Every time I'm in a restaurant I remember Kevin McAleer's reply to a waiter who told him the Soup Of The Day. "Where there any other contenders?" "Um, no?" "A hollow victory".

Love this interview on RTÉ. What incredible women. And so well done by David Gillick

Looking back on 14 years of the Tories is like looking back at the traumatising post-vindaloo shit you just did in the toilet.

Why is this woman not your British Monarch?

Bloody immigrants, coming over here and enriching our country.

just listened to this and this is mostly a note to self for payday but if any mutuals are able to help kids on Merseyside - today of all days - a donation to Time for Bed is good place to start. Amazing work by them, and so pleased TAW continue to use their platform like this 🤍

Just wanted to share quickly how lovely yesterday felt in Southport; a total contrast to the night before. 🧵 The mosque and people’s garden walls were rebuilt by builders and bricklayers volunteering their time and labour:

Tonight’s shameful scenes do not represent our culture, our history, or our people. Our great city is built on togetherness and acceptance, and Sunderland will forever be for all. We are stronger as one community. Now. Then. Always. ❤️🤍

"Just one more thing ...my wife loves bath bombs and sausage rolls. Can you tell me where you got those bags of them in your kitchen? I'd like to buy her some."

My column on the likes of Tommy Robinson, leading from behind off a sunlounger in Ayia Napa theguardian.com/commentisfree/…

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V personal thread with a public punch line A few days ago my sister was at the curfew tower in Cushendall.  She met a man from Liverpool.  They got talking and he realised he knew our Mum.  More importantly that HIS mum knew our mum …..

Happy #RealtimeNotesDay to all who celebrate. It began seven years ago with a poem written in the Prince Arthur pub in London, then continued with 2,113 poems, all written as a fast response to political and personal events, and challenging one of the last remaining formal

Sunday. Deeply held beliefs. A sort of pilgrimage And opportunity never not taken. The Military Road, the posh services Dunning Bridge Mercer street. Here.

Here is the lonely station of Parkmore, Deserted now, grass rank along the track, Hardly a tree, a dwelling here and there Grim as a fortress in debated land, With pens well-fenced but empty like a fair With the bright stir gone from its naked stalls.

The valley's other side is ribbed with streams That fall and hang like broken rods of glass. The road still urges up till on the right Your eye is level with wet boles of trees And on the left, a well of air Often mist-curdled, rimmed with pointed firs.

Rest in peace, Peter ❤️