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Right2Water March

Irish Water march

My early release was on the promise that I stay in Mullingar but there was no way I wez missin the Right2Water march and Peig was also gaggin to go. So we loaded up Saoirse’s wheelchair in the van and all three of us were off to the Big Smoke. I had me knuckleduster in my pocket for the gobshite who tried to start. This was a peaceful protest, and the first Shinner who stepped out of line was going to get it. And to give credit, the crowd was grand, probably cos it was too feckin cold to do anything else. The only misbehaving was by a couple of guards in Merrion Square who was chirping some of the lads. I also saw a plainclothes detective – with “Guard is Good” tattooed on his arm – pushing and shoving some wenches on one of the barriers – feckin eejit.

Dis was all about the means of production and the masters of capital taking more and more and leaving the ordinary folks – the lumpen proleteriat – with feck all. Dats according to Richie Boyd-Barrett and ah Jeez, he was grand altogether, with aul Damien churning out the choons. Gerry and the boyos gave it some welly but we’ve heard it before. Richie was the star of the show, along with the organiser of the whole caboodle, Brendan Oogle – good man himself.

And Richie is dead right – this abortion of a government is all about piling away the cash, for themselves and their big business brothers, as quick as they can. It is about feckin-over the ordinary folk, the rural folk, the elderly, the disabled, the youth – you name it, this government has screwed it, like some huge hungry whore. It is about the money paid to wind farms, and the money paid to bankers and bond holders, and about the money paid to your man for his water meters and his pylons. The water charge is just the latest of a long list of money paid by blocklayers like me, out of work for two years now, but still paying and paying, until there is just no more.

While we were singing along with Glen Hansard I was chattin to your wan who was telling me that she can’t even buy bags of sweets for her chissellers this Christmas cos she’s already saving her pennies to buy them new school shoes for next year. Jesus H Christ on a stick – is this what we’ve come to?

How many? Your blondy wan Sharon on the 6 o’clock news on His Masters Voice tried to say 30 000. Feck off yer slag. The guards were stopping people from going into Merrion Square cos they said it was at capacity of 60 000. And that was just after 12.30 with loads of people still streaming in off the buses, so feck off with yer 30 000. Youze did the same with the anti-pylon / windfarm march when you estimated less than half of what we knew was there. Your ‘30 000’ in truth means well more than 60 000. Maybe not quite the 100 000 but close enough, given that it was a work day and feckin brass monkeys.

The lies you have told us – first Fat Pat Rabbitte, then Herr Hogan, now Belly Kelly – with Bent Enda and Croan Joan conducting the choir. You lied about the energy, about the electricity, about the renewables, about the banks, about the HSE, about our schools, and now about the water. And christalmighty we are sick of it. So stick it up your arse cos sure as green apples we will do it for you given half the chance. Youse have taken a great country and a proud people just too much for granted whilst you’ve piled away the cash – but no more. It stops here.

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Letter from Mountjoy

Irish Prison ServiceUnit 666
Mountjoy Prison
Dublin

Mrs Peig Pylon
69 Enda’s Passage
Mullingar
Westmeath
6 November 2014

Dear Peig

I’m comin’ home, I’ve done my time
Now I’ve got to know is dat pylon live?
When you receive this letter tellin’ youse I’ll soon be free
I just need you to do this one thing for me
Please Pet, just for me

Tie a yellow ribbon ’round the auld donkey
It’s been four hot months
In a cell with John Joe Leigh
If I see dat feckin pylon …..
I’ll kick up a fuss
Scream ‘feck’ ‘arse’and cuss
Flash my langer on RTE
If I don’t see a yellow ribbon round the aul’ donkey.

Love and kisses
Paddy


 

Irish Prison Service
Unit 666
Mountjoy Prison
Dublin

Alex White TD,
Dail Eireann,
Leinster House,
Kildare Street,
Dublin 2
6 November 2014

 

Hiya Alex

I’m comin’ home, you know the rhyme
Now I’ want to know what you’ve done this time
When you receive my letter tellin’ you I’ll soon be free
Then you’ll know just what to do if you don’t want me
screamin’ like a banshee

Tie a “cancelled” ribbon round that Grid 25
It’s been seven long years
And EirGrid’s still alive
If I don’t see EirGrid going back to the ESB
I’ll kick up a fuss
Scream ‘feck’ ‘arse’and cuss
Flash my langer on RTE
If I don’t see EirGrid going back to the E.S.B..

