” President Sarkozy this is Paddy from Ireland. I’m ringing to inform you that we’re declaring war on France.”

“Well, Paddy, this is important. How big is your army?”

“Right now, there’s meself, me cousin Sean, me next door neighbour Seamus, and the entire darts team from the pub. That’s eight!”

“France has a 100,000 men in the army.” Smirked Sarkozy.

“Begoora! I’ll ring back.”

Sure enough Paddy calls again. “President the war’s on. We ‘ve managed got some infantry equipment!”

“And what would that be Paddy?”

Well, we’ve two combines, a bulldozer, and Murphy’s farm tractor.”

Sarkozy sighs. “Paddy, I’ve 6,000 tanks and 5,000 armoured personnel carriers.”

“Saints preserve us! I’ll get back to you.”

Sure enough, Paddy rings the next day. “President the war’s on! We’ve got ourselves an air force! We’ve modified Jackie McLaughlin’s ultra-light with a couple of shotguns in the cockpit. And the infantry is bigger as well. Four boys from the Shamrock Bar have joined us!”

Sarkozy was silent for a minute and cleared his throat. “Paddy, I’ve 100 bombers and 200 fighter planes. My bases are surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missiles. And since we last spoke, I’ve increased the army to 200,000!””Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” says Paddy, “I’ll ring you back.”

Sure enough, Paddy calls again the next day. “Top o’ the mornin’, Mr. Sarkozy! I am sorry to inform you that we ‘ve had to call off the war.“

“Really? I am sorry to hear that,” says Sarkozy. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Well,” says Paddy, “we had a long chat over a few pints of Guinness, and we decided there is no fookin’ way we can feed 200,000 prisoners.”

Peter B.