An Irishman's Diary
A HISTORY OF IRELAND in 100 insults.
1. May a cat eat you, and may the devil eat the cat.
2. Short life to you on this side and hell on the other!
3. The curse of Cromwell upon you!
4. The Irish are a fair people. They never speak well of one another.
5. The man recovered of the bite\The dog it was that died.
6. He gave what little wealth he had\to build a house for fools and mad\And shew’d by one satyric touch\No nation wanted it so much.
7. He was a fiddler, and consequently a rogue.
8. Being born in a stable does not make a man a horse.
13. Póg Mo Thóin.
14. They took the soup.
15. He took the Queen’s shilling.
16. You have disgraced yourselves again.
17. Remember the Duke of Gloucester\the dirty oul’ imposter\He took his mott and lost her\Up the Furry Glen.
18. Ireland is the old sow that eats her farrow.
19. Get up ye bowsie, and clean out your cell.
20. You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot.
21. The unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable (Oscar Wilde on fox-hunters).
22. He hadn’t a single redeeming vice.
23. If you laid all the economists in the world end to end, they still wouldn’t reach a conclusion.
24. The cream of Ireland: rich and thick (Samuel Beckett on Trinity College).
29. Ye chancer, ye!
30. Fur coat and no knickers.
31. Pure mule.
32. Plastic Paddy.
33. A face that would turn milk.
34. A face only a mother could love.
35. The head on him, and the price of cabbage.
36. He wouldn’t get a hug off a bear.
37. The tide wouldn’t take her out.
38. Persil wouldn’t shift her.
39. He’s an eejit.
40. He’s a buck-eejit.
41. He’s the two ends of an eejit.
42. He’s thick out.
46. Thooleramawn (c. Myles na gCopaleen).
47. Turnip-snagger (ditto).
48. A streptococcus-ridden gang of natural gobdaws (ditto again).
50. All to one side, like the town of Fermoy.
51. Beef to the heels, like a Mullingar heifer.
52. A bigger bollocks never put his arm through a coat.
53. He’d eat his dinner out of a drawer.
54. He’d peel an orange in his pocket.
55. He still has his Communion money.
56. He wouldn’t spend Christmas.
57. He has a great welcome for himself.
58. He’s running around like a dog with two mickeys.
61. They’re only a bunch of Mullockers.
62. A mouth on her like a skipping rope.
63. He couldn’t beat nails into a bog with a saucepan.
64. He’s as useful as tits on a bull.
66. Croppies lie down!
68. Kick the Pope.
69. Black Orange Bastard.
70. The Government of Éire.
71. The dreary steeples of Fermanagh and Tyrone.
72. Bandit Country.
73. A failed political entity.
75. One team in Ireland\There’s only one team in Ireland.
76. Michel Platini – not a great player.
77. It was only handbag stuff.
78. You were a crap player. You’re a crap manager. The only reason I have any dealings with you is that somehow you are the manager of my country . . . (etc, etc).
79. Puke football.
80. Five-in-a-row me arse.
81. If it was raining soup, he’d be holding a fork.
83. West Brit.
84. Holy Joe.
86. Distinguished bodhrán player.
87. As thick as manure but not as useful.
88. Brilliant but useless, like a lighthouse in a bog.
89. “Try the f***ing window!” (Charlie Haughey to a TD struggling to find the exit door in his wood-panelled office).
90. People need to know where the Taoiseach sleeps at night.
91. That’s women for ye!
92. Droning on like a monsignor down a bad line from Medjugorje.
93. Trying to ask a question of the Taoiseach is like playing handball against a haystack.
94. You’re only a waffler.
95. The evil of two lessers.
96. Creepin Jesuses.
97. Left-wing pinkoes.
98. He’s just a shiver looking for a spine to run up (copyright former Australian prime minister Paul Keating – Irish granny rule invoked).
99. Ye’re all a bunch of wife-swapping sodomites.
100. He has Irish Alzheimer’s: it makes you forget everything except the grudges.