Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

A view of the world from an Irish hole

Cavan councillors reject circumcision

Male members of Cavan County Council have angrily rejected planned circumcision. This action was to be taken in the light of rising levels of verbal diarrhoea. Studies undertaken in local authorities where circumcision occurred have shown that infection rates have fallen by as much as 60%.

The action, which has the backing of the HSE and the local authority#s executive, has so far only secured the  support of one councillor (who always backed the executive anyway). However, even he stated that he would not go ahead unilaterally with the operation unless it had the backing of the whole council.

One councillor, speaking anonymously,  reacted angrily: “Lookad, my lad’s small enough as it is. If any more was taken off it’d be invisible.” A colleague, once again speaking anonymously, said “We don’t see the big lads in the executive being expected to have a bit taken off the top.”

These accusations of double standards were flatly rejected by a spokesman for the County Manager. “Most members of the execdutive are too old to be stilol sexually active. What’s more they’re all too busy.”  Heexpressed his disappointment at the councillors’ intransigence. While reiterating the health benefits of the procedure, he added that people engaging in frequent foreign travel, such as county councillors, had a moral duty to safeguard themselves against infection. He also urged the members of the local authority to think again, adding that he was sure they would come round to the idea, given sufficient persuasion. They were urged to consult with colleagues who had successfully been circumcised. “Most people undergoing the operation, which lasts only a few minutes, say they don’t feel a thing, though to be honest, most of them haven’t felt anything there for a while.” The spokesman refused to comment on claims that a county councillor in Kerry who had initially agreed to undergo circumcision, pulled out at the last minute when he heard that he’d only be given a local anaesthetic. “That’s typical o’ de HSE always tryin’ to cut corners. Fuck it I want an imported anaestetic.”                   

 The councillors’ actions mark a rare example of discord between the authority#s elected members and the executive. The former usually accept blindly and without discussion every policy put forward by the executive. Those believing that this marks a new departure may be disappointed however, as one of the most vociferous opponents of circumcision was at pains to point out that this was a once off.

 

The Cult of Personality in Cavan

Cults of personality are usually associated with despotic regimes. The freedom and wealth of the people usually stand in inversed proportion to the ego of their leader…The cult of Personality can take bizarre forms, as in Turkmenistan under the rule of the Turkmenbashi himself, Saparmarad Niyazov who had a statue erected of himself atop a plinth which moved full circle every twenty-four hours; one of the three television stations actually carried an image of the Turkmenbashi in the far right-hand corner. Less extreme, but still ridiculous manifestations of the egos of the political establishment involved the naming of airports after the president, as in Kenya during the rule of Daniel arap Moi, or the plastering of the leader’s portrait on every available wallspace..  I remember Alexei Sayles going on a televised visit to Syria during the reign of Hafez al-Assad, where he noted with his unique sense of irony, that the President’s image was to be seen on each corner and shop window. This reminded him of the publicity that might attend a performance by an artist or comedian when the ticket sales  had gone really badly and the promoters sought to boost the eventual crowds by a barrage of advertising in the hope of fending off a flop

It is usual in most parts of the democratic world to wait until someone is dead a decent time before they are commemorated by having a building, a road, or a fountain named after them. Cavan town is an exception where it is accepted that egotistical nobodies can be commemorated before they have gone the way of all flesh. I refer to an area near Drumalee Cross which I pass on my daily “fun run” which proudly bears the moniker Cullivan Court. As the building is partly owned by one Gabriel Cullivan, formerly a town clerk of the town, I assume that it has been named in his honour, and not that of the well-known and much-loved architect , the late Phil Cullivan. This is like an annex of Wall Street being renamed Boesky Boulevard or Madoff Parade. While such dreadful and unseemly self-promotion may appear tasteless, it must be remembered that Mr Cullivan, as a former employee of that shower of vindictive cowards Cavan County Council, can do what he likes – he has done it in the past – and should anyone demur, one of the sycophantic elected members of the council would propose a motion of “tanks to Mr Cullivan for his sterlin’ work” on behalf of himself and the people of Cavan over the years.

I need hardly mention that one of Cullivan Court’s biggest tenants is none other than the HSE – another crowd of arrogant, incompetent  anda superannuated shites. All that is needed there is the erection of a pillar surmounted by a statue of Mr Cullivan, maybe sporting the green leprechaun suit he wore  at the opening of the County Museum fifteen years’ ago and which was commented upon with so much mirth and derision by the then County Arts Officer, Ms Catriona O’Reilly. (I know that the present County Arts Officer is also  called Ms Catriona O’Reilly but she is altogether a different person from the one I referred to.

I expect these comments will meet with a frisson of disapproval, maybe even a threat of legal action, but my response is Bring it on baby! Some of them may even say that I shouldn’t be going so far on my fun run. Am I not confined to a wheelchair, and should I not come to terms with my disability like other cripples in the county by accepting my permanent inferiority to Cavan County Council, its employee and their families (more or less the same thing) by awaiting the grant of a council house?

 

Good news from Guatemala

From Guatemala comes the welcome news that four men have finally been arrested for their part in the notorious Plan de Sanchez massacre of July 1982, in which 268 innocent people lost their lives. This even occurred during the blood-stained regime of General Efraim Rios Montt, The Guatemalan army had been fighting various left-wing guerrillas for over two decades, and Rios Montt and many of the country’s pampered elite believed they were receiving the backing of Guatemala’s indigenous population. On grabbing the presidency he instituted new policies for the war, including the burning of crops and whole villages, as well as the establishment of local vigilante groups or Self Defence Patrols or Petrullas de Autodefensa Civil (PAC) who would work with the army in their fight against the insurgents. Many of these patrols were made up of indigenous Guatemalans, who were thus being insinuated, often against their will, into the struggle against the guerrillas. The inhabitants of the village of Plan de Sanchez in the country’s central highlands refused to join up, not necessarily because they sympathised with the guerrillas, but because they found that the persistent struggle for survival took up much of their time. They were increasingly victimised for their recalcitrance and their complaints to the authorities were often met by fines, leading many of the men to leave the village for the surrounding mountains.

 Market day in Plan de Sanchez

 Sunday 18 July was the day of Plan de Sanchez’s weekly market that attracted visitors from other villages and the surrounding countryside. Early in the morning other visitors appeared on the scene: uniformed soldiers accompanied by men from the Self-Defence patrols (PAC). Forstly they fired two artillery rounds at the villagers, causing sever panic and several injuries. They then proceeded to rough up the village’s inhabitants and to carry out house-to-house searches. Then, in the afternoon, an ominous event occurred when they sealed off the village, preventing anyone from entering, or more important, from leaving. The villagers were collected and the young girls were separated and moved to a house in the village. Here they were interrogated, abused, beaten, raped and finally killed. Meanwhile the remaining villagers were housed separately. The older inhabitants were subjected to intensive physical beatings, after which they were killed. These obscene salami tactics continued with the separation of the young children and even babies as young as nine months old from their parents.  The soldiers did not think them worth a bullet; instead they either had their heads bashed in with rifle butts or they were swung against the ground with such force that their skulls cracked. The only ones left were the women and such men as had not fled from the village. A grenade was thrown in to the house where they were packed. The explosion started a fire, but just to make sure no one got out, the house was surrounded and sprayed repeatedly with automatic fire. Anyone who attempted to leave the village was shot. The visitors eventually left before midnight, having murdered at least 268 people.

 Identification and burial

 The next day those who had fled from the village, as well as the handful who had managed to conceal themselves or escape the killing returned. It was impossible to identify the bodies of the burnt. Many had already been partly eaten by dogs and other wild animals. In the afternoon the visitors returned. They forced the villagers they found there at gun point to hastily dig eight graves into which the victims were piled. Surprisingly, these witnesses of the atrocity were not killed; they were only threatened with death. Any houses that had not been consumed by the flames were ransacked and then set on fire.

A code of enforced silence

The soldiers left the field of carnage and lust they had created, though they threatened the survivors that they would suffer dreadful reprisals if they spoke of the events. Then they left, followed gradually by the survivors who left Plan de Sanchez a smoking ruin, suffused with the stench of burning flesh. In subsequent years a handful of the villagers drifted back and the military allowed them to resettle, on condition that they maintained their silence and joined the Self-Defence patrols.

 The search for justice thwarted

 It is difficult to conceal horrid feats. It took ten years, and the return of Guatemala to a form of civilian rule, (though under military tutelage) before attempts were made to launch a criminal investigation. These came to nothing, as witnesses were often intimidated or killed, while the Guatemalan judiciary showed a marked lack of appetite to pursue justice. In 1996 came the formal end of the hostilities that led to the massacre. Unfortunately, one of the terms demanded by the military before they’d agree to a peace settlement was a blanket amnesty for their misdeeds.

 A glimmer of hope

 In 2000 the then president of Guatemala Alfonso Portillo admitted government involvement and promised to pay relatives of the survivors compensation, but still the Guatemalan courts or police refused to get involved. 

Alvaro Colom

The election of the centre-left Alvaro Colom as president in 2008 ushered in a new willingness to address the problem of justice delayed being justice denied. The two men arrested are Lucas Tecu, military commisioner in the region when the massacre occurred and three PAC members Mario Julian Acoj, Eusebio Grave Galeano and Santos Rosales Garcia.  This is a start, but the overall responsibility for the events of that day in July n nearly thirty years’ ago include far more people, not all of them present in the village.

 The beginning or the end?

 These arrests are a start, but one worries that they may mark the end of the search for justice. President Colom’s term is coming to an end. His likely successor is Retired General Otto Perez Medina.  Guatemala

Perez Medina

 is a country racked by violent crime, much of it drug related (and some carried out by former members of the security forces who have found peace and lack of impunity for their crimes not to their liking), Retired General Perez promises to strike hard at criminals. Only a fool would believe he will fail to protect some of his former colleagues, especially if a full inquiry into past crimes were to reveal just how deeply the Guatemalan army is dyed with the blood of the innocent.

More fleadh disruption

During my “fun run” today with my companion Pat along the Cathedral Road, our way was impeded by a man with what appeared to be a vacuum cleaner distributing water, whose origins were to be found in a mobile tank painted red. It was obvious that he worked for Cavan County Council. He was blocking the pathway and it was incumbent upon us to go out into the road in order to continue on our way. This did not elicit any response or apology for the inconvenience caused from the man with the hosepipe. On passing out in the road I felt duty-bound to ask him what he was doing. “I’m watering the flowers”, he answered in a rather defensive tone, implying that he did not like being questioned by mere members of the public. The flowers in question are contained in baskets attached to poles in a vainglorious and futile attempt to make Cavan appear beautiful. His posture, and the angle at which his hose was held, reminded me ever so much of a man coming out of a pub for a “yoke”, and this in turn set in train thoughts of the men who were told to fight The Great Fire of London during its initial stages by urinating on the flames. I felt duty-bound to say to him. “Well why don’t ya piss on them, or better still get Jack Keys to do it. An’ while he’s at it he could deposit something more solid which he’s full of.” My companion pulled me along, no doubt anxious for my safety.

Blow into the bag

No No No!

Cavan’s upcoming fleadh is due to be opened by renowned squeeze-box player Sharon Shannon. Ms Shannon has once again strongly denied persistent rumours that she plans to bring out a cover version of the late Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab”.

Ya said wha’ Gay?

I know that we’re in the Silly Season but the idea of putting up Gay Byrne for president is just pushing the joke too far, For a start he’s passed it. I hear people bristling with indignation and the murmur of “ageism” coming from their skinny lips. I believe that the term refers to the incorrect belief that an older person cannot do the job of a younger person, or at least not with the speed or ability of a younger person. It is therefore wicked and immoral to say that a man or a woman of 60 or 70 cannot carry out the same tasks as someone aged 20, What is the requisite skillset of a president? Cutting ribbons, unveiling plaques and signing your name to legislation. As for sending it to the Supreme Court if it is “repugnant to the constitution” fuck that; it’s a waste of time as they always give it the thumbs up unless it’s about something like employment rights for cripples.  True there are also official visits to places like Kazakhstant but that’s not obligatory. You may also have to accept the credentials of ambassadors but that just takes a shake of the hand so there’s no hassle. These are tasks that could be carried out by a three- or four-year old child, as well as someone aged a hubndred-and-seven.

 You need balls to be President?

The framers of our constitution, in their urge to re-create a system as close to that of England as possible, did not want to imbue the office with any powers. In fact, they ensured that the holder of the presidency would be politically castrated. It might be said that old people are time’s eunuch, castrated by its unstoppable flow (Who said that? er me actually), so an older person fits the bill. The constitution stipulates that the president must be 35 or older and such a clause has long existed in the United States, which has a real executive president and not a wimp as head of state. Sadly there is no upper age limit.

Sin a Fianna Fail

Fianna Fail support for Gaybo is reasonable as they understand the essential impotence of the office. An old person, perhaps growing in infirmity, is castrated by time.  They may be able to rise to the occasion if their pension allows frequent access to the little blue tablets but otherwise they’re fucked – metaphorically. As a result the FFers have always seen the office as a comfortable and gilded old folks’ home, to be given as a reward to elevated party members as a reward for their service, or as a compensation payment for being shafted.

The roll of (dis)honour

  • Sean O Ceallaigh had every reason to expect that he would be named Minister for External Affairs by De Valera, but Dev kept the job and the kudos for himself throughout “The Emergency”, The pay-off came in 1945 when he was nominated for and elected president.
  • When he had served his two terms, what better way was there to reward the 77-year-old long fella than with the presidency?
  •  At the expiration of his term the presidency was thought a fittingly harmless role for the intellectually far too well-equipped Erskine Childers Jr. Poor Dr Childers was not a well man.
  • On his untimely departure from life’s stage he was succeeded by the learned Cearbhall O Dalaigh without an election. President O Dalaigh withstood the petty restrictions of the office, as well as the insults of the political cornerboys of the Fine Gael / Labour coalition until the publican of Monasterboice in a moment of sherry-trifle inspired tiredness and emotion called him a “thundering disgrace”, and he resigned.
  • The coalition, reading correctly that its days were numbered, did not oppose the nomination of Dr Patrick Hillery by Fianna Fail, who was thus being rewarded for his services to the party by a sentence of fourteen years in Aras an Uachtaran from which he was lucky to come out alive.

 The worm turns

 In 1990 Fianna Fail attempted the old strategy by nominating the visibly frail Brian Lenihan Sr. as presidential candidate. By this time Ireland had grown up and realised the Soldiers of Destiny’s cynical ploy. And now they’re at it again. At the Magill Summer School Micheal Martin tried to present himself as a forward-looking politician who had realised that the Irish people had meted out a just and long-deserved punishment on his party. By courting the likes of Gay Byrne as a candidate he shows that this was all bullshit and that he is deeply dded to the Fianna Fail past.

Name recognition

Apart from Gay Byrne’s age, there is also the fact that Fianna Fail has been rattled by the candidacy of my friend and fellow Cavanman Sean Gallagher who has gained public recognition through his appearance on the Dragon’s Den programme. The simpleton from Connemara, Eamon [O] Cuiv is not liked by the electorate – I wonder why? – so they needed someone with name recognition, but Gaybo is yesterday’s man. Gay Byrne has gone down in my estimation by even giving them the time of day, and all his assurances about his campaign being “autonomous” are about as sincere as a debutante’s commitment to her virginity.

