Month: January 2020

Hardly a day goes by now when I don’t get a call on my landline at home from some guy advising me that my broadband is about to be disconnected or telling me that my Internet is slow. They always tell me not to worry though because they can solve my problem. Lucky for me.

I was changing my phone a few weeks ago at an Eir shop in Midleton and I got talking to the guy working there about these calls and he told me that they get them in the shop too. So, these characters are ringing Eir to tell them they can improve their Internet for them.

What they want of course, is to get you to open the laptop and follow their instructions to make changes to your computer which will then give them remote access to it. They effectively have control of it then so the caller and his buddies can monitor your online credit card transactions and soon they’ll have all the necessary information they require to clone your credit card.

While these guys are a complete pain- and it is mostly men with foreign accents- it’s easy to get rid of them by just hanging up the phone. Or, if you’re in the humour, and you have some time on your hands, you can lead them on a merry dance for a while until they eventually get frustrated and hang up on you instead. Juvenile maybe, but mildly entertaining.

It’s very difficult for law enforcement people to do anything about these scammers. Their phone numbers are impossible to trace because they’re buried deep in cyber space and other places that I don’t understand, so the best thing to do is ignore them and just hang up the phone.

There are other scammers out there though who are more devious and dangerous. I’m talking about the people who promote so called miracle cures by spreading misinformation around treatments for cancer in order to make money.

Back in April, Fine Gael’s Kate O’Connell was proposing legislation to outlaw this behaviour with penalties of up to €1m for offenders who advertise fake or unregulated treatments for cancer.

It’s hard to believe that this kind of legislation should even be necessary, but this is the world we now live in. Some people are prepared to earn a living by preying on the sick. Making money by offering false hope of miracle cures to vulnerable patients who will grab at anything that might give them a chance to extend their lives.

It’s difficult to understand how these creatures can look at themselves in a mirror or how they can look at their family members in the eye without feeling complete and utter shame. Cheating seriously ill and dying patients is as low as one can go.

The Irish Cancer Society has welcomed the proposed new law that will ban advertisements of so-called cancer “treatments”. They are referring to the ads that claim cancer can be treated by ‘miracle’ foods, fad diets and homeopathic remedies, ads that will never see the light of day under the proposed legislation.

Averil Power, Chief Executive of the Irish Cancer Society said: “Vulnerable patients are being targeted with false claims that cancer can be cured by things such as ‘miracle foods’, coffee enemas and homeopathy. They are being encouraged to ignore their doctors’ advice, stop medical treatment and have faith in so-called ‘alternatives’ that have no scientific basis.

Such dangerous advice leaves them at risk of harmful side-effects and even death. “When you are diagnosed with cancer, a natural response is to search for ways to increase your chances of surviving the disease. Patients suffering side effects associated with conventional treatments such as chemotherapy also understandably want to know if there is a ‘better’ option.

This leaves them vulnerable to false claims made by people who profit from the sale or promotion of alternative treatments.”

From my own personal experience, I have a new understanding of this issue. My brush with prostate cancer was minor compared to what many other sufferers are going through, but I reacted like everyone else who gets that diagnosis. The wind was taken out of me and there were lots of outcomes and scenarios running through my mind. Mostly unpleasant ones.

When I was told I would have to wait three months for a test to see if the cancer had progressed beyond the prostate, I was thrown into a panic. I spent the next few hours on the phone trying to establish if I could have this test done sooner.

In those few hours my emotions were all over the place and I was completely stressed and vulnerable. It’s hard to describe the sense of relief I felt when I got it sorted.

The point I’m trying to make here, is that when you are faced with a cancer diagnosis, you don’t always behave rationally. No matter how minor your condition is, cancer is a worry. I can only imagine how patients with a serious or terminal condition must feel. They are functioning on a different level altogether and prepared to grasp at anything that offers a bit of hope.

Trying to cash in on the suffering of others by offering them a false cure is despicable. Fuelled by greed and without an ounce of compassion, they see an opportunity to make money with no regard for the physical or mental welfare of those they’re extorting money from.  

