Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

A view of the world from an Irish hole

Month: August, 2010

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Jacko’ll fix it

The islands of the South Pacific are home to many Cargo Cults. Islanders believe irrationally in a God or deified figure whose presence they view as protective, who can solve all problems, and whose return may be heralded by the disbursement of great wealth. One well-known example involved the Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Philip, a photograph of whom was the object of adoration on one of the islands of Vanuatu.

 Cargo cults are also to be found in Ireland and Cavan in particular. I was recently involved in the commemoration of a long-overlooked event here in the town. Its success was due in no small measure to the energy of the organisers, yet its very success attracted examples of Cavan’s political pond life, who was the chance for a photo opportunity which could not be overlooked. So, to one of the meetings came a councillor, one of those androids excreted from the bowels of the local electoral system. She obviously considered that she was, well, a “cut-above” everyone else at the meeting. The discussion centred on worried that the venue for the commemoration might be clogged by cars, whereupon the councillor volunteered to have a word about this with Whacko Jacko. Now leaving aside what I think about the man I felt that this was a matter which would have  been far too trivial for him, and which lay within the competence of the town rather than the County Council. On expressing my surprise the councillor then had to admit that Whacko was on holiday (Mosney I presume?).

 I was not alone in considering her contribution to be meaningless. What she was really saying was “I may be from a working-class housing estate, but I know someone important who lives in a big house and drives a big car. I may be from The Half Acre but I’m not shit.  What’s more he thinks I’m important too.” That is as may be, though I honestly don’t think Whacko Jacko would have much in common with her. Yet rumour has it that he will not respond to ordinary members of the public, a situation with doesn’t sit well with his status as a public servant. What if I didn’t vote in the previous local (as is my right)? Why am I to be denied access to such a puffed up and overpaid nobody?

 I am reminded of Jimmy Saville, and I feel that, were he still hosting his famous program, he might very well receive the following letter.

                              Dear Jacko. Can you fix it for me that there won’t be any cars parked in the Convent Car Park in Cavan?

                               Also can you fix it for me that I feel middle class, that I’m not ashamed of living in a council house   and  all my neighbours WILL LOOK UP TO ME?

 

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‘Phone issues in Cavan

One of the overlooked aspects of the fleadh was the impact it had on mobile phone services in the area. The users of one service, Vodaphone, are suffering problems with dropped calls and delays in test messages (although I’ve heard users of other networks are experiencing issues).  Vodaphone staff in the town say that the problem was caused by overuse of their services during the fleadh, which led to the suspension of two mobile ‘phone cells. Did no one foresee that this fleadh would have led to the town being inundated with people, many of whom would want to use their cellular ‘phones? Once again there doesn’t seem to have been much forward planning here.

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The party’s over

The town of Cavan is slowly but irrevocably returning to its quiet, humdrum nature as a dirty town once the fleadh road show has moved away. Why can’t Cavan by tidy all the time, and not just when funds appear to clean it up? Are its publicans such prostitutes? That they’ll only do things if the price is right?  

 One aspect may be that the price of a pint will revert to its normal level, instead of the empyrean heights it occasionally reached in some hostelries. It might be interesting to see the movement of funds to some officials’ bank accounts as I doubt that many of them are cle er enough to take possible kickbacks by circuitous routes.

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Love stories begin in Zhivago’s Part !

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I have long felt that Cavan has been losing out as a tourism destination because of its reluctance to embrace Romantic tourism. This may be because many of those charged, either past or present, with marketing the county don’t know where it is. There are some romantic locations, not least the Dun A’ Ri forest park with its Lovers’ Walk. Well I’d like to suggest a couple of other locations with romantic connections, but to do so I have to tell a love story so bear with me please.

 As a young teenager I recall spending quite a bit of time in the back rows of Cavan’s fleapit The Magnet Cinema. This was the location of some voyages of discovery by me when I wasn’t really looking at the screen that much. I recall an advertising campaign that ran in those days for a Dublin night spot which seemed to be the very epitome of sophistication: it was called Zhivago’s Nightclub and the tagline, spoken by a gent with a camp English accent, was “Love stories begin in Zhivago’s”. Well there is a location here in Cavan where love stories begin. One of the heroes was inspired not so much by Boris Pasternak’s novel but by the over-sentimentalised film adaptation starring Julie Christie and Omar Sharif. In fact he really identified with Sharif to the extent that he trimmed his moustache to look like him.

