This is worrying and upsetting news.
Thoughts with the fishmonger in the English Market in Cork at this time.
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Jim capturing the mood of the Nation and the Commonwealth there.
The thoughts of the Queen not making it hardly bare thinking about
St Leger meeting cancelled
Football cancelled
UK media insufferable (even moreso)
A tree hugging King
John Bruton
The list is endless
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A weekend off might be a welcome break for Liverpool Football Club
And Lismore
Christ. That cunt and his patented soppy-stern voice.
What a wanker.
I’d say Lizzy despised the cnut.
Renamed Lisnomore apparently.
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Better ye’re getting 
No one is forcing you to tune into the UK media? But the RTE will be just as bad. They’ll invite on Dame Foster, and Flegory Campbell…
Flegory 
I met Huw at a day event in London 10 years ago which he was compering… We shared a small table at the afternoon break. He was a decent sort, very understated and interesting when off the camera.
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When she dies, both houses of parliament will be recalled, people will go home from work early, and aircraft pilots will announce the news to their passengers. In the nine days that follow (in London Bridge planning documents, these are known as “D-day”, “D+1” and so on) there will be ritual proclamations, a four-nation tour by the new king, bowdlerised television programming, and a diplomatic assembling in London not seen since the death of Winston Churchill in 1965.
One leading historian, who like most people I interviewed for this article declined to be named, stressed that the farewell for this country’s longest-serving monarch will be magnificent. “Oh, she will get everything,” he said. “We were all told that the funeral of Churchill was the requiem for Britain as a great power. But actually it will really be over when she goes.”
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He knows which side his scone is buttered.
He lived near Macclesfield.
I can’t stand the cunt.
Huw is from Llanelli. A native Welsh speaker.
The most elaborate plans are for what happens if she passes away at Balmoral, where she spends three months of the year. This will trigger an initial wave of Scottish ritual. First, the Queen’s body will lie at rest in her smallest palace, at Holyroodhouse, in Edinburgh, where she is traditionally guarded by the Royal Company of Archers, who wear eagle feathers in their bonnets. Then the coffin will be carried up the Royal Mile to St Giles’s cathedral, for a service of reception, before being put on board the Royal Train at Waverley station for a sad progress down the east coast mainline. Crowds are expected at level crossings and on station platforms the length of the country – from Musselburgh and Thirsk in the north, to Peterborough and Hatfield in the south – to throw flowers on the passing train. (Another locomotive will follow behind, to clear debris from the tracks.) “It’s actually very complicated,” one transport official told me.
Gas cunts.
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That sounds epic to be fair.
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