Trevor Laffan

There are some who have suggested to me that since I started writing this column I have become very cranky and I am always complaining about something. Well, that may very well be the case but that is probably because there is no shortage of things to complain about. And I might as well tell you that I’m far from finished yet.

I have been moaning about the climate in Ireland for some time now. Especially after the winter we’ve just had which must have been one of the wettest on record. So after months of dirty grey clouds, non-stop rain, wind, cold and dampness, we’re entitled to get excited about a bit of sunshine. We didn’t get to see all that much of it this summer.

But as soon as the sun comes out to play we have the merchants of doom telling us how bad the sun is. How it shrinks our skin and makes us look like prunes, all mummified and leathery looking. They tell us to stay away from it and to remain indoors for all eternity and hide behind the couch. Pull down the blinds and block out those nasty rays.

Don’t dare to look out the window. White is good they say so use factor 90 on your skin all year round. While you’re waiting for Santa to come down the chimney you should splash some gunk on the entire family including the dog, the budgie and anyone who comes to visit.

I heard an expert one day on the radio giving advice about skin care. The source of her expertise wasn’t quite clear to me at the time but she was basically advocating that we should be using factor 50 sun protection from March to October. She was adamant that every piece of exposed skin should be plastered in the stuff. We should also be wearing hats, sun glasses, gloves and body armour.

Now, I’m not too sure where this lady came from but she didn’t sound too exotic so I imagine she was from around these parts. Even a casual observer of the weather in this neck of the woods would probably determine that we don’t get a lot of sunshine. Even in the sunny south east, grey is the predominant colour so maybe someone should tell her to calm down a bit.

I can recall being in Australia many years ago and I was told that if the children came to school without sun screen and a hat they wouldn’t be allowed outdoors for any recreation. They would remain inside until they were collected at the end of the school day. The Aussies are paranoid about the effects of the rays of the sun and the associated risk of skin cancer.

And that’s understandable. The sun shines there for most of the year and their summers are hot enough to cook humans. Considering that there is a huge hole in the Ozone Layer over their heads, then that probably gives them the right to be cautious. Skin cancer is a serious business.

According to the Irish Cancer Society, the best way to prevent all types of skin cancer is to avoid overexposure to the sun. The sun is usually at its hottest around midday, but it can also be very strong and have potentially damaging effects at other times. Their advice is not to spend long periods in the sun during the day and to make sure you spend time in the shade and cover up with clothes as well as sunscreen.

The Irish Association of Dermatologists is Ireland’s leading professional body on skincare. They recommend that people do not use sunbeds or sunlamps. Sunbeds and lamps can be more dangerous than natural sunlight because they use a concentrated source of ultraviolet (UV) radiation.

According to the Irish Examiner, Irish skin cancer rates have risen by 39% in little over a decade, with sun exposure in childhood contributing to as many as 4,280 adult diagnoses every year. The findings are revealed in a detailed analysis of trends over the past 20 years published by the National Cancer Registry of Ireland.

According to the report, every year an average of 6,889 cases of “invasive skin cancer” are diagnosed in this country — the equivalent of 18 patients a day. From the mid-1990s until the end of 2001, the research team, said there was “little overall change in incidence rates, with rates in females remaining fairly level and a slight decline in males”.

The research by the National Cancer Registry of Ireland also found that men are more likely than women to develop skin cancer. The report said adult men have a far higher risk of developing tumours on their scalp, neck, and arms.

The study suggested this “may relate to the greater proportion of males having outdoor occupations and therefore more long-term chronic sun exposure than females”. As in other countries, the majority of diagnoses involved patients over the age of 60.

So the general advice from those in the know would appear to be to stay out of the sun if you can. If you can’t, then make sure the sun can’t get at you and above all, avoid sunbeds altogether. Staying out of the sun is not a difficult task for anybody living in Ireland and it’s just as well we’re not advised to stay out of the rain.

I have an idea and just to be on the safe side this is what you should do. Put your bucket and spade in the recycling and go find yourself a cave where you can live like a bat and you should be safe enough. Of all the bats that you know personally, I bet you can’t name one that has skin cancer.

Last night the Rose of Tralee was interrupted when Matt O’Connor, who was dressed as a priest, rushed on to the stage carrying a banner. He was shouting something that sounded like “Farmers for justice!” He was tackled by security men and removed from the stage and handed over to the gardai.

This guy and his comrades have carried out similar stunts in the UK and he was happy to take responsibility for the protest.

