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18 March 2015

W.B. Yeats and St Patrick's Day

But when it came to girls and greyhounds, Yeats was right on the  money
Great night at the Oirish Embassy, as always, celebrating the eviction of the snakes from the Emerald Isle by St Podraig.
     I drank a pint of REAL Guinness (than which there is nothing better) and, since the queue for the Guinness was so long, and I was so impatient, Old Bushmills after that (than which there is little better).
     Woke up after 9 this morning to be told by my landlady that she had loaded the washing machine but that she was not switching it on until 11 for astrological reasons. She added that Friday, for similar reasons was going to be a tyazholi dyen (I don't have Gaelic script on this computer but literally it mean "heavy day"), and that I should spend it meditating. 

     Having read a completely incomprehensible essay by W.B. Yeats on poetry on the Metro on the way to the event (kindly supplied by Professor Armstrong, and which I intend publishing on ELERussians), I begin to wonder if the Celtic Twilight has not affected the Russians too. Where, oh where, is the sort of clarity that Lord Denning or Bertrand Russell or even Andy Capp brings to the English language and therefore human thought? Or does it simply mean that the Old Bushmills was too moreish - in an astrological sense, of course?

So, here is the link to the W.B. Yeats piece. If anyone can tell me what he was basically driving at, I will buy them a pint of Guiness at Katie O'Sheogh's in Grakholsky Pereulok at a time fo their choosing.

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