Trevor Laffan

Why is it that so many English football fans seem to be incapable of behaving themselves? They have repeatedly left down their clubs and country with their disgraceful conduct and outrageous violence. And it never seems to be their fault.

England is a country that prides itself on its patriotism, stiff upper lip attitude, good manners, cricket and a love of queuing. But when it comes to following their national football team the wheels seem to come off the bus.

You don’t hear too much negativity surrounding the supporters of English rugby, cricket or tennis but when it comes to football, hooliganism seems to be a recurring story.

It is a very difficult subject for Irish people to get their heads around because violence in sport is simply an unknown concept. Our supporters in all sports have a reputation for having fun with the opposition, friendly banter and a few drinks.

Hurling, Gaelic football and rugby are aggressive, competitive sports that can get the adrenaline flowing in supporters and emotions can very often run high. Yet it is very common for supporters to be mixed without incident. You will often find an opposing fan sitting in the midst of the ‘enemy’ but apart from some friendly slagging and abuse the lone supporter will come to no harm.

I can remember as a young lad in 1972 my father brought me to see Leeds United play Cardiff City in in Cardiff. It was my first ever live English football game. We were walking from the railway station to the football ground when we were approached by an older man.

He suggested to my father that I should hide my Leeds United scarf under my coat in case we met any trouble. I did as I was told but I was only fourteen years old and I was disappointed not to be able to show support for my team.

As we got closer to the stadium I remember seeing all the shop windows boarded up to avoid being smashed. Soon after, there was a sound of chanting and shouting from what sounded like a large group. When we rounded a corner I saw hundreds of Leeds fans at one end of the street facing up to hundreds of Cardiff fans at the other end.

The atmosphere turned sour very quickly and spoiled what was supposed an exciting day out to watch some football. The older man directed us away from that scene as both groups charged at each other. It was a very frightening experience.

I have in recent times been lucky enough to travel to Anfield, on several occasions with my own son, to watch Liverpool play. I had thought that all violence at football grounds had been consigned to the history books because my experiences at Liverpool have always been positive. Anfield is a great stadium and is well marshalled with efficient and good humoured stewards.

Recent events with the England fans in France however would suggest that all is far from being rosy in the garden.

Looking at photographs of these hooligans it is plain to see that many of these guys are old enough to be parents and grandparents. Middle aged men standing in the street, with their bare chests, throwing chairs and bottles look completely ridiculous. Surely they must see how stupid they look.

It reminds me a little of watching a talent contest when someone comes on stage to sing and he hasn’t got a note in his head. He is delighted with himself while everyone else watching is cringing and hiding their faces behind their hands. Everybody is wishing that he would just go away. And you wonder how he possibly has the nerve to stand there and mortify himself.

Surely there must be someone in the family who knows that this guy can’t sing. There must be someone who can pull him to one side and give him a dose of home truth, for his own sake. A bit of honesty might be a bit painful but would have to be preferable to total humiliation on a grand scale at a later stage.

It’s the same thing with these adult hooligans. If you know one of these bare-chested, chair-throwing grandads please have a little word in his shell like. You might hurt his feelings a little but you could be subtle and just tell him that he looks like a complete dope.

You could also advise him that chairs are for sitting on, bottles are for drinking from and taking off your shirt at that age is something you do in the privacy of your own home before taking a shower. You could also remind him that football is a sport that is enjoyed by many and it is not a war. Let him know as well that he is a hopeless role model and a pitiful specimen of a man.

Maybe football needs to take a look at itself as well and accept that it has a part to play in improving behaviour off the pitch by improving behaviour on it. It could start by dealing with the way officials are regularly abused by players. Rugby is a much more disciplined sport and players are taught at a very young age to respect the officials. The referees’ word is final and is never questioned and it all works very well.

That could be a good place for the Football Association to start. Shouting offensive comments at the officials sends out the wrong message to young fans. That mentality won’t change overnight. It’s too late for the bare chested grandads to mend their ways but we should start working on the next generation sooner rather than later.

 

 

 

 

 

Bonfire night is almost upon us. It’s a strange tradition that only seems to be recognised in some counties in Ireland, Cork being one of them. It’s a tradition that we could do without in my humble opinion.

If some unfortunate alien happened to find himself wandering around Cork City on 23^rd June he would be surprised to find people setting fire to the place. He would probably conclude that he had called at a bad time and start up his spaceship and try his luck on another planet.

Apparently this strange activity is part of Midsummer celebrations and traditionally takes place on the eve of The Feast of St John. I’m not sure why St. John is associated with fire, maybe he was an arsonist back in the day, but those responsible for coming up with this form of veneration could have done us all a favour by designing something more mundane.

The bonfire got this name because in the past old bones were burned in the fire. In fact in the Irish language the bonfire is called “Tine Cnáimh” which literally means fire of bones. Stick with me and you’ll learn stuff.

In olden days the fires had to be lit in a circle exactly at sunset and had to be watched until the next morning. They would burn turf, furze bushes, firewood and weeds. Prayers would be said to get God’s blessing for healthy crops. There would also be some singing and dancing and general hell-raising.

