However when it comes to the story of knickers not everything goes down well. For in the US of A they are called panties, not knickers. There you have it, Diedrich Knickerbocker, a fictional prophet not without honour, save in his own country.
A native of Dublin where he lived for 33 years until, fearing crucifixion, he followed the example of St. Patrick's snakes and went to the UK just in time to avoid the stress of the boom in the Irish economy. Now working in London and living in Buckinghamshire with wife and cat close to Chequers, the Prime Minister's country residence. This and the fact I work within sight of Big Ben and Scotland Yard I'm obviously a prime terrorist target and hope I won't be recognised from my photo! I subscribe fully to my townsman, George Bernard Shaw's, opinion "The Irish are a very honest people, they never speak well of each other". My other townsman, Brendan Behan's, opinion that "Irish and Jewish organisations have much in common, the first item on the agenda is always THE SPLIT!" is also worthy of honourable mention. However the "ultimate compliment" award goes to another of my townsmen; Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral, who left all his money in his will to found a psychiatric hospital. "He gave what little wealth he had, to found a house for fools and mad, to show with one satiric touch, no nation needed it as much."
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