Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

 For many years there have been calls to replace our national anthem “A Soldier’s Song” with something less militaristic, and which

Our new Molly Malone

 reflects better the reality of modern Ireland. In the light of recent events I would like to propose the adoption of Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab”. The first line of “A Soldier’s Song” is “Sinne Fianna Fail”, which, as everyone knows, translates as “Wankers Are We …”

 The actions of the Irish Cabinet in rallying around Boozy Brian are despicable but hardly surprising. As one person said to me: “Jaysus they had to do that, otherwise he’d have fallen over.” And I’m sure that Brian in any of his lucid moments must realise that the messages of support are hollow and that the knife with which he going to be stabbed in the back is being sharpened as we speak.

 But do they not see the bad example they are giving? This affair reminds me of the temporary trouble suffered by a Monaghan County Council called Hughie who became verbally aggressive with Aer Lingus cabin crew on a return flight from a St Patrick’s Day junket in America. He wanted more drink but it was considered by the crew that he ha had enough. Hughie returned to Ireland, apparently a chastened man. But at the end of the week, amidst calls for his expulsion from the Monaghan group, team (or is it squadra?) of Fine Gael councillors he received a standing ovation from a meeting in his native parish. Surely some of those on their hind legs that night were parents. What message were they sending to their kids> That it was ok to get hammered at public expense when on official business and then make an absolute bollocks of yourself, as well as causing worry and distress to other members of the public> A drunken man on an airplane at 30,000 feet is no laughing matter.

 This affair once again shows to high Heaven the lack of judgement of our leaders. Why if he was feeling a bit rough did Cowen insist on doing the interview? Why didn’t he do a Mary Hanafin and feign illness when she was faced with taking part in an interview that might have proved uncomfortable?

 But I really think that Brian Cowen is one hell of a guy. I mean, eight pi9nts! Did he no9t have to answer the call of nature? I know I couldn’t have three without having to go and point Percy at the Porcelain and whistle “waltzing Matilda”. But Brian didn’t have to piss. He reminds me of the joke about the two lads having “a yoke” against a wall when they are spotted by a policeman who barks” Stop that and put them away immediately!” This is obeyed by both men though one turns to his comrade and says: “I never you were so obedient of the pigs?” to which the other replied. “Ok, so I may have put it away, but who says I stopped?”

Banzuke Brian ha ha ha!!!

Brian Blessed with his magnificent booming voice is a wonderful actor. He really stands his seventy-four years very well. This is

Is that a pint I see in front of me?

partly because, as a Yorkshire lad, he knows how to value some of the finer things in life, such as condensed milk. Those who watch Challenge TV may have been initially surprised at his latest avatar, in which he presents the English language voice over for Japanese programmes devoted to the art of the impossible – Banzuke. In this Brian has adopted the mantle of Banzuke Brian.

 Here in Ireland we have to put up with Banjaxed Brian. Not content with fucking up the country, he is now slowly descending into alcoholism. He is exhibiting symptoms of disorientation and memory loss ande the poor man should be pitied this weekend when he is expected to go to the All-Ireland final in Croke Park but may end up going to Belfast instead. A friend of mine responded to the latest outrage about his less than stellar performance on Irish radio by saying that he couldn’t have been hung over, as he never took a drop. My friend said this with great irony. But of course the booze that Banjaxed Brian swallowed at the Fianna Fail wank-in in Galway was paid for by, you’ve guessed it, the Irish taxpayer.

Fianna Fail taoisigh must be used to dealing with the affects of the morning-after. We all remember how a drunken Boris Nikolaevich Yeltsin kept Albert Reynolds waiting on the red carp. The ‘plane kept circling as the president’s staff made vain efforts to sober him up. Meanwhile Albert had to put a brave face on it, stating that the president’s blood pressure was “goin’ up and down.” Not many people know the truth behind that incident. A female member of the Department of Foreign Affairs, whom I knew in TCD, formed part of the official welcoming party. She thought that she was outstandingly beautiful, and some men might have agreed if the light was behind her, or better still was off altogether. Anyway Boris Nikolaevich heard that she was going to be at Shannon Airport. He’d had a few already but then he exclaimed to the cabin crew: “I am a man, and I will not be able to hold in my passion for this Irish diplomat. The moment I lay eyes on her I will tear off her clothes, bring her to the ground and make love to her on the spot, in the manner that only a Russian muzhik knows how to do.” In order to prevent a diplomatic incident and yet further loss of his already tarnished domestic image, his staff had to ply him with ever larger quantities of Jack Daniels in an attempt to knock him out.

But returning to Banjaxed Brian. He couldn’t even make a decent excuse for being hung over. It was a case that the Irish people had to just “put up and shut up”. They deserved no better from him. But then so many of government clique are fond of the jar. There is the economic advisor Lord Snip McCarthy who always sounds as if he’s half cut. So we shouldn’t really be too harsh on Banjaxed Brian because h happened to have a few jars inside him and then felt a bit rough the next morning. But that’s on e of the problems in this country. Those in positions of authority have been consistently “under the weather” and not up to the job. They have been too busy dosing themselves with paracetamol and allka seltzer to note the warning signs. In fact for the last couple of Years the Irish Republic has been in Monday Morning mode twenty-four seven, three-five-six.

Now if I had an employee who came into work bearing the signs of over indulgence in gargle I’d tall him to fuck off back home and sort himself out. I would enforce upon him the fact that he was only being allowed to do this one time only and that the next time – well there wouldn’t be a next time.

But the Irish public have to just sit in silence and accept that they are ruled by a pack of inept, corrupt and alcoholic bastards – oops, some of them may actually be proper bastards, sorry! More ominous is the possibility that the government finally realise that the game is u and that there is nothing they can do to get the country out of shit creek. Unfortunately there are yet in denial, so they are incapable as of yet of proclaim. “All right it’s a fair cop. We’ve buggered the country” and handing it over to a blueshirt-led administration to do more or less the same, depending s they would be on the same group of lazy, corrupt and arrogant civil servants who allowed their previous masters free access to the cookie jar in return for being left alone.