You Were Laughing At My Helmet Head

I had a fantasy come through over the weekend. Not a hot sexual one, mind. I am a born again virgin thanks to the nefarious intervention of Jesus. No, my bookshop fantasy was fulfilled.

Everyone dreams about winning the lottery and ending all their financial concerns forever or at least until they buy up all the Faberge eggs they can afford. My windfall fantasy was that I would go to bookshops, Hodges and Figgis, Chapters and Waterstones on Dawson St. in Dublin and onto amazon and just buy everything I ever wanted. Enough books to stock a whole library that fills a circular room mostly made of glass on the 1st floor of the beautiful house I would build with the rest of my lottery money. (Montaigne had a round library and that was back in the day so I think my dream could reasonably be fulfilled).

Anyway, last Thursday I got to go North and Across The Border to the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland, which is a different Jurisdiction, to a bookshop in Church House (Centre of Irish Presbyterianism) where I just pointed out books and the helpful shop manager put them into boxes for me. UK£5,000 later I was finished. I had accomplices in this task by the way and even though we walked into a shop, pointed, gesticulated, talked loudly at the shop manager and each other and then walked out with many hundreds of books and drove them south of the border, we did nothing illegal.

Its all for a bookshop my church is opening. Many people dream of owning a little bookshop that serves coffee and doesn’t put Beckham biographies in prominent shelf space. I have compromised somewhat by becoming the manager of a Christian bookshop that serves coffee and will only stock Left Behind titles under Humour. It opens next week. If you live around Maynooth you are welcome to come to the gala opening. I am still confirming the Pope and Bill Hybels (Evangelical Pope) but all should come good.

I spent a large amount of my time over the weekend with my nephew, S. At three months I can decisively say that he doesn’t have the family nose, which is a relief. We have large Shylock noses, in the sense of the racially suspect Jewish stereotype nose. Not in some modernist Merchant of Venice where all the characters are played by trained dogs and chimps. Comparing my nose to a Shylock played by a chimp might be anatomically valid but it wouldn’t carry much meaning. Then again, Shylock is hardly the most well known character ever created and so the whole comparison is shaky. Even if humans are playing Shylock.

He is a very mobile and expressive baby. I harbour hopes that he will play right back for Ireland at the World Cup. The number two shirt would look good on him. I don’t want to jump the gun on him but if he isn’t capped at international level, then he is out of the family.

In other good weekend news, Man City avoided relegation, Ben Folds is playing here in November and today is a Bank Holiday. Whoo!

Your Correspondent, He Wishes He Was More Like You

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