Yours etc.
Padraig Pylon

Blog Award

Ah Jaysus. They’ve gone and made me a finalist in the Blog Awards. Will somebody ask the Minister of Justice to tell the Governor of Mountjoy to let me out for the day so I can collect my medal? Surely even the wind industry can’t be that feckin nasty.

Busted

behind bars

You’ve not heard from me for a few months because the law finally caught up with me. To be sure twas a good run but tis grand to be back with Peig and Saoirse again after sleeping in barns and back seats, one step ahead of the shades. I’m out on bail which Peig organised with her boss at work – gas man.

My brief advised me against putting up any more posts as it might banjax my case. That was before the prosecutor decided to make it non-indictable which means it will only be heard by a judge, no jury. That’s cos a jury would’ve set me free. The upside is that we all know a judge couldn’t be arsed to read  a blog so I reckon I’m grand. Anyways, I was just told that I have been nominated for a Blog of the Year award by one of my 35000 readers, and I can’t keep me gob shut after that, can I?

Cos of a complaint from the now ex-Ministers (with a push from EirGrid and the wind industry), I was charged under the Scurrilous Misdeeds Against the State Act of 1892. My lawyer says that I am allowed to put a copy of the charge sheet on my blog as apparently it is a public document. Fair enough, here goes, ‘to wit’:

.

Mullingar Circuit Criminal Court
THE PEOPLE at the suit of the Director of Public Prosecutions
v
Padraig C. Pylon

Bill No. 792 / 2014
Charge Preferred to the Court

————————————————————————————————————————–
Statement of Offence

————————————————————————————————————————–

Count No.1:
The undermining of public confidence in the Government in contravention of Section 2 of the Scurrilous Misdeeds Against the State Act of 1892.

Particulars of Sample Offence:
That on 31/01/2014; 04/02/2014; 11/02/2014; 11/03/2014; and 23/03/2014; the Defendant did undermine the system of governance in this country by exposing the highly questionable activities, alternatively the bone-headed incompetence, of various Ministers of State, both current and previous.

.

Count No.2:

The undermining of foreign investment in contravention of Section 3 of the Scurrilous Misdeeds Against the State Act of 1892.

Particulars of Offence:
That on 11 February 2014 the Defendant did expose and detail the nefarious activities of government ministers and the semi-State organisation known as EirGrid, alleging misuse of funds and wastage of public monies, causing potential investors to invest in Zimbabwe, Gaza and Colombia, these being considered of better potential than Ireland as a result of the Defendant’s relentless exposure of the bribery and corruption occurring in the Republic.

.

Count No.3:
The undermining of public confidence in the Department of Communication, Energy and Natural Resources in contravention of Section 3 of the Scurrilous Misdeeds Against the State Act of 1892.

Particulars of Sample Offence:
That on 31/01/2014; 04/02/2014; 11/02/2014; 11/03/2014; and 23/03/2014; the Defendant did undermine the system of public administration in this country by conclusively showing that the abovementioned Department did, with malice aforethought, fail, neglect and undermine the provisions of the Aarhus Treaty by embarking on the Grid 25 Project without consulting, properly or at all, the citizens of Ireland, despite the ominous and adverse health, financial, environmental and social consequences associated with the aforementioned Project .

.

Count No.4:
The undermining of the careers of specific politicians in contravention of Section 4 of the Scurrilous Misdeeds Against the State Act of 1892.

Particulars of Sample Offence:
That on 31/01/2014; 04/02/2014; 11/02/2014; 11/03/2014; and 23/03/2014; the Defendant did undermine the careers of various politicians by exposing them as double-dealing, incompetent, or plain bent; thereby directly or indirectly causing those politicians to lose their Cabinet seats and a shit load of money that goes with it.

**************

I’ll be making my first appearance in the District Court next Friday, so clutch your bollocks when you wish me luck.

