09:00
1969 'Giant leap' as astronaut Neil Armstrong steps on to the lunar surface
1969 'Giant leap' as astronaut Neil Armstrong steps on to the lunar surface
10:21
A bird calls on the radio promoting her "boot camp" summer fitness club. She sounds like her dad didn't love her so she became blokey. Or maybe there's a blokey gene coding for blokey proteins in the Irish girly DNA. That would explain a lot. (Or perhaps the camps could be more - camp.)
11:39
These radio stations, one is as bad as the other. She's on about sport. He's talking about eating disorders. It's silent with dead air again. Bimbos, himbos and limbos.
11:59
Fnar. Rugby Tom got the yachty types he was interviewing in a snot. Yachty paroxysms. "Ask a straight question. You saying it's snobby?"
RUGGO-TOM, DEADPAN, IN HIS ASHTRAY VOICE: No, but you don't just walk out and buy a 30 ft yacht.
YACHTY: "There's plenty of boys down the yacht club passionate about their sport."
Testy. Time for the ambulance. Angelus.
12:00
Donnnnng.
12:06
- Thanks for the News, Charles.
(PAUSE as silence sweeps in from Radio Central when suddenly) Country and Western music blasts out (radio self-destructs automatically).
12:20
That terrorist does a lot of talking but he's not so quick to get his hooks dirty.
18:33
Report by Dublin transportation office calls for more integration. That's your job, buddy. Everything is always two years away to get done - WTF?
18:45
Copenhagen - 25% of journeys made by bike. In London it's 1%. In Dublin, it'll be the last journey you ever make.
22:30
So anyway, these molls, right, absolutely fucking stunning. Not a word of English. Wearing leopardskin and tight clothes bit of bling and best, the BEST bodies you've ever seen.
No. Definitely not local. No. Not fishhook either. Coming in to MY building. I lock my bike in the basement and I'm strolling up the ramp when they make a beeline for me.
They're smiling and flirting with me and saying something in broken Swinglish about number five. Well, this is the same flat in my building that got raided by the cops earlier the month. One of the sub-lets. I come home to find splinters all over the landing. The Hammer and Saw came by and wanted in. The landlord wouldn't - I say refused - to give them a key. So they had to smash it down and arrested two people. Some kind of forgery operation going on in there. The Gardai found a printing press and all. Looks like they were turning out fake IDs for human traffic.
So number five door is barricaded since the police raid. Bolted, boarded, nobody is getting in. After a few minutes, the babes leave my building empty handed. I know, because I'm watching their sweet little behinds waking away - through binoculars.
Fast forward two weeks or three later, and the sexy pants are spank-banked and forgotten about. Then, I hear on the radio this morning that the police raided all the lap-dancing clubs in Dublin last night. In a big vice sweep. Targeting illegals working in gentleman's clubs all over the country. It's called 'Operation Query'.
- Oh yeah. I heard about that.
They're arresting hundreds of dancers holding fake documentation. All documents printed in the pad downstairs in number five, by my reckoning, see? These two sexy bits were lap dancers, wanted to get their phoney passports back and skip the country. Turns out the cops had been following the trail for months.
- Wouldn't mind following up that trail, by the sounds of things.
Hoo.
A bird calls on the radio promoting her "boot camp" summer fitness club. She sounds like her dad didn't love her so she became blokey. Or maybe there's a blokey gene coding for blokey proteins in the Irish girly DNA. That would explain a lot. (Or perhaps the camps could be more - camp.)
11:39
These radio stations, one is as bad as the other. She's on about sport. He's talking about eating disorders. It's silent with dead air again. Bimbos, himbos and limbos.
11:59
Fnar. Rugby Tom got the yachty types he was interviewing in a snot. Yachty paroxysms. "Ask a straight question. You saying it's snobby?"
RUGGO-TOM, DEADPAN, IN HIS ASHTRAY VOICE: No, but you don't just walk out and buy a 30 ft yacht.
YACHTY: "There's plenty of boys down the yacht club passionate about their sport."
Testy. Time for the ambulance. Angelus.
12:00
Donnnnng.
12:06
- Thanks for the News, Charles.
(PAUSE as silence sweeps in from Radio Central when suddenly) Country and Western music blasts out (radio self-destructs automatically).
12:20
That terrorist does a lot of talking but he's not so quick to get his hooks dirty.
18:33
Report by Dublin transportation office calls for more integration. That's your job, buddy. Everything is always two years away to get done - WTF?
18:45
Copenhagen - 25% of journeys made by bike. In London it's 1%. In Dublin, it'll be the last journey you ever make.
22:30
So anyway, these molls, right, absolutely fucking stunning. Not a word of English. Wearing leopardskin and tight clothes bit of bling and best, the BEST bodies you've ever seen.
No. Definitely not local. No. Not fishhook either. Coming in to MY building. I lock my bike in the basement and I'm strolling up the ramp when they make a beeline for me.
They're smiling and flirting with me and saying something in broken Swinglish about number five. Well, this is the same flat in my building that got raided by the cops earlier the month. One of the sub-lets. I come home to find splinters all over the landing. The Hammer and Saw came by and wanted in. The landlord wouldn't - I say refused - to give them a key. So they had to smash it down and arrested two people. Some kind of forgery operation going on in there. The Gardai found a printing press and all. Looks like they were turning out fake IDs for human traffic.
So number five door is barricaded since the police raid. Bolted, boarded, nobody is getting in. After a few minutes, the babes leave my building empty handed. I know, because I'm watching their sweet little behinds waking away - through binoculars.
Fast forward two weeks or three later, and the sexy pants are spank-banked and forgotten about. Then, I hear on the radio this morning that the police raided all the lap-dancing clubs in Dublin last night. In a big vice sweep. Targeting illegals working in gentleman's clubs all over the country. It's called 'Operation Query'.
- Oh yeah. I heard about that.
They're arresting hundreds of dancers holding fake documentation. All documents printed in the pad downstairs in number five, by my reckoning, see? These two sexy bits were lap dancers, wanted to get their phoney passports back and skip the country. Turns out the cops had been following the trail for months.
- Wouldn't mind following up that trail, by the sounds of things.
Hoo.
