Life’s too short so let’s have a laugh

Have you heard about the Cavan paediophile? He’s going around asking young boys: “Would you like to buy some sweets?”

It was Fr Davis’ silver jubilee of service in the parish, so a special dinner was arranged. Guest speaker was the local political political bigwig, Joe Dog TD. On the night of the dinner Deputy Dog was unavoidably delayed, so Fr Davis decided he would give his little speech in his absence.

“I well remember,” he began my first day in this parish, when I heard confessions for the first time. My first client told me that he had stolen a television set. When I pressed him he revealed that he had cheated his employer, and had had an affair with his wife. What’s more he had paid no tax for years, but perhaps the worst thing of all was that he had given VD to his sister. I thought to myself: ‘what den of iniquity have you entered?” However, I later found out that the vast majority of my parishioners were decent people.” 

Just when Fr Davis finished, Deputy Dog arrived and immediately swung into his speech.

“I remember the first day Fr Davis came to this parish as if it was yesterday. In fact, I was the first person to go to confessions with him …”

NEVER, NEVER BE LATE!!!

***

The garda traffic corp are a hard-working group of people, but recently their efforts have been thwarted by a less than co-operative public. Members of the corp in Co. Wexford set up a speed trap in a secluded spot but didn’t pull any motorists. Then discovered that there was a young boy 50 yards up the road with a big sign saying: “GARDA SPEED TRAP 50 YARDS AHEAD.” They then discovered another young boy 50 yards down the road from them with a bucket and a sign saying: “TIPS PLEASE” When apprehended he admitted he was the other youth’s brother and said: “We’ve been making more money this way than we ever got from strawberries…”

***

A motorist received a photograph taken by a speed camera showing him breaking the speed limit. The photo was accompanied by a fine for 80 euro. The cheeky motorist then got a 50 euro n9ote, a 20 and a ten, grouped them together and took a photograph of them, which he sent back to the Garda Traffic Corp. On receiving it they sent him a nother phiotograph, of a pair of handcuffs.

A young girl was driving through Dublin without a care in the world, when suddently she realiused that she was being pulled over by a Garda who was approaching her car with his notebook open. Rolling down the window she says:

“Hallo officer. I expect that you will try to sell me tickets to the Garda Traffic Department Ball won’t you.”

“The Garda Traffic Department don’t have balls,,,” whereupon, realising what he had just said, he closed his notebook, turned and walked away.

Going for a walk

Yesterday (Wednesday) I went for my daily “fun-run” with my assistant Pat. Pardon me for being so self-obsessed with my miser4able health but I do see a need to keep my joints as supple as possible. On the way back (not far from home) I encountered a re-appearance of my agoraphobia when aproacching a neighbour’s front gate. For a while I just couldn’t pass the open space. I thought to myself. “How far you have fallen Ciaran”, as I remembered being able to walk not so long ago with such purpose, and now I’m often afraid to walk by an open space even while being linked on one side. (I’m just sharing with you how I feel; the last thing I would want from anyone is sympathy. I’m sorry if I offend.) However, I stuck my courage to my sticking-post and I eventually summoned the wherewithal to get past, and, realising that Pat would not let me fall I got from one pier to the other.

I was feeling happy when I got home until I went on my computer and saw a message from some bastard whom I didn’t know and I had never met who deliberately misrepresented what I had said in my post “The Invisible Man”. Such mendacious misrepresentations of my comments are sadly nothing new. He was outraged that I had had the temerity to compare myseslf with the great Dr Brendan Scott, Research Officer of Cavan County Museum (bad boy Ciaran), and further sought to bamboozle me with a list of the illustrious professors who were coming to Dr Scott’s conference. He listed these stars of the academic firmament along with the universities which employed them, a very pretentious touch which reminded me of the joke about the woman running along the beach crying: “Oh help, help! My son - the engineer - is drownin, Many of them  happen to be long-standing friends of mine so the desired effect was somewhat vitiated.  I told the writer what I thought of him (as well as where he could go), in an e-mail.

I am amazed at the hostility that exists towards me. I’m neither a poodle nor a prostitue, so I haven’t an obsession about being liked, but I’m not that bad of a person. But if someone whom I don’t know, and who doesn’t know me, has the audacity to attack me they must not be surprised if I hit back.