He was interviewed today on Newstalk and he told Johnathon Healy that he was happy with the protest and considered it to be very successful. He said that this was the start of his campaign in Ireland and he was planning other stunts here in the future.

The only down side to the evening for him was not the fact that he upset the proceedings or spoiled the night for the girl he interrupted but the fact that he was manhandled off the stage. He is talking to his legal advisor about what course of action they can take in relation to the rough treatment he received prior to being handed over to the police.

What planet is this guy living on? He interrupts a major broadcast by entering the main stage, wearing a disguise, holding a poster and shouting some slogan that many people had trouble making sense of and he’s complaining about being treated roughly.

Given the climate we are currently living in and given the atrocities that have been committed in recent times across Europe by characters wearing disguises and shouting slogans I think Mr. O’Connor should be thanking his lucky stars that he isn’t laying in a morgue on a marble slab. Anti-terrorist police in other countries might have reacted a little differently.

I know nothing about this O’Connor guy but he hasn’t done anything to convince me that he is a responsible adult who has the makings of a fit parent.

 

 

 

Those of us of a certain age don’t tend to complain much generally about the poor service we receive or the bad attitude of the person we are dealing with. Ok we complain and bitch to each other about the bad meal we had or the bad tempered taxi driver that brought us home but we rarely have a moan at the time of the actual event.

We seldom tell the offenders what we think of them, preferring instead to keep our mouths shut and grumble later to anyone else that will listen. We might even ring the local radio station because it’s a lot easier to crib into a phone than it is to confront someone face to face.

There are a couple of reasons for this. Firstly, when we were growing up we were taught to mind our manners, speak when you’re spoken to and to say please and thank you. If you didn’t, you either got a clip around the ear or your mother squeezed your arm so tightly that she cut off the circulation while chatting away to the neighbour without missing a beat.

We were also regularly advised by mothers and grandmothers to stop complaining. We had no right to complain unless we had experienced a famine or we were on deaths door. If you complained at anything less than a terminal illness then you were simply an ungrateful wretch. It was drilled into us, so much so that we were afraid to say anything that might cause offence and we carry that with us today.

Secondly, there is a more practical reason for us keeping our mouths shut and it involves self -preservation. Somewhere in the back of our mind we are afraid that if we complain about the steak being too tough at the local restaurant, the waiter will take it away and replace it with a piece of meat that has tested positive for mad cow disease and has been sneezed on for good measure by the entire kitchen staff.

Or if we dare to complain about the wine not being to our liking, it might be replaced with a bottle of vinegar containing the bodily fluids of an angry chef. If we give the taxi driver a telling off about his bad attitude he might bring us home via Sneem and charge us an arm and a leg for the privilege. So to be on the safe side, we say nothing until we are safely out of harms way and then we can let rip.

I remember as a young lad going into a local hardware store one day. The owner, long since dead, was a well- known character and his short fuse was legendary. You could get a good bargain from him but there was a cardinal rule, don’t ever return anything. He was a big guy and was very imposing.

A lady who obviously hadn’t heard about this unwritten rule had brought back a coffee table that she told him was wobbly. He picked it up, studied it for a bit then raised it over his head and threw it the length of the shop. It hit the floor and exploded with bits of it flying in all directions. Then he looked at the shaken woman who feared that she was about to suffer the same fate as the unfortunate table, and he said; “Now mam, it won’t wobble anymore.”

Professional people were never complained about either. They knew what they were doing so if something went wrong it was obviously your own fault. If your dentist drilled through the roof of your mouth and stuck you to the ceiling, then that was your own fault for moving your head. If your doctor removed one of your kidneys when you were in fact suffering from an ingrown toe nail, then that was your fault too. You should have explained yourself properly.

If you were ever foolish enough to complain to your parents that you got a talking to from a rude garda then heaven help your innocence because that would surely lead to another dose of discomfort. No matter what reason you had for coming to the notice of An Garda Siochana, there was absolutely no excuse for upsetting one of them. That point would be emphasised with a kick up the backside.

If you didn’t perform well in school then there was a simple explanation for that too. Either you just weren’t making an effort or your brain had only a limited capacity in which case you got a pat on the head, “Poor boy, sure you’ll find something.” It had nothing to do with the teacher, even if he did smell of drink and had trouble standing up most days.

I know many genuine, decent teachers who try to do their best for their students and I have heard many stories from them about abuse they receive from parents. That might be about to get worse.

