I’ll pass on that thanks.

I believe that the Irish education system, despite its critics and underfunding, is among the best in the world. As a parent, it’s encouraging and exciting to see our child progress and do well at school. He gets assistance where it’s necessary, praise when it’s deserved and every day is exciting, as his little mind expands. None of this would be possible without a top class education system and I for one, stand very proud of it.

However, there is one part of our education system that I don’t agree with, as I believe it’s unfair, un-necessary and a drain on resources, with little or no return.

The part that I don’t agree with is the compulsory teaching and learning of Irish. I feel that it’s a dead language, it has no benefits long term, it’s not used in everyday society, it’s not used regularly in the business world, although I’m sure that there are slight exceptions, it’s a drain on resources that could be channelled elsewhere.  There may be some individuals not too happy about this, but it is NOT, our primary language. Most or all everyday conversation and business is carried out in English, FACT.  I also feel for example, that it is unfair that a working knowledge of Irish is necessary to enter key professions such as the civil service for example. In my case, I was taught Irish for 13 years and I have never used it once, I’d say a lot of people are in a similar situation. Value for money? I think not.

Now, that paragraph should be enough to start the ball rolling in my omission from a few Christmas card lists and no doubt, an internet troll or two will take exception. Despite the fact that I have previously spoken of how much Ireland means to me and how much I like living here, I will now be probably branded as “Anti-Irish”, maybe even a West Brit or some other ould nonsense. Earlier this week I was told on Social Media that my attitude stinks, from some lady I have never met. That’s the price you pay for having the audacity to support a person who has similar opinions. Some other man, that I’ve never met either, tried to make a case for making Irish non-compulsory and I agreed with him.

Let’s try to take a look at this objectively. We have a wonderful culture in Ireland, in particular through Art and Literature. We have given some of the greatest literary geniuses from Yeats to Joyce to the world and if you’re into all that stuff, that’s brilliant. The problem is that not everybody is as interested as you are. That is not to say that they don’t care about this culture and stuff, it’s just that there are other things to think about, such as keeping a roof over their heads, going to work every morning and providing for their families.

There are people that are interested in religion for example. It’s something that doesn’t really occupy many of my thoughts, but if that’s what floats your boat, go for it and more power to you. I don’t agree with organised religion as a rule, although I do the hypocrisy bit to good effect at times, such as Christmas or events for the sake of our child. I don’t like funerals and I avoid them as much as I can, as I prefer to remember a person as they were in life. Occasionally, people knock on the door with a religious message or theme, but I don’t answer it. I didn’t ask them to call and I don’t knock on their door with my opinions. That’s the way I am and it’s not meant to be offensive. I try to live as good a life as I can and I respect people and their beliefs. If that makes me a sinner and cast into eternal damnation, well so be it and I would endeavour so say, I’ll have some good if not great company.

Irish people have a great love of sport and are among the most passionate supporters in the world. Everywhere they go they represent their country impeccably and are welcomed with open arms. At home, we have a thriving sporting culture, in particular the GAA. Now, I have no interest in this either, although it is a handy prop in the music business to say that I’m from Waterford, but other than that, I genuinely couldn’t care less about it. I’m very much in the minority and I accept that and I’m happy with that. I don’t try to impose my opinions on people that enjoy GAA and I wouldn’t dream of it. That’s their thing, fair play to them.

Irish business is world renowned and has provided some of the most iconic brands and companies the world has ever seen. Is there anything more satisfying as walking through an airport in some far flung destination or browsing through a foreign supermarket and seeing an item with “Produced in Ireland” written on it. It gives you that bit of pride that a nation with half the population of London can be so good at what we do.

This brings me nicely to our native language. Some people like it, some people hate it and then you have people like me, that couldn’t really care less about it. I’d say that I could quite happily live out my remaining days without ever even thinking about it. That is until it’s forced in my door, through it being a compulsory subject in our education system.

If you wish to learn Irish, good luck to you. I would say the same about Science, Applied Maths, German, Spanish or even Mandarin Chinese. However, if you decide to study any of those subjects, it will be by choice, nobody will force you. Those subjects will most definitely stand to you in later life as you embark on that career you’ve always wanted.

There are people that wish to keep the language alive as part of our heritage and culture. Those people probably send their children to the Gaeltacht during the summer, maybe to an all Irish speaking school and they probably speak Irish in the family home. To those people, I’d say the same thing, the very best of luck to you and I admire you. However, it’s your choice to do this and it’s my choice not to.

Just for the record, some of the figures associated with the Irish language are mind boggling. It costs €43 per page, to get EU documents translated into Irish, as opposed to €22 for other languages (Source: Irish Times August 2017). In 2011, Irish was the “third” most spoken language in Ireland behind English and Polish (Source:www.irishcentral.com, March 2012). According to The Irish Examiner in 2013, it cost €1 billion to teach Irish per year, while a further 50 million was handed over between the television channel TG4 and the radio channel  RnaG.  

If Irish is as popular as some people think, why would it be necessary for a bankrupt nation to spend these amounts and the language still be ranked behind Polish?

I have tried to be as balanced as possible in this debate. No doubt somebody will get “offended” or upset with me having the audacity to speak my mind and having an opinion on something.

I am as proud to be Irish as the next and I do all I can to promote the country and to show the country in its best possible light. I support Irish producers, Irish sportspeople, Irish singers and Irish musicians.

However, there are parts of being Irish that I don’t want forced on me. I can make my own mind up and for the moment, I’ll pass on that, thanks.

Snouts in the trough

Our little town was a hive of activity this November morning. Sure it was cold, it was wet and a morning to stay in bed, but the bills won’t pay themselves, so up you get. There’s a new shop being prepared for opening, the lads were putting up the Christmas lights, rubbish bins were being collected, deliveries being made to the shops and businesses along the street. The school playgrounds resonate with the happy sound of children at play, their bright young minds preparing for the day ahead. All in all, a happy scene, played out in villages, towns and cities right across the country.

It’s mornings like this that make me proud of our country, proud to be Irish. Ireland is a wonderful country to live in, to raise children and to make your home. Sure, it rains a lot and we don’t get the long sunny days that they get in Spain and Portugal for instance, but that wouldn’t bother me one little bit.

