"Good morning. It's 11am. This is the British Broadcasting Association.

"The British government's three year naval embargo on goods destined for the IRA-governed province of Northern Ireland has come under the spotlight once again after SAS commandos boarded a vessel carrying Catholic 'peace campaigners' from Italy, Spain, Poland and South America, wishing to show solidarity with the terrorist government and the suppressed Catholic population of the former British colony.

"SAS commandos had anticipated little trouble from the peace boat, the Mary Magdalene, who had been instructed to divert to the port of Liverpool to undergo routine inspection of her cargo, but were met by a hostile crowd armed with steel bars, stun grenades, slingshots and knives who viciously attacked the British special unit who were eventually forced to open fire to protect their own lives. Nine of the so-called peace campaigners were killed and a number of SAS personnel were seriously injured.

"The international community led by the Catholic block have been quick to condemn the British government and have called for an immediate lifting of the naval embargo which is, of course, complimented by the closure of the land border with the Republic of Ireland, also a Catholic nation, but one which rejects the violent armed struggle being waged by the IRA and who have a long standing peace agreement with Britain.

"After more than six years of rocket attacks from Northern Ireland that terrorised the communities of Manchester, Liverpool and the west coast of England, in 2005 the British government took the decision to unilaterally withdraw from the province as a gesture of goodwill and to give the people of Northern Ireland an opportunity to elect a peace loving government that would work for the betterment of all of the Northern Irish people.

"Following the elections of 2006 which saw the IRA gain a majority vote, all political opposition in Northern Ireland was eradicated with many opposition politicians and spokespersons being summarily executed, whilst others have been forced to flee for their lives.

"Despite being granted autonomy, the IRA continued a sustained barrage of rockets into the west coast population centres of England, forcing millions to live in fear of their lives and spend long periods of time every week living in bomb shelters; children unable to go to school, businesses forced to close, civilian deaths from indiscriminate rocket fire, and local authorities and public services unable to function.

"The British government's decision in 2008 to send in the RAF to destroy the IRA bomb factories, callously and calculating placed in built-up city areas, resulted in a significant loss of life as a result of the IRA effectively using the captive Northern Irish civilian population as human shields. Once again there was a massive international outcry at the disproportionate number of deaths on the Northern Irish side, as opposed to the 13 military and civilian casualties sustained by British forces.

"The decision to enforce the naval embargo to ensure that more weapons materiel and bomb making equipment cannot arrive at the port of Belfast or other smaller ports on the Northern Irish coast, has been roundly condemned by the UN and other major international organizations, many of whose members appear fearful of a violent backlash within their own communities from the radical Catholic population who demonstrate daily on the streets against the British and in support of the IRA, an organization which has been and still remains on the international list of terrorists organizations.

"Despite the British government bending over backwards to allow as much humanitarian aid as possible into Northern Ireland, it is widely acknowledged that the IRA have commandeered most of the humanitarian aid and are using it for profiteering and raising cash to purchase more weaponry from sympathetic nations such as Venezuela, the Seychelles and Libya. There has been little or no distribution of the aid to the civilian population who are suffering daily due to the actions of the IRA government.

"It has now been revealed that there were as many as 50 people amongst the 600 on board the Mary Magdalene that are wanted in a variety of countries across the globe for anti-British and anti-Protestant offences, including the attacking of Church of England premises and the murder and attempted murder of regular Church of England worshippers. A number made statements to their local media before the Mary Magdalene set sail, saying that they were prepared to die and be martyred like Saint Joan if necessary, in order to break the naval embargo imposed by Britain. It is quite clear that this hardcore of violent activists were spoiling for a fight with the SAS all along and duped the genuine peace campaigners aboard the ship into believing that they had only peaceful intentions.

"It is now understood that a new flotilla of boats seeking to break the embargo has set off from Brazil, Mexico and Italy, whilst it is also reported that President Chavez of Venezuela, a man who has expressed his total support for the terrorist IRA and whose government has allegedly given billions of dollars to the terrorist government in order to buy missiles and weaponry to use against the British, is to send two warships to the Irish Sea in an effort to ensure that the breaking of the naval blockade will succeed, even if that means engaging the British navy to do so."
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Makes you think, doesn't it?  Thankfully, the IRA laid down their arms and decided to follow the path of peace. It could all have been so different.

Isn't it a shame that Hamas refuse to do the same?
 
 
Life in semi-rural Israel can be a real pleasure, especially if, like me, you appreciate nature and enjoy being in relatively close contact with the animal kingdom.

