Togo scammer tries to get me – by using Gaeilge

IN THIS WEEK’S COVID DIARIES, TADHG EVANS REFLECTS ON THE PREMIER LEAGUE’S RETURN, AND A SCAMMER FROM TOGO USES IRISH IN HIS LATEST DESPERATE BID TO EMPTY TADHG’S BANK ACCOUNT

I’M STARTING TO LOOK LIKE BOB GELDOF, AND NOBODY WANTS TO LOOK LIKE BOB GELDOF. THAT MAN’S HAIR IS SOMETHING AWFUL.

Wednesday, May 27

DEAR Diary – I’m off tomorrow morning, so I stay up a bit later than usual – but I’ve finished Netflix, there’s little on the telly and, therefore, little to do full stop.

So in a desperate bid to entertain myself, I leaf through my e-mails.

A man called Paul Jack has e-mailed me, as he has many times before.

I have my doubts about Paul: he claims to be from the tiny African nation of Togo and is always looking for my credit card details so he can ‘transfer’ huge sums of money to me.

I’ve never e-mailed him back, but it doesn’t stop him trying to drain my bank account, God bless him.

And to be fair to the man, what he lacks in morals he makes up for in imagination. My Togolese friend, despite hailing from a French-speaking Republic, has stopped writing to me in English and has now switched to Irish.

Very crude Irish at that, but you can’t fault a man for embracing the cúpla focail.

I get a good laugh from the form he wants me to fill out. Aside from his usual requests for extremely sensitive bank details, he wants to know what ‘cathair’ (city) I’m from.

I’m from the greater Dingle metropolitan area, Paul. Lios Póil is more of a suburb, really.

Now go away.

Thursday, May 28

DEAR Diary – The only good thing about lockdown is that we get to look forward to the lockdown ending, and there have been a few subtle signs lately that that’s on it’s way, slowly.

But today it’s more than a subtle sign. It might even be a misguided decision, but at least I’ll get some real sport back in my life: the Premier League will return on June 17.

I’m not a Liverpool fan – Newcastle, actually – but I’ve always liked them a lot more than the other ‘big’ clubs.

Man City and Chelsea bought their way to the top; I respect United are a proper club, but I got mighty sick of them winning everything for 20 years; and I don’t really care about Arsenal and Spurs.

I’m delighted for Liverpool. They’re 25 points clear with nine games to go, so they need two wins from their last nine matches. They’ve won 27 out of 29 so far, so they should be grand.

And we no longer have to listen to bitter non-Liverpool fans’ ridiculous calls for the league to be scrapped, and the standings made ‘null and void’ – thus denying Liverpool the title.

Sport should be sporting: Liverpool have battered everyone fair and square. You lost, Cyril.

I don’t know if the Premier League should return or not, but Liverpool not winning was definitely a brain-less option.

Friday, May 29

DEAR Diary – I’m after getting my first haircut of the lock-down.

I’ve refused assistance from my family up to now because I don’t trust anyone only my barber, Justin, to take at my hair.

But I’m starting to look like Bob Geldof, and nobody wants to look like Bob Geldof. That man’s hair is something awful.

I sit down at 10.45pm, and for the next 70 minutes – yes, 70 minutes – my two sisters and my mother circle me, armed with blades and scissors they’re not trained to use. I’m scared.

They took their sweet time, and when they did occasionally decide to do a bit of cutting after about five minutes at a time discussing what could be slightly improved, it hurt. At one stage, my sister nearly Mike Tysoned my left ear.

Around halfway through, they thought the job was done. Then I went down to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and began to weep internally.

I don’t know if you’re ever watched a mid’00s kids show called ‘Ned’s Declassified School Survival Guide’, but there’s a créatúr in it called ‘Coconut Head’, and he’s called Coconut Head because his hair makes him look like a coconut.

His is not as bad as Bob Geldof ’s hair because nobody’s hair is as bad as Bob Geldof ’s hair, but that doesn’t make it any way acceptable.

In summary: I currently look like Coconut Head, and that’s not okay.

So I must sit down for another half an hour. In the end, to my shock, they did a very good job. It’s not Justin-level barberism, but it’s fine, and I’m fine with fine. Fine means I look like neither Bob Geldof nor Coconut Head.

The weekend

DEAR Diary – The weather is beautiful. I’d nearly say we could do with a drop of rain, but any time I’ve said that in the past we’ve ended up getting 40 days and 40 nights of the wet stuff. I‘ll stay quiet for now.

I actually got a bit of sunburn. Anyone who knows me will know that I’m very pale and look like an unfriendly version of Casper the friendly ghost. So the bit of colour – even if it’s unhealthy red rather than healthy brown – could only be described as badly wanted.

More importantly, I’ve made good progress since Friday night with ‘The Last Dance’, a documentary series about the great Chicago Bulls basketball team of the 1990s.

Well, really it’s about how great Michael Jordan was, and the other great players around him get a bit underplayed as far as I can see.

I’m four episodes in, and every time I see clips of Jordan playing in his youth, he reminds me of nobody only David Clifford. That’s how good Michael Jordan was.

I really hope the current Kerry bunch will become as dominant as The Bulls. I’m more bored with Dublin than I am with the lock-down.

The Kerryman reporter Tadhg Evans