I’m no stranger to seeing my old man standing in the dock accused of serious crimes – he’s Chorles O’Carrroll-Kelly, for fock’s sake – but I never thought I’d see him in court, aged seventy-whatever-he-is, chorged with the illegal possession of a fireorm. And Hennessy’s constant shouts of, “Habeas sawn-off! Habeas sawn-off!” are really storting to annoy the judge.
“Can I remind you,” the dude goes, “that this is not a trial. Your client will have an opportunity to present a defence at a later date.”
Hennessy carries on going, “Habeas sawn-off! Habeas sawn-off!” and even the old man is having a little chuckle to himself.
The judge rolls his eyes, then shakes his head. I’m sure he knows the two of them from the Horseshoe Bor. He looks at the gord who snapped the bracelets on him and goes, “Did the accused have anything to say when the charge was read to him?”
The old dear goes, ‘I don’t want my vital work on the campaign Move Funderland to the Northside to die with me’
‘I remember Past Ross thinking, you need to stort being nicer to Future Ross. He’s a genuinely good bloke’
‘Sorcha, I’m wondering is climate justice maybe a bit above Santa’s pay grade?’
Sorcha goes, ‘I make no apologies for saying it, Honor. You are a danger to democracy’
The gord is like, “Oh, he did, Judge – quite a bit,” and the court is suddenly filled with laughter. The dude whips out his little notebook and storts flicking through it. “Do you want to hear everything he said?”
“Well,” the judge goes, “perhaps just the edited highlights.”
“I tried to write it down but there was just so much of it and I don’t have shorthand. He spoke for a considerable length of time.”
Yeah, no, he was banging on for at least an hour.
“Perhaps I can help you out,” the old man goes, “if there are any gaps in your memory of the event!”
“He said, ‘Possession of a gun, you say! I see no gun! Kicker, do you see a gun?’”
“Who’s Kicker?” the judge goes – totally clueless on the subject of schools rugby in the late 1990s.
“Kicker is his son,” the gorda dude goes, “who was present at the time.”
[ More Ross O'Carroll-KellyOpens in new window ]
“Perhaps the greatest case of What Might Have Been in the storied history of rugby union on this island!” the old man goes. “The words of no less a judge than Mr Anthony Joseph Patrick Ward!”
“We believe that Kicker may have been responsible for disposing of the shotgun by throwing it overboard,” the gord dude goes.
Hennessy’s like, “A gross calumny! He is not before this court chorged with any offence! I’d like that comment struck from the record!”
The judge is like, “Again, this is not a trial. Now, what else did the accused say?”
“He said that the bang we heard came from fireworks,” the gord goes, “which he was using to attempt to frighten seagulls from their nesting place.”
“Let the record reflect that I said that these wretched things are supposed to be seabirds and Clontorf and Greystones are right next to the bloody well thing!”
— Chorles O’Carrroll-Kelly
The old man’s there, “I also pointed out that seagulls have been allowed to take over our towns and our cities and the so-called Gorda Síochána are doing absolutely nothing about it! That they have surrendered control of our public spaces to these rats of the sky, who are being permitted to attack the citizenry with impunity! That a proper police force would be out there shooting them dead, not harassing those of us brave enough to stand up to this public menace!”
“Yes, he said all of that,” the gord goes, flicking through his notebook again, “and he said that he represented a group of concerned citizens – many of them regulars in the Shelbourne Hotel – who have formed themselves into a pressure group called Flock Right Off!”
There’s a big cheer from them. Yeah, no, they’re here in force. The old man gives them a wave.
“Yes,” the judge goes, “I can see them in the court today. Can I ask you to remove that banner from the public gallery?”
Someone – yeah, no – complies.
The gord is there, “He said that if we valued fundamental freedoms, such as standing outside the famous Shelly to enjoy a Cuban cigar in the early evening sunshine without being viciously assailed, then we would be rounding up these birds from the Stephen’s Green area and bringing them somewhere more appropriate.”
“Greystones!” a member of Flock Right Off shouts.
“Any more outbursts like that,” the judge goes, “and I will cite you for contempt of court.”
The gord is like, “Yes, Greystones was mentioned. That’s in my notes.”
“And Clontorf!” the old man goes. “Let the record reflect that I said that these wretched things are supposed to be seabirds and Clontorf and Greystones are right next to the bloody well thing!”
The judge is like, “Is that everything he said when charged?”
“Er, no,” the gord goes. “He also asked me if I knew who he was. When I told him, truthfully, that I had absolutely no idea who he was, he said that I would in time. He said he was going to be Ireland’s next taoiseach and that his solicitor, who was also present on the boat, would be the next minister for justice and that I was going to find myself transferred to some shithole townland along the Border with Northern Ireland just like in the good old days.”
“I can’t promise, Judge, that I will stay away from seagulls – seeing as they’re bloody well everywhere! And I can’t promise that I will not take up arms to defend myself against them!”
— Chorles O’Carrroll-Kelly
The old man’s there, “I also pointed out, in case it’s not in your precious notes there, that we are currently living in a time where large numbers of people in the western world are losing faith in democracy as a means of sorting out society’s problems and that these problems include seagulls. A New Republic government will take back the streets for the people and tell these birds in no uncertain terms to flock off somewhere else!”
The judge is like, “Silence! I will not have political speechifying in this court!” and then he turns back to the gorda dude.
He goes, “Is there any objection to bail?”
The dude’s like, “No, Judge, not at this time.”
“Right,” the judge goes, “I’m remanding the defendant on continuing bail of €5,000 until a trial date is set. Under the terms of that bail, I am ordering you to stay away from seagulls and from sawn-off shotguns. Is that clear?”
The old man goes, “I can’t promise that I will!”
The judge is like, “I beg your pardon?”
“I can’t promise, Judge, that I will stay away from seagulls – seeing as they’re bloody well everywhere! And I can’t promise that I will not take up arms to defend myself against them!”
“Then I have no option but to find you in contempt of court,” the judge goes, “and I am ordering that you be jailed until you purge that contempt.”
