2009 November | Head Rambles

Archive for November, 2009

Training a guinea pig

Grandad November 30th, 2009

That fucking guinea pig is driving me to drink.

Actually, that’s not true. I wish it were. It would be handy to have someone or something to drive me home again from the pub when I have had a skin full.

I will rephrase it. That fucking guinea pig is driving me demented.

For some unknown reason Minnie has decided that her sole reason for existence is to eat her way through the bars of her cage. The noise of the twanging is very very fucking irritating.

So far, I have tried the following:

Electrifying the bars: This was the least successful as Minnie seemed to like the sparks. I had to unplug from the mains when I ran out of fuses.

Smearing Marmite on the bars: This worked for a while, but the little sod soon worked out that if she rubbed her paws on the bars, that the Marmite would wear off. The Marmite stuck to her paws, and the straw and sawdust stuck to the Marmite, so the little fucker now has massive straw/sawdust boots on and I have run out of Marmite.

Removing the cage altogether: This seems like a logical move, but pea-brain Minnie just lunges at the now non-existent bars and goes flying out of her box. Seeing as it is perched on a high table, this means a long drop before there is a satisfying ‘splodge’ sound, whereupon Minnie disappears under the couch and spends the next hour or so squeaking, pissing and pooing and refusing to come out. The house is beginning to smell.

Training: This was the most satisfying of the treatments, from my point of view. I would stand beside the cage, and whenever the chewing started, I would thwack her on the nose with a newspaper. She would retreat for about five seconds, obviously wondering what the fuck had happened before launching herself at the bars again. The only learning that resulted was that I learned that guinea pigs cannot be trained. They are fucking stupid.

I am running out of ideas.

I have led a long and interesting life, and I want that life to end in a suitable manner. I do not want my gravestone marked with the words “Here lies Grandad who died of a heart attack induced by a guinea pig”. Somehow it isn’t befitting someone of my stature.

I don’t know what the normal lifespan of a guinea pig is.

But at this rate, it’s about five seconds.

The Irish Holocaust

Grandad November 29th, 2009

Like most Irish, I have been following the fallout from the Murphy Report on the child sex abuse in the ‘Catholic’ Diocese of Dublin.

To say that I am sickened by the whole affair is a gross understatement.

Let’s just look at the facts to date.

There was systematic and widespread child abuse for at least the last sixty years.
The abuse took the form of physical and mental abuse, including rape, buggery, indecent photographs and molestation.
The number of abusers is not known but I think it is fair to say that a large minority of priests were involved.
Those that were not directly involved with the abuse were complicit by their silence.
The hierarchy not only were fully aware of all the abuse but actively covered it up with denials, threats and lies.
The hierarchy’s response in all cases was to move the abuser to fresh pastures, being fully aware that the abuse would continue.
The hierarchy engaged in a philosophy of “mental reservation” which enables them to blatantly lie while convincing themselves that they are telling the truth.
The Vatican is fully aware of the extent of the abuse, but is actively involved in the denial.

So where does that leave us now?

First and foremost, because of their admission of the use of “mental reservations” it is impossible to ascertain when the truth is being told.

Despite all the revelations, the hierarchy is still involved in cover-ups, denials and outright lying.

Letters of “apology” from Donal Murray [I refuse to accord him any title such as Bishop or Doctor – he is just a low life bastard] are being read out today in churches in Limerick. Here is a “man” who not only denied that abuse existed but in turn intimidated, threatened and abused those who made complaints, to an extent that one of the complainants – Peter McCloskey – committed suicide after being threatened by Murray on several occasions. This low-life has stated in the last couple of days:

As I look back on that time, I ask myself many questions, especially about the three cases in which the report criticises me.
At no time did I, as an auxiliary bishop of Dublin, receive an allegation of sexual abuse and fail to act.
When an allegation of sexual abuse of children by a priest was brought to my attention, I responded promptly and conscientiously and in each case notified the Archbishop and Diocesan authorities and co-operated fully with them.
I never deliberately or knowingly sought to cover up or withhold information brought to my attention.

This scum is still denying everything despite all the evidence against him. He is refusing to resign, and instead is issuing a mealy-mouthed “apology”. He is so far beyond contempt.

In fact not one member of the hierarchy has offered to resign. The denial, the closing of ranks and the lying continue.

The Catholic Church has lost any semblance of respectability. It has shown itself for what it is – a glory club for those who want power and wealth, and the freedom to abuse children.

It is up to the people of Ireland to vote with their feet. I sincerely hope that there will be a mass exodus from churches today when that letter of “apology” is read out. I sincerely hope that church-goers make their disgust known.

There is no use relying on our government. Cowen is as complicit by his lack of action as the hierarchy themselves.

I am ashamed that I was once a member of that church.

I am ashamed of Ireland.

Whistle while you work

Grandad November 28th, 2009

I thought I had better explain something.

Some of you may comment on this site, and then get annoyed when I don’t respond. There is a reason for this. I have gone deaf, so I may not hear your comment.

