THERE’S a long tradition of satire and literary merry-making in Ireland upon whose bosom I find myself borne these last few weeks.
I’m beginning to think there is ample zest and grist in the mill of day-to-day happenings and news to temper my quill. So, in the spirit of satire and embracing the sacred right of the bard to disapprove of elites and the law-dee-daws, here goes with a song about Phil Hogan, the man of the moment.
Though I started out to slag and berate Phil for his apparent cavalier approach to the Covid guidelines, I began to feel sympathy for him as time went on. I turned instead on his critics, as I’m wont to do; on the Super Do-gooders whom I mentioned two weeks ago.
There’s a great man in America called Jim Page and we’re friends since the heady days of the anti-nuclear campaign when, unless you have conveniently forgot, we, the musicians of Ireland stopped the Government from installing a nuclear power plant near a sacred place, Our Lady’s Island in the county Wexford.
Well, Page was there and he had the gift of ad lib versification; making a song up as he went along, which is a fantastic gift.
Two other good men that I know or know of also had the gift: Woody Guthrie and my cousin, Martin ‘Smiley’ Daly, a member of Stokers Lodge and twas a wonder the way he wove the lines and verses in public without any rehearsal. Sure, maybe that’s where the real truth is?
Sing today’s song to the tune of Brennan On The Moor.