Trevor Laffan

We’ve had a great run of good weather recently and it’s very welcome. We appreciate it because it is a rare occurrence. When the sun shines here for more than an hour, we get covered in a mixture of sun cream and BBQ smoke. It’s great. It helps us to forget the previous ten months of misery.

It’s not that long ago we were either being washed away, up to our knees in snow or being knocked over by storm force winds but that’s all forgotten about now. The sun has a magical quality that erases all bad memories and replaces them with happy thoughts.

There is one side effect though and that’s the possibility that we might all die from the drought. We are already being advised to water the garden with a can instead of a hose and not to fill the paddling pools or wash the car. This is advice from Irish Water.

How we can possibly be short of water after the winter we’ve had is beyond me. It’s only a short while ago we thought we were all going to drown and suddenly we’ve become a desert. We need to calm down a bit. It won’t be too long before we get more rain because it’s never too far away and even I can predict that.

Weather forecasting is a serious business and there is a lot of science involved in it. It’s way too technical for my small brain and I’m just happy to see the weather people smiling and giving us good news for a change.

We’ve seen too much of the National Coordination Group in recent months. These people only get together when the forecast is looking grim. When you see them on the TV standing in front of maps and charts, with soldiers on one side and gardaí on the other, then you know things are about to go pear shaped.

They’ve had some major incidents to deal with like Ophelia, the Beast from the East and Storm Emma and they are learning from those experiences. In fairness to all involved, they are very good at keeping everyone informed and they do their best to keep us safe. They have access to the best technology and the best experts so the information they give us is usually spot on.

In normal times, we rely on the forecasters on our local radio stations to keep us in the loop but they’re not always as accurate. The weather can change at the drop of a hat and it’s not unusual to experience the four seasons in one day. It’s changeable and we hear that expression every day and it covers a multitude.

Local forecasters can often be at odds with one another too and it’s not unusual to get different weather predictions for the same locality. That’s hardly surprising given that we are a such small little island where a change in the wind direction can alter our weather very quickly and these people don’t have access to the same resources as the National Coordination Group either.

So sometimes we put on the winter woollies, hat, scarf and gloves but as soon as we leave the house, we find that the sun is shining, and the sweat is running down the back of our necks. By the time we change into a T-shirt and shorts, it’s snowing and we’re exhibiting signs of hypothermia.

Billy Connolly, the Scottish comedian, was describing the weather in his native country and he said there were only two seasons, winter and July. That sounds familiar and it could be applied here too.

So, it must be hard to get it right which is why I’m wondering if maybe the local weather people just throw a bit of everything into the mix to cover all the bases and hope for the best. I have a reason for thinking this.

We hear traffic reports on the radio at rush hour every morning and they can be very useful, especially if there is an obstruction like a traffic accident or road works causing delays. It helps drivers when they get a warning and that’s a good thing.

But regular listeners to the traffic reports will notice that they feature the same problem areas every day, which is understandable. All cities have their bottle necks at rush hour, so it stands to reason that these will be mentioned often.

The M50 in Dublin, for instance, is clogged up so often that some call it the biggest car park in Europe. The Headford Road in Galway is another spot I often hear mentioned and the Dunkaethal Interchange and the Lower Glanmire Road are regulars too.

In my previous life, it was normal to get calls at the garda station from local radio stations in the mornings, inquiring about the traffic situation. When I had the time, I checked the CCTV cameras across the city, or I asked the guys on patrol to give me a clear picture of the traffic flow and I passed this information on.

But there were also times when I didn’t have the time. On those occasions, I just repeated the same information that I had I given on previous days based on my knowledge of the usual hot spots. On the law of averages, there was a good chance that I was going to be right. At least some of the time.

Which brings me back to the local weather forecasts. Maybe there are guys in these radio stations who are too busy to check the weather, so sometimes they just give a decent guess at the forecast and if they’re wrong, there’s no big deal and we put it down to an unexpected change in the wind.

I’m only guessing of course.

Gary Lineker, the former England footballer now pundit with the BBC, posted a comment on Twitter about a match that had just been played between Chelsea and Tottenham Hotspur. Spurs won the game and Mr. Lineker was delighted with the result because he used to play for that team and he said so on Twitter.

His comment was liked 19 thousand times and there were 322 replies. Many of those replies were nothing short of insulting, abusive and full of foul language. The vitriol expressed, and the amount of bad language used was difficult to understand and I just don’t get it.