 If Gay says no…

 ll is not lost for Fianna Fail if Gay refuses to play ball. I am assured that there are plenty of other broadcasting hasbeens out there who would jump at the chance to come out of senility for one last gig with the added bonus of a plushy pad and, let’s not forget it, the state funeral, so  Tom Carter could stick his funeral expenses policy and the charming carriage clock up his arse. Names that come to mind are:

  • Bunny Carr who charmed generations of Irish people with his quiz show for the intellectually bollixed Quicksilver and who then serenaded those same folk into a calm state before they popped their clogs along with Anne O’Dwyer in everyone’s favourite Going Off; How about
  •  Sonny Knowles? (age 78). He can’t sing any more (could he ever?) but he’d be able to take on most presidential tasks with ,, er … aplomb? 
    Q. What is thirty feet long, has ten teeth and reeks of piss?
    A. The front row at a Sonny Knowles concert. 
    How about
  •  Sean og O Ceallachain (age 88 – now we’re cookin’ baby); all the right cred with the Gah. a familiar voice associated with tranquillity on a Sunday night before the rigours of the week began afresh…  I’ve got it
  • Liam O fuckin’ Murchu (age 82), Bualladh bas agus pog mo hol agus … suck me dick etc.
  • Arthur Murphy (age 80 ish?) who must find life really sucks since they pulled Mailbox on RTE and he no longer had to read out badly spelled missives from irate clerico-fascists from sheets smeared with semen,
  • Donncha O Dulaing (age anyone, must be hitting 80). Very fir for his age. Who can forget his memorable walks in the footseps of O’Sullivan Beare or Eamon De Valera? What’s more, he’s politically safe
  • Brendan Balfe (age 65, not really old enough). According to contacts he’s really pissed off since he got the elbow from RTE. What’s more, he doesn’t seem to have a pension either.
  • Andy O’Mahony. Remember programmes like Dialogue? He’d be just the man in our troubled times. We’d forget we were up shit creek because he’d put us all to sleep.
  • Hal Roach (age 83). Swallow me I’ll be right behind you but … er…no.

Other names crying out to go forward are

  • Podge and Rodge, or their alter ego Fester and Alien
  • Dustin the Turkey
  • Bosco

Don’t be silly I hear you scowl, they’re puppets. So? That’s exactly what the president is.

One final name that springs into the fetid sewers of my memory is

  • Liam Nolan. I recall with nostalgia how, as an undergraduate in Trinity I used to listen to a then pirate radio station in Dublin. First would come Fr Michael Cleary who would give it between the eyes to all the shifty lefties and liberals, and then would give it between the legs to his housekeeper. I recall with fondness his attempts to spur his listeners to go to Knock on pilgrimages. “It’d be a great day out on the train. Ya could go with a flask o’ tea and a couple o’ sanbos, an’ after ya’d done with the prayin’ ya’d be back in De Citty before nightfall.”I recall how he was once telephoned by a distraught parent asking for assistance in tracking down her son’s skate bird. The next morning I met my friend Marc coming out of the Common Room. “I say Marc. A chap has lost his skate board and I was wondering where he might start searching.” “I’m awfully sorry old man but I haven’t the foggiest” he replied. Father Cleary  was followed by Liam Nolan with his mix of “easy listenin’” including Dianna Durban’s Greatest Hits such as “It’s foolish but it’s fun”. He would read from correspondence and it seemed to me that, while those listening to Fr Cleary had real-life problems, those who listened to Liam Nolan had fought the good fight and failed, after which they’d gone into homes for the bewildered. Ni fhecfimid a laethaid ann aris go dteo

Now if that far right birdbrain Dana Rosemary Scallon is thinking of runnng again, what is there to stop Johnny Logan (who won Eurovision one time more than Dana, back when it was worth winning) or Charlie McGettigan?

But honestly, Gay Byrne for President? Stop the shaggin’ lights Bunny.

Preparing for the fleadh

My little ramble down the lanes of times past has been prompted by the preparations that Cavan County Council are making in preparation for the fleadh. They are certainly putting out their egg bag. It started recently with attempts to beautify the place with baskets of flowers. Grass in public places has been cut, though as someone observed to me the process was taking one man so long that it would have grown again before he’d finished.

Tar and cement

The most ludicrous aspect of these preparations is the re-tarring of Cavan’s streets which is occurring as I write. This is causing considerable disruption to traffic. If the streets needed to be re-tarred, why wait until three days before the fleadh begins? It is an attempt to insure that the town’s thoroughfares have a sufficiently shiny patina so that visitors can lick their food from them? The decision to begin this work now seems irrational. Management is often about making decisions about the deployment of resources, and whoever made this particular decision shouldn’t be called a manager – or paid for being one.

Imprisonment

I don’t know how far I’ll be able to participate in any of the fleadh activities. The decision is mine, and will not be influenced by the cowardly actions of the County Council executive and some of their employees who have tried to exclude me. I an sincerely concerned that there may be people in the town or who work here who will not benefit, either directly or indirectly, from the fleadh, but whose lives may be disrupted by it. This may take the form of footpaths and gateways being blocked. There may even be some, especially the old and the infirm, who will be literally imprisoned in their homes.

 Falling off the edge

 eople’s lives are being disrupted by this tarring fiasco, but they must be warned about grumbling too loudly. Any criticism of the council, no matter how warranted, will be presented as “anti-fleadh feeling”. In other words, those who are unhappy will be painted as knockers (and painting is the only way the council can get any), or grouches, paranoiacs, flat earthers, maybe even as manic depressives; in short, socially dysfunctional folk who deserve to be isolated. The next ineluctable stage is blacklisting.

It is alright for me to say what I have: I’m already blacklisted by the council and I want nothing from them.  But others might find this painful and costly, especially if they still view the council as just a bunch of bumbling, inefficient and superstitious fools who would rather not work in any week with a Friday in it, but who are really harmless.

 Health issues

 And finally, have the authorities taken steps to promote sexual health during the fleadh?  Not all followers of traditional Irish music are doddery old farts whose fingers only ever touch the strings or keys of their instruments. There are quite a number who are young and active. Have condom dispensers been located at points near to events? Have the pubs and chemists been alerted to the need to carry more stock? (I suppose if I carried a story claiming that I had evidence that a far right Catholic fundamentalist group with a kinky Latin name had flooded the town with punctured condoms the local paper would believe it and carry it on their front page.)

The yanks are coming

Rural Ireland was a place where few unexpected events occurred to break the predictable flow of time. People had sex infrequently yet babies dropped from the sky or were found under bushes or pots. However, the news that a family were to receive a visit from relatives who had spent many decades in the United States, or (worse still) from those who were related but had been born there and were returning to Ireland to see the ancestral homestead, would put the proverbial feline amongst the poultry.

 Both sets of visitors were referred to either as “the yanks” or “the yankees”. They were viewed as richer, though not every Christmas card contained a token of their wealth. They were also much more sophisticated, enjoying a level of culture far higher than available in Ireland. So all members of the family had to engage in an act of collective effort, referred to by their unsympathetic neighbours as “putting our their egg bag.”

 The paterfamilias or “oul’ lad” had to take regular baths, whereas beforehand a bath was a rare luxury, occurring at most once a year, and not always then. He would rationalise his aversion to water by saying: “Once I’m dead they can clane me, and once I’m in the ground no one’ll see whether I’m clane or clatty.” Such contrariness was a matter of real concern to the  “woman of the house”, and so plans were put in place to lessen contacts between him and the Yankees to a minimum.

 If time and finances allowed there might be structural adjustments to the house. One of these was the addition of an inside lavatory.  This might replace a “lean-to” structure referred to euphemistically as The Sugarhouse, though any disruption in the facilities dealing with bodily function was bound to be resisted by the “man of the house” who would express bewilderment at why the “hole in the yard” wouldn’t be good enough.  Everyone’s hair would be washed almost daily, and the children would have to undergo the torture of their locks being trawled by a heavy comb in the search for nits. The children would undergo a “no frills” crash course in manners and correct behaviour with the males being physically chastised each time they attempted to pick their noses. The man of the house was also told to leave his proboscis undisturbed, to refrain from using coarse or vulgar language, and to not break wind, especially at meal times. A toothbrush, with toothpaste might even be bought. Any miscellaneous expenses might be defrayed by the man of the house avoiding the pub. What’s more unsightly displays of over-indulgence in alcohol would no doubt disgust the yanks.

 The hen house, sometimes located in an old Volkswagen Beetle, would be towed out of sight or given on loan to a distant neighbour, while any other unsightly visions, such as piles of rubbish or excreta, would be removed.

 The visitors’ arrival was often anti-climatic. If they were native Yankees they might exhale delightedly at the quaintness of it all. The visit would end with the formulaic “You must come and visit us in the States” but it was seldom accompanied by the proffering of an airline ticket or displays of largesse. Once their (rental) car had staggered down the rutted lane there would be a collective sigh of relief, usually initiated by the man of the house stating: “Well thank fuck the hoors are gone. These new pants are cuttin’ the balls off me” followed up with “What’s for tae?” The “oul’ lad might be let back in, smelling strongly of urine, while the woman of the house would start scolding her husband, “Me mother always said I was makin’ the biggesht mistake o’ me life marryin’ you ya lazy, good-for-nuttin’ hape o’ shite, an’ she was right the Lord have mercy on her.” Little Seamus would then attempt to stem her wrath by asking: “Mammy, can I pick me nose now?”

Some thoughts on Cavan’s fleadh

As a naïve of Cavan town I naturally hope that this year’s coming of the Fleadh is a great success. A lot of people, many of whom will never be mentioned or who hope never to be mentioned, have worked hard to bring this about.  It provides a perfect showcase for performing traditional Irish music in an informal environment and the efforts of our local musicians, many with reputations that transcend the local like Martin bin Laden, should be commended. The following comments should not be viewed as carping, or an attempt to piss on someone else’s parade. They are my heartfelt comments, and I don’t see why they should be discarded, merely because they make a small handful uncomfortable.

 The Gonzo Theatre

 I am unfortunate enough to have mobility problems, which I am endeavouring to overcome. A number of events associated with the fleadh are to take place in locations to which I (along with other disabled people) would have trouble gaining access. One of these is The Gonzo Theatre above the Imperial. This sounds like a really cool place, while pictures appearing in Fuckyez Magazine suggest that it offers numerous possibilities for the practising ornithologist. As far as I know you can only get into it by a flight of stairs. This is not Philip Doherty’s fault. Philip is an exceedingly talented writer who has the rare gift of being able to work in a variety of genres. Philip has furthermore undertaken to help me get to the Theatre, something that would be possible as stairs do not present an impassable barrier to me. I am sorry that, until now, I haven’t felt well enough to take him up on his kind invitations.

Lie down croppy boy!

There are, I feel, some associated with the Arts in Cavan who are not in the least worried whether I can get there or not. Have I not bitten the hand that fed me? They may be surprised that “a cripple” or someone in a wheelchair would want to attend a show, along with “normal” people. Why can’t “they” be content with their own entertainment provided in venues like the IWA centre in Corlurgan, featuring plays that have been written especially about them? Or they could “shadow” (for free) consultants and “access auditors” employed by the county council (no doubt not for free) to draw up reports pointing out access black spots.

Coming to terms

Maybe I’m writing this because I am angry, or because I haven’t “come to terms” with my disabilities. True, if “coming to terms” with my disabilities means participating in a racket whereby the disabled are bribed into a state of submission as they wait for their number to come up in a council house lottery, I have not “come to terms” and never will. But I do not accept that I should “come” to someone else’s terms.

“Them” and “us”

I was ill for a number of months but I now feel much better. I am able to walk further than I ever could and I am determined to the best of my abilities to use a wheelchair less and less, partially because I see its use as a label of imposed separation. I do not and never have considered myself as belonging to that group referred to dismissively as “them” but rather to the collectivity of Cavan’s town people called “us”.

Very few people can share the sense of outrage and despair I suffered last year as I saw people from outside my town being invited to speak on its history. These experts “had their degrees” i.e. they had PhDs. But do I not have a PhD awarded in 1992? Maybe there are some who cannot “come to terms” with the fact that a PhD could be earned by a partially sighted individual?   Don’t get me wrong: I am not preaching a narrow parochialism or stating that only Cavan natives should be allowed to talk about its history. But when there is a Cavan native who can talk about it, and in an entertaining way, why should that person be ignored just because he has been blacklisted by some cowards in the council executive or because his father is not a town councillor?

Please forgive me if I have stepped on some people’s corns. I used to play an active part in the cultural life of this town: I would love to do so again.

Epilogue

(By the way, readers needn’t worry about “who he’s getting’ at”. I’m only getting at the same crowd of superannuated, impotent, God-forsaken fuckers as usual. Apologies to anyone who can’t rise to the occasion or get a hard on; I honestly didn’t have you specifically in mind.)

D.D. Shostakovich: in memoriam

On August 9th 1975, the heart of Dmitrii Dmitrievich Shostakovich stopped beating, With his demise the world was not only robbed of one of the greatest composers of his time, but also of a unique yet complex witness to the history he had lived through.

He was a survivor. Sometimes people who have not known suffering or fear appear to criticise him because of this. It is as if by surviving he had made some sort of Faustian compact.

  There are two photographs which anybody familiar with Shostakovich will know. The first dates from c. 1929. It shows four people, of whom the youthful and energetic Shostakovich seated at the piano is a clear exemplar of his precocious genius. The three other people in the photograph are the poet Vladimir Mayakovsky, armed with a cigarette; the theatre director Vsevolod Meyerhold, who appears to be attempting to communicate or at least argue a point with the young Shostakovich; while the fourth personage, standing avuncularly over the rest is none other than Marshal of the Soviet Union Mikhail Tukhachevskii: like many leading communists he had sought to advance his prestige by “collecting” artists, whose patronage he could use in a protective way, though as a gifted amateur violinist he was no mere dilettante. Of the four Shostakovich alone did not die a violent or horrible death. Mayakovsky, perhaps armed with a prescient intelligence as biting and as sharp as his verse realised that time would eventually catch up with him, and ever an egoist. opted to end his own life by suicide in 1930. Tukhachevskii “fell from grace” in 1937 when he was accused of being a German double agent, on the basis of information leaked by Stalin (anonymously) to the Czechs, and then shot after a secret trial. As for Meyerhold, he was shot in February 1940.

There is another photograph which I have not included. It was taken of Shostakovich in his casket, which, according to Russian Orthodox custom, remained open during the funeral ceremony of 1975.  I believe that his face is governed by what appears to me to be a smile. It is the smile of the survivor, the person who has defied history, fate, the brutality of the state, the firing squad. It is the defiant smile of the survivor. To do this he had been compelled to offer numerous hostages to fortune. Perhaps that is why the first movement of his Symphony no.15 is peppered with references to Rossini’s “Wilhelm Tell” overture (though I think a more personal reason relating to his son Maksim exists for the quotation).

His true nature is to be found in his musical work, especially though not exclusively the works from the latter decade and a half of his life, including the late string quartets, the song cycles, and the enigmatic symphonies no. 14 and 15.

Shostakovich the atheist

Shostakovich was apparently an atheist. He admitted this in the controversial memoirs published under the title Testimony, in which he had no need to differ from the then current official ideology. It is possible to see signs of questioning of one’s existence in his work, doubts which not even the most fervent atheist can eschew when faced with the approaching unknowability of life’s extinction. This is evident in his penultimate song cycle, the settings of sonnets by Michelangelo. For me, at least, the final setting entitled “Immortality”” is like the “In Paradisum” of a requiem with its naive, even childish piano accompaniment. “…I am not dead, though buried in the earth … I live on in the hearts of all loving people, for I am not dust: mortal decay cannot touch me”.

The composer smiles

 Most of the surviving photographs show Shostakovich bathed in thought, either with his hand holding his jaw as if suffering from tooth ache, or holding his hand close to his mouth, almost biting his nails. Images of the composer smiling are very rare, but here is an excerpt of his attendance at rehearsals in the year of his death, 1975 of his brilliant opera The Nose, bristling with the anarchy of youth. We can see the influence it has on him as he hears his music performed after four and a half decades. He is ecstatic as he clearly recalls every note and sings along with the chorus. I find the first part of this film truly moving. Towards the end he talks about his music, but in is in an “official” way; he seems to be reading from a carefully censored script. His nervousness evident from the constant movement in his hands.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjK7Hnxpmsg

Is justice finally coming to Guatemala?

History was made this week in Guatemala: for the first time the perpetrators of mass murder have been convicted of their crimes. These were four soldiers who were found guilty of taking part in the massacre of Dos Erres in December 1982 when over two hundred peasants, many of them women, children and old people, were killed by the Guatemalan army during the short-lived but bloody regime of General Efraim Rios Montt.

