Oirland - an alternative reality

I posted this in response to a 'challenge' posted in the 'R IRISH Home Service Battalions to disband' thread in Current Affairs, and not wishing to drag that particular subject completely off-kilter, I am postng it here. Will post when I can (or when the blood sugar levels make me sufficently creative 8O ):

Ah yes, I can see it now.......rapidly advancing crane shot across foam-topped waves with Clannad music wailing in the background.

Fade in with Liam Neeson voiceover:

"Oirland…land of myth and legend… whose people have struggled against oppression…for centuries, never loosing their Faith and belief in freedom".
[Diddly-deedle-de-de-diddle etc.]

Uileann pipes rise to crescendo....Sinéad O'Connor starts cattur-wauling as we see a montage of Sealed Knot types running about representing 'Oirland's' struggle against assorted baddies.

Voice over continues with a quick gallop through Irish history.....St. Patrick, Vikings, Normans, English, 1798, 1916, 'Da Troubles', Italia '90 etc...

"Out of this maelstrom of violence and bloodshed (Uileann pipes rise to another crescendo) came the bright light of peace"....cue images of slow-mo street action from Northern Ireland c.1972 showing long-haired Bernadette McAliskey types screaming abuse and being generally unladylike, squaddies head-butting babies and blowing raspberries at statues of the Virgin Mary etc.

Camera pans down to street level. Screen text reads 'Ireland - the present' (we know it's Ireland because there's a cow tied up on the corner and an impromptu session of Riverdance is taking place ). Bruce Willis moves into shot, hunched into an overcoat with a cigarette hanging from his lip.

[Willis voiceover] "This country isn't moine anymore, never really was in the first place anyway"

(This is nearly drowned out completely by the gales (Gaels?) of laughter from people in the audience and raucous questions of 'Wha da feck is dat eejit ment to be sayin'?' and 'Is he playin’ a Taig or a Prod, or wha?' and 'Ah jaysus! Will yis watch me chips!')

Willis's character - James MacNeill - explains how he was reared in Belfast, of a mixed marriage, but moved to Noo Yawk aged 5 to escape 'Da Troubles'. Curious about his past and feeling 'disconnected' - as Irish-Americans are wont to be - he returns home and, stuck for a job, decides to join the RUC Special Branch. His rugged demeanour and gravel-being-stirred-in-a-bucket voice are meant to convey to the slack-jawed audience that he has 'been there'.

"I went up against Republicans and Loyalists - they were all the same to me" (pauses to light cigarette and glances briefly upwards as a few spots of rain begin to fall - now we know this is actually Ireland).

"Never could choose a side. Felt I could make my own way through 'em all, keeping to the law". [note: all this takes place in slow-mo, with a suggestion of suitably sombre and menacing music]

“Trouble was, I liked my job, and was good at it” (flashback montage of RUC chaps accompanied by Hugh Grantish hofficers kicking in doors and catching assorted Bobby Sands clones sitting around a table strewn with potatoes and castor sugar - one manages to squawk ‘Jaysus, da fookin’ peelers’ before firing a shot into the ceiling and being incinerated by a burly para with a flamethrower. Another is caught sitting on the toilet reading the Situations Vacant section of the Belfast Telegraph, but has craftily hidden an Armalite in his underpants…however he has been eating the potatoes and castor and unfortunately chooses that moment to break wind...we hear a muffled scream.

For the next two hours the audience are in hysterics as our hero mooches about the ‘New Oirland’ - Sinn Féin in government and alls well with the world - but he still feels ‘disconnected’. Memories of the past get so vivid that he starts seeing a leprechaun-like character dressed in a Linfield jersey, wearing a saffron kilt and wielding a hurley who taunts him with his past deeds [note: Tom Cruise to play this part, but Ant and/or Dec if budget is tight]

MacNeill’s wife - a former SAS courtesan and sometime Sinn Féin MLA - was abducted and brainwashed a decade before and now works as a lap dancer in a Loyalist drinking club. He drank to forget, so we never learn her name.

The film - ‘Red Hand, Black Heart’ - causes widespread rioting across Northern Ireland but is critically acclaimed elsewhere, sweeping the boards at the Academy Awards. Michael Moore calls it a fitting tribute to a tragic land and victimised people - this sees him being assaulted by the Womens’ Coalition when he comes to Belfast to open the Johnny Adair Crunch Fitness and Remedial Education Centre.