I enjoy Twitter and I appreciate a witty comment and it can be a very entertaining forum, but this other type of nonsense should not be allowed on any site. It’s unacceptable and there’s no place for it. I have no doubt that Gary Lineker is well able to mind himself and I’m sure he doesn’t let those comments get to him. But there are other people who aren’t as resilient and can be affected by this kind of abuse.

I don’t know what the answer is or even if there is anything we can do to prevent it, but it was annoying me. I was annoyed that these people were spouting rubbish and were not being challenged for their behaviour, so, I tried a little experiment.

I replied to a few of these Tweets and in some cases, I corrected their grammar and in others I sarcastically complimented them on being so articulate. I marvelled at their extensive vocabulary when, in reality, they were unable to get beyond the use of four letter words. I didn’t have to wait too long before I got a reaction.

A few of them discussed among themselves the fact that I had appeared on the thread and they were wondering who I was. Then they began to tell me to get lost for myself, but they didn’t put is as nicely as that. Some users liked my comments to the abusers while others liked the abuser’s messages to me but all in all I seemed to be winning the popularity stakes by about two to one.

I have to say, I found it amusing and I got some pleasure from calling these guys out. I have absolutely no idea if I had any impact on any one of these muppets, but I would be delighted with myself if I made even one of them feel a bit daft. Sometimes, even something small can hit a nerve and make an impression.

There is a guy called Arno Michaelis from America and he wrote a book called My Life After Hate. He was a founding member of what became the largest racist skinhead organisation in the world. Today he has switched sides and now works with Serve2Unite, an organisation that engages young people of all backgrounds as peacemakers.

He says; “I grew up in an alcoholic household where emotional violence was the norm and as a kid who was told I could achieve anything, I reacted to that emotional violence by lashing out and hurting people. I started out as the bully on the school bus, and by the time I was in middle school I was committing serious acts of vandalism.”

“I radiated hostility, especially towards anyone with a darker skin complexion than mine, and I had a swastika tattooed on the middle finger of my right hand. One time I was greeted by a black lady at a McDonald’s cash register with a smile as warm and unconditional as the sun. When she noticed the swastika tattoo on my finger, she said: ‘You’re a better person than that. I know that’s not who you are.’ Powerless against such compassion, I fled from her steady smile and authentic presence, never to return to that McDonald’s again.”

That lady in McDonalds may not be aware of the impression she left on Michaelis but her decision to challenge him had a profound effect. So, should we be doing more of this with the Internet trolls?

What exactly is a troll? Well, according to Wikipedia, a troll is a class of being in Norse mythology and Scandinavian folklore. They’re described as beasts that dwell in isolated rocks, mountains, or caves. They usually live together in small family units and are rarely helpful to human beings.

They live far from human habitation and are considered dangerous to humans. Depending on the source, their appearance varies greatly; trolls may be ugly and slow-witted, or look and behave exactly like human beings, with no particularly grotesque characteristic about them. They have also been described as obese and warty creatures who live under bridges who only venture out by night.

A modern-day troll is someone who deliberately annoys others online, typically through inflammatory, offensive, or provocative comments. Their intent is to upset others and elicit an emotional response. In the pursuit of their goal, trolls might rant, post death threats, or spew hate speech.

So, the only difference between the two definitions, is that the modern version uses technology and the Internet. But both species hide in the dark and belong under rocks.

Most of what they have to say makes little or no sense and is designed to be offensive and to get a reaction. So, I suppose if they can get you wound up to the extent that you get angry and start showing your anger in your replies, then they have achieved their goal. They’ve won.

From my bit of research, a lot of these creatures have absolutely no command of the English language and have no idea about grammar or punctuation. My four-year old grandson has a larger vocabulary than most of them, so don’t let them get to you.

According to a story in the Evening Echo last week, a report by Transport Infrastructure Ireland 2017 showed that 30 million cars travelled on the South Ring Road last year and that many of the county’s primary and secondary roads were operating way above recommended capacity.

In other words, there are too many cars on the road but that shouldn’t come as any great surprise.

We have survived the recession and we’re getting back on our feet. We have learned a valuable lesson about living beyond our means and we are all the better for it. We are a lot wiser now and we won’t be making that mistake again.

