Conversation. A Freedom to Cherish.

As Irish people, we have never been short of a word or two, as we’ve always had the gift of the gab.  We have lots of ould nonsense like kissing the Blarney stone, where people will return to far flung destinations with the same ability to talk “the hind leg off an ass”.

Personally, it’s something that I take very seriously, that right to speak my mind, that duty to say how I feel. Social Media, on which I am very active, gives me that opportunity to speak about issues that concern me. I like to blog about experiences, achievements, my pride in my country, my distain at people or events that let my country down, my love of sport, music and my zest for life. I’ve been complimented for my “courage” to speak out, investigate and comment. On the other side, I’ve often been criticised with people wondering, “Will he ever just shut up”

Over the last few months, I have been given the chance to speak on radio about the same issues. For a person with an avid interest in media, there is no thrill quite like sitting at the end of a phone line, or in a studio, listening to the presenter leading in to the subject, introducing you and then, you’re off. You’re now talking, having your say. Some people will agree with you, some most certainly won’t, that’s the purpose of debate.  It’s a wonderful opportunity, a right that we enjoy and we should always remember, it’s a right that is denied to hundreds of thousands of people all over the world. Our forefathers fought and some even gave their lives to give us that right, so it was hard won.

One of the simple pleasures in life is riding a bike with a friend or a group of friends. I like it most in Winter, where all the sportifs or races are finished for the year. Everybody has achieved their goals, the hard work has paid off and now, it’s time to savour the day you climbed Tickincor, Mahon Falls or Seskin Hill. That PB in the local time trial on that balmy evening in May or June, the elation you felt when you got home, when you felt like a real cyclist. Jaysus, if you had done this 30 years ago, you could nearly have been as good as Kelly.

Now though, it’s just a case of “spinning the legs”, getting out for an hour or two, looking forward to a coffee at the finish and having the chat. That’s right, a chat, talking, shooting the breeze.

I can remember at the height of the banking crisis in Ireland, that a friend and myself had the whole thing sorted one morning between “The Millionaires” and Cahir. Many’s a story went out the Cork Road too and has had to stay there, as there could be serious questions asked, if it ever came back. On more than one occasion, bike handling has been tested as some hilarious story is recounted and through the tears of laughter, you end up heading for the ditch. Serious issues have been discussed and it’s a known fact that if you have something on your mind, or something getting you down, you will find somebody in the group who will listen, give you a bit of advice or maybe the kick in the arse if it’s needed. It’s one of the reasons that I love cycling and the people involved.

That freedom to speak can have a sinister side too. In recent years, people have taken to Social Media in particular, to speak nonsense, they have become abusive, they have become authorities in subjects that they know little or nothing about. Their modus operandi seems to be that whoever shouts loudest wins the argument. Fire in a few expletives, turn on CAPS LOCK  to make it look like you’re shouting and the other person will back down. We have seen the birth of the Keyboard Warrior. A horrible, gutless type, who wouldn’t have the courage or decency to speak face to face to the same person they pursue online, if they met them on the street.

The interweb has also given rise to the Snowflake and the PC Brigade. This lot normally scour the morning papers and newsfeeds, looking for something to get upset about. Something, no matter how obscure, will annoy them for one reason or another. If anybody tries to argue the point with them, it very quickly becomes a shouting match and sometimes can become quite farcical.

No part of Irishness would be complete without the renowned “ball hopper”. This is a person (I’m actually guilty of this a bit myself), who knows nothing about a certain subject and has absolutely no interest in it. He or she will hop onto a thread, say something daft or controversial and see if they can get a “rise” out of people. My own favourite is the Rugby fraternity for example. They know their sport inside out, they are passionate, know all the terminology, all the players and are avid supporters. I wouldn’t know a Rugby game if it landed beside me on a parachute or turned up in a taxi. The last thing the supporters need is some idiot like me saying something stupid and boy does it annoy them. It can be funny watching them fall for it. I know it’s childish, but it’s another part of being Irish, if you think something will annoy a person, that’s the thing you’ll do.

However, one thing that I have noticed recently, is reluctance among people to actually say what is on their minds. I had a chat with a friend recently and this very subject came up in our conversation. Now, this friend is possibly one of the most decent, honest, nicest people on the planet. There isn’t a bad bone in her body, but she is very opinionated and that is why I enjoy our engagements. “I always test the water nowadays, before I say anything on Facebook”, she told me. When I asked why, she explained that she would rather be careful, she wouldn’t like to offend anybody and to be honest; it wouldn’t be worth the grief. It surprised me and got me thinking as to why she should feel like that, as she is in no way offensive. In my opinion, she has every right to say what she thinks or feels.

