Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

Brendan and Jack were having a quiet drink when Brendan asks him.
“If you heard Jack that the world was going to end in fifteen minutes, what would you do?”
“Well in the time left I’d shag everything that moved I suppose. How about you Brendan. What would you do?”
“I’d try to stand perfectly still,” Brendan replies.

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?

Today Rosie brought up a handful of the tomatoes we have been able to ripen here at my sister’s garden in Cavan town. They were of various shapes, sizes and varieties, but all tasted superb, especially when eaten with our breakfast.

We have also had our first cucumber. This was an unusual variety called Crystal Lemon, which isn’t elongated like a traditional cucumbers, but is sphercal. It also tastes far nicer than many other cucumbers, lacking that horrible bittnerness which meant that we were able to eat it raw.

We’ll certainly be growing this variety again as it is far easier to grow, cheaper and less temperamental than the all female varieties. These often cost nearly £4 for a packet of three, maybe four seeds, not all of which germinate and even if they do they’re often sickly.

Nasturtiums provide wonderful colour in the gaerden at this time of year. But it was their smell which led to their naming by the ancient Romans. They found its odour so unpleasant that they were compelled to turn their noses up at it – and hence the name.

 Nasturtiums ar a very versatile and useful plant. Most people know that their seeds when pickled become what has been termed “the poor man’s capers”, and in fact they are as good as the real capers 9especially with pizza) and what’s more far cheaper. It’s not just the seeds that are edible. The leaves and flowers add a lovely peppery note to salads, as well as colour, and their taste is reminiscent of watercress, to which they are related. What’s more their stems are nice too. Alan Davidson, in the Oxford Companion to Food quotes a recipe supplied by Dwight D. Eisenhower to a celebrity cookbook for a soup containing nasturtium seeds.

 But their utility goes beyond the culinary. Another wonderful book I have in my collection is Roses Love Garlic: Companion Planting and Other Secrets of Flowers by Louise Riotte. I have learned that nasturtiums are a wonderful foil to a whole host of baddies affecting  cucumbers and that they are an excellent way of dealing with aphids attacking broccoli. In this they are among the garden’s martyrs, for it seems they attract such copious quantities of aphids to its own plants that they haven’t time for nearby brassicas.

The fleadh taking place in Cavan town will be a great showcase for traditional musicians to display their skills and also to learn from each other. It will also be a spectacular opportunity for the general public to enjoy one of the most important and irreplaceable aspects f our national character. It is such a pity that the disabled are being locked out of taking part.

 Some historical talks have been organised to accompany the fleadh. They are to be given by Dr Jonathan Cherry (a good friend) and the multi-talented Dr Brendan Scott. Both these speakers are, thank God, able bodied. There has been no invitation to the wheelchair-bound and partially sighted Dr Ciaran Parker, who has written about all aspects of the history of Cavan town. But honestly, the sight of him in his wheelchair speaking without notes would not set the right tone at an even which obviously sets so much store by physical perfection.

 The reason why I haven’t been asked to speak is puzzling. Last February I was asked to lead a walking tour of Cavan town by Catriona O’Reilly, the County f Arts Officer, and a member of the fleadh’s organising committee. This was in conjunction with a festival taking place in Cavan town at the time. I naturally agreed, but I was unable to lead the tour because of a freak snowstorm that led to the cancellation of most other events. I was assured that the event would be rescheduled for a later date. A fee had been mentioned, but I wasn’t doing it for the money. Had that been now I know full well Dr Scott would have been invited instead. A snowfall wouldn’t affect him as he can walk on water – he certainly shows no problem walking through the shit he causes. And as for payment, it is only natural that in a time of budgetary constraints the council should ensure that all monies stay within the broader County Council family of employees, members and theitr families.

 Another puzzling aspect is why I was approached by a local writer associated with the fleadh. He sought historical advice and information for a number of short plays he had been commissioned to write for the aforementioned fleadh.   It seems a bit unfair to pump someone for information whom they were going to snub And whose very name was not to be mentioned.. Why didn’t he go to Dr Scott for his intelligence? No doubt because he or his friends knew he’d be disappointed.  I write this so that people attending the fleadh will no what a miserable crowd of back-stabbing, lying cheats have organised it.

With reference to the forthcoming royal visit, I must say that I have nothing against Elizabeth Windsor. She has lived her life imprisoned in one great doll’s house, with an insensitive brute for a husband and a family who have gone from one emotional disaster to the next with reckless abandon. I certainly mean her no harm. She’s an old girl now, 84 I think, and I hope she brings her bus pass. I would certainly prefer if this were to be a private visit, but instead it will be surrounded by all the rubbish that the government can think of. There are those who are monarchists at heart anyway. The spiritual ancestor of the Fine Gael party, Arthur Griffith, never made any secrecy of the fact that he was, at heart, a “kings, lords and commons man”. But those who will be most fulsome in their celebrations will be the soi disants republicans of Fianna Fail. They hanker after a House of Lords and a knighthood system, but haven’t they got it already? There’s Brian Lenihan, second Earl of Castleknock and the Baron of Clara himself.