We are going to be very careful with our money from now on so there will be no more loans, not even for life saving operations. We’ll die first.

Well, maybe not. It seems that we are borrowing again, particularly for holidays and cars. Lending to Irish households for consumer spending has increased and loans are typically for cars, furniture, domestic appliances and holidays.

So, whatever about all the rest of the stuff, it looks like we are going to see even more cars on our already congested roads and that’s not good news. We’re going to see more bicycles too because a by-product of the recession has been an increased interest in cycling.

The number of commuters cycling into Dublin city during the morning peak reached its highest level last year, since records began 20 years ago. Almost 11,000 people cycle into the city each day. There is no doubt that cycling is becoming more popular and while that won’t please everyone, it might not be such a bad thing for car owners.

As Transport Infrastructure Ireland pointed out, our road networks are full to over flowing and we are running out of room. Houses that used to have one car parked outside the front door now have two or three and it can often be difficult to find a parking space outside your own home.

This is only going to get worse. Some of our roads have barely moved on from a time when the horse and cart was the dominant mode of transport and they are struggling to cope as it is. It’s a challenge to drive through most towns and cities these days and it doesn’t take much to bring traffic to a complete stand still.

The problem is magnified at certain times of the day when we all want to use the road together. The schools open every morning when most of the workforce is heading out the door, so we don’t have much choice but to compete for the same space.

I can remember a time, as a youngster, when we used to play football on my street. One goal post would be marked by an ESB pole and a jumper thrown in the middle of the road would be the other. We would play uninterrupted for long periods and only be disturbed by the occasional car. You’d hear the car coming from a distance, almost certainly driving slowly, and you would have plenty of time to pick up your goalpost and get out of the way.

Today, the goalkeeper would be mangled before he could even get into position. It’s impossible to even stand on that street for a few seconds these days because of traffic, not to mention having a kick about.

Our towns are congested too, and bad parking isn’t helping. There are far too many drivers who either don’t know how to park a car properly or else just couldn’t be bothered and they end up taking up more room than they need. It’s not unusual to see a car taking up two spaces and I’ve seen drivers who are fitter than Sonia O’Sullivan, walking out of disabled parking bays.

Trying to find a space is becoming increasingly difficult and you can clock up serious mileage and wear out a good set of tyres driving around in circles waiting for a place to become available. High rise parking is ok for an hour or two, but it can be expensive if you use it regularly and it’s not available everywhere either.

The average cost of running a family car for a year is €10,671.37 according to the AA’s annual survey of motoring costs. The AA calculates the annual cost of motoring each year using a figure that includes the obvious things like fuel, insurance, servicing but also factors in a whole range of other costs. These include costs like depreciation and interest charges, as well as replacing tyres etc over the car’s life.

Those who can survive without a car should be grateful for not having to deal with the expense and aggravation of car ownership. It’s not cheap by any means but those of us with no alternative will have to struggle on. We’ll also have to accept that parking is just going to get more complicated unless you own your own parking spot.

In the UK, there was a parking bay in the heart of Westminster that came with a price tag of £350,000. A double garage in Edinburgh was priced for sale at £85,000, and at Manchester Airport there were 45 spaces available for £35,000 each. Closer to home, there was a parking space in Dublin for €10,000 and there was one available in Galway for €15,000.

So that’s it, there’s no need to panic. If you’re struggling to park the motor, don’t worry, you can always buy your own personal spot.

One solution to our congestion problem is to encourage more drivers to take up cycling. While they are like a red rag to a bull for some motorists, we should cut them some slack. They might be our salvation yet.

The 2018 FIFA World Cup is upon us and for those of you with no interest in football, it’s going to be a long month. If you really want to avoid it, you probably need to take a holiday in some far-flung jungle or in a very deep cave.

It’s a huge sporting event with wall to wall coverage. All the top professional players in the world will be on display, competing for the biggest prize in football, the Jules Rimet Trophy. It’s named after a former president of FIFA who organised the first tournament just in case you’re interested.

I have been a football fan since I was about ten years old. As a child, I went to my room every Saturday afternoon and lay on the bed with my transistor radio and listened to whatever match the BBC were commentating on that day. Football on TV was rare in those days.

That’s all changed now and these days we have an abundance of televised football. It comes to us from all over the world but it’s the English leagues that we still mostly follow in this neck of the woods. So, as a fan, I should be excited and looking forward to the tournament, but I’m not.

