Scribe

Your indignant reply suggested otherwise. Don't mention it. I wasn't. I was making light fun of the Irish, and in doing so, drew your attention to the injustices suffered by the parents of Earls and O'Driscoll. That's just baseless supposition on your part. But you're right, in that if there was "more to it" (which there isn't), then you'd never find-out. The reason being is that I'm a faceless, online entity, and you're a [lesser] faceless, online entity, so the chances of us ever meeting, discovering who each other are on the East Dulwich Forum and thus giving you the chance to pose your baseless question in person are (hopefully) incredibly slim. No, I most certainly am not. I am of proud Anglo-Saxon stock, and I've even traced my noble lineage all the way back to the House of Wessex. This matter is now closed.

Firstly, the Irish are not a "race". They are a nationaility. Secondly, no, I don't "dislike" or harbour any ill will against the Irish. They're a decent people; and produce fine rugger specimens. If anything, my little pastiche only really serves to highlight how petty the Twickenham stewards were being towards the parents of messrs O'Driscoll and Earls. Although I concede that I perhaps should've said/written as much at the foot of what seems to have (unintentionally) mauled your feelings. Although I refute the claim that I have "consistantly taken the piss out of the Irish at various points". In short, it wasn't my intention to hurt your feelings, Narnia. P.s. Don't be so precious. It was just a bit of fun.

Forgive me for digging-up old news, but did anyone else hear of or read about the "ma" and "da" of Limerickmen Keith Earls and Brian O'Driscoll being prevented from entering the Twickenham VIP lounge last year? Twickenham. 6.30 pm. Ireland have just recorded a fortunate but clinical 20-16 victory over England. Many Englishmen and a few cultivated Leinster- and Ulster-men are merrily chewing over the game in a function room. All present are clad in appropriate attire. A noise erupts from the entrance. It is the unmistakable sound of the bogs - loud, affronted, and violent. The stench of poteen wafts across the room. Twickenham Steward #1: "I'm sorry, sir. You can't enter. We have strict dress requirements". Red-faced Munster Hoon #1: "Ah come on now, boy. Seriously, Aubrey, like, do ye not know who de feck I am? I'm Keith Earls' feckin' Da, so I am". T. S. #2: "That may be so, sir. But we have dress requirements. I'm terribly sorry". Red-faced Munster Hoon #2: "Come on now, lads. Don't be acting the maggot". T.S.#1: "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do". R-F MH #1: "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this is feckin' discrimination, so it is! No blacks, no dogs, no Irish, I know yer game, boy!" Twickenham Steward #1 looks quizzically at Twickenham Steward #2. R-F MH #2: "Yeah, we know yer game ye English bastards! I'll tell youse for nuttin' that ye can stick yer feckin' dress requirements up yer stiff English asses ye sons of Tans, ye!" Twickenham Steward #2 raises an eyebrow but continues politey to usher away the Munstermen. Munster Hoon #1 takes a swig of poteen and jabs his finger at the Steward. R-F MH #1: "Did ye not watch de match sure? Dat was my lad in de corner, did ye not see? And what's wrong wit me dress anyway, like?" T. S. #1 "It's not usual to wear trainers, tracksuits trousers and sports jerseys in the function rooms, sir. I'm afraid we're rather strict on that sort of thing". R-F MH #2: "Jesus, Ger, he's sayin' yer runners are no good! Does he not know they're feckin' Adidas, like? These feckin' English have no idea boy!" R-F MH #1: "Ah sure, Paddy, they've no idea about runners in England. Sure, I could be wearing Diadora and this fella wouldn't have a clue". R-F MH#2: "Ah sure, f_ck it, Ger. I'd sooner drink cat's piss than drink with these Tans anyway".

Narnia, even if you could provide me with a herd of excitable drunks from the backwoods of Munster, you'd still be unable to achieve the desired atmosphere that accompanies any crowd of paddies getting pissed indoors - an inpenetrable cloud of cigarette/cigar/pipe/Union Jack smoke. Thanks for the offer, though.

Tell me about it, *Bob*! It's a real tragedy. No longer can an honest, taxpaying gent walk into a local drinking house and spend an afternoon watching a group of drunken Irishmen shouting at the horse racing on the tele, pausing momentarily to murmur to one another, then chuck a couple of fivers and some loose change into a crumpled old hat on the floor. Now it's all gone wi-fi and continental urinal cakes. One can only despair at today's licensed travesties.

If only, *Bob*. If only... But I'm asuming you'd prefer to make a scene over sipping from a bottle of fairtrade ethicalpop in the ipod Arms, instead of hunching over an honest pint of diesel in the Fallout Inn.

True, with C****** C***** being a prime contender for the most pretentious parade in London. Camden Town lead by example for well over two decades, until half of it (thankfully) burned down.

I'm more of a real ale rambler, myself. But I would've thought someting more along the lines of a 'tapas tour', 'bistro beano' or 'gastro galavant' would be more in keeping with the undeniably pretentious image of "the strip".

Playing video games in adulthood - now that is truly "weird". A bit sad, even.

This has been the economic trend (over the last decade) in most of the hostelries that once catered for their locale. Now it's more mood lighting; less plebs.

Mark my words, a beasting awaits the French at H.Q this Saturday. The disappointing thing for us, however, is that the French rather enjoy bending over and taking six of the best from England. They even have a term for it: la vice Anglais. Indeed, I rather suspect that Lievremont's willfully provocative words are just cheeky foreplay designed to make Johnno and the boys beast them harder. It makes good viewing to watch England chase after a band of squealing Celts for 80 minutes and apply the stick to their resentful rump, who at least have the gall to look us in the eye, before their own begins to water. It's not quite so fun to roar out at Twickenham and find Jean-Claude already lying on the turf smoking a Gitane and waiting for his punishment to commence. Still, I'm looking forward to the game.

Er, no. I didn't know anything about there being an option that allows me to edit a post without the edit being noted. And I'm at a loss as to why you'd think I did. But thanks for the info all the same. Ta.

How did you adjust the edit notification without it being noted a second time? I'd love to know, as my admittedly petty, perfectionist ego takes a blow every time I have to correct even the slightest error.

Mankind has been trading in arms since the discovery of fire. So, in your so-far undeclared (but oh-so transparent) logic, David Cameron is as guilty as the rest of us. And there's nothing wrong with selling weapons. Using them on innocent, vulnerable or unarmed (although that last example is debatable) civilians is morally wrong.