Ciaran’s Peculier [sic] Blog

A view of the world from an Irish hole

Tag: Fleadh

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More fleadh disruption

During my “fun run” today with my companion Pat along the Cathedral Road, our way was impeded by a man with what appeared to be a vacuum cleaner distributing water, whose origins were to be found in a mobile tank painted red. It was obvious that he worked for Cavan County Council. He was blocking the pathway and it was incumbent upon us to go out into the road in order to continue on our way. This did not elicit any response or apology for the inconvenience caused from the man with the hosepipe. On passing out in the road I felt duty-bound to ask him what he was doing. “I’m watering the flowers”, he answered in a rather defensive tone, implying that he did not like being questioned by mere members of the public. The flowers in question are contained in baskets attached to poles in a vainglorious and futile attempt to make Cavan appear beautiful. His posture, and the angle at which his hose was held, reminded me ever so much of a man coming out of a pub for a “yoke”, and this in turn set in train thoughts of the men who were told to fight The Great Fire of London during its initial stages by urinating on the flames. I felt duty-bound to say to him. “Well why don’t ya piss on them, or better still get Jack Keys to do it. An’ while he’s at it he could deposit something more solid which he’s full of.” My companion pulled me along, no doubt anxious for my safety.

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Preparing for the fleadh

My little ramble down the lanes of times past has been prompted by the preparations that Cavan County Council are making in preparation for the fleadh. They are certainly putting out their egg bag. It started recently with attempts to beautify the place with baskets of flowers. Grass in public places has been cut, though as someone observed to me the process was taking one man so long that it would have grown again before he’d finished.

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.)

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Some thoughts on Cavan’s fleadh

As a naïve of Cavan town I naturally hope that this year’s coming of the Fleadh is a great success. A lot of people, many of whom will never be mentioned or who hope never to be mentioned, have worked hard to bring this about.  It provides a perfect showcase for performing traditional Irish music in an informal environment and the efforts of our local musicians, many with reputations that transcend the local like Martin bin Laden, should be commended. The following comments should not be viewed as carping, or an attempt to piss on someone else’s parade. They are my heartfelt comments, and I don’t see why they should be discarded, merely because they make a small handful uncomfortable.

 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.)

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Brown bread and Duffy’s Circus in Cavan

Bread and circuses

 It’s amazing what you hear in Cavan, I mean the scurrilous rumours. One relates to why so many of Cavan County Council’s workers, that is, people who get their hands dirty (unlike the pen pushers whose alabaster-skinned hands can never be soiled by manual labour,) have been put on short time. This is because of, you’ve guess it, the fleadh. It seems as if the whole thing went way over budget and the inevitable cuts have to be made where they hurt ordinary people, and not in any way that might impinge upon the publicans and other hangers-on in whose interest the fleadh took place.

 But how did such budgetary overruns occur? Poor or non-existent management I say. I’ve written a bit about management (especially strategic management) and if anyone were to ask me to define the manager’s role, I’d say he or she is like an orchestral conductor in charge of a myriad of differing, sometimes conflicting resources. It’s the manager’s job to ensure that the various resources, human, technical, intellectual and financial (to name but a few) combine effectively and efficiently. It’s hard to single out any one resource as more important, but I think that many would say that finance is pretty big. If you don’t have cash how can you stay in business, pay wages, order supplies? So any manager who allows budgetary haemorrhages on his watch is a pretty poor example of the species. You don’t have to have an MBA to know this – but I’d love to have one nonetheless. (It should be obvious I’m not talking about Cavan County Council here: I mention “intellectual” resources.

 Maybe I’m being too idealistic here. I’m talking about managers in the private sector who have to operate against the buffets of an ever-changing market landscape Budgetary overruns don’t matter if the institution concerned can act with impunity, like so many in the public service. Such managers can (and frequently do) say “Ah sure fuck it, it’s only the public’s money…”(followed by drink-sodden laugh). Such public service managers may hypocritically claim that they are operating within a climate of unprecedented economic pain (Jaysus! That’s a good one! Same again is it?) but in reality these people can act as it likes – because they can – and no one can stop them or question them, least of all our castrated pubic (sic!) representatives – even if they had the ball to , which they haven’t. 

 And the money that was overspent can be made up out of the government’s “reptile fund” ;or failing that, through hospital and school closures, or through unemployed people being bumped off the live register because their faces don’t fit or their welfare officers don’t like them.