There was a high profile case recently where a well known radio host spoke on radio about a very emotive subject. Now, let me be clear here, I can’t stand him, even though I’ve never met him. He comes across as a bully and a loud mouth and he is everything I can’t stand in a person. He spoke about the most despicable crime on the planet and how everybody has to remember their own personal safety and to show responsibility. I think the term they use is “car crash radio”, where he absolutely disgraced himself and showed no consideration for people, or victims of heinous criminality. One thing that I couldn’t and still don’t understand though, is how could a production team sanction his comments.  Was there a production meeting before the show? Did they not know what was coming or did this idiot go on a solo run?  As the fallout began, wouldn’t it have been an idea to talk to the production team involved in the programme too? Ultimately, he was responsible, but are they all not complicit, if they knew what was coming. Either way, he made a huge mistake and was so wrong and nasty, it defies words. His comments were disgusting, irresponsible and have no place in any decent society. I wonder though, was he courting controversy, did he feel more important than he actually is. Either way, the guy should be ashamed of himself.

I think most people would drill it into their children to be careful when they go out and to be responsible. As a parent, I dread the day when our child (he will always be that, our child, no matter what age he is), heads out into the big bad world. I hope and pray that he will be okay and there is no doubt that we won’t sleep at night until we hear him coming home. To suggest anything else is an insult to people

I actually had a conversation about this incident with a group of people recently. I must state that the group was predominantly female. Some people had their say, some people stayed clear. There were opinions, there was good lively debate and in the end we all moved on. Nobody got upset; there was no name calling, no tears or hissy fits. Conversation and that right to converse won on the day, as is our right.

So, in the last few paragraphs, we have covered good conversation between friends, discussing events of the day. We have taken a brief look at some of the more sinister, strange and quirky elements of conversation, in particular online. We have looked at a fear among people who feel that it might be better to say nothing, avoid it altogether, and just stay quiet. Finally, I looked at how some people feel that they have a right to say something, because they feel that they are aloof and above themselves, with absolutely no thought about the potential consequences of their comments.

One of the greatest people to ever grace this planet was the late Johnny Cash. To any musician, he would be a hero and a person to aspire to, depicting all that’s good in humanity. The man had his problems, there but for the grace of god go any of us.

In a concert once, with the Highwaymen, he tells a story about when they go on tour around the world. When they return to America, they love their country even more than when they left, because of freedom. He spoke of the freedoms that they enjoy and how much they cherish them. He spoke of the rights that people have, to burn the flag and he was proud of those rights. As the audience became animated and annoyed, he finished his few words with a reminder that he also had the right to bear arms and if you burn his flag, he had the right to shoot you, to rapturous applause.

I wonder would Johnny Cash say that today, I doubt it. Somebody would surely get offended, as is their right.

Conversation is one of the cornerstones of our very existence, something that we must cherish, respect and enjoy. We must never take it for granted or in any way demean it, because it is one of the most important freedoms that we enjoy, despite all its faults.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Ringing Phone

If there’s one thing that we have learned from social media, it’s the amount of experts we have in the country. We have sports pundits, political wannabes, business experts and overall know alls. All they need is their laptop, tablet or phone and the world is their oyster. One of the top categories of knowallmanship (see, I’ve invented a new word and added it to the dictionary here for all time), is road law and road safety.

Out on a training spin yesterday, conditions were very testing and hard. There was a strong gale blowing, doing all it could to knock me over and it nearly succeeded a few times.  Rain was threatening and I was damn glad of my winter gear by the time I got home, soaked and frozen.

At a very dangerous junction, a young lady driver was stopped, waiting to enter a very busy road. It was taking her ages, much to the displeasure of the driver behind and the two very small children in the back seat of her car. I suppose she wasn’t really aware of the hold up behind her, as she was on her phone and it’s obviously difficult to drive and maintain a phone conversation at the same time.

As I passed on my bike, I pointed to her, to get off the phone. It’s a dangerous area and you need your wits about you. She laughed at me, for my sins and my obvious cheek.

So, suitably chastened, I went on my merry way, but her actions got me thinking. Suppose something happens, what if she doesn’t concentrate, gets distracted and an accident occurs. As a cyclist, I’m going to come off second best, a long way second best. So, what happens next?

I want you to picture the scene. You’ve just knocked down a cyclist; he or she lies on the ground with their tangled mess of a bike. There is probably a good bit of blood; best possible scenario, they will have a few broken bones or limbs. God forbid, it’s worse and they have passed away, as is distinctly possible. Remember, over a tonne of car versus a 7kg bike, carrying a 65kg rider, is no contest.

