Election Time, There's No Need To Be Afraid.

Pre Script: listen, if it be within your faculties, to "Radiation" by the Epoxies. Fo. Shizzle.

So the Assembly elections have come and gone. Bein on the wrong side o the Irish sea, I haven't heard from the emerald/tangerine isle in manys a moon. Not much has changed, but we've secured self-determination. "A farce," says my dad, "the UUP have bought it". And so they have. The only poor buggers who know how to run a country have gone and lost nine assembly seats to go with the all-but-one they lost in the election to the grown-up Parliament in Westminster. The final score was DUP 36, Shinners 28, UUP 18, SDLP 16, wi the Alliance gettin a respectable 7 an the Green Party, did you ever, pickin up a sly one in North Down, most likely down to the fact the candidates name is Brian Wilson, for let's face it, who wouldn't vote for him? If'n I could think of a decent Beach Boys pun, you could bet your bottom dollar I'd stick it right here, an by Jove you'd be fallin off your chair for the hilarity of it all.

But spare a thought for those who weren't so lucky. Those who didn't find themselves on the right side of the party lines. Those who were caught receiving a 'sports massage' in a Belfast hotel in the middle of an election campaign for the most socially conservative political party since Ian Paisley could sit in place for more than a half hour without urinating uncontrollably. Nevertheless, Paul Berry's valiant effort to convince the nation that ability to govern and sexual preferences were unconnected fell some way short, though picking up over 2000 first-preference votes in Newry and Armagh district is not to be sniffed at. Northern Ireland: We're Getting There!

So that's it! Another election under the belt - the Northern Irish have more politicians and elections per head than any country on the earth - and things have more or less panned out as expected. Trimble and Hume retired to international diplomacy, Paisley can only eat soup, his son's a bollickin fool; it won't be long til Gerry's the only piece left on the board since '97. Strange how these things pan out.

And as if that weren't enough! Today the Langwith College Volleyball legends, nay, ubermensch ass-kickin allgunsblazin KINGS AMONGST FRIGGIN SERFS kicked all manner of posterior cross the aul court in a stunnin three-set thriller wi more twists than a book wi a lotta twists in. FUCK YES. Every man (and woman) jack o us played out their gorram skins the day, all wi Albi's Napoleonic leaderships skillz teachin them there clowns exactly what time it is. Hammer Time, is what. We Hammered Yez Time, is more specific. A bloody marvellous end to the term was had by all. Albi, Steve, Dan, Naomi, Simon, Raph, Lou, Lucy, Phlip, Lou's fella, Naomi's mate, Joelle (we miss you!), we gave 'em a helluva fight, an never stopped believin. And that makes us goddamn mighty. Like ducks. Like mighty ducks. All our ancestors are lookin down an goin 'here, they've got some mad skillz, this lot.' An then drinkin an debauchin an discussin fine arts an whatever else they do in the great beyond. More power to em. But you take your victories where you can, and hold em close, for there's few things warmer than a win well won. Except maybe a fine lookin lass lyin next t'you. Hard to quantify, in concrete terms, though. Certain assumptions must be made. Certain posts must be ended.

Thanks,
Dave.