Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

Thank goodness the Christmas piss-fest is coming to an end, though there are still those who want to drag it out. I really feel that Christmas should be renamed Cuntsmas as it seems to give so many people an opportunity to act like cunts.

The world seems to be so full of hatred that any signs of love and amity are deeply hidden. If we have one New Year’s resolution surely it should be: “Let’s try to hate people less in 2009”.

I can say, hand on heart, that I cannot understand people who hate large sections of their fellow men. It is true that there are some people I dislike intensely. These include people I have never met and do not wish to meet, like North Korea’s “dear Leader” Kim Jong-Il and Zimbabwe’s president Robert Mugabe. There are others closer to home. Usually these are people whom I’ve never met but who have arrogantly decided that they can treat me with disrespect. I make friends for life, and enemies as well. I’ve always worked hard to try and overcome any disabilities I have. I see myself as a winner, but sometimes I get well tired. These people may have brains that make an average pea look like a football, but at the end of the day they are “bigger than me”.
I’d like to send them my special malediction this Christmas. They include Dr Brendan Scott, Research Officer of Cavan’s County Museum. Until this summer he was just a name. I’ve never met him but yet he decided to snub me by not inviting me to his little conference. Why? I’ve heard that it was “because there had been trouble between me and the museum, but it had been before his time, and the second reason, because he didn’t want to embarrass me. How nice and considerate Dr Scott. Are you sure it hadn’t more to do with a fear that I might embarrass you by my presence?
But why dwell in the past. Any plans for conferences this year? How about one on Masturbation in 17th century. Get people who are REALLY big this year, like Bruce Forsythe or maybe Britney Spears. Pricey, but sure fuck it the council will pay. This isn’t hatred: it’s just pity.

People with flashy and gaudy titles signifying nothing always remind me of Francisco Macias Nguema, first president of Equatorial Guinea. He amassed quite a bag-full of titles before his nephew ousted and shot him – he’d also ordered all the people in his country, called by some the Belsen of Africa – to be happy, on pain of death. One of these silly titles was El gran milagro – the great miracle. Did he believe he was miraculous, especially as he stood in front of the firing squad at Malabo’s Black beach?
 
And then there is Dr Scott’s boss, County Manager Jack Keys. I was told informally that one of the reason’s he didn’t reply to my letter was that he was sick. I have tremendous sympathy for anyone who is ill, but if I am prevented through illness from working so many people smile indulgently, shrug their shoulders and say that it’s proof that in spite of all my bluster and rhetoric I cannot and never can operate at the same level of an able-bodied person. His illness however is the result of the great strain and responsibility he has to carry, and if anything is viewed as almost an inevitable though unwelcome side-effect of his job.

This New Year I feel slightly uneasy – under threat in fact, not from any hob-goblins who may be swimming around, or from any of the multifarious baddies and criminals who are lurking in the undergrowth. No, I feel threatened by An Gardai Siochana, especially the goons attached to the station in Ballyconnell Co. Cavan. I haven’t done anything – I am a paragon of civic virtue. The gardai should be protecting my welfare and defending my peace; instead they are only interested in aiding and abetting criminals from beyond our shores. The gardai may not know it but there are criminals who are NOT Nigerians.

But I want to be happy and have a laugh. One of my mottoes for 2009 is “Don’t give a shit for little pricks”. I’m going to settle down nearer the witching hour with my darling Rosie, maybe a glass of fine scotch, and waft into a sea of domestic calm and good will. I might sing Auld Lang Syne, but I doubt it as I’m determined to remain sober.

There are a couple of people I want to send new Year’s greetings to. The staff of the Cavan Echo, as well as my dear readership. I also want to send gree4tings to my dear friend Noel Monahan. Let us hope that 2009 will be a year of verdant verbiculture.

So Happy New Year and remember, it’s only 358 days till Christmas.

This world is such a sad place; who’d want to go on for yet another awful year on it?

Over Christmas it is estimated that 400 innocent people have been massacred by Lord’s Resistance Army rebels in the north east of Congo. The LRA, incidentally, claim to be fighting to create a state based on The Ten Commandments.

There has also been heavy fighting in Somalia, but perhaps the most egregious example of evil this Christmas is in Gaza. Those poor innocents slaughtered in a Congolese church died at the hands of crazed madmen with weapons, no doubt pumped full of drugs, whereas those who have died in Gaza have perished at the hands of a state which is allowed to belong to the international community. I’m no anti Semite but the state of Israel is a terrorist state, which belongs on that hypocrite George W. Bush’s axis of evil as much as Iran or North Korea.

You hear Israeli spokespeople trying to defend what they’re doing and you ask yourself: Is this the blackest of comedies? Do they really believe their own crap? Yesterday the Israeli foreign minister blamed Hamas for civilian deaths, because Hamas had their offices and buildings in civilian areas. Hold on now Tzipi Livni, who’s dropping the bombs? Is it not Israeli artillery which is blowing people up? Such a statement might be used in a court of law by the defence as evidence of the defendant’s insanity and how far they were affected by a disease of the mind. Let’s take the argument out of Israel to, well, anywhere with a bank. It is held up by a group of robbers who, intent on getting their hands on the money decide to shoot their way in, killing customers who just happen to be there, or maybe they decide to use explosives. The results are the same: a high body-count. The robbers are caught charged with robbery, but no less so with the murder of the innocent people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The robbers deny murder, claiming that it wasn’t their fault that the people were killed but rather the bank’s for having civilians in the building.