There were lots of superstitions associated with Bonfire Night and those with new homes would use the flame to light their first home fire. They also used the flame to light fires around their homes to keep the fairies away. Other items were burned so as to bring bad luck to an enemy and they would also take ashes from the fire and spread them over their land to protect their crops.

As might be expected in Ireland, there was plenty of eating and drinking!  As the flames and sparks shot up, loud cheers would arise from the crowd, horns were blown and some people beat on tin cans. The musicians did their thing and the dancers did theirs. Songs were sung and stories were told.

There were two fire traditions, the large communal fire, lit by the townspeople, or perhaps by the inhabitants of the entire parish, and the small, family fires lit by the members of a household. The communal fires were a place for merriment while the family fires were subdued occasions marked by ceremonies invoking protection on flock or fields.

This was all fairly harmless stuff back then but fast forward to more recent times and it became obvious that these celebrations were becoming a bit of a problem. The original concept of Bonfire Night had become lost along the way and it had now become more of an excuse for people to burn their rubbish.

In the days leading up to Bonfire Night, youngsters would be drawing all kinds of stuff to be burned. Timber, boxes, pallets, bushes, tyres and old furniture. As it got closer to the event, many used it as an excuse to get rid of rubbish and that too was thrown on the heap. It didn’t matter whether it could actually burn or not.

Fireworks are illegal but it was not uncommon to hear them on Bonfire Night. Anti -social behaviour was associated with most fires along with drunken noisy disorder that often went on throughout the night. It sometimes continued through the following day as well.

It wasn’t unusual for things to get completely out of hand resulting in injuries from brawls and drunken assaults.

I can recall looking out over Cork City on several Bonfire Nights in the early hours of the morning and looking at scenes that were reminiscent of a disaster movie. A cloud of thick black smoke as far as the eye could see. I can remember seeing fires lighting on streets and main thoroughfares, next to houses and factories.

Over the years, Bus Eireann has suffered damage to their fleet and at times this had led to the withdrawal of the bus service from certain areas. The Fire Service too has had equipment damaged and some personnel have been injured as a result of anti- social behaviour.

Many of these bonfires were getting out of control and Bonfire Night was becoming a problem night for the emergency services. Many residents across the city were fed up with it so something had to change.

And change it did. Cork City Council, Cork City Fire Service and An Garda Siochana put structures in place to regulate bonfires and the anti-social behaviour that has traditionally been associated with them. The long term aim of the initiative is to replace unauthorised bonfires with controlled events suitable for families.

In recent years a more civilised form of celebrating Bonfire Night has replaced the havoc that previously existed. A number of Park Events have been organised throughout the city each year which include entertainment for kids and teenagers and a number of controlled bonfires. Each location is supervised by City Council officials and RAPID Coordinators and Community Gardai.

Cork City Fire Service has dealt with fewer calls since this initiative was introduced and incidents of anti-social behaviour and public order have also greatly reduced.

I’m not so sure what St. John makes of this development but I’m certain that many of the living are very grateful for this intervention. Not only is life more bearable for many residents on Bonfire Night but the city has also become a less frightening spectacle for any visiting aliens.

 

 

A recent claim for compensation has highlighted the compo culture that has crept into Ireland. There was a time when we looked towards our American cousins in dismay as they seemed to be constantly suing each other. We cocked a snoot and tut tutted and counted ourselves lucky. How times have changed

A Dublin housewife, who has previously climbed in the Himalayas and has made her way to the base camp on Mount Everest, has sued the Irish National Parks and Wildlife Service for €40,000 following a fall on the Wicklow Way. The National Parks and Wildlife Service said that it’s the first time they’ve been sued for negligence after a walker’s fall.

The woman said that as the result of a cut to her right knee she can no longer climb or run marathons. She said that she had to receive seven stitches in a gash to her knee after falling in the Wicklow Mountains National Park. Her foot had apparently snagged in a hole in an old railway sleeper.

There seems to be no doubt that the unfortunate woman cut her leg but you would imagine that an experienced hill walker would be aware that what she was doing was considered to be a sporting pursuit that had certain risks attached to it. It’s also hard to see how a cut to the knee could merit a payment of such magnitude.

If I decide to take up parachute jumping as a hobby then I would have to assume that there are certain risks that go with that activity. If I’m daft enough to chuck myself out of an airplane at ten thousand feet then I can hardly start whinging if I land awkwardly and hurt myself. I shouldn’t be able to go to the ‘Jumping Out Of Planes Association of Ireland’ and sue them because I got a bruise on my butt after landing badly.

Now, if it was a case that the Park Ranger in Wicklow had laid a trap for bears on the main pathway and didn’t put up a warning sign and that resulted in someone losing a leg, then you might be inclined to think, well, that was a bit careless so let’s give them some compo to get a replacement limb.

In the case of this lady, her leg was not amputated and she is by all accounts the same person she was before the mishap. In any event, she considers that she has suffered and it’s going to take €40,000 to make her feel better again.

It seems that there have been hundreds of falls over the years by walkers in the various national parks and many have resulted in broken bones.  But this is the first time that the Service has been sued for negligence and breach of duty and it could have serious repercussions for the future of hillwalking.

