I had to stop for a haircut, so I’m in a bit of a rush. Ignore the sleb footballers, they’re just enjoyable nostalgia.
Basically you are yer mans brother. You’re flirting with faith- not ready for all the trappings of Catholicism yet, but a pared down version would suit for now. You value life, you’ve turned a corner and you’ve prioritised compassion for yourself and others
You’re also developing a more humane and realistic view of war and ideology…the cigarette break suggests a preparedness to reflect more, and perhaps step out of the meaningless twitter fray. Well done on this
Gotta go.
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If I could deal solely with the George Hamilton segment - Throughout his career as a broadcaster, George has never hidden his passion for Germany and its great cities, its rivers, its language, its u̶n̶i̶f̶o̶r̶ unification, etc. He seems happiest when regaling us with his local knowledge while introducing a big match from the banks of The Rhine or indeed introducing one of the Brandenburg Concertos by Johan Sebastian Bach on Lyric FM. In fact he majored in German and was once the host of ‘Platten à la Carte’, a German language radio show on BBC 2 Radio "matching music to requests that had come in by post from behind the Iron Curtain”.
George’s oft used phrase "Danger Here " appears to have come back to haunt him in this instance and may in fact have been his very last words as he realised his imminent doom in the shape of a bomb* falling from the sky. Is this an example of schadenfreude?
- Quite possibly a football that had been launched by Kevin Moran at the Neckar Stadion, Stuttgart, during Ireland v England at Euro 88, finally returning to Earth.
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This is a great post.
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Dream 1, circa December 30th, 2022:
I’m attending a women’s hockey match between Australia and Denmark. The match takes place in the middle of a bountiful and picturesque orchard which looks like the countryside along the banks of the River Rhine but is in fact in Munster (Munster, Ireland, not Munster, Germany). I feel sexually aroused while watching the match. There is more to this dream but I’ve forgotten it.
Dream 2, possibly the same night:
I am on a family holiday in Killybegs, County Donegal, but am being chased by my uncle and the police. I drive a hospital bed three times around the streets of Killybegs and then drive it into neighbouring Derry City. Next I find myself driving it into Edinburgh. Then I find myself driving the hospital bed at around 50 miles per hour past Ben Bulben on the coast road from Donegal to Sligo. I make for Galway but my bed runs out of fuel in Castlebar. Castlebar looks like Blackburn, Lancashire. I then run around the streets of Castlebar in my pyjamas at 11pm at night, believing I am being followed. Dream ends.
Dream 3, Friday January 6th into Saturday January 7th, 2023:
I am going for a meal alone in a restaurant in London. While walking to the loo before my meal is served I walk past the kitchen and darts player James Wade is talking and laughing with somebody else in the kitchen. I read in a newspaper that “it’s an open secret that James Wade spends much of time here”. This is not the first time James Wade has appeared in a dream of mine.
The proprieter of the restaurant is a friendly, buxom English woman in her 50s who somewhat resembles the wife in Married With Children and quite clearly likes to smoke and drink. The restaurant has a reputation for good food at a reasonable prices and is decorated in a 1950s style with a lot of red lighting and patterned carpets and patterned wallpaper. I have shepherd’s pie followed by a pasta dish, both of which I enjoy, followed by a bottle of wine. I then leave through a narrow corridor and forget to pay but nobody notices. When I get out onto the street I find that the restaurant is in fact on Parkgate Street in Dublin (where in reality there is a Londis shop) and is called “Kev and Suzi’s”. I go to the bus stop but return to pay for my meal. Nobody has noticed that I had left.
The speeding hospital bed tour means you’re clane fucking mad, but you’re starting to enjoy the experience.
The resolution of an unpaid bill is a classic dream scenario. It simply means that you have an unresolved issue which is causing some degree of anxiety, and isolation…hence eating alone etc. You may indeed have an unpaid bill, or you may owe someone an apology.
The dream about the hockey wimmin means you prefer tans to taigs…not that there’s anything wrong with that.
A very positive sequence, all in all
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I woke up Monday night with a mixture of Four Green Fields and Down by the Glenside all mixed up.
The two songs went around and around my head mixed up for about two hours while I was trying to remember the words of each one.
I woke up at 4am and looked up the lyrics of Four Green Fields and happily went back to sleep until the alarm went off as normal at 6.15am.
Don’t know what it was all about, played Down by the Glenside by Jim McCann today, forgot how good a version he did.
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The good old IRA of course! As long as my old man’s a Provo and The Ballad of Alan Ryan don’t get mixed up some evening I’ll hopefully sleep soundly in future….
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Throw up the lyrics there.
I can’t find them…
Last night I dreamt I was being repeatedly attacked by a bicycle.
It was a vicious cycle……
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I think this demonstrates you can’t handle bars any more.
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His dreams spoke to him
Check the “pints” thread at about 2:45pm today.
I’ll post a picture unless I’m two-tyred……
You’re pedalling lies
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Started pouring concrete back home. I’m reading this with a happy heart 
(Also drinking a lovely red and watching Roscommon bate mayo)
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This is massive news…is the young fella leaning towards an Irish university perchance?
He is indeed. If he gets in le cunamh De
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Last night:
My dream centres on Galway’s new hurling goalkeeper. The new Galway goalkeeper is a left handed Slovenian chap in his 30s who holds the hurley the wrong way around and looks a bit like that bald chap who presents NFL on Sky Sports.
I attend a game at Kenny Park, Athenry and am standing behind the goal. I think to myself that this new Galway goalkeeper is not very good. He scuffs all his puckouts as he hits the ball with the wrong end of the hurley. Yet he’s described by pundits as one of the top goalkeepers in the game. He is also a Sunday Game pundit himself, including doing analysis on games he has been playing in, and his analysis is very poor. He speaks Stephen Kenny style in a Slovenian accent.
I am attending an evening course the following Tuesday and the new Galway goalkeeper is also enrolled on this course. He keeps following me around and asks me to go for a pint. I do not want to go for a pint with him and do not do so. Then I am walking on an October night in Kilmainham, between the Patriots’ Inn and Kilmainham Gaol, and the Galway goalkeeper appears out of nowhere and asks do I want to go for a pint. Again, I do not want to go for a pint and do not do so.
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