The Copper Coast

turbine fence

Things were getting too hot in Mullingar with the Election Police sniffing around and closing my accounts and even raiding the house, I shit you not. They took away the old laptop for ‘forensic analysis’ and never brought it back, probably scared of Peig who was screaming at em fit to bust. So I’m sitting here in Mullingar Library putting these words together on a jammy old computer last used by James Joyce when he wrote the feckin Dubliners.

You’d never recognise me with my beret and pencil moustache, but I am just back from laying low in France over the elections.

I got an e-mail sometime back from the FCT (Français Combattre les Turbines) inviting me to come over and learn from them as they’ve been in the business for a while now. I was a bit skittish after what we had done to them in the Six Nations, and in their backyard, but cos Mullingar felt like living in a police state with the black cars and ‘house visits’, I thought how much worse could it be, like ?

When I got over there and they tried to speak to me and me to them, twas all a bit confusing to be sure but we got the hang of it after a load of red wine and cheese and that syrupy diesel they drink – pastis – a bit like poteen, it tastes grand after the tenth one .

The Frenchies were reading my blog and thought I had a wind turbine in my backyard. I managed to draw a picture of The Pylon and they understood then. Noworries, as we agreed that wind turbines need pylons to carry the juice, so your enemy is my enemy and dats da ting now. Anyways,  there’s a plan for a huge windfarm been built just up the road from me with enough noise and flicker to drive one spare, so I might as well learn about the feckers now.

My new mon ami invited me on a raid. I was a bit jumpy as this was the real deal, even down to wearing black and rubbing burnt cork all over my face, although I think twas just a burnt Gauloise stub by the smell of it. No guns thank God, just a huge feckin toolbox, the three of them and myself.

We drove out into the country, my new best friend explaining that it was easier to target turbines in the countryside, there being nobody around to check up on them. The words were hardly out of his gob when we came up to one of these monsters – jesusmaryandjoseph, they are giant – 100 metres I was told.

***
It was like a French episode of the A-Team, Le Oui Team. A giant of a man, who looked just like that rugby player Sebastian Cheval – The Horse – was out with the boltcutters and hacksaw and had the door at the base of the tower open in two ticks. I sat on the car bonnet and kept lookout – not that you could see anything in the pitch black. A minute later the huge Frenchie comes over to me, kisses me on both cheeks, lifts me off the car and hoofs me towards the door, before sitting himself down on the car. His way of saying ‘ye’re missing all the fun, get inside ya wee monkey’.

I’d never been inside a turbine but sure it’s like the stairway at Blarney Castle – it just goes round and round and up and up – too narrow for Le Giant outside. At the top theres the other two French boys, with those little miners helmets with the light on them. They were already taking the plate off the side of the engine. And then I saw it and knew why we were here – copper wire, and loads of it. Almost a ton of it to be exact, and your man explained that they would get €4500.00 for the copper wire from the one turbine.

At this stage I was in a panic cos this was too serious for me, and I had visions of a French jail smelling of onions and old garlic, being probed every night by another version of The Horse, so I just wanted to get out of there. And we did – the crew had that copper wire out of there so quick and into the back of the van and we were gone before you could say merde, baiser les Anglais. Just as quickly we stopped at what looked like a junk yard and your man had a stash of euros bulging in his pocket.

What happened next caught me completely on the hop and is the only reason I’m telling ye about this in the first place. We stopped at an orphanage on the outskirts of town – Le Orphelinat – and, I swear to God I saw this with my own eyes – your man puts the money in a big brown envelope and pushes it through the slot into the letter box, and then we were off. Robin des Bois himself. Who would have thought it ?

The FCT now has a fellow organisation in Ireland, called LIFT (Liberation of Ireland From Turbines), and the designated charity is Vincent de Pauls. Who’s up for it ?

 

A Clean Sweep

Vector silhouette of Power lines and electric pylons

I was in the audience for The People’s Debate with auld Vincent Brown on Wednesday night. I had heard that the last one was a great shout-match altogether, and I was keen to get in a few kicks against the pricks.