The Irish Cancer Society recommends patients seek information from medical professionals, qualified dieticians and trusted sources such as www.cancer.ie. Cancer specialist nurses are also happy to answer any queries and address any concerns patients, or their carers, may have. They can be contacted on Freephone 1800 200 700 or by email to cancernurseline@irishcancer.ie

My grandson, Cooper, asked me if I would go and watch him playing rugby one Saturday morning. He’s five and he showed me his rugby gear, including his gum shield and he looked the part. I was dying to see him in action so off I went even though I was a little concerned for him.

I was concerned because it was my first time having anything to do with rugby in years and my previous experience didn’t end well. As a youngster I had trained with Cobh Pirates a few times, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that rugby wasn’t for me. On my last outing, I dived to tackle a player around the legs but mistimed it.

His heel caught me in the mouth and all I can remember after that is talking with a bit of a lisp while most of the blood in my body was draining out of me. I ran my tongue over my teeth trying to figure out how many I had lost which seemed like a waste of time considering that I was about to die any miniute.

Fortunately, I survived that near-death experience but that was the end of my short- lived rugby career. I decided to dedicate my life to a sport I could enjoy without risking my life and getting my clothes covered in blood. So, I took up tennis.

Anyway, it was because of that memory, that I nervously went to watch my little buddy. I needn’t have worried though because things have changed dramatically since then. The modern set up is very civilised and the coaching is well organised and professional. The kids are only allowed to tap tackle at that age, so there is no risk of mutilation.

They were all having a great time which is how it should be and that’s why Cooper loves it and looks forward to his training every week. There were at least four lads coaching his small group of five-year olds, so they all got plenty of attention and each one of them was encouraged and praised. It was all very positive.

There were several pitches being used and kids of all ages running around and having fun. It was noisy too with coaches issuing instructions, whistles blowing, kids shouting and adults offering encouragement. It was a hive of activity.

I take my hat off to all those volunteers who give up their time at weekends to engage with the children. I’m sure there are times when they would prefer to take a lie in on a cold, wet winters morning but they don’t. They haul themselves out of bed and turn up week in, week out to offer their time for their sport.

They’re not the only ones either. Cooper goes to soccer practice after his rugby and it’s the same thing there.

They use several astro turf facilities to cater for all the kids and again there are lots of adults involved in the coaching. I’m told it’s the same in the local G.A.A. Club and that’s replicated in every town and village across the country.

The other thing I noticed was how the training process has advanced since I was a child. There was a structure to it and the coaches had obviously been trained and knew what they were doing.

In my day, it was a lot different. Training generally involved lots of adults shouting instructions from the side-line and getting all worked up. The instructions were mostly unintelligible and very often contradictory and were usually accompanied by frothing at the mouth.

I played GAA football for my school and I loved it. I loved the action and the comradery, but I hated being shouted at. I don’t remember receiving any proper instruction on how to play or getting any encouragement from the side-line either. No matter what I did, I seemed to upset someone. In the end, I just got fed up with the lot of them and threw in the towel.

I also loved soccer and in later years I discovered that there are times when it’s ok just to put the ball out of play. To kick it into the stand. But nobody told me that when I was a kid and I suspect that many of the adults didn’t have a clue what they were talking about either.

I was never going to threaten the world of professional football and I knew that. I didn’t have a competitive bone in my body which is essential if you want to be even mildly successful in any sport. I never minded losing and that was frowned upon.

I don’t know if you can teach someone to be competitive or if you’re born that way, but in any event, I wasn’t that way inclined and there wasn’t much I could do about it.

Thankfully, coaching has changed for the better. There is a more professional approach now which the kids are obviously enjoying. Encouragement is the new order of the day.

I see that a lot with my own son now who is a highly qualified professional tennis coach. He coaches all ages and I have watched him in action with the children and he has endless patience.

When it comes to playing though, he is extremely competitive and absolutely hates losing. Must get that from his mother. But when it comes to dealing with the youngsters, it’s all about fun, learning and enjoyment. If there were more like him around in my junior days, maybe I would have stuck with the football and who knows?