Compensation claims come in all shapes and sizes. In the U.K., the Ministry of Justice has said litigation involving prison inmates has reached £29 million. They have ordered an independent audit to make sure they are not being taken for a ride.

In one case, a convicted terrorist tried to claim more than £1,200 for an invasion of his privacy. He is serving a life sentence for a plot to blow up transatlantic airliners with liquid bombs and he sued for compensation. He alleged that two boxes containing his personal possessions, including legal mail, were opened, searched and removed. His case was dismissed, but like many such claims, the Ministry of Justice had to invest thousands of pounds mounting a defence.

Another case involved a convicted three-time killer who successfully sued for compensation. This guy is serving life for the murder of three fellow drug dealers in Hertfordshire in 2008. He was awarded £1,000 after a judge ruled that a guard squirted shampoo on his CDs during a prison transfer. He was also awarded more than £800 after items including his nose hair clippers were damaged in jail.

A burglar attempted to claim £6,000 after banging his head while play-fighting with another prisoner. He tried to claim he had slipped on water caused by a leak at HMP Manchester.

The Belfast Telegraph reported that one inmate lodged a compensation claim for sunburn after he climbed on to a roof in Maghaberry Prison on a hot day to stage a protest. We don’t know if the claim was successful as the Prison Service said that to release details of specific claims would breach human rights under the Data Protection Act. No doubt there would be another compo claim if that happened.

A few years ago a prisoner in Cork Prison sued the state after falling from the roof of a building within the prison grounds. The court ruled that he shouldn’t have been able to climb up there in the first place and so it wasn’t his fault and he was successful in his claim.

He was an adult and he was a prisoner. I would think that it’s fair to assume that the guy knew that he wasn’t supposed to go up on the roof. As a prisoner I’m certain that he was well aware of where it was he could and couldn’t go. But he still chose to go up on the roof and he promptly did a Humpty Dumpty job and he got rewarded for his stupidity.

Compensation isn’t free money. It’s paid for by us all one way or another. While I have no difficulty in compensating genuine hardship cases, I do have a huge problem with money grabbing opportunists.

If you don’t like the idea of getting a scratch on your knee then stay indoors and take up knitting. Alternatively, stick to watching Countdown on the telly and leave the outdoor stuff to Bear Grylls.

 

 

 

 

 

Parking a car is a task that some people find impossible to do properly. Pick a spot someday and just take a bit of time to observe some of the efforts. It is a good spectator sport. Most of us seem to manage it ok but there are those among us who just can’t handle it and should really stop trying.

I have seen drivers making several attempts to reverse into a space only to find themselves three feet from the footpath each time. I have also seen drivers drive into a space and then go backwards and forwards fifty times only to find themselves back where they started.

In Cyprus, a car is considered to be parked properly if any part of it is in the parking space. So if you have enough room to fit the front of the car in, or even one of the wheels, then the car is parked ok even though the rest of it might be sticking out and blocking the roadway.

But before we start to take the mickey too much, we should stop and consider the possibility that maybe they just can’t help themselves. There could be a reason why some drivers find it so difficult.

It could be down to the fact that they lack ‘spatial awareness’. You may not know what this is but it is something that can affect your daily life and might even prevent you from putting your car into a space.

Spatial awareness is needed for a wide range of activities in life. If you lack spatial awareness then you may find many ordinary activities more difficult to carry out or understand. Certain activities that are seen as second nature to the average person on the street will prove to be very difficult for someone dealing with this issue.

The simple task of trying to make your way home can get complicated. Trying to determine the direction to head off in could prove to be a significant challenge especially when north and south are indistinguishable. Trying to work out how far you have to travel to get home can get complicated too when you can’t work out whether you live ten miniutes away or ten miles.

This is difficult for us to understand but that is the world of spatial awareness. Most of us, when we go out, just automatically know how to make our way home again. But someone suffering from a lack of spatial awareness has to be on the alert. Constantly checking for landmarks and being very conscious of their surroundings at all times. Some will stick to the main streets and not move from them for fear of getting lost.

Ironically, one of the best ways to increase your spatial awareness is to get lost. Apparently getting lost makes you feel anxious and, as a result, increases brain activity. Getting lost also helps you find exit solutions and plot routes that connect you with what is familiar.

So the next time you see some poor soul struggling to get his car into a tight space spare a thought for the fact that he might be suffering from a lack of spatial awareness and be grateful that he’s not trying to berth a cruise ship.

I watched one of these ships berthing at the quayside in Cobh recently and it is some feat.

MS Independence of the Seas is a cruise ship operated by the Royal Caribbean cruise line. It’s enormous and it is a regular visitor to Cobh during the summer season. It has fifteen decks and can accommodate 4,370 passengers. It has a crew of 1,360 and is one of the largest cruise ships and passenger vessels yet built. It is 1,112 feet (339 m) long.

The Independence of the Seas has a water park, a dedicated sports pool for volleyball and basketball, whirlpools, and an internal shopping “street”, the Promenade, lined with shops, pubs and wine bars.