First disappointment – the Blueshirts and the Sellouts didn’t pitch up – no FG and no Labour, bunch of shit-arsed bellends, the lot of them. This is a national debate with Ireland’s best political commentator, especially after the pig swill that Enda Kenny sprays around, and the rulers are too arrogant and up their own arses to even send somebody. The topic was our participation in the EU. So why no Phil Hogan, who got the Golden Ticket to Europe from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? Are you lazy already Phil, and you haven’t even got to Brussels yet?

The Rulers have a great tradition of not pitching when they are expected. Just yesterday James Reilly didn’t bother to arrive to open the new A&E at that place that used to be the Waterford Regional Hospital, but is now the Dunmore Road Dressing Station. Quinn didn’t bother to go to the Teachers Conference, your ex-man Shatter didn’t bother to go to the Garda Conference, and then they stopped inviting him anyway. He went to the lawyers’ conferences, but then he always did enjoy a good arse-licking, did Alan. Not much licking now, hey boyo?

Back to auld Vincent and all the shouting and roaring on the show. Not so much this time, but the Lefties were crowding out the place altogether. All talk about giving the banks to the people, and joining with like-minded yokes in the other EU countries who have been fecked-over by the money-grabbers and the politicians in their pocket. It was a grand show and took me back to my first year at NUI when I needed a filler course and so took Political Studies and read about auld Marx and his Communist Manifesto. It’s all coming true now with the means of production in the hands of the elite classes, and the alienation of the worker coming to boiling point – the final stage of capitalism before the Glorious Revolution. Sure, I was ready to man the barricades there and then, and string the Rulers up by their bollocks to the nearest pylon – the only problem was that the arsewipes didn’t bother to show. Don’t start the revolution without me, but for now let’s just vote the feckers out.

Second disappointment – I was there to shout about the pylons and the EU energy policy being hijacked by the wind-turbine manufacturers, but there was hardly a mention. Your man Kieran Hartley tried to talk about pylons, and sure, he gave that waste-of-space Eamon Ryan a good dissing – I was hootin’ and whistlin’ fit to bust – Kieran still gets my vote. But the most talk was about The Debt and the banks and the common man taking one to many up the shithole and enough was enough, and feck the bourgeoisie, the proletariat was gonna whip their arse, and so on.

Vincent, we need a Peoples Debate about energy policy, wind-farms and pylons. If you do that I’ll drag Fat Pat down there myself.

Now I know The Debt is awful and myself I haven’t had a job for almost a year now, but we need some of that Marxist spirit to stop the pylons. Biomass means jobs. Pylons destroy jobs. Wind turbines destroy local economies and make rich men richer. It’s the same story, with the same people, just different props. They used the banks to rape and pillage the Irish economy, now they want to do the same to the countryside and the people – rape and pillage using pylons and wind turbines. They’ve destroyed our economy, now they want to take our environment and our health and turn the whole country into a cash-generating wind farm, burying the bodies in the concrete bases of the turbines. It’s a capitalistic version of The Great Hunger, and FineGael / Labour are in charge of the death squad.

It’s time to join the dots and say – ENOUGH!

The old system must be crushed and replaced with something different and better altogether. Out with the old, in with the new. If you see the same tired old faces on the posters just piss on them. Vote in the fresh Independent face. Vote in the anti-pylon face. Loads of people have written in and asked why do I say vote for your man Kieran Hartley, being as he is with the FF? I say because he’s going to Europe to fight the wind industry. He’s going to fight the pylons. In Europe I don’t give a flying feck what party you belong to as long as you do and say the right things: NO PYLONS! NO WIND FARMS! GIVE US BACK OUR LAND! Your man Hartley will do that, because that is what he has always been fighting about, he’s fighting for his kids (and mine) and he’s not going to stop now. So Kieran is my man, cos him and I sing from the same hymn sheet: NO PYLONS!

Now get the feck out of here and make your cross on the day.

Go Midi!

Midi

 

What did I tell youse?

Midi should be the feckin Taoiseach – those old bollocks on the Waterford Council should just shag off, it’s a disgrace what they have done, or not done to be more accurate.