Ireland - 'tis better to laugh, else you might start crying.
Be Careful , Hollywood don't get British irony and might actually think you are serious and make a film out of your post ! :lol:
MacNeill’s wife - played by Kenny Everetts Cupid Stunt? all in the best possible taste ?
James MacNeill’s [played by Bruce Willis] journey through the New Oirland of post-IRA declaration continues…

[Brooding fiddle playing serves as a musical backdrop]

Voiceover - MacNeill walks through the twilight world of the New Oirland in which he feels such a stranger. It’s all changed now, with more Republican Basket-Weaving Clubs and Loyalist Gender Awareness Centres than you can shake a stick at.

[Squawk of protest from the audience - ‘What da fu…?’]

[MacNeill] - “Even the rain here is different now. Before, you could always tell whether the rain was Protestant or Catholic, but now…it’s just rain.”

[Voiceover] - McNeill always thinks back to the friends he lost….Lucius O'Trigger, a tout who wound up teaching lacrosse at Chelsea Ladies’ College…Lt. The Hon. Bertie ffoulkes-ffoulkes, last heard of in Crossmaglen, where he was in deep cover pretending to be a set of goalposts…Billy McPlanter, the part-time policeman and Elvis impersonator…Rita O’Harridan, a one-night stand who rejected Republicanism in favour of bodybuilding - she is now known as Frank…Fr. Ignatius O’Torquemada, renowned bridge player and Bisley champion who now runs his own PMC in Iraq…

MacNeill’s wanderings take him into West Belfast where he chances upon a new wall mural being painted under the supervision of Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen…

[From the audience - ‘Tosser!’ ‘Cut yer hair ya nonce!’ ‘Who’s he?’]

[LLB] - “No, no, no, NO! Anthony is it? What did I say? Feeling! Emotion! The toddler with the Kalashnikov is not saying anything to me.”

[Anthony] - “Er, Mr. Llewellyn. dat’s cause he’s only a wain…”

MacNeill continues on through the wasteland of his memory…

[Voiceover] The island of Oirland has changed since the bright new dawn of peace…

[Loud chorus of ‘Bo**ocks!’ from the audience]

…with many things not what they once were.

Uileann pipes, bodhráns, etc. didly-diddly-diddly-de-de-di-di…

[Panning camera shot sweeps across Belfast city…we see the former Harland & Wolf shipyard which is now the ‘Pack up your Troubles’ theme park;

attractions include:
- recreated street violence c.1974 as performed by the Parachute Regiment Visual Display and Interpretive Theatre Group and St. Semtex’s U-12s GAA team…
- a display of Greco-Roman wrestling and mime by the Ballychav branch of Johnny Adair’s Crunch Fitness and Remedial Education Centre…
- hourly restaging of the Loughgall ambush/massacre followed by reasoned discussion afterwards aimed at ‘understanding both viewpoints’ (a Sinn Féin medium will attempt to make contact with the spirits of the dead volunteers)…
- free rides in a Humber 'Pig' for the kiddies (if you're lucky, they'll even let you run down some pedestrians - yipeee!)

Still feeling 'disconnected' (obviously not a broadband subscriber) our hero MacNeill continues...

[Voice from the audience - 'Aw jaysus, dis is shoite, O'im goin' te 'jack some wheels!']


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Quality stuff - more please.
Germany is enjoying an East Germany nostalgia trip (although, knowing my fashion sense it will have passed). There was a film "Good Bye Lenin" (excellent) that encapsulated the nostalgic zeitgeist (there must be a proper German word for it).

So let's have "Good Bye Gerry". Bernadette is invited to a Sinn Fein do on the eve of the Good Friday agreement. Her son Seamus is on the lash with his Prod mates decrying the sectarian conflict, when he gets into a bit of bother with the IRA heavies, witnessed by Ma. Ma has a heart attack and recovers, but Seamus is told a shock (such as a political upheaval) could kill her. So Seamus sets about recreating the world of the 70s/80s with the help of the Real IRA, and runs around spraying murals on walls with his artist friend etc...
I could have sworn it was RTFQ for a minute

I read the long winded "Johnny Adair Crunch Fitness and Remedial Education Centre" and was crushed when it didn't turn out to be a clever acronym. Shame on you.