There is also the two story theatre with seating for 1,200, and a complete conference center. On a lower level there is an ice skating rink, heated, fresh water pools, a rock climbing wall, a basketball/hockey court, a mini golf course, and a Flow Rider for surfing.

It is almost an insult to call this a ship. It’s actually a floating city and you don’t really appreciate the size of it until you stand next to it when it berths. That’s parking to you and me.

When this liner calls to Cork Harbour, it ties up at the quayside in Cobh. Before it ties up it has to turn around completely to face back out the harbour again. Standing at 1112 feet long and fifteen stories high, it turns on a sixpence between Haulbowline and Cobh, before it glides to a halt at the pontoon at the quayside.

So that got me wondering about what would happen if the captain was one of these guys who couldn’t park a car? Let’s just imagine for a miniute that he was suffering from a touch of this spatial awareness business.

He’s not going to get too many chances to get it right. If a ship this size gets out of control then things are going to get very messy. It is a big responsibility for the captain. One mistake and he could sink the entire Irish Naval Service or turn the main street in Cobh into a canal without too much difficulty.

I think if I’m ever going to travel on one of these cruises, I’ll just wait for the captain to come to work in the morning and I’ll watch to see how he parks his car. If he is having any kind of bother then I’ll just grab my suitcase and leave quietly.

 

 

 

So the Summer Olympic Games of 2016 is almost upon us and will take place in Rio in Brazil from 5^th August to 21^st August. Over ten thousand athletes will take part in twenty eight Olympic sports, all hoping to capture the ultimate prize of an Olympic medal.

As a youngster I used to get excited in the run up to the games but drugs cheats and doping scandals have dimmed my enthusiasm. Over the years, I have become extremely cynical.

Nowadays when I see some sports person standing on a podium to receive an accolade I automatically find myself questioning how genuine the victory was and whether or not the performance was enhanced by drugs.

It’s a natural reaction given the wholesale abuse of drugs in sport in recent years. And just when you think that we are getting a handle on it up pops a new scandal that puts us back in our cynical box again.

In the seventies we used to question Eastern European weightlifters who were lifting shopping centres while other mere mortals were struggling with normal dead lifts. And that was only the women. When the Chinese won medals we just threw our eyes up to the heavens and accepted it.

So, given what we now know about performance enhancing drugs and their widespread use and abuse, can we look forward to a level playing field and fairer games this time round? I suspect not.

Drugs cheats from the London Olympics are close to being exposed after 31 athletes tested positive following a re-examination of samples from the Beijing 2008 Games. All are facing possible bans from Rio 2016 thanks to retests carried out using the latest techniques in the fight against doping.

The International Olympic Committee announced that at least 6.8% of 454 defrosted samples analysed from Beijing 2008 contained banned substances, with the results for 250 London 2012 samples expected to be revealed shortly.

What this means in ordinary language is that these athletes got away with using performance enhancing drugs in 2008 and possibly cheated their way to the podium while denying genuine athletes their rightful recognition. The only reason that they got caught is because now there are more sophisticated techniques available for finding the stuff than there were in 2008.

The IOC also confirmed plans to reanalyse samples from the 2014 Winter Olympics following the latest allegations that Russia ran another state-sponsored doping programme in Sochi, one involving the swapping of dirty samples for clean ones.

There is some talk that there could be a total ban on the Russians competing at the Rio Games but then, that would be unfair on those athletes who have independently proven test records. Winning a medal without competing against Russian athletes would surely diminish the achievement of the other athletes as well.

A wider re-testing programme of medallists from Beijing and London will eventually take place, including anyone reallocated a medal as a result.

Testing, re-testing and re-testing those who were subsequently upgraded following re-tests is now very complicated and should possibly be considered for inclusion as an Olympic event itself.

So then, what can we look forward to in Rio? Well, we are promised that there will be stringent testing and cheats will be dealt with. But only if they can find exactly what it is that is making them go faster, jump higher or throw further. The organisers will freeze samples for another ten years and by then there will be more sophisticated machinery available for finding drugs that are still currently undetectable.

We will probably have winners on podiums receiving medals that will be taken off them in a few years and given to other athletes who went home early because they couldn’t keep up.

But it’s not only the athletes we have to worry about. Drugs are also an issue outside the Olympic Stadium in Rio. In a recent shoot- out between the police and a drugs gang, a police helicopter was shot down and an officer was killed.

Police in Brazil shoot more, kill more and die on duty more than anywhere else in the world apparently, according to police officer Marcus Azevedo. He claims that he has to use his 50,000 volt Taser almost every day in pursuit of robbers and pickpockets.

One police officer is killed almost every three days in Rio. Of his 2011 graduation class of 60 officers, one is already dead and another has been blinded in shootings. His older colleague Sergeant Santana says, “My old headquarters looked like a Swiss cheese because it had so many bullet holes.”

Most of the low level crimes are carried out by teenagers on bicycles who snatch necklaces, phones or handbags. Some criminals use knives and there are also occasional swarms of young thieves who rampage across the beaches, stealing everything from the tourists.

I’m sure this is all very comforting for those planning on travelling there for the games.

