War is over (Merry Christmas)

In the "debate" on sex work in Ireland, it's time for a ceasefire over Christmas. I need to tell you, Irish abolitionists fight dirty, dirtier than I've ever experienced before. Given their background in the Magdalene Laundries, I guess that shouldn't surprise me, but there is no low to which they won't stoop. When they weren't (allegedly) reporting me to the taxman for a full investigation they were putting my details up on Dublin Backpage, posing as clients to fill my diary with false appointments and that's before we talk about hauling me through the mud at Stormont and telling blatant lies to the media about me and my colleagues. Ho hum.

I'm not saying I didn't respond with ferocity, I did. That's because they made a common mistake and mistook a pleasant manner for weakness. As anyone who knows me will tell you, I go into every single debate I do to win. Whether that's an hour long event at a university or an eighteen month campaign in Northern Ireland, I don't do giving up. So if it means a trip to the Supreme Court, or the European Court of Human Rights, so be it.

About the only thing I can't blame abolitionists for this year is smashing up my leg in Belfast, although if I didn't know better, I'd swear they crept in to my room in the dead of night and added a generous coating of vegetable oil to the base of my shower. I hate to be the one to burst their bubble, but I'm back on my feet and still smiling. See to me, Christmas is lovely when you receive gifts and all, I mean who doesn't need lavender soap on a rope ? But more important than that, it's time to take stock and appreciate the real gifts you have. In my case that's a number of people around me who can best be summed up with the phrase - "I've got your back, sweetie."

If I need to rage that's okay, if I need to let off steam that's fine too. If I need to cry my lamps out, there is always a man sized tissue with extra soothing balm ready. There are people I can call and request sanctuary, a DVD and a curry at anywhere else than your hotel room can be medicine indeed. I also have some friends with the most amazing sense of humour, who send me emails which have me braying like a donkey. Most unladylike but therapeutic in the extreme. One such friend has written a letter to Santa, which I've decided to share with you, he's based in Ireland and disabled, so no prizes for guessing the forthcoming tone. It just remains for me to wish you all, a very Merry Christmas with your loved ones. Not you, abolitionists, I hope your turkey is trafficked and contaminated and necessitates a 48 hour stay in your government funded bathroom suite.

LL xx

P.S : If you're stuck for a last minute gift, check out this worthy site. To help those in need, it's far better than soap on a rope.



Dear Santa,

I'm probably wasting my time writing to you, but let me remind you of some of the requests that you didn't deliver last year.

-New Bentley
-Super Model Wife/Girlfriend
-Body Transplant
-Villa in the Bahamas
-Yacht in Monaco.

This year I have only one simple request, I want a visit to Belfast. As you know I'm a vulnerable simpleton cripple and it's my duty to be targeted. There is a dangerous one who goes by the name Laura Lee and she specialises in targeting the likes of me and she visits Belfast. She has what she calls toys, I wouldn't like to tell you what she does with them it would probably kill an old man like you if I told you. Be careful Santa, she is well connected, friends in high places, her BEST Friends are the DUP you know those Lovely Upright Law Abiding God Fearing Political Citizens that look out for everyone, especially women.

Those lovely nuns at Ruhama, they are the ones who told me that she is dangerous, in fact they say she is pure evil. She writes blogs about how she loves to target the likes of me, she bragged on Twatter recently how she had her wicked way with another vulnerable fella in Inverness then she stole all his belongings and ran over his cat. After she had her wicked way with another she made soup and sandwiches for him but the nuns tell me that if you sample her culinary skills that's probably the end of you. They say it's worse than having to eat Kangroo Balls on I'm a Muppet in the Jungle. The poor sod is probably cat and hamster food by now you can't get any more evil than that Santa.

She also makes television about targeting the likes of us vulnerable ones, I've been asked recently by a television station to star in her new show "I'm a cripple get me out of here". In fact the nuns are trying to capture her and put her in a safe house but between you and me I think there's a better chance of them finding a bisexual leprechaun with hen's teeth. They have told me it's just as well that I'm a vulnerable simpleton cripple, that way I don't understand just what she's up to when I'm targeted. She has told me that I'm lovely and then she said the other day that I'm a good one but Santa you know that's just not true. Apparently that's part of her plan to trap me. I think that's the drugs. Those nuns say she only does all this because she and all her mates are junkies.

She told me the first time that we met that just because I'm a vulnerable simpleton cripple, doesn't get me off my duties as a man, and she wouldn't let me leave until I did. She seem to love it and wriggled around smiling and moaning, but I know that's just the badness trying to escape her.

If you ignore this request like last year's, I will have to arrange to borrow a decommissioned surface to air missile and then you will be the one, Mr Clause who will be targeted when you fly over my house on Christmas Eve.

Yours,

Frustrated of Fermanagh