Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

A persistent rumour about Cavan people revolves around their pathological meanness. Everyone knows that’s crap, but instead of getting worked up about it we in Cavan should turn it to our advantage. Instead of anaemic tourism promotions showing somebody playing golf or fishing, the slogan should be: “Come to (or in) Cavan, but bring your wallet!”

But as an idea from a Cavan person (and dare I also add a Cavan cripple) this has about as much chance of being taken on board as advice from Peter Stringfellow by the Vatican. Of course, if the idea is any good it may well be stolen by the good and the great of Fallshort Ireland, who will use it as evidence that they are worth their gargantuan salaries, while its true author is told to go and piss against the wind.

Inspired by a desire to attract tourists to this area, not as mere cash-cows but because visitors are genuinely good for us, I can’t resist sharing some of my thoughts about Cavan and what it has to offer. I know full well how much it will offend people - Hurrah!

Advice for anyone thinking of visiting Cavan: - Don’t bother; it’s a dive.

Getting there and away.

Myles the Slasher International Airport, to the south of Cavan town, is served by a number of airlines each week, including Swizz-Air, Aerosnot, Tibetan Airlines and the new budge carrier Connors Air. The Percy French Airfield, destined for upgrading to accommodate 747s, has been closed for some years now as a result of security concerns. The main runway has been rendered inoperable by a deep sheugh running at a right-angle, while the site of the passenger terminal remains occupied by disgruntled travellers and their families.

VISAS: To enter Cavan you will need an up-to-date passport with a discretely inserted 50 euro note, as well as a visa. Visas are obtainable from the Bring-A-Bottle / Patriotic Front Headquarters, Church Street, Cavan. Applications must be accompanied by the full application fee of 150 euro, as well as by testimonials from ultra traditional Catholic lay groups or “quiet” paramilitary organisations. Photographs showing the applicant in military fatigues holding assault rifles, or saying the Rosary at Knock or Medjugorje will also help.

Health Issues

Make sure you’ve got all your shots up to date for Verbal Diarrhoea,(VD) which is endemic in Cavan. So too is Bullshititis. Bring as much insect repellent as you can carry, because Cavan is saturated with creepy-crawlies and things that go bite in the night. Readers of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude will recall how Macondo was once afflicted by an epidemic of amnesia. Well amnesia has truly been at pandemic proportions in Cavan for a long time, enabling egregious criminals to walk tall, bathed in the praise of those who are hypnotised by their unique blend of terror and evil, as well as the knowledge that they belong to the lowest Indian caste: they are quite literally untouchable.

The usual form of diarrhoea here is referred to as “The Skitter”. This can vary from an upset stomach (the result of eating dodgy food) to a more unpleasant bout. (I’ve often wondered why the noun “bout” is used to describe an attack of diarrhoea. This is the same word as is used for a round in boxing. It always brings forth pictures of the person affected quite literally having to fight off the diarrhoeal enemy, attempting to give it a left hook etc., whereas the reality is that the sufferer usually feels completely devoid of energy). Interestingly the worst curse that can be laid on anyone here is the benediction that “I hope he gets the skitter for three days”. While this may appear a charming survival of celtic triplism, it may owe a lot to common sense. A three-day bout is more than enough, after which the sufferer should seek medical advice from a practitioner trained to western standards, and not from a native doctor. The curse obviously implies the hope that the person will suffer immense discomfort, but that their life will not be in any danger.  

Sexual Health

Look, if you root a Cavan Sheila, chances are you’ll get a dose. Gonorrhoea (called “runny dick” locally), syphilis, chlamidia, herpes, “brown banana”, “Saigon rose” and “yellow log” are just a sample of the venereal diseases current in Cavan. Furthermore, if you ask a Cavan girl for sex and she refuses, it’s best to take no for an answer, at least until you’ve bought her a few more pernods. But why bother? The vast majority of Cavan women are ugly and unfriendly with as much screw appeal as a haddock.. They wear their clothes as if they have been thrown on in a hurry, no sense of style or eclat. Furthermore they walk along in an ungainly, inelegant shuffle wearing a sour expression implying discomfort (or as a colleague from Trinity and current member of staff there so elegantly put it Period Pain).. Cavan women are amongst the few on the planet with VPL around their eyes. Don’t bother smiling at them fellas because you’ll only get a poisoned glance which says “Don’t try getting into MY scanties” – as if you’d bother! And if you are that desperate for a root why didn’t you go to the Philippines?