There is another point of interest. The Olympics have not yet begun, but the first record has already been set with the number of free condoms being handed out to the athletes.

Officials will be distributing 450,000 condoms to the athletes on the day the Olympic Village opens, that’s an average of 42 condoms per athlete and a three-fold increase over the number of condoms distributed at the London Olympics.

Brazil considers itself to be a leader in the world when it comes to AIDS prevention and wants to encourage safe sex and also wants the athletes set an example to the general population.

With all the sport, drugs and condoms floating around, this Olympics may well be worth watching after all.

 

 

So we have had another shooting in Dublin and, as tends to happen, we have the politicians jumping up and down with indignation. They spout a lot of nonsense and promise to move mountains to get those responsible brought to account. Garda resources are not a problem. We have come to expect that kind of response now and it goes in one ear and out the other.

Taoiseach Enda Kenny says he has full confidence in Garda Commissioner Nóirín O’Sullivan. The Government is determined to provide any resources requested by Commissioner O’Sullivan with regard to gang-related crime. He says that every effort is being made to bring the perpetrators to justice. He looks straight into the camera and appears very solemn and sincere.

The Minister for Justice, Equality and Law Reform has always maintained that the gardai have adequate resources. She has described the latest murder in Dublin is an “outrageous attack on law and order” and is “unacceptable”. Resources are being made available she said.

When pushed on the matter she will suggest that resources are a matter for the Garda Commissioner. The Garda Commissioner, Noirin O’Sullivan, appears to be happy with the resources she has at her disposal because she never seems to be contradicting the Minister.

The reality is that the lack of resources is a huge issue and policing is in crisis because of it. Nobody in authority seems to want to admit it but the simple fact of the matter is that there are not enough gardai on the streets. So who do we blame?

While some would lay the blame solely at the door of the Minister for Justice, I would argue that they are equally responsible. In fact I would even suggest that the Commissioner might be more responsible given that her understanding of policing should be superior to that of any politician.

Her continued denial that there is a resource issue is remarkable and does nothing to strengthen her credibility. The fact that she has failed spectacularly to stand up to the Minister to demand the extra resources required makes her, at the very least, as responsible as the Minister for Justice.

The lack of recruitment over the last number of years and loss of gardaí during that time has left significant gaps in the force and has resulted in a reduction in low level police activity across the country. The visibility of the ordinary garda on the beat has reduced remarkably in recent years. This has resulted in a loss of intelligence and local knowledge which is the backbone of policing.

After the Regency Hotel shooting, the Government announced the addition of fifty five gardai to a new Dublin armed support unit. These gardai were taken from other areas of frontline policing which created gaps elsewhere resulting in a reduction of effective policing in those areas. It was simply robbing Peter to pay Paul.

The Annual Policing Plan 2015 launched by the Garda Commissioner set out the policing commitments of the service and set the priorities for An Garda Síochána as determined by the Minister for Justice and Equality under Section 20 of the Garda Síochána Act 2005.

The Garda Commissioner stated “I am conscious that the close relationship we enjoy with communities across the country remains critical to our ability to prevent and tackle crime. We do not take this relationship for granted and will work to maintain and develop these strong links. Combining our community engagement and community policing philosophy with a renewed sense of public service and duty will be a priority for the entire organisation in 2015”.

“We will continue to provide all necessary resources to provide high visibility policing to reassure communities,” Ms Fitzgerald said.

These statements ring hollow now in view of the destruction of the effective system of community engagement that once existed in this jurisdiction. The Minister and the Commissioner are quick to point out that the closure of rural garda stations has not undermined policing. In fact they have argued that the rural community will somehow benefit from an improved service because of it.

There are a number of issues at stake here;

The general lack of resources and the shortage of manpower in the specialist units

The ban on recruitment

The new roster system

The closure of the rural garda stations

The dilution of community engagement.

While these are regularly addressed separately by the authorities they are, in fact, all connected. They have resulted in the situation that we now find ourselves in and the fact that murders can now be committed at will in the capital city.

How in the face of this, both the Minister for Justice and the Garda Commissioner can agree that An Garda Siochana is adequately resourced is a mystery to many. They seem to limp along from one incident to the next without any definite plan while at the same time suggesting that everything is under control.

The short term answer to the gangland problem in Dublin is to throw manpower and money at it as happened in Limerick a few years ago. This will mean reducing cover in other areas because the numbers simply aren’t there and that will create issues elsewhere. But that’s the price of incompetence.

The Garda Commissioner has a duty of care to her members and she cannot be excused for failing to stand up to the politicians to demand what is needed to ensure that those members can carry out their duty as safely and as effectively as possible.

 

I went to the dentist recently and that was only because I absolutely had to. The pain was at the stage where I was considering removing the tooth myself. I hated the idea of having to go and I suspect that I’m not alone in my fear. I reckon it goes back to the torture I suffered as a child at the hands of a guy who was not big on sympathy.