I wantt to make a few things clear. I have never held any hostility towards Dr Scott, although he seems to entertain some hostility to ne. Not alone has he not invited me to his conference but he has never invited me to one of the lectures he has organised in the museum. Furthermore I’ve never been furnished with a list of speakers at the conference.  But let that pass.

I am sure -  sincerely sure - that Dr Scott iss a historian of the highest calibre. I am also convinced (and this will cause much grinding of teeth I’m sure, but what matter) that I am as good a historian as he is. I am sorry that I have not had an opportunity to read any of his work. This has not been out of disrespect. (I suppose I’m a bit wary of getting anything published by Four Courts for fear that an Opus Dei tract will fall out of it.)  I have heard of some of his publications from mutual friends, and expressed an interest in reading them, perhaps with a view to writing a review in my Echo column, though this might be seen as far too lowly and plebeian.

I hope that this isn’t misunderstood but, as Dr Scott (I’d much prefer to call him Brendan but that might seem impertinent) is so good it is truly sad that his talents are being wasted in a clapped-out museum in the arse-hole of Cavan. Does he know who his predecessor was? He didn’t hold a PhD, whatever else he might have once held - now there is an act that must be difficult to follow. Maybe this conference is part of his plan to get out. If it is I truly wish him the best of luck. He may have felt that my presence would have embarrassed him. He need not have worried, because, even if I had been invited, I wouldn’t have attended. The museum is a place which holds bitter memories for me. I had got over this a bit, but the way this thing has been handled has renewed my vow that hell will freeze over before I ever enter that place again.

One final thing. Have the people on the museum’s FAS scheme been invited to the conference, and if not why not?

Ich hab’ genug gesagt. Life is too short so please leave me in peace now.

Arsinists in Cavan

 

The county of Cavan is beset by arsinists: they’re everywhere. These are people committed to committing arsin, or who are conspiring on a daily basis to commit arsin. Sadly they make no attempt to conceal their actions, but are instead quite brazen about it. All you have to do is go into any office and you will see them, arsin around. They can be described as a shower of talentless shites who do nothing except make holy haims of everything, frustrate other people, get in the way and add to a general air of inefficiency and despondency, and they get very well-paid for it. And when they do speak guess where they talk through?

Oh la la

With reference to my previous post I think I am in a position to reveal the nefarious shenanigans being hatched to assure a “yes” vote which will please Sarkozy. Nicolas has it seems discovered our taoiseach’s Achilles’ Heel. It seems that Biffo has a mega-crush on Carla Bruni aka Mrs Sarkozy. This is what took him to Paris on Bastille Day. But what is even more remarkable his advances may be finding favour. According to a secretly-taped interview with Ms Bruni, she has said: “Nicolas is ok but he is too… er … froggy and French. I want a man who can make love to me with his big lips. That Irish guy Biffo. Il est formidable!“  Even his worst detractors will say this, that if you want a guy with meat on the bone (nudge-nudge, wink-wink, say-no-more squire) you can’t go wrong with Biffo.

French intelligence has passed on this recording to President Sarkozy. He has, it seems, presented Biffo with a plan. Biffo gets a positive result in a re-run of the Lisbon Treaty referendum and in return he can have Carla. Biffo can take his time - years if he wants, by which time Carla will be entering the change and will be developing a Michelin accessory, and Nicolas will be on the look-out for the latest model. Like Nicole in the Renault add, he will have moved on, and Carla will be all Biffo’s.

A l’Europe oui, a Sarkozy non

I have long been dedicated to the European ideal, part of which involves respect for democracy. Now democracy in my mind is all about giving people choice, at least in theory. Where then is there any democracy where the people have to vote in a certain way, and if they don’t vote properly the first time, they must keep voting until they do get it right? Nicolas Sarkozy says the Irish must vote in a certain way until they come up with the outcome he wishes. By the way is he prepared to pay for this re-run? He clearly considers the people of Ireland to be une racaille.

This is a version of democracy with which we are all too familiar. It was the form favoured in the “People’s Democracies” of Eastern Europe, and which is still favoured by people like Vladimir Putin. It gave rise to a myriad of jokes. A man in Prague sees a greater police presence on the street and asks his friend. “What’s the problem?” “Haven’t you heard? There’s been a robbery from the Central Committee headquarters.” “Huh, what was taken then?” “The results of next month’s elections.” or the one about the man who goes to vote in Hungary and is given a sealed envelope by the polling clerk. Naturally enough he attempts to open it, but the clerk immediately snatches it back from him saying: “Don’t you realise, it’s a secret ballot.”

