Every day the papers carry some story, each one more ridiculous that the last claiming that picking your nose causes knee cancer or that using a telescope will cause your eyes to drop out.  Some claims are so patently absurd that you have to laugh, but they are still printed in that air of frenzy that would have you believe they have discovered the meaning of life.

Why?

What is the point of all this garbage?

In an ideal world, the WHO or whatever would inform us that Professor Fred has discovered a possible link between sugar and obesity, or that the University of Narnia thinks cigarettes may be bad for you, and they would then leave us to make our own decisions.  After all, it’s my body, my health and my life.  That’s called free will.

One of the latest bits of blindingly useless bits of information to emerge is that Ireland is to have a 72% increase in cancers by 2030.  Apparently Bulgaria is the place to be with a 2.2% increase.  What use is this information?  Instead of wittering on about future trends, why don’t they just devote their time to finding cures?

Why has the WHO published these figures?  What possible purpose can they serve except to cause depression amongst the gullible few who actually believe the claptrap?  Are we all supposed to suddenly change our lifestyles?  Are we all supposed to switch from high sugar to sugar free?  On second thoughts, sugar will kill you and so will sugar free, so you can’t win there.  It can serve no purpose whatsoever except to justify some grossly inflated salary somewhere.

Of course in the last few years, governments have taken it upon themselves to force us to live their lifestyle of choice.  Smokers have taken the brunt of the greatest “denormalisation” programme since Hitler decided he didn’t like Jews, and now they are turning their attention to drinkers and eaters.  They won’t be happy until we are all eating government regulated food, drinking government approved drink and exercising following an exercise regime laid down by… [you’ve guessed it] government.  Even then, people are still going to fall ill and die so what will they have actually achieved, apart from making society miserable?

Possibly the last paragraph in the WHO statement is the most telling -

“We need to urgently look at introducing fat and sugar taxes and how these unhealthy foods are promoted, and even greater restrictions on the advertising and sale of tobacco”

So having failed to “educate” us, they want reams of further government control on how we live our lives.  [Though I would love to know how they intend to further restrict tobacco advertising here in Ireland – the only places where you ever see any sight or mention of tobacco is in the breathless press releases by ASH and on the little signs in tobacconists about not selling tobacco to under 21s.]

I just cannot see the point to it all.

“Government plans to ban cheap booze”

I’d link to it but I can’t find an on-line version.  I did a search using the above words and got a mere 29 million results and I ain’t gonna plough through that lot.  It seems to be a popular concept?

So Róisín Shortarse, our Junior Health Minister, reckons she is going to solve Ireland’s “drinking problem” by raising prices?

You really have to admire these bozos for their consistency.  The answer to any problem is to raise prices.  And then they whinge about Ireland being uncompetitive? 

There was a repeated reference in the article to “slabs” of beer.  I presume this refers to those carry-out trays of Budweiser and the like that you see in supermarkets?  Now Budweiser is nothing short of unadulterated horses’ piss, and to charge people extra for drinking it seems a tad cruel.  Generally the only people who drink it anyway are the Skobies.  Seeing as they are all unemployed then it strikes me as a good idea to have them semi-inebriated at all times as it keeps them quiet.

By sheer coincidence [?] I see there is an article in today’s Irish Times –

MP advise two alcohol-free days a week

Ignoring the painful grammatical error of mixing the singular with the plural, my first thought here is that all the UK’s MPs must be qualified doctors.  Why else would they [or he?] be giving medical advice?  And are the Great Unwashed going to be so impressed with this that they will forgo their Tuesday and Thursday slots down the pub?  I doubt it.

I really am getting very tired of these wankers deciding what’s good for us and trying to manipulate us into their way of thinking.  I admit that alcohol consumption is a major problem BUT it is a small group that is causing that problem.  Why the flying fuck can’t they target that small group, if they are so fucking worried?  Why do the rest of us have to suffer from their little bright ideas?  There are tons of laws that already exist to deal with unruly drunkards so why the fuck can’t they use those?