Once, back in the 1980’s, I “emigrated”. I’ve put that in inverted comments, because my emigration days were short lived.

On a Saturday evening, I boarded the CIE coach from Gladstone St, Clonmel, bound for London, England, with a friend. We arrived at Victoria Station in London the following morning and to cut a long story short, I lasted a week, as it just wasn’t for me. You see, I’m a home bird, this is my place and I have no desire to go anywhere else.

If I was asked to describe my ultimate nightmare, it would be to find myself far away, in a strange country and finding myself stuck there. Now, there are countries that I would love to visit, but the operative word is visit, because I’m coming home. Some years ago, we were going to Omsk in Russia and I thought I would have a nervous breakdown at the thought of it. It’s just not in my make up to go too far from Ireland, because it’s my home. I like it here, my family and friends are here and it’s a great place, despite all its many faults.

Sgt Maurice McCabe loves his country too. As a decent member of society and as an esteemed member of An Gárda Siochána (our police force), he noticed wrongdoings and decided to do something about it. The citizens of Ireland are proud of Sgt McCabe and we owe him a huge debt of thanks. However, not everybody is all that thankful. Some people actually tried to destroy the man in the most despicable way possible. Recent events and revelations show just how dangerous this country can be and the depths that these people are prepared to sink to.

Ireland has been through the mill in recent years. Our international reputation has taken somewhat of a battering. We lost our financial sovereignty and we lost some of our best young people to the affore mentioned emigration. Even today, most major decisions have to be given the thumbs up by our European overlords. We have the potential catastrophic impact from the upcoming Brexit. As I type this piece, we have more turmoil, this time the great and the good try to outmanoeuvre each other.

Somebody is telling lies, or at the very least, being economical with the truth. To me, it seems like they were found out, they tripped up and were caught, pure and simple. They bought as much time as they could, to find a way out of it all, with the least amount of damage. Rest assured though, they will do anything to protect themselves and then, they will find a way to sneak away, with their gilt edged pensions, at the same time, being handsomely paid for their malfeasance.

Watching the various television programmes and reading the newspapers, I wonder how Sgt McCabe feels. Does he feel vindicated? I wonder would he do the right thing again, if he had his time to live over. If another person saw similar wrong doings, would they speak up? Would any of us speak up?

As I stated at the outset, I absolutely love living in Ireland and could never live anywhere else. I take pride in the country and I place the responsibility of running the country in the hands of certain people. It is a huge responsibility that should not be taken lightly and it is an honour that should be cherished.

It’s a pity that those people haven’t got the same pride that I have, or an ounce of the courage that Sgt McCabe has. They will move on, tomorrow it will be another day with another headline. Very soon, they can remove their snouts from that trough and hop on board the gravy train.

Getting the knickers in a knot.

I went to Clonmel yesterday evening and treated myself to a new game for my Xbox. My friends are thrilled, because they all know that I’ll get bored of it in a week or two and they’ll get to play Assassins Creed Origins for free. I can almost see them rubbing their hands with glee when the word breaks that I’ve bought a new game.

While I waited for the thing to install and download the seemingly never ending amount of updates, I had a quick look through my social media feed. I was in fits of laughing with the rubbish I read. Sometimes, it becomes a bit farcical, some of the stuff we come up with.

As you know, this Friday is known as “Black Friday”. This is the latest nonsense that we have imported from across the Atlantic. Online stores and retailers are getting their knickers in a knot as to how much money they will make from us.

(Just a thought, but what if we didn’t buy anything online this Friday. Instead, what if we took a trip to our local shops and spent the money there instead. That’s what I’m doing and I’ll even be spoken to in those shops by name, not a reference number. It’s so much better and the few bob spent local, stays local)

Anyway, back to my original point. A publican in Thurles is running a big Black Friday event, selling cheap alcohol for the day. Immediately, the snowflakes are up in arms. They would hate to be left out, so they’re getting their knickers in a knot about it. Some of the headlines, spearheaded by our national press are laughable. This guy should be ashamed of himself, its disgraceful behaviour, he should show a social responsibility, down with this sort of thing and so on, you get the drift.

Some pub in Dublin reported huge profits over the weekend too. Apparently that’s bad as well. I’ve never been in the pub in question, so I can’t comment on it. But, the snowflakes are upset about it, for some reason or other.

I smoked for well over 20 years, even being a chain smoker for some of that time. On the night our child came home, I smoked my last cigarette.  I decided that I’d like to be around to see him grow up and I made the decision all by myself. Not a snowflake in sight, as I threw the rest of the cigarettes into the bin. I started to take a bit of exercise and to protect my health. I’ve gone the other way now however, as I despise cigarettes with a passion. I detest the things and I find the smell of smoke disgusting. As for my physical fitness, it has become a passion and I take it seriously, very seriously in fact.

Another day I went to my doctor for a check-up and she asked me how much I drank. In typical Irish fashion, I answered “ah sure, the usual”. Now there’s one thing that you cannot do and that’s tell a lie to a doctor. They are professional people and they can see a lie about 10 miles away. She took my bloods and a few days later, she called me back in. Your body definitely doesn’t lie and my doctor had all the proof she needed in front of her. Cut it down was the advice, so I cut it out. Another ground breaking decision that I made myself. That was over two years ago now. I wonder if  I qualify for an award of some kind for all these decisions.

We have this image around the world about being the party people and loving life. We also have the marketing gurus working on other images, from sports advertising, to clothing lines. The snowflakes hate that too, as it’s a bad image to be portraying internationally.  I draw the line at those nauseating cringe worthy photo ops with foreign dignitaries, when a pint of beer is placed into their hand. Personally, I hate that bit, as I prefer to think of Ireland maturing as a nation of young entrepreneurs, bringing a new vision, hope and future to the country and leaving the ould nonsense behind.

However, just because I don’t agree with it, does that mean it’s wrong? No, it does not. People have every right to make up their own mind on things, without any interference from me or anybody else for that matter.

For many years, Ireland was controlled by the Catholic Church, uncomfortably so. Now, I’m not over religious either, so I can live happily without those shackles being placed on us anymore. That kind of power can corrupt and there is over whelming proof that this power did indeed get way too strong and it’s no harm to see the back of it. There are still people who would rather those days, but in my opinion, they can have them, as they play no positive role in any progressive society.