I’m reminded of the exchange between former president of Nicaragua Anastasio Somoza senior and a political opponent who claimed, with reason, to have won a presidential election against Somoza, who told him: “You may have won the election, but I won the count.” Someone who has won the count recently is President Bob in Zimbabwe. He was determined to use all means, fair or foul, to get the result he wanted. What then is the difference between Mugabe and Sarkozy? The latter’;s just not in such a rush.

PS. I hope this doesn’t annoy too many of my readers in Cavan and that none of them are tempted to misrepresent me  If you want to know how I voted in the referendum it’s on public record that I didn’t vote out of principle.

Response to posted comments

I just want to give my responses to give a response to some of the comments. Berni is right; life is too short. I’m not asking for sympathy but I have a disease which may develop in such a way that I won’t be able to speak or write in a few years. I hope that’s not what will happen,. I would just beg her not to see this as an outburst. Yes, I am annoyed, but why am I not entitled to express how I feel? Going back to what she said. Life is too short, and that’s what I’m afraid of.

 As for the comments posted by that Sam person he is obviously illiterate. I don’t know him but, motivated by nothinhg more than jealousy, makes decidedly unfriendly comments about me. I do not and have never claimed to be an expert on early modern Cavan. I do claim to be something of an expert on the later medieval period. Maybe Sam is claiming that this era is so unimportant that it is only early modernists who can understand it. He lists an impressive line-up of speakers, some of whom may turn up. But they are all early modernists including Ray Gillespie and Bernadette Cunningham.. Some of them were contributors to the book Cavan, Essays on the History of an Irish County. I contributed to that book too. What I am asking is why I wasn’t invited to this conference? Sam can be assured, and can assure Dr Scott, that if the conference had been described as dealing with early modern Cavan I would not have been in the least perturbed.  

As he has taken the liberty of being nasty to me without knowing me or even trying to understand where I am coming from, I feel that I can be nasty to him. He is obviously just anothjer loser from the National University of Ireland who thinks if he goes to enough conferencfes, gives enough tutorials and hangs around the history department he’ll eventually get a job there. I have news for you pal: It doesn’t work that way.  And I have news for him and his friend Dr Brendan Scott: i wouldn’t be seen dead at the bloody conference in the company of drunkards and anally-retentive little shits.

The invisible man

         

 

Some of you will remember a TV series from the 1970s called The Invisible Man, starring David McCallum. I remember a guy with a speech impediment at National School. We used to make fun of him mercilessly when he told us about watching “De invithibel man.”

 

Invisible, that’s how I’m starting to feel again here in Cavan. I am something of a “high profile” historian, what with my weekly column for the Echo, which I love writing. I don’t give myself airs and graces of expertise, but there is one section of the area’s history that I do consider myself something of an expert on, if only because I’ve spent so much time on it– over twenty years in fact. I’m talking about the later medieval period (c. 1200-1500/50). What’s more the “academic community” consider me a specialist, often referring queries to me. For example, I recently produced a paper in collaboration with archaeologist Paddy O’Donovan.

 

So imagine how amazed and hurt I was when I read that Cavan’s County Museum are planning to hold an exhibition on the later medieval and early modern history of Cavan at the end of August, without mentioning a word to me. This seems to be the big idea of the museum’s Research Officer, Dr Brendan Scott. Nobody in the museum has had the courtesy to contact me about it, and what’s more my name wasn’t mentioned in the local rag’s article. Some people who read this piece assumed that I must have had something to do with the planned exhibition, as to leave out someone who is an expert on their door-step is ridiculous. But no, not a dicky-bird. When I worked in the museum there was a lot of talk about embracing county Cavan and its people and including them in the museum’s work. That seems to have gone for a Burton.

It would have been basic common courtesy to tell me about it, maybe ask me if I wanted to make any input, or mention me in their publicity.

 

Dr Brendan Scott may see himself as an expert on the early modern period (c. 1600 – whenever) but he has no right to parade himself as an expert on my period and steal my work.