The location for my love story is a decommissioned convent which has been forced to close its doors because of the fall off in vocations and turn itself into a second-hand clothes emporium and vintage car repair shop, which is called (you’ve guessed it) – Zhivago’s. But I think I’ve whetted my readers appetites enough already and so I’ll continue this love story with its heart rending and bowel turning pathos in my next instalment.

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Newsweek and the life of Brian

Recently Newsweek magazine chose Irish top honcho Brian Cowen as amongst the worlds top ten statesmen. Was this a joke? Cowen as about as much statesmanship as a randy stoat. He is a typical example of the Irish education system, not to mention a stellar example of the Legal profession, a brainless oaf lacking any social graces. Newsweek could not possibly know of Cowen’s display of statesmanship on the night Albert Reynolds’ regime fell, when he sat amongst the Fianna Fail front benches giving guff to those he disliked in the Dail. Nor could they know of his role as the “Clown Prince of Fianna Fail” when he would seek to rouse the assembled party faithful prior to the presidential address at the Ard Fheis, once more displaying gifts of oratory and rhetorical élan. If I might paraphrase an American labour leader of the McCarthy era. “If it looks like a twit, talks like a twit, chances are it’s a twit.” His face and demeanour are reminiscent of the overall-wearing character Benny on ATV’s soap opera Crossroads. Compare this idiot to statesmen like Barack Obama, or even David Cameron, who sometimes bears too close of a similarity to Family Guy’s Glenn Quagmire, and you see what I mean.

 

 Recently I was reading Plutarch’s description of Tiberius Gracchus, the illfated Roman statesman of the Second Century BC. He wrote of him and his brother Gaius that they were never given to personal abuse of their opponents and that furthermore “… in situations where ambitions and tempers flare … a good natural disposition and a sound education controls and regulates the mind.” Plutarch never says that Tiberius Gracchus ever bawled across the Senate at one of his many opponents: “Ya should put up or shut up” or that Gaius ever told one of the optimates that if they weren’t going to piss they should get o9ff the pot.

 Newsweek has the temerity to praise him for imposing fiscal discipline and chide the Irish people for not supporting him. The fact is Cowen presides over a group of swindlers who are maintained in power by an incompetent and corrupt bureaucracy. There is only one thing this crowd is good at – ensuring that they have enough money to keep themselves, their friends, their families, and their prostitutes in the lap of luxury. I wonder would any of the senior staff writers in Newsweek be able to survive on the reduced unemployment benefit? Of course, they should be lucky to get even that, as they might have been declared “habitually non-resident” by the sagacious Department of Social Protection.

 I am urging those Irish people who feel as angered as I do about Newsweek’s actions to boycott the magazine. People who need a laugh should read The Onion instead.

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Let him who is without shit cast the first stone

Senator Ivor Callely is an egregious crookm, but I can understand how he feels hard done by at the hands of his [party and Senate colleagues. His misdemeanours have been committed, maybe not quite so outrageously, by large number of our public representatives of ALL political parties. The Senate is a strange place, its “elected” members chosen by councillors who themselves were chosen many years previously, or were hand picked by the taoiseach. There are those chosen by university graduates, a group to whom I belong but who I would not unreservedly give the governance of anything beyond a backyard bonfire. 

 Our aspirant TDs and councillors come crawling to us at elections asking us to place our trust in them to represent us. However, once elected many cannot wait to turn their backs on the electorate. Policies and actions of dubious legality and complete immorality are invariably out of their control. The “Law of the Land” must take its course (even when it is plainly illegal) unless that is a nice fat sum is paid to them or their party, on which laws will always case  to be obstacles. Similarly, the policies of local and national government, which go against the interests and welfare of the people who elect them, are supported with vigour, especially when being pursued by large commercial interests. Those who oppose these are denounced as whingers, cranks and flat earthers, while they partake of the largesse offered to them by such developers by way of holidays and junkets. A rather shocking instance of this happened in Co. Cavan shortly after the last local election. (It is the subject of my post “Auf Wiedersehen pets” if anyone wants to read it.)  Meanwhile they all clock up enormous expenses which are the envy of many people in the country, especially those who have to survive on welfare benefits – that’s if they are lucky enough to get such pittances, which can no longer be taken as read any more.