As a club cyclist, I have an app on my phone which transmits a beacon to three safety contacts. These contacts know where I am in real time. If, they notice that I have stopped unexpectedly, they will phone to check on me. So, assuming the injured party is a club man or woman, they will possibly have the same precautions taken. The phone begins to ring, as his safety contacts believe that something is wrong. You are in shock, you are scared and you are very alone. A few witnesses are now beginning to assist, taking over traffic duty, calling the Gardaí and the emergency services. Don’t forget, as is the case of the lady yesterday, there are small children present. They will be crying and very upset and will need comforting. The phone is still ringing, by the way. At this stage, the beacon has done its job and the safety contacts are now sure that something is wrong and will mobilise each other to go to the scene. In the distance, the sounds of sirens, as the emergency personnel begin to arrive. The children are still crying, your husband, wife or partner are on the way to take them. That bloody phone is still ringing……

The Gardaí will most likely arrive first and will immediately cordon off the area. They will take full control, in the event of a loss of life, it will be possibly designated a crime scene. The road will ultimately be closed, pending a full investigation.

In the meantime, the Gardaí will turn their attention to you. First and foremost, you will be breathalysed and then you will be cautioned of dangerous driving. You will then be taken to the Garda Station, where an interview will take place. You will be given the opportunity to call your solicitor and then those immortal words “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you”. That stuff normally belongs on telly, but this is real, as real as it gets. In your mind you replay those few moments leading up to the accident, the phone, the children, the car behind, the cyclist, the bang, the scream, the sirens and that bloody ringing phone.

You will give your statement to the Garda, your solicitor will sit with you and is on your side, but make no mistake about it, you haven’t a friend in the world. You’re on your own and that is scary, very scary. That Garda will investigate to the n^th degree and will leave no stone unturned. After the investigation is completed, it will go to a Superintendant or detective to decide on whether or not to press charges. In the event of a loss of life, there will be charges to face. A court appearance will be scheduled and it won’t be pretty.

Don’t forget, there will be a funeral as well. Do you turn up, do you stay away? A grieving wife or husband, children left without a mam or dad. How popular will you be there? If you don’t turn up, does it make you even more heartless and uncaring? Another horrible position to be in. Imagine walking down the street and you’re pointed out as the person that “killed the cyclist”. You’ll probably make the papers too and maybe even the Six One News.

So, how do I know all this? Am I an expert expressing my knowallmanship? No, I’m nothing of the sort. Am I just sitting here on a Sunday evening, pointlessly writing words here? No, nothing of the sort.

I wrote about this before, about an incident a few years ago, where an allegation was made, that a child was knocked down and the driver left the scene. Unfortunately, I was driving that evening and the allegation was made to the company I worked for. Thankfully, the company could prove that I was nowhere near the scene that evening. I wasn’t even in the same town.

The same allegation was made to the Gardaí and they had to conduct their own investigation. I’ve sat in that Garda interview room. I’ve had my rights read to me and I’ve lived under a cloud of suspicion for approx 5 months, until I was told that I had no case to answer. The Gardaí came to the same conclusion as my company at the time, that I wasn’t anywhere near the alleged incident and it was case closed.

Ask my family; ask my friends how it affected me? The job (which I didn’t particularly like anyway) was never the same again and the incident was one of my reasons for eventually leaving it. If I was to say that you actually begin to second guess yourself and doubt yourself, would you believe me?, because you actually do. Look up my blog on Word press called “I’ve been that Soldier”, for the full story. It is the hard fact and is the god’s honest truth.

So, in a nutshell, guilty or innocent, the process is the exact same. You will be investigated, you will face the full rigours of the law and you will suffer the stress, the worry, the shame, the guilt, whichever applicable.

Oh and don’t forget, if you are guilty and if you have made that mistake, you will live with it for the rest of your life.

One other thing, you will never forget that moment, it will pierce through your heart like a red hot knife. It will destroy every moment of normality that you try to enjoy. Oh and just to be sure you never forget it, you will always be reminded, every time you hear The Ringing Phone.

Share the roads, please.

What if work was really bad for you?

As children, how many times were we asked “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I often ask our child that very same question and the answers range from a magician like Keith Barry or Dynamo, other times, he wants to be a comedian. At the moment, he wants to develop his own YouTube channel and produce videos. I always take a moment to watch him in the morning as he wanders off into school, that innocence, that quest for knowledge, those dreams and hopes for his future.