I really am getting pissed off with the Righteous deciding what is good for us and trying to engineer our lives to fit their vision of the ideal world.

I wish they would all just go and fuck themselves sideways.

In the meantime, I’m off for my couple of afternoon pints.

Like normal kids we went about our business beating the crap out of each other, robbing orchards, having fun and… well… just being normal.

If we were bold, we got a belt around the ear.  If we stared out of the classroom window we got shouted at.  If we argued, we went without supper. 

Nowadays it’s different.  If a child does anything outside the Enid Blyton model of ideal childhood then there must be something wrong.  The child must have a mental disorder.  Parents can now proudly announce that their little brat has ADHD or ADD and let him continue to run rampage in society.  There is no point in discipline because he has a “disorder”.  If a neighbours kid comes into my garden and sets fire to the dog, I have to pat him on the head and send him home with some sweets because he is suffering from HND or Hatred of Neighbours Disorder.

Parents love this new system because it relieves them of all responsibility.  If your child is a spoiled, disobedient, nasty tempered little fuck, there is no point in correcting him because he can’t help it – he is mentally ill.

Even worse, these unruly, undisciplined little brats are being medicated instead of getting the resounding belt they deserve.  There is a kind of poetic justice there, as parents drug their kids as soon as they can walk, and then moan later in life when the kids start taking their own class of drugs.  What’s wrong with heroin when you have been fed Valium all your life?  It’s just a different drug?

I came across a new one yesterday.

ODD.

Apparently ODD is characterised by questioning authority, negativity, defiance, argumentativeness, and being easily annoyed.

That’s not a mental illness.

That’s a blogger in the making.

Their latest shimmy is to propose a tax on sugary drinks.

What I find so boring about this is its predictability.

Step 1: Hold an advertising campaign to frighten the bejeezus out of everyone.

Step 2: Start talking about epidemics.

Step 3: Mention [frequently] heart attacks and cancer.

Step 4: Turn the rest of the population against the proposed victims

Step 5: Introduce a law which only affects a tiny minority.

Step 6: Extend the laws one step at a time until it affects virtually everybody.

Step 7: Move on to the next unfortunate batch of victims.

Step one has already kicked in.  We are being subjected to a whingey advertising campaign that suggests that we are too fat if our waist measurement is above a particular figure.  This is patent bollox because there is no mention of height.  A three foot midget with a waist of 36” may have a problem, but a seven foot bloke would be positively svelte.  That doesn’t matter to them though as it is not the facts they are promoting – it’s the fear.  They want us to self diagnose ourselves as being obese, based on an arbitrary number.

Incidentally, I have noticed the same advertisement appearing on the foreign TV channels [Channel 4 or ITV], so this is not an Irish issue.  Oh no.  This is the bastards in Brussels at work again.

Step two has been going on for a while too.  Never talk about widespread obesity when you can talk about an epidemic.  The word ‘epidemic’ conjures up images of carts of bodies being wheeled through the streets while we all huddle under our beds in fear.  The fact that there is no ‘epidemic’ [obesity is on the decline] and that the word is defined as “The occurrence of more cases of a disease than would be expected in a community or region during a given time period” where an excess of body fat can hardly be classed as a disease, is apparently irrelevant.

Step three is just gaining momentum here.  Up ‘til now only smoking caused heart attacks and cancer.  Now they are including obesity and alcohol.  Suddenly smoking is not the unique killer they claimed it was, and now everyone is under threat.

Step four is the really clever one.  They know damn well that the majority don’t give a flying fuck about obese people, so they have to get everyone on board to ‘denormalise’ the concept of a spreading waistline.  Here they introduce the concept of ‘second hand obesity’, no matter how ludicrous that concept is.  They are already producing ‘studies’ which ‘prove’ that obesity is somehow communicable.  They want us to fear the overweight in order to have us clamouring for legislation.