 I believe that many of our legislators, both at local and national level, have betrayed the trust placed in them by the electors. As a result they are not worthy to be members of our legislature and so lack legitimacy. I do not see why the people should then have to go on paying for their mistakes and incompetence.

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Hommage a mes amis Francaises

J’etais si ravi de refaire la conaissance de mes amis Francaises Jean Paul et Francoise Metais quand ils ont rendus visite a Cavan en occasion de la fete musicale recente. .Il fait plus de vingt ans que nous nous voyons. Je rapelle avec beaucoup d’emotion ma visite a Jaunay Clain, cette ville jolie et charmante en Poitou Charente. Je rapelle surtout le gout des asperges preparés par Francoise, et aussi le farci poitevin et le merlan, et le “gnol” de Jean-Paul et du vin frais qui a surgeait des barriques a la vigne ce jousr chaud du mai . Malheureusement je n’etais pas chez moi quand ils son arrivés, mais neanmois inous avons parlé par telephone. J’espere qu’il n’y aie pas trop de temps avant de nous rencontre encore une fois, ou en France ou en Irlande. – esperons.

 Here is a translation of the above and, like Jorge Luis Borges (with whom I share a birthday) I hope the original is true to the translation.

 I was so delighted to remake the acquaintance of my French frie3nds Jean-Paul and Francoise Metais when they visited Cavan during the recent fleadh. It is more than twenty years since we last saw one another. I recall with much emotion my visit to Jaunay Clain, that nice charming town in the Poitou Charente. I especially recall the taste of the asparagus prepared by Francoise, and also the “Farci Poitevin” and whiting, and Jean-Paul’s “gnol” and the fresh sine which flowed from the barrels at the vineyard on that hot day in May. Unfortunately I wasn’t at home when they arrived but we spoke by telephone. I hope that there will be not much time before we meet  once again, either in France of in Ireland – let us hope.

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Birthday greetings

I want to thank all of the lovely people who sent me greetings on my forty-fifth birthday. I was really touched.

 I joke that, at my age, I should be seized with a sense of the tide going out, but I look at people like Rod Stewart, not to mention Diego Maradona, and Think that life is only just beginning.

 In my forty-five years’ on planet earth I feel I’ve made a good account of myself so far, in spite of what fate has thrown at me. But it is nothing to what I intend to do with the rest of my life…

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Final words on the fleadh

These are my final words on the pissfest which have been the Cavan fleadh. True, as someone who likes the curious combination of classical and rap music the fleadh might not have been my cup of tea. However, Irish traditional musicians are very gifted custodians of arts and skills which can only be learned with great difficulty. My uncles were gifted traditional musicians, so I would have had the greatest respect for the event. What’s more I love any opportunity for people to have a good time, whether with their clothes on or not.

 In spite of having a high enough profile in the town and the county I was airbrushed out of the fleadh. Historical talks were organised (not that I saw the need for them). They were to be given by Dr Brendan Scott and Dr Jonathan Cherry, but there was no room for Dr Ciaran Parker. Are there people in Cavan County Council who dispute my doctorate? And then that this Dr Scott was going to give a lecture on the history of my native town, about which I have written for years and also spoken in an entertaining manner.

 I thought that some attempts were being made to rebuild bridges with me when playwright Philip Doherty asked me to open his series of plays. However, Philip (whom I understand is very busy) is too busy to return my emails or ‘phone calls. No doubt he has been told that the involvement of a cripple, who has always shown that he is not prepared to be merely seen but not heard, would be inappropriate.

 I do hope that all those who have visited the town and participated in any way in the fleadh have had a really enjoyable time. But I hope that they know that the organisers, and most especially Cavan County Council, are a crowd of shameless reprobates and any success that the fleadh has attained has been in spite of them.

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Fleadh’s final day

The fleadh is coming to an end. The fleadh organisers have wanted the event to be inclusive as possible, and so throughout the event there have been opportunities for groups such as dipsomaniacs and cripples. The fleadh’s final day will be an opportunity to Cavan’s Gay and Lesbian community to strut their stuff. Many of the events will be attended by Cavan’s chain-wearing trannies, but the highlight will probably be the finals of the Lesbian and Tribad Traditional Irish dancing competition and the handing over by Whacko Jacko of the coveted John West trophy. There are rumours that some people from the Co. Cavan branch of the radical Mili-Pede group advocating greater intergenerational sexual encounters may infiltrate these events, so it might be an idea to keep the kids away.

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