The action, which has the backing of the HSE and the local authority#s executive, has so far only secured the  support of one councillor (who always backed the executive anyway). However, even he stated that he would not go ahead unilaterally with the operation unless it had the backing of the whole council.

One councillor, speaking anonymously,  reacted angrily: “Lookad, my lad’s small enough as it is. If any more was taken off it’d be invisible.” A colleague, once again speaking anonymously, said “We don’t see the big lads in the executive being expected to have a bit taken off the top.”

These accusations of double standards were flatly rejected by a spokesman for the County Manager. “Most members of the execdutive are too old to be stilol sexually active. What’s more they’re all too busy.”  Heexpressed his disappointment at the councillors’ intransigence. While reiterating the health benefits of the procedure, he added that people engaging in frequent foreign travel, such as county councillors, had a moral duty to safeguard themselves against infection. He also urged the members of the local authority to think again, adding that he was sure they would come round to the idea, given sufficient persuasion. They were urged to consult with colleagues who had successfully been circumcised. “Most people undergoing the operation, which lasts only a few minutes, say they don’t feel a thing, though to be honest, most of them haven’t felt anything there for a while.” The spokesman refused to comment on claims that a county councillor in Kerry who had initially agreed to undergo circumcision, pulled out at the last minute when he heard that he’d only be given a local anaesthetic. “That’s typical o’ de HSE always tryin’ to cut corners. Fuck it I want an imported anaestetic.”                   

 The councillors’ actions mark a rare example of discord between the authority#s elected members and the executive. The former usually accept blindly and without discussion every policy put forward by the executive. Those believing that this marks a new departure may be disappointed however, as one of the most vociferous opponents of circumcision was at pains to point out that this was a once off.

It is usual in most parts of the democratic world to wait until someone is dead a decent time before they are commemorated by having a building, a road, or a fountain named after them. Cavan town is an exception where it is accepted that egotistical nobodies can be commemorated before they have gone the way of all flesh. I refer to an area near Drumalee Cross which I pass on my daily “fun run” which proudly bears the moniker Cullivan Court. As the building is partly owned by one Gabriel Cullivan, formerly a town clerk of the town, I assume that it has been named in his honour, and not that of the well-known and much-loved architect , the late Phil Cullivan. This is like an annex of Wall Street being renamed Boesky Boulevard or Madoff Parade. While such dreadful and unseemly self-promotion may appear tasteless, it must be remembered that Mr Cullivan, as a former employee of that shower of vindictive cowards Cavan County Council, can do what he likes – he has done it in the past – and should anyone demur, one of the sycophantic elected members of the council would propose a motion of “tanks to Mr Cullivan for his sterlin’ work” on behalf of himself and the people of Cavan over the years.

I need hardly mention that one of Cullivan Court’s biggest tenants is none other than the HSE – another crowd of arrogant, incompetent  anda superannuated shites. All that is needed there is the erection of a pillar surmounted by a statue of Mr Cullivan, maybe sporting the green leprechaun suit he wore  at the opening of the County Museum fifteen years’ ago and which was commented upon with so much mirth and derision by the then County Arts Officer, Ms Catriona O’Reilly. (I know that the present County Arts Officer is also  called Ms Catriona O’Reilly but she is altogether a different person from the one I referred to.

I expect these comments will meet with a frisson of disapproval, maybe even a threat of legal action, but my response is Bring it on baby! Some of them may even say that I shouldn’t be going so far on my fun run. Am I not confined to a wheelchair, and should I not come to terms with my disability like other cripples in the county by accepting my permanent inferiority to Cavan County Council, its employee and their families (more or less the same thing) by awaiting the grant of a council house?

No No No!

Cavan’s upcoming fleadh is due to be opened by renowned squeeze-box player Sharon Shannon. Ms Shannon has once again strongly denied persistent rumours that she plans to bring out a cover version of the late Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab”.

Tar and cement

The most ludicrous aspect of these preparations is the re-tarring of Cavan’s streets which is occurring as I write. This is causing considerable disruption to traffic. If the streets needed to be re-tarred, why wait until three days before the fleadh begins? It is an attempt to insure that the town’s thoroughfares have a sufficiently shiny patina so that visitors can lick their food from them? The decision to begin this work now seems irrational. Management is often about making decisions about the deployment of resources, and whoever made this particular decision shouldn’t be called a manager – or paid for being one.

