Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

Once more the loyalist corner-boy Sammy Wilson has made a show of himself in Stormont, performing not like a minister but like a Linfield Football supporter.

I’m afraid had I been any of the members of the assembly’s environment committee who were the recipients of his unpardonable guff, I would have walked over the floor and planted my fists deep into his pathetic jowls.

He intends to go ahead with his ban of the advertisement advocating changes in behaviour to combat climate change. I can imagine how this will play out amongst the G&T drinking denizens of the leafy golf clubs of Surrey. “I say, have you heard about this politician in Ireland who won’t show an advertisement against climate change. Well that’s the paddies for you what? What?”

Of course such people are unable to see through their anti-Irish prejudice that the politician in question would rather be beggared by a (Protestant) gorilla than be called Irish; that he is a minister in that part of Ireland which is still a de facto part of the United Kingdom; that he is a die-hard supporter of her Majesty the Queen, but into whose breast he would nevertheless plunge a bayonet were she to ever contemplate becoming a Roman Catholic.

OK, so it’s cards on the table time. I have to admit to being an avid fan of one of the silliest and most intellectually banal programs on TV – Strictly Come Dancing. My money is on John Sargent and Siberian siren Kristina Rihanoff. Yes, John Sargent can’t dance for stirabout but each week he throws his heart and soul into it. He enjoys it and so obviously do millions of viewers. Many of those who vote for him are no doubt inspired by the thought: “There but for the grace of Godot go I”. They are probably middle-aged blokes who know they couldn’t do any better but who nevertheless congratulate his “Have-a-go” attitude. They identify with him far more than with the athletic prowess of rugby players. The ageist comments of judge Len Goodman on last Saturday’s show were rightly booed.

And remember: what’s white and floats over the floor?

Come dancing.

I Owe the above to a friend in Scotland who understandably wants to remain unknown…

The Eurovision song contest is a pathetic joke., It always has been, but it is now an embarrassment. So why do we continue to take part and bring down upon ourselves humiliation? Are the denizens of RTE land so desperate for a junket? It seems that the subtle humour of Dustin the Turkey was too much for the voters. Maybe they didn’t understand the lyrics. I suggest that if Ireland really wants to get into the contest next year they should enter a song, maybe with a Middle Eastern flavour, performed by a girating semi-clad female and sung in heavily accented English by a non-native speaker.

I only viewed the semi-finals for brief temporal segments, never exceeding two minutes, and what I saw did not impress me. I particularly disliked the injection of Serb patriotism, but I heard nothing of such events of which Serbs are no doubt inordinately proud as Srebrenica, or the assassination of Franz Ferdinand by the Serbian natiionalist Gavrilo Princip which led to the deaths of millions throughout Europe and the permanent physical and psychological injury of millions more.