Like all kids, I had to make the occasional visit to the dentist. I’m pretty sure that he was trained by Dr. Josef Mengele. For any of you too young to have heard of the esteemed Mengele, he was the guy who performed outrageous experiments on the inhabitants of concentration camps during World War Two. Mengele performed many of these experiments without the use of anaesthetic which is a trick he passed on to my former dentist.

He must have used something but he was obviously trying to spare it. He used to tell me to raise my hand in the air if he was hurting me. The blood drained from my arms and I was blinded by my own tears but the pain continued. I’m sure he used an industrial drill that he had to hold in both hands. One slip and he would have drilled through my tooth and my neck, through the back of the chair and into the next room. Builders used to borrow it to demolish houses.

It was a terrible experience for any child to have to go through and no doubt, that’s where I get my present phobia from. It is however unfounded. I have made regular trips to other dentists during my adult life and while I never look forward to it, the actual experience has never been too bad. The most recent visit was almost a pleasure.

My new best friend and current dentist is a relatively young man. After giving me the anaesthetic he began his work almost immediately. He kept checking that I was ok and he was treating me like a child. I didn’t mind in the least because I know I was acting like one.

It seems that you no longer have to sit in the waiting room to wait for the gum to go numb. This twenty miniute waiting period was often the worst part of the whole experience.

You had to sit there and listen to the sound of the drill and the cries of the current victim. You knew that your turn was coming. You watched as the door opened and some poor young lad staggered out with his hand to his mouth and his cheeks stained with a mixture of tears, blood and pink mouth wash. Then terror struck as you heard your name being called.

Nowadays, as soon as you get the injection, the area concerned goes numb almost immediately. So he started straight away and the rest of the procedure was a breeze leaving me to wonder what all the fuss was about.

Afterwards I was wondering what it is that makes people want to become dentists. Why would anyone want to be in such close proximity to mouths and strange breaths all day long? Also aware that the person in front of you would rather be anywhere else in the world at that particular moment in time.

I suppose there are some people who just know from an early age exactly what kind of career they want. Others are probably influenced by family members and follow on in the same traditions. Then there are those who have no idea what they want to do and try several options until they find something they like. More just just drift into something by chance and decide to stick with it.

I’ve often thought about career guidance and how effective it is. There was definitely none available for me in my time and maybe not a lot has changed because there was very little available for my own children either.

According to a study in the U.K. nearly half a million university students believed they had chosen the wrong course to study. One in three told researchers that knowing what they now know about university they would have chosen a different course.

One of the reasons students cite for their dissatisfaction is that they were not given enough information about their course before they signed on for it saying the information they received was vague or misleading.

I remember a young lad telling me one time that he was unhappy with his business course that he was doing in UCC. He said that he was surprised that there was so much maths involved.

Research by the Economic and Social Research Institute (ESRI) highlighted a need for better support for guidance counsellors in supplying information on the range of careers available.

Career guidance is a very individual thing and usually doesn’t work in a group. There is no point in the whole class learning about what it is like to be a Garda if most of the students are not interested in it. It needs to be one on one if it’s to be done properly.

On a more positive note, the report also showed that the happiest students are those studying medicine and dentistry, where only 14 per cent consider swapping courses. This would suggest that the majority of dentists are happy with their choice of profession and actually go on to enjoy their work.

This is very good news for us because I would much rather expose my mouth to a happy dentist than face an unhappy one who is out to seek revenge on the world because he took the wrong course.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I came across something recently that got me wondering about how sane the world actually is.

Stephen Cavanaugh, a prisoner in the Nebraska State Penitentiary, brought a case against the State because, he claimed, he was being denied the right to fully worship his God. He was being denied access to certain religious items that, he considers, are necessary for him to follow his particular religion while he is behind bars. He argued that as an avid follower of this religion he should be allowed to wear religious clothing and certain pendants.

He also wanted the right to meet other like- minded worshippers for weekly services and classes and he was fighting for the right to receive communion. He wanted the right to wear certain headgear that is considered to be holy to his particular religion and it was his opinion that prison officers violated his rights by denying him his requests.

By now you’re probably thinking that he was right to fight for his beliefs and to be allowed to worship his particular god of choice. But don’t make your mind up just yet.

For Cavanaugh, his choice of religion is The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster and the item of headwear that is so important to the followers is actually a colander or a strainer to you and me.

The central belief is that an invisible and undetectable Flying Spaghetti Monster created the universe. Pirates are revered as the original Pastafarians, this is a combination of Pasta and Rastafarians, and the decline in the number of pirates over the years is the real cause of global warming. This might be of interest to Danny Healy- Rae.

Thankfully a United States District Court judge has ruled that the Flying Spaghetti Monster is not a religion and he agreed with the decision of the prison officers. So Mr. Cavanaugh has to continue to wear a normal hat.

There is a funny side to this little tale but there is also a serious aspect to it. Prison officers have a dangerous job to do and they deal with many characters whose grip on reality is as tenuous as that of Mr. Cavanaugh. They are in close contact with people who generally have no interest in following the rules that the rest of us consider normal.

One of these characters is Anders Breivik who massacred 77 people in Norway’s deadliest ever terror attack in 2011. The majority of Breivik’s victims were children and teenagers as young as 14 and he shot them while shouting: “You are going to die today, Marxists”.