Condoms: Best bring your own – you won’t need too many! Local supplies, when available, are overpriced and generally of poor quality. The most widely available type are Hymen Busters, which have ball-bearings at the tip. Vaseline shouldn’t be a problem, but give the locally-produced Lavey Lube a wide berth, because it contains grit and is too harsh for more delicate areas.

Toilets and Hygiene can be a problem especially in out of the way areas, as the Public Toilets defy description. Plans to open the county’s first official cottage at Maudabawn had to be dropped because of local opposition. It was then turned into a Heritage/Cuntural [sic] centre offering punters the opportunity to listen to and pay for “lectures” about local history. Amongst this season’s offerings was a controversial talk by that thundering gobshite Simple Simon (the centre’s permanent Twit-in-Residence) whose talk concerned the Scour Lakes Erections, a little-known event in which a group of local lads were caught jerking off into a holy water font by the local parish priest and who were sexually decommissioned on the spot with a rather blunt saw. The speaker claimed to have the preserved penis of one of the victims, PaJo Smith, but when he produced this by way of illustration to his talk a member of the audience (who claimed to be a descendant of PaJo’s) objected loudly, saying that his family had PaJo’s member preserved in an old YR sauce bottle, which he subsequently produced from a Dunnes’ Stores bag. This led to rowdy scenes, in which the “lecturer” became visibly upset, bawling that what the audience member had exhibited must have been a prick that grew on after the initial castration took place.

The more off the beaten track you are the more Blair toilets become the rule rather than the exception. Some have been known to exude a violent volcanic froth when urine is inserted, and there have been reports of nasty penile burns. Toilet paper can also be hard to get in the Cavan bush, so stock up on copies of the local paper before any expeditions. This is what the locals use and let’s face it, it’s all it’s good for. If there is a toilet, for Heaven’s sake use it. Turn a blind eye to the multi-coloured dunnie budgies, and don’t just do it in a stream. Much of the area’s fish have been killed as a result of poisoning by human and animal effluent getting into watercourses. This had occurred for generations without harmful results, but greater consumption of hamburgers and chips introduced a new and lethal component to the food chain. Efforts to deal with the problem through improved sanitation floundered on faulty installation by cowboy contractors, poor maintenance and the area’s innate conservatism. If you can’t find a dunny or a Blair, and you’ve gotta go, you should bury it in a deep hole, away from human habitation. Alternatively, put it in a bag. The local authority have set up collection bins for human waste throughout the county, including one at their headquarters in Cavan town.

Personal hygiene is a persistent problem for Cavanmen, for whom bathing is viewed as an oddity. In fact, hygiene is considered a weird and fanciful introduction from the outside world along with notions like justice and religious tolerance. A number of Cavan fellows who were known to be taking regular showers were considered to be showing aspirations of being middle-class. This has serious problems for food hygiene, as Cavan people rarely wash their hands before preparing food. I once saw a chef in a local restaurant nip out the back for a “yoke”, and, after pulling up his flies, he thrust his hand into a sack and extracted a “lock” of carrots. Whoever got them certainly would have been able to see in the dark!

Food & Drink.

The traditional “mayl” in Cavan consists of spuds – big, flowery, carbohydrate-inflated tasteless spheres lovingly referred to as “balls of flour”. Cavan people, when abroad, have been known to become distressed and emotional when denied their potato fix. Indeed there were distressing scenes in the famous Les Quattres Saisons restaurant when a Cavan man looked at his plate of oysters and foie gras and asked “Where’s the fuckin’ spuds”. Now while a wide range of cuisines are now nominally on offer, Cavan is THE place to try authentic bog tucker like “Tomregan Truffles” – actually small pieces of bleached cow-dung soaked in cooking oil; Molly worms (delicious when fried with bark and powdered slug); and Turdburgers topped with blue-moulded cheese. These are best washed down with a proprietary anti-diarrhoeal like Immodium, or with a “bad” pint enhanced with cigarette ash. Poitin may also be found either in “shake-shake” cartons or in plastic Cola bottles known alternatively as Exocets or Scuds. The Cocktail of Choice for Cavan’s Beautiful People is Red Biddy. When in the Cavan Bush it may be possible to find some outlets for another unique Cavan tipple: Scour.

Stubbs (the who’s who of Irish Business) is full of restaranteurs who have attempted to make a living here offering good, decent and even innovative food who have eventually had to throw in the towel. It’s not a cost thing. In fact, attract the right band of upstarts and members of the local  gombeen bourgeoisie, have the right links with “THE” people, and you can serve shite (with spuds of course) every night of the week for 100 euro a trick.

