Congratulations Cardinal Brady
As a native of east Breifne I’m duty-bound, I suppose, to offer my most sincere congratulations to fellow Cavanman Sean Brady on his elevation to be a hinge of the church. Fr Brady (as he was then) was the first person ever to teach me French, and my memories of him are of a very kind, erudite and warm-hearted man. I see today that Barrow-boy Bartie had to do his duty as a good son of the chorch (sic) and a son of a gardener in Archbishop’s House by greeting Cardinal Brady on his return. Barrow-boy really showed himself up in the Dail on Wednesday. At one stage I expected him to scream: “Shut your fuckin mou’ Gilmore or I’ll punch your fuckin’ lighs ou’”. Once a gurrier always a gurrier. But then Barrow-boy’s looking for an exit strategy. It is ironic that today’s news should be dominated by the cardinal’s return, as only last night I was reading Gamini Salgado’s excellent volume on the Elizabethan underworld. In his description of the Red Light district of London’s Southwark he explains that the brothels or stews as they were known advertised their services with a painted sign which was called a cardinal’s hat. This was because of a perceived similarity between the hat and the depiction of the aroused male sexual organ.
