Les Mots sur la Manche

Conquerors, finally. We went to Dublin and beat those fucking bastards who’ve been knocking us out of this trophy every year since forever. I, of course, was fabulous. The star of the show. 23 points. The little general. And so on. Whatever. Adoration is boring.


To kick off the first of my very occasional Les Mots, I’ve decided, rather appropriately, to discuss words.

In the past I have been pilloried for some verbal contretemps with our rival Irishmen. Apparently this one went down really badly. For a nation that is simultaneously so tiny as to be nearly pointless, yet which has won so many Nobel Prizes for literature (first winner a Frenchman, by the way, albeit not myself, or anywhere near as drole) and is famed, above all else, even drinking and fighting, for their wonderful understanding and use of words and language, to miss the point so completely is surprising. The truth is: they do not understand les mots.

One must question what lingual communication is set to achieve. Surely to view it merely as a way to list facts, hamstrung by truth, or even as a method of genuine self-expression (vomit), is unambitious. What I realised as a child was that talking, like everything else, is a cause exercised for effect. I want to score a try? I set the ball over the line. Kick a goal? Swing my foot at a ball rested on a tee. Unsettle weak-minded fools ahead of a big game? Open my mouth and let my tongue dance as I exhale.

So, this week I’ve again been “hating” the Irish. Next week, who knows? I never look at our fixture list. I go to press conferences and throw subtle pieces of sweetcorn-filled shit at our coming opponents, whoever they are. Sometimes I also talk into the microphones, answering questions, et cetera. But mostly I fling the pre-prepared turds of Cudmore and Hines.

It backfired once ahead of a fixture against Biarritz. A well-aimed Zirakashvili phaal residue, which had to be velocitated with a ladle, was eaten by Serge Blanco. He did not even flinch. Perhaps he did not even notice. But it fucked with my head completely and that absolute voir vous Mardi prochain Yachvili had my number all game.

There is a good chance we will have to play an English team in the quarter finals, apparently. It will be at home and therefore we will win regardless but I, with my world-class service, will launch faeces anyway; I’m a professional. No words other than the necessary. The effect is caused. With Saturday comes victory.

Now, with the H-Cup, and the possibility of English opponents – I feel sorry for them. We two nations, neighbours and former Imperials, have long emphasised the few differences between our cultures, but are really far more similar than either would like to admit. However, they are very ugly.

Like France, les Rosbifs also have an extremely intelligent, sharp-witted silver tongue, the same height as me, with the same colour hair and the same favourable attitude to a good side parting. He also looks, in many fundamental ways, just like me. However, as we see below, he is a human outlier, an accident, an extremity, a mistake. I am most of those things too. He, however, is an ugly freak; I am a handsome bastard.

No doubt I will declare this louder and more publicly should it be confirmed that we are facing any English stars, like Stevens, Warburton or North, in the quarter-finals: for every English man, there is a superior, better-looking French equivalent.

Again, I say all these things because I want to win, not because I mean them (whatever that means). For clarity, this also does not mean I do not mean them, simply that when I speak it is to make something happen. All actions are thus. Most people are just far too arrogant and stupid to realise. They think they should share their inanities with the rest of us. My counsel will always remain my own.

I don’t know why the HASK asked me to write this column, though I see he is aiming for rugby writing from around the world. I have my views on the website but will not share, that is not for what words are intended. I only agreed because I feel sorry for James. The world is not suitably well-organised to deal with him. Whatever the circumstances of his conception and birth, it’s a near certainty that his muscles-to-brains ratio – or GUNS-to-HEADGUNS, as he would say or, probably, drool – is simply too high for him to be viewed as human. He is more chimp.

I like animals; I write this article. You will never know me. I will not allow it.

Readers, I hope and trust you can look under the net of language and find the reality therein.

Until next time, adieu.

As Hacked By LarryMilne

About sagmog

Just the facts, man.
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210 Responses to Les Mots sur la Manche

  1. killerline says:


    you’re only going through the same process most of us probably did.

    I read it, thought huh? Translated the words, then finally my dumb noggin got the joke.

  2. titimanionga says:

    Another Friday, another airport. Bleugh. Still, Munster come to town tomorrow, so that should be mighty craic. I’ve plumped for a 4 point win for us. Must be the egg nog talking.

  3. MichaelVaughanMyLord says:

    Unfortunately I will be joining the unwashed proletariat and gorging on turkey this Christmas. Were I hosting I would be feasting on goose. On Christmas Eve however I will be cooking a Beef Wellington, so all is not lost this Yuletide.

  4. triskaidekaphobia says:

    Can’t really stand turkey – so as it is just my Mrs Triskai and the small ones (who know no different) – we’re having leg of lamb. (we had lobster one year before my wife developed an allergy to shellfish – collapsed with anaphylactic shock on 5th Ave New York – but that’s another story). On Stephen’s Day (Boxing Day to those over the water) – the in-laws and relative come over and bring the remains of the ham (mmmmm!).

  5. tichtheid says:

    It’s home-made sausage rolls chez Tichtheid on Christmas Eve, MVM, always has been, always will be..

