I'm not all that well clued in some times, by my own admission. Stuff tends to pass me by in a blur of either apathy or ignorance, and i go about living in accordance to my own whims. Troubled only by my constant struggle to keep time and maintain feeling in my fingers, life keeps its own balance. I've got it good. Quick backtrack, what was that about feeling in the fingers? I'm sure that wasn't the case 2 months ago..hmmmm... something's changed around here, and it may be in my best interests to investigate the matter.
I'm pretty sure it's no more than a fortnight since the walk home around christmas with my jacket up around my ears to keep out the -16 degree temperatures on the road back to Lurganboy from another fluthered night in Manor. I'm not good with time, so it could be a month ago, but it's hardly 10 months already, it couldn't be, it's taken 'til last week for my ears to thaw, and just when i got comfortable with going outside again, the temperature plummeted and I somehow landed in Korea. The things you do while hypothermic constantly amaze me. Word is I had a heart attack two days before my 26th birthday too, but I'm sure that was a dream, it'd be a bit surreal to have spent time in the CCU of Sligo general as the youngest person in the ward by a good 40 years. Couldn't be right. To think, and in the dream for a supposed professional consultant to make accusations of my taking cocaine, ah now, i'm sure the HSE are a more thorough bunch than to idly throw slanderous comments around. They could be sued for defamation. Christ I wish I'd sued them for defamation...
Anyhow, I survived, and have the official documentation of the remarks, which I wouldn't think have a time frame of which to be acted upon. I'd be happy to take Murray to the cleaners, feeling, as I would, that I'd done a service to the north-west of Ireland by removing him from medical practices. I'll keep it in the pipeline, being alive seems to consume my time these days, whatever else is going on can hang back.
So anyway, it's come to my attention that the world leaders have taken to following me around. Following on from the successful murder of Ian Tomlinson by members of the City of London Police force on April 1st last at the G20 summit in Lahndin, similar ructions took place in Seoul last week. Nobody killed to the best of my knowledge, but if there was there probably wouldn't be much reported about it. This is a country that pretty much encourages suicide by insisting on a 'depression is weakness' policy, so the death of citizens at the hands of the police would probably be seen as swings to the roundabouts. I'm coping fairly well considering, though possibly only as a transcript of what Obama said to Merkel about me hasn't yet found its way into my hands. Dammit. I knew when I called Alex Jones a hypocrite back in the day it would lead to my being left out of the paranoid conspiracy loop. The crux of the craic from the summit seems to have been something along the lines of;
'China: We own the world... na na na na na na...
Everyone else: Oh shite, this debt based economy seems flawed...
China: Bow down to our mighty wall...
Everyone else (except the states): fair enough so...
The states: Nah, nah. F*ck you Wong
The UN: Eh Mr. President, sir, i think the Chinese have a point, innit...
The states: Yeah, well, it's my ball and I'm going home...
China: Well actually, if you check the label on that ball...
The states: Yeah, well, screw you commie.'
And so they all came and went without being fit to resolve anything at all, spent a tonne of cash policing farcical talks and went about their merry way. again. I didn't go down to the hoo-hah protests to lend my voice to the 'we're all going to hell on the back of the dollar bill' brigade. I would've, but I was partaking in the working world at the time, I find it difficult to argue my case for a bag of sugar in the local shop here nevermind not getting arrested by some chump with a baton who doesn't speaketh the lingo, and well, after last year's debacle in London, I've realised that organised anarchic protests are a walking contradiction. If that's your thing, which it wouldn't be mine anyway, you're as well off lobbing a molatov cocktail through the local bank window on a quiet monday when the fuzz aren't expecting it. Yet remarkably, that never seems to happen. It ain't true anarchy unless you get banged up by the cops and get to shout that it should be the cops who are locked up for brutality, yada yada <insertflyingfireextinguisherhere>. Down with that sorta thing. Careful now.
Besides, there's always Joe Duffy, if things get really bad. I tried calling last week but they wouldn't accept reverse call charges from the flip side of the globe. I had it all meticulously planned out;
Me: Oh hi, I was just wondering if I could talk to Joe about my local love-in with anything that can be deemed uncontroversial...
Researcher: That's cute. I'm sure the country could do with a bit of cheering up. Christ if I here another stinking pensioner whinging about the state of the nation I'll choke on my tofu. Hold the line, what did you say your name was...
Me: Barabas. Ba-ra-bas O' Shock-neh-see...
Joe: Good afternoon, you're through to live-line. Barabas, (giggles), so I see here that you're a hard-working, run of the mill chap who sees no ill in the world. good for you. My researcher also tells me that you're in Korea, how's that going for you?
Me: Ara grand joe, y'know yourself. It's a biteen disheartening reading the times online to see that the nation's being sold down the swanny but sure thems the breaks. Sure we all knew that independence as a nation would never last for the long term anyway...
Joe: sure, sure...
Me: How's the wage these days Joe? I was having a gander on the google but I couldn't be arsed pursuing it, how many hundred thousand was it the state were paying you to act as a telephonist for those torn to bits for the price of a litre of milk...
I figured around then the line would cut, but if it didn't I'd be well fit to tear him a new one, being well into the swing of the gross divide that exists between those who have in Ireland, and the new up-and-coming peasant class who were allowed to pretend they had by a series of irresponsible governments who insisted that the only sensible thing to be at was to buy into a grossly inflated property bubble that in their eyes would never come a-tumbling. Up she flew like a hullabaloo.
If I lean out the window here I can hear Nero fiddling in the distance. In many ways I wish I was toasting marshmallows instead. It scares me to think that when I'm next in Ireland, in April next year, it's going to be a shell of a country, completely desolate and possibly relabelled as the People's Republic of the International Monetary Fund. What makes me sad is that there's shag the bit I can do about my beloved island hitting the wall. It makes me sadder to think that the only supposed defenders of the island are all standing on the border wondering how to reclaim the North while the thieves are busy at work selling the south to the highest bidder. Apocalyptic? Nah, not a bit, sure the 10 year corporate tax breaks aren't up yet. If you wanna see the apocalypse, head to Carrick on Shannon once the B.O.A. constrictor pulls the plug. As it is though, I'm well, and all belonging to me are reasonably well and healthy. It's a time of being grateful for small luxuries, and hoping that when the inevitable war breaks out, they'll march the main road from Manor to Sligo and leave Lurganboy to its own devices. I'm off to make tea in the hope of restoring feeling to the fingers, and in the absence of the green flag, wrap the quilt around me.
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