1979 Soviets invade Afghanistan
10:10
Unique among continents, no war has ever been fought on Antarctica.
19:27
An Triur Rialtas introduces a new immigration exam, imposed on them by Europe, naturally, they think. Candidates have to pass a questionnaire and interview about the basics of Irish life and language.
The interviewing officer is ex-FAS state training agency. Civil service lifer. He has Alpine 'druff.
He has the Pioneer pin, a throwback denoting his pious abstinence. He loves the GAA. Loves it. Knows the old scene. Has cut off modern life. Has no comment on any events that passed since 1990. White hair. Very sympathetic sort as long as you don't cross him in his fixed views.
A black man in the chair. Nigerian in his late twenties. He is trying to pass the Afro-Hibernian entrance exam.
Q: Name the three political parties in Ireland
A: Labour, Sinn Fein and the Mafia.
Q: Correct. What type of political parties are they?
A: Right wing...
Yes?
A: ...Right wing and ...rrright wing?
Correct.
The interviewer perks up because he is enthused about this next question:
Q: What is the national sport of Ireland?
A: Drinking. Ah, yes.
Interviewer sits up straight and looks over his rim of his glasses and smiles kindly. Without marking the page he leaves down his pen. He points to the Pioneer pin on his lapel. “Do you know what this is, Gbenga?”
The African dude leans across for a closer look. Nothing comes to mind but he plays it safe. “I'm sorry sir, does it mean you are a Catholic?”
“No. Well yes, but no. It's a Pioneer Pin. It means I don't drink. There are thousands of us going to mass every Sunday who don't drink. Eh, drinking, is not a sport.” He makes a gesture of hitting a ball with a stick.
The African gent looks puzzled.
He air shoulders and imaginary opponent, while sitting down, in small movements, perfected in his head over the years. His lip curls and he swipes the air again.
The African says “Ahhhhh ... ahhhhh ... tennis!”
He makes a sound like “Wheeuroop!”
“HURLING! Ah yes yes, hurling. I like, I like. That's some crazy sh- yea - game. Heh yeah, Cork. And Kilkenny.”
“Yes, and Waterford and Galway and other places. Very good, Ngemba.”
“Ah ha. They have got big sticks and they swing them in the air. Trying to hit each other. And a little ball. It moves so fast, woo wee. A lot of people get hurt. You see them in blood. Ah yes. They play with broken nose. Players with one eye ... hee heee.”
“Yes, that's it. Hurling. The fastest field game in the world! I played it in my youth!”
“Aha. Mmm.” It's obvious that the interviewer hasn't been hurling or doing any exercise for quite some time. The interviewer starts to sentimentalise.
“Yes, Nbgemba, indeed. I played a bit of hurling. I played minors for Galway, ahem. Well, I didn't actually play. I had a trial for them. Ah. Ahem. Well, my brother did. Brothers. I'm still involved with the GAA myself of course. I'm an organiser now.”
“The G-A-A?” The African mouths the word “Gay” and looks confused.
“Yes, the Gaelic Athletic Association, the Cumann Lúthchleas Gael, eh, that's the Irish for it. I'm currently serving as club secretary for my parish in Celbridge. Ahem.”
The African tries to picture his interviewer as a secretary and skips on. “Ah ha. Yes. And they have the foot.”
“Football yes. We're in division three. Well, listen, Ngbemba. A few more questions for you here on the form. EU regulations, you know, we have to do it.”
“OK!”
Q: So "What is the national language/ are the national languages of Ireland."
A: Ah. Mmm. You have English. And Irish.
The Interviewer perks up again. “Ah good man. You've heard of Irish then?”
“Ah yes. Nobody uses it. Except when they want to talk about foreign people in front of them.”
“Eh quite. Out of curiosity, do you know any Irish?”
“Yeah. 'Benga' is anIM dumm. Pooge mo hoone.”
“Ahhhh. Very good. Well it says here you work in a restaurant?”
“Yes. That's right. I work in the kitchen. I clean dishes the kitchen.”
“Ah very good. That'll be where you learn Irish then?” The Interviewer picks up his pen and looks down. The African recalls some more.
“Yes. Egg mark ee ukht na min aw. I speak French, Italian and German too. As well as English and my own language from Nigeria. We have over 200 languages in Nigeria.”
The Interviewer tries to stave off any more embarrassment. “He, he, he. Very good, eh, Benga. Well let's just say you passed and well, welcome to Ireland.” He offers his hand for a shake. “Do you think you'll ever play hurling yourself?”
Gbenga smiles broadly and shakes his hand. “Thank you. Thank you very much. No.”
23:59
It's like a gay hot zone. A red zone of gay, if you will.
- He had a spare bit of paint ...
Yeah, but it's pink paint. As you well know, gay is not just hereditary. It's catching.
- You can pick it up on the street?
Precis. Although, under normal circumstances you and I would not get the gay just by walking down the road. Given that from time to time we're all subject to - choices - if not to temptation. The immuno-suppressant defences kick in, that's grand. I must say though and it's only fair to warn you, the likelihood of catching gay while staring at a patch of pink paint on the bathroom wall while soaking in the hot tub is massively increased, especially because you are in your nude.