The Rios Montt regime

 A struggle between various left-wing guerrillas and the military government of Guatemala had been going on since the early ‘60s with the Guatemalan army, backed by the United States and Israel  committing ever more disgusting violations of human rights.  Rios Montt was a career soldier who had dabbled in politics. Many observers felt that he had actually won the 1974 presidential election as candidate for the Christian Democrat party, but was denied victory by massive fraud. He came to power in June 1982 in a palace coup promising to pursue the war with

Efraim Rios Montt

... and the same to you!

renewed rigour. In 1968 he had left the Catholic faith, as like many conservative elements he believed that it had been taken over by “Marxists” and joined the American-based fundamentalist Pentecostal Church of the Word or Verbo Church, in which he became a lay preacher. When he took power he stated in his inaugural address that his presidency was the wish of God – and if God had demurred he would probably have been tortured and shot. His policy was summed up in three words: frijoles y fusiles: beans and guns. In other words: if you‘re with us you will be fed; if you are against us, you’ll be shot. Among those singled out for special treatment were the dirt poor indigenous Guatemalans. Centuries of discrimination at the hands of the Creole dominated governments, whether military or civilian, made them sympathetic to the guerrillas, but most found the backbreaking struggle for survival took up all their time. Any area of the countryside considered friendly to the guerrillas was subjected to a scorched-earth policy, whereby villages were burned to the ground, livestock killed and crops destroyed. The inhabitants – those who were not killed immediately – were often herded into concentration camps. Because Rios Montt was fighting a “communist-inspired” insurgency, as well as his links to the American right through his Christian fundamentalist beliefs, he enjoyed the support of the American government and CIA,

The massacre at Dos Erres

Peten

In late October twenty-one members of the military were killed and some weapons stolen in an ambush in the northern province of Petén. The landscape was dominated by swamps, jungle and lagoons and inhabited largely by subsistence farmers belonging to the Maya ethnic group. The army was itching for reprisals and early in the morning of December 6th members of the Kaibiles, the Guatemalan equivalent of the SAS entered the village of Doss Erres disguised as guerrillas.  They were convinced that many of the villagers belonged to the guerrillas or were concealing information about them. Male villagers were separated from women and children. They were corralled in the village church and school and subjected to brutal interrogation while the village was searched. No incriminating material – and crucially no weapons – could be found and the soldiers began to grow frustrated. The children were separated from their parents and were dispatched, often by having their head bashed against trees. Then it was the turn of the old and the womenfolk, who were usually raped prior to being killed. The last to die were the men. This went on for three days until the whole of the village’s population had been annihilated and their bodies thrown into a well. Apparently the last to die was a young girl brought off as a sort of trophy, gang raped and then strangled. 

 By wiping out the village and its population the soldiers and their superiors in the government hoped to erase any memory of what had happened at Dos Erres. However word did get out. The events were publicised by human rights groups but the Guatemalan army denied any responsibility, even though the country returned to nominal civilian rule in 1986. A peace deal ending the war was signed in 1996 but it included an amnesty for soldiers who had committed crimes during the war. In 1998 the Inter-American Court of Human Rights found that the amnesty did not cover seriou8s crimes such as genocide or mass killing. It was only in 2000, eighteen years after the massacre, that the then Guatemalan president, Alfonso Portillo, admitted that the Guatemalan army had been involved in the killings at Dos Erres and offered the victims’ relatives cash compensation.

Who was really responsible?

The real instigator of these crimes, Rios Montt, is still alive and is, by all accounts, hail and hearty as he goes into the eighty-sixth year of his miserable life. Even though he was deposed in 1983 he went on to become the speaker of the legislature and to stand for the presidency in 2003 in which he received 11% of the vote. In 2007 he was elected to the legislature and so enjoys parliamentary immunity from criminal proceedings. An attempt was made to pursue him through the Spanish courts, but this was thwarted due to the obfuscation of Rios Montt’s lawyers.

It is reckoned that as many as ten thousand people were killed during the time Rios Montt was president, the vast majority innocent bystanders in a conflict over which they had no control. What is more, just as the brutal repression of the Guatemalan people did not begin with Rios Montt but simply grew in intensity, neither did it end with his ouster.

Has justice been done?

One may ask whether such judgements are useful. What good does it do the victims? Should we not forget the past? It is important that those who carry out such barbarous acts should be punished and should not think that the passage of time exonerates them. They must be shown that the murder of the defenceless and the innocent will not go unnoticed by the civilised world.

The convictions of some of those involved in the Dos Erres massacre is but a start. The pursuit of those responsible for other massacres during Rios Montt’s time, such as those in the village of Plan de Sanchez, have been delayed because the judges have not found sufficient evidence for conviction. For far too long Guatemala has been bathed in a culture of impunity, created and maintained by its judiciary. Its courts are staffed by judges who make judgements in the interests of their patrons. Not only have the victims of the army looked for justice in vain. So too have the families of the girls and women who have disappeared, probably murdered. These people died not because of their political views, but solely because of their gender. The price of human life in Guatemala is still ridiculous low, compared to the price of justice.

Who to bribe in Cavan and how much to give

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
For just an itty bitty.
Now Jill’s two months overdue
And Jack has left the city.

 

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
So Jack could lick Jill’s fanny.
But Jack got a shock –
And a mouthful of cock
When he found out that Jill was a tranny.

 

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To do a spot of kissing.
Jack made a pass
And grabbed Jill’s ass –
Now his two front teeth are missing.

 

Why did Dr Brendan Snott cross the road?

Because he was being picked on.

 

 

… And don’t forget, Every Little Helps

 

 

Senator David Norris

I do not wish to give an opinion as to whether Senator David Norris was right or wrong to write the letter to the Israeli authorities; neither do I wish to say whether the language he used was appropriate or not After all there are those who are far less morally competent and who are paui far better to be judges. The most relevant judge of his behaviour should be the people of Ireland, though they won’t be allowed a say.

There are a number of questions raised by this whole affair which need answering.

 Who amongst our politicians, when faced with the incarceration of a friend, would not try to help them? The answer is sadly, it depends. I know of numerous TDs and senators who have remained immobile and aloof when friends of theirs are targeted, attacked, their personal affairs rifled through, not because they have committed any crime or pose a threat to the security of the State, but merely because they have been unfortunate enough to come to the attention of some group of public servants such as the Chekists in the Department of Social Victimisation. Such friends will look in vain for any assistance, no matter how innocent they may be. They are told that “The Law must take its course”. The most they can hope for is that the politician will send a pro-forma representation on their behalf to the relevant department, where it is probably sewn at the end of all the other representations and moulded into a roll form prior to deposition in the departmental lavatory. (I am probably mistaken, as most employees of the Department of Social Victimisation are incapable of such a simple action as sewing. They certainly have difficulty dressing themselves.)

 The letter at the heart of this controversy was written in 1997 – fourteen years’ ago. Was it known about earlier, and if so why is it only coming to light now? We often hear about the Americanisation of Irish politics. This is not confined to slick (and sickening) advertisements, carefully choreographed photo opportunities and image building. In the United States political campaigns for elected office are made up of the strategists, the foot soldiers, and those tasked with “getting out” the vote. But another, less public, indeed often invisible element of any campaign is the small yet highly rewarded array of dirt diggers who are committed to trawling through the opponent candidate’s past, whether it be their speeches or their private lives. If insufficient “dirt” can be found on the candidate, the motto “No man (or woman) is an island” comes into play, so the searchlight turns to acquaintances. This is not an inexpensive process, so while some of the sums donated go to the more public face of the campaign (advertising, printing etc.) even larger sums go to these “below the line” (or below the belt) expenses.

 Maybe part of the outrage was that official senate stationery. It has long been accepted that such paper can be used for all sorts of sordid ends, while “Oireachtas envelopes” have been used for distributing “Pro Life” literature and other rubbish from the so-called “religious” right in Ireland. It is also an open secret that they are used by those seeking election to the senate as one of the common currencies for buying votes.

 Vapid and formulaic representations, which are never full of sound or fury but which nevertheless signify nothing, have never been the style of Senator Norris. I have heard Fergus Finlay say that he has been “ architect of his own misfortunes”. So are we now supposed to join hands in jumping on him, and, once satisfied he no longer presents a threat, to dance on his grave? I’ve never viewed David as a politician; he is too earnest and intelligent to be numbere4d amongst that discredited herd.  I am proud to count David Norris as a friend.

The role of the Presidency in Ireland

I believe we should have a debate about the role of the president. We should have had this debate long ago, and coming up to a presidential election is hardly opportune. It’s like the soul-searching that accompanies senate elections and which crops up the regularity of the story about Red Ken’s vasectomy.

 

The role of the president is enshrined in our constitution, a d0cument written in 1937. Admittedly it provided for a democratic form of government (sort of), no little achievement given that at the time of writing there were many amongst Ireland’s elite, both lay and clerical, who were more sympathetic to the ideals of Mussolini and Hitler. At the time the latter was drawing up his plans for world domination, the former was safely ensconced in the sovereign territory of Ethiopia, and General Franco’s forces were engaged on their campaign of rapine and pillage in Spain.

 But the constitution only provides for quasi democracy. This is clearly evident in the case of nominations for the president. To get on the ballot paper requires the support of twenty members of the Oireachtas OR four county councils. These are mostly elected by the people, but hardly ever at a time near to the presidential election. It is at best an indirect form of democracy. Furthermore, some members of the Seanad are appointed by the Prime Minister, not elected by the restricted Seanad electorate, while others may owe their membership to the death or resignation of a colleague. This holds true of County Councils, where such co-options are made by the party or parties in control, not according to the party background of the person in whose room the co-option in being made.  The will of the electorate may be openly flouted, as those appointed or co-opted have already been given the thumbs-down at the most recent elections.

 We have a form of controlled democracy, where the big political parties have an automatic “by” into the nomination process, and where it is difficult, though not impossible, for an independent to enter. Various opinion polls (not the same as an election granted) have found that the electorate’s preferred candidate for president was Senator David Norris. Even prior to the most recent controversy, he was having difficulty in gaining a nomination. Whatever he did or didn’t do should have been judged by the electorate, not by The Sunday Independent or a couple of independent TDs who obviously got cold feet about backing an openly gay candidate.

 If we want to make the office of president more relevant to the Irish people we should change the constitution to allow for nomination by certain approved bodies like professional and sporting organisations, trades unions and charities to name a few. (but not political parties). Alternatively a person could gain entry onto the ballot paper by collecting a set number of signatures.

Corruption in Cavan – the latest

Things you should NEVER say to a naked Cavanman 1.

Aaah! Isn’t it cute!

Cavan town’s fleadh: some background

A musician born in Co. Cavan was living in the States. He couldn’t believe his luck when he was asked to write the music for a film which, the promoters said, was going to gross big. On completion of the score for the film, which he was told was about Ireland’s seven hundred years of oppression by England, he was paid handsomely and promised that he would be invited to its first screening.

 Some months later the invitation arrived, but to the composer’s disgust the first screening was to take place in a cinema well known for showing “porno” films. Swallowing his he went along anyway, but decided to keep a low profile, so he sat at the very back, alongside an elderly pair.

 The film left nothing to the imagination; there were graphic scenes featuring masturbation, group sex, anal sex and oral sex, while towards the end there was even some scenes featuring a dog having sex with a woman.

 When it was over the highly-embarrassed composer bent over to the couple beside him and explained that he was only there because he had written the film score, to which the old woman replied: “We’re only here because that was our dog.”

Travel advisory update: roll your own

I wish to advice motorists that the dangerous road conditions on the R212 outside Ballyhaise have now been brought to an end, as the rough  and flying stones have now been rolled, thus allowing drivers a smooth entry. Ah. The power of the Internet! No wonder they want to ban it in China.

Back on the register

It gives me great pleasure to say that my name and that of my father have been re-entered on the electoral register, therefore allowing us both to participate in the forthcoming presidential elections by means of our postal votes. I want to offer my deep and sincere gratitude to Ms Annas Cartlin of Cavan County Council for helping to bring this about and for putting to an end a truly absurd situation which was not of her doing.

 The farcical situation by which our postal votes were removed was brought about by the entire3ly unreasonable actions of the Department of the Environment. In 2010 they issued new regulations requiring that those who had postal votes must re-apply for them, together with a medical certificate testifying to their disability or infirmity. It is quite possible that some overpaid and demented mandarin actually believed that there were people who had postal votes on the grounds of disability who were as fit as fiddles, maybe dancing jigs at crossroads or auditioning for the Irish version of Nnja Warrior. Miracles may happen but the sad fact is that once you get some condition that limits your mobility you’re stuck with it, the only way is down, and it’s up to you to come to terms with it. So the idea that you had to then prove you were a cripple to a group of lazy bureaucrats who get stressed out if they have to walk too far down to the underground car park below their plush offices, is rather insulting, not to say insensitive.

 I sometimes wonder why these civil servants in the ministries are so misanthropic, Are they born like that and only recruited once they are able to offer signed testimony of pulling off butterflies’ wings or torturing kittens? Or do they undergo a special period of “training” where they are brainwashed into seeing that “The General Public” as “the enemy”, to be frustrated at all costs? This might include subliminal psychological manipulation, where each time the simple greeting “Hallo” or “Good Morning” is uttered in their direction they receive an electric shock. I think the answer may be simpler. Most of the senior civil servants’ arses are ravaged by chronic piles, the sad though inevitable result of sitting on their derrieres for decades. Now we are talking about mega haemorrhoids which reflect their status within their departments. They are there for life and no amount of Preparation H, Tucks, or sitting over steaming colanders of boiling salt water can help. Their daily existences are filled with excruciating agony which can only be assuaged by issuing silly directives targeting imagined enemies and fraudsters. Now I may seem to be talking the piss here, but I know what I’m talking about. Trust me, I’m a doctor! Senior civil servants don’t like coming out of the shadows, but occasionally some pesky Dail committee requires their presence; next time you see a secretary general watch and observe how he sits stock still. Any movement, to left or right would only set off old Nobby.

 It is rumoured that members of some of those kinky right-wing Catholic lay organisations with Latin names are behind a recent decision of the Vatican’s  Sacred Congregation of Rites to name St Norbert of Xanten as the patron saint of Irish Civil Servants.

Hanging on to power at all costs in Africa

The problems of legitimacy still continue to plague Africa’s rulers. There are those who are able to claim the mandate of election but who go on to squander the goodwill invested in them by their electorates by pursuing gradually more oppressive policies, accompanied by corruption that enriches their cronies at the expense of the  population. Some of those who are elected are already elderly, yet in spite their growing senility they wish to hold onto power indefinitely, as if by doing so they can defy morality. Africa has always fallen victim to the men with guns. The army of the various states have seldom needed an excuse until recently to seize power, sometimes presenting themselves as national savours charged with undoing the errors of civilian politicians. In time the trappings and perks of power go to their head, and their rule becomes no more than a bloody and cruel kleptocracy. Although no fan of military government it must be said that some of Africa’s best rulers have stemmed from the armies’ ranks.

 I have written recently about the worrying spectre of armed groups in Guinea seeking to overturn the will of the people by attacking the home of the man whom they had elected president, Alpha Conde. A

Niger's president Issoufou

 similarly sinister development has been uncovered in the land-locked and impoverished state of Niger, where a group of middle-ranking officers have been arrested on foot of an attempt to assassinate the recently elected president, Mahamat Issoufou who has used his power to pursue and stamp out corruption within the military – an activity which has won him few friends among the officer corp. It is not unusual amongst the armies of many African states to grow rich by pocketing money intended as salaries for more junior officers and soldiers.

 Keeping it in the family.

Wade

When Abdouilaye Wade was elected president of Senegal in 2000 many saw it as a sign of how the country’s democracy had matured. Wade was a long-time opponent of the (admittedly well-educated) clique who had ruled the country since independence. He was no street-savvy firebrand, but a French-educated lawyer with two PhDs who was fluent in French, English and numerous African languages. He came to the international stage in 2002 for all the right reasons, not because his country had been hit by devastating natural disasters but because his country had not only qualified for that year’s world cup, but had beaten many stronger European teams. A beaming President Wade appeared on television screens around the world holding aloft a football.

