An Occasional Guide to Irish Politics: Them fellas up in Dublin and their “rules”.

“How are you Tom, are you well? Yeah, good, good, no, can’t complain…well, didn’t I get pulled over by the Guards this morning…yeah…breathalysed…wouldn’t you think with all the murders and paedophiles on every street corner they’d have better things to do with their time…sure I’d been at the Bourke removal, you know the young fella, yeah, that’s right, him and six other young lads went into a ditch at the weekend. Stone dead. Jaysus, them roads are terrible, lethal they are, taking young lives like that, and them only out for the few jars, it’s very sad…did you hear the news, by the way? The brother got off that medical disciplinary thing…yeah, that’s right, some other doctor, some foreign fella, objected to him operating because he’d had a few scoops the night before…did you ever hear the like of it…sure as the brother says, a few porters help him do his job better, you know, calms the nerves…anyway, apparently he picked up a scalpel rather than a syringe and this English fella went bananas and ratted on him. Disgraceful carry on. Your young one’s going in for her operation this week, isn’t she? I’ll be saying a prayer to St Anthony for her. Did you hear Maura’s Sean, you know, her eldest, got the Air Traffic Control job…yeah…you want to see the pension!…yeah, he failed a few of the tests, crashed two jumbo jets into each other over Mullingar on the computer stimulator! But doesn’t Maura know the minister and a word was had in the right ear, apparently the computer thing got deleted, if you know what I mean! I’d stay away from the airport for a few weeks, all the same, until he gets the hang of the ropes, and that. Anyway, see you over the Christmas!”

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