clothes are tainted and should never be worn again.

All trousers should be navy, brown, or black, and flares are out of bounds, as they encourage sexual promiscuity. Jeans are too casual for most purposes other than when staying at home and you are guaranteed not to be seen by a member of the public. A belt should be borne, whether necessary or not, above the hip.

A small amount of flamboyance is allowed when outfitting the upper half of one's body. common t-shirts are not to be worn, other than as a vest. Polo shirts are ideal for a Summer's day, but must be made by Ralph Lauren. For the other three seasons, a heavy fleece is the best choice, but woollen jumpers are permissible. Do not wear anything waterproof, as impermeable fabrics give off an air of tackiness.

Never wear any jewellery other than a watch. Gold chains are for those who wish for people to know how much money they have, rather than how socially acceptable they are. This is a subtle but important difference, and I will discuss it at a later date. These people are buffoons and should be hanged.

There one goes, Fiachra Davison's How To Wear Clothes That Imply Your Social Stature. Tell your friends, and perhaps this article can help achieve what we all want: a better-dressed world.

Rules Of Etiquette - Upon Being Set Upon By Hoodlums

2004-08-26T01:26:00.000+01:00

As hard as the law enforcement authorities may try, any inner city is an unsafe place to be. This is where the ill bred live, in maggot-ridden council flats. It is only natural that they should wish to elevate their social standing, or at least buy some heroin and prostitutes to ease the pain of knowing that their parents were cousins.

However, most of these people are lazy or well-nigh unemployable, so they must get their cash via illicit means. This usually involves attacking a better-bred member of society and relieving them of their most expensive goods while threatening them with violence.

If your educated gait and gold tipped ivory cane should provoke an assault from a knife-wielding hoodlum, remain calm. It is not the done thing to scream like a young boy in Neverland. Instead, pretend to be a commoner yourself. Ensure that you use the most modern slang and ill-bred accent.

"Gee whizz, fella, slow down there, I ain't got nothin' worth a bullet. This is a disguise for a bank robbery I'm gonna be attending. You wouldn't want to stop that eh, bucko?"

If this should work and he should recognise you as a fellow thief, bid him adieu and depart. If this should fail however, you will look thoroughly eccentric and your assailant may be too confused to continue with the mugging.

Should he be unfazed and continue to demand your worldly goods, deliver a hard blow to the patella with your cane. If his kneecap breaks, he will surely fall to the ground wailing in pain. However, if your blow is mistimed, he will remain uninjured.

In this case he may take umbrage at your attempt at escape and make a lunge for you. Use this opportunity wisely and again use your walking stick, this time to poke him in the stomach and ensure that he doesn't get too close to you. After propelling him away from you, deliver a heartfelt and well-earned crack to the top of the skull, rendering him senseless. Once you have escaped, do not run, as not only is it undignified, it may attract the attention of other hooligans looking for an opium fix.

Once you are a safe distance away, allow yourself a warm brandy in one of your native city's finer drinking emporia to steady the nerves and celebrate a victory over the amoral.

Excuses, Excuses

2004-08-25T23:43:00.000+01:00

The more devoted of my readers will have noticed that I have not posted for some five days. This, I assure you, is not of my own volition. My butler, Jonathan, has taken poorly and has had to be kept in his below stairs chamber for this past while. What, you may ask, bearing does that have on Fiachra's ability to write topical and witty articles on the subjects that concern us most? I shall tell you. I cannot work my computer properly due to a muscle strain in my back. This means that I am unable to bend down to depress the "on" button. All the other resident servants are female, and it is not well to do to ask a lady, even a menial labourer, to bend over. However, this afternoon, I hit upon the excellent idea of pushing the button with my cane, and such is the reason that I am able to speak to you today.

Rules Of Etiquette - On Encountering a Lady In A Compromising Position

2004-08-20T21:06:00.000+01:00

Even gentlemen occasionally stumble upon a lady when she is not fully clothed, or even sometimes a couple in flagrante delicto. It is not done, on the first occasion, to immediately absent yourself, because it leaves the discovered unsure whether someone did actually just see their derriére; this may cause them to fret and worry, as women are prone to do.

It is also not done, however, to whip out one's camera and start taking pictures. It is acceptable to pass a flattering comment should you and the lady in question be on first name terms, but one should not be too raunchy, as the lady might take umbrage and label you a peeping tom.

Should one feel the urges all too well-known to warm-blooded males, you may take it as an invitation should the lady not scream on your entrance to her boudoir.