Maybe I could have played soccer alongside Liam Brady or football beside Tony Davis. Who am I kidding? There wasn’t a coach on the Planet who could have managed that.

I’ve been renting apartments abroad on and off for a few years now and whenever I finish up with them, I invariably leave a few bits and pieces behind. Deliberately. Nothing major, just small stuff like maybe a cereal bowl, a mug, a sweeping brush, and there’s a reason for that.

I like a decent cereal bowl. There’s nothing worse than trying to dig your cereal out of something that would fit in a commode. By the same token, large saucers masquerading as bowls are not acceptable either because I want to cover the cereal with milk.

I also like a decent mug instead of a cup. Everyone knows that the first cup of tea in the morning is the nicest, so you want to make it last. But I don’t like large mugs that spill tea down both sides of your neck so, if these little essentials are not supplied in the apartment, I’ll go and get them myself.

When I leave the apartment, the next person can use them or throw them out, I don’t care.

It might seem like a first world problem, but I’m telling you this by way of introducing a subject that seems to be cropping up a lot lately concerning guests stealing items from hotels. Not just little shampoo sachets, we’re talking about serious theft.

Mattresses, TV sets, coffee makers, pictures off the walls, towels, bathrobes and even bed linen have all been taken and it seems that everything in the hotel room is fair game for some light-fingered guests.

I thought it would be difficult to walk through the reception area pulling a large mattress behind you without attracting the attention of the receptionist, but some hotel elevators do go to the basement car park which would solve that problem.

But that doesn’t explain why you’d bother going to all that trouble to steal a mattress in the first place. Especially one that hundreds of other people have already slept on. But then, why would anyone want to steal towels, shower heads or light bulbs either?

This activity is more widespread than I thought, and apparently some of the offenders would surprise you. I shouldn’t be shocked at that though, because I witnessed an incident years ago that left me open mouthed.

I stayed in a hotel in eastern Europe many years ago that couldn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, be confused with the Ritz. It would probably have a one-star rating here if you were feeling generous.

I sat in the foyer after checking out, waiting for a lift to the airport. There weren’t regular flights out of there in those days so there were a few others availing of this London flight.

I recognised one of the faces from the world of stage and screen. He was well known at the time and he had a hat pulled down over his eyes, trying to remain anonymous. Nobody was rushing over to ask for his autograph, but I could see some others looking at him trying to figure out if it was him or not.

I was sitting next to him, but I didn’t attempt to start up a conversation because his demeanour wasn’t very inviting. He didn’t talk to anyone and I got the impression that this was a guy who just wanted to be left alone.

After a while, a bus turned up to collect the first group, of which our friend was one, and off they went. They were no sooner out the front door when I heard a bit of a fuss and some raised voices coming from outside. Then, the doors opened and in came our friend again flanked by a couple of security men.

He opened his suitcase in the middle of the foyer as instructed and produced a bunch of towels which he handed over to the security men. His attempt at keeping a low profile was well and truly blown by now and the whole episode had me totally baffled for a couple of reasons.

In that part of the world, the towels supplied in the hotels were like long, thin, tea towels. They were about half the width of a regular towel and I’m not sure what material they were made of, but they did nothing to dry you. They only spread water around your body. They were terrible things and it made no sense that someone would want to take them.

I’d also be surprised if this guy was short of money, so what is that turns normal hotel guests into kleptomaniacs? Is it the thrill or do they feel entitled to take stuff because they have paid for the room?

It’s a big problem and one hotel chain has even suggested that it is best to ask reception if you are unsure whether something is complimentary or not.

It’s hard to believe that there are people who need to be reminded that the mattress or TV can’t be treated in the same way as the complimentary chocolate left on the pillow but it’s the truth and it’s not only hotel guests who need reminding.

There was a story circulating many years ago about Nicolae Ceausecu, the infamous Romanian dictator. Apparently, he and his wife were touring Europe and they stayed in Paris as guests of the President of France before going on to London to meet the Queen.

It’s said that President d’Estang contacted the staff in Buckingham Palace and warned them to lock up their valuables because the Ceausecu’s had rifled the Elysee Palace and walked off with anything that would move.

