Month: January 2018

As I get older, I find that things are changing constantly, and time is flying by. This year is still in its infancy, and I’ve already had a few surprises. One of the things that caught me off guard was that some of my friends are hitting 70 years of age.

The fact that we’re all getting older shouldn’t be that much of a shocker, but it is an unwanted development in my life and I would prefer it to stop immediately.

It all started when I was having a drink with a friend of mine on New-Year’s eve.We’ve known each other a long time and a bunch of us have played tennis together for years. We weren’t professionals or super fit, but we managed to find our way around a tennis court without falling too often. We did ok and we enjoyed ourselves.

While we were chatting, he told me that he is 69 years old. I didn’t know what age he was, but I just assumed that he was around 62 or 63. I was really surprised because this guy doesn’t look his age.

Having said that, I’m not sure how I thought a 70-year old should look but when I think of people I knew back in the day who were that age, they were old. You knew they were seventy because they looked it and they moved like an older person and they just acted old. But not anymore.

I know another lady who is very glamorous and full of fun and I heard that she too has reached 70. After hearing that, I carried out a bit of research on some of my other friends and I discovered the awful truth that many of them are also older than I thought. This isn’t great news for me either by the way.

Down through the years, age was never important and rarely came up in conversation unless there was a significant birthday in the group. But even at that, there was only passing attention paid to it. I’ve gone through life with these guys and all the time I just considered that we were all around the same go.

When we were in our thirties and forties, age didn’t matter as long as you could kick a ball or swing a tennis racquet. There was no difference between late thirties and early forties or mid forties and early fifties. But now those extra few years seem to be taking on a more significant role and 70 is a big number.

I should have noticed of course, because there were lots of tell-tale signs along the way. For instance, our babies started having babies themselves and were buying houses and doing all kinds of grown-up stuff.

Some of them studied medicine and became doctors and nurses and could very well be the people checking us shortly for signs of senility. Others have gone into law and could be putting our defence together if we should be unfortunate enough to do something bold and find ourselves in front of a jury.

These babies have thrown away their comfort blankets and teddies and have managed to make lives for themselves and some of them are even living on the other side of the world. They’ve grown up. So, the signs were there all along, I just wasn’t concentrating.

There were other indicators too. Sean Connery, the real James Bond, is now 88 years old. Christopher Plummer who we watched prancing around with Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music has reached the ripe old age of 89.

Clint Eastwood who played the part of Dirty Harry and also made a host of westerns like The Good, The Bad and The Ugly and many more, is 88 years old. Kirk Douglas, who famously played the part of Spartacus, is over 100.

These guys were heroes and weren’t supposed to age, but they did and it all seems to have happened over night.

Not so long ago, when my parents were alive, I worried how they would manage to keep up with a changing world and all the new technology invading our lives, but now, I am my parents.

I used to sit in my recliner and turn on the TV in the evening. It was a simple, uncomplicated little pleasure. Now my son has turned it into an interactive entertainment centre that would not look out of place in the nerve centre at Cape Canaveral. My son tells me that it can do lots of things.

But I don’t want it to do lots of things. I just want it to let me watch it but now I can’t even turn it on. There are times when I sit in front of it with two remote controls in my hand, afraid to push a button in case the whole thing blows up and kills my neighbour.

There was a time when, if your car broke down, you brought it to your friendly mechanic. He poked around inside the engine and after a bit of banging with a hammer and tweaking with a spanner you’d be back on the road again.

Now you must bring it back to the car dealer. A 12-year old child will connect it to his phone and he’ll find out what’s wrong with it. Then it will be connected to another computer that will make a few beeps and flashes and then the car will be all better again.

Young people are starting to run the world and they are making it too complicated for me. So, let’s just slow everything down. Keep the kids as kids for another while and put an end to this business of hitting 70 and all will be well with the world again.

After a recent experience, I would like to pass on a small bit of advice for drivers who are renewing their insurance.

My car insurance is due for renewal on 31st January 2018. I got a renewal notice from my insurer reminding me of that fact and advising me that I should send them a cheque for €490 if I wanted to renew it with them.

I picked a few other insurance companies and got some alternative quotes. I gave each of them the exact same information and they came back to me with various prices. A couple of them were in and around €600 while another was close to €1000.