As the tax bills for 2016 begin to hit the mats, it’s a good time to talk about work, jobs, careers,  what dreams we had as children, did they come true, was it all just pie in the sky and was it all worth the effort and thought.

A man told me the story once, of a relation of his in the UK. He landed his dream job, working with a professional motorcycle racing team. Now, anybody that watches Moto GP on telly will see that it’s pretty hi tech. Cutting edge technology, computers and fly by wire systems. They have fancy trucks and stuff to carry everything around, as they traverse the globe, following the sunshine, living the dream. The team mechanics walk around in shorts and tee shirts made by Gucci, wear Tag Heuer watches and I’d say the toolboxes are hardly Aldi. The bikes are assembled in garages that would make most of our living rooms look poor by comparison. However, it didn’t work out for my friend’s relative and he hated every moment of it. The dream, in reality, was not all he expected. The beautiful sun blessed European summer, weeks away from family and friends, relentless pressure to succeed and the regular fear of failure within the team was not for him and he lasted no length at all. He returned to the UK, it was not to be.

I had a conversation with a young lady earlier this week. Her dream, she told me, had been to be a hair dresser. All through school, she envisaged herself as a top stylist in a salon or in the ideal world, her own salon. College wasn’t on her agenda; all that mattered was getting through school and beginning her apprenticeship. Soon after she began the apprenticeship, she realised that it wasn’t what she wanted. You could use the old Irish proverb that “Far Away Hills Are Green”. She was so upset, so worried by failure, so disappointed in herself and how would she tell her parents. Eventually, she plucked up the courage and told her mam. All parents wish for their children is to be happy, so her mam encouraged her to stick to it for a little while longer and if she felt the same, to leave, find something else, as life is way too short. She left it soon after and has never looked back since.

A few years ago, I found myself in a job that I absolutely hated. Now, it’s important to say that this is no reflection on the company I worked for, or the people (well some of them anyway). It was down to me, I was just not suitable for the job and the job was not for me. So, in the middle of the worst recession in living memory, I made the decision that enough was enough; it was time to move on. I can still remember the evening I finished up, walking out the door and feeling that huge weight lifting off my shoulders. In hindsight, it will probably go down as one of the hardest, biggest and without doubt the best decision I have ever made in my life.

Now, imagine the shoe is on the other foot.

How many people head out to work every morning, into a job that they hate?

How many people have to drag small children out of bed at cock crow, still in their pyjamas, still asleep, putting them into crèches or childminders, so they can keep that all important “job”.

How many people have no choice, but commute long distances and time, to keep that all important “job”.

How many people have mortgages, negative equity, or bank loans, are maybe one pay cheque away from disaster and have no choice but face that all important “job”.

How many people give most of their income back to the bank, paying for a house that they can’t enjoy, a house that sits vacant two thirds of the day, every day, so that they can stay in that all important “job”?

Now, I’m not for one moment suggesting that everybody walk into their work tomorrow and tell them to shove it. That would be pretty stupid and unrealistic.

Imagine though, if it was possible that work is bad for your health, most especially your mental health. Is it acceptable to be “married to the job?” Must “the job” be the be all and end all?

I was in a department store recently and I overheard a young assistant asking her superior if it was okay to go to the toilet. “Okay, but don’t be long” was the reply. I really wanted to say something, but it’s none of my business, however, I doubt I’d last long in a place like that.

A local company advertised for workers in the last week. I looked through the glossy fancy company bio with a few friends and we had a good laugh, as this place has a pretty big staff turnover.  We then read employee reviews of the company, which were not very flattering. One of the better comments was from somebody who said he didn’t mind getting fired, as it would be a way out of the place. A fairly damning indictment on the place if ever I read one.

I guess what I’m trying to say this week is this. We all have to live, we have a duty to contribute to our society and communities via our taxes. We have a duty to our children, to provide for them and to ensure their welfare is well taken care of. We all want a few luxuries in life and it’s nice to be able to afford that new car or nice holiday.

However, should it come at any cost? Have we not got an even bigger duty to ourselves?

 

 

 

A sense of freedom, a generation apart.

There were no Playstations, Xbox consoles or internet as I grew up. To get a message to our friends, we normally knocked on their door and spoke to them. Those friends, they were people that we actually knew. We had arguments, occasionally there were a few fist fights, but it was never anything serious.

Everybody had to have an English football team to follow; it was another rite of passage. Liverpool and Manchester United were the most popular. I picked Tottenham Hotspur, because Glenn Hoddle played for them and he was good. To this day, I still glance at the results on telly every Saturday evening to see how they got on, even though my interest has well and truly waned.