Step five is now on the table.  Let’s tax sugar.  Fair enough you might say [if you’re a fucking sheep], but next it will be fats, then salt, then spices, then a whole clatter of things until tofu flavoured with vitamin pills and health food supplements is the only untaxed food left.  By then though, it’s too late as the gubmint can’t backtrack – it would be ‘giving out the wrong signals’.

Step six and seven have yet to happen, but they are coming down the line.  Mark my words.

How do I know all this?

Simple.

Ask any smoker.

Or cry.

I came across a snippet the other day.  Apparently our Department of Health [hah! If ever there was an ironic title….] has decided that Cheddar Cheese is a lethal substance.  This vile food is to be banned from our television screens until after the watershed.  Having spent years advertising the stuff as an excellent source of protein and even giving it away free as a gesture of benevolence they have now decided that this evil muck is dangerous.  So dangerous, in fact that it’s worse for the health than Diet Coke. 

Then I hear that the National Substance Misuse Strategy Steering Group [Fuck!!  What a great title!] wants all drink company sponsorship to cease for arts events.

Things can’t get much better can they?

They are really getting the old ball rolling on both the alcohol and the obesity fronts.  Advertising is always the first salvo.  Then we’ll have second-hand obesity and second-hand alcoholism.  Maybe a few third-hands?

Next we’ll be hearing that there is no safe level of alcohol.

Oh, wait.

The WHO have already said it.

Yes.  It’s there.  Second paragraph under “The harm done by alcohol”.  First there was no safe level of nicotine, now there is no safe level of alcohol.  Is there anything with a safe level?

So all you people who just shrugged when the smoking ban came in had better watch out.

Sooner or later it will be your turn.

The Ma would toddle into the bedroom, stick a thermometer into my gob and wander off again, leaving me to my own devices.  My devices were simple – either a drop of friction on the bed-sheets or the bulb in the bedside lap.  Either method is guaranteed to work, though The Ma might get suspicious if I were running a temperature of 150 degrees.

Docs are the same.  They also love the temperature, but also have a few extras.  They check temperature, blood pressure, pulse and whether you have a cold wet nose or not [our Doc trained originally as a vet].  This always struck me as being akin to kicking a car’s tyres and checking the radiator levels to see if a car runs or not.  Very strange.

I have my own method, and it is incredibly accurate.  Basically it is a checklist of what makes me nauseous.

The concept is very simple.  I have a list of foods and beverages, and I just imagine myself sitting down to a large portion of each item. 

First off is tripe.  I think of myself tucking into a large plateful of tripe and then check to see if I feel nauseous.  I fucking hate tripe, so nausea at this level means that I am in the whole of my health.  If I didn’t feel nauseous then there is something wrong.

Then I step up the ladder and think of boiled bacon and cabbage.  Nausea at this level probably means a minor head cold or a mild flu.  Nothing whatsoever to worry about.

I continue on up the list covering such items as poached salmon [that means I need a couple of aspirin] through minute steak [this is getting serious at this point] up to Confit de Canard and Vindaloo.

Nausea at the thought of Confit de Canard is serious stuff.  At this stage I would need a heavy prescription of something or other, and as for Vindaloo – that is the point where I lash down to the nearest fever hospital and book myself in.

There is one further level.  Guinness.  Feeling nausea at the thought of a couple of pints is exceptionally serious.  It has never happened.

I reckon it would mean I’m dead.

I am not normally one for getting ill.  Sickness has only one redeeming factor and that is the ability to get a couple of weeks off work.  Seeing as I gave up paid employment ten years ago, there didn’t seem to be any point in falling ill. so I didn’t. 

On Saturday night I was completely blindsided by whatever the fuck bug it was.  It left me completely incapacitated all through yesterday.  I even went to bed early which is an indicator of how bad it was.  I woke this morning and had great difficulty getting dressed – every move I made was agony.  I made myself a cuppa [which I never drank] and eased myself painfully into my armchair.  I promptly fell asleep again.  I woke again an hour or so ago and found my clothes were wringing wet.  And suddenly all the aches and pains had disappeared.  I can actually move my head again and can walk without difficulty. 