 Wade is unfortunately old. He claims to be 85 but even he is unsure. As his time in power has started to drag rumours of corruption have increased. The inevitable popular discontent has been met by repression. Wade had wanted to hand over power to his son Karim, and many believed that he was prepared to use both fair and foul means to bring this about. Riots erupted and the president was compelled to deny any such intention. Plan B was then put into action; Wade would run for a third term in the 2012 president elections, something that was unconstitutional. Once again popular outrage was met by the imposition of a ban on political protests in the capital Dakar and a wave of arrests that have included the popular singer Thiat. While the clampdown is benign by the standards of some rulers, it does seem to augur badly for the country that was starting to generate goodwill for pursuing policies that placed it outside the general tenor of a headlong rush to disaster and national misery.

Lead kindly light

So FAS has now become Solus. I remember when FAS was launched; people said that what ANCO used to be called before it went bust. Before we all became green and environmentally aware we used to use Solus bulbs. This is relevant for the new organisation which I fear will inherit the culture of the old. How many Solus employees will it take to change a light bulb? At least a thousand; one to hold the bulb and 999 Solus officials to turn the room around, but we mustn’t forget the special, highly-paid consultants brought in at enormous cost from abroad to give their opinions on office lighting, as well as the cost of printing their report on the glossiest of paper. By this time though the money will have run out and so there won’t be any left for changing the bulb.

 FAS was charged with providing training that was supposed to lead to jobs. Unfortunately there was a mismatch between the courses and employment trends, so the courses were often irrelevant and useless. Certificates were sometimes not issued to those who had pursued the courses and the only people who seemed to secure jobs as a result of FAS’ activity were those employed already by FAS. And perhaps it is best to forget the way in which FAS was used as a private holiday club by a group of former directors, offering only first class flights and accommodation in five-star resorts.  FAS / Solus (whatever it is called) is big on intentions, but I somehow think the delivery will fall short of expectation.

 I was looking for an alternative name for the organisation. The closest I could come to was fearradh, which de Bhaldraithe’s dictionary says is the Irish for faeces.

 

 

Lie to me

A few months’ ago Enda Kenny and Eamon Gilmore promised that there would be no further cuts in social welfare payments in the forthcoming budget, and unfortunately many people believed them. As for Kenny the only people who believe anything that comes out of that joker’s mouth is The Vatican, and we all know what a shower of pricks they are. As for Eamon Gilmore (yawn) he’s making me feel very old. I remember when he was a sticky.

 Minister for Social Victimisation Joan Burton has commitment issues, as she can’t make a commitment that there will not be cuts in benefits. She is talking some gibberish about getting greater value for money. What does she mean? One way would be to make the unemployed work for their dole by taking part in road gangs, or maybe cleaning out ministers’ gardens. Her department has long believed in the criminalisation of poverty and the first step towards this will be mandatory fingerprinting of all dole recipients, ostensibly in the interests of stamping out on that great evil Social Welfare Fraud. Done away with will be the nonsense that people are entitled to welfare benefits. It will be spelled out in no uncertain terms, that ALL welfare benefits are discretionary and are only to be made at the discretion of an employee of the Department. (Legislation to this effect already exists, having been passed by the last government but no one seems to have noticed it.) As for special benefits like the blind pension they may be made only to those people who prove unambiguously that they are totally blind by attempting to cross a busy road or street in the face of on-coming traffic, while unmarried mothers will be offered a choice between sterilization or having their children forcibly adopted and brought up by known abusers. This may sound tough, but it is only by tough decisions that our budget deficit will be reduced and our nation made safe for spivs to live in.

 The minister is being insincere, as any attempt to introduce greater value for money will be conducted by her own departmental officials who are part of the Civil Service, where work is an unwelcome activity that occasionally breaks out between coffee breaks or maternity leave, not to mention Flexitime – the phenomenon whereby nobody need be at their desks at any particular time. If the minister were sincere about introducing greater value for money in her department she’d downsize her staff. Who would employ those who would lose their jobs? There is only a limited demand in Ireland for lion tamers and snake charmers.

 The funny thing is that Joan Burton showed no such commitment issues when she got into bed with the blueshirts; she must have been aware that she was going to get fucked. She may not have realised that she was going to get fucked up the ass, not only by Kenny’s gang, but by her own party. She felt miffed at only getting the portfolio of Social Victimisation – widely seen as a poisoned chalice. I believe that it should be seen as an important ministry, not like the Cinderella portfolio of say Defence. Joan Burton is a clever and articulate person, and such a person is needed to face down the neo-fascists in that department. Yet I hope that she is prepared to fight to defend the rights of those who, like myself, are dependant on benefit payments. I fear that an Italian proverb is coming true. Chi va con lo zoppo impara zoppicare, Whoever walks with the lame learns to limp, or in the case under discussion is returned to, if your work involves dealing with a pack of inveterate liars you soon develop an elastic attitude towards the truth.

 If the Blind Pension is reduced for yet a third tune many blind people will be reduced to selling lottery tickets in the street as in Spain, or maybe begging at corners. The response of the voluntary organisations would no doubt be to urge the blind to relocate to special hostels where they would be fed on a diet of scraps and food donated by the public. My response would be to take to the streets and I would not be the only one.

Travel advisory: dangerous road surface in Cavan

Motorists travelling to Cavan should be advised that part of the R212 outside the village of Ballyhaise is not only unsafe but positive dangerous.

Cavan County Council laid a new surface on the road in the early part of July consisting of chippings and small stones. The only warning they gave to motorists was a sign telling of “Flying Stones”. Such a sign may have its place on a Sony Playstation arcade game, but it is rare to see it on an Irish road, as it is rarely necessary. Many thought that the air-borne stones were a temporary phenomenon, lasting until such time as the surface was rolled. However, a Cavan County Council employee has told me that the council has no intention of rolling the surface. Some of these stones are quite large, and are capable of smashing a windscreen, not to mention doing serious and unsightly damage to a car’s bodywork. Already there has been an alarming rise in the number of punctured tyres by people using the road.

Let me stress: this is NOT a joke. No one, least of all the untouchables of Cavan County Council will be laughing if there is a serious accident caused by a stone fracturing a driver’s windscreen, an event which could cause injury or worse.

The County Council, along with local government bodies elsewhere, has a duty of care at law to preserve roads in a manner that does not cause danger to users, and any failure to do this may be viewed as negligence on the council’s part. I therefore urge anyone who has used this part of the road and who have suffered damage to their vehicles, to consider suing Cavan County Council. (Naturally I understand that this might be difficult in Co. Cavan itself, where many of the solicitors are not only incompetent but are, to coin a phrase, “up the council’s arse”.)

The AA (Automobile Association) hasn’t mentioned this because they haven’t been told about it. During last year’s inclement weather they were dependant on the local Gardai to keep them informed about
local road conditions, as well as information from members of the public.

Europe’s real terrorists?

I don’t want to compound the grief felt by most Norwegians at the horrible events that occurred last Friday by point scoring. I do feel that what happens may point to the way in which the people of many countries in Europe have been hoodwinked into believing that the only source of terror comes from Islam or from the Middle East.

 I see myself as a Christian, yet I believe many so-called Christian fundamentalists to be no better than devil worshippers. As a Christian I neither fear nor hate Islam or those who practice it. For me followers of Islam actually live all facets of their religion. Many mainstream politicians in Europe will react with disgust to what happened in Norway and the views expressed by their perpetrator towards Islam, but aren’t those who have voted in favour of bans on Islamic dress not guilty of Islamophobia? A person wearing Islamic dress, or describing himself as an imam or an Islamic scholar will no doubt figure on the radar of Europe’s police forces, and will find it troublesome to cross borders. I very much doubt they  will gain entry to the United States, but the clean-shaven, blond-haired Anders Behring Breivik, a graduate of the Oslo School of Management who speaks fluent English, will  have no such trouble.

Islamophobia it must be stated, is the new anti Semitism of the extreme right. While it has been brewed up from the European gutters by people like Le Pen, the late Pim Fortuyn and his heir Wilders, the union with “Christian fundamentalism” is altogether American in origin. Remember the woman who, during the 2008 US presidential race, explained her distaste of voting for Barack Obama because he was “an Arab”. This anti-Arab and anti-Islamic element within the American government has infected Europe’s intelligence services who have been far too busy keeping “suspected Islamic extremists” under surveillance that they have turned a blind eye to the proliferation of home-grown, xenophobic extremists within Europe.

Amy Winehouse

Like many people I sensed that Amy’s career would be as short as it was brilliant, yet when I heard of her death on Saturday evening I was shocked and horrified that my prediction had been realised.

 There is one adjective that is appropriate for her – unique. It describes her music, her vocals, her lyrics and her talent. Such talent only appears every few decades.

 Her song “Rehab” sounds a resonant  chord with anyone who has had to deal with depression or  addiction issues. She poured her pain into her music in a way that few artists were able to do.

 Those who knew her speak of a girl with a beautiful personality; perhaps it was too beautiful for this ugly world. May angels wing her to her rest.

 

The Autumn of the Patriarchs in Malawi

Malawi, like many countries in Africa, has a predominantly young population, yet the prospects of the country’s youth have been blighted since independence by the actions of old men.

 The country’s first president, Dr Hastings Banda was educated by missionaries from the Church of Scotland at the beginning of the twentieth century. He qualified as a doctor in the United States before taking up the role of a GP in England and Scotland. He left for the Gold Coast after impregnating his secretary, a married woman, whom he refused to marry. This did not stop him being hailed by those seeking an end to colonialism in his native Nyasaland as the territory’s natural leader, and so he returned home after an absence of more than forty years. On Nyasaland gaining its independence in 1964 he became the first president of the newly independent Malawi – he even chose its name. 

 Already in his late 60s (though he never knew quite how old he was), he soon showed autocratic symptoms. The country was declared a one party state with Banda as president for life; membership of the Malawi Congress Party (MCP) became mandatory for all citizens. Former friends of Banda were declared enemies and were imprisoned or died in traffic accident; alternatively they were chased around the world by Banda’s secret police, if they managed to get out of the country alive. The media was censored, mail was opened and telephones tapped. The country was criss-crossed by a network of spies who denounced people as critics of the government, often in pursuit of personal grudges. As Banda aged his actions became more eccentric. He banned television from the country as an immoral influence, while he sponsored the teaching of Latin and Greek in elite educational institutions, while ignoring local languages such as his own ChiChewa which he had forgotten. As an elder of the Church of Scotland he instituted a dress code for all citizens: women were forbidden to wear miniskirts or trouser suits, while men could not sport beards, long hair or wear flared trousers. (No one seems to know what he thought about kilts.) His own form of attire was equally unfashionable, preferring conservative three-piece suits, as well as carrying and freely brandishing a flywhisk made from a lion’s tale. He never married but instead cultivated a very close relationship with a lady called Cecilia Kadzamira who was rewarded with the title of “official hostess”.

 Throughout his reign Banda dipped freely into the country’s financial resources, siphoning off an estimated $20m. By the 1990s Malawi’s people had had enough and riots broke out, culminating in Banda agreeing to allow other political parties, as well as rival candidates in presidential elections. When Malawi’s people had a chance to vote against him in 1994 they took it with vengeance, and he was roundly defeated, being succeeded by Bakili Muluzi. He died in 1997, well into his ‘90s.

The present president of Malawi, Bingu wa Mutharika, is 77 – a little younger than Banda. He tried to paint himself as a long-time opponent and victim of Banda, forced to flee his homeland and change his name to avoid detection by the dictator’s goons. In truth he never was an opponent of Banda and benefited from his largesse, receiving his Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in Economics in India with the financial support of Banda’s government. He then returned to Malawi, becoming a very prominent member of Banda’s civil service.

Since coming to power in 2004 he has sought to rehabilitate Banda’s reputation. Buildings which had originally carried the moniker of the old dictator, but which had been renamed by Muluzi, reverted to their original names.

His presidency began so well. Even though he was Muluzi’s handpicked successor, he immediately launched a campaign against corruption under Muluzi But his actions have started to show those telltale signs of autocracy, followed by eccentricity, blending into grotesque absurdity. Critics within his government, including two vice presidents, have been dismissed. His defence of his sacking of vice president Joyce Banda demonstrates a degree of megalomania.

… When God noted that Lucifer was being bigheaded, he did not hesitate to evict him from the Heavenly Government. am not the first to fire someone, it started in heaven. So before you start faulting me for being intolerant because I have sacked Joyce Banda… fault God for sacking Lucifer from heaven.”

 The journalist Farai Sevenzo comments on the BBC World Service news site: “Even Malawi’s great dictator Banda was not given to such analogies; and every missionary who ever trod the warm heart of Africa must be doing somersaults in their graves at a job half-done in Bible lessons and humility”.

Opponents are routinely called “ enemies of the people”  and some have been thrown into jail. He spent £20m of the State’s money on a private jet, causing a currency crisis. There have also been signs of erratic behaviour, including his claims that he could not sleep any more in the State mansion because he saw ghosts there who were not being very nice to him. (He should get the Most Haunted team to take a look – I wonder what Derek Acorra might say?)

Some might put this behaviour down to the loss of his wife to breast cancer in 2009. However, Mutharika was not to remain single for long, marrying his tourism minister (25 years’ his junior) in a lavish ceremony paid for by the state.

At present Mutharika is losing friends faster than he is making them. The UK has cut its development aid program, as well as expelling the Malawian High Commissioner in a tit-for-tat move following Mutharika’s expulsion of the British envoy, who, in a leaked memo had referred to the president as autocratic. His invitation to the royal wedding was even withdrawn – a cruel blow, considering some of the riffraff who were there, but I’m sure he’s got the DVD  The economy is in a mess with the shortage of foreign currency leading to long queues for petrol, as well as significant food shortages. Riots have broken out, first in the northern city of Mzuzi, and then spreading to the capital Lilongwe and the largest city, Blantyre. At least 18 people have died in Mzuzi and their bodies have been buried in a mass grave. While Mutharika speaks of his willingness to talk to the opposition, it is only on his terms.

What is the future for this country? Presidential elections are scheduled for 2014 when Mutharika will be 80. He is not standing, but he plans to keep the job in the family, having paved the way for his brother Peter, a former Law professor in an American university, to fill his shoes. He has already been appointed a cabinet minister.  He is currently aged 71. Things are likely to disimprove still more before they improve.

Trouble again in Conakry

This week has seen some worrying developments in the West African republic of Guinea. The private residence of democratically elected president Alpha Conde was attacked  at night by armed men, probably intent on assassination. In the event only one person was killed. No faction has claimed responsibility but in the days following the assault a number of high-ranking soldiers have been arrested. Many of these were close to former president Konate who handed over power to Conde last year,. Realistically disgruntled soldiers are the only people with access to weaponry in Guinea at the moment.

 What do these plotters want? I don’t think there is any appetite for a coup in Guinea at the moment. The country has been through too much conflict and has se3en too much innocent blood spilled. President Conde has also been in power for a relatively short while. He has not had time to make any glaring mistakes. As a man of 73 he has suffered a lot at the hands of the country’s former dictators, such as Ahmed Sekou Toure and Lansana Conteh. Neither his age nor his experience would prevent him however, from turning into an aged autocrat. If that were to happen, (and I very much hope for the people of Guinea’s sake that it will not) then it might be time for the men in uniforms to intervene.

Dr Brendan Scott ?

Viewers of long-running soap opera Coronation Street in the early 1990s may remember a character called Brendan Scott, played by British TV actor Milton Johns. He was, I think, an area manager for supermarket chain Betabuys and was the scourge of Curly Watts and his boss Rambling Reg Holdsworth. Apart from the shared name I don’t see any link between the above and what follows, apart from the fact that Mr Johns once played the role of Adolf Eichmann.

 It seems to me that there is a certain historian whose friends seem to have nothing better to do than surf the Internet looking for anything that might show him up for what he is. So they visit my website a lot and read pages which have those magical words “Brendan Snott” in the title. A;ternatively they search for anything about that haemorrhoid on the face of Co. Cavan, the “Cavan County Museum”. You know my blog contains lots of other material reflecting my widespread abilities and interests, but these human cockroaches would find some of my posts too challenging. I’ve got a message for them.

 I know what you’re looking at, and who you are. Why don’t you find something nearer to your tastes like some kiddy porn, or something on your intellectual kevel like the Cartoon Channel? So fuck off!!!

