Month: April 2018

I was party to a conversation recently where I heard a story that more than surprised me. It concerned a young, well educated, professional lady who is thirty years of age. She graduated from university with an honours degree and is employed in a management role in the IT industry. She is a bright lady by any standards.

In the course of the conversation she revealed that she had stayed in the city overnight and had borrowed a friend’s car to get home to Midleton the following morning. She has a provisional drivers licence and she drove the car without being covered by insurance.

She said she had tried to contact the insurance company to arrange cover but she couldn’t get through to them so as far as she was concerned there wasn’t a lot more she could do, so she just drove home. When I pointed out the seriousness of what she had done, she simply shrugged her shoulders and stated that she didn’t think that it was such a big deal.

I pointed out to her what could have happened had she been stopped by the gardai or the consequences for her if she had been involved in a traffic accident while driving without insurance and she was genuinely shocked. I explained that her car could have been impounded and there could have been a court appearance, a fine, penalty points, difficulty in getting insurance again and the stigma of being convicted of driving a car while uninsured. At this point, she was close to tears.

I also explained to her the legal obligation on every driver to be insured before he or she takes a car out onto the public road and the purpose of that insurance. I advised her of her moral obligation also to be insured and that she had a responsibility to make sure that other road users would be taken care of if she was found to be responsible for an accident.

I reminded her of what could happen to a child, like her own, if there was no insurance available to cover his/her medical costs following an accident. At that stage the tears were beginning to flow.

I told her about the Motor Insurance Bureau of Ireland and what it is that they do and how they look after people injured as a result of being in an accident with an uninsured driver. I also explained to her how that facility is financed and how every insured driver contributes to the fund and how responsible drivers are paying because other people drive without insurance.

For me, the most surprising and worrying aspect of this little tale is the fact that this woman didn’t see anything wrong with what she was doing. She does not fit your normal criminal profile and she is a law abiding, decent, considerate person who likes to do the right thing. So, if she doesn’t see anything wrong, how many more think that motor insurance is like health cover? How many believe that it’s up to the individual to decide whether they want to be insured or not?

In my younger days, we had all sorts of cars on the road in various states of repair. We took chances on driving cars that would have difficulty stopping in any kind of emergency. We drove cars that had dodgy tyres and we took chances driving at night when the lights weren’t working and we could hardly see where we were going.

I drove a Morris 1100 through Midleton in the early seventies when the entire exhaust fell off the car in the main street. I drove that car in the rain when I had zero visibility because the one remaining windscreen wiper wasn’t working properly.

But the one thing we never did was to take a car out on to the public road without having some form of insurance. No matter where it was you wanted to go and no matter how important the journey was, you didn’t drive it without insurance. It was drilled into us from an early age that insurance was so important that it just wasn’t an option not to have it.

The Motor Insurers Bureau of Ireland said there has been a “significant increase” in the estimated number of uninsured private vehicles on the road, with the figure growing by more than 32,000 in 2016. That represents an 85 per cent increase since 2011.

In 2011, there were about 85,000 uninsured private vehicles in Ireland, which represented 4.5 per cent of the total. That number has jumped to 150,000.
The total number of uninsured private vehicles dropped in 2012 and 2013, but the figure grew considerably in 2014, 2015 and throughout 2016 and it is now almost double what it was a few years ago.

So that would seem to indicate that there has been a dramatic change in attitude to how people view car insurance. There are, obviously, a significant number of people who believe that it is optional. It isn’t, it is a legal requirement. It is there to provide protection to everybody from the costs associated with personal injury and damage to property as a result of an accident.

The costs associated with insurance claims in this jurisdiction are substantial. Ultimately, claims arising from accidents involving uninsured drivers will be funded by the insurance industry and they will pass those costs on to us, the consumer, so we end up paying for it in the long run.

There are probably people driving without insurance today because they can’t afford it. But by doing so they are contributing to the rising cost of motor insurance which will make it unaffordable for even more drivers. This means more uninsured drivers joining the party so the problem keeps growing.

A friend of mine in the UK was in the Royal Navy many moons ago and he often comes up with a good tale. Matt Stoves is his name and he sent me an email last week with these two short stories and I just had to share them. Both are true.

Story Number One.

Many Years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago. He was notorious for organising crime the windy city and was involved in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.

Capone had a lawyer nicknamed “Easy Eddie” and he was very good, and his legal manoeuvring kept ‘Big Al’ out of jail for a long time.

To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money good, but Eddie got special dividends, as well. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all the mod cons. The estate was so large that it took up an entire Chicago City block.

Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and he gave little consideration to the chaos that went on around him. He did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly, and Eddie saw to it that his young boy had clothes, cars, and a good education. He gave him everything.

Despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie tried to teach him right from wrong. He wanted his son to be a better man than he was. But for all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn’t give his son. He couldn’t pass on a good name and he wasn’t a good example.

He decided to change that, and he came up with a plan to rectify some of the wrongs he had done and clean up his tarnished reputation. He hoped this would prove he had some integrity and he could make his son proud.

To achieve this, he decided to approach the authorities and tell the truth about the activities of Al “Scarface” Capone. He knew that he would have to testify against The Mob, and he also realised that the cost would be great. But he testified anyway.

Within the year, Easy Eddie’s life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay. Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion, and a poem that was cut from a magazine.

The poem read; “The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour. Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time for the clock may soon be still.”

Story Number Two

World War II produced many heroes and one such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O’Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific. One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realised that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank.

He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship, so his flight leader ordered him to return to the aircraft carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet.

As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold. There was a squadron of Japanese aircraft speeding toward the American-fleet.

The American fighters were gone on a sortie, so the fleet was left all but defenceless. He couldn’t reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. He decided that there was only one thing he could do, he had to somehow divert them from the fleet.

Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove straight into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 calibre guns blazed as he charged, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. O’Hare weaved in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent.

With nothing to shoot with, he dived at the planes, trying to clip a wing or tail in hope of damaging as many enemy planes as possible. His plan worked and eventually, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction and a greatly relieved, Butch O’Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier.

Upon arrival, he reported in and related the events surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch’s daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft.

This took place on February 20, 1942, and for that heroic action, Butch O’Hare, became the Navy’s first Ace of W.W.II, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Medal of Honour.

A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29. His hometown was determined not to allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, O’Hare airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man. So, the next time you find yourself at O’Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch’s memorial displaying his statue and his Medal of Honour. It’s located between Terminals 1 and 2.

Now, if you’re wondering what these two stories have in common, I can tell you that Butch O’Hare was “Easy Eddie’s” son.

My wife got a smack of a ball into the eye one evening while playing a game of tennis. There was a lot of force in the shot and she didn’t get time to close her eye, so her eyeball got the full brunt of it. I got a phone call to go and collect her and the miniute I saw it, I figured she was in trouble.

Her eye was a mess and there was obviously a lot of bleeding going on from what I could see but it was what was going on behind the eye that couldn’t be seen, was more worrying.

I remember many years ago, I was part of a convoy going to Belarus with humanitarian aid following the accident at the nuclear power plant in Chernobyl. One of the truck drivers developed a problem when he jumped out of the cab of his truck.

He became unwell and was taken to hospital where he was diagnosed with a detached retina. This was serious, so he was subsequently flown home for treatment. If not promptly treated, retinal detachment can cause permanent loss of vision.

I knew from that experience that this was a medical emergency and not a time to be sitting around wondering what to do next, so we headed off to South Doc.
It was about 8pm when we got there, and it was busy. The room was full and there was a constant flow of people coming and going. There were two doctors on duty and they were working flat out.

Some of those waiting were in obvious discomfort. Others were coughing and spluttering, and some had children with them that didn’t look too well either. But all of them had one thing in common, they were all on their phones.

One mother, and what looked like her teenage daughter, were standing in the hallway and sharing an electrical socket. They were taking turns at plugging in their chargers before the phones died. A father and daughter sat side by side and were both on their phones too. They were all at it.

My wife was then sent to the Accident and Emergency Department at the CUH. When we got there, she was examined by a triage nurse very quickly and she told us that she would have to send for an eye specialist. That person had finished work for the day and would have to be summoned from home. We figured that this was going to take a bit of time, so we settled back for a wait.

Within a few miniutes, a young lady bounded into the reception area and demanded that a couple waiting there had to move seats. She was loud, stressed and she had a serious problem. She needed to be near a socket, so she could plug in her phone.

It didn’t matter to her what difficulty, tragedy or illness this couple was dealing with at that point in time. The most important concern for this lady was the life of her phone.

If that wasn’t bad enough, she then shouted into it so that everyone could hear her conversation whether they wanted to or not. And she went on and on.

I was listening to Ryan Tubridy one morning recently and he was talking about the amount of time he was spending as a slave to his phone. Constantly checking emails, Tweets and God knows what else so he decided that he was going to give it a break for a month.

He went off and bought himself a bog-standard Nokia that would allow him to make a call and receive a call and send and receive text messages. Nothing else. He admitted that in his business he needs to be tuned in to what’s happening in the world, so he would keep using all the modern technology available to him during his working hours, but his free time was going to be spent off line.