One company gave me a price of €430 which was €60 cheaper than my current insurer, AIG. So, I rang AIG and I told them that I was leaving them for another company. They asked me to hold for a second and then told me that they could match that price.

I was annoyed with them for not giving me that price initially but the point I want to make here is that I saved myself €60 by making a few phone calls and spending a bit of time on the Internet.

There could be people out there renewing their premiums automatically and paying more than they should. Just because you’re with the same company for a few years, don’t take it for granted that they’re giving you the best value for money. There are huge differences between many companies and it definitely pays to shop around.

It doesn’t take long, and it could mean extra money in your pocket.

Over the last year or so I have been in contact with a lot of guys who are heading towards retirement and I’ve been surprised at how many of them are dreading the prospect of having to throw in the towel.

I must be missing a gene or two because I retired a couple of years before I needed to, and I didn’t bat an eyelid. I was looking forward to the prospect and didn’t see the need to hang around, waiting for the letter to arrive that would tell me to pack my bags and clear out my desk.

It’s a personal choice, I know, and it all depends on individual circumstances so it’s not the same for everyone. I loved my work, particularly the time I spent in community policing and I enjoyed what I was doing, but after 36 years, I felt that the time was right for me to go.

Do I miss it? Absolutely not. I had a great career, but the time came when I felt I wanted to call it a day. I worked with some great people over the years and there are times when I miss them and the camaraderie but that’s it.

I feel sorry for those who find it difficult to let go, because there is a wonderful life waiting for them beyond retirement. It’s probably more difficult for those who don’t have interests outside the work place, but they shouldn’t despair, retirement is good.

It does take a little getting used to though and one of the obvious changes is that you have more time on your hands. You don’t have to watch the clock for start times, finish times, meetings or whatever and it’s surprising how quickly you adapt to that even after spending a lifetime governed by a time piece.

It doesn’t take long either before you start losing track of the days. A Monday is no different to a Wednesday or a Friday and a Bank Holiday is no longer something to get excited about. Every day is a holiday.

That’s how it should be. Retirement is a sign that you’ve done your bit, paid your dues and now it is time to take your reward and relax. But new retirees will have to get used to being asked; “What are you doing with yourself now?” or “How do you pass the time?”

There is an expectation that a retired person must be doing something. They worry that if I don’t go to work, I might lose my sanity, or starve to death. Apparently, I’m not allowed to relax and enjoy myself and chilling out is forbidden.

I know there are people who can’t sit still for five minutes, but I’m not one of them. I’m not interested in challenging myself, finding new horizons or breaking new ground. I’m grand thanks, so just leave me be.

Hopefully, as soon as I can get my wife into the same frame of mind, I will be spending more time in a warmer climate and less time dealing with our damp weather. I fancy a sunny future for myself. T-shirt, shorts, flip-flops and gin and tonics on the balcony are what I see in my crystal ball. The only sweat to come from me will be from the heat.

It was different in the old days. Workers quit at sixty-five, got their pipe and slippers and sat in their favourite chair for a few years until they died. But that has changed because now we’re fitter and living longer.

Life isn’t as harsh as it was back then either and we have more medicine, pills and potions to keep us going. Our living standards have greatly improved too and we have more disposable income to spend on leisure activities. We tend to have a healthier outlook on life and look after ourselves better.

So, these days, retirement should be something to look forward to. Or should it? Maybe these guys who don’t want to retire know something that I don’t.

According to Age Action Ireland, retirement can have a detrimental effect on some individuals. An increasing number of people contacted them when they realised that the pension wasn’t exactly what they thought it would be and they were worried about how they were going to survive.

For many retirees, their colleagues are often their friends as well and so when they retire, they lose many of those, leaving them socially isolated. For others, it challenges their self-worth and self-confidence when they are told that they can no longer work.

Projections by the Central Statistics Office (CSO) show by 2021 the number of elderly people will have grown by 200,000 and it is estimated that by 2046, there will be almost 1.5 million people over the age of 65.

A recent report has claimed that some nursing homes are adding on extra charges in addition to the Fair Deal scheme. Anything between €30 and €90 a week to cover the cost of social programmes such as bingo, board games, religious services and pet therapy.