 

Relations between Cavan County Museum and myself have not been good, especially since the museum in its infinitesimal wisdom dispensed with my services (though not my work) at the end of 1996. Recently, though, I had started to view the museum with more indulgence. After all, none of the staff there now, such as Dominic or Savina, could be held responsible for my shameful treatment. I have never met Dr Brendan Scott Research Officer, though friends in common have assured me of his affability, and so I convinced myself that he must be a nice guy. It’s true that he holds my old job, but let me assure him that he is more than welcome to it. Had I my full sight and full use of my limbs you wouldn’t see me for the dust; I’d prefer to work as a bouncer at a bar in Burkina Faso rather than in a pokey little museum in the back of beyonds.

 

Of course the museum’s staff will come up with a whole number of frankly absurd reasons for giving me the cold shoulder. Let’s see… they couldn’t contact me – well admittedly I had to change my telephone number after a former member of staff there kept making threatening ‘phone calls to me and verbally abusing my family; there’s still e-mail and snail-mail. Another excuse might be “I didn’t like the museum”. True, but as I said above I was starting to believe that maybe I should let bygones be bygones and all of that. I have written about the museum in a calm and dispassionate manner without each word being bathed in vitriol. Another excuse might be the “awful things” I said about the museum on my website www.iol.ie/~cparker. I haven’t done any work on my website for years (immediately apparent to anyone who visits it), and as for this blog people will search in vain for references to the museum. One other excuse trotted out in the past was Brian Johnston didn’t like me – more of an urban myth than reality. Poor Brian (may God be good to him) is now in the great Court-house in the sky and I am proud to number his successor among my friends.

 

Some people have suggested jealousy as a motive – jealousy! Of me? For crying out loud! It’s true that I write well (one of the few things I can do anymore). I just have pride in what I do, and to be able to look back on a job well done. But this is where jealousy seeps in; they feel uneasy about a cripple being able to do anything better than they can – and let’s face it that’s not hard. Not content though, they try and steal what I’ve done and conceal their own mediocrity. This way they are able to justify their positions, their salaries and their membership of the local officer corp.

 

There may be some perfectly flabby explanation for what has happened, but I’m waiting to hear it. Until then I can only say that Cavan County Museum has once again slighted me, and that the slight was deliberate. I feel I don’t deserve this – for God’s sake I’m in a fucking wheelchair now, have you no bloody decency?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It would neve have happened with Bergerac

Listening to Deputy Chief Lenny Harper’s news conference about the police investigation at Haut-de-la-Garenne, it is obvious that his inquiries have rattled the cages of some powerful people on Jersey, and perhaps further afield. These are powerful people who either were involved in abuse or who stood idly by knowing full well the horrors that were occurring. These people are now using the media to try and discredit the police and those who have made allegations. In Ireland, and especially in Cavan, we know all about how such evil powerful people are able to manipulate the media to their own devilish ends. Indeed they often have many media outlets in their pockets.

Biffo drops a clanger

Our new taoiseach Pretty Boy Biffo has been castigated for using a profanity, or in plain man’s language a curse, though this seems to reek of double standards. The offending word was used not in connection with a member of the opposition, but members of the National Consumer Agency, an unelected, overpaid group of quangoites. it goes without saying that such elevated and self-important people never use bad language, and even if they do they can never be held accountable for such actions. Here in Cavan we used to have a public official whose discourses were peppered with profanities - unless someone else had written a speech for him. He was inestimably proud of his “colourful” language, and anyone who criticised him too openly was leaving themselves open to victimisation.

Now if I were Biffo I wouldn’t apologise. Instead I would have borrowed a line from Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys - I only said it; I didn’t do it.

Eurovision Song contest

The Eurovision song contest is a pathetic joke., It always has been, but it is now an embarrassment. So why do we continue to take part and bring down upon ourselves humiliation? Are the denizens of RTE land so desperate for a junket? It seems that the subtle humour of Dustin the Turkey was too much for the voters. Maybe they didn’t understand the lyrics. I suggest that if Ireland really wants to get into the contest next year they should enter a song, maybe with a Middle Eastern flavour, performed by a girating semi-clad female and sung in heavily accented English by a non-native speaker.

I only viewed the semi-finals for brief temporal segments, never exceeding two minutes, and what I saw did not impress me. I particularly disliked the injection of Serb patriotism, but I heard nothing of such events of which Serbs are no doubt inordinately proud as Srebrenica, or the assassination of Franz Ferdinand by the Serbian natiionalist Gavrilo Princip which led to the deaths of millions throughout Europe and the permanent physical and psychological injury of millions more.