Unaccountably, there is no sign of the revolution - yet. Its possible that this is always the way. Fellow visionaries, having read my last blog, may be mulling over the propositions made in it. It could be that they hesitate to embrace the freedom of anarchy, or that the prospect of all our politicians banished to a dismal island strikes them as too severe. Or maybe not severe enough. All I would say is that the idea of banishment is a well tried method of punishing miscreants. Back in ancient Rome placemen who failed the Emperor were always being banished so there's nothing new there. Of course it could be that people are mulling over the appearance of Balls O'Leary from Dalkey and Andrew Martin in my account of life in Loughrea.
Ballso sounds like the sort of wastrel who would wash up in the west, fleeing from the respectability of life in Dalkey. You can just imagine him fag in mouth,hat at a rakish angle, hiding the thinning strands of hair on his head and the brim shading the glowing red of a bibulous nose. He's be great craic in the pub, full of yarns about the fast life of Dublin and just enough irreverence to endear him to the west. But the clincher, the quality that marked Ballso as one of our own would be an intimate knowledge of the horses.
Andrew Martin, on the other had had something shady about him.Where Ballso had an address of sorts, Martin could have come from anywhere. In fact the name is so anonymous you'd be hard put to place him anywhere. No provenance, that's the fellow's trouble - even though it was said he was related to Dusty Martin - well known to the stewards of every racetrack for using the whip. However there was no question that Andrew Martin's reputation was connected to unspecified shennigans of a sexual nature.
As an example, I would refer to a case that came up before the District Justice lately where a young man was waiting on a window ledge at the West Bridge for a lift home. Having had a drop or two(in other words he was legless)he was letting his mind wander back to happier times when he shared a flat with a young person directly across the street from the window ledge. In the circumstances it seemed to him that the time had come to renew his acquaintanceship with the girl in question, so he popped across and got in a window. Once in the house - which was empty- he realised he had made a mistake and it was while he was climbing out that the squad car came upon him and led to his appearance in the court. There his solicitor Gerry Moylan explained to the judge that his client's behaviour was down to him being carried away by amorous thoughts. Or as my aunt Eilish would have put it, he was up to his Andrew Martins.Or would have been, if he'd got the right house.