Reasoning of a sort – the reasoning of terrorism.

Christmas comes but once a year to Cavan and Ireland: if it came any more frequently nobody would bother working at all.

As I write it is December 29th – four days since Christmas. Transport services are working, as are the emergency services and the police. Yet the place is still suffused with the sense of inactivity. Non-emergency County Council staff won’t return to work until Wednesday – New Year’s Eve. This effectively means that they have a one day week – nice work if you can get it! Non-essential County Council staff – the really important people who never do anything like work – well, no one knows when they’ll be back. But they work so hard for the rest of the year no one can begrudge them taking a fortnight off at Christmas. In fact a lot of people wouldn’t care if they took the whole year off – but not look for payment for their inactivity.

I hear on the grapevine that tomorrow is a public holiday. How come? What does this celebrate?

I inhabit a type of Chinese maze: I know when the denizens of Cavan’s offices are not working – visits to this blog-site decline.

I really feel pity for those folk who, this Christmas, have no jobs to go back to in the New Year.

Some of the questions posed by the coup in Guinea are being answered, yet some of the biggest remain unresolved.

Captain Camara is not a stalking horse for the whole military establishment, but it is unlikely he was acting solely on his own initiative. He may still therefore be the front man for a faction of the armed forces. It is interesting that the headquarters of the coup appear to be at the Alpha Yayo camp. This is where members of the former regime have been requested to come for their own safety. It is also the headquarters of the elite paratroop BATA batallion, headed by Commandant Sekouba Konate. It is now clear that the Guinean military is far from being a homogenous monolith and is faction-ridden. The head of the armed forces, Diarra Camara (no relation of the coup leader) is a long-time Conteh loyalist, has distanced himself from the coup and had repeated a more-or-less identical mantra that the leaders represented a disgruntled minority.

Yet the situation is very fluid. The plotters did not act with the support of the whole of the army, but they don’t represent a small faction. They are in the process of negotiating with other sections of the military to throw in their lot with them.

Little is known about Captain Dadis Camara. He has told Radio France Internationale that he is a graduate of Conakry University and that he has spent time training in Germany.

But is he really in charge? It is interesting that he is hardly mentioned by name in any of today’s communiques. Is this a sign that the coup plotters are falling out amongst themselves?

The biggest unresolved question is what will happen next? The army is divided; both factions claiming to hold power. Unless one side gives in, which seems unlikely, or is able to persuade the other of the rightness of its position, the horrible spectre of armed conflict, maybe even civil war underlain by ethnic cleavages, appears on the horizon. The coup leaders have already spoken about certain “loyalist generals” who are planning to regain power with the help of mercenaries from neighbouring countries, some of whom they believe are already in the country. This is worrying for Guinea’s neighbours,, many of whom have only just stepped out from the shadow of bloody civil wars, often engendered by unresolved power grabs. It was a coup on Christmas Eve many years ago led by the late General Robert Guei which plunged Cote d’Ivoire into paroxysms of violence.

The next big turning point for Guinea will surely be on Friday when General Conteh’s funeral takes place. Who will turn up and what will they do?

I’m not going to say “Happy Christmas everybody”, because not everyone deserves it. I am sick and tired of the way in which Christmas in Ireland is an excuse for large sectors of employees, especially in the public service to take a fortnight’s holidays. Two years ago they only deigned to come back to work on January 8th. This year I expected that they would drag it out till the fifth, the nearest Monday, but no! I’ve heard that some aren’t going back until January 7th.

And then there is Christmas Day. Why must this be an excuse for a national shut-down? There are no busses, no taxis though how people are supposed to visit loved ones in hospital I don’t know.

And what are they celebrating? The birth of their saviour in a stable. Well the hypocrites! There is isn’t one of them who wouldn’t queue up to hammer nails into His palm if offered a few free drinks.

I’m not a killjoy. I think Christmas should be a time of celebration, but let’s not overdo it. I think of how God was made flesh and came into this world naked, born in what might be described as a disadvantaged place, his parents denied lodgings in even the most basic accommodation. If He were coming into the world now He might find that His parents were denied a roof over their heads although they were on a waiting-list.

I would have no difficulty working on Christmas Day for a decent wage. But then I have been told that I’m not entitled to any decent job on the other three-hundred-and-sixty-four days on such specious grounds as not being a driver and able to get around. So I might have a doctorate in history and be able to speak a dozen languages, I might be the author of eight or nine books (not all about history) and the job might not be for a chauffeur. But then no doubt my doctorate wasn’t good enough – it had been gained by a cripple and had probably been granted on grounds of sympathy rather than merit. None of my books have been published by Four Courts Press, and in Co. Cavan (no less than in any other county in Ireland) the only language you need to know is the one of sycophancy.