I’ve spoken before about my passion and belief in freedom of speech, thought and action and it’s something that I believe in. It needs to be protected and nurtured, at whatever cost. Many people, much better than me, gave their lives and fought for that freedom. Many column inches are given over to the threats we face from fundamentalism and its kind, but I often wonder if there is a threat from within, thankfully not of the fundamentalist type, but a threat all the same.

Are we in danger of becoming a nanny state? Where is that freedom to do your own thing gone? To the best of my knowledge, nobody is forced to go into a pub and avail of cheap alcohol. If people wish to do that, it’s their own business and more power to them. If they wish to get shit faced at the weekend, that’s their own business, it’s nothing to me. If you want to smoke, you know the associated risks, go ahead, it’s your own business. If you want to take up a dangerous pastime like swimming with sharks or something even more dangerous like cycling on Irish roads, go ahead, you’re right and it is your right. You have different sexual interests, so what, that’s your own business, as my dad used to say “the gun is your own”. It’s about time that people stood up and started taking responsibility for their own lives and what they do with them.

There is nothing wrong with asking for advice and either heeding that advice or ignoring it. However, there are people out there, making a nice living telling the rest of us how to live our lives. Not a day goes by without some z-list celebrity telling us how they plan on changing the world.

So I say, let them get their knickers in a knot, live your life and just because certain people don’t agree with it, doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Remember, we’re only here for a good time, not a long time and if you upset a few people in the meantime, maybe that’s a good thing.

Would you do it to your own?

It’s Saturday afternoon now and I’m not long out of the scratcher. I have trouble sleeping, but when I do sleep, it’s brilliant. I was in such a deep sleep today, that when I woke and looked at the clock, I thought I was late for work. The Spurs V Arsenal match is about to start on telly, our child is inside playing his Play station with his friends, my wife is gone to Cork, something to do with work. The dog is snuggled up here beside me; she loves Saturday’s as she loves human company. So, it’s a typical family  Saturday environment, everybody doing their own thing, nothing to worry about, enjoying life. We’re very lucky and we know it.

A quick look at my news feed however, tells me that not everybody is as lucky as we are. The carnage on the roads in Ireland continues mercilessly. Thirteen cyclists have now lost their lives on Irish roads this year, compared to ten in the entire of last year. It’s shocking, it’s scary and it’s tragic. Thirteen empty places at this year’s Christmas dinner table, lives changed forever, children left without a parent. The reason why, they chose to ride a fucking bike.

Now, my apologies for my choice language, it is not typical of me in my writing and I do my best to avoid it.

This was my first proper week of winter training, so I put in a big effort. I have signed up for the Wicklow 200 next June. It’s rated as Ireland’s toughest sportive, so it will be a hard day out and training started immediately.

It was a typical weather week in Ireland too. My first training spin on Monday took me out the Cork road to Mitchelstown. It was nice and dry on the way out, but once I turned at the Fir Grove Hotel, the heavens opened. The rain on the way back was torrential and it was freezing cold (a bit like summer really, except it’s a little warmer then). Wednesday evening was a similar course, with about 10km added on, the emphasis on maintaining a higher heart rate and average speed. Weather conditions were okay, very cold but mercifully, no wind, I hate wind. Thursday night was a bit easier, with another rider along for company. It was just below freezing and I put in a few hard efforts here and there, raising my heart rate, allowing it to drop, before raising it again. Friday, was a brief excursion onto the hills, with a trip over The Vee. Today is a rest day and tomorrow, hopefully I’ll go out with the gang. If not, I’ll head out on my MTB for a while. All in all, a tough, hard week, with a big effort put in, an effort that will hopefully reap dividends next June.

Most winter training takes place at night, due to a minor inconvenience called work. Much as we would like it to do so, cycling won’t pay the bills or feed the family. I take every precaution I can and if I can be so bold, I actually think that cycling at night is safer than people think.

Please bear in mind, this is MY opinion and only that. I  AM a member of a cycling club and I’m NOT speaking on their behalf, any of my comments on social media, or on radio are my own.

Anyway, I use top quality lighting. Up front, it lights the road about 20 – 25 metres in front of me. I use similar quality lights on the rear, on flashing pulse mode. They are extremely bright and very effective. I wear a LAZER helmet, with built in rear facing light, again on pulse mode. I keep to a safe road, with a wide hard shoulder and little traffic, as the adjoining motorway takes all the heavy stuff. I have my beacon activated on STRAVA, so the lads at home will know where I am, if needed. I must be doing things right, as the Garda Traffic Corps are a regular sight on the same road and they pass me without any problems. I dare say, those people wouldn’t be long making me aware of my responsibilities if I was falling below the acceptable standards.

Also this week, I’ve had a few close escapes. Now, when you are close to training 250km in a few days on Irish roads, during winter, in the pitch dark, on your own, maybe you should come to expect one or two incidents. I’ll let you, the reader, decide.

The other night, I was just approaching home, about 200 metres or so to go, yep that close.  As I stated earlier, I had all my lights operating, it’s a lit up area and I was using the designated cycle lane. Up ahead, I saw them, a few yobs and I knew their intentions. There was a car approaching behind, so I’m keeping an eye out for it, trying to get it into my peripheral vision. I’m watching the group too, because I know exactly what is about to happen. Sure as hell, they don’t disappoint and as I approach, one of them steps out in front of me, in a deliberate attempt to knock me off. I swerve, onto the main road, to avoid him and to avoid myself injury. You see, I’m a musician for a living, we don’t get sick pay or disability benefit. Thankfully that car is a bit further back than I thought. Then the usual name calling and expletives begin, strangely enough when you’re 50 metres away, never to your face.

So, I’ll give the yobs the right of reply. Why?

Yesterday, heading out on a training spin, I approached a set of temporary traffic lights near a local school. My light was green, so I passed through, but the Ford Mondeo coming against me ran straight through their light which was red. He gesticulated at me to get out of his way. I pointed out the fact that I was in the right and that he broke a red light. I got the usual response for my troubles,

So, I’ll give the driver the right of reply. Why?