Enda the lawyer lashes out at the Druids

 

Some are calling Kenny’s tirade against Vatican interference in Ireland’s affairs a historic moment in the history of church and state. Certainly there are few – but they exist – who would disagree with the Prime Minister of a so-called liberal democracy castigating a state founded by a fascist government, which is ruled by old men and where there is no pretence of democracy which has sought to undermine efforts to protect his citizens from acts of sexual abuse. But, and there is a big but, why has it taken so long for an Irish government to get touch with the Vatican? The crimes of commission by a handful of priests and the crimes of omission committed by their bishops who protected them or moved them to locations where they could continue their foul deeds, have been known about by the dogs in the street for decades. It would only be a radical lefty with no hope of getting anywhere in Irish politics who would have given voice to such “slanders” against the church. The former bishop of Kilmore Dr Francis McKiernan, was never in any doubt that secular authority was always subservient to religious authority, and I don’t think he was unique amongst the Irish hierarchy in this.

 But there is one other aspect of Kenny’s speech which renders it more hypocritical. The Catholic Church, quite rightly, must be condemned for what it has done. If we were to believe Kenny it is the church and it alone who is at fault. What about the state authorities, the police, the health boards etc. who were also aware of what was going on, and who did sweet FA about it? Another area of deafening silence (excuse the cliché, but when talking of dishonesty I feel it is the most appropriate language) is that child abuse is continuing in Ireland as I write this, but the worst villains aren’t priests, but agents and employees of the state who work in centres charged with the “care” of young adults and children, or those involved in foster-care. The One-in-Four organisation has alleged that as many as nine out of ten reports of child abuse are not being investigated by the Health Service Authority, while the foster care regime in Dublin has been described as being in crisis, with many fosterers’ backgrounds not being checked.

 Those people who abuse children, the vulnerable, or indeed old people in nursing homes are truly evil, as evil as Josef Fritzl. But there are certain government departments, some of whose staff members are equally evil and cowardly. I sometimes think that such evil is a necessary prerequisite for their promotion. They often have free rein in committing acts of evil against those they believe to be too weak or frightened to defend themselves , and in a climate of economic hardship they can defend any action that saves money – and may very well be rewarded for it. Politicians seem either unable or unwilling to do anything about this. However many members of the church, the many good priests that Diarmuid Martin rightly talks about, are made fully aware of the victimisation of the poor and vulnerable carried on by the state. But no religious person would be allowed to defend them, as their criticisms of government policy would be swiftly swept aside with a remark such as “Who are you to talk?”

There is however a litmus test to Kenny’s sincerity. Does he support a possible Papal visit next year? This would be an opportunity for those elitist and narcissistic elements in the Vatican to come to Ireland, to strut their stuff, maybe to check out “The scene”. It would also be an opportunity for those whom Diarmuid Martin rightly refers to as a “cabal” within the Vatican and the Irish hierarchy to be rewarded for protecting child abusers. But there is one very practical reason why it should not go ahead. We can’t afford it.

An fleadh ghorm

I find it reprehensible that the greatest lawyer in the land has been invited to have anything to do with the fleadh in Cavan. When were the blueshirts friends of traditional music? They were too busy singing hymns or practising the Horst Wesel Lied. But then I forget that Cavan has been taken over by Fine Gael. They’ve got three seats here as well as controlling the county council, many of whose employees are sympathisers. I suppose Kenny may take the salute as volunteers dressed in new blue shirts supplied by Tesco march past on their way to fight communism in Spain. There may very well be a special version of God Save the Queen for the button accordion. Other tunes to be performed include “Kenny’s Two-step” and “Lament for Roscommon County Hospital”, a haunting air telling of deceit and betrayal.

As a true republican I know I wouldn’t be welcomed there  It all makes perfect sense now – the only historians that have been invited to take part in the fleadh must have an unimpeachable Fine Gael pedigree.

… and to those who might say “Isn’t it a shame Ciaran can’t write something better…” let me answer in the letters used by Kevin Bloody Wilson – DILLIGAF

Can friendship be bought?

Recently I heard a program on the BBC World Service about the growing phenomenon of “Rent-a-Friend” agencies in Japan. These provide paying punters with people prepared to pretend that they are friends, work colleagues or relatives of the customer. In a country like Japan where the individual comes second to the collective, a person’s status is often measured by yardsticks that seem ridiculous in the west.

One area explored by the program was the use of these agencies by those getting married. A prospective husband knows that he is far more likely to succeed in the marriage proposal stakes if he can show his would-be bride (and her parents) that he comes from a traditional Japanese family background, made up of parents and a bevy of siblings, cousins and other retainers. But what if his parents are dead or separated? Maybe one or both of his parents have become acute embarrassments to him with daddy spending any money he has on drink and geishas. As an employee of a firm with good prospects of advancement he will have a wide circle of colleagues. So possession of a large number of friends and family is especially important at the wedding ceremony itself; their absence is likely to cause raised eyebrows as well as whispers that the bride could perhaps do better for herself.

Japanese wedding ceremonies seem to be built on falsehoods. The ceremony may well take place on a special wedding island, and in a church which looks all the world like a traditional church in the Cotswolds, but which is made of polystyrene blocks. This is usually followed by a reception in a building built to resemble a French chateau, but don’t fall against the wall or you might leave a hole in it. An important aspect of the wedding reception is the appearance of the groom’s boss who reads out a speech extolling his employee’s many fine qualities. In fact the groom can usually write his own speech.

 Suppose the groom doesn’t have a sympathetic boss, or no boss at all? Maybe he has been made redundant? It could be that behind the gregarious shell lies a deeply troubled and insecure individual who has no friends, not even a best man. That’s where “Rent-a-friend” can come to the rescue.

Japanese society has changed radically in the last few decades as family ties have tended to wither away. In the workplace the traditional model of the “sarariman” graduating from university, joining a firm which will guarantee him a job for life and which will become as much a family to him as his wife and children, has been replaced by a far less secure scenario. Once powerful institutions, whether of the public or private sector, have had to open up to the chill winds of economic competition. Redundancies and job insecurity are now unwelcome but ever-present parts of daily life. In this regard the “Rent-a-friend” phenomenon may be viewed as a type of nostalgia for a bygone era.

Some of the aspects of contemporary Japanese life are not entirely new, though they have been exacerbated by the turbulence affecting the Japanese economy and society. Japan has always been a country that has laid great store on fitting in. There have been those who, for whatever reason, just can’t. Rather than becoming radical loudmouths their unhappiness with the rigidities of life leads to gradual, or even total withdrawal from it. The number of people who have never left their homes for months or even years at a time continues to grow and now numbers tens of thousands. There are furthermore many senior “sarariman” who have been made redundant in middle age and who cannot bring themselves to break the news to their wives. They pretend to go to work each day and are sometimes to be seen in distant public parks, dressed in their natty suits and feeding the ducks from their elegant briefcases.  Returning briefly to the wedding theme: remember that some brides push the act of pretence to extreme limits. Japan is, after all, the country that developed hymen rebirth.

This would never catch on in Ireland where everyone knows each other’s business and where, if people can’t find something bad to say about someone, they’ll make it up. What is more, an element of feudalism still permeates sections of the business world, so if the groom’s boss turned up at the reception he would demand first go with the bride.

Corruption in Cavan County Council?

 Does corruption exist in Cavan County Council? One hears rumours, and I suppose there is no smoke without fire. However, they are only rumours, and I’ve never investigated them because, frankly I’m not interested in them.

 All I know is how Cavan County Council have treated me – very badly. They took away the job I had with them, though it was not much of a job. The pay was abysmal and I wasn’t even entitled to holidays, though I took them anyway. Then they have sought to wipe out my reputation as a historian, to the extent that I don’t exist and no one is brave enough to mention my name in some circles. But their most recent dastardly act, carried out ostensibly with the co-operation of the Department of the Environment, has been to take away my ability to vote in this year’s elections, along with that of my 91-year-old father.

 These cretinous acts belong to a mere handful of self-important nobodies in the organisation. The vast plethora of employees are simple, decent folk, though some of them have far too much time on their hands, yet this is a problem of ineffective management. Some of them used to be my friends, but during my recent illness only three came to see me or enquire after me.

 If Cavan County Council is corrupt I fear that it certainly isn’t alone among local authorities,, but then this sorry state of affairs merely represents their superiors in the Department of the Environment. They now have the impudence to assume that every household in Ireland pay a household charge, but let’s call it by its proper name: a poll tax. As for the minister he has the cojones to stand up to his officials. In fact, he is about as effective as a life-size mascot at a hurling club match in his native Kilkenny.

 

Promises are made of …

Enda the lawyer has shown that he wants to give Santa claus a run for his money by promising 165 jobs for Co. Galway in a factory making wind-breaking machines for politicians  But be waned. Can he be trusted? Personally if Enda Kenny wants to don a red cloak and a white beard I would be tempted to sing those words penned by the Australian balladeer Kevin Bloody Wilson:

 Santa Claus you cunt,
Where’s me fuckin’ bike?
I’ve unwrapped all me presents
And there’s nothing here I like …

Shame on you Minister Burton

The Minister for Social Victimisation has announced a series of cowardly reductions in the supplements for fuel, telephone calls gas and electricity. In the case of the latter, these have been reduced to 2007 levels, this at a time when many providers are announcing increases3s in their charges. This is expected to lead to savings of 17 million euro in 2011 – less than the amount spent over a few days in May on the visit of Queen Elizabeth and President Obama, The decisions regarding these reductions are particularly hypocritical, given that they have been made and will be implemented by people who inhabit well-heated offices from where they have access to unlimited quantities of free telephone calls.

 Eamon Gilmore’s defence of these cuts is both mealy-mouthed and pathetic. It’s no good blaming them on the previous government; you’re in charge now and you are under no obligation to implement them if you feel that they are unjust. But the Labour Party is led by a crowd of “comrade comfies” and pork-scratching “socialists”, for whom anything is just and acceptable so long as it keeps them at the trough of power. What’s more they are typical spineless  politicians, unable to stand up to their un-elected mandarins.

 I state again that this government is continuing the unpublished policy of its predecessor towards the old and infirm. This is nothing other than euthanasia. The hope is that the greater the level of discomfort, the quicker old people will die. A winter like the last one should thin their numbers, especially if they can’t afford to heat themselves. They may also die of loneliness, as they will be afraid to use their telephones. Let’s not forget thei shameful and cynical racket pursued by their buddies in the Departmenjt of the Environment which has seen many old and infirm people robbed of their postal votes. Without a vote they are of little interest to the politicians.

Of course this policy is not literally euthanasia. The term comes from the Greek and the prefix ευ implies pleasantness, whereas the type of θάνατος or death envisioned by these shameless cowards will be anything but pleasant.

On the Muppets’ Show tonight

Poor Mick Wallace has got into hot piss because he made an off-the-cuff reference to Fine Gael Deputy Mary Mitchell-O’Connor as Miss Piggy. This wasn’t as part of a debate but was picked up on his microphone which he had forgotten to turn off. I include a photograph of Deputy Mitchell-O’Connor and I’m sure some of my readers will see some resemblance. It wasn’t as if he had called  her Thunder Thighs or “Yan fat-arsed bitch  from Cabinteely with the double-barrelled name”. I’m sure she was called much worse names during her time as a teacher. Politicians should stop behaving like ninnies and realise that it’s a contact sport that needs a fairly thick skin. You can’t go crying when someone uses a term you (and possibly most people) might find offensive.  On my blog I have used quite a number of epithets which might cause those of great sensitivity to quail. For example, former taoiseach Brian Cowen wax called Benny, after the dim-witted character on Crossroacds; former tanaiste Mary Coughlan was referred to as Lady Gaga while the obese minister for health was called Mary Hernia, in honour of the condition she would have given her husband had she ever gone down on him in a moment of sexual passion. And let us not forget the public official around here whom I call Whacko Jacko because I know it annoys him.

 But Mick Wallace is probably aware that the Fine Gaelers and comrade comfies of the Labour party are out to get him. They’re hoping that he will be declared bankrupt, and that he will then have to resign his seat producing a by-election, which they have Buckley’s chance of winning.

Q. What’s green and has a taste of pork?
A. Kermit’s finger.

Spot the difference

Let the hair sit

Our TDs and senators are supposed to adhere to a dress code in the forthcoming session. Gone will be the strapless minis and Doc Martins for the men, and the bomber jackets and dungarees favoured by some lady deputies, to be replaced by suits, cut jackets and button-down shirts and blouses. How Middle class and uncomfortable they will look. In fact, it is nothing more than treating our public representatives like school students who must wear a uniform, no matter how unflattering. The clothes worn by public representatives should be their own affair, and theirs alone. They have little enough real power as it is. Maybe this is just another attempt at the puppets’ humiliation by their puppet masters in the Civil Service. Deputy Richard Boyd Barrett is correct in calling this move the height of absurdity and immorality at a time when many people are facing the repercussions of frequently cowardly cuts in public spending.

 This dress code is supposed to originate from the Ceann chomhairle. Well a former holder of the office, Rowery O’Hanlon, always looked like a constipated peacock in his regalia, while the costume worn by the present Ceann chomhairle looks as if it has come from a jumble sale or Oxfam shop, having been sewn together from a few black and green sacks. In fact he looks like a tramp trying to stay warm or a coal delivery man.

 Surely those who care so much about our public representatives’ appearances should be concerned that they always aim for authenticity and not attempt to mislead their public. Surely items such as platform shoes and hair pieces should be banned from the house.

 Of course this dress code will not apply to the Civil Service. Members of the Department of Social Victimisation will still wear outfits inspired by the sartorial ideals of Fuck It casual.

Kenny the lawyer

We all know that Enda Kernny is a schoolteacher by profession, but some will recall the incident when the late Frank Sherwin stated in the Dail that the then taoiseach, John A. Costello, was a liar. He was immediately upbraided by the Ceann chomhairle, but Frank responded by saying he had merely stated that he was a lawyer.

 Now Enda Kenny7’sw refusal to come clean about his statements regarding Roscommon hospital remind me of the joke about the guy from the wrong side of the tracks who is boxing above his weight in the relationship stakes. He had met a girl from a very rich family and they decide to get married. Her family is naturally horrified, but they decide to invite him to dinner at their mansion. The meal goes very well until the end of the final course when our hero unmistakeably breaks wind with a multi-barrel fart, causing the cut glass crystal on the table to shatter. What should he do? Should he:

         A       Make a bee-line for the nearest exist and disappear back into the ghetto?B

.          B.   Take out his cheque-book and offer to pay for any damage? Or

          C.       Stand up on his chair and challenge anyone present to do better?

 I think Enda has gone for option C, but he may find he face3s a lot of competition from other fibbing politicians of all parties.

 But honestly, he should do the decent thing and sign up for the next series of What’s my lie?

Fine Gael’s Presidential Quick-pick

The Fine Gael party has finally chosen a candidate for the presidency. I suppose he was the best of a really bad lot. Gay (by name, not by lifestyle choice) Mitchell came out of the selection convention yesterday. Mr Mitchell has denied claims that he wants to make the Aras into a sanctuary for penguins, claiming there’s lready a zoo in Phoenix Park..

Mairead Magennis was truly embarrassing with her continued emphasis on getting a blue … Fine Gael person into the presidency. It was about time that there was a Fine Gael President she intoned. This was unseemly. The holder of the office of president must be above narrow party politics and would be best to be a truly independent figure. The president must represent all sections of the Irish population, not just one particular patronage group. She spoke of the presidential office as if it were no more than the chairmanship of a town council or a Vocational Education Committee in Co. Leitrim. I think the success of Fine Gael in the last elections have gone to their head. I honestly think that had Mairead got the nod and (God preserve us) been elected, the Aras would have been painted blue on the inside and outside. Her candidacy was inspired by a desire to have someone who had been on television and in the public eue torival Sean Gallagher, but the FGers got their fingers burnt before – remember the George Lee fiasco, and Mairead was all they could get after Bunny Carr’s refusal to seek the nomination.