No....only joking. Sir, we salute you! 8)
MacNeill hears some commotion on the street, and hoping that the monotony of his existence may somehow be lifted he shuffles forth to investigate….(he moves forward, but halts momentarily as a foot patrol of PSNI officers sprint after a line of Riverdancers disappearing round the corner)

[hubbub of voices issuing forth from the crowd – ‘Hey Ma, wat’s dat?’ ‘Here mister, where’s da fancy dress party?!’ ‘Got any smokes?’]

MacNeill finds his way blocked by an NBC camera crew….

[Nathan R. Hairpiece III, NBC Yurrup correspondent] “You missed a spot…yes, there….no, NO! Oh Jesus, the sh*t I have to put up with…I bet Arnett or those bast**ds over at Fox have decent, PROFESSIONAL make-up people…fine, FINE, that’s enough! …look, quick, he’s on the move again…let’s go!”

[cue ER type music as the crew scuttle after Hairpiece who is dashing towards the object of everyone’s attention…a British soldier]

[Hairpiece] “We’re good?...Right….Thank you Bob…well, as you can see things have taken an expected turn here today on the streets of Northern Ireland, with the first sighting of a British soldier…yes, that’s an actual British soldier…out in the open, for the first time I am reliably informed since God was in short pants”.

[Bob ‘No liberal bias here’ Lieberman IX, back in Washington] “Um I’m sorry there Nathan, could you say again ‘since God was in short pants?’…do I have that right?” (off camera -‘Christ! Did the mics pick that last part up? Jesus! That’s just what we need, the Christian Coalition breathing down our necks!’)

[Nathan] “Yes Bob, that is correct. My understanding is that is what constitutes humour out here”.

[Bob] “Okaaay….well then, have you approached the British soldier? Can you tell us anything about him? Is he lost?

[Nathan] “I’m approaching him now Bob”. “Excuse me sir! Sir?! Over here! Whoa, careful with the artillery there! Okay, so could you tell me a little about yourself and how it is you find yourself out here on the streets of Northern Ireland?”

[Squaddie] “Who the fack are you mate?”

[Nathan] “Oh crap – we’ll edit that out later – err, I’m from NBC and we’re doing a piece on the new Northern Ireland”.

[Squaddie] “Oh right a Septic (sighs)…right, well, officially ya see I ain’t ’ere becoz of the Peace Process an’ all that, but unofficially ya see me an’ me oppos is still ’ere, right?

[Nathan – looking totally perplexed ] “Righhht….I see.”

[Voice from the crowd – ‘Jaysus! He’s a sojer!]

[Nathan] “And where are you from soldier?”

[Squaddie] “That landrover over there”.

[Nathan] “No, I mean what part of Britain?”

[Squaddie] “Actually, I’m from South Africa”.

[Nathan – inane grin in place] “Where in Britain is that?”

[Squaddie] “It’s in Africa”.

[Nathan] “But you’re not black!”

[Squaddie] “I’m not a bleddy ka….ahem, yes, I had noticed that”.

[Nathan] “Errrrmmm….right. Well. Okay. Ah, what’s with the accent then?”

[Squaddie] “Oh zat’s…zorry, I mean dat’s so’s we dan’t put the frighteners on the locals and lead folk to fink dat the British Army is composed of mercenaries and old colonial types…leastways dat’s wot I’ve been told. I can tell you it’s a right pain in the arse having to speak like Tommy Atkins all the bleedin’ time…Hell man, I couldn’t even speak the English before I came over! (he takes out some biltong from inside his jacket and chases it down with two cans of Cuca beer…in the cans). Here mate, wanta see some snaps of some dead terrs I have from back in the old country from when I was with the Recces…?”

[Nathan] “Em, no thank you….right, we’re done here…..

Liam Neeson voiceover: Things – and people - in the New Oirland are never quite what they see seem. MacNeill moves on from the chanting crowd – ‘Nyah, nyah, nayh, nyahnyaaaaaaaaaah! You can’t shoot us!’ – retreating back into the landscape of his memory….