Tubbs has often expressed his irritation at the amount of abuse flying around on social media. He was tipped over the edge when a caller to his radio show highlighted how broadcaster Maura Derrane had been treated over some outfit she had worn on TV.

Some suggested that it was horrendous and looked like it was picked up off the floor. They also criticised her make-up and her general appearance.

One lady called into the Tubridy Show because she was so disturbed by the comments and she asked; “When did it become OK to do this?” And it’s a great question. It has become acceptable to say what you like on social media and that includes being rude and abusive.

Nasty people find it easier to be insulting on the Internet than they do in the real world and it’s partly because of nonsense like this that Ryan Tubridy is taking a step back from social media and changing to a basic phone.

It’s a bold decision though because they are more than just phones. They double up as satellite navigation-systems, cameras, diaries, mini computers and more.

On the one hand they are a blessing and they allow us to be in constant contact with the world. On the other hand, they are a curse for the very same reasons.

Dscout, a research firm, did a study into mobile phone use. They found that the typical mobile phone user touches his or her phone 2,617 time every day. But that’s just the average user so obviously there are some people who are way above that and extreme users touch their phones more than 5,400 times daily.

We’d all be better off if certain people didn’t touch their phones at all.

PS: My wife’s eye is fine, and it now resembles the other one again.

Organ donation has been in the news a lot recently and Organ Donor Awareness Week ended yesterday. I’ve carried an Organ Donors Card in my wallet for a good few years now. I’m not sure when it started, and I reckon there aren’t too many pieces of me that would be of any use to someone else.

My eyesight was always a little suspect, so I can’t imagine why anybody would want my eyes unless they take my glasses too. My liver has been severely tested over the years so that mightn’t make the grade either. There was a time back in the day, when my tipple of choice was neat vodka.

This came about as a result of many trips to Belarus and Western Russia in my days working with the Chernobyl Children’s Trust. In those days we made many visits to day care centres, orphanages, hospitals etc. bringing food, medical supplies or whatever to those who needed it.

One of the things they didn’t need was vodka because they made their own, and they had plenty of it. Every area had their own version of the stuff and it varied in strength from ordinary rocket fuel to grade A liquid dynamite. This grog was capable of not only altering your mind, but I suspect it could also alter your DNA.

There was one particular orphanage we used to call to and the Director there had his own special blend of vodka and he always insisted on presenting me with a plastic litre bottle of this nitro glycerine as a gift.

I had many experiences of this toxic waste previously, so I generally gave it away and avoided it altogether. I did keep one bottle though and I remember being at home one time in the lead up to Christmas and I didn’t have too much in the way of spirits in the house, so I decided to have one of these special vodkas.

I got a glass with some ice and gave myself a small measure. I was wary of it, so I topped it up generously with orange juice. I sat back in my armchair to have a read of the paper and after a few miniutes, I reached for my drink and discovered that the orange juice had curdled.

It had formed a crust on top of the drink and it looked like a scab on and old cut, so I threw it out. I gave my sister a small drop of it one night at a party in my house and even though she only had a small amount, she had great difficulty afterwards getting her tongue to form words. She became incoherent.

This brand of hooch was only fit for use in chemical warfare or for pickling corpses. It was certainly not fit for human consumption unless you happened to be from that part of the world and had been weaned on it.

But it was because of these experiences that I learned to appreciate decent vodka. Other than the homemade variety, the Russians have a wide selection of the drink and there are some fantastic blends. They also have some lovely customs when it comes to drinking it.

When sitting around a table for a meal, it is customary for every person at the table to make a toast. It doesn’t matter whether there are six or twenty-six people present, the toasts will go on. In Irish terms, the amount of vodka in each glass would be more than what you would normally get in a shot glass. A good healthy drop.

The person making the toast has the honour of deciding how it is to be drunk after the toast. So, that person can decide whether everyone should sip their drink slowly or just throw it back in one gulp. In my experience, it was invariably a case of ‘down the hatch’. Then you move on to the next person and repeat the process.

If you ever find yourself in this situation, you will figure out quickly that Russians know how to drink vodka. The Irish might consider themselves to be good drinkers, but we are only in the halfpenny place when it comes to this colourless liquid and we can’t compete with them. If you want some free advice, don’t even try.

So, I can safely say, that my liver is of probably no use to anyone else. I have a dodgy back that has caused me a lot of jip over the years, so I can’t imagine anyone queueing up to get their hands on any part of that. Knees and hips could be suspect too so all in all, there are no rich pickings on this carcass.