A new mechanism has come into force to deal with teachers who are accused of misconduct. The provisions allow any person to make a complaint about a registered teacher to the Teaching Council. This includes members of the public, employers and other teachers. The mechanism is similar to one in place for doctors by the Medical Council.

So now it will become easier for mammies to complain that the little darlings are not on the list of the top ten best performers or that they aren’t playing the lead role in the school play or that they are not on the first team in football. This won’t alter the fact that many of those particular kids will never be high achievers and the only top ten they will ever reach will be Interpol’s 10 Most Wanted.

Last February I launched this Blog without really knowing anything about blogging or where I was going with it. But today I reached a little milestone and so far I have had over five thousand visits to the site. I’m delighted with it. I have received some very positive feedback from many of you and I appreciate every comment, favourable or otherwise. At least some of you get a kick out of the nonsense that I write every week.

With that in mind I’ll plough on for another bit and see where that takes us. I don’t always know where I’m going and something usually pops into my head to drive me on. Like now, I just heard Nat King Cole singing on the radio and every time I hear him I am reminded of a guy called George Doherty. He loved to sing his songs and he had the voice to match.

George was a guy who worked with my father for years. My father was a small time building contractor and the two lads worked side by side for donkeys’ years. George was more than a work colleague he was also a family friend and was godfather to one of my sisters.

He worked previously in Irish Steel until he got a bit of metal in his eye and lost the sight in it and then he went to work with my father. He was an avid golfer and was very involved in the original golf club in Cobh and was involved in the development of the new course as well. In fact it was there that he died, while presumably out checking on the progress of the new club.

It was appropriate that he should have died in the place that he loved so much although he left us far too soon. He regularly comes into my mind.

I remember working on a roof with him back in the seventies. I used to give a hand during the school holidays. He was at one end of the roof and I was at the other. At some point during the morning I asked George what time it was. He stood up straight on the roof top and looked out over the harbour.

Then he licked his finger and stuck it up in the air to check the wind direction. Then he took a deep breath and filled his lungs with fresh air before he put his hand to his forehead to shield his eye from the sun and he looked up to the sky and examined the cloud movement. This went on for a bit and then he announced that it was a quarter to ten.

I thought this was very strange so later in the day I again asked him for the time. Again he went through the same ritual. Standing up, looking out over the harbour, licking the finger, taking a deep breath and putting his hand to the forehead and looking up to the sky to study the cloud movement. Four o’clock he said.

This went on for a few days and it was getting the better of me. I started to wear a watch to work with me and whenever I asked him the time he went through his ridiculous ritual and he was always spot on. Eventually I found myself on the side of the roof that George was working on and I discovered that if I stood in a certain position I could just about make out the clock on the Cathedral.

So he didn’t have super powers as it turned out but he was a super character and he is still missed.

 

 

There is a long standing issue of drug abuse in this country that doesn’t appear to be showing signs of resolving itself any time soon. Syringes being found in public places, addicts using heroin on the streets in daylight and rising crime resulting from the need for addicts to feed their habit are stories that feature regularly in the media. Cocaine is widely available and abuse of prescription drugs and poly drug use are serious problems.

As a young garda in Dublin in 1980 I encountered heroin for the first time and the carnage that’s associated with that particular drug. It was a major problem then and it remains a serious problem to this day. I have witnessed many initiatives over the years designed to combat the rising problem of drug abuse but unfortunately they have all come and gone with little apparent long term success.

Removing dealers from the streets provides temporary relief that only lasts for as long as it takes to have them replaced. Crop failure was one factor that had a definite impact on the drug scene and those effects were seen from the producer right down to the user on the street. But this too was intermittent and temporary. The sad reality is that there will always be a ready supply of illicit drugs as long as there is a demand for them.

If anything, the situation has become even more difficult to combat given the availability of drugs on the internet. The image of the sleazy drug dealer on the street corner doing his dealing in the dark or outside schools trying to snare new young customers is outdated. Drug dealers come in all shapes and sizes and can represent many professions just like their customers. Abuse of prescription drugs has also become a major issue.

Parents often find it difficult to believe that their child is using drugs because he or she would be described as just a regular kid. The common stereotype of the junkie who is horribly thin and strung out may be the parent’s image of a drug taker but the reality is that the majority are just regular kids.

There are many individuals and oganisations, both voluntary and statutory, who are making Trojan efforts trying to deal with those affected by addiction. There are many services offering counselling, rehab, detox facilities and more. They are sticking their fingers into the many holes in the dam but unfortunately they are fighting a losing battle and this is something that needs to be acknowledged.

