Stephen Fahey: Upside Polish Flag sighted around Ireland

Upside down Polish flags have been sighted on Irish arms all over the island this last week. Men, women and children of all ages, each having forgot to use sunscreen on the parts of their arms not covered by t-shirts, are joined by those who wear said inverted colours on their necks, legs and foreheads.

This is not a political protest, nor international solidarity, but a mistaken foolishness bred from the unfamiliarity of Celtic beings with the Sun God, Solaris. Lem himself would be ashamed of these gimpish fools, of which I myself have been one on many an occasion. And of whose number I am not counted this summer due only to being so busy as to not have had opportunity (let alone motive) to be in the presence of said God.

One ponders if religion, drinking culture, sovereign neutrality, European ease of travel and all round mutual awesomeness were in fact not the real reason for Ireland being a favoured Polish destination. But rather, was indeed the striking white over red (worn by so many Irish throughout history once an ounce of sunlight hit us) a subliminal draw of familiarity?

Who’s to know? Or care, for we are one already. As I write there is a jar of pickled fish balls next to a bottle of vodka staring at me from the kitchen, both of which are eyeing me with the intent of a thousand ironic suns. The little one is away to her grandparents in the homeland. And I am bettered for my adoption into the tribe of Sobieski. Toughened, even, by same, against the drivel of ease I was raised in.

Of course, that’s not to say that nineteen eighties recession-riddled Ireland was anything other than a miraculous disaster of troubles, woe, political ineptitude and nightmarish personal and interpersonal survival of the fittest. But none of which mean that I don’t sometimes sport the upside Polish flag on my arms too.

It should be noted, also, that my wearing the flag so it is not a statement, but a happy and coincidental, blind idiocy through ignorance of the fact that despite our consistent „real summers” these last years, I should know better. Somehow the remnants of bygone years cling tight enough to me that I forget myself and do not slather the requisite five hundred SPF on my jellyfish-like Celtic dermis.

All this having being said, and with all sadism aside, I do enjoy seeing the flag adorn so many of my fellow eejits. It gives me pleasure in my heart.

Stephen Fahey

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