As boys, we learned life skills that we still possess to this day. At 12 years of age for instance, I could use a chainsaw, I felled my first tree by the age of 14. A year or two later, I was making fledgling attempts to drive my dad’s Vauxhall Viva in the yard.

Building a tree house was a very important skill to master, as well as building a raft on the local river. We played war games; where one group were Germans and the other group were somebody else (Political correctness hadn’t been invented either). As far as I can recall, the sun shone every summer and we spent most of our time out fishing, playing football or up to some devilment somewhere.

In winter, we somehow managed to acquire the bonnet of an old Volkswagen Beetle. What could children possibly need that for? Well, when the winter snows arrived, we headed up to one of the steepest hills in the area. You sat on the bonnet, somebody gave you a push and you hammered down the hill / field, normally crashing into a ditch of briars. You untangled yourself, wiped off any blood, got up and gave the bonnet to somebody else to do the same. In the meantime, others were pelting down the same hill on a plastic bag, filled with straw. The bonnet was the best though and everybody got a chance to have a go. We walked home as darkness fell, bruised, cut, hurt but incredibly happy. Any torn trousers or jumpers were hidden from our parents and we got ready to go again the next day.

The attic at home was a treasure trove for any child. The problem was however, it was over 9ft high, had no lighting and only a small trapdoor for access. We overcame this problem by building our own system of tables and chairs to reach it. A local neighbour used to give us a loan of his torch, not realising what we were actually using it for. Every year, a “parcel” arrived from England just before Christmas. It was hidden in the attic, but young inquisitive boys have a tendency to investigate. We spent plenty of time checking out the contents of these parcels and the secret was to look surprised on Christmas morning, when it was officially opened. (We only told my mam about this a few years ago, she was livid)

Young boys and girls crave their independence, breaking free from the shackles of their parents. Our first taste of freedom was our bike. If you had a bike, you could go places and explore new environments, on your own. You learned basic maintenance, such as fixing punctures, linking a chain and adjusting your brakes. On a Sunday, it was regular to cycle / walk to the top of Glendaloughlin in the Nire Valley. It’s one of the highest hills in Ireland, over 400m above sea-level. Once you reached the top, you turned and descended as fast as you could. We had old mechanical speedometers and all our bikes were “clocked” at 40mph (60kph in modern money). If you reached the magic 40mph, you boasted about it for the week. Once you reached the steel bridge at the bottom, you slammed on your back brakes, locking up the wheel. The purpose was to try to skid the length of the bridge, once again claiming bragging rights. We didn’t bother with helmets (Kelly didn’t wear one, so why would we), Lycra hadn’t been heard of and clipless pedals were a long way over the horizon. Our bikes were almost as heavy as an old gate; carbon fibre hadn’t been invented either.

To this day, as I head down those same roads, it takes me back to those carefree teenage years. One thing that never changes is that sense of freedom, that thrill of the wind blowing against your face. Gravity still does its job, hurtling you down the side of the mountain. A modern bike will easily pass the magic 40mph of 30 years ago and it’s not uncommon to check on your ultra-modern computer when you get home and see that you have achieved well in excess of that.  The winds will still do their best to knock you off, the road surface is still patchy, due to the extreme winter conditions that it endures and there is the constant worry of a sheep doing something stupid and walking out in front of you.

We were a small happy little group. Some of us were good at sports, some, like me, were stone hopeless. Some were very academic, some were mechanical, some were opinionated and some were not. It was a carefree time, when life was a lot simpler than it seems to be today.  It is still a regular occurrence to roll up to the start line of a cycling event and see some of those same people there as well.

As middle aged men and women, we have never lost that fascination with our bikes and the freedom they have given us. The hills and the mountains are still there, still waiting to challenge us and just as in life, we still regularly take up that challenge.

Every morning, I watch our child head into school, carefree, happy and content. I envy his young age, his lust for information and his innocence. He lives in different times though and faces challenges that we could never have foreseen. I take him out on his bike once a week and we have an afternoon of the fun and adventure that I enjoyed. The Greenway in Dungarvan gives a taste of that freedom, even if it has to come with the bribe of a visit to Gamestop and a happy meal before we head home. He would much rather be playing Minecraft or Uncharted with his friends, but to me, those few hours are invaluable and something to cherish.

Through his eyes, I’m transported back to those happy times, when I was his age. We are an entire generation apart, but that sense of freedom that a bike provides never leaves you, whatever the age.