Easter tidings
I see our Great and Glorious Mehole Martin, Teashop of this great land, may be in trouble.
I sincerely hope so anyway.
The news is out that he attended and Indoor Gathering during lockdown which is of course illegal under the strange and restrictive rules he himself laid down
Taoiseach’s attendance at Cork boxing club event during indoor gatherings ban was ‘not personal’.
Of course this may mean that he wasn’t there in person but was merely a hologram beamed in from his bunker in Merrion Street. I doubt that though. It’s far more likely that the Virus, in a hitherto undiscovered feature, doesn’t actually attack people if they are on “official business”. This is bad news for all those doctors and nurses who contracted the Virus in the past, but maybe they were infected during their tea break? It’s good news for the rest of us though. For example I can do what I like, as whatever I do can be classed as research for my scribbling, which of course is official business.
On another note there has been considerable disquiet in medical circles concerning the UK Variant, the Brazilian Variant and the South African Variant. Why, they ask, should these three get into the news all the time? It’s not fair, they cry. We want a mention too. Well, it looks like they may have discovered an Irish Variant. It will of course be 185% more deadly and a thousand times more infectious that any of the other piffling variants and should us firmly back centre stage. Don’t mess with a country that was a world leader in smoking bans and who won the Eurovision Song Contest more times than any country in history. We do things in style here.
In yet more news, I can officially announce that my meadow is now cut. The first time in a year, or in the case of one large swathe, two years. I told you I could do it, oh ye of little faith.
So you got the Whirling Dervish grass thrasher working, and still have all your toes?
I can see you crouched over the wheel, flat cap on back to front, squinting through vintage glass goggles, white silk scarf trailing back over your shoulder, like a 1920s TT driver. The evidence of your satanic speed, and manic grin, being the host of flies flattened on your dentures.
What long lost artifacts, lost in the long grass, did you, or rather your spinning blade of death, discover. No missing persons, dog toys, radio sets hurled out a window in disgust, Amazon deliveries strangely un-delivered.
And are you now flogging fresh meadow hay for rabbit hutches and gourmet hay box chefs?
Re the variants, there has been a terrible dearth of jokes about folk having the Brazilian.
As for the Irish, one of the symptoms would be the adoption of full-on Hollywood Hibernianism, begorrah, bejasus, and top o'the mornin' to ye , and the rest of the day to mesel craic, sudden attacks of impromptu hopping up and down with arms rigid at sides, etc. etc.
The one major casualty of the mowing was the filter off the lake's water fountain pump. I haven't a fucking clue how that ended up in the long grass but it was royally minced. I suppose that means a new pump……
As with so many things these days, (actually years now); the "rules" are for thee…not for me.
Was An Taoiseach the seventh person at the event? If so, that was the problem The virus doesn't attack if there are six or less.
Maybe he was treated to a €9 meal while he was there? That also gives indemnity.
It's an even smarter virus in Britain, where schoolkids were made to wear masks on the school-bus but, once in the classroom, that same bunch of kids were banned from wearing masks. That fiendishly clever virus can even tell the difference between a bus and a building – something which it seems many of our politicians would struggle to emulate most of the time.
Please stop calling politicians "ours" when they are clearly not.
I'm being magnanimous. I wouldn't inflict them on anyone else.