Stephen Says

"I told you this was my Blog!"



Stephen from Braveheart, not at all mad.

Thanks for all support I've received over the last week with my pest control problem please read the following post about today the glorious *12th July* and remember, Old Knudsen loves you no matter if yer Mucksavages or not as we have the same muck flowing through our veins.

*Celebration of a 1690 battle won by the Protestants against the Catholics for the throne of England. Its now used to stir up hatred every year against the Catholics of Northern Ireland by thick necked thugs who make money out of terrorism.*


Traditions for the 11th is you drink to excess and then when it gets dark you take a walk round the various bonfires that have popped up around the housing estates, then theres the annual chasing off one guy by three others through a car park, you never see how that one ends up but its tradition it seems. The odd brick may be thrown at the police or army patrol but they take it in good sport by returning cans of CS gas and rubber bullets, a sort of exchange of gifts if you will.

Yer usual bonfire sitting nicely between some hooses and a playground, yes it is bigger than the hooses, beautiful isn't it?

You wake up the next day with yer shoes all burnt on the soles, a sun burn doon half the side of yer face and scrapes on yer knuckles, no you didn't participate in sectarian violence against a Catholic, you did however see that cunt you have never liked and crowned him "Taig for a night" no matter what he was.

The 12th day is sacred. No one wants to work on it as they will be spat at and called Fenian bastards but they face the sack if they phone in sick. Anybody sensible stays home or leaves town, Manuel and Ellie have been sensible this year. Never book a holiday in Northern Ireland at this time of year because while driving about looking at the scenery you may very well have yer car taken from you by a road block of angry fish wives and their strollers full of babies and burned.

After eating yer Ulster fry (fried eggs, fried bread, bacon, sausage, potato farl, soda bread, blood sausage, fried tomato and maybe baked beans too washed doon by a cup of rosey lee ) its yer duty to crack yer first can of beer. You drink and watch the parades or flute bands and orange men walk past and eye up the lines of police vans parked doon side streets ready to don their riot gear, a fun day for all the family, bitter ball bands from Canada , Scotland and from all over cum to celebrate.

The end of the day is a time to take the kiddies home as gangs of drunken bands men still in their uniforms looking like Dragoon guards out for rape and pillage will wander about asking philosophical questions like, "Do you want a diginabake? What are you looking at? and Do you have a problem?" later on gifts may be exchanged with the police and the soldiers again, this has nothing to do with the peace process this is merely tradition.

Bitter Sweet

The Lambeg Drum.

Have you ever gone to the Republic of Ireland to celebrate the 12 of july?
if you still don't know what the 12th is go google it or read my bloody archives, its a big bitter independence day like celebration for Northern Ireland Protestants with bonfires, riots, parades, excessive drinking and beating up anyone whose eyes are too close together as they must be Catholics all good fun.

Years back I traveled all over Ireland buying seafood for a company called 'Sans Uncle', then I would race it back to Scotland in a non refrigerated van and met the fridge lorry just outside of Glasgow and unloaded it. I was with one of the fishers that had crabs to sell near Moville in Donegal (The Republic of Irlend) he said , "oh c'mon Knudsen get yer arse here for the 12th and we'll have a few drinks to that fucker King Billy and watch the parades", his name was Colm and as you can tell by the name hes a Fenian, a Catholic.

In Northern Ireland names are very important, much like the clans of Scotland, you can tell by them if they are Irish or British/Scottish and as the best bitter balls know Irish = catholic and British/Scottish = Protestant, well ok there are lots of Protestant Irish and Catholic British/Scottish, its not a fool proof method and we Bitter balls aren't big thinkers, "if in doubt blow the kneecaps out" as the old saying goes .

Well I had known Colm for a few years. I'd buy his catch and we'd chat but I had never socialized with the man, he seemed nice enough which is why I said yes to going over for the 12th., I did get a little nervous on the run up to the 12th I had images of Colm and his Catholic mates burning me in a huge wickerman to appease Mary who at the time I had confused with the Hindu Goddess Kali who ripped men apart , easy mistake to make at the time I was heavily dependant on chewing tobacco so I didn't know my arse from my elbow, none of my so-called friends wanted to go with me so I'd be a lone Prod in a hostile Catholic country on the 12th of July the most famous protestant victory of 1690.

Kali or is it Mary?

I got to Moville on the 11th of course as that is what you do, drink to excess on the 11th hang around some bonfires then the next day you go watch the parades and drink more.
The 11th was great fun. I was in this little pub that was packed full of culchie's (Irish country boys) a very friendly bunch. I didn't care if I was to be sacrificed or not as I was getting drinks bought for me left and right, didn't see any bonfires but I didn't really mind, by the end of the night Colm was my new best mate. We walked back to his hoose and sat up and drank some more, we did a load of tumbledryer talk, you know you where you drunkenly declare your friendship and what best fucking mates you are, anyone sober is not able to understand this language, as its like talking in tongues it shows that you are on the higher plane of being pissed out of your head only other drunks, Angels, little children and dogs can understand you sober people act all superior and dismissive and then wonder why you try to hit them, fucking killjoys, no offense to anyone named Joy, though if paid to I would keel you.

In the morning we had a nice big Ulster fry to steady ourselves for the long drive to Rossnowlagh. Colm's mate Barry picked us up and drove on every arsehole in the middle of nowhere road he could find until two hours later we got to somewhere civilised, well as civilised as the Irish could get.

I was shocked, I saw Orange men and bands all going around all happy with cheers from the crowd had I slipped into a parallel world ? where was the line of 20 police vans and people being held back from the parades? there were a few Garda (Irish police) walking around but they were enjoying themselves and not getting ready to jump into riot gear.

Colm was having a laugh at my expense, it seems counties Donegal, Monaghan and Cavan have the most Protestants at 2% and being surrounded by catholics has made those Orange Order Protestants easy going, they don't care what you are, its a farming community they all help each other no grudges.
While all of this was going on, in Ulster they were having silly riots and having their parades spoiled, it was a good couple of days I had, surrounded by the mucksavages celebrating all things Protestant.



This is a respectable band not a kick the Pope band, here they are in Belfast as you can tell by one of the famous yellow cranes from the shipyard that made the Titanic.

Happy 12th July to all you Huns and Taigs and "God save the Queen" as she is a fine piece of ass.