After our little temporary move to France, I came home to a nice friendly dose of ~~Mary Harney~~ ~~pig~~ swine flu, which was fine. Being a Person of The Mountains, I don’t hold much truck with medication, preferring to rely on the old fashioned remedy of a bottle of whiskey a day. The flu went [eventually] but it left behind a chest infection and a drop of a hangover which I have had for the last six weeks. That was fine too, but last week my ears went.

I have had tinnitus for years. A specialist reckoned that it may have been caused by using a sniper rifle without ear protectors, but being a Person of The Mountains, it was beneath my dignity to ever wear them. I suppose it does leave me open to suing myself, but I’ll leave that for another day. The tinnitus is a simple enough thing to live with. It is just a whistle. If you want to experience the delights of tinnitus, just turn up your speakers and play this:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Now play it in a loop, going twenty four hours a day, every day of the year. Nice?

Anyhows, when I said my ears went, what I mean is that the tinnitus suddenly stepped up its volume three fold, and my left ear went deaf. So as well as the whistle, I am now bombarded with the sounds of my own breathing and my heartbeat. The latter does have the benefit of being vaguely reassuring. At least I shall know if I drop dead from a heart attack.

I have noticed that the deafness is not constant. It has a strange habit of varying according to circumstances. It seems to be particularly bad whenever Herself wants some job to be done, or whenever it’s my round in the pub. It’s fine however, when Sharon is whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Maybe I should write up a paper on that phenomenon and submit it to The Lancet?

So if you are leaving a comment on my site I would ask that you do things.

Could you make it loud?

Could you please confine yourselves to the right hand side of the keyboard as it’s my left ear that gone?

Thanks.

Grandads thoughts on the Dublin Diocesan Report

Grandad November 27th, 2009

Like most people in the country, I have been reading the Dublin Diocesan Report and following the news and comment.

Unlike most people in the country, there was little in it to surprise me.

I was horrified, of course but it was more or less what I would have expected.

The gut reaction of the media has been to castigate the authorities, and in particular the Gardai who were complicit in the cover-up. Personally, I don’t think they deserve the abuse that some have been heaping on them.

To understand the report, you have to understand what Ireland was like in the last five decades.

Back in the forties, fifties and sixties the ultimate power was the Catholic Church. The final judgement rested not with the Supreme Court but in the Archbishop’s Palace. McQuaid ruled the country with a rod of iron and he was the final arbiter when it came to matters of law, education and even the Constitution.

Having been educated in the fifties and sixties, I can confidently say that I, and the rest of the country, was brainwashed into a mindset that the Catholic Church was not only the only church and the only authority, but that it should be treated with the ultimate deference and respect. Even fifty years later, I can feel the results of that brainwashing as It was drummed into me to an extent that the Church’s philosophy became as much a part of me as my bones.

Last night, I watched Prime Time. It was a horrifying program, as it clinically dissected the evils within the Church. Not so long ago, that programme would never have been aired. The Church hierarchy would have never allowed it. In fact, I can guarantee that the RTE Authority would have been sacked on orders from The Palace.

It is in this light that we must judge the Gardai. They were merely following decades of a philosophy that the Church was right, and that it knew best. The Gardai who refused to accept this were the younger brigade who had not suffered so much of the brainwashing.

I reserve my contempt and hatred for the Church hierarchy who even to this day are pursuing their attitude of superiority. There are exceptions [very few] such as the Archbishop of Dublin Diarmuid Martin, who had the guts to cooperate with the inquiry yet is still incapable of saying a bad word about any one of the perpetrators.

So here we have an institution that is rotten to the core. From the bishops up to and including the pope, there is still an attitude of corruption, greed, lust for power and money and worst of all, an attitude that not only can they do no wrong, but are showing no signs whatsoever of contrition. They have not changed and will not change.

There is one thing that I can say with absolute confidence.

The Catholic Hierarchy has absolutely nothing to do with Christianity or faith.

-oOo-

The Report – Document 1 – Document 2

Surgery

Grandad November 27th, 2009

I called down to the Doc yesterday in his professional capacity.

“Howya, Grandad” says he, “and what can I do for you?”

“Ah! You know how it is?” says I. “I’m in need of a bit of an overhaul. Maybe a change of oil and a new gasket?”

“Anything in particular?”

“Jayzus! You were the one the other evening complaining about my coughing all over the pub.”

“True. Are you still smoking the pipe?”

“Ah for fuck’s sake! Says he who is always bumming a light off me in the pub. If I quit the pipe, you’d have to quit the fags, or at least buy some matches.” I coughed, and a large green glob of sputum smacked off the wall.

“Oh dear” says he, looking at the wall. “By the colour of that you have an infection all right. Let’s have a listen.”

He rammed a freezing stethoscope against my back which made me cough some more.

“Yiz are only infeshted” he said. That’s the way he pronounced it – infeshted. “I’ll give you some pills that’ll clear out the tubes.”

“That’s great” says I. “Thanks. I’ll see you tonight for a pint? It’s your round.”

“Fair enough. And by the way….”

“Wha?” says I.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Would you ever fuck off!”

– Later in the pharmacy —

“Howya,Grandad” says Bennie the chemist.

“Howya,Bennie” Says I. “Here’s a prescription.”

“I didn’t know you kept horses?”