Celtic Illumination, part 260, Lions led by donkeys.
If you don’t’ mind I’ll take this opportunity to thank all the members of The Illuminati, without whom this blog would be nothing. I would also like to thank you all for your comments, observations, suggestions and your encouragement. There have been so many requests for photographs of my legs, the loveliest legs in Ireland, and some of those from female girl types, that I am considering commissioning a photographer next year to produce a limited edition print. Recently, in response to certain blog content, many of you have questioned the motives behind the actions of the double top secret cabal who organise my life. You believe that on far too many occasions they had brought me too close to danger, arrest and imprisonment.
What you must remember is that although my life did seem to lurch from one crisis to another, the whole thing had a solid foundation and that foundation was Irene. The double top secret cabal, who were structuring my life, so that I would become the greatest ever Master Candle Maker, the High Chief of the Clan O Neill and of course the greatest ever King of Ireland, wanted to produce someone capable of taking Ireland by the scruff of the neck and giving it a good shake and then knocking some sense into the idiots. In order to show me how useless and corrupt the British aristocratic system was, they introduced me to the Duke of Norfolk and his son. It is an open secret these days that if you want to become a Lord in the United Kingdom all you have to do is donate a large sum of money to one of the three main political parties and you can chose your own title.
It’s bad enough seeing people strutting about knowing that a plain brown envelope slipped across a table enabled their rise in society. But even then that’s not enough, we see many of them abuse their positions and suck the system for as much as they can get. The politicians are no better, most of them useless chinless wonders, out for all they can get for themselves. All I shall say is that if these politicians are so good, why is the country in such a state? The people who should be running the country are too busy working for themselves. My double top secret cabal needed me to be at the heart of this corrupt and sanctimonious system so that I could learn how to properly run a country and lead my people. Remember, the speed of the team is that of the slowest man, it’s got nothing to do with what public school you went to.
And Ireland has had its problems, a society riddled with drug dealing gangsters and terrorists and then there was the IRA too. That’s why I was being acclimatised to weapons and drugs in a civilian setting. From my very first trip to London with Finbar, where I met people with withered limbs from injecting drugs, to the horrific films we had to endure in the air force, it was all for a reason. I had rubbed shoulders with those who were consider to be in the upper echelons of society, I worked alongside people with no moral compass who spent every waking moment chasing pound signs, this was all to show me how empty their lives really were and to show me the things in life that had real value. But my double top secret cabal had taken things one step further, as they always did with every aspect of my training and preparation, while I was eating pheasant and drinking whiskey with the duke of Norfolk the business community in Ipswich had taken so much legal action against me I wasn’t considered trustworthy enough to be allowed to open a bank account anywhere.
The double top secret cabal were now showing me the other side of the coin. The face of Thatcherism was ugly enough; the open greed and vomit inducing opulence had a flip side, for those unable to keep up the pretence were shunned by society. I really could never understand how people, who had huge mortgages, cars bought on finance and holidays on credit cards could stick their noses up in the air and pretend that they were better than a good ol boy who didn’t trust banks, paid for most things in cash and rather than live a life of pretence lived a practical life. Although at the time, having to go through these trials wasn’t easy, I can now see that they made me the man I am today. And on that day, or should I say evening in the Town Arms in Wallingford, I can assure you that I was certainly faced with a dilemma. Ten thousand pounds to shoot a man in the head and kill him, what would you do?
Graham as you might expect was all for the idea. I knew that it was the easiest thing in the world to shoot someone in the head at close range, but I also knew that the hardest thing in the world was living with that nightmare for the remainder of your life. That’s if you found it a nightmare, no one knows how you will react until the trigger is pulled and although I wasn’t willing to take that chance I found myself arguing with Graham. Graham told me that as he knew the area he would be the driver, I could go to the house, knock on the front door and shoot the fellow in the head when he answered the door. We would split the money so we each got five thousand pounds. I argued that if I was doing the killing I wanted eight thousand; I couldn’t believe what I was saying for I knew I would never shoot anyone in the head.
Graham was adamant that we would follow his plan, he would drive and I would pull the trigger and it was five thousand each. First thing the following morning I made for the centre of London. I needed to be alone and where better than standing in the middle of six million people, each and every one of them too busy and important to give you the time of day. I made my way to Piccadilly Circus and then remembering that Chris would normally have drink at Saint John’s Wood tube station decided to walk over there. It was a lovely day and I strolled along relaxed and happy but thinking about what was going on around me. The scrapes that I had already found myself in, because of my connection with Graham were bad enough I knew that if I remained with him that something serious could happen; I was going to have to leave. Leave Graham, Wallingford, London, I had had enough of the bullshit and pretence, I needed a real life.
I found Chris at Saint John’s Wood and we enjoyed a few beers. I liked being in London with Chris for he knew many interesting people, most of whom were drug users or pushers or both. He informed me that there was a bit of party at the flat where he dossed during the week so we bought some booze and made our way there. It was a strange place and seemed to be located in the middle of a train yard. I think there were six bedrooms in the flat with a common room at one end and a large kitchen at the other end. Again I was to meet strange characters but real people. One of the guys had just got married that morning and we were celebrating. Once again my eyes were opened as this fellow had been paid five hundred pounds to marry an Indian lady. She could now stay in the country legally and after the appropriate amount of time had passed they would divorce. In all he had spent twenty minutes with her and would never see or meet her again.
The main fellow in the flat was a large chap with a beard. He was quite a successful drug dealer but he was also very liberal with his own stash. Part way through the evening a Belfast fellow came in. I was delighted to hear a familiar accent but this fellow wasn’t stopping, he too was a drug dealer and was doing his rounds. He produced a small brown ball and asked if anyone wanted to buy some opium. Chris immediately bought the opium and I was secretly pleased for I had never seen or come across opium before, apart from in books. I hoped that later on Chris would allow me to touch it and smell it but alas he popped the ball into his mouth and swallowed it. I had always thought that opium was smoked but Chris informed me that the best way to take opium was to swallow it, it wouldn’t affect him that evening but for the following day or two he would be floating around on cloud nine. For me another literary connection had been made with Thomas De Quincy’s classic book, ‘Confessions of an English opium eater.’
The next day as Chris began floating around inner London I made my way back to Wallingford happy with my decision that I should leave. Telling Graham might be tricky but my mind was made up. The house was empty so I had a good old shower and change of clothes before wandering up the street to the office. The office had two main rooms; one was the conference room while the other was where the secretaries worked. I could see that Graham was in the conference room with a couple of fellows so I went in with the secretaries. There was a strange atmosphere in the room and one of the girls indicated that I should come closer to her. I did and she whispered to me. The worst thing about doors with glass panels is that you can see through them and I could see through both doors into the conference room. One of the fellows with Graham was looking at me and I was calculating if I could get out through the front door onto the street before they could get out of the conference room and catch me, for once again, and I was assuming because of the handcuffs he was wearing, was that Graham was under arrest by police officers from Scotland Yard and I wasn’t exactly happy with the way they were now looking at me.