As I arrived home yesterday from the same training spin, I approached a very dangerous junction. It was close to school finish time, so the road was very busy. I covered my brakes and kept a close eye out, expecting anything. I wouldn’t be let down as the lady in the red car came straight through the junction, into my path, forcing me out into the oncoming traffic to avoid her. (For what it’s worth, I was riding a world tour bike yesterday. It’s my pride and joy, so I’m very protective of it. I will heal, the bike won’t). The lady got stuck in traffic further up the road, so I rolled up and thanked her for her manners and road etiquette. She maintained a stony face looking forward, hadn’t even the decency to look me in the eye, let alone just say sorry, I fucked up.

So, here’s your right of reply opportunity. Why?

Isn’t it comforting to know that we are sharing our roads and communities with these people. People that don’t give one damn about the rest of us. People who are quite prepared to cause injury or worse and just don’t bloody care.

Now, the usual old nonsense is trotted out about cyclists. Only this week, the cretin George Hook disgraced himself once again. He was on BBC television  this time, using Nazi salutes in reference to cyclists. What a wonderful ambassador this idiot is for our country. Really, I shouldn’t even give him the publicity, as I would have a greater respect for the dirt on my frame after rolling through cow shit than I would have for him.

Thirteen families are heartbroken as 2017 comes to a close. There will be more, I hope I’m not one of them. I enjoy my sport, I enjoy my life and I love nothing more than my family, as we go about our business and have our ups and downs.

So, my message to certain people out there. You are obviously quite prepared and happy to destroy my life, as you have proven this week. Would you do it to your own?

 

Silence is golden.

Hands up how many people out there ever heard of Rohingya, North-West Burma? Ever heard of Myanmar’s leader Aung San Suu Kyi? Did you know that she was given the freedom of Dublin in 1999? At the time she was under house arrest, but she accepted it in person in 2012. Nope, I didn’t know any of that myself. I copied the above information from the Journal.ie, as I hadn’t a clue what all the hoo haa was about.

Unless you were on a remote island or living in another dimension, you can’t but have noticed that Bob Geldof handed back his freedom of Dublin award yesterday, as he didn’t want to be associated with Ms Kyi, or should that be Mrs Suu Kyi, or, oh so what ,you get my meaning. Actually, I didn’t know that Bob had the freedom of Dublin either, such things don’t really register with most people. So, for the record, he can’t graze his livestock on St Stephen’s Green anymore or whatever other nonsense these things involve. Sky News covered it, BBC News covered it, there were gazillions of news channels talking about it, such was its importance and significance.

Bob is getting a bit of flak on social media too, because he took a knighthood from the Queen. Now, I’m really sorry about this, but I didn’t know he had a knighthood either. This is all way too much for me to take in. So, heretofore, he is known as Sir Bob.

Now, while I do admire the likes of Sir Bob and Bono for their efforts and how they use their fame or status to highlight a problem, I suppose it must be a good thing. I’d rather they just played good music however. Well actually Sir Bob never really played good music. With the exception of Rat Trap, the rest of his music was awful tripe. Let’s admit it; he was shockingly bad at Live Aid.

How many people heard of August Landmesser? To cut a long story short, he was a shipyard worker in Nazi Germany. He is alleged to be the person in the iconic photograph taken in Germany, 1936. As the other people around him give the Nazi salute, one person is seen with his arms across his chest, refusing to comply. One small statement, with the possibility of serious repercussions for him, but he’s not afraid to make it. Imagine if 1930’s Germany had social media, imagine reading the comments.

Anyway, I digress. I’m a peacenik, I deplore war, I despise death, destruction and the obscene disgusting amounts of money that are thrown into a death machine. I despise the way scientists are employed to find new ways to kill, maim and torture human beings. I despise how certain countries can find huge amounts of money to buy weaponry but can’t afford basic healthcare for its own citizens. It’s disgusting that children go to bed hungry at night, how people scream in agony suffering from dreadful illnesses, while billions can be found to murder and main other innocents.

Did you know that more than 3000 Palestinian children were killed between September 2000 and April 2017 (Source: Middle East Monitor). Did you know that according to a 1999 Unicef Report, 500,000 (that’s half a million) Iraqi children died due to economic sanctions. Bear in mind now that this is “before” the invasion in 2003. So many people have died and have suffered in Iraq, that there is even an Iraqi Body Count website. It counts the amount of people killed, since Mr Bush and Mr Blair decided to launch Operation Iraqi Freedom, (I like to refer to it as Operation Iraqi Liberation or OIL for short). I’m sure the innocent Iraqi people will be forever grateful to them.

Sarajevo, Somalia, East Timor, Crimea (our Russian friends would hate to be left out of proceedings), Afghanistan, it never ends. Even Mr Obama, now he was lovely wasn’t he, he authorised 563 drone strikes, killing between 300 and 800 civilians, depending on which report you believe. A lovely man, he even won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2009 for his efforts.

This guy stood in front of an excited crowd in Dublin telling us that our best days were ahead of us and coined that ridiculous phrase “Is Féidir Linn”. Every time I see a bumper sticker on a car with those words, I want to rip it off.

Because, in Ireland, we’re a slightly complicit too, as we continue to allow the use of our airports to the war machine. It’s amazing that there hasn’t been one check on any aircraft, to ascertain what they are carrying or what they are using our airports for. The “economic benefits” are more important than the deaths of innocents.

We like to get our heads patted by our superiors, telling us how good we are. I often wonder why the Irish authorities don’t just examine a few planes, just to shut up people like me. I mean, it would put the argument to bed for all time. “There you go, we examined half a dozen military planes and we found nothing, now, shut up and move on”.

But, imagine if they examined a few planes and found something. Imagine if they found that our superiors were telling lies. Imagine if weaponry, or god forbid some misfortunate human being, was being transported through our airports. (We have a nice clean name for those flights of misery; we call them “Rendition” flights. It sounds much better than torture flights).  Imagine if our supposed neutrality was ruined, if our good international reputation was in tatters, all the hard work and wonderful achievements by Irish peacekeepers over generations, destroyed. As for the political fallout, that would be devastating. No political party or individual would ever recover from something like that.

So, it’s easier to fob people off, tell them to shut up, get them to sit down, be good boys and girls. There’s nothing to see here. While the minions are castigating each other, they will leave the establishment alone, so everybody’s happy and that’s good, right.

