It may come as something of a surprise that the Blather High Command has, for sometime now, been ‘abroad’. Yes, we’ve forsaken the sprawling metropolitan paradise of Dublin for the backwaters of Europe – namely London and Oslo. With Barry off battling the Ice Queens of Trondheim, and with Damien and Dave scratching fleas from the seedy underbelly of the Big Schmoke, we’ve been left with something of an intelligence vacuum in the capital of Yurp. Er yes, I mean Dublin, Ireland.
With no-one back there over the Halloween weekend, we’ve called in our longtime Blather correspondent in Dublin, Marty Phelan:
“Jasus Blather. We had a fuggin’ wicka time over da Halloween. I ended up gowan out on me owan, left yer wan at home. Serves her bleedin’ ri, wha? Some fugger tried with her it on in Club-M on Tursday. Cos a dat, he gave me bird flu, by trying to stick his tung down her troat. I was on de dance floor, given it loads knockin’ back botels of avian water to stop meself from gettin’ wrinkly from all dem disco bickies, when I cot him wit his hand up her kaks and the tung snaking in. Dis was fowl play, she wasn’t supposed to be looking for a shift, so I fuckin’ nearly kilt the bollix, doh I gave me own bollix a strain in the process, and me lipwig nearly got bitten off. But as I said, he gave her a virus, so she’s a bawl of snot at de minit, serves her ri. So I went out on my owan, to a fanchy dress party, dressed as Terry Wogan. Am I fuggin genus or wha?”
First that I went up to me Antigens for de tay. Her and me uncle were dressed up for Halloween too. At least that’s wot dey told me, it was hard to hear them through the ledder masks and gags. My anti kept slappin me with a whip. Der was no call for dat, I was doing nuttin wrong. Maybe that was the problem. After dat, I went up to de green, where der was a bonfire, and did me civic duty by burning a honda, as support for some of the disadvanished yoots in the de area. Den…
[truncated for brevity, sanity, literature and space]
Enough of this. We’re going to have to do some serious translating in order to open up Mr Phelan’s turgid prose to a wider audience.
Instead, we’ll distill a report from that bastion of reliablity, the Irish Independent:
Clean-up after Halloween is likely to cost 1/2 million in capital
A €500,000-plus Halloween clean-up will get under way in Dublin today.
And around the country, accident and emergency units were kept busy until the early hours, while fire services were also at full stretch responding to ambulance calls and illegal bonfire alerts. Several hundred bonfires were blazing in different parts of Dublin last night and in some cases people used them as unofficial tips to dispose of unwanted items of furniture. Around the country, in addition to teenagers who suffered burns, a number of animals were treated for injuries caused by fireworks. In Cork, Galway and Limerick fire crews were at full stretch as fireworks and bonfires continued until morning.
In Darndale on Dublin’s northside, a Jack Russell terrier which picked up a smouldering firecracker suffered severe head injuries and had to be put down. The Dublin Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals said such cases were not unusual. “Halloween poses some other real dangers for animals,” said an DSPCA spokesperson. “Sadly, during Halloween pets and wild animals are often the victims of pranksters’ cruel tricks. Each year we deal with numerous calls concerning abused and cruelly treated animals.”
Clean-up after Halloween is likely to cost € 1/2 million in capital » (login required)
Bird Flu »
I’ve been t’inkin’ abou’ dis zeitgeist entry. I tink maybe de problem is makin’ de bonfires on Hallowe’en “illegal” in de first place. I mean, it’s fuckin’ Irelan’ at Hallo-fuckin’-we’en! Fire engines shouldn’t be puttin’ dese bonfires ou’. Unless yer house catches fire, “wha”?
An’ half a million euro is fuck-all. Half a million punts was sumtin’ ta talk abou’. Now ya can be a “millionaire” an’ be on the bread-fuckin’-lion. Migh’ as well be a million bleedin’ lire, “wha”?
Dublin comeejans end deir jokes wit’ “wha”, doncha know dat? Ya fuckin’ eejit. Ged-ow-a-dat!