[Voice from the audience – ‘Landscape of memory’ me arse! Wha da feck is dis ment ta be? A bleedin’ tourist video?’]

…recalling friends, enemies and colleagues from times gone by…..cue Uileann pipes, bodhráns etc….duddly-duddly-duddly-didddle-dee….

…Séamus bin Doyle al-Jihad – failed Irish-Saudi orthodentist and music promoter, author of ‘Jihad for Dummies’ and ‘The Martyr Monologues’; last known to have been expelled from Al-Qaeda for running a poteen still and illegal escort service.
- Sister Lucilita ‘Hot Lips’ Hannigan – former 14 Int. operative and currently Northern Ireland Film Censor; at present under investigation for running a bookies out of her convent.
- CSM Dave ‘Gorralight’ Skinner – reprimanded for mooning an Orange parade in 1978, he currently supplies Burberry bullet-proof jackets to Loyalists….and armour-piercing bullets to Republicans.
- Captain Gervase ‘Thanksawfully’ St. John-Ives – crypto-Catholic, noted raconteur and sportsman who had the distinction of leading the only mounted cavalry charge (Queen’s Own Hoorays) in Northern Ireland, when he cleared a march of the Royal Black Preceptory from central Belfast, having mistaken it for a pagan ritual; currently in line to become Archbishop of Armagh.

…dragging himself back to the present MacNeill blinks as he sees before him the unmistakable form of Lt. Col. (Cashiered) Lord Bill ‘Spot on’ Fitzbanshee-O’Brien-O’Reilly-O’Dearme de Whatsit K.C.B., D.S.O., C.I.A. (with bar) etc; famed big-game hunter, womanizer and author of ‘It hasn’t been the same since we gave India back to a shower of lawyers’ and ‘Nasty chaps I’ve shot in Ulster’…
Apologies for the delay gentlemen...

Fade in through the mist with a lone uileann pipe a-wailing.....nyeeeeooooowwwwwwnyeeeooooowwwww...hack! cough! splutter! pteeoww! 'Jaysus Mick, dem fags has me moidered!

Seeing MacNeill, Lt. Col. (Cashiered) Lord Bill ‘Spot on’ Fitzbanshee-O’Brien-O’Reilly-O’Dearme de Whatsit K.C.B., D.S.O., C.I.A. (with bar) etc; famed big-game hunter, womanizer and author of ‘It hasn’t been the same since we gave India back to a shower of lawyers’ and ‘Nasty chaps I’ve shot in Ulster’ lumbers forward and dislocates MacNeill’s shoulder in the ensuing bearhug….

His Lordship is about 92, six foot six and 22 stone; he is clad in DPM plus-fours and Norfolk jacket, golf shoes (‘Church’s mind you, me lad, none of your Eyetie rubbish!’) with Argyll socks in London Irish colours. Perched atop his considerable head is his old regimental headdress – an enormous saffron Irish caubeen complete with 2 foot hackle in ecclesiastical purple (‘Great-grandfather was the Bishop of Cork apparently’) and the badge of his old Indian Army cavalry regiment, the Duke of Wellington’s Own Irish Gurriers, better known as ‘the Bejaysus Boys’. His Lordship sports a black-lensed monocle in his left eye – ‘Anti-tank round at my dining-in back in ’33 don’t ya know, what?!’ – and is attended by his longtime factotum and gentleman’s gentleman, Havildar Hatchetman ‘Nutcracker’ McGurung MM, MC, K.C.V.O. (revoked), VC (stewards’ inquiry), late of the Brigade of Gurkhas.

His Lordship insists on calling McGurung ‘Charles’ on account of this being the name all staff were referred to by members of the New Dehli Hellfire Club. McGurung is about four foot tall and five foot wide; he carries His Lordship’s golf bag complete with clubs, hurley, blackthorn stick and two twelve-gauge Purdeys. McGurung – despite being offered the chance to read Classics at Oxbridge – followed his love of poteen and marmalade sandwiches with which the late Lady F-O-O-O deW would ply him. His primary tasks are to call out ‘Somewhat short your Lordship, sah!’ or ‘Here come dee police sah!’ on the regular occasions His Lordship sees fit to ‘give ‘em both barrels!’ (which is often).