The men and women of the Customs and An Garda Siochana who are at the coal face of drug enforcement are being put to the pin of their collar to make a serious dent in the drugs business. They have neither the necessary budgets nor the resources required to do anything else and if this is to change then a number of things have to happen.

Politicians and law enforcement agencies must admit and acknowledge that their efforts so far are not sufficient and that the drug situation is spiralling out of control. This is nothing to be ashamed of so let’s stop putting political spin on the ‘war on drugs’ and call it as it is. It’s a worldwide problem that no agency has of yet been able to resolve.

In America, a group of more than 1,000 campaigners, celebrities, law enforcement figures and politicians, including the likes of billionaire Warren Buffet and US former presidential hopeful Bernie Sanders, have called for a shift in global drug policy from emphasising criminalisation and punishment to health and human rights. Their open letter to UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon says the war on drugs has failed.

There needs to be a change in attitude to the way the users are supported. Consideration needs to be given to the idea of providing safe, clean, supervised injecting areas, with supports available for the users. These addicts are injecting in busy urban areas and children have been finding discarded needles. So let’s do something about it.

There needs to be an attempt to reduce the demand through a modern and properly resourced education module provided to our young people who are the potential users of the future. They must be educated to understand that the back street labs that are involved in this trade are unregulated, unhygienic and have absolutely no interest in quality control. They need to understand the danger associated with this.

There is no magic wand solution to this issue and the road will be long, demanding and expensive. This journey must begin with honesty. The authorities must be honest and accept that the problem is out of control and their efforts to date to tackle the issue have not been successful. They must be prepared to be in for the long haul. It’s not enough to just jump up and down with indignation every time we lose someone to an overdose.

The days of the uniformed garda or the doctor in the white coat advising our young people not to use drugs are long gone. We need a new approach and it has been suggested that we should assume that many ‘normal’ young people will inevitably experiment with drugs and that they expect to do so with minimal risk. Instead of targeting this group in an attempt to stop them from taking drugs, it is suggested that we adopt a different approach through ‘harm reduction drug education’.

So rather than placing the focus on reducing the number of drug users, maybe we should focus instead on making the actual drug user more informed in order to reduce harm and reduce drug abuse. It’s a kind of damage limitation if you like.

This is a bit more radical but maybe it’s worth considering.

 

I have a two year old grandson. His name is Cooper and we spend a lot of time together. We get along pretty well considering that we have such diverse taste. I like to watch the news and sport on the TV while he goes more for Peppa Pig, Paw Patrol and Ben and Holly. He controls the remote.

I have a preference for sitting in my recliner while he likes to spend his time on the floor. That’s ok too except that he expects me to share the floor with him while we play with building bricks, trains and other bits and pieces.

Playing with him on the floor isn’t the problem. It’s getting down there in the first place and then trying to get back up again that causes the grief. Creaking knees and a dodgy back make those simple tasks a little more complicated for a granddad but Cooper has absolutely no sympathy. He completely ignores my protests and insists that the floor is the best place to play.

In the fine weather he likes to go outside and play games that involve running around, falling on the grass and rolling over. He likes to be chased. Most of what he likes to do involves lots of movement. There doesn’t appear to be any games that involve sitting quietly or just remaining still for a bit.

At some point during the morning he gives in for a couple of hours and takes to the cot for a nap. That gives granddad an opportunity to take to the recliner for one as well and to prepare for the next onslaught.

After minding the small man for the day, I am worn out. It’s full on and extremely tiring but in a nice way. When the small face looks up at you and gives you a broad smile it seems to take away the pain and frees up the joints for another spot of running.

There is a reason that we have our kids when we are young. It is just so much more difficult when you get older to keep up with the demands of a tiny person. Especially when, in their eyes, you should be able to do everything they want to do and you should be able to do it at their pace.

A lot has changed since my parenting days and life was definitely different back then. There were fewer distractions for kids and there’s no doubt that we were living in simpler times. Technology alone in the last ten years has changed the lives of children dramatically. Whether or not it’s changed for better or worse is a redundant argument in many ways because the change is here to stay, like it or not.

For kids today, there’s no such thing now as waiting for anything. There is instant entertainment available at the push of a button on their electronic tablet or laptop. Their favourite cartoon can be called up at any time of the day or night.