And then there was Pat Cox. His candidacy would have appealed, it was hoped, to all the political parties he has been a member of. He started out with Fianna Fail, then jumped ship to the Progressive Democrats became an independent when they disintegrated and now he’s with the Blueshirts. The only problem is that Pat is an incredibly arrogant and self-opinionated person who has insulted people in every political organisation of which he has been a member. I can’t really have imagined Cox asking anyone for a vote. Instead he would have responded to any erstwhile offers of support with a sneering “and why should I accept a vote from you?”  His political future now looks bleak. However his surname may save him. With a name like Cox he had to be a sexpert like his namesake Tracy Had he been elected certain figures in the porn industry like Hugh Heffner and Ben Dover would have had a field day. It has emerged that  anonymous backers of Cox planned to turn  into a clinic for all sorts of men’s problems from gonorrhoea to premature ejaculation, as well as a venue for seminars on how to give your woman satisfaction, in which he might be assisted by a pal from his PD days, Mary Harney.

Isn’t it a shame that they held the auditions on a Sunday, that way making sure no Protestant could put their head up.

Sex, lies and audiotape

One of the most unfortunate aspects of Enda Kenny’s foray into the highways ad byways of mendacity is that it was caught on tape. The experiences of Brian “head-the-ball” Lenihan Sr with the research assistant should have been enough to warn Enda of the wisdom of the old paradigm “Whatever ya say say nothin’” As a result all future public meetings involving Enda or leading members of the government will be banned and will be before a “guests only” audience, which will be strip-searched beforehand for any concealed recording equipment. All meetings ibvolving Enda organised by Fine Gael will be open only to those who can show a clean Fine Gael pedigree, including a signed testimonial by General O’Duffy or the local bishop concerning their involvement in the struggle against communism in Spain will be sufficient. What is more the party leader will not so much speak as address his audience through sign language, If that doesn’t go down well with the punters recourse may be had to an old trick employed by Enver Hoxha in Albania – a lookalike will be put in to replace the real Enda Kenny. He will look and talk like him, but if  such a figure cannot be located someone of equal height and similar accent will be forced to undergo plastic surgery until he resembles the real Enda. This person will make all of Enda’s speeches and if he makes any commitments about keeping a brothel open or extending the opening hours for a VD clinic, the government can immediately say: “It wasn’t Enda what said it”.

 It is a bit rich now to claim that he made the commitment without knowing that Roscommon hospital was a death-trap, to be avoided by all healthy people. Surely, if that was the case, some of the politicos in Roscommon would have alerted him to it. And how can a hospital, parts of which were built only in the last ten years, have dilapidated to such third world conditions? If it is true surely those charged with its maintenance, and who got paid to keep it on par with health facilities elsewhere, have a case to answer.

Enda’s porkies

So an taoiseach Enda Kenny has finally been outed as a purveyor of porky pies. What is his excuse? “Ah well, sure I heard about  the hospital and they were all sorta cheerin’ like an’ I lost the head.” Maybe like John A. Costello, on declaring Ireland a republic, Enda had had a few. Maybe he is like a former taoiseach, no names mentioned, whose truthfulness was brought into question by a mutual friend who said: “Yan fella will always say what he thinks ya wanta hear. Ya mightav bought a new car an’ he’d come up tya an shake your hand an’ say ‘That’s a powerful cyar yev just bought yerself’ even though the world might know it was a haip o’ shite”. Enda has been round the houses long enough by now. He’s the father of the Dail. He’s not like some neophyte TD full of aspirations, who promises free condoms (of any flavour) every week, a free orgasm each month, all under the slogan “A vote for me is a shag for you.”. But once elected a sordid reality check kicks in. The new boy (and I’m not being sexist here. Most women know it already) discovers that he is only a member of the legislature, the poor relation amongst the powers (Did someone say Powers? Thanks, with lots of ice) and that the real power in the land are the un-elected heads of Civil Service Departments, parastatals and other associated quangos. No, the fact is Enda’s only defence is to sing that song beloved of Morecombe & Wise. “Why did you believe me when I said I loved you when you know I’ve been a liar all my life?”

More coverage of the Musas’ ordeal

Much of what we know about the fate of the Musas and their children come from articles written in the Sunday Telegraph by the journalist Christopher Booker. Now few would consider the Sunday Telegraph to be a radical red publication, while Mr Booker has expressed views on climate change which are quite frankly counter intuitive, but in this instance he has stuck to his journalistic ethic to report cases of manifold abuse by public bodies. The price he has had to pay is to be silenced by a judiciary which often seems to be on the side of the guilty. Mr Booker can hardly be described asw inciting rebellion, yet he is treated like any dissident in Libya or Syria. I reproduce some of his articles on the Musa case for fear that they may fall victim to yet another gagging order.

THE MUSA CHILD ABDUCTION – CHRISTOPHER BOOKER “SUNDAY TELEGRAPH” ARTICLES ON IT

09 May 2011 14:05:14The “Keep Families Together” March 30 April 2011, Haringey, London:

 
 
 
 
The MUSA family from Nigeria have had 5 children removed under totally false pretences, for over a year now with no credible factual evidence in support of the children being taken by so-called “care workers”.. The original allegation made was that the children were being used in child trafficking, a ridiculous accusation finally disproved 5 months later when the Musa’s demand for DNA tests for the Britsh government proved the allegation completely untrue and proving the children were in fact the Musas offspring. This allegation was then changed to other allegations which are also false and total fabrications,as Mr. Musa explains in part 1 of the 3-part video series below.
The eldest daughter taken in April 2010 has had her name changed,, and has not been seen for nearly 10 months by her parents despite them demanding to see her – a crime in itself. So much more is involved which needs to be exposed to show the full amount of appalling atrocities involved in this case. It is truly unvelievable how things have continued this far with the children still away from their parents. The children need to be back in the family home from whence they came, and steps taken so that this appalling series of crimes can never happen again.
Incidentally, Haringey council was involved in the notorious “Baby P” case recently where sadly the toddler died, to name just one unnecessary tragic event that has passed.
These 3 videos with interviews with the Musas hardly show what is involved regarding the case, but are a start:
 
 
CHRISTOPHER BOOKERS SUNDAY TELEGRAPH ARTICLES CONDENSED relating to the MUSA case {excerpts shown where applicable}
1} www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/columnists/christopherbooker/7870342/Forced-adoption-is-a-truly-dreadful-scandal.html 3 July 2010
My last case is so shocking that I will return to it in more detail at a later date. It centres on a London couple who, earlier this year, had their six children seized by social workers on what appears to be flimsy hearsay evidence (I have seen the court papers). The mother was pregnant again. Last month, after the boy was born, three social workers and five policemen entered the hospital ward where she was breastfeeding at 3am, wresting the baby from her by force. They then discovered that they had nowhere to keep him. The boy was put into intensive care, where his mother was taken to breastfeed him for four days, until she was fit to leave the hospital. She saw her baby for the last time two weeks ago. I will return to this story when I have had some explanation from the council responsible.
 
3} www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/columnists/christopherbooker/7946155/Forced-adoption-social-workers-surreal-investigation-recalls-satanic-abuse-scandals.html 14 Aug 2010 This entire article is about the musa family.
“By Christopher Booker 6:39PM BST 17 Jul 2010 107 Comments
I have never, in all my years as a journalist, felt so frustrated as I do over two deeply disturbing stories of apparent injustice that cry out to be reported but which, for legal reasons, I can refer to only in the vaguest terms. To cover them as they deserve, and as the victims so desperately wish, would challenge a part of our legal system shrouded in an almost impenetrable veil of secrecy.
Two weeks ago I recounted four examples of what I described as one of the greatest scandals in Britain today – the seizing of children by social workers from loving families, on what appears to be the flimsiest and most questionable grounds. The children may then be handed on to foster carers, who can receive up to £400 a week for each child, or are put out for adoption, in a way which too often leads to intense distress for both the parents and the children involved.
One case I referred to concerns a north London couple whose five children were seized in April by social workers from Haringey council and sent into foster care. The mother was then pregnant, and her baby was born last month. Shortly afterwards, according to her account, nine police officers and social workers burst into her hospital room at 3am and, as she lay breastfeeding, wrested her baby from her arms with considerable force. Discovering they had nowhere to put the baby, the authorities took it to another part of the hospital, where the mother was escorted four times a day to feed her child, until she was discharged four days later.
Having talked at length to the mother, I found this story so shocking that I put a series of questions to the council, to get their side of the story. The response of Haringey (which, since the national furore over its failure to prevent the battering to death of Baby P, has been somewhat sensitive on these issues) was to ask the High Court to rule that I should not be allowed to write about the case at all. In the end, the court did not go that far, but The Sunday Telegraph was reminded of the comprehensive restrictions on reporting such stories.
After spending several hours with the parents, looking at their neat home, the little beds where their children used to sleep and the cot prepared for the baby, I came away more convinced than ever that something was seriously amiss. I found the wife impressive in her detailed account of the events, clearly a devoted mother who feels herself and her children to have been the victims of an extraordinary error – the nature of which, alas, I cannot reveal.
This week, two days have been set aside for the mother to put her case to a judge. Despite the tragedy that has torn their family apart, the parents have never previously had an opportunity to challenge Haringey council’s version of the story. I only hope the court takes particular care to check out the evidence put before it, and that in due course I can fully report a case that sheds a revealing light on a system supposedly devised to protect the interests of the children but which too often seems to result in the very opposite.
Also this week, the fate of another family hangs on another court hearing. This is the story of a couple who last January were rejoicing at the birth of their first child. Some weeks later, concerned that the baby’s arm seemed floppy, they took it back to the hospital to seek medical advice. An X-ray confirmed a minor fracture. This proved to be the start of a nightmare, which led to them being arrested, handcuffed and driven off separately to a police station, where the mother was held for nine hours without food. The father was imprisoned overnight.
It emerged that the doctor they saw had reported her suspicion about the child’s fracture to Coventry social workers. The couple were put on police bail, ordering them to surrender their passports, forbidding them to be unsupervised in the presence of anyone under 16, and only allowing them to sleep in one of two named houses (the other being the father’s family home). But because no charges had been brought, the social workers allowed the baby into the care of its Irish grandmother, a respected primary school headmistress. To avoid the baby being seized, she took it to her family home in Dublin, where it has been supported by a band of relatives.
Determined not to be thwarted, Coventry’s social workers then asked the Irish courts to rule – in a case to be heard this week – that the baby must be sent back to them in England. The hospital doctor has meanwhile contacted the Irish medical authorities demanding that in no way must they carry out specific medical tests on the baby which might account for its injury.
On Thursday I spoke again with the mother, who reported that her own bail had been lifted. She was therefore about to join her baby in Ireland. But the child’s father has been told that he may face charges for harming his son, a possibility they find incredible. This will be reported to the Irish court, prompting the fear that the child may be taken from his mother and grandmother, neither of them under any suspicion, and deported to England to be placed in foster care.
In the House of Commons last week I met the one politician who has done more than any other – as this kind of story grows disturbingly frequent – to expose what is going on. John Hemming, the Lib Dem MP for Yardley, Birmingham, not only set up the Justice for Families website, which contains details of many similar cases, but recently assembled an official all-party group of concerned MPs to campaign for the radical overhaul of a system which seems so horribly off the rails, and too often to be betraying the very principles it was intended to uphold.
Not the least startling feature of this system is the secrecy with which it has managed to hide away from the world almost all it gets up to. As is confirmed by Ian Josephs, a remarkable businessman who runs the Forced Adoption website and has helped hundreds of families in similar plight, one of its most glaring flaws is the extent to which aggrieved parents are deprived of any right to put their case, not just to the courts but to anyone who might be able to help them.
It is a system hermetically sealed off, in which the fate of parents and children can be decided by an incestuously closed community of social workers, police, lawyers, doctors and other professional “experts”, who all too often seem to work together in an alliance which is ruthlessly oblivious to the interests of the families who fall into its clutches. Again and again I have heard of the misery of children torn from their distraught parents, forced to live unhappily in the hands of inadequate foster carers, and whose only wish is to be returned to those they know and love.
The more I learn about this scandal, the more I understand why, in April, an Appeal Court judge, Lord Aikens, savaged the actions of Devon county council social workers in a forced adoption case as having been “more like Stalin’s Russia or Mao’s China than the west of England”. The council’s lawyers were told to read a judgment by Lord Justice Wall, now head of the High Court’s Family Division, which condemned Greenwich social workers as “enthusiastic removers of children”.
It is high time the veils of secrecy were ripped from this national outrage; that politicians intervened to call the system to order; and that the press was free to bring properly to light family tragedies such as those I have only been allowed to hint at above.
4} www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/columnists/christopherbooker/8098952/Child-protection-MPs-must-act-on-the-scandal-of-seized-children.html30 Oct 2010 This is a very general article – not specifically about the Musa family, but give an idea of what they are going through.5} www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/columnists/christopherbooker/7946155/Forced-adoption-social-workers-surreal-investigation-recalls-satanic-abuse-scandals.html 14 8 2010
There could have been few more bizarre meetings anywhere in Britain last week than that between a married mother and the social workers who had taken her six young children to place them unhappily in foster care. The officials, of a council I cannot name, are fixated with the idea that this respectable Christian is a “sex worker”, whose children all have different fathers and who is engaged in “child trafficking”.
They appear to have no evidence for these charges other than the hearsay surmising of a single “witness”. I gather that the social workers had reluctantly agreed to commission DNA testing of parents and children, to establish whether they were all from the same father. But even now, I am told, the social workers are refusing to disclose the test results.
The mother, accompanied to this surreal interrogation by a nun who had known her for years, insisted that she had only slept with one man in her life, her husband, the father of her children. She went on to ask one of the social workers how many men she had slept with. The reply was that this was a private matter.
Perhaps we are not very far here from those extraordinary cases some 20 years ago when children were torn away from their families wholesale because social workers had concocted a fantasy that they were being abused in weird satanic rituals (a story I told in my book Scared To Death).
It is vitally important that when this case again comes before the courts, the judge should put the council’s supposed evidence to very careful test.
6} www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/columnists/christopherbooker/8165143/Forced-adoptions-get-no-sympathy-from-the-ministry.html 27 Nov 2010 Last week I listened for an hour to a sobbing mother describing how she recently lost the six-year-old daughter who is the centre of her life. Her fatal mistake was to ask social workers for advice when she was being troubled by “harassment” from the child’s father, from whom she parted some years ago. Within days, although it was never suggested that she had harmed her daughter in any way, she found herself facing a “case conference” of 20 people at the local council offices, the conclusion of which was that her child must be placed in foster care.
The solicitor she was given by the social workers refused to oppose the care order. At a “contact” session, when she and her bewildered daughter emotionally expressed their love for each other, the interview was halted. She has not been allowed to see her child again.
Having followed dozens of such cases in recent months, which suggest that something has gone horribly wrong with our child protection system, I was recently invited for an off-the-record ministerial discussion about what I have been reporting. But far from recognising that anything might be astray, the official line, it seems, is that the horrifying cases I have covered represent only an untypical minority of the total – “less than 10 per cent”. In general, the system is working fine.
This line seems to be confirmed by the latest guidance issued to local authorities by the Children’s Minister, Tim Loughton, who says that too many councils are failing to ensure that enough children are being adopted, and that the backsliders must speed up their flow of adoptions. No question as to whether social workers might be snatching too many of the wrong children in the first place – or why the courts seem so eager to support them that, of around 8,000 applications made each year for care orders, only one in 400 is refused.
I shall give just one disturbing instance of the latest developments in a case I have been following for months. Like many others, this came to me through the Forced Adoption website, run by former councillor Ian Josephs. It involves a married couple whose five older children were seized earlier this year, subsequent to which their latest baby was torn from its mother’s arms only hours after it was born.
The bizarre story originally stated by the social workers to justify their ruthless intervention in this family’s life seems to have collapsed. At a recent court hearing, I am told, the judge seemed disposed to reunite the family as soon as possible. The baby was returned to her parents later that day. But the council asked for 21 days’ stay of execution before returning the five older children, three of whom the parents had not been allowed to see for weeks. The judge apparently agreed but insisted that an independent social worker should interview the children.
The independent social worker eventually managed to interview four of the children, apparently reporting that they all wished to be allowed to go home to their parents. But the court refused to give the parents a copy of the judge’s ruling, and on Friday they were summoned back to hear from him that he had now seemingly changed his mind and that the children did not wish to come home after all. According to the parents, they were not allowed to question the evidence on which he based his new ruling, although they were told they could appeal.
What on earth is going on here? Even from the little I am permitted to report of this case, it seems evident that something seriously odd is afoot.
But this is merely one of far too many cases where families are being heartlessly torn apart, often without the parents even being allowed to question the evidence or to speak for themselves. To hear such horror stories being dismissed as representing “less than 10 per cent” of all the cases where children are seized is simply not good enough. Each is shocking enough in its own right. But when every week brings news of a dozen more, this only confirms that we indeed have a national scandal on our hands.
7} www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/columnists/christopherbooker/8181575/Child-protection-how-a-cruel-council-plays-its-cat-and-mouse-game.html 4 12 2010
Last Tuesday I dined in a smart Knightsbridge restaurant with Ian Josephs, who runs the Forced Adoption website, his wife, a mother whom I cannot name and her delightful five-month-old baby, who sat in a high chair perfectly behaved throughout. This was the baby who, shortly after she was born in June, was torn from her mother’s arms in hospital at 3am by six policemen and three social workers. Two months earlier, social workers had also snatched the mother’s five older children, to put them in foster care, costing taxpayers more than £2,000 a week.
On Tuesday afternoon, the mother had been unexpectedly told that she could have contact with two of her children, miles from north London where she lives. Yet again, when she arrived at the contact centre, she was told that the children were not coming, although apparently they long to see her. On returning to the station with her baby, given back to her by the court six weeks ago, she found that all trains had been cancelled because of the snow, forcing her to return to London by taxi at a cost of £50.
This was yet another instalment of a cat and mouse game the council has been playing with the parents for months, telling them they can see their children, only for them frequently to hear, after their long journey, that some or all of the children were not available after all. (It happened again last Friday.)
Months ago the court ordered that the children should be brought back into London, nearer their home. Meanwhile, the council should give the parents a travel voucher, worth more than £30 a time, for their journey. Only once did the council provide a voucher, which the parents discovered on the return journey was one-way only, costing them £100 in penalties.
Since then the court order has been ignored and the parents have had to pay up to £150 a week to see their children, only to be told on arrival that the agreed contact has been cancelled.Meanwhile, the case used to justify the seizing of the children has been collapsing in all directions, although the parents have not once been allowed to challenge the extraordinary statements made about them. Not until next year, 10 months after this family was ruthlessly broken up, will there be a final hearing to decide whether this utterly heartless farce can at last be brought to an end. If and when the facts about this barely credible story can be reported, it will be worthy of the front page.
8} www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/columnists/christopherbooker/8196452/Social-workers-cruel-game-with-children-in-care-continues.html 11 12 2010
Last week I reported on the cruel cat-and-mouse game a north London council is playing with the parents of five children who, against court orders, have been kept in foster care miles from their home. Several times a week, at a cost of more than £40, including taxis, the mother, carrying her five-month-old baby, travels to an agreed contact with her unhappy children, only to be told on arrival that they are not available. In the past fortnight this has happened six times.
Why cannot the mother be told this before she leaves home? Last week, the fostering agency Capstone Vision claimed that the fault for this outrageous behaviour lies with the council social workers, who seem determined to punish the mother for the fact that all their original excuses for seizing the children have been exposed as malicious fictions
9} www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/columnists/christopherbooker/8211955/Does-this-family-have-human-rights.html 18 12 2010
Two senior judges of the immigration court rule it illegal, under the Human Rights Act, to deport an asylum seeker who dragged along under his car a dying 12-year-old girl he had run over – because it would be in breach of his right to enjoy “family life” with his children (even though he no longer lives with them).
How strikingly this contrasts with the suffering inflicted on those parents whose five children, as reported here more than once, were snatched from them last April by London social workers, on suspicions which have since, it appears, turned out to be malicious fabrications.
A council whistleblower has said that, at a recent case conference, the social workers admitted that maybe they had made a mistake, and that the mother they had falsely accused was in fact devoted and blameless. But apparently, because of “press interest” in the case, the officials agreed that the council could not afford the very damaging publicity which might follow if the unhappy children were reunited with their parents. It was therefore vital that the council should continue to justify its actions.
The case comes up again in court very soon. In the name of this family’s human rights, it must be hoped that the judge examines the evidence very carefully indeed.
One of the most disturbing features of this system, which protects itself behind a wall of secrecy, is how far it goes to ensure that aggrieved parents are represented only by lawyers who are themselves accomplices of the system. Again and again parents are bemused to find that the lawyers they were advised to use seem unwilling to challenge the case being made against them, however spurious.
Of all the cases I have followed, none is more bizarre than that of a couple whose six children were snatched by social workers last year on evidence which seemed at best highly questionable and was at worst an absurd fiction. The mother was advised to use a solicitor, on legal aid, who she felt was so much on the other side that she discharged him. Just before Christmas, when the council’s case seemed to be falling apart, I tracked down one of the very rare solicitors who has a reputation for fighting the system. His firm applied to the Legal Services Commission for transfer of the legal aid, and when the LSC seemed to be delaying its response, I paid £2,000 from my own pocket to enable the firm to start work.
The local authority learned, it seemed before anyone else, that the LSC would not allow the transfer from the solicitor who had been discharged – and the head of the council’s legal department then sent the mother a list of other solicitors who would be able to take her case on legal aid. By the time the solicitor to whom I had given £2,000 heard that he had been turned down, he was able to present me with a bill which, including VAT, came to exactly £2,000.
By now another solicitor had appeared, who seemed keen to take on the case for a reduced fee. Ian Josephs, who runs the Forced Adoption website, advanced £3,500 towards her fees, on an understanding that she could take the case through to its final hearing for a total of £5,000. Three days before they were due in court, this solicitor too – after a long conversation with one of the array of lawyers appearing, at huge public expense, for the other side – said she was unable to continue working on the case. She has not, so far, offered to return any of the money.
The mother now faces, without legal representation, a final hearing which could result in her losing her children forever. They live, unhappily, in separate foster homes, at a cost to the taxpayer of well over £100,000 a year. She and her husband came to this country a decade ago, full of hope: now she feels utterly betrayed by a system which seems ruthlessly bent on destroying her family. Her only wish is to escape this incomprehensible nightmare and return with her husband to their native country. But to do so, they would have to abandon any hope of seeing their beloved children again.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————
It is understood Mr. Booker has been restrained in certain ways from reporting again on certain aspects of this case
 