    We used to go to the Watchnight Service in my parish church, this is held late Christmas Eve and sees in the beginning of Christmas Day, for a while it was getting a bit rowdy as there were several pubs within lurching distance. One year a mate of mine chundered all over the family pew – he never could hold a drink – and that was the last time my mum went.

    I don’t really go to the Kirk any more, it was fun on Christmas Eve when my kids were little, there is a lovely carol service for them around six o’clock, then it was back for the aforementioned sausage rolls, and we always put a large glass of Talisker out for Santa, ahem, sometimes he has more than the one.

  6. LarryMilne says:

    Superbro AP:

    Worcester better than Welsh by 10
    Sarries over Bath by six
    Glaws scalping the Chiefs by 10
    Tigers to deal with Irish by 10
    Saints to beat Quins by four
    Wasps to sting the Sharks with a 13-point win

  7. LarryMilne says:

    Superbro Bro12:

    Blues to beat the Scarlets by eight
    Ulster to w… to w…. to… can barely get this out, can’t believe I’m scudding my own fucking team… to beat Lein… to be… to win. Against the f*****g Dubs who we never beat, ever. By six points (and game of the weekend)
    Glasgow to beat embra by five
    Treviso to beat Zebre by nine
    Munster to successfully plant a single turnip in the bottom paddock (one point win)

  8. killerline says:


    Mmmm not sure.

    Leinster will be smarting after that Clermont experience last weekend…

  9. Karl1976 says:

    One useful thing I’ve learned over Christmas is that invariably there is slightly too much food. There’s the remnants of the turkey dinner, there’s invariably a bit of leftover roast ham kicking around, and various other meats and cheeses.
    In a moment of rare lucidity last year, I realised that these things together would make an immense pie. So a nice shortcrust pie base, blind baked, and then filled with chunks of turkey, ham, sausagemeat stuffing, sage and onion stuffing, a couple of pigs in blankets. Spread over some cranberry sauce. Over that, layer some slices of stinky blue cheese (we had some amazing artisan stilton that had to be tied down otherwise it would have grown legs and walked) and stick it in the oven. The stilton melts and runs down over all the meaty stuff in the pie, but doesn’t make the base soggy. It took a good hour to bake to the top came out nice and crispy.
    This was my primary source of food until new year’s day, It was amazing beyond words. We are at the outlaws this year but next year will be at home, so the development of this is to make it into a proper hot water crust pie. nom nom nom.

  10. Karl1976 says:

    for some reason WordPress took out all my paragraph breaks there. I don’t normally ramble like that (I hope).

  11. killerline says:

    Ha Karl you’ve painted a good portrait of why for non meat eaters, like Killer, Xmas holds far less importance…

  12. LarryMilne says:

    @killer – yeah, I would have backed them but, having seen the teams, ours looks stronger, and its at ours (although Leinster have no fear of Ravenhill).

    @karl – it’s never rambling when you’re talking about cooking something great.

    @architects (primarily Meadesian and the muppet) – I saw these and thought of you:



    Having checked out the uglies I can confirm the true ugliest building in the world is missing: the Crooked House in Sopot.

  13. LarryMilne says:

    killer, your name’s in blue… I put two links in a comment without thinking and now it is awaiting moderation. Could you ease it through?

  14. sagmog says:

    My parents are coming to us this year.
    Nobody likes turkey (yay) so it’s a rib roast.
    Not being a breeder, xmas is just a glorified Sunday lunch with a few added pressies.

  15. You vegetarian Killer?

    Surprised at that.

  16. killerline says:

    How do I do that?

    I can’t get in the site admin bit…

  17. tichtheid says:

    Right lads, I’m about to embark on a five hour round trip that takes in the lovely M25, on Friday, the weekend before Christmas. The Five hour trip may turn out to be significantly longer. But Christmas starts when I get back as mes enfants will be coming home from school around that time. Not sure how much time I’ll get online, so Seasons Greetings to you all.

    Nollaig Chridheil agus Bliadhna Mhath Ur

  18. This is the last effective working day. Should I push up the Christmas with THE HASK message or just leave it until the 23rd? Also, I want to make a change that’s only just occurred to me and I’m back in the shit office so can’t do it.

  19. killerline says:


    Been a pescetarian for a year. Didn’t make the massive impact on my existence I was expecting.
    Next year: full veggie status.

  20. killerline says:

    Merry Xmas Father Tichtmas

  21. LarryMilne says:

    @ticht – have a good one, fella.

    Seriously, this day in work is pointless. Doing nothing.

  22. sagmog says:

    Got it already.

  23. Cool beans.

    Shall I bother publishing that Christmas with the Hask thing? I’m not sure I can here, but I can have a go.

  24. sagmog says:

    You’re the boss, man. You’re the boss.

  25. Right. I’m going to edit it on my iphone and publish. That’s dedication.

  26. And done. Honestly, my workplace is so shit I had to do that on a fucking phone.


  27. Righto. I appear to have killed the blog.

    *shuffles feet in embarrassment*

    You can’t all be working surely?

  28. LarryMilne says:

    I was chatting with my boss. Again, about shit we have to do in January.

    However, he then said “if you’re done at lunchtime just go home”.

    Oh, those are the words I wanted to hear. So much. Glorious!

  29. Baldy says:

    Awesome article Larry, love it!

Comments are closed.