Cooper has introduced me to a lot of new things over the last twelve months. Until then I had never heard of The Baby Channel, Peppa Pig or Paw Patrol but now I have become a bit of an expert.

The Baby Channel was a life saver during his first year while he suffered from reflux. During his many waking hours he got endless entertainment out of it. For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s a non- stop stream of programmes, without advertisements, for babies. Whoever designed it knows their business and kids love it.

There was a period when we thought he was addicted to it but he seems to have let it go without any trauma. There is also an educational side to the channel and our little guy has been making a great effort at counting and reciting nursery rhymes for some time as a result of it.

There’s another aspect of this modern parenting that takes a little getting used to and that is how to properly challenge the bad behaviour of the little monsters. Discipline is a lot different to what it was in my time. Use of the wooden spoon in this era of parenting will result in a complaint to the local police and probably result in a lengthy spell behind bars.

Life wouldn’t be much fun on your release either because you would be ostracised by the community for inflicting torture on a child. U.N.I.C.E.F, the H.S.E, Amnesty International and probably a host of other organisations would have you on their hit list. You would spend the rest of your days in shame, wearing a wig and dark glasses and afraid to leave the house.

The new style of correction involves much more negotiation and might seem a little alien to us but maybe it’s for the best. There are many who don’t appreciate the difference between a slap on the back of the hand and corporal punishment. There are lots of examples of cases where children have been subjected to unspeakable acts of cruelty so maybe this more gentle approach is a better plan.

Having been through the child minding bit with my own children I am very aware that the time we spend with them while they are little goes by quickly. You wake up one day and suddenly instead of asking for a bottle they’re looking for the keys of the car. Instead of tucking them into bed you’re dragging them out of it to go to work.

So for the short period that’s in it, I reckon it’s best to just get on with the chasing and enjoy it. The extra pills, anti-inflammatories, cod-liver oil, morphine and physio will probably help me to get through it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cork Harbour is the second largest natural harbour in the world after Sydney Harbour. There are others who might lay claim to this title like Poole Harbour in Dorset in England or San Francisco Bay in the United States but until proven otherwise, I’m staking a claim for Cork.

Cork Harbour has a lot going for it and is home to the oldest yacht club in the world, the Royal Cork Yacht Club, founded in 1720. Cobh, in the lower harbour, was the Titanic’s last port of call on its fateful journey. The world’s first motor boat race took place in Cork Harbour and the first steam ship to cross the Atlantic in 1836, The Sirius, left from Cork.

We have Haulbowline Island, home to the Irish Naval Service, Fort Camden and Fort Carlisle at opposite sides of the harbour entrance, Spike Island and a number of Martello Towers around the harbour and Queenstown. All steeped in history but it seems to me that we aren’t taking full advantage of it

Indaver are currently trying to get permission to build a municipal waste incinerator in the harbour. Apart from the rights and wrongs of the argument in relation to potential emissions and health implications for people living in the area, this proposal is hardly the most attractive proposition in terms of providing a tourist attraction for Cork Harbour.

Already as you enter the harbour you can see Whitegate Oil Refinery with its collection of tanks and pipes. You can see Ireland’s largest power station in Aghada with its high rise stacks and you can admire the remains of Irish Steel in Haulbowline and the black slag heap that still remains there.

We have thousands of visitors coming to Cork by cruise liner alone every year and they have to enter through Cork Harbour. They come despite the fact that we don’t have a Mediterranean climate so the weather isn’t a major issue. We do have other things going for us like history, scenery and a friendly disposition but with some imagination we should be able to offer even more. Building an incinerator as a point of local interest is unlikely to boost the numbers.

We could look at Sydney Harbour for some inspiration. The harbour is dotted with hundreds of sailing boats, cruise boats and ferries. Around Sydney Harbour you’ll also find national parks, World Heritage sites, rich Aboriginal heritage and early colonial history. On the water, above the water or below it, there’s a lot to do.

You can also experience Sydney Harbour and the islands by ferry or kayak, including Fort Denison, Shark Island, Rodd and Goat Island. You can camp overnight in the middle of Sydney Harbour on World Heritage-listed Cockatoo Island. You can tour the harbour on a sailing ship, take jet boat rides or catch a water taxi to a harbour-side restaurant.

Darling Harbour, next door to Sydney Harbour, is the poor relation. It was once a thriving port area but began to decline after the Second World War until it eventually became a wasteland. In 1984 the Government decided to redevelop Darling Harbour in time for Australia’s bicentennial.