There are two reasons for this. In the first place, I think we’ve reached saturation point with televised football. Every week of the season, Sky Sports and BT Sport provide us with three games on Saturday followed by two more on Sunday afternoon.

Then there’s Monday Night Football and Champions League matches, with games on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. That’s before we talk about the Europa League, FA Cup, League Cup, International friendlies, European Championship and World Cup games.

That doesn’t include coverage of other European football from the Italian and Spanish Leagues or our own domestic football with the League of Ireland. There is an awful lot of it but that’s not the only issue.

The behaviour of many of those involved in the sport like players, management and officials are testing my patience.

Too many players are blatantly cheating by diving and feigning injury to try to influence the referee. They regularly act as though they have been struck by an Exocet missile and roll around in agony as if mortally wounded. Yet, it only takes a quick spray of water to bring them back to full fitness. They look foolish, but it doesn’t seem to bother them.

They complain about every decision that doesn’t go their way and abuse match officials constantly. The Juventus goalkeeper, Buffon, was involved in a very unsavoury incident with referee Michael Oliver recently because a decision went against him and there are plenty more who can’t keep their mouths shut either.

The pushing and shoving that goes on during free kicks and corners is more suited to a rugby field. Coaches have no difficulty expressing their dissatisfaction with match officials either and the fourth official regularly has his hands full on the touchline. It’s doing my head in.

These guys are being paid vast sums of money and it’s about time they started behaving professionally. I don’t want to watch over paid prima donnas throwing themselves on the ground and screaming like banshees.

At the start of the last season, referees tackled this nonsense and for the first few games there was a definite improvement. When players realised they were going to be penalised for bad behaviour, they cut it out. But it wasn’t long before things went back to normal.

The day before the start of the US Masters this year, Tony Finau, an American golfer, was playing in the par three competition which is a warm up for the main event. After getting a hole in one, he ran down the fairway to celebrate and when he started running backwards, he tripped and dislocated his ankle.

It was shown repeatedly on TV and you could clearly see the ankle popping out when Finau fell on his backside. He immediately reached down and popped the ankle back in place, then picked himself up and hobbled off the course. It was assumed that he would not be able to take part in the Masters, and that for him, the competition was over before it even started.

Finau went off and had an MRI, had his ankle heavily bandaged and turned up the following day to take part in the competition. For a part of the opening day he even led the field.

Mick Cleary writing in The Telegraph had a story about Saracens rugby player, Brad Barritt, who fractured his cheekbone during a game on the Sunday before the Champions Cup quarter-final against Leinster.

A scan on Monday confirmed his fears and an appointment was made with a specialist surgeon on Tuesday where he underwent an operation under local anaesthetic and had a titanium plate inserted. He was back training on Wednesday and lined out against Leinster on Sunday.

According to Barritt; “They numbed the side of the mouth, created an incision on one side, used what looks like a shoehorn to pull the cheek back, scraped away to the bone and put in a vertical plate and then drilled it in. It sounds more painful than it was, more like a routine wisdom tooth procedure or something like that.”

While Finau and Barritt are probably out of the ordinary, they put the cheating footballers to shame. These guys could legitimately have screamed in agony, but they didn’t. They just got on with it.

Professional footballers and match officials are well paid for what they do, and they have a responsibility to make an honest effort. Hopefully we will be treated to some good refereeing and less theatrics in the World Cup, but I won’t be holding my breath.

The HSE has been rocked in recent times with scandals and it would appear that they are getting very little right.

Hospital overcrowding, patients on trollies, misinterpreted cervical smears, failings in audiology services, staff shortages. it’s a mess and it seems that they’re even struggling with the simple things.

This morning I drove up to the HSE Community Equipment Services in Cork to collect a piece of equipment for my 99-year-old mother-in-law. I decided to go up before lunch to avoid the Friday afternoon traffic but of course, it was never going to be straight forward.

I got there at 12.15pm only to discover that they were closed. It would appear they’re not too fond of early starts because they don’t open up until 10.am. Then they close after a couple of hours, at 12 noon, so they can chill out and have a long lunch before they open again at 2pm. They work for two more hours and close at 4pm.

Maybe, handing out these bits and pieces to patients is very stressful and requires extreme concentration which prevents them from working normal hours, but it might help the rest of us if they put the opening times on the docket.

