The brits are far sharper at the politics than Paddy- watch them squirm and backtrack out of this quagmire
Tut tut , slipped up there- anyway can’t it’s far too slippy for all that ould palava 
i’m watching you…
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Big eyes
Join the club----- on a serious note Carr’s hill is shite this morning
Alternatively we could have another Agincourt where England secures an unexpected victory against a numerically superior Continental opposition. Or a Dunkirk where the numerically and technically superior Continentals send a ragtag English force back across the Channel with their tae in a mug. Who knows.
Clarke’s hill is fine.
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Too late now,He’s back in bed,or getting himself prepared mentally for real life- FIFA 19
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He’s sitting in some petrol station having a coffee off a motorway looking for some new insights into Irish society and is just throwing these zingers out.
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Yes he will come up with something like GoCar Guy or Dublin Bike Bloke.
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Yeah, but what outcome doesn’t doesn’t run the risk of that happening?
There is no solution in which the last 30 years of the Tory press’s rabble rousing is magically erased from history. A similar situation pertains in the US. Right wing propaganda poisons public discourse and unleashes terrible forces.
“We are being asked to compromise on a solution that works and replace with with wishful thinking.”
- Simon Coveney.
Sure if they leave with a deal it’ll give the headbangers carte blanche to keep howling that they should have left with no deal.
Fuck em out with no deal.
Fuck em.
We’ll tighten our belt and get on with it.
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I
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
II
“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
III
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.
IV
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russia
Reeled from the sabre stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
V
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind the
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
VI
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
If you can lose your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you stupidly trust yourself when all men and women doubt you,
But make no allowance for their doubting too;
If you cannot wait and get tired by waiting,
And spread lies about, and deal in lies,
Or being hated, always give way to hating,
And don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and make dreams your master;
If you can’t think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can fly in the face of Disaster
And not treat it as an impostor but as a game;
If you can’t bear to hear the truth that is spoken
As you’re twisted by knaves and in a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your losings
And lose again on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose again, and start again at your choosing
And never breathe a word about all your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after it is gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds yet keep no virtue,
Or walk with Queens—but claim the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of crazy solo run,
Yours is the UK and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a woman, my son!
If the tans are stupid enough to give it to them…
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Correct but had this same conversation with a SF bud from the bog lately- tried to convince me that London weren’t paying them etc etc- we agreed to disagree to keep the peace