Friday, October 05, 2007

Sláinte, Flannie Boy

Yesterday, October 4th, was the 67th anniversary of his first 'An crúiscín lán' column in The Irish Times.

Today Mr Nolan will celebrate his 96th birthday. I should not tell which pseudonym he does currently prefer, but I may say those few people still taking it for granted he died April 1st 1966, can look back on a remarkable long career as April fools.

In five words: Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag, alter Knabe!

The Plain People of Ireland: Isn't the German very like the Irish? Very guttural and so on?
Myself: Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: People say that the German language and the Irish language is very guttural tongues.
Myself: Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: The sounds is all guttural do you understand.
Myself. Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: Very guttural languages the pair of them the Gaelic and the German.

* * *

And now - although it is most unlikely they exist - to all those who happen to not being in possession of the birthday boy's complete work: Saddle your ponies, folks, and hurry up. The friendly, most well-educated and -sorted bookseller just round the corner will be happy to fill the gaps of your education and in your bookshelf.


  1. Not only was Brian Nolan a brilliant writer, he was also famous for his prolific use and creation of pseudonyms for much of his writings.

    He allegedly would write letters to the Editor of the Irish Times using pseudomys, complaining about his own articles published in that newspaper.

    He was truly a Larrikin!

  2. All of this may be so but does it have twice the effect for having been posted twice?

  3. Mylady, welcome.
    Nothing you wrote lacks of correctness.
    And what Wikepedia wouldn't tell: He performed the leprechaun piano with ardent virtuosity. :)

    you find me puzzled.
    Actually, I deleted the first post, then tried again; and as on my screen only the new one - with the correct date - is shown I thought everything were fine. So, for you there is a double? Very strange.

  4. That conversation sounds like Harold Pinter. He did die, one Christmas.