You may be surprised to learn that he has just won part of a lawsuit against the government for “inhuman treatment” while in prison.

Oslo district court judges found his detention violated article three of the European Convention of Human Rights, which relates to “inhuman or degrading” punishment because he is being kept in solitary confinement. The court also ruled that the state will have to pay the prisoner’s legal fees, totalling 331,000 Norwegian Krone (36,000 Euros).

Breivik had complained that the naughty prison authorities would not let him communicate with or receive visits from other right-wing extremists and had left him isolated. It was all so unfair. Government lawyers said that Breivik remains a dangerous inmate who could inspire others to commit similar attacks. But he still won his case.

Strange decisions can happen closer to home too. There was a report in the Irish Examiner recently by Ruaidhri Giblin concerning Perry Wharrie, who was convicted of trying to import €440 million worth of cocaine into Ireland through West Cork in 2007. He and his buddies were caught after they put diesel into a petrol engine on their rib which then broke down and capsized in rough seas and spilled their load into the sea in Dunlough Bay.

Mr. Wharrie had pleaded not guilty but was convicted by a jury and sentenced to thirty years in prison in 2008. This wasn’t his first brush with the law because he was previously sentenced to life imprisonment in England in 1989 for his part in an armed robbery in which an off duty policeman was shot and killed. He was left out on parole in 2006 and a year later, we now know, he was back to his old ways.

Mr. Wharrie has appealed his thirty year sentence to the Court of Criminal Appeal and has had it reduced to seventeen and a half years. Mr. Justice Hunt said that the sentencing judge had made a mistake because he didn’t give any credit to Wharrie for “refraining from giving false evidence at his trial”.

So here we have a serious criminal who gets a life sentence for being part of an armed robbery where an off duty policeman is shot and killed. He gets out on parole and almost immediately gets caught bringing 1.5 tonnes of cocaine into Ireland. He rightfully gets thirty years for that and then Mr. Justice Tony Hunt and his colleagues reduce it to seventeen and a half years because he ‘refrained from giving false evidence at his trial’.

We don’t expect prisoners to be chained to the walls in dungeons and fed on bread and water in this day and age but by the same token they’re in there for a reason and they should not be in a position to be making demands at the expense of the taxpayer.

In some cases it seems we’re not supposed to punish prisoners. Prison officers have to handle them with kid gloves in case they find themselves at the wrong end of a law suit.

If that’s not daft then I’m off to find a strainer and the local branch of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti thingy.

 

 

 

 

I’m getting older. I know this, not only because of the numbers that appear on my birth certificate, but because I’m getting set in my ways. Some might call it getting cranky or odd and maybe they’re right but I don’t care anymore. One of the privileges of getting older is that you can afford not to worry about what other people think of you.

Now I’m serving notice that from here on I am only going to go to places and events that interest me and I’m only going to be with people that I like. I am no longer going to suffer in silence.

The first thing on my new list of banned activities is the crowed, noisy pub. I like an occasional pint. I like a smaller bar where people know each other and I like to be able to have a conversation. I prefer to go for that drink in the afternoon as opposed to late in the evening and two or three pints is enough for me. That might not be everyone’s cup of tea but it’s enough for me.

My worst case scenario is to be in a crowded pub, late in the evening with music blaring and where trying to speak to someone makes you hoarse and gets you covered in spit for your trouble. I despise having to face a scrum every time I want to get a drink. I hate having to run the gauntlet of elbows, shoulders and swinging handbags.

I hate having to barge my way back to my spot and spilling half the drink down my front. I hate being in my little space and having to make myself as small as possible because no matter which way I turn I end up being in somebody’s way and getting battered.

I am no longer going to get stuck in a round. I don’t want to end up having an endurance test with others, drinking more than I want to, drinking faster than I’m normally used to, while at the same time testing the capacity of my bladder to its limits. That’s it, I’ve had enough.

Another tell-tale sign of my disappearing youth is my growing impatience with ignorant drivers. You know the kind. They’re the ones that drive so closely behind you that you can only see their roof rack. The ones that are on the mobile phones and those who drive too quickly in built up areas and everyone that drives without consideration for other people using the same piece of road.

It seems to me that I’m the only one that’s not in a hurry these days. Everyone else seems to be prepared to risk life and limb to get somewhere really important to do something really special when they’re really only going to the shop to buy some toilet rolls.

Litter louts are on my hit list. I drove up to Cork City recently at around 1am to collect some people. As I was passing the turn off for Little Island I saw several discarded cartons of chips and paper cups along the hard shoulder with bits of food scattered all over the road.

Obviously a car load of muppets couldn’t wait until they got to where they were going to dump their rubbish so they just chucked it out the window instead. This is more common than you might think and it is something that is beginning to irritate me more and more as I get older.

Young children running loose in bars are another irritant. I don’t care what time of the day it is, they don’t belong there. If you’re that anxious to have a drink then put your kids into an orphanage or wait until they’re old enough to buy you a pint. I didn’t get to this stage of life after raising a family of my own to have to start taking a part in raising yours in my local pub.