Justin Moran of Age Action, said they have received reports of some elderly nursing home residents being placed in longer-lasting incontinence nappies so they don’t have to be changed for up to twenty- four hours to make life easier for the staff.

Now, I’m beginning to think I might have made a terrible mistake. Nobody told me this stuff before I retired. It’s possible that my life could be about to get tougher than it was when I was working. I might get sick, run out of money, lose my friends, have no nursing home and be unable to wipe my own bottom.

All things considered, the prospects don’t look too encouraging. Might be time to dig out my CV.

It’s only the start of 2018 and we’re already seeing record numbers of patients waiting on trollies in our hospitals, despite all the promises that things were going to improve. It’s like groundhog-day. There isn’t a day goes by when we’re not talking about patient waiting lists or hospital overcrowding.

We hear so many heart-breaking stories, it’s easy to see why people get worked up. We are angry and frustrated and that’s understandable, but we need to be careful who we blame.

Nurses are operating at the coal face, so they often end up being on the receiving end of the abuse. They do their best in difficult circumstances but not everybody appreciates that.

A few months ago, my mother fell down a flight of stairs at home in the early hours of the morning. She crawled back upstairs to get her phone to call me. When I got to her, there was a lot of blood on the floor and the wall at the bottom of the stairs. She had a significant gash on the top of her head where she hit something on the way down.

It was about 5.30am when I contacted the emergency services and they arrived quickly. A paramedic attended to her at the house and an ambulance brought her to the CUH. These people knew their job and each of them was professional, efficient and caring. They did well.

I followed on to the C.U.H. a little later and when I arrived at the Accident & Emergency Department, I thought I had landed in a war zone. The place was heaving. There were nurses, doctors, patients on trollies, more on chairs, family members, cleaners and porters moving trollies here and there.

Some of the wounded were bleeding, some moaning, some covered in bandages. All of them had one thing in common, they needed help. They were broken and wanted to be fixed.

I took a seat as instructed and waited for my mother to make an appearance from one of the many doors. I was watching what was going on around me and I realised that what looked initially like chaos, was anything but.

The staff moved around unhurried but determined. They had things to do and places to go and patients were being dealt with systematically and efficiently. Medicines, pills and potions were administered, bandages, splints and plasters were applied, x-rays were taken. It was a hive of activity but there was no panic.

The staff kept everyone informed about what was happening and what the next step in the process was going to be. It was all very organised and when the time came for us to leave I asked if I could leave my mother where she was until I could get the car out of the car park and find a space close to the entrance.

A nurse pointed to a side door and told me to bring the car there and she would bring my mother out to me. This was really helpful and made things so much easier for us.

Accident and emergency departments are busy places. As the name suggests, they are the first point of contact for people when things go pear shaped. The staff must be ready for anything and they never know what is going to come through the doors.

It’s a difficult and stressful environment to be working in at the best of times but when you add the shortage of staff and hospital beds into the mix, then it gets even tougher. Because of that, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find tempers flared and patience in short supply. But it was the opposite.

Everyone was pleasant. Doctors introduced themselves to their patients by their Christian names and while this might seem insignificant, I think it makes a big difference to the patient. It reassures them that the care is going to be personal. A nice touch.

The nurse who helped me was busy. I’m sure there were other, more important issues that required her attention, but she took the time to arrange an easier exit from the hospital. It was a bit of consideration that went a long way and was greatly appreciated.

My mother had a subsequent visit to the South Infirmary Victoria Hospital for an overnight stay while she underwent some tests and we had a similar experience there. The nursing staff were busy, and beds didn’t stay empty for too long. When one patient left, the vacant bed was quickly filled.

The staff were constantly on the move and I wondered if they ever got a break. Whether they did or they didn’t, they never let it affect their professionalism. They were always friendly, reassuring, caring and smiling.

At one point, a woman was being admitted to the same ward my mother was in. This lady had a huge issue. She didn’t want to be there. She told anyone who would listen to her that she thought the hospital was a dump. She demanded a private room and wanted and electric bed. She said the food was awful, but I don’t think she ate anything.

She couldn’t sit in the chair beside the bed because it wasn’t at the right height and it didn’t have a cushion and she couldn’t use the bathroom because it was too far away. In fact, it was right next to her.