It’s easy to sit behind a computer screen and knock the likes of Sir Bob and Bono. It’s simple to criticise them over their financial affairs and call them hypocrites. It’s an Irish tradition to knock people down; we hate to see anybody up on a perch and god, whatever you do, don’t cosy up to her majesty, that’s beyond the pale. We hate it when a person does something out of the blue that we weren’t expecting, when they catch us off guard. If that’s something good, there must be an ulterior motive, so we better get them down to earth and fast.

I started out on this piece and the plan was to jump onto the bandwagon and give out about Sir Bob and Bono. I mean everybody else is doing it, so why shouldn’t I. It would be more in their line to pay their taxes, get down off the moral high ground and leave the rest of us alone. They have a cheek, licking up to the Queen and then try to dictate to the rest of us how to live our lives. But you know what, maybe they have a point and for all the posing and publicity, maybe their hearts are in the right place.

In the words of Edmund Burke, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing”.

(Photograph taken from Internet)

My first ever product review.

In the cycling community, some sections take a poor view of people that wear full team kit. I’m not going to use the term that’s used to describe them, as it’s not very flattering. I don’t think it’s fair to be honest. If you support a team, why shouldn’t you tell the world? Therefore, in an effort to stop those sections sniping, I say to hell what people think, wear what you like.

A few weeks ago, I had a few quid left over at the end of the month. It doesn’t happen very often, so it was a time to savour and enjoy. As Winter was quickly moving in, some new Winter cycling gear was a good idea, but where do I start? I’m always on about supporting local business and I stand over that, it’s a duty. However, I also support Irish, Ireland and will continue to do so.

Aqua Blue Sport presented me with one of their team bikes during the Summer and went out of their way to make the day so special for me and my family. They have a huge social media presence and remain in close contact with their supporters and fans. They are Irish owned; they have Irish riders and they fly the Irish flag all over the world. They did so much for me, why not give something back? So, armed with my unexpected windfall, I went online.

I bought a Winter Jacket, A Gilet, Winter bib tights and arm warmers. I already had the Summer gear, so my ensemble was now completed; I was finally a “full kit w…..”

However, this is a review, it’s all fine going onto the interweb, buying stuff, waiting for the postman to arrive, excitedly opening the packaging, but is the stuff any good?

First things first, the delivery time is 2 days. It seems that you no sooner have your computer turned off, than the post man is at the door with your stuff. The website is secure, fast, easy to navigate and well maintained. There’s nothing worse than going online, spending days entering information, jumping through hoops, crossing this T, dotting that I, before you complete the purchase. I like to go online, see what I want, buy it and not have to wait too long for it to arrive.

So, after 2 days my order arrived. Like a little child on Christmas morning, I ripped the nice Aqua Blue packaging open, to reveal its contents. All wrapped up safely in Vermarc bags were my items. They look good, they feel good and they will compliment my Aqua Blue bike perfectly. Only problem is, that the bike is under wraps for the Winter, so this gear will be worn on my Winter bike.

I hadn’t done a long training spin with a few weeks, so it was time to “pull the finger out”. A plan was formulated to cycle to Cork yesterday. It’s an easy enough spin (85km from my house to Patrick St) for a person with lots of miles in their legs. There are a few drags up by the “Glocca” and around Watergrasshill. My biggest worry was the potential for wind, as I hate that. I woke up, with the familiar Winter sound of rain hammering off the window and the wind howling. It’s always a bad sign of a day when our dog Lucy would rather “hold it” than go out in the morning. You know, I like Winter training, as I believe that you appreciate the Summer even more after it. Your bike handling improves once as you’re on slippery roads most of the time, you learn how to react to difficult conditions and the regular taste of road kill actually improves your immune system (well, maybe that’s pushing things a bit)

There were a few odd looks here at home, as I began setting up my lights and getting my gear ready. I overheard a few comments in the background. “Lunacy”, “mid life crisis” and “nut job” stood out.

So, dressed up in my brand new Aqua Blue gear, I headed out the Cork road. Miraculously, the wind had eased a bit, the rain was only heavy and it was only nearly as cold as The Kelly Tour back in August. The spray from a few trucks soon tested my new gear, but I noticed was how warm and snug I felt. Through Kilbehenny, I sat in behind a 1990 Ford 5000, the man driving totally oblivious to my presence. In Mitchelstown, the tractor was too slow for me, so I left him behind. Outside the town, I stopped to help out two ladies. They were getting a warning light in their car, to check their rear left wheel. Everything seemed to be okay, it was possibly a sensor fault, but I directed them to the nearest dealership to get it checked and advised them to stay off the motorway.

Up through the “Glocca”, the wind and the rain got heavier, but it really didn’t bother me. This Aqua Blue jacket is good, very good in fact. The “waterproof” gloves that I bought on discount elsewhere are not all that waterproof, but admittedly, yesterday’s conditions would test anything. Through a wet, miserable Fermoy, I was nearly wiped out on the cycle lane by a guy in a car. It was possibly my own fault for being there; you know the story by now, it’s always the cyclists fault.

Next, a very wet Rathgormac and a hard drag through Watergrasshill, I was rolling along happily. My shoe covers have now decided that they are not waterproof either and the “big ring” on my bike is not working. However, my new Aqua Blue gear is working, so I’m happy enough.

By now, the thought of a coffee is on my mind and I put the head down a bit. I pass another rider near Glanmire. Fair play to him, he has all his lights working too, but it’s not a day for hanging around talking. Through Glanmire and I have the bit between my teeth as I approach “Da Capital”. The wind is picking up a bit once again and the rain has gone back to only heavy, but I’m still dry as a bone, warm and comfortable. I hammer along by the River Lee, where there is a regatta taking place, I can almost smell the coffee.

I arrive in Patrick Street, after an uneventful 85km from home, with the exception of the idiot in Fermoy. The gang have come down in the car, but they are in Mahon Point another few km’s away. I fire the address into my phone and it takes me straight out, avoiding all the busy roads and traffic. One funny thing did happen, as I got a few admiring glances from people, assuming that I was a real cyclist. Looking the part I’d say, that’s about all, as I didn’t hit many branches on the ability tree on the way down.

