It seems to me that there is a certain historian whose friends seem to have nothing better to do than surf the Internet looking for anything that might show him up for what he is. So they visit my website a lot and read pages which have those magical words “Brendan Snott” in the title. A;ternatively they search for anything about that haemorrhoid on the face of Co. Cavan, the “Cavan County Museum”. You know my blog contains lots of other material reflecting my widespread abilities and interests, but these human cockroaches would find some of my posts too challenging. I’ve got a message for them.

 I know what you’re looking at, and who you are. Why don’t you find something nearer to your tastes like some kiddy porn, or something on your intellectual kevel like the Cartoon Channel? So fuck off!!!

 In an attempt to provide appropriate courses fitted to people’s needs, a special course is to be offered for senior managers who have problems who lack basic numeracy skills. The problem was highlighted by the recent budget overruns associated with the fleadh, and then by a recent survey which showed that the problem was widespread. amongst senior highly-paid management, and not confined, as had previously been thought, to janitors. The course will start with an introduction to the numbers, followed by simple arithmetic using the fingers. Course participants will then migrate to learning tables. Those who pass the course successfully will then be able to start working with calculators

 It is hoped that this course will be more successful than previous ones which aimed to help senior executives in local government with low literacy and letter writing skills. It transpires that even after completing previous courses many participants were not able to type even simple salutations on keyboards. Instead they were only able to scratch simple words like “cat” and “shit” in chalk or crayon on toilet and lift walls in the County Council offices. What’s more, when presented with a letter they fell back into old behavioural types, preferring to play “Spot the Ball”. Alternatively they would seek to gain the identity of the person who had written to them and who deserved a reply, and spread vile and unsubstantiated rumours about them. It is said that the walls of their offices (which reek of the nauseating odour of Preparation H)are festooned with photocopies of press photographs showing football players looking blankly into space, upon which lines in red and black ink have been drawn.

One of the most egregious examples of the way in which the achievements of Cavan’s disabled have been rubbished came last March. The National Council for the Blind, the largest Irish charity working for the benefits of blind and partially sighted people in the country, wanted to hold a meeting in Cavan’s County Library, run by Cavan County Council. They were encouraged to organise a talk on “local history”. However, they didn’t turn to the partially-sighted holder of a PhD in history in their midst, someone who had years of experience as a writer and lecturer on the subject, (myself) but to the council’s dream-boy Dr Brendan Scott, son of Councillor John Scott of Belturbet. Unfortunately the NCBI’s organiser here in Cavan, Ms Helena McDonald, did not realise how she was being set up, and I didn’t realise what was happening until I received an invitation to the event, featuring the aforementioned Scott as “special guest”. Alas Dr Scott, though holding a doctorate in history, is such a craven example of humanity that he felt it was but one more occasion for him to humiliate me and to repay me for the “trouble” that had existed between me and the museum (though before his time), that he jumped at the occasion to give a talk on Cavan’s “Franciscan abbey” (wherever that was). He accepted this invitation so as to rub in my disability to me and at the same time to say that, even though I had a doctorate and considerable experience as a historian, he stood higher amongst the miserable scum of Cavan Co. Council’s establishment. Years of experience has shown that many of the greatest academics are not people you’d willingly associate with, but I wonder do Dr Scott’s colleagues realise what a craven piece of excrement he is? I’ve never met him but since his appointment to Cavan’s County Museum he has pursued a vendetta against me, something in which he has been aided by many in the county council’s executive, including its highest members.

 Now I had thought of Cavan County Library as a home-away-from-home and its ever-helpful staff as friends. I had enjoyed carrying out research there. Sadly, one of the other users of the library did not feel I belonged there, and complained of my whispering into my hand-held tape-recorder. I do not know the identity of my accuser, but I think I’d be able to pick him out in an identity parade. Libraries can be noisy places, yet I ensure that I do not add to the existing background noise level in any way. It was quite clear that I was a wheelchair user and that I needed to use a low-vision aid in order to read text, but a fellow human being responded to my plight not by seeing whether he could help me in any way, or even ignore me, but by making a complaint that I was causing a disturbance. I can assure my readers that my whispers were less loud than the noise made by him and his troupe of hangers-on, who seemed to think that they owned the library’s research area and to resent the presence of strangers there. This was disturbing, but more disturbing was the fact that the library authorities took these vexatious complaints on board. This was enough for me to be banished from the library to the eyrie of the Genealogical Office that has a rather disturbing view over the County Council car park, and it can only be reached by a rather narrow and awkward lift. I was rather embarrassed when I was told of my fate, for no matter how justified I personally felt it was as if I were a schoolboy who had been caught out picking my nose during Morning Assembly. My non-presence ion the public parts of the library frees the county library of the obviously too distressing visage of a partially sighted library user. How capricious is Father Time. I have in my possession a photograph from the Anglo-Celt from a number of years ago, showing me using a piece of magnification equipment in the main body of the old library. I am obviously an inappropriate fixture of the newer library.

 (Let me add that I do not blame the rank-and-file of the library’s staff for this sea change in my fortunes. I feel that this has come from higher up, and from those who do not like being called “Whacko Jacko”. Let me assure him that this epithet is mild compared to the one I feel he is more entitled to.)