When my wife and I chose to live in Zichron Yaakov it was because it offered all we were looking for; a relatively small community, but with nearly all the everyday facilities one could possibly need, good schools for our girls, close proximity to the beautiful beaches north of Caesaria, and a green outlook with the Carmel hills rolling down around us. It's a pretty idyllic spot.

To make matters even better, we found a house that looks directly onto the Rothschild nature reserve of Ramat HaNadiv, on the edge of a steep ravine covered in olive trees and scrubland on the opposite side. And, on our side, a variety of plants and trees, most of which I've been unable to put a name to. Directly opposite the house on the other side of the ravine – about 100 metres as the crow flies – is a huge cage which is run by the park rangers as an R&R retreat for injured birds of prey. Eagles, buzzards, vultures, owls and hawks are all restored to good health by the expert ornithologists who gradually train them to return to the wild, training runs that frequently cross over our heads and send the green parrot population heading for cover for fear of ending up on an eagle's dinner table.

Crickets whirr loudly through the evening and into the night, competing with jackals that roam the reserve and get a bit of a howl on when the female of the species 'puts out' that she's ready to be 'covered', as they say in the horse breeding business.

Our only domestic pet is our faithful dog Mocca, a mongrel we chose from the animal rescue centre at Hadera just over two years ago and who has become a much loved member of the Alster family. Being the only one that doesn’t answer back, who is always happy to see me, and costs a relatively small amount to keep, it would be fair to say that there are times when he goes close to being at the top of my family favourites list, if only for a brief while. 

The girls walk Mocca morning and afternoon, and I take him out for a stroll at night, where he struts around the neighbourhood as if he owns the place, exchanging pleasantries with the other hounds on the block. He's never got into a fight and all the dogs, both male and female seem to like him – I suspect he might be gay, but I don't love him any less for it!

His evening ritual is to pad around slowly, sniffing here and occasionally woofing there, and then, as we return to within sight of the gate at the bottom of the steps up to my house, he always sprints the last 30 metres, rather as I used to do at the end of cross-country running at school as we were being counted in, and I wanted to impress with my physical fitness and stamina. The fact that I'd walked most of the previous five miles is neither here nor there! 

Anyway, a few nights ago Mocca headed around the corner of our street towards an open area of scrubland, whereupon I found him rooted to the spot, furiously sniffing the air as his tail curled alarmingly between his legs. I asked him if there was a problem, but he refused to explain. Then, with a feeble whine, he turned around and scooted back in the direction of the house at high speed. 'Stupid dog'.

I peered curiously into the darkness. Despite my lack of foresight in not packing night vision goggles for the 10 minute stroll, it didn't take the instinct of James Bond or David Attenborough to sense pretty quickly that there was something out there. Then an audible rustling noise made by 'something of substance' emanated from the bushes. Had I happened upon a young couple 'pitching-the-woo' as they said in days gone by, or was a terrorist about to leap out and 'make my day' by making me a 'martyr'? Before I had time to hatch a 'cunning plan' all was revealed. It was big, it was hairy, and it definitely wasn't kosher! A white tusked, bigger-than-I-had-ever-suspected wild boar started trotting slowly, but most definitely towards me.

'Surely it must be frightened of humans', I thought briefly. But then, as it continued its progress in my direction, I soon formed the opinion that maybe I was more frightened of it, than it was of me, and that discretion was definitely the better part of valour. First rule of warfare – never turn your back on the enemy. 'Oh sod that' I thought, as I shouted out 'Ohhhhh shit!', turned on my heels, and ran at a pace that I swear would give Usain Bolt something to think about. I'd gone at least 50 metres when I glanced behind and noticed that 'old pigface' had ground to a halt, probably offended by my turn of phrase. 

He stared at me, and I stared back at him. My faithful, fearless hound was already hidden behind bushes half-way along the street. It was nearly midnight and there wasn't a soul about. The crickets whirred in the silence. From the eagles' cage I could hear a squawking noise that almost drowned out the beating of my heart – but not quite. The boar – I'm talking about the one with the tusks, not me, - looked me up and down for a few moments and then appeared to decide I just wasn't worth the effort, turned its piggy tail and headed back into the night, from whence it came.

Well! What a palaver! A quiet evening stroll had turned into a spot of man versus beast short-course athletics. Mocca, looking somewhat embarrassed at his lack of canine backbone, eventually came ambling over to see if I was OK. 

'You big puff', I told him, and he jumped up to show me how happy he was that all's well that ends well. 30 metres from the gate, his dawdle suddenly turned into the customary sprint and he shot around the corner, up the stairs and onto the lawn, impressing no-one - particularly not me.

Good old Mocca.