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Daragh McManus: These are eggs-traordinary times

How does that old saying go? "Pity the land that has no heroes; pity more the land that needs them."

Well, we need a hero, right now. We need one so badly, we're this close to putting an advert in the classified page of Superheroes Digest: "Help! Hero needed ASAP. Send everyone you can. PS Don't bother sending Green Lantern, he's useless and his costume is too revealing for our Irish Catholic sensibilities."

Yes indeed, we need a hero. Step forward, then, Gary Keogh. The man who became famous for throwing eggs at an AIB meeting in 2009 has returned to prominence by, eh, throwing eggs at a Bank of Ireland meeting. Okay, he's just got the one tune, but it's a good one.

Besides, we all feel so powerless about what's gone on that hurling foodstuffs at suited men seems not just an appropriate response, but perhaps the only response.

The Irish people have done the election thing, they've sobbed on-air to Joe Duffy, they've bored me to insensibility by jawing on and on about the bloody economy for the last three years as if any of us have the first clue what the Jaysus we're talking about. (Note: this does not apply to Constantin Gurdgiev, who does know what the Jaysus he's talking about.)

None of it changed anything. We're still getting shafted six ways from Sunday. Sometimes, goddammit, a spot of egg-throwing is the only ticket.

Maybe we could broaden our horizons, though. How about bringing back the stocks? Rotten fruit and veg make a perfect accompaniment to some fat banker's face. Hell, let's bring back the guillotine altogether. That'd bring a "sharp edge" to the national discourse.

Eh? Hello? Is this thing on? Hello?


I love how people refer to disparate masses of people on the internet as if they were single, coherent entities. The Twitterverse. The Blogosphere. The LinkedIn-ogopoly. (I made that last one up, but feel free to steal it.) It makes all these individuals, tapping away at their keyboard in splendid isolation, feel a bit more important and involved, I suppose.

More often than not, these terms are used whenever there's a mighty row a-brewin' online.

"The Twitterverse is up in arms!" they'll screech. "The Blogosphere has declared war on such-and-such a celebrity jerk!" they'll declaim.

The Twitterati seem especially sensitive to criticism and are fond of mustering their forces to hammer Clarkson, slice and dice the Pope, bring down the government, force BBC to remake Magic Roundabout, whatever.

But wouldn't it be funny if an actual war broke out between these two titans of the social-networking world? We could call it World War 3.0?

Hard to call how this one would pan out, although military forecasters could be certain of a few things. The Twitterverse, for starters, would have difficulty drafting up extensive plans because they're limited to 140 characters.

Also, they react in real-time so forward-thinking would not be a strong point.


What an odd news story: Muammar Gaddafi won't be attending the London Olympics next year. How is this even news? Surely nobody actually expected the deranged Libyan dictator to be there, up in the stands, maybe sharing a chat and pitcher of beer with Sebastian Coe during the 1500m heats.

Could you imagine the conversation? "Hello, Mr Gadaffi. Hope you and your people enjoy the games."

"Thank you, my friend. And please be assured: they will enjoy the games. Anyone found not enjoying the games will be flown back to Tripoli for 're-education' purposes. Hey, is that John Inverdale?"

Gaddafi -- who currently appears to be wearing Michael Jackson's dad's face, possibly in some kind of swap arrangement -- is persona non grata throughout the civilised world. He's the persona non grata that all the other persona non gratas call "Supreme Being". The chances of him tipping along to the swimming finals or freeform gymnastics in 2012, regardless of whether his government has been officially invited, are pretty slim, to say the least.

I'd say they're up there with the chances of Eddie the Eagle making a comeback in the 4x400m relay. And winning it on his own.


Why do people always say "slug" or "sluggish" to describe someone who's lazy? Slugs are anything but lazy! In fact they're amazingly industrious little . . . umm . . . oh, whatever kind of creature they are. Blobs, maybe.

Anyway, my garden is beset by slugs all summer. And my nocturnal visitors have managed to gain access to a heavy-plastic bag, used for vegetable waste, which was actually sealed off with a small concrete block. How they moved it, I couldn't tell you. It's a mystery. It's the slug equivalent of Stonehenge, or those giant heads on Easter Island.

The slugs don't work? Oh, yes they do.


Le Pacte de Loups (Brotherhood of the Wolf), a French film from 2001, is like nothing you've ever seen before. A mixture of drama, horror, martial arts and social commentary, it stars Samuel le Bihan as a naturalist sent to investigate a monster that's goring women to death in pre-Revolutionary France. The action scenes are great, the heroes are trés cool, the sets are gorgeous (as is Monica Bellucci, pictured left) and the whole thing rocks like a hurricane.

Irish Independent