Anyway, I arrive in Mahon Point and the first thing I notice is how warm and dry I am. My gloves are filled with sweaty rain water, my shoes are filled with filth and god only knows what else. My bike looks like it has done Paris Roubaix, but the Aqua Blue gear has worked brilliantly and I actually feel like I could go again.

Up until now, I always picked the cheaper or discount options when it came to Winter gear. This stuff will face the worst weather, so is it worth spending extra money on? Well, after yesterday, all I can say is yes, it is worth spending a few quid extra on Winter gear.

There are loads of options out there and we all like to support local and Irish. I might get a few odd looks from people because of the “full kit w…..” mentality, but you know what, I don’t really care.

I’m bone dry, warm, feeling comfortable and I’m showing my support for an Irish team. This Aqua Blue Kit is excellent and well worth consideration.

I think the government is right.

They say that you should never do a blog on a Friday. As it’s heading into the weekend, nobody will read it, as they have better things to be doing. You should never post a blog on a Monday either, as most people are still in weekend mode and they will hardly read it. Since most people don’t read my blogs anyway, I can throw conventional out the window and plough on regardless. If that doesn’t put people off, the headline surely will.

As I head into the weekend, I’m going to do something startling, something I’ve never done before, I’m going to say well done to the government and I think they have done something right. As I typed that line, I’m looking out over Market Square and thankfully, there are no signs of people coming, wearing white coats, so I might just get away with this.

“What in the name of god caused this”, I hear you ask. “Could this happen again, is there a cure”. Well there is no need to worry, it possibly will not happen again, so no cure is needed. I’ll be back to castigating our illustrious leaders next week again, as they stumble haplessly from one crisis to another.

So, what have they done this time that is so inspirational?

I’m going to turn the clock back 35 years, to February 1982 and my first driving lesson. As the instructor in the dual controlled Opel Ascona explained the pedals and controls, I couldn’t wait to get onto the road. My parents were paying hard earned money for the lessons and the instructor Bob, was a really nice man. He took me out of town and let me take over. Here I was, 17 years old, at the controls of a motorised vehicle on public roads and I loved it. For the next 5 weeks, I met with Bob on a Saturday morning and he took me from the basics, to the more complicated stuff.

During the week, I’d practice in my dad’s Vauxhall Viva at home. Reversing in and out the gate, three point turns, maintenance stuff like dipping it for oil, changing a wheel, how to do important checks on fluid levels etc. Now and then, dad would take me out onto the road and it was a nightmare. If there was one thing he was good at, it was driving. For the rest of us, it was horrendous because we would never reach a satisfactory level in his eyes. Everything, from the smallest car to the largest articulated truck, he drove it at some stage. He didn’t take messing on the road, a speed limit was there for a reason, you looked and thought ahead and the best advice I was ever given, to always expect the unexpected. At 17 years old, I saw myself as more like Nigel Mansell or Ayrton Senna, but dad didn’t buy that nonsense. His attitude was, you’re on the road,  it’s a dangerous place, so you conduct yourself.

Two years later, I got the date for my driving test. The night before, dad said that he didn’t think I’d pass. I had way too many bad habits, but typical of me, the more people tell me that I can’t do something, that’s the time I will make sure that I do it. So, the following morning, I went in and passed the thing. I came out from the driving test centre with a certificate of competence; I was now, a fully qualified driver. Thank god there was no social media in 1984 or the whole planet would have to be told I had passed.

That evening, everybody was thrilled for me; I was one of the first young fellas in the area to have a full driving licence. A good friend of our family was at the house that evening and she quickly brought me down to earth. “You’ve learned to drive, now learn to stop”, was her advice.

So, fast forward to the present day. I’m still driving and I hate it. In actual fact I detest driving and everything to do with it. I walked away from a perfectly good job that was paying good money, had good terms and conditions and was reasonably secure, because that job was as a driver.

For a person whose career ambition as a teenager was to drive articulated trucks on the continent, all I can say is, I had a lucky escape. Why do I  hate it so much? Surely, one of the greatest thrills is sitting behind the wheel of a car and going where you wish, under your own steam.

The problem for me was and still is, facing Irish roads every day. If you look back at the Irish roads of the 1980’s and today’s motorway network, you would have to ask if it’s the same country. Only a few months ago, we drove from our home in Tipperary to Belfast and didn’t leave the motorway / dual carriageway once. A trip to Cork is no different than a quick trip to town and Dublin is only 2 hours away. The motorways and modern vehicles are pure marvels of engineering, safer than ever before. It’s a great time to be a driver right?

No, in my opinion, it’s not a great time. There are people out there, who see the roads as their own personal race track. Where we live, it sounds like Brands Hatch at certain times of the day, as the usual idiots with their high powered death machines race past. They show total and blatant disregard for anybody who might have the misfortune to use the road at the same time as them. The modern car is equipped with “hazard warning lights”, which for some strange reason makes it disappear when it’s double parked, outside a school or bank for instance. Have you ever taken notice of certain people’s conduct outside a school?  We live in a small town, which is bypassed. There are approach roads to every part of town from the bypass, yet, truck drivers still decide to drive through the town centre, past schools, shops etc. Why?

An unnamed Irish school made the headlines recently, for asking students NOT to cycle to school, because of health and safety concerns. As usual, the Irish public turned to the expert on seemingly everything, Joe Duffy, to vent their spleens and to complain. I wonder how many of them would allow their children cycle to School. As an avid cyclist, I wouldn’t allow my child cycle to school on his own. Admittedly, we do walk to school, so he gets a bit of exercise, but cycling, no way, it’s just too dangerous.

So, what has this got to do with my support for recent government decisions? Well, it’s not going to win me any new friends and I might lose a Christmas card or two, but I think that the recent clampdown on unaccompanied learner drivers is actually a good idea. Now, I’m leaving myself open to criticism here, so to save you the bother, I’ll throw in the usual arguments on your behalf: “Where else do I learn to drive, only on the road”, “How will I get to work if I can’t drive”, “Most fully qualified drivers think they know it all”. I have no doubt that people will come up with a few more, so off you go.

Look at it this way however. Would you sit on an airplane, heading on your holidays if you heard that the pilot had failed his test? Would you allow an electrician work on your home if he had failed his exams? I doubt it, I know I wouldn’t. Yet, people in Ireland can drive to the driving test centre. There, in the eyes of a fully trained, unbiased professional, they are considered not skilled enough and they fail. They get back into their car that they have just been considered unskilled enough to drive and they drive home again. Is that not lunacy?