It’s that time of the year again when we start to consider our plans for the summer holidays. After a long winter of rain, wind, snow and storms, we’re entitled to look forward to a bit of a break, to relax and recharge the batteries before we face the next onslaught.

For most of us, the thought of spending a couple of weeks in the sun and lounging around the pool with a cold beer is enough to get the juices flowing. Making the morning dash to the poolside to grab a sun bed ahead of the Germans, is all the excitement we need.

But not everyone sees it that way and there are certain people who want to be stimulated. They’re not happy unless they’re sweaty and breathless. They crave excitement and it’s even better if there is danger involved. Some arrange their holidays to coincide with various festivals and events, so they can take part. Like the festival of San Fermín for example.

That might not ring a bell but, if I told you it involves an event known as the ‘Pamplona Bull Run’ in Spain, then you would probably know straight away what I’m talking about.

Basically, it involves a bunch of adults running down a hill while trying to avoid being gored or trampled to death by a lot of angry bulls. These animals weigh 700kg and they are all enthusiastically trying to stick their horns into some human flesh.

The madness starts when a rocket is fired into the air to warn people that the gate has been opened at the bull pen. The runners dress in white with a red neckerchief and before they start, they say a prayer.

If you’re about to face the prospect of being flattened by tons of angry beef, then it makes sense to make peace with your God of choice. A second rocket lets everyone know that the bulls have left the pen, and it’s time to start running. As fast as you can.

The organisers suggest that this is a dangerous activity and under no circumstances should anybody consider running while intoxicated. Drunk people are a risk to themselves and to everyone else. That advice makes total sense, but who in their sober senses would agree to take part?

If danger is your thing, you could always try the Cheese-Rolling festival in Gloucestershire in England. It might sound harmless enough, but it is considered an extreme sport, and some say it is so dangerous that it should be banned.

All you need, is a steep hill and a 9lb Double Gloucester cheese. The cheese is rolled down the hill and then everyone chases after it. There isn’t a chance in hell of catching it because it can reach speeds of up to seventy miles an hour, but that doesn’t seem to matter.

I’m not sure what the objective is, but the end result for the contestants is bound to involve pain. Running as fast as you can down a grassy hill can only end badly, and sprains and fractures are not uncommon. The first person to get to the bottom of the hill, dead or alive, is the winner. Where the cheese ends up is anybody’s guess.

At the other end of the spectrum, there is another activity which is much more sedate but is equally as baffling. If you’re looking for a quieter life, you could always head off to Norfolk in England for the World Snail Racing Championships. It’s important to have a health check before you go though, just to be certain that your ticker is able for the tension.

Snail racing is advertised as a fun event for young and old alike and it has been going on for more than 25 years. There’s not a lot to it really, you just go out into the garden and collect snails. You’ll find them underneath big stones and in wet areas, but you already knew that.

The snails race outwards from the centre of a circle. They are put in the middle and pointed in the right direction and each owner just hopes for the best. What you are supposed to do if the snail decides to turn around and go in the opposite direction in unclear.

If all this excitement is too much, then you could try something else. There is an event held in Derbyshire, England, called the World Toe Wrestling Championship and it has been going strong for more than 40 years.

It’s like arm wrestling except that you use your toes instead. Competitors lie on the floor opposite each other, and interlock their big toes in between two small planks of wood. Whoever manages to make their opponent’s foot touch the wood wins a point.

It might not sound like the most physically demanding sport, but toe wrestling is no walk in the park. World champion Alan ‘Nasty’ Nash has suffered his share of cuts, bruises and broken toes over his career. One year, he broke four toes, but it didn’t stop him from going on to win.

If you want to take part in something less adventurous, you could try the Blackawton International Festival of Worm Charming in Devon.

Teams are given a square metre patch of earth in the middle of a field and they must ‘charm’ as many worms as possible to the surface in 15 minutes. You can do what you like to bring the worms out to play, except digging them out.

You can attract them by singing, by beating on the ground or by dancing, whatever tickles your fancy. Some prefer to copy nature by sprinkling water on their patch of ground to replicate a soft spring rain.

Alternatively, you could just pray for an early death.

My daughter brought her car to Little Island yesterday for her NCT. She failed the test because of a problem with a ball joint in the front wheel. Now, she must get that fixed, which is fair enough and then she has to bring it back to the NCT centre to have it checked again.

