2011 July | Head Rambles

Archive for July, 2011

Telling it like it is

Grandad July 21st, 2011

It’s not often I have a good word to say about a politician.

Usually the best I can muster is a grudging indifference.

Yesterday however, as I listened to our esteemed leader Dame Enda giving his speech in the Dail, I found myself [metaphorically] jumping up and down, and shouting “that’s my boy”.

From the time of its foundation this country has been effectively run by the Vatican. They shaped our constitution and our laws; they ran their “Magdalene Laundries” which were nothing more than slave labour camps and they treated Ireland as a fertile breeding ground for their paedophile priests who raped and buggered their way through our children for decades. They even dictated what we could read or watch in the cinema. For many many years the government and the media lived in fear of “the belt of the crozier” where they would be called to the archbishop’s palace and read the riot act for doing something that was displeasing to the Vatican.

No more.

Yesterday Dame Edna marked the Vatican’s cards for once and for all. He referred to “the dysfunction, disconnection, elitism….the narcissism that dominate the culture of the Vatican to this day.” He talked about how “the rape and torture of children were downplayed or ‘managed’ to uphold instead, the primacy of the institution, its power, standing and ‘reputation’.” In essence he told them to go fuck themselves.

Bearing in mind that this was technically one state talking about another, it was about as far as Dame Enda could go without rolling out the tanks. I have heard milder declarations of war.

I was raised as a Catholic and was indoctrinated from a very early age as to the standing of the Vatican. Then I began to think for myself and realised that faith and religion are two entirely separate things. The faith was Christianity but the religion was Big Business. And that Big Business revelled it its elitism, its power and its wealth.

It’s time now for Ireland to dump the full cost of the fiasco on the Vatican. Their carry on has cost this state millions in tribunals and compensation, not to mention the destroyed lives. Let them bear the cost. They can fucking well afford it. No more Mister Nice Guy. Let’s go the whole hog and issue a warrant for the arrest and extradition of the Pope for aiding and abetting the worlds largest paedophile ring.

Now that would be justice.

Transparency

Grandad July 20th, 2011

What the fuck is it with the meeja and the phone tapping thing?

I am sick of hearing about it, but the meeja seem obsessed. What’s the big fucking deal?

OK, so a bunch of reporters hacked into a load of phones? So what? Try ‘em, convict ‘em and lock ‘em up and lets get on with the important things in life.

What baffles me is why people seem so surprised. After all, we are talking about the gutter press here – the people who think that men are only interested in tits and football, and women are only interested in the carryings on of some “celebrity” nonentity. What do you fucking expect?

I don’t condone the hacking of private phones but as for the likes of politicians and royalty – my suggestion is that all their phone calls, texts, emails and in fact everything on their computers should be there for all the world to see. We employ the fuckers and in theory are their lords and masters so it is only fair that we should se every single fucking word they utter.

Can you possibly imagine a world where we have total access to politicians’ correspondence? No more secrets? No more shady backroom deals? These fuckers have proved time and time again that they can’t be trusted so it is only right that they should lose any vestige of privacy.

Now that’s what I would call true transparency.

The Diary of Grandad Pepys

Grandad July 19th, 2011

Back in 1982 I started keeping a journal.

I call it a journal because only girls and Samuel Pepys write diaries.

I stopped last year, or the year before. I’m not sure which, and I’d have to consult my journal to find out when. Leastwise they are now taking up an entire shelf in a bookcase. If nothing else, they are an impressive sight.

I stopped writing the journals for the simple reason that it was getting tedious. Having retired, my days lacked the cut and thrust excitement of fights with the boss and skiving off work. My days had become quieter, more serene and generally fucking boring to anyone reading my output. It was reaching the stage where each day I would in effect just write “ditto”.

The main reason I started writing it was to keep track of my job. At the time I was doing a lot of travelling and I found it handy to have a record so that I could fiddle my expenses. It was also quite handy for remembering birthdays and crap like that.

The thought had crossed my mind that whenever I run short of ideas for scribbling here, that I should consult the journal and write about what I was doing twenty years ago or whenever. I then realised that it would be somewhat confusing for my reader if I suddenly started referring to the journey into work or yet another fight with management. You know I’m retired, so what the fuck would I be doing having a slanging match with my boss?

If anyone is interested, This day twenty years ago I painted the porch fascia and then had a barbecue. Now that I think of it, maybe the fascia is dry enough for a second coat by now? See how journals are handy for reminding me of things?

As you may have gathered, I have just been skimming back over a few years. I had forgotten what a fucking miserable life I had. I am almost depressed now having read about all those fucking traffic jams every day, the tedious monotony of work and being fit for nothing except watching boring television on the evenings. While I was doing it all, it seemed normal, but looking at it in retrospect it’s a wonder I survived at all.

I’m not sure what to do with the journals now. After all, they are a boring record of the best part of thirty years and took quite a long time to write [I estimate the best part of thirty years]. It would be a shame to dump them. Historians in the future would be fascinated at the insight into a humdrum life at the end of the twentieth century.

I think I will publish them posthumously?

Rambles , Times past
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Appeasing the markets

Grandad July 18th, 2011

Most days when I connect up to the Interweb I have a look at the latest news headlines.

Most days it’s the same old shite – the Markets are nervous; the Markets are reacting badly.

Now I don’t give a flying fuck about the Markets but apparently our gubmints do. They seem to spend their time trying to appease these fucking Markets as if their shite is chocolate. And what really pisses me off is that that appeasement usually seems to involve my paying out more taxes or some other rip off.

Who the fuck are these people? Presumably they have set up their stalls in some car park or other and are trying to sell their home made jewellery or home baked cake or something? Why are they always nervous? Why can’t they go and see a fucking shrink? Why can’t they take a fistful of Valium? Why can’t they take a fucking Valium overdose come to that?

So here is my message to the Markets.

Go fucking sort yourselves out.

I’m sick and tired of hearing about your nervous twitches. I don’t give a shite if you come from a deprived [or even a depraved] background, or if your parents treated you badly. If you have a neurological problem then go and fucking sort it out and stop blaming the rest of the world. It’s your problem. You deal with it.

I’m warning you.

You may think you are the only fucking market in town.

But there is always eBay.