Another bit of nonsense - for the week that's in it - our police can't count Breath Tests carried out!

When Pal got back to the house. The Dishwasher had a message for him: he didn't have an answer phone. It was “Program Finished Please Empty”.

In the Kitchen The Gunship his DW - Dear Wife - she shopped in Brown Thomas, was waiting for him. She was tapping a large frying pan against her tie: she wore men's clothes, and he didn't think he was in for a fry-up.

“Where has Yous been? And whos was yous talking to?”

Jees, Pal thought she's talking like a gangster, and then he remembered her father, Big Al.

“No one.” Pal said.

“I heard yas!” The Gunship said.

Jees! thought Pal. Twenty five thousand grant-aided Euro's worth of wall insulation and triple glazed windows, and we were half-way down the garden and she still hears us!

“I wasn't speaking to anyone”

“Yous was.” The Gunship said.

“Wasn't” Pal said.

“Was.” The Gunship said again.

“Wasn't!”

“Wasn't!” The Gunship shouted.

“Was so, was so!” Pal screamed back.

“OK! OK! Just a badger.”

“I knew it! One of your buddy’s was down there.”

“No! A badger, a grunting prickly animal.”

“I knew it! It was your other squeeze....Polly.”

“No! IT WAS A REAL Badger, His name is Muscles.”

“Have you been at the Wacki Backi? An' Another Thing!”

Oh! No!, Pal thought - not another thing. Don't say AND ANOTHER THING. You always say that. If it was only one another thing, but it's always more.

“You have a message on your Batphone.”

“What's up? Is Gotham City in trouble again?”

Bam! Zap! Zow! Powie! Frozen Catfish! Pal woke up alone on the floor ten minutes later.

The Gunship Bismark was gone, only the scent of her lingered. He pinched his nose and screamed and his forehead was sore. He thought he was bleeding.

He looked in the mirror, The message The Gunship had left on his forehead was as clear as the squashed nose on his face. It read “Made in China”. 

For the Irish mothers from whom babies were snatched by religious orders - A poem.

In Ireland at the moment we are "discussing" an age old so called Irish problem - a terrible attitude to girls who became pregnant outside marriage.

There are allegations that babies in a mother and baby home in Tuam Galway Ireland were stolen and sold to America for adoption.

Another allegation is that children and mothers were separated at birth and those babies were stolen and placed in foster care.

The worse story however is that babies who died were buried in a waste water management system near the Home.

These are being investigated at the moment.

My heart is broken.

The Stone of Destiny.

Jack was working as a Consultant for a firm who were planning the route for the Gas Pipeline in North County Dublin when a new and startling dimension to his gift made itself known. On site, near the ruined Grace Dieu Monastery one evening he found himself in what he had thought was a field of grain stubble, that was suddenly a real experience of open graves and skeletal remains. A great fear overcame him as he experienced the terror and the shouts and the gore and the hatred that was still somehow part of the atmosphere of what was later revealed as the massacre site of the monastery inhabitants.
These hidden sites across the Irish Countryside were to call to him over the next years as the Celtic Tiger - Building - Boom Projects got under way and often were inevitable halted by the discovery of an ancient wall or settlement that required excavation before completion of the project. Developers were finding it prudent and cheaper to have Jack survey the site prior to purchase. Those that could be developed quickly were selected and the others requiring excavation were either ignored or in the case of the more civic minded developers were first handed over to the Irish Museum boffins for clearance. The police also called on him to find the graves of missing or murdered persons often with spectacular success. The newspapers called him “The Psychic Nose” or the man with “the man with the X-Ray Eyes”. At fifty years of age Jack retired to a modest house near the site of his first “bony encounter” in North County Dublin.
Then the Imbol reached out for she who was awaited.There the story of the Yellow Collins Clan, descendants of the Sidheog Fairies of Rathmore, the Fairy Fort, and their psychic gene would have rested if his daughter Maeve on her twentieth birthday had not asked “Dad what age were you when you first heard the Stone of Destiny sing?”