I went with her and it was noticeable on the way up, the number of pot-holes and dips in the road the she went into by just doing what she is supposed to do which is keeping to her own side of the road. It’s no wonder that cars are developing problems with ball joints among other things.

When she bought the car, she paid dearly for it and a chunk of that money went on tax. She pays a huge amount of tax on every litre of fuel she puts into it. A large portion of her insurance premium also goes to the tax man and the road tax is another substantial offering to the exchequer.

Motorists are making generous donations to the Government but what do we receive from them in return?

We get roads that are in such a poor condition that they are causing damage to our cars. Then, as if that’s not bad enough, we get penalised by the NCT system because the cars are damaged, and we have to pay for that test and we are charged for the re-test as well.

But there is no accountability for the condition of the roads. If there was a system for testing them, I suspect that not too many of them would pass.

You couldn’t make this stuff up.

I like to keep up to date with what’s going on in the world, but I sometimes slip up. For example, town councils were abolished in this country in 2014 and that piece of news passed me by. To be fair though, I was living abroad at the time and I offer that as an excuse.

The abolition of town councils was led out by Phil Hogan as part of the Coalition’s political reform programme and it was heralded by him as being the biggest shake-up of local government in the history of the State. There are few who would argue that they needed a shake-up but doing away with them completely was different kettle of fish.

Councils came in for a lot of stick across the country and those of a certain vintage will remember that Frank Hall ran a very popular sketch on his weekly TV programme “Halls Pictorial Weekly.” This was a satirical show that highlighted the strange goings-on in Ballymagash Urban District Council. It presented an exaggerated view of monthly council meetings in Ireland and how various issues were dealt with.

There were some insiders who said that it was very close to the bone and it was rumoured that many politicians wanted the programme to be withdrawn.

Apparently, the plan to abolish the local councils was opposed by councillors themselves, as well as many chamber of commerce groups and others who said it would lead to a weakening of local democracy. In any event, they were replaced with new municipal district councils, which are much larger entities, encompassing both urban and rural areas.

And so it came to pass that, as and from the 1st June 2014, Cobh Town Council was abolished and a new sub county local government structure, in the form of Cobh-Glanmire Municipal District, was established. But where are they?

In Cobh, we have a beautiful building at the entrance to the town, called Carrig House and for years that was the home of the Urban District Council and latterly Cobh Town Council. It was the seat of power, our very own version of the White House.

But since we joined up with Glanmire, I don’t know where the new HQ is. Do we still have part of a council operating from Carrig House or have all the staff just upped sticks and headed for Riverstown? Do they still carry out some functions or does everything have to go through the Cork County Council?

I’m only asking because there is a widely held belief around town, that making contact with someone in the local mortuary would be easier than finding a life source in Carrig House. And that’s a pity because it would be nice to have a chat with them about some of their decisions.

For instance, a new taxi queuing system was created on the Low Road in Cobh last year complete with designated parking bays and signage. The road was nicely painted, marking out about 20 spaces for taxis, and while it all looked very pretty, it was obvious to anyone with the IQ of a log that this was never going to work. And it didn’t.

So, this year, another team of workers removed the signage from the newly erected poles and burned the markings off the roadway. The whole episode was a waste of time and money.

There are other signs visible around the town, warning dog owners not to allow their pets to foul the public areas. The message is clear enough; if you don’t clean up after your dog, you face a fine of up to a maximum of €3000.

The public walkways, from one end of the town to the other, are littered with dog crap. It’s unsightly, it’s unhealthy and it’s unfair to those of us who don’t have dogs. It’s also unfair to those responsible dog owners who clean up after their pets and it’s an insult to the people involved the Tidy Towns initiative.

There is also an abundance of dogs roaming freely around the town and owners of these animals have no fear of being fined and for a very good reason.

It took a considerable effort to get information but when I did, it wasn’t very encouraging. The council informed me that only two fines for dog fouling had been issued in ‘recent years’ and they say that it is impossible to police.

Well what was the point of putting warning notices all over the town if the law is not going to be enforced? Individual councillors have told me that they have been banging this particular drum for years, but they have yet to come up with a solution.

In 2016, I wrote a letter to the Municipal Council to ask about the possibility of getting a disabled parking space outside my mother-in-laws house. She was 97 years old at the time and the parking is chaotic where she lives so it can be difficult to get her into a car.

