I Am the Border, So I Am. @BorderIrish

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      ‘I’ll be back soon, Border.’

      ‘Fair play, Rupert. You can get that suit cleaned in Newry, you know.’

      ‘He’s gone, Border.’

      ‘He’ll be back. What are you reading there, Jean?’

      ‘It’s a kids’ book. I’m off to see the nephews.’

      ‘Is it a good one?’

      ‘It’s ok. It’s called The EUffalo.’

      ‘Would you read me it, Jean? It’d calm me down.’

      ‘I’m not sure it will, but ok …’

       A border took a stroll through a deep, dark wood

       Liam Fox saw the border and the border looked good

       ‘Where are you going to, little soft border?

       Come and play a role in my new world order’

       ‘It’s terribly kind of you, Fox, but no

       I’m going to have lunch with a EUffalo.’

       ‘A EUffalo? What’s a EUffalo?’

       ‘A EUffalo? Why, didn’t you know?

       It has Donald Tusk, and free trade laws,

       And the ECJ at the end of its claws’

       ‘Where are you meeting it?’

       ‘Here by these rocks.

       And its favourite food is roasted Fox.’

       A border took a stroll through a deep, dark wood

       A May saw the border and the border looked good

       ‘Where are you going to, seamless frontier?

       Can you be solved by the end of this year?’

       ‘It’s really not possible, May, you know

       I hear more sense from the EUffalo.’

       ‘A EUffalo? What’s a EUffalo?’

       ‘A EUffalo? Why, didn’t you know?

       It has a flag and a customs union.

       (It nearly had a constitution)’

       ‘Where are you meeting it?’

       ‘Here by this hay.

       And its favourite food is pickled May.’

      ‘Aw, that’s nice, Jean. The nephews’ll love it.’

      ‘I’d say so, Border. Isn’t it a grand evening, now?’

      ‘I’ve always specialised in sunsets, Jean.’

      ‘That you have … Do you think you’ll do grand sunsets after Brexit, Border?’

      ‘I will, Jean. But maybe for a while, not so …’

      ‘Luminescent, Border?’

      ‘Not so luminescent, Jean. Not for a while.’

      ‘Goodnight, Border.’

      ‘Goodnight, Jean.’

      ‘Woof.’

      ‘Night night, wee dog.’

      Off she went. And the wee dog. And silence descended.

      Some night you should come here, lay yourself down beside me and put your ear to the sod. Then you can listen quietly to the voices of the things that are buried, shallow and deep, within me, and you will learn from the yarns they spin, and the sadnesses they recall, and the wisdom they speak. Then, if you don’t know it already, you’ll see why I’m so pissed off with Rupert and his Brexit.

      RADIO BORDER

      192.1FM

      Today at 5pm:

       If a seagull sh*ts on you is it a Brexit thing?

       How to train your Leaver

       ‘Yer Head’s Cut’ – Jean’s advice column

      Still Here, Jim?

      Jim was still here. Where else would he be, I suppose? He had nowhere to Leave to, no hidden Leaving skills that he had suddenly unleashed, no map which would take him on the path to Leaving. No, Jim’s Leaving now involved being very unLeft.

      ‘Border.’

      ‘Jim.’

      ‘This is quite boring, isn’t it?’

      ‘…’

      ‘Did you ever hear tell of a lad called Samuel Beckett, Border?’

      ‘Oh aye. Went to school round here. Quiet lad. Why do you ask?’

      ‘It passes the time, Border.’

      ‘It would have passed anyway, Jim.’

      ‘…’

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