Archive for February, 2009

Difficult decisions

Grandad February 28th, 2009

Fianna Fail have been running rampant through Irish politics for as long as I can remember.

They were always the largest party, and I remember the shock and horror the first time they failed to gain a majority in an election and had to go into coalition.

Their downward slide was slow at first.  It started with Haughey and his policy of cronyism and backhanders.  This of course developed into the Haughey School of Economics with taught that politicians were above the law and could screw anyone they liked in order to line their pockets.

Things have progressed since then.

Fianna Fail have sunk almost to third place in the rankings.  They are a mere three points from the bottom.  While they were partying with their developer pals, the banks were milking the system, and they are now reaping the whirlwind.

Some of the figures are rather startling.

1% of the population are very happy with the government’s handling of the current situation.  ONE PERCENT!

84% are dissatisfied with the government.  If I had that kind of disapproval level, I would probably slit my wrists.

The one phrase that crops up endlessly in interviews is “difficult decisions”.

‘Of course we are unpopular. We have difficult decisions to make which are hard but necessary.’

That is the greatest load of bollox.  It is not their ‘difficult decisions’ which have made them unpopular – it is the unconsidered crap decisions that have done the job.  They are lurching from crisis to crisis, and lashing out an all sides in a blind panic.

Let’s have a look at what they could have considered.

For a start, the number of elected representatives needs to be radically slashed.  The Seanad can be abolished altogether.  A small but significant touch would be to abolish all pensions in the Dail prior to retirement age. 

Next thing to do is to ‘ring fence’ [I hate that cliché but fuckit] essential items such as health, education, the young and the old.  I would also place anyone who is on the national average industrial wage in that category.  Anyone outside the area is then taxed on a sliding scale.  If you are on a salary slightly above the average, you pay a mere 1%.  But as the scale increases, so the percentage increases.  I think the general public would be happy to see the top earners in the country paying 80% or more in tax?

As for the banks, I would bring in the boards and top management of all the banks and sack the lot of them.  If they didn’t know what was going on, then they should have.

There are loads of other ways of cutting back – quangos, committees, consultants and study groups should all be thrown out of government unless absolutely vital.  Non essential projects can be scrapped and the funds diverted.  I could go on.

If I were in power and introduced those measures, I would doubtless still have to cut back somewhere that would hurt the ordinary voter.

But I can guarantee that more than 1% would approve?

Time for a holiday

Grandad February 27th, 2009

In less than three weeks time it will be Paddy’s Day.

I don’t look forward to all the frenetic hype and Paddywhackery that comes with it, but that’s not what I’m on about today.

What pisses me off is that it is also the season of the JunketFest.  This is the time of year when all our TDs and councillors decide that it is time for a break and they all feck off abroad at our expense.

There has been a bit of a furore about this in the meeja already this week.  Of course the various TDs and councillors all put on long faces and come up with pathetic excuses such as ‘they are drumming up trade for Ireland’ or ‘they are meeting the Diaspora’.

Can you imagine Barack Obama meeting with Congress and announcing that he knows that America is in a mess but he wants to invest in Ireland because some blubbering fucker presented him with a bowl of weed?  Can you imagine some bloke in some far flung land who is so desperately homesick that he would be pleased to meet some wanker of a councillor that he has never even heard of before?

I notice that when it comes to destinations, some places crop up on a regular basis.  Washington and New York feature prominently, as do places like Dubai and Sydney.  Isn’t it strange how you rarely see names like Reykjavík, Beirut or Birmingham crop up?

Another of their pathetic excuses is that ‘it doesn’t cost much’.  That’s like telling the Public Service Workers to stop whinging about the pensions levy because it’s ‘only €50 a month’.

The government has been constantly moaning and hand-wringing for the last months about the catastrophic nature of our finances, yet when it comes to giving themselves a little treat abroad, the money is suddenly available.  Do I detect the faintest odour of hypocrisy here?

I suggest we let them go.  I suggest we even send them to a nice sunny area so they can relax and relieve the old stress.

I suggest a nice little Pacific Island.

And then we bung a few Euro to the French to recommence nuclear testing?

Conversations on a submarine

Grandad February 26th, 2009

I have been doing some research on the Interweb.

Did you know that the submarine U-105 was a type IXB and was built in 1940?  I bet you didn’t know that.

uboat

It sank in 1943.  It was hardly worth building.