An entirely different situation with a new set of rules comes into play should you come upon a fellow gentleman rogering his wife, or, worse, your own wife. In the first instance, you should apologise immediately and leave post-haste to allow them to get on with it.

However, should the lady being bonked senseless be your own wife, make your indignation clear by crossing your arms and shouting-

"Tabitha, get down off that louse at once."

Should you receive the all-too-common response "but we're in love," immediately riposte-

"Ah yes, just like you "loved" that £50,000 watch I bought you for our anniversary. Now get down off that half-negro before I shoot you both"

Should the gentleman feel that this is out of order; and tell you so, take out your beige chamois leather glove and dust his cheeks lightly, in the age-old signal that you are challenging the runt to a duel.

Rules Of Etiquette - Introduction

2004-08-20T20:57:00.000+01:00

I may occasionally post a feature on how one should behave in socially acceptable company. This is in order that I might placate and teach the mob which forced me to close the comments section for a period to act like gentlemen.

These short snippets should educate you in the mannerisms of the rich and polite. The first episode, which I am about to pen, will focus on the topic of what to do when one encounters a lady in a compromising position.

Racism? What On Earth Is That?

2004-08-19T00:24:00.000+01:00

I put it to you, my friends that there is no such thing as racism. It is my considered belief that people are called "racist" so often that the word has lost what little meaning it had.

Detractors of this weblog say that I am racist because I believe in the class system. Well, pardon me for not being fluffy and liberal enough, but the intelligentsia frequently find themselves unstimulated and depressed in menial labour, and those who occupy the lower end of our societies often find themselves unable to cope when asked to design a petrol-fuelled velocipede for locomotion at maximum speeds. This is the foundation of Western prosperity, and I defy anyone to say otherwise. It was this very system that the Communists sought to destroy, by making judges chimneysweeps and window-washers doctors.

It is time that people realised that there is a world order, and while it may not last forever, it will last until after our deaths and for many years thence. So, the black inhabitants of Africa may well get used to AIDS and dirty drinking water, because nothing we could do (even if we wanted to) will change that. Similarly, we, the (to paraphrase a once-great man fallen from grace) "chosen race" may well rest on our laurels, for no matter how many mistakes we make, we will never get near the sort of poverty that has struck the negro colonies.

"Racists" do not discriminate against coloureds when they refuse to employ them, speak to them or use the same public facilities as them. They are merely ensuring that they are not tainted by the malaise that has struck these unfortunates. What would happen to the world if a prominent banker were to catch poverty from a negro who sneezes on an omnibus? It would result in a collapse in the stocks of his bank, perhaps causing a slump in the world economy and thus slowing aid to African countries. So, when you next are accused of racism for refusing to be served by a 'wog in a restaurant, tell him it's for his own good.

I do sympathise with the dark-skinned people of the world, because I know that they are victims of circumstance, and that it is not their fault that they were born "that way." But sacrifices must be made because everyone cannot be rich at the same time. That, after all, would stink of Communism.

Alas! This Haven Of Intellectualism Has Been Permeated By The Bootless And Unhorsed!

2004-08-17T22:41:00.001+01:00

You may have noticed that a comment on my last post was deleted. I was the perpetrator of this annulment of free speech. "What?" I hear you say. "Bigotry, surely, from a man famous for his denouncement of the Communists' censorship of reading materials!"

And I agree, that yes, it must seem that way to some. However, those whose literary produce was checked by Stalin in the road to publishment were in the right. The comment which I blocked was so horrifically untoward in its pugilistic nature that I felt obliged to cleanse my computer's monitor.

This, however, brings me to a much more worrying point. The person who left that message was not our intellectual equal. In fact, I can guarantee that the person who wrote it has at some point in his life worked in either a warehouse or a supermarket. Perhaps he took umbrage at my use of polysyllabic words and lectures on poetry. Maybe he was envious of my title and boyish good looks. Or maybe he thinks I'm just a bit of an arsehole.

But, yet another deviation from the main point. This site has been viewed by the unworthy, the great unwashed, the factory workers of this world. It is no longer safe from the stones thrown by ignorami who just don't understand our way of life. Batten down the hatches and get the Boer War rifle out, Jeeves, we're in this for the long haul.

Disappointed

2004-08-16T21:21:00.000+01:00

I was disappointed, on opening my e-mail inbox today, to find that no-one has yet sent me a message asking me a question. Do you think that you are so knowledgable that you can turn down a chance to sip from the font of wisdom. If so, then please, feel free to send an email telling me so, and we shall have a duel; consisting of three rounds: this number representing the Holy Trinity: The Queen, God, and Knowledge.

