I'm spending me christmas and new year over the way in Ireland. An interesting time it has been aswell. Last night found me in a small pub being accused from all sides of being a 'Jesus'. Its the beard what done it, and the hair. White Necks don't have time for no long hairs. It was good natured to start with, being asked to bless their pool shots and turn their beer into vodka, but when talk turned to crucifixion and following through with scriptures and the like, I finished my pint. The thought of being nailed to the bonnet of a mondeo in a cold, wet irish car park didn't sit too well. But luckily all the car park was used for was a brawl involving nearly every single male in the pub. They rampaged past us in a ball of masculinity, a fighting, spitting scrum of man. The way I'd imagine one of those rat balls you find up chimneys. Some of the pool playing runts even brought out the pool cues so they could go at it properly, but we intervened and put them behind the bar. We then went to a night club, a shite disco in Bundorran, Donegal. By the end of the nights booze and dancing I'd found myself called on several seperate occasions; Jesus, The Jesus, JC, Judas, Moses, Christ, The Real Oasis and Our Lord Who Died For Our Sins. Although none these similarities got me laid.