Hardstation

[Tony Baloney]

It's great that HS is getting word out to us about his oppression. Anyway of getting word into him?

Lets hope he holds on until the end of his sentence and doesn't do anything stupid. It's frightening what a desperate man sees at the bottom of a glass. We'll all say a decade for you.

[ONeill]

It's great that HS is getting word out to us about his oppression. Anyway of getting word into him?

Yes, I can stick it up my jacksee. Hope it's short.

What do you want to tell him?

[ziggysego]

I wanted to give him the bible ONeill, to help him find peace of mind. The final week is meant to be the most difficult.

[Puckoon]

You might have a shot ziggy - as long as you arent trying to send it into him with Fearon - he's the biggest tight arse Ive heard of in years.

[stephenite]

Tell him him that really was the Mod in the chatroom and he saw exactly what Hardstation called the Boss - and he ain't getting back on here ever, so he'd be as well head over to AFR to talk hurling

[ONeill]

Unfortunately he has turned against his mother religion, Ziggy. Fr Devereaux from the Glen Rd visited him and was pelted with St Brigid's Crosses HS'd made serving time. He says he's big into tantric sex and is thinking of going down the Jehovah route. He has also taken to wearing a dog collar and barks when a big lad with tattoos winks at him. He's a wee bit angry with life at the minute and I'm afeard he may have suffered lasting damage.

[saffron sam2]

And there's more.


Monday 1st December

Comrades, I am into my last week and still no light in my life. I have never been so miserable. I have often read books where the author compares a character's mood to the weather conditions and I thought wise up that doesn't happen. I know now that it does. As the evenings get shorter and the nights get longer and darker they mirror my darkness; a darkness, to quote Michael Connelly, more than night; a darkness deeper than Justin Hawkins and the boys. The skies weep their rain, as I feel like weeping for myself and the injustices that have been visited upon me. Only the thought of you my comrades and your support and the distant possibility of once more posting on the gaaboard have kept me going through these darkest of times.

I have thought about putting my feelings into song, but every time I try to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard lol) greater songs of incarceration come to mind and I am unable to continue. How can I better the sentiments of Siffre – "You hide behind walls of Jericho, your lies will come tumbling" (you know who I am referring to), of Plunkett – "I think about these last few weeks, oh will they say I've failed", or of Sands – "A rebel I came. I'll die the same". It would too much emotionally for me to put my feelings into a mournful ballad.

That is why I stick with my diary. There are many great examples of autobiographically Irish work linked to injustice and unjust jail sentences. I think of John Mitchel's "Jail Journal" or Oscar Wilde's "Ballad of Reading Gaol" and whilst I have never been to west Beirut, this is the type of epistle I am trying to recreate. Any ideas for suitably emotive titles will be appreciated. Send me a PM and I will pick it up next week. Go raibh maith agaibh, comrades.

You will probably all be wondering how I have spent the past week. On Tuesday, my friends Fra, Smickers and Janty called round. I tried to explain my depression but they just laughed at me. Fra said he thought I spent all my time on bebo and facebook, not GAA stuff. I chased them and descended once more into the depths of doom and gloom. I went up to my room to listen to my Antrim CD, but the biting wind blowing through the gaping hole in my bedroom window reminded me of my fit of pique last week. I decided to listen to my iPod instead. I love my iPod; it has the entire back catalogue of the Pogues and Barnbrack singing "I'll tell me ma". Funny how every time I hear that song I think of his holiness nb. I couldn't find my iPod anywhere, and then I remembered that my brother had flogged it for two score quid. I was fit to be tied, so to lift my spirits I went for a walk.

Our frosted garden showed little of life, a sole dandelion swaying in the chilling winter breeze. I lifted my hurl and swung it at the plant. Missed it. Tried again. Didn't miss a second time. "Take that you weedy wee bastard", I yelled. My ma appeared at the door. Says she "Is it not about time you forgave your brother for the iPod?" I told her about the dandelion. She went inside crying. She doesn't understand.

I was hungry so I went to the Roundabout for a pasty. Bought two. Never really understood the concept of the pasty, but they're lovely. Dandered on down the Glen Road, past St Matthias. Decided to drop in, say a wee prayer and light a candle. I thought it might help me get the ban lifted. It didn't. Priest wouldn't let me in because I was eating my pasties. That's me done with religion. Went outside and sat on a wall to finish the food. It gave me time to think about what my first post on returning will be. It's all I really think about these days. I am struggling to cope without my fix of the board. I know now how alcoholics, druggies, gamblers and sex addicts must feel. The next time I walk past an alco, I won't laugh at him. I'll give him some money and tell him that I share his pain.

As I start to sign off, incongruous rays of sunlight burst through the clouds and into my room. But they do little to lift my gloom. As soon as they appear above Divis Mountain, they are gone. They are yet another false dawn in my gloomy existence. Is there no end to my suffering? No festive cheer here.

Comrades, please remember me in your thoughts and prayers.

Hardstation.

I don't know about anyone else, but I am beginning to get a bit concerned about the mental well being of young hardstation.

[ziggysego]

I got a letter in the post on Saturday with Hardstation as sender.

A lot of the letter was blacked out, but he appears to be getting it bad. The jist of it was, that Tony wasn't really on holidays.. then he started to cry and the ink ran on the remainer of the sentence.

I fear for him. We need prayers.

[Square Ball]

i miss him, I am sure there will be a lot of wisdom for him to pass on to us when his sentance is finished

[toiletroller]

This is quality lol. O'Neill tell hardstation he should publish a book of his memoirs. f**k sake Oisin Mc Coville made a fortune last christmas with the Gambler!!! Milk the christmas thing 

[Evil Genius]

If you're reading this Hardstation, or some of your moles can get this to you, why not join OWC, where you'd surely not be so badly treated as on here.

Football For All! 

[his holiness nb]

it has the entire back catalogue of the Pogues and Barnbrack singing "I'll tell me ma". Funny how every time I hear that song I think of his holiness nb

[leenie]

don't be sorry for him

the oul feckers return coincides with my birthday so ziggy will be to busy doing a welcome back hardstation and 4get about a happy b'day for me


i'll start me own.........

[thebandit]

I got a fag paper in the post this morning with writing on it, does anyone know what that was about?

[Puckoon]

Feck him. You do the crime you do the time. I see he got his Christmas presents early including the Evil Genius' "verbosity for dummies"