I didn’t let that stop me from becoming an organ donor though, because I still have a few bits and pieces that are functioning but on a more serious note, it’s something that everyone should consider.

A record number of organ transplants were carried out in Ireland last year, according to the Irish Kidney Association. 311 transplants from 150 donors were carried out in 2017, improving on the previous record of 127 organ donors in 2016.

A total of 192 kidney transplants were carried out at the National Renal Transplant Service in Beaumont Hospital, while 62 liver transplants and 5 pancreas transplants were performed at the National Liver Transplant Service at St Vincent’s University Hospital.

36 lung transplants and 16 heart transplants were performed at the National Heart and Lung Transplant Service at the Mater Hospital.

Those lucky recipients got a second chance thanks to the generosity of their donors and they are forever grateful. Helping others to survive is something we can all do by becoming organ donors.

It’s not difficult and it makes perfect sense.

There was a very critical review of Cobh penned by a travel writer last November. Paula McInerney was her name and she published her piece on contentedtraveller.com.

She was very positive about some of what she experienced on her visit, but she was less so about other aspects of her trip. There was a liner in town while she was here, and she thought the place was buzzing and colourful and had a good feel to it.

It was after the cruise ship left, when she and her companion went out to explore Cobh on their own, that things began to unravel, and she had more to say.

“In fairness, we had come from the cute, picture postcard town of Kilkenny, which was immaculate and where the pride in the city was obvious. Unfortunately, Cobh did not follow in this model.”

“The back streets were littered with glass, and graffiti, and rubbish. This was not from the cruise ship passengers, who mostly stayed down on the waterfront, or went to kiss the Blarney Stone. No, this was ‘normal’ Cobh, and it shouldn’t be that way. Cobh could be just as attractive as Kilkenny, Killarney, Dingle and other places in Ireland…if they choose this route.”

“It appeared to me that Cobh have their cruise ship passengers who see the attractive water frontage, and not the behind the scenes – the real Cobh. There were many empty shops away from the dock and there appeared to be a lot of disinterest in the town’s appearance. I felt that Cobh, with its inherently lovely qualities, needed a good kick in the butt. Remember, cruise ships are not bound to stop there. There are other places who would love this golden opportunity.”

“The Irish Naval Service headquarters is on Haulbowline Island facing Cobh, and when they are not practicing their rifle shooting which they do a lot, then maybe they could help clean up the town.”

Strong words and I get the impression that she was hoping for a more positive experience but didn’t get it. Whether we agree with her or not is irrelevant. This is the opinion of a visitor to the town and her description of what she saw.

“Cobh is the gateway to the city of Cork, Ireland. We decided to stay in Cobh, with the hope of being able to share some great content, and discover a place where there might be something very special; and Cobh could have been, but it wasn’t.”
That’s not nice to hear, but it can’t be ignored, so the question should now be, what are we going to do about it?

I have made the point in previous articles about the potential of Cork Harbour. I have also previously compared it to Sydney and as the writer rightly points out, there is no comparison apart from size. Huge investment in Sydney Harbour has turned it in to one of the leading tourist attractions in the world. It’s an amazing place.

We don’t have the weather or the financial investment of the Australians, but we have everything else except for maybe a bit of vision. But while the development of the Cork Harbour area on a grand scale is something that is out of the hands of the ordinary man on the street, the general cleanliness, maintenance and upkeep of any town is down to the local authority and the residents.

There is a national malaise when it comes to keeping our towns and cities clean.
What we lack, and this doesn’t just apply to Cobh, is community responsibility. The responsibility to ensure that we all do our bit to make our town or village a place that locals and visitors will appreciate and be proud of.

We don’t have that. It’s left to the few who rise to the challenge and get on with it while the rest just sit back and have a moan.

The writer talks about getting the navy out of their base to clean up the town. That’s a bit like asking my neighbour to come in and clean my house because I couldn’t be arsed. Passing the responsibility for cleaning our mess to somebody else is completely missing the point. The dirt in the town, any town, is put there by the community in the first place.

Tidy Towns volunteers do a fantastic job. They spend their time and energy collecting litter that has been carelessly discarded or chucked out of a car window by people who just couldn’t care less and who expect others to clean up after them.

I was walking through an estate in Cork one Saturday morning many years ago. The residents were having a bit of a clean-up and they were out in force, armed with shovels, brushes, wheelbarrows and lawnmowers. It was a nice morning and they were in good humour. As with all Corkonians, they were in form for a bit of slagging.