We shall start with a competition gauging the speed of our wit. A proposition shall be made by a neutral observer, and the first to make a quip responding to the statement shall be crowned the winner of the first round: i.e. "The American Presidential Election has turned into a bout of mud-slinging," and my response "How apt, considering that the American people are two evolutionary steps away from the same primeval sludge," crowning me the victor.

After that, a fencing match, using standard Olympic rules, shall be the yardstick by which we measure our goodliness as gentlemen. Should I or my opponent have won both rounds, the next round shall be deemed unnecessary.

However, should the scores be tied at this point, a pistol duel shall be the only way to distinguish who is, as it were, the most distinguished. This is why a potential challenger should not take the decision lightly.

Should I be challenged, however; I will treat it as a matter of the gravest sobriety, and should it result in my expiration, I shall understand that it is an occupational hazard of being a gentleman.

Why Do You Think I Would Like A Larger Penis?

2004-08-16T00:10:00.000+01:00

On opening my email inbox this afternoon, I was shocked and horrified by the unwarranted deluge of unsolicited messages. As the 93rd in line to the throne, one would think that I would be above entering a competition to win a "hi-resolution spy-cam." If, Lord forbid, I should ever feel the urge to indulge in the indecent act of filming people in various stages of undress without their consent; I would surely have the dignity not to have to enter a competition to procure the necessary paraphernalia.

Another message I received this morning was one offering free meals at McDonalds' restaurants for a month. At this suggestion an involuntary twitch of disgust in my arm caused me to spill my coffee (medium blend fair trade (I know that "fair trade" stinks of Communism, but it really is the best tasting) Colombian beans) down my new Ralph Lauren polo shirt.

My degree in Marketing from the University of Rangoon tells me that the person who sent this abomination to me is a rank amateur and does not know his target market. As anyone who has read any of my weblog will know, I would never go within an English mile of those hives of single mothers with white hair and blonde teeth.

There is an odour surrounding the entrance of McDonald's restaurant on Grafton Street. The odour is one of Spanish students, baby faeces, Lynx and secretions caused by cheap jewellery. As such, a coupon offering me meals in those, to use the pidgin dialect of the inner city, "kips" is as necessary as a bicycle is to a fish.

Perhaps any would-be e-marketers who read this would kindly remove me from their mailing lists.

Czeslaw Milosz Dies Age 93; Communists Rejoice

2004-08-15T16:17:00.000+01:00

A favourite poet of mine, the Polish Czeslaw Milosz, gave up the fight for life yeterday in his Krakow home. He wrote on the subject of oppression by Communist regimes in Poland after being exiled from France and the USA, well known hives of liberalism and pro-red thinking, for being too sensible.

His family gave no cause of death, so it can only be assumed that they murdered him after being threatened by Communists. We all know of their devious schemes and plots to stage a return to power in Europe, despite the EU's attempts to keep us in the dark.

O me miserum! Milosz's death is truly a sad occasion, and I can safely say that now that he's gone, Poland will have a Communist leader by the end of the reign of Queen Elizabeth the Second.

http://www.columbiatribune.com/2004/Aug/20040815News012.asp

How Very Rude

2004-08-15T00:39:00.000+01:00

I was struck today, as I journeyed into the heart of the city, by how ill-mannered the proletariat has become.

As I sat doing the Irish Times crossword, trying to think of that blasted line from Ulysses for the clue "Muster Mark is energetic with the sum of 15 across;" an overweight grandmother sat down near me with five of her grandchildren between the ages of two and five years old.

"Scuse me, mister, could you put your legs down off the seat so the girls can sit down?" she said, breathing at me four different flavours of pot noodle.

"Madam," I said in my most reasonable tone, "There was a time when people of your standing would get down on your knees to allow my feet rest from a hard days work at the office. Besides, if i have to bend over to write in my crossword I may suffer from a ruptured stomach."

My wit was too much for her, so she got off at the next stop. Imagine, therefore, my surprise when she returned with a ticket inspector who ordered that i leave the train. I pointed out that his shirt-tails were aflap, but he merely sneered at me and apologised to the enormous family on my behalf.

I later realised that the answer for the crossword was "quark."

Ask Fiachra

2004-08-14T23:17:00.000+01:00

If you have any questions which you feel need answering by a knowledgable source of information; or if you wish to know my thoughts on a certain matter then please, my friends, feel free to contact me at my personal address: fiachra.davison@gmail.com. I will endeavour to respond with all swiftness, but not undue haste.