Something else that raises my blood pressure is waiting for the guy who says he will arrive at a certain time to do a job and then he doesn’t show. I have experienced a number of those recently and it baffles me how some of them manage to make any kind of a living if they’re never turning up for work.

Last year I asked a guy to come and look at my windows. He came and had a look and promised to return shortly after. I never saw him again and then I heard that he had gone out of business. About eight weeks ago I asked another guy to come and look at them. He promised me he would call on Thursday and when he didn’t show I contacted him again and he duly arrived on Saturday.

He identified my problem and promised to return on Thursday to put it right. You probably won’t be surprised to hear that I am still waiting for him.

I contacted an engineer about another issue and spent the next few weeks trying to get him to return calls and emails. Eventually he apologised for being out of touch but insisted that he was now back on track and ready for action. He promised he would be back to me within twenty four hours. Surprise, surprise there was no call.

So now you can see why I have decided not to bother what people think of me anymore. I’m going my own way and if you don’t like it then that’s just too bad. If you’ve stayed with me so far I hope you’ve enjoyed the read. If you haven’t, then drop me a line with your complaint and I’ll get back to you. Probably on Thursday.

 

 

 

 

 

We aren’t blessed with an abundance of sunshine over here but that’s ok, we’re used to it. We’ve come to accept our fate. We make the most of the sun when we see it and if we see it for more than two days in a row, we call it a heatwave. Then we talk about that heatwave for the rest of the summer while we shelter from the rain and whatever storm Suzy or Walter has to throw at us.

As the summer wears on we come to the conclusion that it’s not going to be a good year after all. This comes as a complete surprise because Tom the Healer had seen snails out of their shells on the second of May and that’s a sure sign of good weather. Mick the Moron saw a dolphin swimming upside down in April and sure isn’t that a banker for a long hot summer.

Anyway by the end of June the summer clothes are being piled back into the wardrobe while the winter clothes appear again. In actual fact they were there all the time and never went anywhere because Tom the Healer and Mick the Moron are not very trustworthy and all these soothsayers are as accurate as the Four Faced Liar on Shandon Street.

One problem with the occasional sunny day is that it brings out the barbeque pits. Because it’s Ireland, that means lots of drunk people eating food that’s burned on the outside and raw on the inside. Fortified with uncooked food and lots of alcohol, it’s time to put on the music and party into the early hours.

Now, I like to cook outdoors as much as the next guy and when the weather permits, I’m one of the first to set fire to some charcoal. It’s nice to have a few people round, have a few drinks and some grub and sit in the fresh air and have a chat. Then when it starts to hit midnight, it’s time to move indoors and confine the noise to the inside of the four walls.

But not everyone sees it that way. The Irish mind set doesn’t allow for moderation as far as alcohol goes. So the Irish BBQ has to go on all night and most importantly, it must be noisy.

There are always those characters at parties who believe that they have to shout at the top of their voices or they won’t be heard by anyone including those standing right next to them. The more they drink the more they believe that deafness is now an epidemic and everyone has been infected.

In sunnier climates barbeques are a normal part of everyday life. The pits are seldom put indoors because bad weather is rare. It’s no problem organising a barbeque in these places when every day is warm and sunny. You just pick a time, notify your pals and off you go. They generally tend to start early and finish early.

In Ireland it’s a little bit more complicated and requires a qualification in logistics to pull it together. The first thing is to pick a date and that’s not as easy as it sounds. It will involve a study of the long range weather forecast to pick a period when decent weather is possible. Then you can give advance notice to the friends that something might be happening around that time subject to the weather.

Then as the time gets closer you can start to think about picking a specific day but you can’t confirm it with anybody until you get up that morning and have a look at the sky. Then, and only then, can you give the green light and go for it.

So when the day finally dawns, it’s an early start. Get the pit out of the garage. Correction, you must find it first and then you haul it out from under a ton of junk. Clean it and get it ready. Pull out the patio seats, get rid of all the dead spiders, dust them down and lay them out. The chairs I mean, not the spiders. Find the charcoal which is so well hidden that it’s just easier to go to the store and get some more. Get the food and the drinks ready and then wait.

When everyone arrives, you make your little charcoal pyramid and set fire to it. It’s not long until you think you feel a few spots of rain but you pretend not to notice. You sneak a look up to the sky and the clouds seem to be multiplying.

The spots have become a little heavier. Now you can no longer call them spots, they’re fully grown drops, adult ones and lots of them. The guests put on jackets and brave it out for a little while but then move inside.

Somebody hands you an umbrella and you’re cooking with one hand while the other keeps the umbrella over the food. The umbrella is trapping the smoke so you’re half blind. Cooking with one hand and the eyes shut is tricky so some of the meat ends up on the ground.

At this stage you are soaked to the skin and you smell like you’ve spent a week sleeping in a chimney. You bring in the food and everyone tucks in and you pretend that it’s all been a breeze.

So maybe that explains the noisy outdoor parties. You go to so much trouble arranging the damn thing that when it does work you want to stay out all night to make the most of it because there probably won’t be an opportunity to do it again during the entire two weeks of summer.