Imprisonment

I don’t know how far I’ll be able to participate in any of the fleadh activities. The decision is mine, and will not be influenced by the cowardly actions of the County Council executive and some of their employees who have tried to exclude me. I an sincerely concerned that there may be people in the town or who work here who will not benefit, either directly or indirectly, from the fleadh, but whose lives may be disrupted by it. This may take the form of footpaths and gateways being blocked. There may even be some, especially the old and the infirm, who will be literally imprisoned in their homes.

 Falling off the edge

 eople’s lives are being disrupted by this tarring fiasco, but they must be warned about grumbling too loudly. Any criticism of the council, no matter how warranted, will be presented as “anti-fleadh feeling”. In other words, those who are unhappy will be painted as knockers (and painting is the only way the council can get any), or grouches, paranoiacs, flat earthers, maybe even as manic depressives; in short, socially dysfunctional folk who deserve to be isolated. The next ineluctable stage is blacklisting.

It is alright for me to say what I have: I’m already blacklisted by the council and I want nothing from them.  But others might find this painful and costly, especially if they still view the council as just a bunch of bumbling, inefficient and superstitious fools who would rather not work in any week with a Friday in it, but who are really harmless.

 Health issues

 And finally, have the authorities taken steps to promote sexual health during the fleadh?  Not all followers of traditional Irish music are doddery old farts whose fingers only ever touch the strings or keys of their instruments. There are quite a number who are young and active. Have condom dispensers been located at points near to events? Have the pubs and chemists been alerted to the need to carry more stock? (I suppose if I carried a story claiming that I had evidence that a far right Catholic fundamentalist group with a kinky Latin name had flooded the town with punctured condoms the local paper would believe it and carry it on their front page.)

 The Gonzo Theatre

 I am unfortunate enough to have mobility problems, which I am endeavouring to overcome. A number of events associated with the fleadh are to take place in locations to which I (along with other disabled people) would have trouble gaining access. One of these is The Gonzo Theatre above the Imperial. This sounds like a really cool place, while pictures appearing in Fuckyez Magazine suggest that it offers numerous possibilities for the practising ornithologist. As far as I know you can only get into it by a flight of stairs. This is not Philip Doherty’s fault. Philip is an exceedingly talented writer who has the rare gift of being able to work in a variety of genres. Philip has furthermore undertaken to help me get to the Theatre, something that would be possible as stairs do not present an impassable barrier to me. I am sorry that, until now, I haven’t felt well enough to take him up on his kind invitations.

Lie down croppy boy!

There are, I feel, some associated with the Arts in Cavan who are not in the least worried whether I can get there or not. Have I not bitten the hand that fed me? They may be surprised that “a cripple” or someone in a wheelchair would want to attend a show, along with “normal” people. Why can’t “they” be content with their own entertainment provided in venues like the IWA centre in Corlurgan, featuring plays that have been written especially about them? Or they could “shadow” (for free) consultants and “access auditors” employed by the county council (no doubt not for free) to draw up reports pointing out access black spots.

Coming to terms

Maybe I’m writing this because I am angry, or because I haven’t “come to terms” with my disabilities. True, if “coming to terms” with my disabilities means participating in a racket whereby the disabled are bribed into a state of submission as they wait for their number to come up in a council house lottery, I have not “come to terms” and never will. But I do not accept that I should “come” to someone else’s terms.

“Them” and “us”

I was ill for a number of months but I now feel much better. I am able to walk further than I ever could and I am determined to the best of my abilities to use a wheelchair less and less, partially because I see its use as a label of imposed separation. I do not and never have considered myself as belonging to that group referred to dismissively as “them” but rather to the collectivity of Cavan’s town people called “us”.

Very few people can share the sense of outrage and despair I suffered last year as I saw people from outside my town being invited to speak on its history. These experts “had their degrees” i.e. they had PhDs. But do I not have a PhD awarded in 1992? Maybe there are some who cannot “come to terms” with the fact that a PhD could be earned by a partially sighted individual?   Don’t get me wrong: I am not preaching a narrow parochialism or stating that only Cavan natives should be allowed to talk about its history. But when there is a Cavan native who can talk about it, and in an entertaining way, why should that person be ignored just because he has been blacklisted by some cowards in the council executive or because his father is not a town councillor?