 Now I had thought of Cavan County Library as a home-away-from-home and its ever-helpful staff as friends. I had enjoyed carrying out research there. Sadly, one of the other users of the library did not feel I belonged there, and complained of my whispering into my hand-held tape-recorder. I do not know the identity of my accuser, but I think I’d be able to pick him out in an identity parade. Libraries can be noisy places, yet I ensure that I do not add to the existing background noise level in any way. It was quite clear that I was a wheelchair user and that I needed to use a low-vision aid in order to read text, but a fellow human being responded to my plight not by seeing whether he could help me in any way, or even ignore me, but by making a complaint that I was causing a disturbance. I can assure my readers that my whispers were less loud than the noise made by him and his troupe of hangers-on, who seemed to think that they owned the library’s research area and to resent the presence of strangers there. This was disturbing, but more disturbing was the fact that the library authorities took these vexatious complaints on board. This was enough for me to be banished from the library to the eyrie of the Genealogical Office that has a rather disturbing view over the County Council car park, and it can only be reached by a rather narrow and awkward lift. I was rather embarrassed when I was told of my fate, for no matter how justified I personally felt it was as if I were a schoolboy who had been caught out picking my nose during Morning Assembly. My non-presence ion the public parts of the library frees the county library of the obviously too distressing visage of a partially sighted library user. How capricious is Father Time. I have in my possession a photograph from the Anglo-Celt from a number of years ago, showing me using a piece of magnification equipment in the main body of the old library. I am obviously an inappropriate fixture of the newer library.

 (Let me add that I do not blame the rank-and-file of the library’s staff for this sea change in my fortunes. I feel that this has come from higher up, and from those who do not like being called “Whacko Jacko”. Let me assure him that this epithet is mild compared to the one I feel he is more entitled to.)

 One such long-grazing holy cow is Cavan County Museum. For someone to allege that there had been “trouble” between the museum and an individual (even though it was before his time) is equivalent not so much to a sentence of death but to a sentence of “non life” in Cavan.

 I fear that the recent fleadh in Cavan town is going the same way. Its success was due to the participation of thousands of talented musicians, accompanied by fun-loving and excitement-seeking spectators. It had nothing to do with Cavan County Council, which is now trying to bathe in the glory of the event. Its success was if anything threatened by those publicans who, in spite of having wallowed in County Council largesse still felt the need to charge exorbitant prices. Thankfully many of those visiting the fleadh did not go into the pubs, – they would have had difficulty entering anyway.

 I wasn’t able to attend the fleadh, in part because of access issues. Emma Breidin has produced a survey to discover what these issues were and how they might be addressed, and I will certainly help in a constructive spirit. I fear however that my contribution will be  immediately discarded, not by Emma but by others within Cavan County Council. These are people who recall the vicious rumour that there was “trouble between him and the museum”. This would be enough to invalidate anything I might say, and indeed render useless any contribution I might make as a disabled person. These are people who prefer Cavan’s disabled to be “seen but not heard”. The disabled were given their very own opportunity to contribute they will argue, in the form of Bridget Boyle’s little theatrical piece. Those like myself who have always sought to pursue an independent journey outside the paternalism of the Irish Wheelchair association are ignored.

One more? Why not. What do a Rubik’s Cube and a prick have in common? The more you play with it the harder it gets.

 Now a bird never flew on one wing. Define egghead: What Mrs Dumpty givers Humpty.

What has four legs and flies?

A dead horse.

….. Sick or what?

 For too long our two countries have been divided by antagonisms which have often been mischievously amplified by people in Ireland. The forthcoming royal visit is an opportunity to turn the swords of the past into the ploughshares of the present and the scythes of the future, with which future generations can reap a bountiful harvest of goodwill and renewed dependency on our bigger neighbour.

 Those in Cavan will be especially pleased to hear that their local authority, Cavan County Council, had been working flat out behind the4 scenes to see to it that The Queen visited “The Lakeland County” and that she is given, along with the Duke of Edinburgh, an opportunity to fulfil a long-held ambition.

 It is not generally known but Queen Elizabeth had planned to make a visit to Cavan County Museum during her visit. Both she and Prince Philip were anxious to look at the museum’s unique collection of Gaelic football boots and assorted Cavan GAA memorabilia. A source close to the royal family has stated that each time anyone mentions the memorable victory of Cavan over Kerry in New York’s Polo Grounds her mind goes back to the year 1947 and the royal wedding of that year.

 It has now emerged that her visit to the museum has had to be cancelled because of an old problem in the museum: the lavatories. In spite of having a plumber’s son on staff for a number of years the museum’s toilets have a nasty habit of exploding for no reason and shooting their contents over a wide area.  It was thought this was caused by attempts to flush down diapers, tampons used condoms and certainly the problem seemed to have been resolved by a number of low-key redundancies disguised as budget cuts. Unfortunately the overflowing lavatories have returned with a vengeance, with fateful results.  

 A County Council engineer explained.

 “It would be the very day her Majesty would be comin’ that the hoors would blow up again like yan Icelandic volcano, an’ ya can get the whiff of the shite for miles an’ miles. I wouldn’t be surprised if ya got it up in a ‘plane. An’ when that happens the last thing ya want is t’ have the quain of England cuntin’ around lookin’ to go to the jacks.”

 Some in Cavan had hoped that The Queen, given her interest in Gaelic Games, would have an opportunity to present the Anglo-Celt cup to a successful Cavan team, but this can’t happen now after the Cavan team threw up their arses down in Cork last weekend – four shagging points; Jesus the North Koreans would have done better.

 Anglo Celt and The Beano please copy

YOUL’LL BURN IN HELL FOR THIS SHIT

I’m sure there are many local government employees who know only too well the type of people I’m talking about. After all, when they”re on one of those five-star junkets paid for by the tax payer, away from their wives, girlfriends and partners, it can get pretty lonely, can’t it … but don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me.