There are countries around the world where learning to drive is part of the school curriculum. I think it’s a fantastic idea and should be introduced at secondary school level in Ireland. The chances of it happening, well I won’t hold my breath.

As a nation, we have to accept that a licence to drive is a highly acclaimed, professional qualification. Anything less than that, makes a nonsense of it and as we have seen, the carnage on our roads will continue. Are learner drivers solely responsible for that carnage, absolutely not, it’s a ridiculous statement. However, a learner is just that, a learner. They have proven that they are not proficient enough and are not quite ready to take to the roads on their own.

I’m afraid that they will have to wait, like we all did, until they are qualified. It may not seem fair, but that’s the way it has to be. I’m driving with 35 years now and I still learn something new every time I go out onto the road. So, you NEVER know it all, NEVER.

So, in this case, I fully support the government and I think they have it right. Will it win me any new friends, I doubt it.

 

Asking the hard questions.

I think that I’m becoming a bit of a hippy in my old age. I get huge comfort and peace from nature and the world around me. Perfect solitude and inner peace, is just getting away from it all on a Saturday morning for a few hours. This weekend, was a typical case in point, where I headed out on my mountain bike, up the mountain and deep into the forest, on my own. With nothing for company only a tame Robin, a few deer keeping an eye on me and a few other critters, I ploughed on, until I found a nice spot to relax awhile. Now, you need to work hard to get up there, as the hills are very steep and they sap the strength from your legs. There is nothing easy on the mountain roads and every push on the pedals can be an effort. The rewards though, are amazing, as you find a spot to crack out the Kenco and just relax, with your thoughts.

This weekend, I brought some new technology with me, in the form of a new mobile Wi-Fi device that I received during the week. There is no better place to test new kit, than out on the Galtees, because if it works out there, it will work anywhere. So, as the wind rustled through the trees, as my Robin friend waited for a few tit bits and as the rain fell onto a blanket of winter leaves, I connected my phone to the device and went online. It was impressive to say the least, having all this hi tech wizardry available to me in the middle of nowhere.

I checked all my usual stuff, such as Social Media feeds, emails (still waiting for the big breakthrough to arrive), a quick read of the papers and even managed to play a piece of video on the RTE player. So, I’m sitting on my own, in the freezing cold, in the middle of nowhere, drinking coffee, with a Robin for company, watching The Late Late Show. Bliss pure bliss.

The Late Late Show, a paragon of Irishness, may I be bold as to refer to it as a bit of an institution? As children growing up, one of the treats was being allowed up to watch the Late Late Show. The Late Late toy show is the highlight of the year for most children. As a musician or actor, if you get onto the Late late Show, it can define your career. Many very controversial subjects have been discussed on the Late Late Show over generations. I can still remember the night in 1987, when they introduced an unsuspecting Irish nation to condoms and the shock and revulsion that followed. Say what you like about them though, they were never afraid to tackle the big issues of the day, even if it was “rubber johnnies”.

Anyway, I’m watching the Late Late Show on my new fancy techy stuff and then, “he” comes on. Ibrahim Halawa is Irish, with Egyptian heritage (Are you sure about this one Ted?). Everybody knows his story by now, about his arrest in Cairo, his detention for 4 years, the pressure placed on the Irish government to intervene on his behalf, the horrible conditions he endured, the torture, the starvation and his hunger strike. Then, his eventual release, his homecoming, we even got some political types to rush to Dublin Airport for the photo-op.

So, I’m still sitting in a forest, watching all this stuff and the first thing that comes into my mind is, “Jaysus, he looks well”. Now, I’m not an authority on the Egyptian prison system, or the conditions contained therein, but I have a fair idea about diet and how important it is. In my case for instance, I am incapable of logical thought, without lots of caffeine in the morning and if I get hungry, stand clear. So, this lad has been through the ringer and he looks like he could have stepped off a film set.

The interview went on for a while and to be honest, I got a bit bored. I felt that there were a few more questions that maybe should have been asked and weren’t, maybe a few harder questions. The lure of a really good single track about 50 yards away was getting too hard to ignore any longer, so I started to shut down all my gadgetry. A quick look at the newspaper feed on Social Media made me sit back onto my tree stump and read a few comments however. As usual, Ireland is divided on the subject or Mr Halawa.  Everybody seemed to have an opinion, some for, some against. Some of the comments were well though out, well articulated, some were laughable. For the record here, I’m not over convinced and I think that Mr Halawa has a few bits more explaining to do. I felt the interview seemed a little choreographed, seemed way too easy and I feel that instead of being in control, the interviewer seemed like he was taking a back seat. There are a few parts of the story that just don’t add up in my estimation and I wish that they did. There may be a very good explanation for this; I sincerely hope that there is.

However, even more troubling for Irish people, is the following question: How come, whenever anybody asks a question that may be a little hard hitting, a little bit close to the bone, a little bit unsettling or with the capacity to take a person out of their comfort zone, some people get a hissy fit?

The “Racist” word was thrown around at the weekend; “Bigot” was another one.

Why is it wrong to ask hard questions of people? If we feel that a person’s story doesn’t add up, why should we be afraid to ask them? Does it make us racist or bigoted because we ask a question of somebody?

If you choose to live in this country, you are welcomed with open arms. You will find that Irish society and its people will accept you, they will support you and they will treat you as their own. Sure, we have a couple of hot heads and eejits, but I guarantee that most countries in the world have them. As Irish people, we have been glad of Great Britain, America and Canada in the past, so it’s nice to be able to return the favour. One thing though, this is Ireland, so if you decide to move here, it’s not wherever you came from, bear that in mind. You will enjoy some of the greatest freedoms, choices, and lifestyles, on a par with anything in the world. You will be trusted and you will have rights and opportunities that you could never have thought possible.

However, that trust should not be taken for granted, as is easily lost or can be betrayed. If something doesn’t add up, Ireland, as any other country, has a right to ask you to explain yourself. You will get a fair hearing and you will get a fair judgement.

