The Maine family observing sacred and ancient traditions
Dear reader, these despatches have been truncated through the coronavirus crisis. As the epidemic has exploded into a pandemic, and likely to become purely academic, we stand alone and delve deep into the untapped vortex of the human subconscious.
If you have an untapped vortex of human subconsciousness please write to us.
We know in these enlightened times, that the systemic, totemic, problematic, phlegmatic, iconic, histrionics of the body politic will bring us back to the banal, the unremarkable and the purely mundane.
So enjoy this crisis whilst it lasts, cos in the end it’ll be like we’ve all become benighted Poms who wallow in the ” wasn’t it lovely doing the war’ ethos, when we were on food coupons, cabbage soup, bombing, and backyard abortions, etc.
Because we know that this ( for the sanitary industries, and purveyors of house cleansing products), that ” This was their finest hour”. And for all the rest of us we can while away the hours watching daytime telly and poring over the death toll. But the tolling bell will not wait, and it’s pall is diminished by this fascinating insight into mordant potentialities which comes to us for our sage to the near north, Sir Ira Maine, K.C. V.C DSO (with bar) and Order of the House of Aldi. He writes to us with this insight of Hibernian adaptation in times of strife.
“The latest COVID-19 directive from the Emerald Isle commands that only ten people may attend a funeral. I am unsure at this stage whether this ten includes the corpse. If it does it would reduce the attending ten to nine. Naturally too considering the Celtic adherence to Catholicism, there will be one or two representatives from the Catholic church in attendance, wearing, (naturellment) their unobtrusive electronic ankle bracelets and supervised by police officers. This would further reduce the numbers by at least two or by as much as four. Two from nine leaves us with seven, and we have not as yet even begun to consider the gravediggers whose job it is to consign the coffined Covidian to the depths. There would be at least four of them, young strapping fellows, a type enormously attractive to the appreciative priestly eye and absolutely necessary since the shameful debacle at Skibbereen where the drunken friends of the corpse, in a moment of imbalance, and unable to resist the insistent weight of the lowering coffin and corpse, found themselves, albeit temporarily, unable to avoid joining the deceased underground.
