Sunday, May 15, 2011


(pictured above: out in our droves)

Perhaps, if I may be so bold to suggest it, your majesty, God bless her, could, just as a gesture, do a few circuits, not too many mind, just one for every year of British rule, of Croke Park, in full regalia, the crown, the fancy gear, the whole lot, on her hands and knees, while Jedward dance around her and give her the odd boot in the arse, not too hard mind, as she crawls around, as a kind of act of penance, just so, y’know, we can finally move on and forget all this nonsense. . .

. . .it’s just a suggestion.

. . .no takers?

Oh, very well then, forget it. Drive her around the place, buy her a bag of Tayto and let John Bruton get her autograph. Just make sure she's gone by teatime and for God's sake no one start with that Dublin Monaghan shite. She's a famous old lady not a member of MI6. It’d be like them blaming Maureen Potter for Airey Neave (which they might have done had she been in the vicinity-but let's not start with any of that either and just let the Sunday Independent staffers enjoy their big day).

May 17th though, . . .could they not have picked another day to have her over?

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