The night of Friday 12th May saw me in Pearse Street and Saturday saw me outside the Custom House, then back to Pearse Street, before returning home via James Joyce’s old stomping grounds of Finn’s Hotel and Trinity’s forbidding walls. I enjoyed myself.
To get to “the Battle of Pearse Street”, I skirted St Andrew’s Church and cut up through Boyne Street flats, before joining the locals who were laying siege to the 100 or so oddballs chanting like intellectually-challenged Buddhist monks who had been hard at it all night long. Listening to the incessant droning of these Trinity rejects was the worst of it.
I began by talking to the young chap who had thrown the bike that felled the PKK terrorist who, though allegedly reportedly being on an Interpol Most Wanted list, has been allowed live here openly for at least the last two years. Having previously lived in the area and gone to school there, and having already checked in with political veterans from the area, I knew there was no particular risk to me from the locals and, as I could tell from the chanting Buddhists, that they were mostly Mount Anville girls and Blackrock boys of the calibre of Paul Murphy and Eoin O’Broin. I did not feel any threat from them, so I settled in for a few hours of good old-fashioned banter.
The banter, I must confess, was not of the highest calibre and charges that the Mount Anville girls and Blackrock boys were paedophiles was probably a trifle unkind. Not that such charges would worry such folk as many of them take it as a badge of honour. Those kiddy-fiddling accusations were most likely aimed at business associates of the late councillor Anthony “Anto” Flynn, who suicided when he faced charges of raping young boys and robbing funds meant for Dublin’s homeless, PKK terrorists presumably included.
The Mount Anville chanters were akin to whistling past a graveyard. These plastic radicals, with their bicycle baskets full of their Nassau Street vegan food, were getting a whiff of a side of Dublin they were clearly unfamiliar with. If push came to shove, the locals would pull them apart, as greyhounds do a hare. This was evident in the earlier skirmish when the O/C of the PKK encampment was the only one of them up for a fight. Consensus from the locals’ side of the lines was that the Mount Anville and Blackrock lot, together with their they/them pronouns, were going to get the mother of all batterings as soon as they tried to retreat; as the Pearse Street lot were playing on home ground and they had the measure of the opposition, this was going to be no contest. People Before Profit, who had summoned these doomed legions to this, their Stalingrad, had walked them into a trap that would require hospital treatment at best and an autopsy at worst.
Happily, it did not come to that and the People Before Profit Brigade, together with their now very soiled underwear, were escorted back to the front gate of Trinity College, the locals verbally upbraiding the retreating hypocrites all the way. John Molyneux and People Before Profit were, as always, criminally reckless in goading these privately-educated cretins to invade an area where they and their PKK thugs clearly do not belong.
This was also evident afterwards when the Mount Anville lot tweeted that they were better and kinder people than the Pearse Street locals who, if the tweets defaming them are to be believed, spend their time selling drugs to each other (and not, of course, to the privately-educated cokeheads who went to Mount Anville and are now in People Before Profit and a host of dodgy People Before Profit controlled NGOs).
That point is important to show, beneath the Sinn Féin sheen, the hypocrisy that lies at the heart of People before Profit’s teams of cokeheads. Though the average one of them might be more articulate and more expensively dressed than the average protester from Pearse Street flats, that is the benefit of their pampered nurture, not their nature. The social problems of the residents of Pearse Street and Ringsend are not ameliorated by People Before Profit erecting PKK encampments in their midst and Sinn Féin, Fine Gael and similar political opportunists flat-out denying that bands of samurai sword waving PKK terrorists present a clear and present danger to those residents.
Though the bonfire of the shanty town that followed was, as every mainstream political opportunist attested, a great tragedy, it should serve as a warning to PKK terrorists not to leave their bags unattended in lanes which their very presence makes dangerous.
Though Saturday’s rally outside the Custom House was, in many ways, a damp squib, Professor Gerard Casey’s mini-lecture on the legal challenges we all face on a myriad of fronts was a jewel and well-worth taking to heart. Bad times a’coming.
Although Casey and the others are described as far-right orators, because it would take more than them to get us to don brown uniforms and goose-step into Poland, I joined a motley lot who made our way back via Pearse Street to the sh*t-strewn lanes which yet more PKK terrorists were turning into an Irish version of the shanty towns of Paris and Los Angeles. Those with me, good folk, family folk, from South Armagh and Belfast’s Falls Road, pitied the young women working in the offices nearby who had to run the gauntlet of these rapacious characters on a nightly basis.
After some chit chat about a notorious People Before Profit agitator who had previously rammed peaceful protesters with his car, it was back home via Lincoln Place and Nassau Street, where I gazed in at People before Profit’s Blackrock and Mount Anville stormtroopers, who were enjoying their cricket, croquet, tea and crumpets on Trinity’s well-manicured lawns, where they are clearly more at home than in the rough and tumble of nearby Fenian Street.
And, though cricket is not my cup of tea, the pitches of Trinity and the pavements of Kildare Street would make excellent encampments for the PKK chancers Trinity’s finest dumped onto Pearse Street. Taking over Trinity would allow its Buddhist chanters to perform their prayers in peace, they could take selfies with the samurai sword wavers to their hearts’ content and then, they could all say, with complete honesty that, as far as Kildare Street and Trinity’s pitches and Front Square are concerned, “Refugees are welcome here.”