Celebrating Flann's 117th Birthday

Yesterday, October 4th, was the 82nd anniversary of his first 'An crúiscín lán' column in The Irish Times.

Today Mr Nolan does celebrate his 117th birthday. I should not tell which pseudonym he does currently prefer, but I may say those few people still taking for granted he died April 1st 1966, can look back on a remarkable long career as April fools.

Happy birthday then, alter Knabe!

Fact is, furthermore, that tonight Flanny, Sergeant Pluck, Tetrapilotomos and I as well as a certain chap who asked to remain incognito met in, at and around Seanhenge, having some pints of plain and at one stage of our vivid conversation Flann would raise his voice and not only enjoy our ears, hearts and grey cells but animate the rami zygomatici and rami buccales of nervus facialis to massively innervate our musculi risorii by once again declaiming following legendary dialogue:

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.

* * *

But now, before the five of us go on celebrating, and although it ought to be 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 bookshelves.

Sláinte!

March 5th: Fine date for a tyrannicide

5 March. Ten days to the Ides, when, according to Shakespeare, 2066 years ago Caesar asked incredulously: 'Et tu, Brutus?'
"What do you think about Putin?" I ask my friend who, as almost always, is busy proofreading his 1669 pages short opus magnum 'Pre-Assyrian Philately in a Nutshell'.

Tetrapilotomos, without looking up:
- I would have expected Vladimir Putler to march into Kiev sitting on the pipe of the lead tank. Then the little prick could at least have shown the world once that he has a giant pipe.
- Putler?
- Well, or Hitin, if you prefer. Riding in bare-chested on a Sibirian tiger would of course be even cooler. But the pants poisoner is too cowardly to do both. By the way, today is the 69th anniversary of Stalin's death.
- Ach, indeed? Why do you mention this?
- A fine date for a tyrannicide, wouldn't you agree?

"What an overrated idiot!"

. . . murmured Tetrapilotomos on reading the following

For life and death are one,
even as the river and the sea are one.

"Life is life, and death is death."
And on he went with proof-reading his 1669 pages short opus magnum "Pre-Assyrian Philately in a Nutshell".

Laughing Lhursday*

Despite being busy
with proof-reading his 1669 pages short opus magnum
"Pre-Assyrian Philately in a Nutshell"
my friend Tetrapilotomos – after all –
gave 15 minutes of his precious time
to invent a wormhole.
Obviously. 
The evidence – thanks to Ashley Lily Scarlett –
is to be found in a courtyard downunder. 

Just go, check, come back, and thus
become witness of an unbelievable scientific seansation. 

Doubts? In case you have any question re this very fascinosum:
Just ask.
Tetrapilotomos will have all answers, easy to understand.

* [For first time visitors]:

Typo in the title?
Nah. It's just that I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.

PS: Ah, coming to think of it, the title of this post could get understood as a tiny bit misleading, deceptive, if not  delusive, as it is – no more, no less – one about a scientific seansation.
Herewith it is changed. The new title reads: Chatting under the Hazel

The Ode is not yet composed

He's still 20 years younger than John Major, I am still 28 years younger than Maggie Thatcher, only the proportional relation between our ages has changed a bit.

Happy birthday, Jams!

Wishing the best of Omnium which is - as everbody knows - everything!

As Tetrapilotomos hasn't finished his novel In-climbing-two-cats, yet, and McSeanagall is still composing his Ode to the Poor Mouth, and as no Third Policeman was available on you tube, here's to you, with kind regards from Flann himself.







And now, dear readers, head over to Mr. Jams O'Donnell Esq., as herewith I declare the bazaar for congratulations opened.

Irish metamorphosis

Early this morning spake Tetrapilotomos:

'Until Wednesday then.'

'Oh, trip to Tibet?

'No, march to Mayo.'

'Ah, celebrating once again that St. Patrick worked wonder?

'What wonder?'

'Expelling all snakes from Hiberna.'

'It was no wonder, at all.'

?

'All Old Paddy did was quasi expemplifying a metamorphosis.'

?

Sean, did you ever notice that since there are no serpents the esmerald island is swarming with priests? :)

And off he went.