It'll end in tears, I'm telling you!
This week former cross-country runner PAT McART suggests that it will take a lot more than technology to sort out the border issue.
To look at me now - put it like this, the evidence that I haven't missed too many dinners in recent years is there for all to see - it would be hard to believe I was once an enthusiastic jogger. Yeah, man! I even did a couple of marathons. Every day rain, hail or shine I was out pounding the roads.
Living in Culmore back in the day there wasn't a cross-border route that I didn't know, and I was almost on first name terms with certain British army patrols I encountered them that often.
Indeed, it was while pounding along the thought often struck me the Brits were wasting their time on border duty because it was a bit like trying to catch water with an onion bag; when they were guarding one place or even several, our republican heroes were slipping their gear through on some remote path at the back of Galliagh or wherever.
Anyways, the reason I mention this is last week I came across a report where it stated the two governments have agreed there are, officially, 208 border crossings on the island of Ireland. This is the first agreed count since partition almost a century ago.
Apparently the technicians involved in the project described some of the work involved as being 'nightmarish' in that it was all but impossible to map tracks and paths that ran through fields, over bridges, jutted out over lakes etc.
My particular favourite is where it's stated on one section of the Dublin to Belfast motorway, traffic travelling in one direction is in the North while that travelling in the opposite direction is in the South.
I'm neither going to bore myself nor you dear reader by going into a rant about the stupidity of the British claims on how they'll sort out the border issue post Brexit, how it will be frictionless and how we'll all live happily ever after. Technology, they claim, will be the solution.
If you believe this then Hans Christian Andersen is not dead; he's one of the British negotiators for Brexit.
Rappers, eat your hearts out
On hearing of the death of Irish country legend, Big Tom (McBride) I was reminded of the story of the time he played the Fiesta Ballroom in Letterkenny. The place was packed to the rafters and there was traffic gridlock on the narrow road outside the ballroom.
So it became incumbent on the M.C. for the evening to take to the stage and make the famous announcement: "Would the owner of tractor number IIH 708 please move it as it is blocking a combine harvester..."
Cool fans or what?
Boring for England
I once had a conversation with an English man where he took about half an hour explaining to me how a cricket ball was made. I lost the will to live by the time he was finished. I have to admit I often find some of the quirks or our near neighbours mystifying, not least their obsession with the royals.
Last Friday with the two Koreas meeting up, the Israelis using Palestinian protesters for target practice once again what took up a lot of air time on both the BBC and Sky News? Yip, what name would William and Kate give baby number three.
Do none of these royal gushers never stop and think how insane this whole adoration of a bunch of Germans really is?
Foot in mouth
The Buffoon-in-Chief was at again last week, giving a veiled warning to countries who voted against the USA's attempt to stage the World Cup in 2026 there would be consequences.
FIFA, the world governing body of soccer, had to immediately issue a statement pointing out that it was against the rules that there be any political interference in the awarding process.
He really can't help himself, can he? If there is an opportunity to bully anyone he takes it.
A pub with no beer
On a recent cheapo break to Spain myself and Mrs McArt decided to visit Benidorm. It's like Bundoran on steroids. The sun was splitting the rocks and the place was buzzing with music blasting out from every doorway from about noon onwards. It was great.
As it really was hot we decided to pop into an Irish pub that looked cool and inviting. Mrs McArt asked the waitress for a non alcoholic beer only to be told they didn't serve such a product.
My missus wasn't half raging, pointing out the only place in the whole of Spain that seemingly doesn't serve non alcoholic beer is an Irish pub.
What, she observed, does that tell you about us as a nation!!!
Answers on a postcard to.....
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