In 1998 Darling Harbour began preparations for the Sydney 2000 Olympic Games. In 2000 it hosted five sports during the Olympic Games. They towed an old ship into the harbour and transformed it into a nightclub with bars and restaurants and renovated the quayside.

This was all done in a relatively short time frame and is an example of what can be done with a lot of effort and some imagination.

So contrast that with the situation in Cork Harbour. Local residents in the harbour area, students and staff at the National Maritime College are all protesting over plans by a waste management company to build a €160 million twin incinerator.

The protestors are concerned about the health implications of having a 160,000-tonne twin incinerator on their doorstep. Apart from the implications for the environment they are also concerned about the ability of the infrastructure to cope with the certain increase in traffic to and from the proposed plant. All legitimate fears but there is another issue.

Why is it necessary to be even having this argument? Surely it should be in interest of everyone to start appreciating the natural beauty that we have in our midst and invest in it for the future. We need to make the harbour area more attractive for ourselves and our visitors. We could begin by removing that unsightly and unhealthy slag heap.

We should develop the landmarks in and around the area and make them more accessible, particularly by water. There is so much potential in the harbour area but sticking an incinerator in the middle of it is not the way to harness it. On the other hand, maybe we are not capable of doing something like that.

There is a small local amenity in Cobh known as the Five Foot Way and it includes a walkway into the town that runs along the edge of the river. Cobh Town Council and Cobh Tidy Towns Committee have made a serious effort to improve the area as an amenity for tourists. There is a children’s playground, an outdoor exercise facility and parking bays for camper vans. It is adjacent to the berthing area for the cruise liners so it is the first place that the visitors see when they leave the ship.

Every day without fail this walkway is full of dog crap. People obviously bring their dogs out early in the morning and let them run wild around one of our main tourist spots to create dirt and spoil the place for everyone else. If our own local people can’t look after something as simple as this, what is the point in trying to be more ambitious?

 

 

Exercise is now fast becoming something of an obsession for a great many people. Gym membership is a must have, running shoes sit in most hallways and bicycles have made a huge comeback in recent years. I read somewhere that cycling and fitness issues generally tend to increase during a period of recession.

There was an old storyteller, Eamonn Kelly, who used to comment about royalty in Ireland in olden times and he would say; “At that time in Ireland, you couldn’t throw a stone without rising a lump on the back of a kings head they were so plentiful.” Well the same could be said of our fitness devotees today. They’re all over the place.

For people who seem so intent on improving their odds for living a longer life, many of them seem to go out of their way in an effort to shorten it.

For some strange reason there are many joggers who insist on running on a busy roadway instead of getting up onto the footpath. Many more of them have still not grasped the idea that wearing bright coloured clothing just might make them more visible to motorists and therefore could increase their chances of finishing the run without the aid of an ambulance.

There was a case in the High Court recently involving a woman who was injured when a wing mirror on a van hit her as she was out jogging. She was awarded €134,000 damages and Mr. Justice Kevin Cross said the lady suffered quite significant injuries.

The driver of the van had accepted some liability but also pleaded that the accident was in the main caused by the lady who, with a friend, was jogging two abreast on the road. She was also criticised for not having a high visibility jacket.

Cyclists are another issue. They seem to think that they have a divine right to do what they like regardless of the rules of the road. They hunt in packs and hold up traffic. There are many of them who believe that traffic lights are for ordinary mortals and the red light doesn’t apply to them. Many of them use footpaths as extra cycling lanes.

With some sensible precautions and a little consideration for those using the roadway, there’s no reason why we can’t all be accommodated safely. The likelihood is that if things get out of hand, the cyclists and joggers will come out second best. Accidents can happen at any time but there’s no need to go looking for trouble. But some people can’t help themselves.

I have some friends who look forward to their annual adventure holidays. They head off to strange places and subject their bodies to various feats of endurance. They get a kick out of testing their ability to survive violent experiences while at the same time having some fun.

I have been endowed with a body that is not designed to defy gravity. I also have a deep-seated hatred of two things namely, sweat and pain. Over the years, I have experienced my fair share of both and I see absolutely no reason to go looking for extra doses of either. Activity holidays are out for me. I have no desire to haul my body up a mountain, chuck it out of a plane or drag it across a desert. My idea of bliss is an inactive holiday.

Like most normal people, I struggle throughout the Irish winter and I look forward to a summer break and to exclude all thoughts of physical exertion of any kind. But it doesn’t always necessarily work out that way.