If any peruqued paedophile in a British court wants to wave an injunction at me, I can only say “Bring it on baby. I live in a separate country”, although I wouldn’t be surprised if we haven’t sold our sovereignty in exchange for a financiasl handout. CP.

The Musas’ living hell. The story of a family torn apart by official interference and incompetence.

 The Social Services department of Haringey Council in London is known throughout the breath of the United Kingdom (and further afield) for not very good reasons. These were the people who sat on their hands while the unfortunate “Baby P” was battered to death and passed up many opportunities to intervene. Far from having learned any lessons from that tragic episode they seem intent on pursuing a bizarre form of victimisation against an innocent family and its children.

 The Musas are natives of Nigeria. They are a married couple who are committed Christians. In April 2010 Haringey Social Services seized their five children into care on suspicion that they were the victims of human trafficking and that their mother was a sex worker. The Social Services department were eventually forced to carry out DNA tests on the children, which proved Mr Musa’s paternity, although they were slow to reveal the test results to the family. Mrs Musa stated to the social workers, in the presence of a nun, that her sole sexual partner was her husband.

 A feature of this case is that Haringey Social Service’s determination to punish the Musas grows in inverse proportion to the evidence that they are able to muster. The allegations regarding child trafficking were based on the word of an unnamed informant. Even though they had been disproved the Musas’ children still remained in care, being sent out to foster parents who receive £400 per week for the privilege. Their eldest daughter claimed that she has been sexually abused while in foster care. Social Services then conspired to wipe out her existence by changing her name. What is more she has not been seen for nearly a year.

 At the time of these seizures Mrs Musa was pregnant. She went into hospital and was delivered of a baby boy. At 3 am one morning a group of social workers, accompanied by no less than six police officers, burst into her hospital room to seize the baby. His mother was breast-feeding him at the time. (The rapists, stalkers and pond-life of Haringey must have had a field day. The London Metropolitan Police was established to protect the public from harm, not snatch newborn babies from their mothers’ breasts. But then Mrs Musa is probably black and the Met is still institutionally racist.)

 The present state of play is that the Musas are still a family divided. Court orders have been made allowing them to see their children, often at distant locations, yet invariably the children are not brought there to meet their parents.

 I am not a legal expert, but I think that the Musas have clear grounds for seeking a writ of Habeas Corpus against Haringey Council. But unfortunately they are denied adequate legal council, many of whom seem to be working on behalf of the council or who seem scared senseless of taking it on. This has been accompanied by a penchant on the part of some senior judges to issue gagging orders preventing full and independent reporting of the story. What are they afraid of? What dreadful misdemeanours or set of misdemeanours have given rise to this affair, which sadly is not unique?

 I intend to reproduce a number of the press reports that have slipped through the net wire of censorship. I would urge people to read them, because their continued presence in the public domain cannot be taken for granted.

HSE waste

Government cannot condone waste = Brian Cowen

Let’s give it in the neck to vampirism – Count Dracula

Give me chastity and continence – but not yet – St Augustine of Hippo.

Just a sample of the comments about the discovery of a catalogue of waste of public money and serious breaches of corporate governance, financial oversight and procurement” within the Health Service Executive, involving the SKILL programme operated by the HSE in conjunction with the Trades Union SIPTU.

 One can shrug one’s shoulders about dodgy conduct in the HSE, saying “What have they done now?” but SIPTU is one of our largest trade unions. What smells very much like larceny of public funds has occurred with the connivance of its officials. SIPTU should be protecting workers’ rights and conditions; its officials should not be feathering their own nest, either alone or in tandem with others.

 A slogan much used, abused and over-used by New Labour was “Tough on Crime, Tough on the causes of Crime”. What makes people steal? Poverty and deprivation can certainly play their part, though the bewigged perverts of the Judiciary have traditionally dismissed this as a motive. The erudite and opinionated Francis Bacon once wrote “opportunity makes the thief” and certainly temptation can be great, especially if you are starving.  But when those who do the stealing are already financially secure, or far more secure than the rank and file of society, we have to ask this question again. Is it psychological and social deviance, an example of grown up people reverting to their childhood and their desire to stick their tongues out at people? Ort is it something which reflects far more on the rottenness of our institutions and their personnel, be they executive, legislative or judicial? they steal because they think they can get away with it.

 And indeed we do not know the identities of those in the HSE whose lack of financial oversights and managerial competence have led to his debacle. We may never know, but one thing we can be fairly certain about is that they will never face legal or criminal sanction. In other words they will never stand before a member of the Eighteenth-century Themed Fancy Dress Party that is known as the Courts. Even if they did, they will meet up with people who will be unlikely to chastise them. Our judges are not arbiters of the Law, still less of Justice, but Social Policemen – there to ensure that no member of the establishment ever suffers for their misdeeds, and that the only ones who go to prison are the poor – if you don’t believe me, ask the Department of Justice how many “Middle Class” people there are in prison at the moment. Chances are they won’t be able to answer the question. So anyone who has stolen big, and I’m not talking about people who might have been benefiting from a few “nixers” with the labour” and who are guilty bye virtual of simply being poor, will not see the inside of a jail. Heavens, such dreadful places! It would ruin their health, lead to social obloquy as well as expulsion from their golf and rotary clubs.  This is in contrast to France, a truly republican nation, which has no qualms about hailing high0born miscreants. As a result of this unspoken impunity from prosecution, they won’t even be brought before a court. Instead they will be “retired”. This means that they will be given a nice, handsome golden handshake and allowed to ride off into the sunset of consultant land, together with a nice pension. This is their reward for wrongdoing. Surely, if our state wished to dissociated itself from such misdeeds, but yet it did not (maybe for sentimental reasons) wish these people to face a trail, they should just simply be dismissed, without a lump sum, without a pension, and made to experience the reality faced by those vile, horrible ordinary people – who incidentally pay their wages.

 Ask many a white-collar criminal whether they see anything wrong in what they do and they’ll probably answer with a laugh, “getting caught”.” But so many of our white-collar thieves don’t have to worry about being found out. The penalties are, let’s face it, hardly onerous.

For Farce say FAS again

A week can’t go by without a story about malversation in the State training body FAS, and today brings news that two private contractors involved in the provision of training are being looked into by the cops.

 So FAS is being diddled by the crowd at the top, jetting off en famille on first-class air tickets and staying in the poshest of hotels, while lower down some of those who should be providing training may be on the fiddle. And let us not forget the consummate ease with which the wives of senior management figures could get onto FAS schemes – but the poor dears had to get out of the house you know.The victims who have apparently been forgotten about are those who look to an organisation like FAS to provide training in skills that may, in theory, improve their chances in the jobs market. It is symbolic that so many members f Ireland’s well-connected elite have always seen it instead as yet another cash cow. But those people are poor, and the poor are always with us, and if they are poor it’s their own fault. Yes, I agree Veuve Clicquot ’72 was a good year but it wasn’t a patch on ’61, I have a full crate of it, well actually I nicked it from daddy shortly before he keeled over, and that wasn’t the only thing I nicked from him…

The HSE’s problems understanding money

I recall how many years ago I did a bit of public relations work. One of my accounts was publicising a very worthy first-aid course being organised by a section of a then existing Health Board. This was aimed particularly at those with safety responsibility in firms and companies who might not have any formalised first-aid training. I designed an advert for the course and went about placing it in various magazines. The prices charged for this were by no means excessive, but they were to be met by the Health Board. I remember thinking that the charge from one magazine was a little excessive in that it was higher than the others, but not to an exorbitant degree. The advertisement was duly carried in all the publications to which it had been submitted. When I had the advert placed I sent the list of the various rates charged to the health board. Not long afterwards I received a telephone call from a health board official complaining that the rate charged by one magazine was truly excessive and “was just too high”. I honestly felt as if I was being accused of feathering my own nest with the amount charged, and being an individual who does not suffer fools gladly I informed the official that if he had any issues with the magazines and their advertising rates, he should take it up with them directly and not with me, and I put the ‘phone down.

 Some time later I told my story to a friend who worked in the higher echelons of the Civil Service. He asked me what the rate was of the apparently overcharging magazine, and when he heard it he collapsed into raucous laughter. He explained that he knew that the Civil Service regularly spent a hundred times as much on items of advertising and never even bothered to follow up whether the advertisements had been printed a tall.

 The Health boards and their successor, the HSE seem to have a schizophrenic attitude to money. They don’t really seem to understand what it is or what it is for. When it comes to spending money on anything connected with the provision of health care services they are seized with mind-numbing parsimony, as if they are giving the money out of their own pockets, but when it comes to handing out money, which is public money, to their friends and well-wishers they see it as no different from confetti.

Trade Union myopia

 

Trades Unions are a vital; part of any free and open society, protecting workers from exploitation, as well as ensuring working conditions. When trades unions pursue the interests of their own members, with complete disregard for others then we have reached dangerous territory.

Today we heard a prominent public service trade unionist rejecting any government plans to reduce the wages of “low paid” public servants. He seemed to be saying at the same time that the government could make whatever other cuts it wanted, so long as public sector workers were left untouched. So the unemployed, the disabled and the old were being told that they could suffer whatever further cruel indignities this cowardly government wished to inflict upon them so long as his members held onto their pay.

Such “low paid” public servants earn considerably more per week than the people I have just mentioned. And then there are all the perks, not the least of which is permanent access to a free telephone line. But the great asset they possess is that their jobs are secure.

But the government will cave in to such threats as it is entirely dependant on these public servants to implement its next round of cuts. Were such “public servants” interested in social justice, or even if they had a conscience, they would refuse to implement these policies, but instead they enforce them with obscene vigour, often devising new and illegal means to frustrate the very poor from receiving any benefits whatsoever. What is more these low paid public servants are fond of using this title so as to get some sympathy, but you can offer than no greater insult than to remind them that they are public servants and that they owe the public even the most basic duties of courtesy.The disabled and the old cannot protest.

