Angel of Freedom' Neda Agha Soltan

What if you don't want to be the 'Angel of Freedom'?

What if you don't want to be a political piece/a peace bringer/a bigger thing in the light of it all?

What if you'd trade that title for three score years and ten.

But no, while people tried to save you, with a shot to the heart, others filmed your dying moments and it feels mucky.

I'm mucky.

I watched it. Your eyes, aghast at what was happening - the whole surreal moment - your 26 years ending in the company of 1989076 youtube users.

My heart goes out to you Neda, a girl whose 60 second death will be remembered more than her life of 26 years.

RIP

So there’s Dumb, Facebook.

Now meet Dumber, Twitter.

Tweet about yourself in less than 140 characters.

Unless you‘re a master of haiku, it’s kind of limiting.

Two Face book

You shave my back, I'll shave yours

I hate Facebook.

So, Medbh is loving her new haircut, Rob is having a duvet day and Derek
has booked a flight to Liverpool.

SFX (Gun Shot going off).

These Oprahites are bewildering.

A Facebook friend won’t shave your back

or visit you in prison.

The European Grand National

Fianna Fail 3000-1

The European elections are upon us and already I've received my first personalized circular through the door from a Ciara/ Catherine from Fianna Fail, wanting to know if I'll give her my vote and even canvass for her.

Ciara/Catherine, are we friends or even casual acquaintances or are you someone I should admire from afar?

Usually when we're asked to vote or support people in our lives it's usually someone we want to succeed/know/support/admire?

I've never heard of you or what you intend to do for us on a European level. I also note that in your letter, which I binned upon first reading hence the Ciara/Catherine, that you did not state what you intend to do either.

What I got from your personalised circular was that you wanted a one-way ticket to Brussels, jollies and Chimay included.

So, this is the first time you've put yourself forward.

Well, sorry love, but your handlers are pretty gruesome and you're no Mon Mome.

TEAM FIANNA FAIL - NO YOU FECKIN CANT

It's all fur coat and no knickers

So Fianna Fail have hired the wonderful folks who gave you digital Obama, to design their website and make them web 2.0 savvy.

It will take a lot more of the Obama fairy dust to rub off on Team Brian & Mary than this piece of web wizardry.

The site looks good, fair enough and my goodness, they've even decided to go on Twitter. They'll be in good company though - what with Puff D sharing his tantric sex episodes and any arse, poo, wank that comes out of Stephen Fry's mouth trapped in a lift or otherwise.

Yes it's web version 2.0 alright - pity they haven't grasped Politics version 1 though.

Chapter One - the End

The Emperor's New Dining

We booked a table via the Irish Times Offer where plebs can go to places they'd never normally go to, like a Michelin star restaurant and the North-side or in Chapter One's case, both.

The afternoon began with a bump, a literal one. You have to be ring a bell on the glass door to get in, presumably so the staff can get a good goo at you to see if you'll be paying by card or in kind.

I rang it and a waiter with a Maitre D and goatee ( he did have a bad chin) approached and pushed the door towards me. I stepped back with a bump and with some degree of temerity at not being warned of this curious feng shui.

The staid dining room was the usual uppity affair where some high up bank employees where nosing wine, eager to get the last notes before the band stopped playing.

The bread was tough and the potato and leek soup a curious sellafield green with an english addition - dumplings. The English gave us many things, affectation for one which hopefully they'll take back in exchange for a government loan.

Everyone in the cheap seats left the dumplings which shows our palettes are rebelling, if nothing else.
The beef arrived in a roll. A roll! It was braized and reminded me of meat we use to get in the 70's -'bad cuts be braized'.

The wine was good and if I'd had a bottle it might have killed the memory of the food.

A lady approached with the bill asking if we'd enjoyed it and added 'the deal's a good opportunity for people who'd never normally come here'.

So there you are - we were being humoured all along. Sure what would we know what michelin stars taste like?

Let them eat braized steak and dumplings, hold the cake (unless you want to pay an additional €8.50).

P.D.W. R.I.P.

R.I.P Diddy

Show ponies are being sent off to the knackers yard.

The New Year has cultivated a new sense of awareness and if you're still driving a beamer, or similiar ilk, then you're for the social chop.

Years ago (sorry a year ago) when we were obssessed with property, status and cars, a few blondes might have shown you their 'most girl' if you'd thrown the keys to a beamer in the fruit bowl, now you might get a gay - but not a discerning one.

People are becoming embarrassed.

I had a client ( no it hasn't come to that) in the car the other day ( a ford fiesta 2000) and I asked him what he drove.

He pulled out a hanky and muffled 'an Audi' into it with a forced sneeze but was quick to add ' it's an old one.'

So there you are - the people who haven't yearned for a Louis Vuitton, not even a fake one, can rejoice.

These silly Getty displays of wealth are just that, silly - and P. Diddy - you're over.