 

First she kicked An Bord Pleanala up the arse:

http://mididepaorwalsh.wordpress.com/2014/04/30/an-board-pleanala-ignores-public-health-concerns-raised-by-inspector/

 

Now she’s got those cute hoors on the run! They knew 3 years ago, but made us go through their ‘consultation’ – what a bunch of bellends. Rabbitte should resign immediately, if he has a shred of honour and decency.

http://mididepaorwalsh.wordpress.com/2014/05/07/pylons-waterford-route-picked-in-2011/

 

My favourite FB page:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Midi-de-Paor-Walsh/238336286359067?ref=hl

 

Ah Midi, you should be living with me in Mullingar, not bothering with the Waterford Council.

 

 

Revolution

Nelson Pylon Down - final

Did yees know that auld Nelson Mandela over dere in Africa was imprisoned by the evil aparthate regime for blowing up a pylon? And we all know what happened to your man after that – the Nobel Peace Prize and getting the title of world champion of the twentieth century. Makes youse think dunnit?

Some of ye lads might be startin to tink we have our own evil regime right here.

I was just after seeing the Mandela fillim “The Long Walk to Freedom” and it showed how he was a lawyer, and tried to live within the law, and followed the rules, but after a while he realised that the laws were so evil that it was impossible to follow dem and be a good person at the same time – one had to choose between good and evil. He chose good and so blew up that pylon.

So then I was thinking what is the law here? The law is called The Strategic Infrastructure Act, and it fecks over the previous planning laws altogether. It says that when the government call something a strategic infrastructure, all the doors fly open and they just walk right in, usually over the dead bodies of good and honest Irish citizens. The same law says that these strategic infrastuctures don’t need to go to the elected County Council first for Planning Permission, they go straight to An Bord Pleanala, and of course we know that the ABP are full of government appointed hoors, falling over themselves to get a sniff of Enda’s backside. ABP now means Arse-Bandit Plonkers.

Me being a blocklayer I thought I must have got this wrong. As a youngfella I was taught that we lived in a democracy. A democracy means the citizens get the last word. Peig couldn’t help me, so I thought I would see for myself. I went up to Portlaoise on the train and got hold of the file on the ABP decision to allow EirGrid to build a substation in Coolnabacca, which is in the Laios-Kilkenny area. The file was thick and took me all day to read it, there were so many representations from the people of the area. They all felt new to the touch – like they were never read before.

Jaysus wept. They call it a sub-station. There is nothing sub about it – it’s a feckin Super-station with 17 bays which means 17 high-power (400kV) lines comin in: Connections to a lot of wind farms, any fool can see that, it’s as plain as da tits on a monkey.

Eirgrid said it was for the upgrade and extension of a 110 kV line to Kilkenny and the ABP agreed with them. Evidence was led by the local people that it was to connect lots of wind farms – the evidence was a letter from Eirgrid in 2009, where the Project Manager says “the substation is for the future connection of renewables (windfarms)”. That seemed pretty clear to me: Eirgrid were talking bollocks with their story of a line extension, but that was ignored by your man from the APB.

When they realised their Environmental Impact Statement was dodgy, Eirgrid asked to amend it there and then in the hearing, without giving the people time to respond, and your man from APB allowed them, saying it was ‘within his remit to do so’. Your remit needs a refit methinks. In the bad old days we’d be lookin for the brown envelope – but this is just too daft to be bent, and having shit for brains is not a crime.

Anybody, even a blueshirt with half a brain, can see that feckin Eirgrid will use this super-station to connect the wind-farms in the Counties of Kilkenny, Laois, probably Wexford – 17 wind farms is a lot of wind farms – they said so in their letter. Hundreds of good folk trusted An Bord Pleanala to see through this obvious lie and banjax the whole mess, but the ABP just became part of that lie and let it go ahead.

This is when good people, who have obeyed the law their whole life, come to that point where your man Mandela was at when he said – the law is fecked-up evil, I cannot stand by and let it go on. You would understand if some yoke felt desperate enough to do something silly – please God that never happens. It is up to this regime to show the people it is not evil and stop this madness – now.