I am really grateful to Mr Johnny O’Hanlon, editor of the Anglo-Celt, for sending me a list of the various Cavan Associations around the world. This will help no end with the marketing of the book Cavan: Land of Water, Earth and Air.

The publication of the report into clerical sexual abuse in the Roman Catholic diocese of Cloyne demonstrates once again how there are people in the hierarchy who have no intention of dealing with this horrendous activity in their midst but think they can rely on their friends in the higher civil service to hush the whole thing up.

It is disingenuous to say that an attempt was not made by the church, relying on their friends doing the work of God or riding to battle against secular humanism, to suppress the report. It was commissioned for the Minister for Children, Barry Andrews, who says he never read it. Now Barry is the son of David Andrews, a stateman of stature, and I very much doubt when he is faced with a pile of reports which he can’t be bothered to read he turns and says “fuck it” and goes home. No doubt he was told that the report was dynamite and that it should be “shelved”.
Now Bishop John Magee should do the decent thing and resign but obviously his departure would be too much of a blow for his friends. I come from a part of the world well used to having to listen to episcopal claptrap about clerical sexual abiuse and how much the hierarchy sympathises with the victims and then does nothing. And anyone who’s not prepared to wallow in these crocodile tears is ostracised and victimised. .These hollow words were mixed with a degree of help to the perpetrators of sexual abuse which might be considered conspiracy. But then the bishop at the centre of all this was such a saintly man. What’s more he was such a great historian – possibly the greatest – the world’s living authority on the O’Reillys – until he died.

No one can say that Bishop Magee has been guilty of any wrong-doing in the diocese of Cloyne. However, I knew of a priest who once served under him. This man was in many ways an archetypal Irish Catholic priest, middle-aged, and with somewhat prejudiced views about the modern world. However, when asked about Dr Magee, he said but one thing. “That man is evil.”
And then again there were rumours, only rumours, that the bishop of Cloyne liked to pay social visits to London, but not to visit the Victoria and Albert museum or take in a show.

I am angered. I see so many good, decent people in the Catholic church who are truly disgusted by the way in which important sections of the church have been kidnapped by people who are a disgrace to their calling. This goes for both laity and clergy. The Irish hierarchy contains some good men – I can mention Dr Diarmaid Martin, Bishop Willy Walsh of Killaloe and Leo O’Reilly of Kilmore, while a man whom I always had great respect for was compelled to resign for far less than has been shown to have taken place in Cloyne. The church’s head, Pope Benedict, has described these elements as filth. As a man who is able to discern the voice of God in a Mozart piano sonata I believe he too is truly appalled by these hideous betrayals of humanity, but is it a case that this filthy wolf has taken the church by the throat where it is keeping the lambs over which it should shine a guardian’s eyes as hostages?

Another year is drawing inexorably to its close. I always count as happy and worthwhile any year in which I add to the number of my friends and I consolidate existing friendships. Many of these contacts have sprung from my work and my writing; I believe that such friendships are the most important result of my work. Many have flowed from my contributions to the Cavan Echo, and I am cheered to know that I have a loyal readership many of whom I’m able to reach though I haven’t yet met them.

And then there are the friends I’ve made through the book on Co. Cavan. One friendship stands out; that with artist Jim McPartlin, whom I had not met until we were brought together on such a rewarding journey. Then there are the wonderful people in Cottage Publications in Donaghadea, with whom it was a true joy to work. I will never forget the night the book was launched.

For all my friends, both those I have the pleasure of knowing, as well as the many I have not yet met, I hope you have a really wonderful and peaceful Christmas and New Year marked by enjoyment and contentment, which will be marked by the pleasantest of memories.

For me writing is a pleasure because it is a means of expressing how I feel about things. It is also a medium of communication, for I always see my words and phrases as not being pieces of waste paper thrown into a void but being meant for an audience. It is very frustrating when I try to communicate with people and they are too rude to reply. I use two of the most common forms of communication available today, e-mail and standard mail (often referred to snail-mail), yet nothing can apparently penetrate the indifference of some. Am I to use pigeon post or maybe talking drums? Of course I know it is outrageous to think that important people like county managers or TDs should have the time or inclination to even think of replying to a mere cripple whose father is not a member of even a town council.

I have a special message for them. I hope they have a really miserable Chrimbo, that they get the skitter for three days and that they’re not able to get off the jacks until the New Year.

But remember girls and boys, don’t drink and ride this Christmas; it’s dangerous and it’s far more fun when you’re sober.

December was a time when some Cavan lads got the oul’ horn on them. No, this did not mean that they were lustier than usual, or that they had any less fear of approaching the opposite sex when sober. It refers to the practice of some youths who climbed hills from which they sounded horns. This was noted by among other the late Tom Barron, and seemed to be especially prevalent in the Cornafean and Bruise Mountain areas. It was obviously linked to Christmas. The horns used must have been fairly simple, no doubt of the hunting horn variety and the cacophony produced must have been ear-splitting. It would seem that this was somehow linked to the notion of the winter solstice and that the whoops of the horns were an attempt to try and summon the forces of life and light from their dark slumbers.