My kids are at an age where they would rather contract a dose of leprosy than have a holiday with the parents. I can remember when they were younger how hard it was bringing them on holidays. They always needed to be amused, stimulated, fed or covered with factor 20. It was a full time job minding them.

A lie-in was a rare occurrence because every morning you would have to get up at the crack of dawn to race the Germans and the Dutch through the complex to get a towel on a poolside bed. Failure meant you were rejected by the family.

I longed for them to grow up. (The children, not the Germans and Dutch). Now that they have grown, they want something else and are only prepared to suffer us ‘old folk’ if we do something different, like skiing. I don’t see the need to pay a small fortune to go somewhere to experience the cold when I can do it here for free. If I get the urge to see what the top of a mountain looks like, I can watch ‘The Sound of Music’.

I don’t ask for too much. I just want to arrive at my resort after a short flight, armed with a supply of books. I want my air-conditioned apartment to be on the ground floor and I want a sunbed reserved for me every day. I want it to be positioned strategically between the pool, the bar and the restaurant.

I also want a ban on all music, kiddies clubs and noise and I want under- twenty -fives barred from my complex and the immediate execution of anyone attempting to start up a conversation. I want any fun loving holiday rep that makes even the slightest effort at starting any type of activity to be sent to the nearest shark infested river.

It’s not going to happen though, so I may as well pack my gloves, my woolly hat and my anti-inflammatory pills. I know where I am going to end up this year and it won’t be where I want. It’s what always happens when I put my foot down.

 

I have a cousin and she’s fond of saying; “There’s nowt as queer as folk.” And she is spot on. People can be strange and the behaviour of some can be difficult to understand even by members of the same family.

I was talking recently to a friend of mine and she told me a story about how she had lost contact with her brother many years previously. I was curious and thought that maybe he had travelled to some far flung country and had simply disappeared. But the truth of it is that not only is he living in the same country but he is in the same county. He chose not to have any contact. He has made it clear that he doesn’t want to keep in touch with family members and he has no explanation to offer for his decision.

Apparently he got married some thirty odd years earlier and from the day of the wedding he began to lose contact with his family. As time wore on, the contact became less and less until one day it ceased completely. This struck a chord with me because I had heard a similar story about another guy who had acted in exactly the same way.

This character is a younger man who was part of a loving family. He had behaved normally for most of his adult life and he had a good job and everything seemed to be going in his favour. Then one day he got married and went to live not too far away from his family. But the day he got married was the day he seemingly decided that he was going to have no more to do with them.

The family members have no idea what brought about this change and they are unlikely to be any wiser until such time as he decides to tell them. The way he is currently behaving gives no indication that this is likely to be any time soon. By the time he does decide to enlighten them it may be too late, because while initially they had a certain amount of sympathy for him, this has now turned to anger. The longer it goes on, the angrier they get.

Then one morning I was listening to the radio and the presenter read out an email from somebody with a similar story. As the show went on he started to get more calls, texts and emails from other people who had experienced the same thing. So much so he decided that he would dedicate an entire programme to this specific topic at some future date.

It turns out that something I had thought of as being an unusual event is actually a huge issue for a lot of people. It would seem that there are plenty of children who reject their parents into adulthood. The other surprising thing about these situations is that in most cases, the parents have no explanation or reason for why this has happened. Those involved in these situations refer to themselves as being estranged from their adult children.

Anyone looking for more information about this just needs to Google ‘Estranged adult children’.

From my little experience of this phenomenon I can say that there is a lot of pain and suffering caused to the family members that have been cut off. I’m sure there must also be a certain amount of embarrassment at constantly trying to explain the absence of a family member and having to come up with excuses as to why that person is never around. It must also be frustrating trying to figure out how that situation developed and what it was that caused that person to cut the ties in the first place.

There is one possible explanation. It could be that the adult child is in a relationship in which he or she is being manipulated by the partner and could be a victim of the Stockholm syndrome.

According to Christine Louis de Canonville, Psychotherapist, Stockholm syndrome is a psychological term used to describe the relationship that sometimes develops between a captor and a hostage. In such a relationship the hostage expresses empathy and positive feelings towards their abusive captor and often they will display a desire to defend them.

The psychological term, Stockholm syndrome came about after a bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1973, in which four employees were held hostage by two captors for six days. During this relatively short time it was noted that the hostages had managed to develop a strong emotional attachment to their captors.

