|Guess who has been refused entry to Ireland? This guy! I have been stuck abroad, against my will, for over a week. I am in Cherbourg stuffing my face with baguettes in between getting rejected from boat companies. The boat bouncers say, ‘If your name’s not on the sinus cavity penetration list, you’re not getting in’. |
I refuse the test for a number of reasons. It makes no logical sense, it adds to the cases, harms people, I am healthy, it’s degrading but most all, it is my right to refuse medical treatment and I am exercising it – which is great because exercising shall keep me in good health.
I reached out to the embassy but they have failed to answer these 3 sexy questions:
Under what law are you aiding and abetting third parties in denying an Irish citizen their right to return home? On what grounds are you patently refusing to uphold the Irish constitution? Under what law do you support the coercion of an Irish citizen to undergo a medical treatment / procedure, with flagrant disregard for the Nuremburg Code?
If you want to email Patricia on my behalf to Free the Cherbourg One – firstname.lastname@example.org. Ask her anything you like: Suggestions:
1. What is the capital of France?
2. What is the meaning of life?
3. What are you wearing?
This has been an eventful week and below is the email on how it started…
I felt good on the way to the airport in Amsterdam. A rare excitement stirred my soul. Many friends, family and the few remaining people who care about human rights were lighting candles, sending love and praying to all sorts of gods on my behalf. Some people believe in the magic powers of masks and some in the Divine force within. I’ve made my choice! Such encouragement inspired me, as I took my first hobbit-sized step upon my noble quest for mankind. I told myself that if I encountered laestrygonians, cyclops, or any such monsters upon my journey, they are not real, and I have made them up in my mind so rather than succumbing to madness, I should smile at those imaginary monsters, as the only true enemy is fear. . . well, fear and Bill Gates, who is busy these days buying up the world’s agricultural land. Hmmm maybe he wants to be a farmer now! My journey to the airport was blissful. I stood at the door of the train with a bicycle, a backpack, and a suitcase without a mask between us. Not only did no one ask me, or my bicycle, to wear a mask but the train driver came up to me and let me take my bike on for free. Oh yeah baby! How do you like them juicy apples? I was happy, in the flow and smelling the sweet perfumes of victory. I started visualising my little victorious ass off like a 6-year-old on Christmas Eve who still believed, for the last year in his life, before his older sister had the vision and decency to tell him the truth, ‘they are lying to us’. I was a little sad but also happy to know the truth. AHEM, COVID REGULATIONS, AHEM.
I visualised strolling on the plane like Kate Moss on a Catwalk in the 1990’s to the sound of Oasis’s ‘Champagne Supernova’ playing from the airport intercom in the background, which is so much better than the constant brain-torturing fear-instilling airport announcements. I sipped champagne as the plane landed, served to me by the pilot, herself. She whispered in my ear, ‘Who’s driving this thing?’ But she just laughed and licked Moet off our faces. When I reached passport control, smelling like Moet and pilot perfume, I spoke my truth with such clarity, sovereignty and eloquence to the border control cops that the only sound that could be heard from the queue of people was the sound of joyful tears rolling down the faces of men combined with one harmonious synchronised ‘sploosh’. The hypothetical border control cops stood there with their Top Gun sunglasses on, and the captain said, ‘Hey man, where’s your PCR test and your locator form?’ And when I smiled, they were blinded by my white teeth because they hadn’t seen any in such long time. When I spoke those words about, ‘inalienable rights’, they fell from my lips upon their ears like gentle drops of Love until they giggled with delight, whipped off those dirty masks and together we did the Macarena dance.
In ’reality’ it didn’t happen exactly like that…
I got to the baggage counter and before my passport landed on the desk, the woman said, ‘PCR test please’. I asked her to read the front page of my passport which asks any such laestrygonians, cyclops or perceived authority figures to ‘allow the bearer (me), a citizen of Ireland, to pass Freely and without hindrance and to afford the bearer all necessary assistance and protection.’ When she finished reading it, I thanked her for her assistance and protection. Now, you may think that must be the end of it, but no, she insisted that no one could board without a test. Did she just refer to me as, ‘no one’? I asked her if she was ‘refusing me my right to travel?’ and she got flustered and said she had no choice.
We continued our friendly chat about bodily integrity, personal liberty, and the human right to travel. I liked her, she was a good sausage and she seemed to be on board (which is where I wanted to be) but she insisted that she was only a travel agent, there was no one there from Aer Lingus (how cunning Lingus) and her supervisor was away. Reluctantly, I asked her for her name because ‘there may be criminal charges for refusing me my rights to travel.’ With that, she stood up and left. I should have shouted after her, ‘Could all those who just breached article 13 of the UNIVERSAL DECLARATION OF HUMAN RIGHTS please run away?’ Do you know the feeling a man has in his heart when a woman runs away from him? I do. It brought me back to my teenager years. #Triggered. The people behind me were not concerned about my need for a safe space, rather they gave me judgemental stares and sighs. I smiled at them as I recalled Buddha’s words, ’Virtue is persecuted more by the wicked than it is loved by the good.’ Take that bitches!
I could have said this, I should have said that. I was too polite. I should have…. Then I stopped my mind from wasting time and called in a friend, Dolores Cahill. If you don’t know her by now, you really should. She is an incredible powerful Irish scientist and professor with a big brain and bigger heart, who has been successfully travelling all through this casedemic while helping people see behind the curtain. When she heard I was stopped at baggage counter, she asked me what I was doing with baggage. Of course Aidan, you big giant DUMMY! Who needs to carry baggage in life? I convinced a taxi to take my stuff away… by paying him loads of cash. I sent all my troubles away to deal with another day, like the governments are doing by borrowing and spending gazillions to ‘save us’. With my backpack and a mischievous grin, I went right through security, strolled to the gate, and walked right through the last check point. I was about to do the catwalk on the auto walk like a champagne supernova in the sky when I heard the voice of the woman from earlier, Frau Himler, shouting, ‘PCR TEST’. Scheiße! I was caught between a landslide while all those other PCR-tested humans were getting high.
So close! We went through similar chats and this time she provided her name (on my fourth request) without running away. It turns out her name was Marie and not Frau Himler. I stayed there chatting away to Frau Marie and her friend, Miss ticket agent number 2 and they both ended up agreeing with all I said about our rights. They were two lovely humans just doing their job. One of them, of baby-making age, expressed her fears of being forced to take the experimental untested gene therapy known as the vaccine. She was worried about whether she would have to quit her job or not. Can you describe the feeling inside a man’s heart at the moment he had turned two lady laestrygonians from enemies into friends while simultaneously watching his plane leave? I can.
It was a sad day for the rights of mankind. What could I do? Let them force something into my body or come up with another plan? Next I got an 8-hour train ride to Cherbourg to see if Stena line and their staff care about human rights. They didn’t. I recorded them being rude. French people being rude. Well I never! I intend on getting home to Irish soil without being coerced into doing something that I fundamentally disagree with. Call me old fashioned but I still believe in the importance of consent. Endurance is one of the most difficult disciplines, but it is to the ones who endures that the final victory comes. – Buddha.
If you would like to contribute towards the expenses, here is a link, https://gofund.me/25dc8bff