At this stage, she’s close to getting a cheque from the President for her 100 birthday, but I still haven’t heard from the council. I rang them a few times and I was guaranteed that my message would be passed to the appropriate person. I still haven’t heard anything, which is why I’m wondering if the appropriate person is even there.

Maybe they have all gone to Glanmire or Carrignavar and maybe the poor woman answering the phone is all alone in the building. If that’s the case, then someone should break the news to her, so she can turn out the lights and go home for herself.

Frank Hall was ahead of his time and his take on the Ballymagash Urban District Council is as relevant today as it ever was.

When I was a young garda walking the streets of Blackrock in Dublin, I had no interest in promotion and I knew very little about how that system even worked. I was more interested in trying to survive my daily routine without making a complete idiot of myself – and there were plenty of opportunities for that.

There was one story doing the rounds at the time, which also featured on the national media, about a man who had been arrested for drink driving. The young garda making a name for himself was, at the time, carrying out a check point in my neck of the woods.

The car approached the check point and the garda got a strong smell of alcohol from the guy. It soon became obvious that this man was in no condition to drive so he duly removed him from the car and arrested him. Only then did it become apparent to the garda that the car was in fact a left-hand drive and he had arrested the passenger.

No young garda wanted to end up with a mistake like that hanging over him. It tended to draw a huge amount of slagging and also followed the member concerned no matter what part of the country he or she happened to end up. So, the plan was generally to keep the head down and your eyes and ears open.

The competition for promotion came about once a year and for those in contention it became a hot topic of conversation. It was hard to avoid the subject around that time and even those who were not in the competition had an opinion on who the deserving candidates were. It was also regularly suggested that ability had little to do with the selection process.

In those days I often heard predictions from colleagues about who was going to be promoted and who was going to lose out. They very often turned out to be spot on and many based their assessments on what political party was in power at the time or who had the most influential connections.

It wasn’t unusual to hear that while a particular candidate was thought to be deserving of promotion, he would have to wait for a change of government. There always seemed to be a less competent guy who was being touted as a banker for promotion because of who he was connected to. I wasn’t cynical enough at the time to believe that this was how the system worked but these prophets were right too many times. That was nearly forty years ago.

More recently, we have just had the launch of an audit of An Garda Siochana carried out by PricewaterhouseCoopers. The independent cultural audit survey of 6,560 staff and focus groups is the first of its kind.

It identified an apparent “significant disconnect” between senior gardaí and lower ranks and that senior leadership was “not visible” to members. I would suggest that this was particularly obvious during the difficult times when we were in the middle of the recession and struggling to cope, senior management was conspicuous by its absence at the very time leadership was needed most.

The report said one of the biggest reasons for a disconnect between senior leadership and frontline ranks was the belief that promotions, access to training, and transfers were down to “who you know.”

It said this belief came through “particularly vociferously” and “has caused disillusionment and resentment across the organisation.” The report also said that it was the “overwhelming view” of members that there are “large swathes of promotions” where the ‘names are known’ beforehand.

The fact that senior managers have disputed this doesn’t surprise me. It’s what they’ve always done and that’s why nothing has changed. Even the introduction of the Garda Inspectorate and the Policing Authority hasn’t managed to put a dent in the culture of cronyism. The audit said the promotion system was “one of the very important symbols of change within the organisation that needs to be addressed.”

It also found that gardaí are unwilling to speak out about issues because of a “fear of repercussions or due to a sense of futility.” In other words, they felt it would be a waste of time because nobody would listen.

Members wanted the leadership to “speak up and stand up” for the organisation. It was always a particular gripe of mine that senior management automatically just followed the party line. For example, the last two commissioners, Martin Callinan and Noirin O’Sullivan, regularly insisted that An Garda Siochana had all the resources it required when it was obvious that the opposite was true.

The report suggested there were “high levels of scepticism and even cynicism across the organisation as to whether there is a genuine and meaningful commitment” to change. That is very understandable because it’s the way the organisation has behaved for decades and there has never been an appetite for change. And the future looks bleak.

Acting Commissioner Dónall O’Cualáin said the audit reinforced the belief that culture needed to be reformed. He said there needed to be “greater engagement” with staff. “For example, as managers, there needs to be greater engagement with the people working for us, so they can have a clear understanding of what is expected from them in delivering a professional policing service.”