Paying over the odds in the HSE

Last week’s Irish edition of the Sunday Times (October 26th) told how the Health Service Executive have discovered that they have overpaid some of their staff by about 5 million euro and how they are endeavouring to claw this back. The article also disclosed that the difficulties encountered by HSE management in realising just who got what, and who was overpaid, are compounded by the existence of no less then ten separate payroll systems in the organisation. Once somebody goes from one payroll environment to the next, they effectively die. The HSE has written to those whom they suspect of having been overpaid, requesting them to pay back the surplus. The response has been well, disappointing to say the least, so they are faced with having to hire external solicitors (at eye-watering cost) to try and pursue the overpaid millions.

 What type of a setup i.e. mess are they operating? I know the experience of many people in the HSE who work in the front line f the provision of services. The HSE’s accounting year rungs from the end of March of one year to the equivalent date in the following. Staff members who have outstanding holiday entitlements are faced with a stark choice: use them or lose them. These entitlements cannot be carried forward. Why? Because that‘s the message from the top, and that’s the way it is, has always been, and always will be – period. Occasionally these entitlements have been run up because HSE executives have been compelled to work beyond their contracts maybe at the behest of HSE management, or in order to try and provide something equivalent to a service.  But as at least one HSE employee has told me. “Ya might as well be idle. If you give 150 per cent to the job you are treated the same as if you only gave 50 per cent. The HSE doesn’t give a … (expletives deleted). So each March many providers of front line services in the HSE are compelled to absent themselves, and naturally they are not replaced and they don’t receive any cover. This causes untold hardship to hundreds if not thousands of people.

 The answer to this? Change the system so as to allow people to bring their holiday entitlements forward from one year to the next. It wouldn’t cost anything and couldn’t add to the deficit. But it would challenge the mentality of the HSE which is apparently deep-frozen/

 The fact is such management wouldn’t be able to manage a public lavatory for dogs. They are a disgrace, but yet in the anticipated round of health payment cuts you can bet your bottom dollar that they will be safe.

The fact that the Irish health service is in such a mess rests fairly and squarely in the hands of those who administer and manage it. We can blame the politicians – and believe me, they have a lot to answer for, not least the current minister – but we can change the government tomorrow morning and the mess would stay the same, as those in charge remain, just that, in charge, come what may: winter, spring, summer or fall. And their reaction to the suffering which results from this blinkered thinking? “Ah sure, they should b in the VHI.”

Prescription charges

The Irish Department of Health has introduced a 50 cent charge on each prescribed item. When my 90 year old father heard this he couldn’t get to sleep,. His doctor prescribes him maybe a dozen items each month and he was horrified with the prospect of his miserly pension being swallowed up.

 Why is it that the ordinary old people of Ireland have to suffer in this way?

 Those right-wingers who inform the minister’s policy should bear in mind that you can hardly tell someone who is ninety years of age that they should get a job and stop being a burden. The alternative, which no doubt would be favoured by these nameless neo-cons, is to let the old and the sick die. That way the balance of payments will be healthier and strong, able-bodied, hard-working people will not have to deal with part of their hard-earned cash having to go to maintain in life those whose “best before” dates have long expired and who are only be kept alive by a misplaced sense of sentimentalism. Such views are akin to Nazism, and I think it is only fair to add that my father fought Nazism and nearly lost his life on numerous occasions doing so, whereas the parents of Mary Harnery’s officials probably had their ears glued to their radio sets listening to Lord Haw-Haw during World War 2.

 The cynical nature of these charges can be seen in the refusal of the Minister to make a waver for those who are terminally ill. The sick logic should be abundantly clear here. “Let them die”, and then if they’re dead they can’t vote against the government – but these people have relatives.

 Have these people no consciences?

The truth about the HSE

Speakers at the recent hospital consultants’ conference in Limerick have revealed what most people knew for ages: the HSE is but one more example of a costly administrative balls up which may have seemed a good idea at the time but has ended up being an expensive white elephant.

 In effect, the HSER brought together all of the existing Health Boards and amalgamated them in one behemoth. All of the bad elements in the old health boards were retained of course. So the HSE contains all of the old incompetence, inefficiency and rudeness. The culture of its clerical staff – the important people you know – is that work is a four-letter word describing a distressing activity which sometimes breaks out between tea breaks – that’s if they have actually come into work at all, and haven’t found some excuse for taking a “sicky”. The “enemy” remains “The Public”, that vast amorphous crowd of wingers and complainers whose raison d’etre is to prevent health board officials from making their undisturbed way through the day till knocking-off time. Naturally, the public must be treated with disrespect and disdain.

 We have also learned that the amalgamation of health boards into the HSE did not lead to any job reductions. In fact, according to anecdotal evidence, the numbers employed by some branches of the HSE continues to rise. While there may be a recruitment moratorium in force, “at national level” some relatives of local politicians continue to be taken on as “temporary” staff, and like all things temporary they become permanent in the fullness of time.

 It goes without saying that I am not referring here to those in “frontline” services who actually deal with people and who must put up with the bullying of the HSE’s bloated administrative and managerial staff. The vast majority of front-liners believe that they have a duty to place their skills at the service of the public, whereas the latter group have one duty and that is to themselves. The managerial cohort believes that they also owe an absurd duty to a group of selfish, super-rich and super-healthy people who if they ever get sick will never have to rub shoulders or clink bedpans with the great unwashed. 

 As I joked to a man who was forced to take early retirement because he just couldn’t stand the way in which his attempts to provide something like a service within an ever more oppressive environment. “You know the great thing about the HSE? Add the letters I and T to the initials and you get SHITE.”

Mary Harney sings up our health service

Health minister Mary Harney has responded to concerns about pending health cuts by saying what a wonderful public health system this government presides over and how the government is attempting to improve it still further in spite of budgetary constraints.

 Cut the bull Mary. You don’t believe it and all of your colleagues know it’s crap. The next time any of you have as much as a pain in your big toes you will not seek treatment in a public ward, but will instead go private. You will attempt to cover your hypocrisy by saying that because of your responsible jobs you cannot afford to be away from your desks for long and so must seek the quickest form of treatment available. As for ordinary people, they an just queue and suffer.

Cavan town – some tips for the visitor

Cavan Town

Cavan is one of the oldest towns in Ulster, predating the vast majority of urban settlements in the north of Ireland by a good century and a half. In recent years it has developed frantically, but much of this development is centripetal, so battteries of soulless suburbs and housing estates are marching into the green hinterland while the town’s centre is allowed to rot and decay, becoming a no-man’s land after six o’clock in the evening, often inhabited only by surreptitious shadows and the clanging of metal shutters blowing in the wind. Any residual business activity is going to be wiped out by the erection of a spanking new TESCO store, which has been approved by the County Council’s executive and approved like lapdogs by the elected councillors. Plans are afoot for Cavan to become a new Financial Servicers centre with a specialised market in the sale of grannies belonging to councillors and senior council staff.

Litter Free??!!!

Don’t believe the propaganda – Cavan is a seriously dirty town. Every so often a group of anti-litter freaks let drop into some important local ears that they are coming to do an inspection. On the day assisgned the pubs are emptied with promises (seldom kept) of free drink in return for picking up litter and sweeping away rubbish. This is then piled into ditches and behind hedges close to local authority housing estates and the Halting Site. The inspectors arrive to an immaculate scenario and are invited to eat their dinners off the footpaths. They gush about how clean and tidy Cavan is and invariably award it a five-star rating. Once gone the rubbish is redistributed and augmented. But then the Most-Hated-Man-in-Cavan, N. Teebone, would know about casual litter in Cavan. After all, most Cavan men eat out of drawers and peel apples and fruit in their pockets. Look at the average Cavan man and you will see his pockets bulging with sweet-wrappers and fruit peelings. And we have already mentioned the Cavan lads’ aversion to throwing away condoms.

Some of my readers will remember the scene in Father Ted where the two priests hitch a lift from a lorry driven by Pat Shortt. Earlier we see Pat’s character being given a crash curse on how to open the lorry’s doors, and which lever to pull to enter its contents. Pat gets mixed up and while inadvetertly attempting to let the priests into the cab covers them in shite. I’d love if a lorry would do that in the centre of Farnham St.

Everyone knows that the stereotype of the “maen” Cavanman is a myth. The real misers in Cavan are certain Americans whom everyone believes to be fantastically wealthy and who expect everyone to bow the knee to them, but who are as “maen as cat shite”. 

There is an on-going campaign though to keep Cavan town skitter-free. This is fronted by signs bearing a crossed-out lavatory over the legend “Don’t do it here – do it somewhere else.”

Getting There and Away.

The good news is that buses arrive in Cavan town on the hour. Even better news is that they leave on the hour too. If the thought of wandering Cavan’s streets for sixty long minutes is just too much excitement, you can always stay on the ‘bus making obscene hand signs at passers by. Better still stand up in the ‘bus and expose yourself and in the District Court defend your actions as being due to “peer pressure”.

Accommodation

If you feel like a splurge why not try the admittedly pricey Vincent de Paul Night Shelter in Abbey Street. This is perfectly situated for the Bridge Street strip, Cavan town’s entertainment heart, so you can entertain any conquests in style. And the YMCA’s just round the other corner, if that’s what you like.

Those who prefer the freedom of the roads can stay at the town’s Caravan park / halting site. This has marvellous views of the town and is close to shops and pubs. It also has all the facilities you could want.

Eating Out

There are lots of reasonably-priced chew ‘n spews, but some of the best deals are offered by Mucky Mick’s BYO. The walls are covered with photographs taken from the “In Memoriam” cards of those who died from food poisoning contracted there. There are also blown-up images of the numerous bugs located on the premises by food inspectors – find a new variety and you’ll get 10 per cent off. If you can find a table try and get one as far as possible from the Gents’ toilets, which aren’t separated from the eating area by a door. Mick explained that it was taken off because the patrons found it an obstacle as they were in a rush to evacuate their stomachs.

(Seriously, there are lots of good places in Cavan offering great grub to suit all pockets, but I am afraid that my recommendations would be targeted by ‘resting’ Sendirastas for retaliation. Another problem is access. So many eateries still don’t realise that the cripple’s cash is as good as the able-bodied.

Pubs

If you’re looking for more than a quiet pint, head to The Hard Cock Cafe in Bridge Street. This is definitely THE haunt of Cavan’s horizontal joggers. In fact, if you can’t get a root here … of course you would have to be stoned to look at some of the sheilas. It really is a swamp donkey sanctuary, so you’ll need your beer-goggles, but as Holly Johnson said in the song “Relax … when ya wanna come”. Always insist on a condom, because you can never tell what dose you might pick up.

There are some pubs which are really nice and civilised drinking places and then there are those to which no sef-respecting human would go, unless on a crawl. These can usually be identified by the lack of carpet on the floor, having stone or mud floors instead. When asked why, one landlord said that it was “easier to mop up the sick offf a stone floor.” 

Also keep an eye on the change you get. at times when there are large crowds (such as the Fleadh) it is not unusual for bar personnel to “accidentally” short-change punters. And it is not unknown either for Cavan’s hostelries to be, as Daniel Defoe once wrote, “Extravagant in their reckonings”.

If you’re under age, getting a drink in a Cavan town pub is no problem. It has been said that the only issue about giving a pint to a baby is that it mightn’t be able to carry it too far.

Entertainment and Night Clubs.

If you want an atmosphere that’s truly animal, head for Bokassa’s or Crufts – where love stories begin – and end; if your expectations of the animal experience incline more towards an abattoir, and your preferences are for a dark, malodorous, overcrowded and overheated “dancing area” then it has to be Crufts. The stench of body odour and stale beer has led to it being nicknamed Smelly Nelly’s. The unfriendliness of Cavan’s womenfolk is legendary and few will just politely refuse an offer of a dance. No, you”re lucky if you get away with a snarl and some friends of mine were left scarred for life after being severely bitten. If you like your teeny-boppers teeny head out of town to the Club Tropicana. All Cavan’s night spots (like the town’s women) have one thing in common: they’re to be seen at their best with the lights off. Wuff wuff!!!

Cinema.

Cavan’s cinema is a good bet if you’ve got nowhere better to go. Films were first shown in Cavan in 1912, but for many years there was no cinema. This was an important argument for those who moaned: “There’s nothin’ to do in Cavan except get pissed”. Cinema was available thanks to the Trojan efforts of the Cavan Film Club which met in Belturbet. But that was excuse numero uno – the Cavan town bods were too exhausted after a stressful day’s sittin’-on-their-holes to go to Belturbet. The Film Club used to meet in Cavan town but evacuated to the Village by the Erne because of lack of support. And then there was the fact that many of the films shown were foreign – with subtitles – showing full-frontal nudity – and explicit kinky sex scenes, sometimes with animals … A new cinema was then built in Cavan and opened with much publicity – a multiplex no less. At the time of writing only one screen is open to the public through lack of public demand. Oh dear.  The staff are really friendly too. Tuesday is the best night to go if you’re a pensioner or a cripple, but be warned: ignore blandishments about pop-corn, sweets or soft drinks which are horribly overpriced.

Sport

Sports and Recreation buffs are amply catered for in Cavan. The town’s 8 hole golf club (they had to have the other ten filled in) is perfect for those who want to play around. This is where Cavan’s Mushroom men like to be seen. A new car-park has been built with spaces for caravans, while the local Department of Social Protection is planning to open a sub-office here so that patrons can collect their dole before teeing off. Dress code is casual but smart (in other words, fur coat and no knickers for women), yet if rumours are to be believed (and why not? – as Barry Norman claims he never said) when some of the “Lady” players get a couple of voddies inside them their under-dress code becomes, how do you say, minimalist, and they stop putting on an act that they are anything but jumped-up slappers. Bring your own keys and, like your hands, keep them in your pockets. One ill-considered grope can end up in a costly legal action and, let’s face it, if groping’s your bag, why bother with mutton when you can have lamb, Spring lamb and lots of it, at The Springs? This may be some miles out of town, but the journey is more than compensated for by the unlimited games of Hide–the-Sausage available ‘round the back. Don’t let appearances fool you here: just because they look young doesn’t mean they lack experience. Once again Safety First. Bring a new packet as the club’s dispensing machine may have run out. What’s mre it may have never had any rubbers at all in it, but most punters would be too ashamed to go up to the bar and ask for a refund, especially if the barman happens to be their brother-in-law.

If you prefer to do some human potholing but like the caves a little bigger and wider try the Rugby Club, only stay away from the toilets.

Things to see, people to do.

Pride of place must go to the National Incineration Centre for cows infected with CJD at Monery near Kilmore on the outskirts of Cavan town. It dominates the town and surrounding area with its smell. This near sickening odour doesn’t seem to upset Cavan people at all. If anything they luxuriate in it. “It’s not so bad after a while when yev gotten useto it like. In fact I like sittin’ upta me oxters in shite, an’ the smell’s nice an’ its grate for the complekshan…like”

But Cavan town is all about atmosphere, and there is nowhere better for soaking it up than Rossa Place on a Sunday morning around 3 a.m. You can hear the melismanic meows of Cavan’s tomcats as they engage in a night on the hump, while Cavan’s human lovers pursue some alfresco fumbling in doorways and alleyways. At this time of the morning you’re never far from the land of the Technicolor Yawn and the two-pot screamers.

Does Cavan town have any good points? That’s a tough one … Not all the women in Cavan are from the town or county, which means that they are friendlier. I suppose the fact that Cavan has lately attracted immigrants from many parts of the world has helped to inject some variety into the prevailing greyness. At the risk of repeating myself I cannot but have sympathy for immigrants – life must be really shitty at home if they come to a place like Cavan. Many of the immigrants are females from eastern Europe and the Baltic States, and everyone knows how Slavic women do something for me. … rrr!  I don’t know, maybe it’s their high cheek-bones, their lustrous eyes that appear capable of digging into your soul, the fact that they are always entranced when spoken to in their vernacular…