Please forgive me if I have stepped on some people’s corns. I used to play an active part in the cultural life of this town: I would love to do so again.

Epilogue

(By the way, readers needn’t worry about “who he’s getting’ at”. I’m only getting at the same crowd of superannuated, impotent, God-forsaken fuckers as usual. Apologies to anyone who can’t rise to the occasion or get a hard on; I honestly didn’t have you specifically in mind.)

Aaah! Isn’t it cute!

 The farcical situation by which our postal votes were removed was brought about by the entire3ly unreasonable actions of the Department of the Environment. In 2010 they issued new regulations requiring that those who had postal votes must re-apply for them, together with a medical certificate testifying to their disability or infirmity. It is quite possible that some overpaid and demented mandarin actually believed that there were people who had postal votes on the grounds of disability who were as fit as fiddles, maybe dancing jigs at crossroads or auditioning for the Irish version of Nnja Warrior. Miracles may happen but the sad fact is that once you get some condition that limits your mobility you’re stuck with it, the only way is down, and it’s up to you to come to terms with it. So the idea that you had to then prove you were a cripple to a group of lazy bureaucrats who get stressed out if they have to walk too far down to the underground car park below their plush offices, is rather insulting, not to say insensitive.

 I sometimes wonder why these civil servants in the ministries are so misanthropic, Are they born like that and only recruited once they are able to offer signed testimony of pulling off butterflies’ wings or torturing kittens? Or do they undergo a special period of “training” where they are brainwashed into seeing that “The General Public” as “the enemy”, to be frustrated at all costs? This might include subliminal psychological manipulation, where each time the simple greeting “Hallo” or “Good Morning” is uttered in their direction they receive an electric shock. I think the answer may be simpler. Most of the senior civil servants’ arses are ravaged by chronic piles, the sad though inevitable result of sitting on their derrieres for decades. Now we are talking about mega haemorrhoids which reflect their status within their departments. They are there for life and no amount of Preparation H, Tucks, or sitting over steaming colanders of boiling salt water can help. Their daily existences are filled with excruciating agony which can only be assuaged by issuing silly directives targeting imagined enemies and fraudsters. Now I may seem to be talking the piss here, but I know what I’m talking about. Trust me, I’m a doctor! Senior civil servants don’t like coming out of the shadows, but occasionally some pesky Dail committee requires their presence; next time you see a secretary general watch and observe how he sits stock still. Any movement, to left or right would only set off old Nobby.

 It is rumoured that members of some of those kinky right-wing Catholic lay organisations with Latin names are behind a recent decision of the Vatican’s  Sacred Congregation of Rites to name St Norbert of Xanten as the patron saint of Irish Civil Servants.

Cavan County Council laid a new surface on the road in the early part of July consisting of chippings and small stones. The only warning they gave to motorists was a sign telling of “Flying Stones”. Such a sign may have its place on a Sony Playstation arcade game, but it is rare to see it on an Irish road, as it is rarely necessary. Many thought that the air-borne stones were a temporary phenomenon, lasting until such time as the surface was rolled. However, a Cavan County Council employee has told me that the council has no intention of rolling the surface. Some of these stones are quite large, and are capable of smashing a windscreen, not to mention doing serious and unsightly damage to a car’s bodywork. Already there has been an alarming rise in the number of punctured tyres by people using the road.

Let me stress: this is NOT a joke. No one, least of all the untouchables of Cavan County Council will be laughing if there is a serious accident caused by a stone fracturing a driver’s windscreen, an event which could cause injury or worse.

The County Council, along with local government bodies elsewhere, has a duty of care at law to preserve roads in a manner that does not cause danger to users, and any failure to do this may be viewed as negligence on the council’s part. I therefore urge anyone who has used this part of the road and who have suffered damage to their vehicles, to consider suing Cavan County Council. (Naturally I understand that this might be difficult in Co. Cavan itself, where many of the solicitors are not only incompetent but are, to coin a phrase, “up the council’s arse”.)

The AA (Automobile Association) hasn’t mentioned this because they haven’t been told about it. During last year’s inclement weather they were dependant on the local Gardai to keep them informed about
local road conditions, as well as information from members of the public.