Neal’s Belch no. 138 for 14th Jun, 2004
Today’s Belch will be sub-standard.
This is due to the fact that it’s hot and sunny and I want to go out and make sandcastles. So I’m in a hurry. I hope you’ll understand.
In case you don’t, I’ll repeat it for you in Irish.Ta sé te agus ta an ghrian ag something amach. I think taitneamh is the word, but I’m not sure. I’ve never had much confidence when it comes to translating meaningless sentences into obscure local languages just for the sake of showing off to foreigners, and today is no exception.
Ta brón orm.
Anyway as I sit here at my new kitchen table, on my new wobbly kitchen chair in my eight by ten bedsittingroom apartment on the outskirts of Dublin city, Ireland, I can’t help but think back on that day, in the nineteen eighies, when the late (no offence), dead (no offence) President (no offence) Ronald Reagan visited Ireland and spent a day waving at us on the television.
Now, many of you will remember my discussion some time back of the visit Pope John Paul II. At the time, I explained why it was okay, for complicated reasons to do with the local economy, for the pope to eat popcorn during his visit, despite having taken a vow of poverty.. I have since been praised by the Vatican for my fairness and accuracy in that piece, and also for my continued obeyance of the ten commandments, except the one about coveting my neighbour’s cat.
So clearly I am well qualified to speak about the snacking habits of other prominent world leaders, past present and future.
And in case that’s not enough, I’ve recently made my peace with my neighbour, and have arranged, at my own expense, for a reputable veterinary surgeon to reverse the coveting.
The late President Clinton choked to death, as you know, as a delayed result of eating one of those twig shaped things that Americans like. I can never remember what the damned things are called.
Twigs, maybe. I’ve just realised that I’m confusing him with George Bush junior. I’m sorry but I’m from Ireland and I don’t follow American politics very closely. Anyway I’m not going to bother deleting it. Every word that I type here is one of my babies. Except “twigs”. I would never be so cruel as to name a child after a piece of a tree. I would name the child first, then name the piece of the tree. Some people in this world seem to think trees are more important that human beings.
Anyway, President Reagan, while he was visiting my country, declared that he had just discovered that his ancestors were from Ballyporeen. Nobody had ever heard of Ballyporeen until then, but suddenly it was the place to be.
So everybody went there, and stood in a crowd on the street while Ronnie made a speach about something or other. I was around ten years old at the time, and I didn’t understand much of what he was saying, But I liked that routine that he did about the other queues in the supermarket always moving faster than yours.
I remember very clearly a day, back in the mid nineteen nineties, when President Clinton visited Ireland. He drank beer with the Irish head of government and his girlfriend, made a speach, went shopping with his wife and kid, paid a courtesy visit to our head of state, and helped sort out the peace process.
By the time he’d finished, it was almost lunchtime. Anyway, two cats walk into a bar.
One of them goes up to the bartender and orders a large double vodca and a saucer of milk. He doesn’t like milk, he just drinks it in front of the other cats to make him look tough. The other cat orders a large double vodca and a saucer of semi skimmed. Five minutes later he’s regretting it big time, as fifteen cats crowd round and laugh mercilessly at him.
But he doesn’t care. If there’s one thing that the cat has learned during his two years on this planet, it’s that image is nothing, thirst is everything, drink Sprite. Or was it 7up? I can never remember.
When I was a young child, 7up had an advert that was adapted from the song “Bette Davis Eyes”, which was a hit in the early eighties. It featured a very loud drum beat, which used to scare the carp out of me. So I preferred Club Orange. Nowadays, of course, I’m all grown-up, so I don’t worry about things like drums. I just get on with my life, and let them get on with theirs.
Live and let live – that’s what I always say. Well, I don’t actually say it. But I’m sure it’s relevent to all this in some way.
I told you it was going to be sub-standard today so stop whining. They’ve been mostly tolerable lately. And that’s not just me saying it. Look at this praise:
“Neal’s Belch is fantastic. I don’t know how he does it, when you’re not allowed to have pencils in prison. I think he’s, like, producing his own ink now. Like a squid or a crab or something. Or is it horses? No. Horses make glue don’t they. Whatever” – Anonymous person in the street
“So it’s a belch now is it? In my day, it was a burp. And frankly, I don’t like change.” – Anomynous reader
“I swear by Neal’s Belch. Which is cool because an oath is only valid if you use a bible, so what I do is wrap a Dilbert book in a sheet that I’ve printed off his website. Then I produce that in court and swear by it. It’s kinda like having my fingers crossed behind my back.” –Anomynous suspected criminal