The only problem now is that I have to catch up with the rest of the world. I haven’t a clue what has been happening, and have had to flick through a few news sites to see if I have missed any excitement.  Apart from America going into financial meltdown and riots in London it seems to have been a quiet enough time.

My problem is that I have little or no memory of what went on yesterday [or most of the day before] so I have nothing to write about.  I have a vague recollection of entertaining visitors yesterday and I notice the Sunday Times is on the table so I must have gone down to the shop at some stage.  But vague recollections don’t make for interesting scribbles, so I looks like I will have to spend this evening in the pub to catch up on all the important bits of news.

It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.

Headaches, faceaches. shivers, aches all over, hot and cold flushes.  You get the picture.

Then I realised something.

The chances are that this little beauty is highly contagious, and therefore the chances are that you’ll pick it up just from reading about it.  I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.  Well, actually I would but that’s beside the point.

Anyhows, I would suggest that you take the following precaution -

Mix up a large bath of water and Jeyes Fluid.  Then immerse your computer completely in the solution.  There is no need to unplug it first, and it’s probably better if you don’t as that way the disinfecting will be more thorough.

I would further suggest that once you have immersed your computer in the Jeyes Fluid that you give yourself a thorough scrub.  A coarse bristle brush [or ideally a wire brush] will do the job.

You have been warned.  I have told you what to do, and if you wake up in the morning feeling like shite and with headaches, faceaches. shivers, aches all over and hot and cold flushes, then don’t come crying to me.  It’s your own fucking fault for ignoring a simple straightforward procedure.

Why do I just know that someone will ignore me and will carry on getting infected.

There is always one.

When the outbreak first occurred, we had a frantic message from The WHO screaming about a ‘deadly’ new strain of the virus.  Now EU ministers are meeting to discuss the ‘lethal’ outbreak.

Now ‘lethal’ and ‘deadly’ to me are words that would imply that it’s a case of ‘one touch and you’re fucked’. Both words leave little to chance.  They are as uncompromising as sharing a bath with a plugged in toaster, yet they give out figures that say that 2,000 have fallen prey to the virus but only 22 have died?  Now I have every sympathy for the families of the victims, but taking a dispassionate look at the figures hardly indicates a deadly or lethal outbreak?  You catch the bug, you have a 99% chance of survival.  That sounds like pretty good odds to me?

And why are they having such difficulty finding the source?  Surely a simple interview with the 2,000 victims should throw up something, if you’ll pardon the expression?  So far they have decimated the Spanish cucumber crop and caused near riots by the Spanish farmers.  Then they left a poor restauranteur in Northern Germany in a state of bewilderment having accused him of poisoning half the world.  Then they decided it was beansprouts.  There is something beautifully ironic about that, as beansprouts must epitomise the very definition of ‘healthy eating’.

Surely the simplest way to put this story to bed for once and for all is to make sure that beansprouts are the only item on the menu at EU headquarters?

Just tell ‘em it’s part of a ‘healthy eating’ drive.

Heh!

“Seeing as I’m here” says I to Doc, “I have noticed I have put on a lot of weight in the last couple of months.”

“You don’t look any heavier?”  Doc doesn’t believe in new technology such as weighing scales.

I stood sideways and relaxed my stomach muscles.

“Ah!  Yes.  I see what you mean.”  He thought for a moment.  “You say this came on in the last couple of months?”

“Yup.”

“Have you been in your flowers lately?” he asked.

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“The Curse” he replied.  “Have you noticed an absence of The Curse lately?”

“No.  She’s still at home where she always is.”

“No, no, no.   I mean your Period.  Have you had a Period in the last couple of months?”

“No.”  I wasn’t going to confuse things by telling him I had never had one.

“That’s  it then” he said with a beaming smile.  “You’re pregnant!  Congratulations.”

I really wonder about Doc.

He knows I’m too old for that.