There was one guy standing in his doorway, leaning against the door frame. He was wearing a string vest like Alonso in ‘Keeping Up Appearances’ and smoking a cigarette. One of the lads called him by name and told him to grab a shovel and give a hand. He shouted back that they were fools to be doing the work for the Council.

Unfortunately, that’s still a common attitude. These guys are in Cobh too and they expect someone else to sort out the dirt.

The first liners of the new season have just visited Cobh and there will be more calling this year than in previous years and they will be bringing thousands of visitors to the town over the summer.

As far as some people are concerned, it doesn’t bother them that their experience will be tarnished with litter and dog crap.

There was a time when the customer mattered. When the customer was always right even when he was completely wrong. Sadly, that is no longer the case.

In the good old days, it was simply referred to as looking after the customer. Then somewhere along the way it got the fancy title of customer service and then that later changed to customer care.

But now the time has come for a spot of rebranding and I reckon that we should call it ‘customer- no-care’ or ‘couldn’t-care-less-about-the-customer-care.’

Because it seems to me that we have now arrived at a stage where the customer is at the bottom of the pile when it comes to rights. We’re expected to take what we get, no matter how bad it is, and we are supposed to be thankful for it.

It is becoming more difficult to get satisfaction from service providers. They don’t want to hear about your problem and in some cases, obstacles are deliberately put in the way of the customer to make it harder to register a complaint. It’s often impossible to find a contact address or a contact phone number and if you do find one, there’s a good chance that it won’t be answered.

It’s enough to drive you insane and that is the whole point of it. They want you to get so frustrated that you will eventually just give up and go away.

There was a guy in Cobh many years ago called Aeneas Lane and he was the owner of a hardware store. Well, it was called a hardware store but he sold pretty much everything. He was a big man and he towered over most of his customers and he was an imposing character. He wasn’t known for customer care and he had a reputation for being a bit brusque.

His bark was worse than his bite and he was a great character behind it all. He believed that if someone came into the shop they shouldn’t be allowed to leave empty handed. If they wanted to buy a hammer and it wasn’t in stock, then they should be sold a fridge instead.

You could get a bargain from him, but it was well known that you should never return anything.

I saw him one day in conversation with a woman and they were discussing a coffee table that she had bought. She was complaining that it was wobbly and she was moving it with her finger to demonstrate the point. He had enough. He picked up the table, raised it over his head and threw it the length of the shop. It hit the concrete floor and exploded into many pieces. “Now madam,” he said. “It won’t wobble anymore.”

He was a keen golfer and he would often get local lads to caddy for him when he went for a game and he would pay them a few bob. One guy told me that he was on the bag one day when Aeneas took a drive off the tee. The ball disappeared from view after Aeneas hit a terrible shot and he asked the young lad where the ball went. He had no idea either to which Aeneas replied; “What hope have I of getting around here with a bad golfer and a blind caddy?”

Despite of his tough exterior, he did a lot of good turns for people, particularly those who fell on hard times. And he didn’t talk about it either. He worked well into old age and was a well-known figure about the town and I suspect he is fondly remembered by many.

There are many others in business today who will be more easily forgotten. I contacted a company a few weeks ago to get someone to have a look at my windows. The lady took my details and told me that someone would get back to me. After a week of silence, I contacted them again. The lady told me that she had passed on my details and had done her bit. So, she gave me the mobile number of some guy and told me to ring him myself to make my own arrangements.

I had five months of torture dealing with a company over the provision of broadband and mobile phone service. The whole thing was up in a complete heap and every time I contacted them I dealt with someone new. I was blue in the face from explaining the problem and I was getting nowhere.

Out of total frustration, I contacted the Communications Regulator and they took over. Then the company appointed a specific person to handle my problem and it was resolved.

Trying to have a conversation with a human being in the bank isn’t straightforward anymore either, particularly if your local branch has ceased to exist. If you can’t manage internet banking then your life is going to be more difficult but they couldn’t care less.

Town Councils were abolished in 2014 and new sub county local government structures, in the form of Municipal Districts, were established. Trying to get a response from some of these is like trying to thread a needle with oven gloves on. You have a better chance of receiving a reply from the hereafter.

If by some miracle you do get a response to a complaint, chances are, the company won’t be very sympathetic. You’ll probably be blamed for causing the problem in the first place yourself and then you’ll be sent around in circles until you die of boredom.

In this era of ‘couldn’t-care-less-about-the-customer-care’ attitude, we are going to have to learn to look after ourselves. We need to be more assertive and fight for our rights because we are too accepting when it comes to crappy service.