 I shouldn’t be asking these questions ( me? A cripple? Now I’m being silly – but I like it). What do I know about management? – a good deal more it seems than some managers in Cavan. We must believe that the fleadh was a success and anyone who doesn’t accept that is obviously a whinger, motivated by begrudgery. The people of Cavan should just accept how great it was and not worry about cutbacks – until they affect them. And if we all wish real hard we’ll get it next year, so that the mayhem can be revisited upon us and certain publicans can rip off their customers. Juvenal must be smiling. It is further proof of how you can attempt to fool people with bread and circuses.

 PS. There is only one reason why I feel in any way positive about the fleadh. It’s got nothing to do with the obese, flatulent – yes – bastards associated with it. It’s just that I happened to spy this girl. I think she was a busker, as she had a fiddle strapped to her back as she walked towards  Cavan town. She was really cute we exchanges smiles and … well, everyone knows my weaknesses for pretty women who play stringed instruments and the way their fingers move down the bridge of their instrument and …. We could have made beautiful music and the fleadh could have run three six five, twenty four , seven …

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Disability in Cavan 1

The following are the observations and experiences of one disabled person in Cavan. They do not pretend to be universal, but they should not be rubbished and discarded because they relate just to one person.

 I don’t want to keep going back to the fleadh, but I consider that it was used by some to slap me in the face. I would have been more than able and w2illing to give guided talks about the history of my native town, but obviously the thought that these were being given by someone in a wheelchair was too much for some in Cavan County Council. The Fleadh attracted visitors from far and wide, including continental Europe and beyond, and I would have been able to give such talks in a variety of European languages.

I was due to give a “walking tour” of Cavan town in February 2009. Unfortunately this had to be cancelled at the last moment because of a freak snowstorm. (In fact the County Arts Officer, Ms Catriona O’Reilly was advised by the Gardai to cancel all other events on the day because of the inclement weather.) I was assured that the talk would be rescheduled for a later date. When I heard that the fleadh was going to take place in Cavan town I thought this  would have been a perfect opportunity, but alas the organisers saw differently and both native and visitor to the town were denied the chance to hear an entertaining presentation on the history of the town which I would have been only too happy to give. These people could not say that they didn’t know of me, or that they didn’t know whether I’d be able to give a talk, considering I spoke as part of the long overdue commemoration of the victims of the fire in Cavan’s convent in February 1943. Like many others associated with this commemoration I was anxious that it should not become a finger-pointing or blame-apportioning exercise, but should be used to remember the lives of the unfortunate victims. To be cynical the organisers of the fleadh and their backers in Cavan County Council obviously thought that I had no business talking about any aspect of my town’s history.

 For “the powers that be”, i.e. those with their paws on the lever of power and the sources of funding, it is important though, that Cavan’s disabled be presented as a group on the margins, existing purely by the goodwill of those in authority. They must be shown as having no skills and no ability – unless they are lucky enough to have a parent who is a local politician.

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Holy cows in Cavan

Poet Noel Monahan, a good friend of mine (or at least I think he is – I can’t take anyone for granted amongst Cavan’s artistic set) once wrote, if memory serves me correctly, about Black James’ town” where pigs are holy cows. Blessed bovines are a problem throughout Cavan. Certain institutions and events, usually organised by local government agents, take on a veneer of holiness and incorruptibility. They are perfect. No criticism can be allowed because none is warranted. Constant genuflection becomes a canon of and their praise is constantly rehearsed. Consequently anyone who does not join in the adulation, or anyone who (God forbid) might actually voice criticism, is considered a crank, a deviant and an enemy of the people more or less. They are excluded from “official” activity as if they never existed.

 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.

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Nationwide moments

Wednesday evening (August 18th) witnessed the return to Ireland of Ireland’s answer to Ronnie Biggs i.e. Michael Fingleton. But whereas Ronnie only robbed a train Fingleton’s tastes were allegedly broader, and in spite of being apparently sated, the country still has to find billions to bail him out. In any country where justice is followed Fingleton should have been arrested on his return to Ireland, ah but sure police cells are only for poor people.

 Wednesday evening saw another “Nationwide” moment, on RTE’s Nationwide program. Part of this was dedicated to Cavan’s fleadh. It featured an interview with Cavan’s answer to stand-up comedian Jack Dee. I wonder whether Whacko Jacko actually believes some of the shit he comes out with? He presented Cavan town as one great doss-house, full of “cheap” accommodation in private houses where fleadh goers could crash out after a day or night on the piss. One thing which isn’t that clear is how patrons of the fleadh who are staying in assorted fleadh pits are covered by insurance. Then he came out with a load of crud about disabled access. Now I’m in a wheelchair, but there are many other disabled people in Cavan who have never been consulted about accessibility. No, the only one who is consulted is Whack Jacko’s friend Bridget.