Gay & Lesbian travellers

Cavan is still dominated by conservative “values”, which means Gay and Lesbian visitors should not act ostentatiously or otherwise “camp it up”. The sight of two blokes walking hand-in-hand will possibly raise a few eye-brows, though funnily enough nobody passes any remarks at two sheilas dancing together, especially if they are over 50. There is also a very vibrant Closet Pride scene with its own discrete dress code, which we can’t describe. The best advice is: keep your eyes and ears open, ask the right questions to the right people, and you’ll soon make lots of new friends. And because they still bend the knee to druids, you’d be amazed the doors (and flies) that open to you when you wear a collar. One of the highlights of the social calendar is the annual Closet Pride shindig, usually featuring the Fab-Freddy lookalike competition.

Disabled Travellers

If you are disabled you should NOT come to Cavan town, as it is definitely disability unfriendly. The vast majority of roads and thoroughfares cannot be crossed unless you are an athletic sprinter. Cars come from two directions at whatever velocity they like as the speed limits are an unenforced joke. Pedestrian crossings are few and far between and traffic lights have traditionally been viewed as hostile intrusions of the modern world by the car-driving local councillors, who only go on foot when they seek re-election. They might then observe the status of some of the footpaths, which, in places are truly like a lunar landscape. When this is brought to the attention of the local authority they cite lack of money to fill in the craters …lack of money! Pull the other one! So the fresh tarmacadam applied in certain choice locations in the vicinity of the homes of senior Council staff was a free gift eh? Or maybe it fell off the back of a lorry on the town’s bypass. And then at a time of cutbacks how can the council fund a conference in the county museum which is most definitely not for the unwashed of Cavan and can serve no other purpose than helping the Research Officer get a better job (and that’s the kindest interpretation that can be put on it)? This is not what county councils are for.

A further example of hostility (yes, I said hostility and I’m not exaggerating) to those with disabilities is provided by a local restaurant; the food is good, the prices reasonable and the staff friendly and helpful – once you get to the dining area, a feat which involves a journey over a ramp-less, uneven surface and up two flights of narrow, steep stairs. Since first writing this I have become more or less completely confined to a wheel-chair, and so access is completely impossible for me. I have heard that a leading figure in the local Wheelchair organisation went there and was content to be served downstairs in the bar when she could not gain access to the upstairs restaurant. She made no complaint. She’s the type of cripple public bodies love – nice and compliant and humble, someone who knows that she’s not as good as a “normal” person and is content. I’m not so humble, and if the same thing had happened to me I would have raised one hell of a stink. I might very well have eaten the meal and then left without paying – as I believe I would be within my legal rights to do.

Now public places (including restaurants) are under a statutory duty to make their premises accessible to those with disabilities. Admittedly, this may be problematic for an old building, but the one of which I write was constructed afresh. Was the absence of access not noted during the application for planning permission? Why did the relevant authorities allow this, and moreover, why do they allow it to continue? One answer might be that these miserable cowards “get off” in a perverted way by being crass to cripples. Overly cynical? Maybe, but then maybe I know the bastards too well. Access for the disabled is a right which developers are under a duty to provide; it is not an optional extra, to be installed when and if budgetary considerations permit. The costs of installation and maintenance should be an integral part of the accounting from the beginning. This can and should be enforced, but then, if you’re a developer with links to the rusty circle, you can get away with anything. 

Drugs

There is no shortage of shit in Cavan, but it is not always good gear. There is a tendency for some heads to mix it with silage first. Then there is the rather disgusting habit in east Cavan of inserting dope fags into people’s back passages before smoking.

Sexual Tourism

County Cavan is to the fore in the erection of Ireland as a sex tourism destination to rival south-east Asia. After all its denizens have never allowed moral scruples to stand in the way of making a few bob. One project mooted for The Lakeland Region which combines sex, heritage, religion and traditional activities like angling will see punters brought out fishing on a boat. If they are skillful enough with their rods they will catch small leather pouches containing a packet of condoms and a key. The boat will then sail to an island with a reconstructed phallic round tower surrounded by bee-hive huts, each of which can be opened by one of the keys. Each cell has mirrored interiors, and is looked after by a different girl, dressed as a nun, offering a range of sexual services. 

Post & communications

Postal services and deliveries in the Bush tend to be less reliable than in the more European areas. Any package which seems to contain a check or postal order runs the risk of disappearing. In some outlying areas parcels containing books have been opened to see whether they contain “immoral” publications. While the days of the local postmistress listening in to ‘phone calls so as to pick up tasty morsels of gossip are over, ‘phone calls can be and are monitored by Catholic lay groups, so best to mind what you say. Those speaking in a foreign language always attract suspicion.