[Lord Bill F-O-O-O deW] ‘Mother of Divine God and the seven snotty orphans, if ‘tisn’t Jamesy MacNeill! Spot on! Capital!’

[MacNeill] (Jesus, my ribs!) Cough! Hack! Say, how’s is goin’ Bill? I haven’t see you in…God, when was it?

[Lord Bill F-O-O-O deW] ‘Blazes, when was it now?...I say Charles, reload this for me there’s a good fellow, what?! Oh, I see, that’s me twelve iron….well, carry on then, it’ll be time for tiffin soon. Where was I? Ah yis! If the old noggin’ serves, ‘twas ‘75 on the roof of the U.S. Embassy in Saigon….a shocking bloody mess, and some damn’d unseemly behaviour, on top of which I had a head on me like a bag of lego after a most invigorating evening with some marvellous bit of fluff from the French Embassy….what was she called?…damn’d Frog names…so there I was about to prove to some upstart from the Foreign Office that I could hit a North Vietnamese T-54 at 200 yards with me No. 2 wood, when...'

[at this moment McGurung interrupts, frantically waving marmalade sandwiches in one hand and one of the Purdeys in t’other…]

[McGurung] Sah! Sah! Sah! Anudder one sah! Many anudders sah! Ovah dah sah!

McGurung is hopping up and down and excitedly pointing across the street to a crowd of youths wearing hoodies, baseball caps, chunky jewellery, Linfield scarves etc….

[Lord Bill F-O-O-O deW] ‘Sweet suffering Saint Patrick! A whole flock of the feckers! Charles! Charles!? Ma Purdey with the walnut furniture, in God’s name hurry man! They may sense our presence! Ha! Ha! Jamsey old man, you’re about to experience the real benefit of this peace process nonsense!’

[His Lordship, using McGurung’s head as a rest, is aiming at the group of youths. McNeill has dived behind the golf bag for protection]

[Lord Bill F-O-O-O deW] ‘Gad! The…big ‘un…with the….eh?…yes, that’s it…‘VonShot’ markings - must be a damn’d Hun lover I’ll be bound - has…seen us Charles! Charles? Stop eating your bloody marmalade sandwiches and stay steady you Nepalese nincompoop,…steady now…'

There’s an enormous double blast from His Lordship’s Purdey, as he fires both barrels in quick succession.

[Voice from the audience] Yahooooo! Shootin’! Dis is morelikeit!

[McNeill] Jeeeeeesus! My ears!

[McGurung] ‘Oooohh sah, me sambos!’

The cloud of shot takes the peak clean off one of the youths baseball caps, causes two to drop their chips and all of them to close their mouths - they flee in panic into St. Fenian’s Catholic Church, where they are set upon with candle sticks and cushions by the under eights choir.

Chorus of voices from the audience - 'Harhardehar! Luccadem chav scum runnin'! 'Aw feckit, oim a bleedin' chav!' 'Aktuelly, dem's call'd chams herabouts' 'A wha? Goawn away with ye ya bleedin' intellektual ya!'

A nearby minister of the Reformed Free Presbyterian Church is interrupted in his sermon - ‘On the presence of members of Opus Dei in UTV and how showering for more than five minutes is a mortal sin’- which he is delivering with Cromwellian zeal to a crowd of American tourists who believe they are in Connemara; the contents of one of His Lordship’s shotgun barrels punches a hole clear through the minister’s bible, which turns out to be the ‘Yank and Spank Digest’, and parts his hair neatly down the middle….the Revd. Theophilus McRoundhead affects not to notice.

[Lord Bill F-O-O-O deW] ‘Bugger the sambos Charles, we’re away, I winged that blighter! Spot On! Reload Charles! Reload! They’re breaking for cover!’

With this, His Lordship is darting across the road, sliding across the bonnet of a PSNI landrover and only stopping momentarily to get the ’phone number of one of the Riverdance girls (‘Do you do private performances ma dear? Yes? Capital! Spot on!’)


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LMFAO. :lol: :lol:

How can you write this stuff at nearly midnight?

Any chance of a bit-part in the film? You can put me in a party of ARRSErs on a NI Night Run piss-up, similar to the Northern ARRSE run etc. I, of course, would be tall and handsome constantly being begged by the distaff side of the NI population to be the father of their many children. :twisted:

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