Daily Archives: March 11, 2014

What goes around comes around

What goes around comes around

When the minister responsible for intruding these abominations announced their arrival, he told us, he promised us, that they were going to be operating OVERTLY.

What he didn’t tell us, though, was that it was only for six months.
After that they have been operating covertly as was the plan
from the outset.

Is there such a thing as a politician who can actually tell the TRUTH, the WHOLE TRUTH, and nothing but the TRUTH, without misleading the populace in the process?

It was no April Fool’s Day yesterday — but it might well have been, watching the shenanigans going on. And it was certainly no joke for the driver of a clamped mobile speed-camera van. The van was clamped on Dublin’s Pembroke Road and the driver had to stump up €80. Dublin City Council confirmed that the van was owned by GoSafe, the private company that operates the mobile speed-camera service around the country for the gardai. It is understood that the van was clamped because it did not have a valid permit. The gardai would not comment yesterday.


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Montego 1.6L, doesn’t hang about


Austin Montego 1.6L,doesn’t hang about


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Is this Harry Potter’s Ford Anglia?

Is this Harry Potter’s Ford Anglia,

The one he drove so carelessly,

The car he almost destroyed,

In an evil, swirling tree?

Or is it another Ford Anglia,

Protected, cosseted, well cared,

A car, discreet and so boring,

An entirely different affair?

Look at its gleaming paintwork,

And chrome so shiny and new,

No, this is not Harry Potter’s Ford Anglia,

Though, I wish it were mine – I certainly do!



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Buried Treasure

When I am asked the most memorable thing that I can remember

from my childhood days, I am always in no doubt as to what this

actually is. I was ten years of age-I can still remember it so clearly –

and we were on holiday in Ireland, out walking, taking a stroll on a

wonderful stretch of deserted coastline. As I walked along, ahead

of my parents and brother and sister, the view beneath my feet

absolutely enthralled me. I marveled at the rocks, the pools, the

seaweed, in fact everything.

Suddenly, my attention was drawn away from this natural wonder,

to something decidedly man-made, reflecting the suns rays back up

to me. I bent down, wondering what it could possibly be, and was

astonished to find an exquisite golden-coloured locket and chain,

half hidden in the beach debris. I picked it up, studying its detail.

I was enthralled by what I had found, and I was amazed at how

heavy, highly detailed and exquisitely crafted it was. I inspected it

further. On one side of the locket there were five small glass domes

surrounding a larger one. Beneath each of the smaller domes a lock

of human hair had been carefully inserted, while under the central,

larger dome two locks of hair had been carefully positioned.

Turning the locket over, I saw seven names carefully engraved onto

the golden coloured surface. And believe me, at ten years of age

something like that really gets your imagination going!

Was it an amulet? I wondered. Well, in my mind at that tender age

it most certainly was. Some people have even asked was it an

inspiration for The Amulet of Oxmosis that I featured in

my children’s novel Wot, Nott, Kakuri and the HU BA HOU. The

only thing I can say to that is, “Read the story and decide for




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Aliens Landed in Ballykilduff

Aliens landed in Ballykilduff,

Aliens landed; that is a fact,

In the dark of the night it happened – it did,

At the end of my garden they landed, then hid.


Breda, dear Breda, wake up, will you please?

Something is happening; I am all in a tizz!

Leave me alone, she answered, because I am beat,

With those words on her lips, she fell fast asleep.


Donning my gown and slippers I left,

Her sleeping so soundly as into the kitchen I crept,

Searching for light; the torch, my best friend,

Then into the garden I stealthily went.


Down the long garden, man and torch progressed,

Then I climbed over the fence, into the field with its guests,

Pointing my torch at little grey men,

I saw Aliens a plenty around a UFO, broken.


What are they doing? I wondered out loud,

Signalling my place, my location – and how,

Pointing their guns, the Aliens zapped me with rays,

Blue, yellow and green, orange and grey.


Thinking my time was finished, all gone,

I fell to the ground, awaiting the anon,

Sorry about that, one of them said, helping me up

We thought you were a cow, wanting to gobble us up.


What are you doing? I asked, with curious eyes,

Seeing them cutting the grass and taking it inside,

We are refuelling our spaceship, he told me quite proud,

We get one light year per armful, he said out aloud.


That’s amazing, I said, can I see inside?

Sorry, he answered, it’s too small for your like,

Laughing, I asked if there was anything the need,

Yes, he told me forthrightly, can we have some tea?


Tea? I asked him, you drink tea way up there,

In outer space, with its atmosphere rare?

No, silly, he replied it’s to pour down our boots,

We never travel with them empty, forsooth.


You pour tea down your boots? I laughed out loud,

What does it do, make you fly like a bird?

It does, he told me, how did you know that?

Was your mother or father an alien, or even your cat?


Just then I heard something, someone calling to me,

Gerrard, wake up, its morning; here is your tea,

Opening my eyes, I saw Breda, my wife,

Offering the cup of plenty, tea, my life,


Where are my boots? I asked her, though still half sleep,

I want them, I need them; oh where are they please?

They are under the bed, here, she said offering them to me,

Why do you want them before drinking you tea?


Accepting my boots, I poured in the tea,

What on earth are you doing? she asked warily,

I don’t go anywhere, I told her, without filling them first,

Can I have another cup, I asked, because I sure have a thirst.


The moral of my story is this:

Don’t go anyway near Ballykilduff, GIVE IT A MISS,

For strange things are going on down that neck of the woods,

Like Aliens driving campervans – and Fiats, to boot,


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Some people call me the New Roald Dahl...


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Africa, Africa

Africa, Africa, a land of dark nights,

Home of the many, home of the right,

A people once voiceless will have their time in the sun,

When prosperity follows and wars are all done.

Hunger and famine will be a thing of the past,

Dictators forgotten – Who were they? You ask,

The days will be brighter, that’s how it will be,

In Africa, Africa, the land of the free.


sparkClick HERE to visit my online book shop,

where you can purchase my eBooks






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