That does it. You obviously can’t trust anyone these days so from now on, if you call to my place, you’ll be frisked on the way out. You have been warned.

Driving in Ireland is bad enough but driving a car in Cyprus is definitely not for the faint hearted. It is a challenge to say the least and if you ever decide to go there, prepare to go to war or stick to public transport.

You need nerves of steel to survive and it starts when you turn on the engine. It’s like having a price on your head and waiting for the next attempt on your life.

I love Cyprus and I love the people, which is why I spend so much time there, but they can’t drive. It’s like being in the dodgems or the bumpers. I reckon they must be using a different set of the rules of the road to everyone else.

They don’t use indicators, they ignore stop signs, traffic lights and pedestrian crossings and you can be guaranteed that they will pull out in front of you regardless of who has the right of way.

They park where they like with scant regard for any danger or any inconvenience that may be caused. They have no problem parking on a corner and if they can’t fit the whole car into a parking space, they’ll get as much of it in as they can and then abandon it even though the rest of the car might be sticking out and blocking half the street.

They drive fast, and they don’t mind tail gating. They all use mobile phones and no matter what courtesy you show them they won’t acknowledge it. At the very best, you might get a slight nod of the head but that’s as close to a ‘thank you’ as you’re going to get.

They also love their high-powered motor bikes, preferably with noisy engines. They drive them at ridiculous speeds, especially on the motorway, and they don’t always wear helmets or protective clothing. It’s not unusual to catch a brief glimpse of one passing you at the speed of sound, dressed only in shorts and a t-shirt with the hair blowing in the wind.

They like doing wheelies too and it’s very common to see them going up and down the streets on the rear wheel only.

I was involved in a slight accident on the main street in Paralimni a few years ago when an elderly guy ignored a stop sign and pulled out in front of me. It was only a slight tip, but I was driving a rented car, so I called the police. They arrived very quickly and began taking details when suddenly, this large motor bike passed us with the front wheel in the air.

He went to the bottom of the street, turned around and came back again and as he passed us for the second time, he put the bike on the back wheel again and roared past. I was waiting for a reaction from the policemen but there was none, so I asked one of them if it bothered him. He just shrugged his shoulders and said, “What I can do?”

When I was a policeman, I wouldn’t have been asking “What I can do?”

Over there, when you’re involved in a traffic accident, you must phone the police and then contact your insurance company. I did as I was instructed but I wasn’t expecting much from the insurance company, so I was surprised when a representative turned up shortly after the police. This is what they do.

They carry out their own investigation and determine there and then, who is right or wrong. In my case, the other guy was responsible for the damage and I was told to take the car to the garage and everything was sorted. I never heard from that insurance guy again and I didn’t even have to fill out a form. It was unbelievably efficient and something we could look at here.

You may be wondering why I keep going back to that hazardous environment and risking my life Well, the answer is straight forward. I’ve learned to live with it, and I don’t let it bother me anymore because there’s actually something refreshing about it.

These people have a very relaxed attitude to life. They go with the flow and they aren’t big on formalities and regulations. They do what they like, and they expect you to do the same. They don’t complain about the small stuff. They are very tolerant people and it’s hard to get annoyed with them, so I don’t anymore, I just accept it.

I was driving through some narrow streets in a village called Oriklini and I was concentrating on trying to find an address when I suddenly found myself driving the wrong way down a narrow one-way system. Every car I met coming towards me just pulled in to let me pass and not one of them blew the horn or abused me. There was no drama because it didn’t bother them.

They’re laid back and they don’t beat you to death with rules and regulations so you can get on with life whatever way you like. Health and safety hasn’t invaded Cyprus yet either.

There was a large hole in the ground outside a pub after the local authority did some work there and it was left unattended for weeks. It wasn’t a pothole; it was more like a grave and there was no protection around it. Nothing to advise people that it even existed. It was dangerous, particularly at night but people just avoided it and as far as I know, nobody fell into it.

Political correctness isn’t strangling the island either and conversation flows freely without fear of causing offence which is great because these people aren’t in any way offensive.

It reminds me of what Ireland was like a long time ago.