THE SECRET LIFE OF GARRET MITTY
The soldier saluted as the Saab passed between the open gates and began the journey down the long driveway. Soldiers, rifles at the ready, lined both sides of the driveway at five yard intervals.
Experts have predicted that much of the history of the last few years will have to be re-written in the light of the publication today of Conspiracy! the new book by Tony Winters which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that Marilyn Monroe was murdered by Robert Kennedy with a bath brush. The book's revelation that John F. Kennedy may first have choked Marilyn, the vivacious sexpot who put her eye on the dynamic brothers, has aroused even more comment, with trenchant denials that author Winters has produced any proof to back his allegations.
Sticky Sullivan, by Owen Smullen, Abbey Theatre.
Garret was chalking his cue, sizing up a difficult but possible pink into the top left and the white off the side cushion and into a cluster of reds, so he didn't notice Jim Dooge coming in the door of The Long Rest. I gave Bobby the high sign and he was out from behind the counter like fast, feeling Jim bo's collar. Sorry, sir, members only, that kind of thing.
To be honest, I was prejudiced. I expected a couple of guys like maybe Lee Marvin and Ernest Borggnine to come off the plane. Their footsteps like a succession of explosions as they tromped their way down the corridor. Pushing old people aside as they grabbed their luggage. Skipping the taxi queue and thumping the little guy with glasses who says, "I say, there ... "
Notes for Canvassers: Local Elections, 1985.
When canvassing votes from the citiizens (or "gooks", as we professionals have come to know them) you will notice that they come in three types:
Often called "the most exclusive club of the Western establishment", the Bilderberg Group is a mixed collection of some of the world's most powerful financiers, industrialists, statesmen and intellectuals, who get together each year for a private conference on world affairs. The meetings provide an inforrmal, off-the-record opportunity for innternational leaders to mingle, and are notorious for the cloak of secrecy they are held under.
The phone barked. Some people have phones that ring or beep, ours bark. There's a little cluster of pinholes through which a voice was barking. "He's on again."
It all started this morning when I was listening to Gay Byrne's show. Gay had just finished asking listeners to send in this and that if they had them to spare. Then he went on to the letters. "A lot of people," he said, "are very worried about what's happening on our streets. For example, a listener from Cork - who for obvious reasons wishes to remain anonymous .; desscribes. in vivid detail how he dealt with 'a mugging attempt." And then Gay read the letter.
YOu're going to Kerry, they say. Be God, and aren't you the lucky one, they say. Fell on your feet there, they say. Lakes of Killarney. The Ring. The mountains. The clear air. The fish. Dick Spring. Sure, you're landed, they say, you're landed.