March on the Big Smoke

Molly Malone

It was Tuesday the 15th, the day of The March on Leinster House. I was up to Dublin the night before as I knew tings would kick off early and I needed to be up front in the crowd and close to the speakers like. Hiding in plain sight they call it in those spy fillims. I knew the CCTV cameras around Leinster House would be working overtime scanning the crowd and the place would be sick with peelers. So I was in front of the crowd, with the stage hiding me from the cameras, and I had on the disguise that Peig and Saoirse made up for me – great craic the girls had in putting it together. I’m not going to tell yees or else it wouldn’t be a disguise now, wuddit?

Why the paranoia Paddy, you ask? The reason for that was that one of my mates in the guards was tellin me to watch my step as I was now on the wanted list. Not the official list like wanted dead or alive or anything like that cos I haven’t committed any crimes, not since I was a youngfella anyways. No, I was on that unofficial list sent around to each barracks cos I was pissing certain people off like, according to me auld segotia, anyways. To be honest we’re not that close anymore since he said no to putting a bug in Pat’s office – I mean, WTF I sez? If you can bug the Cabinet meetings, why not stick one in that gombeen’s office, I asks. Then we can find out which pylon corridor he’s chosen in Waterford. We could make some serious money at Paddy Power. But he wasn’t interested – Dublin coppers obviously do OK already.

Anyways, I came up on the train from Mullingar the night before, and checked into my hotel close to Leinster House, and kept low in my room – room service burgers, beer, and saucy movies, heaven I tell yees. The next morning I had to put on the disguise before I checked out. You should see your wan’s face at reception, but I paid cash and was out the door in the shake of a tail.

The people were everywhere, and it was grand altogether. Lots of smiley faces, and people shaking hands and asking “Where you up from?”. It was like a big family, and I mean big. I laughed at the RTE News later that night when they said ‘about 2000’, but sure that’s to be expected when Rabbitte is their boss – the Minister of MisCommunication – I stood next to a Gard with a head on him like your man Gleeson in the fillim and asked him about the numbers. He spoke into his radio, listened and told me, “there’s easy over ten thousand, close to eleven”.

I was moved up close to the stage. Another fellow next to the stage, Michael, told me he was a chef from a castle. Probably Malahide, but he didn’t say. Your man had a rucksack on his back and the guards were watching him, thinking of the Boston Marathon I’d wager. I whispered this in his ear and went over to tell the guards as well that it was all grand, your man was a chef just carrying fresh produce, and they relaxed. It’s amazing what a cuddly disguise can do to relax people. I’m going to suggest to Peig that maybe we try this outfit in the bedroom.

I was standing next to your man from the Pylon Alternative Alliance – Duggan? – who was busy telling me how he was organising everybody into a structure. I guess he wanted to be at the head of that structure, but then I wouldn’t know for sure. I asked him how could he be saying that pylons were the alternative? I said he should come and see my bungalow with the pylon in the back – pylons are the problem I sez, not the alternative. He didn’t seem to take me seriously, it might have been the disguise. My friend, you seem a straight-up bloke, I sez, so a word of advice. We have a common enemy – EirGrid and Fat Pat. The strength of the movement is the community – the People – listen to them, don’t tell them what to do, we have the cute hoors doing that already and God forbid you turn out to be another cute hoor. We are all singing from the same hymn sheet – let the people find their own voice, don’t tell them which song to sing, especially if it just happens to be your favourite song. This is a people’s movement, let the people rule. Like they do today, and those gombeens in Leinster house are sweatin cos of it.

I even know what its called now, I saw it on the letter to those Arbitration lawyers of EirGrid – participatory democracy. A mouthful sure, but delicious to the discerning palate, so my chef friend told me. I am sure thats how the Waterford groups are so strong, and leading the rest of the country by example – the people speak and the people govern – the leaders follow.

Jeanie Mac – it was like a who’s who of anti-pylon people – Tom McGurk, who is tall enough to step over the feckin pylon and a top man – he must be to speak over that Right Hook. Gerry Adams – with his own sign that he made in his office – ‘SF Against Wind’ – no mention of the undergrounding, but just connect the dots, Gerry. I spoke to a lovely lady from Mayo who had never been to a protest before but this was important she said – good woman yourself.

