I’m leaving Dublin this evening. I don’t know when I will come back. Probably for pleasure; the end of March I have tickets for a Keywest concert at the Olympia. I have already asked someone to join me, and she has already said she would be most honoured.

It doesn’t happen often, for someone, anyone, never mind a beautiful person and woman, to say they would be honoured to be seen in public with me.

This Christmas and New Year has been abusive to my person and projects. Neo-terrorism is real: the targeting of specific individuals, humble individuals, never necessarily public ones as yet, just potentially public, just potentially a threat to the extreme right-wing nuts and their horrible interests, is happening – and to me, since 2002 at least.

I shall survive somehow, and then I shall gather forces and begin to fight back.

To edit the realities stealthily and cruelly of any individual is an abuse of power not conceded by real democracy.

Neither shall I concede it ever, myself.

I love Ireland, more particularly Dublin, like no place except – perhaps – Liverpool. But I need the good people who live here to want to approach me and to want to work with me – or, at least, for them to allow me to approach them; for in truth, to date, whilst super-notable exceptions – on Instagram, on LinkedIn – are clearly and undeniably the case, the terrible majority of the individuals I actually encounter face-to-face in the street aim to hurt and injure and pain and eventually dismantle me.

I know some of you are my own family, too. Six of you, perhaps.

That’s really sad.


I shall not necessarily triumph either; but unbowed and proud to the end I shall aim to remain.

Have a good one, yeah? The best craic you ever could. The English fly, come to buzz the peace, no longer will be your colonialist.

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