So why this sudden interest in submarines?

It started with a phone call on Monday.

A lovely young lass phoned me and asked if I was up for it.  I of course replied that I was.  I’m used to that type of call, you know.  The girls around here just can’t keep their hands off me.

Anyway, it transpired that there was a bit of a misunderstanding, and what she really wanted was for me to do a radio interview.

I said I would, and asked what radio station she was from.

That’s where the submarine bit comes in.

She said she was from U 105.

That is when I did my research, and that’s when I discovered that I had been talking to a young lass who had been talking to me from a submarine that sank 69 years ago.  Weird.

I didn’t expect to hear any more from them as they must have drowned by now.

To my amazement, she phoned again yesterday and handed me off to a bloke with a soft Norn Iron accent, who promptly compared me to Victor Meldrew.

Just to be on the safe side, I recorded it.

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This Interweb is a surreal place.

Once more unto the breach

Grandad February 25th, 2009

It has happened again.

I am really pissed off.

The first time it was a corrupt hard disk.

The second time, I don’t know what it was.

This time it was a corrupt file.  Somewhere.  Somewhere important.  Somewhere I couldn’t find.

Last night my not-so-trusty laptop started locking up.

It would slow down, and then stop working altogether.  It would then make strange noises, not unlike Herself when I lock her in the coalhole.  Then, if I left it any longer, it would come up with that damned Blue Screen thing.

I tried everything.

I scanned the disk for errors.  I scanned for viruses.  I ran it in safe mode.  I sacrificed a couple of lambs [dinner sorted for a couple of days ahead?].  I would have sacrificed a virgin but I couldn’t find one, not even in Junior Infants.

In the end I had a ‘Fuck It’ moment and erased the partition, and reinstalled from the original files.

My problem seems to be solved.

BUT

I now have to reinstall everything.

Bollox.

Not only is that a right pain in the hole, but as usual, I have forgotten all my passwords.  I have lost all my mail.  I have lost all my bookmarks.

Damn, Blast, Bother, Knickers and Spit.

And if any smart arse fucker out there says anything about Mac or Linux,

I swear to God I’ll kill them.

In which I nearly get a cap

Grandad February 24th, 2009

I just had a phone call from a lovely girl in Eircom.

She wanted to know how my phone was working out.

I pointed out that she was phoning me on my phone, so it was working fine, thank you very much for asking.

She apologised and said that what she meant was my phone bills.  Was I happy with them?

Now, I don’t know of anyone who is happy to get a bill for anything, but she was only doing her job so I told her that I was very happy with my bills, and really looked forward to receiving them.

She then told me that broadband was available in my area.

I knew this, because my neighbour is always complaining about how crap it is.

I asked her the details anyway, because I was in a reasonable mood, and I wanted her to feel happy in her job.

She told me the prices, and I was impressed.  Actually, I was very impressed.  The way she told it, I could get over twice my current speed for half the price, which is a nice offer.

So I asked her about caps.

She brightened up even more and told me about their very generous caps on the amount I can download per month.

I then confessed that I already had broadband, and that I had no cap at all.  I can download as much as I like and I don’t have to worry about it.  In fact, this summer, I hope to download the Internet onto my computer and burn it onto a DVD so that I never need to go on-line again.

She was a bit disappointed at my lack of capping, but pressed on about the charges and how much cheaper Eircom would be.

I asked her about upload speeds.

That was a mistake for her, as it is something that they don’t advertise too strongly.

She rooted around in her papers, apologised a couple of times and finally announced that they could offer me 384 Megabytes  upload speed.  I was impressed.  I queried it.  She got flustered and admitted she meant 384 Kilobytes.

“Kilobits,” says I.

She got flustered again.  “Is there a difference?”

I explained that there is a factor of eight difference, and that in fact she was offering me 64 Kilobytes upload speed.

She decided to change the subject and started telling me about their generous upload allowances at so many Gigabytes per month.  I explained that I had no limits at the moment.

She offered me a free e-mail address.

I explained that I already had about a hundred e-mail addresses and that any more would only confuse me.

She finally copped on that I was quite happy with my current service.  I told her that the information she had given me was very useful and that I would keep it on file in case I felt like changing over.  This cheered her no end, and she gave me her private number “just in case”.

I added her number to my little Red Book.

But don’t you hate it when you phone someone and get a real fucking smartarse on the other end?

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