It would seem that the hostage’s empathetic feelings toward their captors were due to acts of kindness they had been shown during their ordeal. Unbelievably, these small acts of kindness seemed to negate the fact that their lives had been threatened, and even several months after being released, some of the hostages still wanted to defend their captors.

The Stockholm episode sparked off great interest and research into the phenomenon of emotional bonding between captors and captives, (abusers and victims). Studies have revealed that this behaviour in the captives does indeed occur in many situations, for example, narcissistic abuse, battering (men and women), abused children, incest victims, rape victims, cult members, prison camps, pimp-procured prostitutes, prisoners of war, etc.

If this is the case then I might have to rethink my solution for getting the misguided son back home. Before looking into this I had thought that giving him a swift kick up the backside and telling him to go home and see his mother would have been the answer. Now though, I think that this is unlikely to work and something a little more scientific might be required.

Many years ago myself and an older colleague received a call to go to the scene of a theft in a local supermarket. When we got there we found that the owner had a young woman detained in his office. He took us outside and told us that she had stolen something small and was not a regular thief. He said that he didn’t want her to be prosecuted but he wanted her to get a good fright.

My colleague looked at the owner and told him that he shouldn’t have called the police because what he really wanted was a ghost. The owner got a little embarrassed but I thought it was brilliant.

While I have seen many strange things throughout my life, there was usually a reasonable explanation for most of them. There are some circumstances that can cause the mind to play tricks such as dealing with some incident in the dead of night where you might potentially be finding a dead body. Certain situations can cause you to see things that aren’t there and can lead you to imagine all sorts of weird scenarios.

I remember one time calling to a house during the night after neighbours had become concerned for the safety of the occupant after he hadn’t been seen for a few days. He was living on his own and there was no reply when we knocked. There was, however, a partially open window at the back of the house.

With the aid of a ladder I climbed up into the blackness and managed to open the window enough for me to squeeze through. At the point where I was half in and half out of the window I started to wonder what I was going to find. My mind went into overdrive in the darkness and I began to imagine the deceased in several different settings.

He could possibly have died in a violent struggle and there could be parts of him scattered all over the house. He could be only half dead and waiting for me to climb in further so he could bash my brains out with a three iron. He could have been murdered and the murderer could be waiting to claim his second victim of the evening.

As it happened, I found his bedroom with the bed clothes thrown back neatly. I made my way downstairs where I found a warm kettle and a warm pot on the stove. It turned out that the guy was alive and well. He had recently taken up a part-time night watchman job and was gone to work. He was fine.

As youngsters we hear stories of witches, ghosts and goblins and things that go bump in the night. Stories of strange unexplained events have been passed down through generations. I suppose all that lies somewhere in the recesses of our minds only to be pulled out when we find ourselves in unusual situations. But as adults we can rationalise that it’s all just a load of old bunkum. Or is it?

Are we alone? Is it possible that spirits can make contact with us from some afterlife? I was always convinced that when we die we die and that’s that but now I’m not so sure.

My daughter went to a medium not so long ago. I told her she was daft and that she would be better off putting the money towards a few gin and tonics for herself. But she went anyway. While she was with this guy she made notes as he was talking. Some of what he was saying made some sense to her and some of it didn’t. In any event she enjoyed the visit.

Over the following few days she was looking over her notes and more of what she was told began to ring a bell. Certain personal things that he told her turned out to be very accurate. Information he gave her about the deceased people he was communicating with was very close to the bone and it was difficult to see how he could have known about it.

He described a particular room to her that a spirit was telling him he liked to visit to watch over the family. He described it very accurately including a painting over the fireplace. There was one thing he told her about the fireplace being out of alignment that didn’t fit but she just put it out of her mind. The room being described, by the way, was my sitting room.

Recently my daughter and I were sitting in that very room watching the television when all of a sudden she sat bolt upright in the chair. Her eyes were wide open and she was staring at the fireplace. There is a little column or pillar on either side of it and one of them is slightly tilted to one side making it look slightly out of alignment.

So are there certain people who have some sort of psychic ability to communicate with a spirit world? If that is the case then it opens up a whole different set of circumstances. That could mean that when I’m sitting in my recliner minding my own business, just reading the paper, I might not be alone. There could be someone else in the room with me or maybe even a small crowd for all I know.

On the one hand it’s a little unnerving to think I might be sharing my room with some spirits. On the other hand, unlike dealing with the living, they don’t annoy me. I don’t have to feed them. I don’t have to give them my best whisky, entertain them or tidy up after them. All in all, they’re no bother.