 I heard rumours of what was going to be on the program later. Like someone watching the Horror Channel I nevertheless decided to ignore the warnings of “scenes that some viewers might find distressing” but I regretted it, as I was reminded that there are still lurking in our midst personifications of evil. I thought fate had caught up with that bastard and that he was dying of cancer? No such fucking luck! And what’s happened the ronnie? Its disappearance is the fault of that Dafydd from Little Britain who believed that the gay character on Are You Being Served? was Captain Peacock.

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Pennies from Heaven

I am reliably informed that a roundabout near Cavan town is sporting a statue of a fiddle. This reminds me of that myth about how the emperor Nero fiddled while Rome burned in AD 64. It may have been belied by history, but I think there is a link. We are told that we are living through one of the worst economic recessions in the history of the state, hospitals are facing closure and cancer treatment units are being axed, the Department of Social Protection is refusing legitimate claims for benefits to people who have been signing on for months if not years on the grounds that the claimants are not habitually resident, and yet money has been flowing like water in Cavan and grants have been available to pubs and shops to cover seventy-five per cent of paintwork and repairs.

 This may seem like traditional Cavan begrudgery, but those who visit Cavan town for the fleadh must realise who the real beneficiaries of the fleadh are.

PS. It is wishful thinking on my part, but I can imagine some senior member of Cavan County Council’s executive team (maybe the fiddler) stabbing himself with a broken meths bottle, while exclaiming: Qualiter fellator pereo! (That’s your actual Latin that is. It means “What a cock-sucker dies with me!”)

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Cutbacks and kickbacks in Cavan?

Cavan: where money grows on trees?

 Along with the vast majority of people in Ireland I  though that we were going through one of the worst economic recessions ever. Cut-backs are the order of the day with hospitals being closed, teachers not being employed even where they are badly needed and a department of social warfare not even paying benefits they are statutorily obliged to. The world may be inching out of recession but we are still stuck in it, largely due to the errors of our rulers and their henchmen and women in senior levels of government.

 So the mood in Cavan town is certainly unusual. Money for the imminent bacchanalia or fleadh is growing on trees. There are the sums being given to the town’s publicans to tart up their tatty premises. The Cavan River, which has stank since W. Percy French’s time has been cleaned, and road markings have been repainted, yet the town is still an obstacle course for anyone in a wheelchair – but we don’t matter. Among the many rumours floating around is that the rendering plant at Monery, source of a stomach-turning stench in the summer, is to be closed for the week. But no matter how much gets spent on it Cavan town will remain a dump. You can put a whore into a Gucci dress, but look closely and you’ll still see the whore.

Something which is not a rumour is the diifficulty faced by people looking for essential documents like driving licences from Cavan County Council. They are told initially that there will be no problems and that the documents will wing their way in the post in the day or day following, yet days become weeks and still no documents. Inquiries are met by the response that the relevant ssction is experiencing “delaysa”. Are these delays caused by the redeployment of council staff to “fleadh” duty? If so someone should remind the executive cohort in Cavan County Council that their staff are employed by the state to carry out specific tasks related to the provision of services, and not for pronmoting a pissfest. I never realised that Cavan County Manager Whacko Jacko Keys was such a fan of traditional Irish music, though I have heard that, like so many other holier- than-thou officials in local government he is a true virtuoso on the fiddle.

 Now let me repeat that the fleadh, under the auspices of Cavan County Council, has become a money-printing exercise for Cavan’s publicans who have traditionally viewed traditional Irish music and its performers with contempt. Apart from venues like the Farnham Arms and the Hard Cock Café in Bridge St., better known as MacCauls, even the most gifted of traditional musicians were left in no doubt that they were unwelcome. But once the fleadh came, and with it the promise of some lolly, their conversion was greater than that of St Paul on the road to Damascus. Now I don’t like using ugly words like kickback, but I do hope these publicans are grateful and generous and that they will some part of their extra takings to those who have helped them, i.e. senior officials of Cavan County Council and others in the Department of Environment Local Government and Heritage (that’s a laugh!). Come on, it would only be fair.

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Cavan’s fleadh

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.

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