This kind of thinking demonstrates why changing the culture in An Garda Siochana will be difficult. The ordinary, everyday rank and file member knows only too well what is required of them to provide a professional service to the public. They do it every day Mr. O’Cualain, without much support.

The real problem lies further up the line. What’s needed is strong, professional and independent leadership and that has been lacking for far too long.

According to my birth certificate, I was born in 1958. I was never good at maths but by my calculation I should be 60 years old this year. That doesn’t make sense though because I only feel about twenty-five. I am regularly told that I behave like a child too, so something is wrong.

It doesn’t seem that long ago since I was a kid, but I’ve been looking back at the fifties and sixties and I’ve discovered that quite a lot has changed.

I can remember, for instance, the bread being delivered by horse drawn carriage and, in the mornings, being woken up by the rattling of the glass bottles as the milk man made his deliveries along the street. If you didn’t bring the milk indoors quickly enough, the birds would pierce the foil on top of the bottle and drink the cream.

In those days, my father had a cream Ford Consul. I was too young to appreciate it at the time, but looking back on it now, it was a beautiful car. It had a bench seat in the front, an ivory steering wheel with a chrome horn in the centre of it. The bench seat was a complete unit so there was no gap between the driver and the passenger.

One of the neighbours had a black car, I think it was a Ford, and it was like something you’d see in an old gangster movie in 1930’s America, complete with running boards.

Not that we saw too many movies back then. I remember the TV set coming into the house for the first time. It took up a huge amount of space because it was so big. There were no slim sets back then, so they were enormous and weighed a ton.

There was a waiting list to get an aerial up on the roof, but it was important to have one so that everyone knew you had a TV set. Putting up the aerial usually involved a lot of shouting. There would be one guy up on the roof moving the aerial so that it pointed in the right direction.

There would be a second person standing in front of the TV and his job was to give directions as to whether the aerial should be turned left or right depending on the quality of the picture. And a third person was required to stand at the front door to relay the instructions to the guy on the roof from the quality control officer in the sitting room.

The alternative was to have an indoor aerial, called a rabbits’ ears and this was perched on top of the TV. It was like an upside-down bowl with two shiny arms coming out of it and it just sat there on the set like an alien. A variety of insults and abuse would be hurled at anybody who interfered with the rabbit’s ears and distorted the picture.

In the real world, there were some notable events in 1958 apart from my birth and one in particular that shook the world, was the Munich Air Disaster. A British European Airways flight carrying 44 people crashed at Munich Airport shortly after take-off.

Many of those on board were sports journalists and members of the Manchester United football team who were on their way home to the UK having qualified for the semi-finals of the European Cup. A total of 23 people died and 8 of them were members of the Manchester United team.

On a lighter note, someone else was introduced to the public that year apart from myself. Michael Bond was a cameraman working with the BBC in London, but he also wrote a number of short stories for children. On Christmas Eve 1956, he was out doing some last miniute shopping when he spotted a teddy bear sitting on a shelf. He took a shine to it and decided to bring it home to give to his wife.

He got the Tube home from Paddington Street Station and decided to name the bear Paddington. He wrote a few stories about the adventures of this toy bear and put them into a book which he called, ‘A Bear Called Paddington.’ He was turned down by a few publishers in the beginning, but he eventually got lucky and in 1958 his book went on sale.

60 years later and the bear is still hugely popular, and the stories have been translated into more than forty languages. So, myself and Paddington Bear share a birthday, but that’s where the similarities end because he hasn’t changed a bit and he’s also worth considerably more than I am.

Also, in 1958, there was a case in the district court in Cork before District Justice D. P. O’Donovan. The defendant was summoned for stealing £1 – 2s. – 6d from a gas meter in the house of his parents. He was also charged with causing £1 damage to the gas meter, the property of the Gas Company. He pleaded guilty to both charges.

The court records sergeant revealed that the defendant, who lived with his parents, had previous convictions and had served 23 terms of imprisonment. When asked by the judge if he had anything to say for himself, the defendant said; “It’s all through the drink, and I am going straight now. I will pay back the money.”

Inspector M. Enright, who prosecuted said the man was a nuisance to his parents and they wanted him out of the house. He was sent to prison for two months with hard labour.

So, sixty years later it seems that some things haven’t changed at all and the bad guys are still using the same old excuses; “It was the drink judge, but I’m all better now.”