Through all her whinging and complaining, different nurses came and looked after her. They all smiled and bit their tongues while promising to do whatever they could to make her life better. She was a king sized, ungrateful pain in the arse but she didn’t break them.

They do a great job and deserve a lot of credit, but it seems that not everyone appreciates them.

Happy anniversary to me again. It’s hard to believe it, but today marks the start of my third year writing this column. I have no idea where the last two years went but I’ve enjoyed it immensely.

I’ve heard rumours that there are some who want to reward me for my contribution to literature and rightly so. I think an Irish knighthood would be very proper. It wouldn’t be new ground for me either, because I have been knighted before, in Slovakia in fact.

A few years ago, I was involved in an EU project with a group of international police officers and we were examining crime prevention methods around Europe. On one occasion we were in Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia, when our hosts brought our group out for a meal.

The restaurant was in a basement type setting that looked a bit like a stone tunnel. It was decorated in medieval style with large timber tables and benches and everyone was dressed up in costume.

There were knights with swords, jesters, acrobats and flaming torches on the walls. It was really well done, and it was a perfect setting for our medieval-banquet.

The meat was placed on a large platter in the centre of the table and we tore lumps out of it as we needed it. Tankards of ale were supplied, and they were so big that you needed two hands to lift them off the table. There were guys engaged in sword fights, jumping up and down off tables and it was all great fun.

I went to the bathroom at some point and while I was away, the staff asked for a volunteer. They wanted someone to go down on one knee and sing a love song to a wench. Ger Dillane, one of my colleagues, had very kindly offered my services and when I came back, I received a round of applause. This wasn’t the first time Ger had ‘volunteered’ me so I knew something was up.

The medieval wench was another colleague, Agnes Nemeth, a Hungarian police officer. She had to stand on a table while I serenaded her with the song, ‘Save your love my darling, save your love’. I remembered it from an ad for ice cream that I had seen on TV, but I didn’t know the words, so I just made them up as I went along.

I figured that as we were in a country where English wasn’t the first language, most people wouldn’t know what I was saying anyway. Add a Cork accent into the mix and my confidence was rising. I’m not a singer but I struggled through it and we had a good laugh.

Afterwards, one of the swordsmen approached me and told me to get down on one knee in front of him. He was the guy with the sword, so I did what I was told. I was beginning to worry that I was going to be forced into making a proposal of marriage or that possibly I might be about to lose a limb for singing out of tune.
I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth and waited for my head to fall into a basket.

Instead, I felt the cold steel on my neck as he placed his sword on my shoulder and knighted me, Sir Trevor the Brave. I haven’t been able to lay claim to a chunk of Slovakian real estate yet, but I haven’t lost all hope. I’m sure it’s just a slight delay in the paperwork.

So, being honoured is nothing new to me and if the current Lord Mayor, Tony Fitzgerald, sees fit to acknowledge my contribution to literature, then so be it. I owe it to my legions of fans across the world to accept any accolade. Loyal readers of The Echo in Uzbekistan, outer Mongolia and even in the Australian outback regularly express their admiration for my literary talent.

Being recognised for outstanding achievements is something I have had to live with all my life. One of my earliest experiences occurred during the school sports day when I was in primary school. I think I must have been about ten years old and I ran in the 100-yard sprint.

I was never blessed with speed, but I can clearly remember enjoying myself. It was a beautiful sunny day in the sports field next to the school and we were running in our bare feet. I crossed the finish line but where I was in the pecking order I have no idea, but I certainly wasn’t first. I wasn’t expecting to win anything.

So, I was surprised when I heard my name being called out and I went to the table where they were handing out the trophies and medals. I was given a multi coloured biscuit tin. This was back in the sixties, so this type of tin wasn’t as common as they are now.

I was delighted with myself as I accepted my trophy and I couldn’t wait to show it to my mother. When I took hold of it, I felt that there was something wrong. It seemed very light and when I took the cover off, I saw that it was empty.

Obviously, there were some who thought that my future in athletics was going to be very short lived and that an empty biscuit tin was the true measure of my talent. If that happened to a child today, he would probably be sent for therapy.
But I didn’t let it hold me back and I have defied the odds to become one of the greatest columnists in modern times.

No doubt, you will be pleased to know that I will continue to spread my greatness, with my usual modesty, for another bit.