There are people living among us that love to label people. These labels can be insulting, inciting racism or bigotry. These people play no positive role in society; they are out to cause trouble. As for me, I haven’t a racist or bigoted bone in my body. I have friends from other countries and cultures and I’m proud to know them all. I have friends with different sexual orientations, whose company I am proud to keep. I’m not particularly religious, although I would consider myself a Christian, but I know people that are very religious, they accept me and I accept them, it’s called tolerance. However, I reserve the right to ask them questions, as they have every right to ask the same of me. If these questions are a bit close to the bone, that’s the price we must pay.

 

 

 

 

A Little Victory

Quite a long time ago, around the beginning of the eighties I think, we had a visitor at school. A lady arrived from the local bank, bringing good tidings for us all. We each got an ATM card, a bank account and best of all, £5 in the account. We would never see a poor day again. I can actually remember the day I used the card for the first time. Standing at the hole in the wall in town, the card was inserted, the PIN was entered on the keypad and the screen sprung to life. Surrounded by half a dozen 16 year olds, we waited with teenage enthusiasm to see what would happen. “INSUFFICIENT FUNDS” was the message on the screen. As I still see this message to this day, it’s proof that not everything has changed in the intervening years.

Fast forward quite a few years and the time came to see if we could buy a house. I still remember the day when we headed into town, dressed to the nines for a meeting with the banks and their Mortgage Advisors.

At the time, you had to have 10% of the house price saved. If you hadn’t, then there was no point even considering talking to the bank. I actually laugh now at the histrionics of people when they are advised to have their deposit and how they feel so hard done by.

Anyway, we got a mortgage, fixed for the first 5 years at an APR of 9.95%. “I don’t know what a tracker mortgage is” was a long way off in 1995 and we signed our lives away for 20 years. The bank remained in close contact with us in the early years. Every now and then, we would get a phone call to know if things were ok and if we had any problems. We actually got to know our mortgage advisor personally and enjoyed her company on a few occasions. I’ll be honest here, we actually felt supported by the bank and while the interest rates were ridiculous by today’s comparisons, we never felt we were on our own. There were times when we were at the pin of our collars to make our payments, but we seemed to get through it, sometimes by the skin of our teeth.

20 years is a long time and our new home saw its fair share of moments. We often say that if the walls could talk, imagine the story they would have. The happy times, the sad times, the funny times, the exciting times and of course, the odd row, thrown in for good measure. Our home, our “little bit of land” is our sanctuary, where we lock the world outside and do our own thing.

20 years is a long time for a country too. Ireland changed immeasurably in that time.  It’s been well documented and reported on, but as a nation, I feel that we lost our soul and when you lose that, it’s not good. Let down by government, let down by greed, let down by the pillars of society, Irish people were cast aside, like pieces of dirt. To the elite, saving your political skin or protecting your arse was more important than serving the people you were elected to serve.

On September 29^th 2008, the Irish Finance Minister announced a broad state guarantee, to save the Irish banks. There are various estimates of how much Irish people paid to recapitalise the banks, so we’ll just say it was a lot, a hell of a lot. We were assured that it was for the greater good, in the national interest and it was now time to “take one for the team”. Irish people took on the unjustified weight and took on the debt they were never responsible for.  While our politicians became the poster boys in Europe, genuflecting to their superiors, getting their heads patted, like Labradors after performing a new trick, the damage at home was catastrophic. To the powers that be, it was business as usual and they continued to play golf in the South of France, they still drank their fine wines and lived the high life.

The fallout from that infamous night in 2008 is well documented, written in the annals of Irish history, for our children to read and gasp over, in times to come. Normally, you would say that’s the end of the story, but you must remember that this is Ireland, nothing is straight forward here. You would think that admonishment would be severe, that the people responsible for the malfeasance, ineptitude and irresponsibility would be held to account. I’m afraid that’s where you would be wrong too, this is Ireland and that’s not how it works. The Irish people had saved the banking system and their children would pick up the tab, the banks would now be eternally grateful, would now go down on bended knee and thank them. They would beg forgiveness and plead for a second chance. They would endeavour to help the people that suffered so much from their stupidity and mistakes. Well I’m afraid, once again, this is Ireland and that’s not how things work here.

Quite the opposite happened in fact and it wasn’t long before greed, power and narcissism raised its ugly head again. The very banks that the Irish people had saved, rather than thank them, they went for the jugular. “Struggling with your Mortgage? Tough shit, we’ll repossess your home”. “Lost your job, through no fault of your own. Tough shit, we’ll repossess your home.” “You’re on a tracker mortgage. We can’t have that; back you go to variable rate. You can’t afford it, tough shit; we’ll repossess your home”. “You want to speak to an actual person in the bank. Tough shit, we have left most of them go, you can use that machine over there”. “You want a loan to keep your small business going. Tough shit, you mean nothing to us”. “You want to access your own money. Tough shit, we’ll charge you for it, you mean nothing to us”.

I could go on and on and on, to document how the banks crucified the Irish people and how they stabbed them in the back.

This weekend, I thought of our classroom in 1981, with my £5 and my ATM card. I thought of the day when we qualified for our mortgage. I thought of the excitement as we walked into our home for the first time. I thought back to the decent, respectable people that worked for the banks, how they made all this possible and how they were stabbed in the back too. The good people, who realised how important a customer is, how every situation is workable. Good people that realised how a person can be helped, how there is always a way out and there is no such thing as a “dire” situation over something as stupid as money. At the end of the day, money is an object, a commodity. A “dire” situation is where a person or their child is seriously ill.

To the greedy elite though, that’s not quite how it works. People mean nothing to them and they plough on regardless, leaving a trail of misery and destruction in their wake. Is there any way for the mere mortal to fight back? Well maybe there is one very small, miniscule way.

This weekend, I started to close down all my links with Irish banks. For well over 30 years I have been a customer, through good times and not so good times. What will it matter to them?. The answer is nothing, my few DD’s and the few quid I owe on my credit card will mean nothing to them. They won’t even know I’m gone, my exit won’t register. Even if it did, they would advise me to make sure that the door doesn’t hit me on the arse on my way out, such is their contempt for people.

I have started to move my small bit of business to the local Credit Union. A local business, employing local people, with the local community at its heart. As a strong advocate of supporting local business, it feels good to keep that business local.

Overall though, it’s a little victory and it makes me feel that little bit better. I can live with that.