 The queen’s visit would make a far greater contribution to the ending of mental hostility between our countries if she were to meet with and apologise to the victims of “loyalist” violence in the republic. Those who carried out these attacks claimed to be loyal to the British crown, and this would be an irrevocable opportunity for the sovereign to distance herself from these barbarities. But the Official Secrets Act might get in the way, as it is generally suspected that many of these, while claimed by “loyalists” were masterminded by sections of the British intelligence establishment.

I feel it my duty to stand up for broccoli. This vegetable has earned a really bad name, which is utterly undeserved. What most people call broccoli, and what’s sold in supermarkets under the name, is, strictly speaking, not proper broccoli but a variant. It is broccoli calabrese, or simply calabrese, the type of broccoli traditionally grown in Calabria, in southern Italy – the home of the dreaded Ndrangheta who make the Cosa Nostra look like pussycats. This form of broccoli with its uniform dark-green compacted heads is usually served up as an over-boiled, tasteless sludge that revolts everyone, especially children. When I am told in n a restaurant that the vegetables include “broccoli” I know what’s coming, and so it remains uneaten. (It is fine if it is broken into small florets and stir-fired.) The food industry love it because it is cheap and easy to grow, as well as easy to pack and distribute.

 In addition to the calabrese variety there is another variety called romamesco whose heads are a lighter green in colour. And let’s not get into the area of Chinese broccoli.

For me the authentic type of broccoli is known as Purple Sprouting. Certainly it tastes far better than the anaemic calabrese. It also takes a bit longer to grow. Consequently it is far less likely to turn up in supermarkets, or for that matter, in restaurants. It is not some rare exotic that is difficult to grow. Most gardeners will agree with me about its taste, but unless you grow it yourself you are unlikely to know this. Rosie is a devotee like myself of the authentic purple sprouting. A few months ago bought some plants that were labelled as Purple Sprouting Broccoli. You can imagine her dismay and disgust when they grew into calabrese plants that are now producing nice green, firm yet tasteless heads.

Some of the courgettes I sowed in May have started to fruit. Already my mouth is salivating with the thought of freshly-made ratatouille.

A family of prostitutes were discussing life over breakfast. The daughter had just come in and was asked how she’d done the previous night.
“Not so good. I only got 25 euro for a blow job. It’s the credit crunch I suppose.”
“Twenty five euro for a blow job,” screamed her mother. “In my day I’d consider a fiver for a blow job to be a good night’s work.”
“It was different in my day,” said granny prostitute. “We”d have been glad just to get something warm inside us.”

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.

When I received a list of the events organised to accompany the forthcoming fleadh and saw that the speakers included that no good beggar from Belturbet, I was reminded of the story about the two fleas pigging out on a piece of shit. One of them farts very resolutely and loudly, causing the other to say: “Ah now, can’t you see I’m eating?”

And then I lookied at the committee and I was reminde of yet another story. A bar in the Texas Panhandle organised a contest where they were offering $1,000 to the guy whose girlfriend or wife’s pussy smelled the worst. A local factory worker jumped on stage and told the MC.
“The money’s as good as mine. Wait till you smell my wife’s pussy.” He went away, returning five minutes’ later pulling a aft and bloated womn by her hair. The MC commented. “My., I can smell her pussy from here.”
“Just you wait”, said the man, as he pushed up her skirt, took down her panties and exposed her pussy. The room wass immediately filled with a truly stomach-wrenching tidal wave of stale urine, sweat, faeces and what could only be described as ten-year-old Thai fish sauce. This was so overpowering that it led to a stampede as members of the audience rushed towards the exists, clambering over those who had fainted and through large pools of vomit. The MC was barely able to remain standing, so powerful was the stench, and he turned to the man with a cheque for $1000 and said |”Okay, no contest. You win hands down. But how do you live with someone with such a smelly pussy?”
“It’s not that bad,” he replies. “ The first three weeks after she died were the worst.”

Brendan had been going out with a girl for a year but he’d been reluctant to go onto Level 2 of the relationship because he was ashamed at the smallness of his willyu. He decided to ask the advice of his friend Eugene.
“Size isn’t everything”, counsels Eugene. “It’s what you do with it. Get her in the right place and the right mood, and the fact that you’re a bit on the small size won’t make any difference.”
Armed with this advice he goes out with his girlfriend. They drive to a dark spot where Brendan considers it’s a now-or-never moment. He unzips his fly, whips out his willy and gently guides his girlfriend’s hand to it.
“No thanks,” she says. “I’ve given up cigarettes.”