Annoyances and personal security

The overall security situation in the area has disimproved with the advent of bog seizures by Jimurenga (War of Masturbation) veterans. There are also wide areas, such as the vicinity of Belturbet, Cootehill, Shercock and Kingscourt, still under the control of petty warlords. It is vital to get their permission before entering zones under their control but this can usually be acquired, albeit at a price.

Roadblocks and check-points often materialise on roads away from the main thoroughfares. These are usually manned by Chimurenga veterans or off-duty policemen who often target foreign-registered vehicles. They are usually satisfied with gifts of cash, cigarettes and tubes of Preparation H. However, if stopped at a check-point always be polite and never adopt a haughty tone or demeanour.

When it comes to personal security the best advice is: remember where you are. Be sensible. That bird in the pub with the big smile flashing her teeth and her tits at you may be a bloke in drag, ready to knife you the minute you drop your pants. Keep your eyes peeled, your foreskin (if you’ve still got one) forward, take normal precautions, keep your wits about you and you will have no problems. It’s best to always sleep with the lights on and one eye open. Put valuables in a safe place. Don’t insert them up your anus, as this is the first place they’ll look. Female visitors to the west Cavan panhandle should not be surprised if they are visited at night in their rooms by amorous males who often climb into their beds and fondle their breasts. This is only a relatively harmless local custom and it represents the nearest most of them will ever come to a real sheila. Don’t make any “baa-baa” sounds as this turns them wild with excitement.

Nocturnal travel is always risky, even on main roads, and the old cliche about safety in numbers applies even in broad daylight. There have been reports of travellers being set upon by bears and gorillas in the “never-never” of the National Park area south of Shercock, though observers believe that some of these accounts are fanciful and are designed to conceal activity by disgruntled Sendirastas and War of Masturbation veterans, some of whom have powerful connections. The Sendirastas are now, oddly, respectable.

There have also been reports from the bush north of the Bailieborough mission of a shadowy group called “Team Turlough”. Very little is known about them, as most members appear to be illiterate. However, those who have escaped point to a small and fanatical group of desperadoes influenced by the Peruvian Shining Path and the Lord’s Resistance Army of Uganda. They were formed in the late summer of 2004 by a former member of Cavan County Council who was unsuccessful in the elections of that year. He announced the formation of his squad on local radio, stating in an emotional voice: “… the hoors forget who their friends are.” A youth who managed, at great personal risk, to make his way from a Team Turlough training camp, has related that the leadership wants to make Cavan an independent republic ruled by a “county manager” with beatific powers of life and death. Another bizarre feature of the group’s philosophy is that all people with full heads of hair should be scalped and their hair given to bald people.

Many unsealed roads are seriously impassable to all but the most sturdy 4WD or Backie. A rumour has been put about that all Cavan’s potholes have been filled in. Don’t believe it! Some of the bigger craters were filled but were immediately excavated again by residents who threatened Council staff with castration if they attempted to fill them in again. Cars and trucks frequently get stuck in these holes, providing local unemployed youths with money for extricating the vehicles. With each car or lorry that goes in, the hole gets deeper and a traffic tailback grows up, offering commercial opportunities for those selling knick-knacks, rosary beads, lucky charms and pirated videos and DVDs. More importantly, the excitement generated is more than welcome in parts of the Cavan bush where, let’s face it, nothing much ever happens.

Hitch-hiking is definitely Not Recommended: even if you do find a driver willing to give you a lift, who doesn’t try to roger or rob you, he’ll more than likely seek payment.

Read it and retch….

… But you know I sometimes ask myself why the fuck do I bother saying anything about this arsehole? I’m not doing it to entertain anyone: I’m doing it to annoy the piss out of the cock-sucking holy joes, the closet queers, the wife-beaters, the cowards basically who walk tall in this little backwater. They think they own the place, and they forget that Cavan is not the world – it’s not even the Sunday World. I like to visualise these people as they read my stuff, holding their big fat paunches as they throw up with horror. Somebody once wrote to me to express outrage and displeasure over what I said about Cavan. I was so glad – that really made it worthwhile. They tried to trick me by saying they knew I could write “so much better”. Well fuck them. I’m not interested in producing prissy prose that might win competitions. And anyway, if it was good there would be a queue of creepy-crawlies wanting to steal it or share the limelight.

Coming soon, Ciaran talks about Cavan Town …