Of course there were loads of cute hoors looking for all the votes on offer – sure everyone is suddenly anti-pylon. Before you cast your vote just remember who was there from the beginning, fighting in the trenches. Your man Kieran Hartley will get my vote for sure – he was there from the start with the heroes from Comeragh Against Pylons in Kilmacthomas. I remember in the early days when Kieran travelled all the way up to Mullingar to speak to us, when we didn’t have a clue – well I did, having taken the thirty pieces of silver, but the people there didn’t have a notion what was going on and Kieran spoke to us and answered all our questions. Gas Man – he gets my vote for Europe.

A fellow in front was making a lot of noise and trying to stir things up – I saw the Carlow colours and thought he was a Hogan supporter – a Phil-istine – trying to start a fight maybe. The guards were watching him for a while as your man was foaming at the mouth and roarin fit to bust. When I got close and saw the Rasta colours I realised your man was there to support the hemp / biomass option and he was singing ‘Stir It Up ’, rather than just acting the eejit.

The speaker that impressed me the most was himself, Sean Cullinan. A bear of a man – he would be playing flank for Munster if your man Stander wasn’t so brilliant – but with the intellect of Einstein (and youse thought I was too thick to know these things. Remember I was two years in Maynooth, so I know all about Albert and his Theory of Serendipity). Sean was telling us how important it was for us to vote for the pylon candidates in the elections on 23 May. Forget party politics, vote for your anti-pylon candidates cos that is how we will kick Leinster House in the arse. Get our people into the European parliament to shout back at the wind lobby, get people onto your local Council to stop planning applications for more turbines. That is the way forward. People power.

And then I saw Midi. She was carrying an As Gaeilge sign COSC AR PYLONS. My fluffy disguise got me around the mountain men, but when I got to her my tongue was frozen and I sputtered out some jibber-jabber about elections. And how did she reply in that gorgeous voice of hers? She told me that her full name is Midi de Paor Walsh, it sounded like music when she said it, and she be standing in the Waterford Council elections. I told her that if I lived in Waterford I would vote for her, and maybe I could come down and live in her spare room? I wanted to speak forever but Midi was on a mission to save us, and next thing she was gone in a beautiful blur.

At that stage I was sweatin fit to melt. I needed scoops, loads of them. With one last look at my big happy family, I was gone, out of the disguise and away, back to Mullingar.

rabbit at march

Reflections on Erections

I was laughin at this Canadian video on the pylons (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E2JoYdo1kk8) which was on the CAP FB page, when your wan said the words that would send a shiver down a polar bear’s spine: ‘pylons cause erectile dysfunction’.

Kids might be readin dis, so witout goin into da small print, but since The Pylon came into me life, let’s just say when the Party Whip says in me head, “Let’s all be Upstanding for the Honourable Member Pylon”, I’m left in Alan Shatters, with a landslide Vote of No Confidence. Peig is very understanding, and holds me tight, but I know that she pretends to fall asleep.

I’m a blocklayer from Mullingar, how could this be happening to me, the Valentino of Viewmount?

And now watching this video, it all made sense – The Pylon would not be satisfied until it was the only thing left standing.

Is this what the Grid25 Project is really about with its male breast cancer and its limpdickness – to render the men of Ireland impotent? Did this explain why Pat Rabbitte was sounding more like me mammy every day, because he was becoming a mammy, along with the rest of us poor yokes?

I run outside, whipping out the jolly roger, not that it even fluttered in the breeze, and piss on The Pylon. Piss with all me might, spreading the feet wide so my patetick stream dont land on me shoes. “You won’t get me, yer giant metal hard-on, I’ll be baytin you, we’ll see who dysfunctions who, ye …, ye …, ye cockcrusher”.

A warm tongue slides across me neck, gently licking me ear. I freeze. The Pylon was seducing me, calling me over to The Dark Side. I felt meself letting go, strains of Michael Buble filled the air, I feel me mortified mickey starting to …Wha? The music stopped as the needle screeches over the vinyl. Wha? How can a pylon …?

T’was the auld horse – I be screamin at the top of me voice, and the aul dear did come up behind me and tried to comfort me. I hang onto her neck until me body stops shakin.

Ah sure, tis hard sometimes.