It has begun

I've just received an open letter from Dr John Hegarty, Provost of Trinity College, on the "financial situation", now that the IMF have arrived and that Ireland plc is officially bankrupt.

In one sense, it makes for grim reading, as even here in the oasis of the university, the time has come to batten down the hatches; there is some very stormy weather ahead. On the other hand however, it is provides a shred of optimism; that with commitment and good leadership, we will find a way to work ourselves out of this mess.

Make up your own mind:

Dear Staff and Students

You are all aware from the media reports that the country is facing challenges which require drastic action on every front and we as a university will have our part to play.

Given the crucial role which high-quality university education will play in bringing the country out of recession, I am hopeful that the case I and the other University Presidents have been making for the past number of years at government level will be reflected in the best case budget for the sector. In my view it would be fatal to cut-back to a point where we cannot even deliver our core mission. Other countries have invested in education and research in their worst moments.

I presented a paper to the Board of the College at its meeting on 10 November in which several scenarios for the Colleges finances for the next five years were presented. A worst case and best case scenario were outlined which ranged from a 20% to 10% cut in the government allocation (core grant plus free fees allocation) resulting in a cut in money terms ranging from €20m (worst case) to €10m (best case) by 2013 over the 2010 level. If allowance is made for an expected downturn in research income and its contribution to overhead costs, and the additional costs that must be factored in for new space are taken into account, the funding available to the College will decrease by a further €10m. Either scenario represents an enormous problem and one that cannot be managed without drastic and far-reaching action.

There is one very positive point in our favour. We are in the fortunate position that, due to prudent management under our new central structures, the College has no budgetary deficit thereby positioning it in a relatively strong position to address the current funding crisis.

In considering the financial projections as presented, the Board agreed that we must take every step within our control to secure the College’s future financial viability. We must consider all actions that can be embedded into the system with a long-term impact without undermining the core mission. Once-off funding may be used in the initial period to off-set the expected decrease in government funding of our activities. The College’s actions will focus on: (a) increasing revenue from non exchequer sources: a number of sources are being considered, including increased recruitment of fee-paying students, and enhanced philanthropy and commercialisation activities; (b) cutting costs by ceasing activities and/or by introducing greater efficiencies in the use of staff resources, supported in large measure by the completion of the College’s estrategy programme.

The Board agreed that my management team, including the Executive Officer Group and its Planning Group, will look at all options to secure the College’s financial future. This work has now started and a process of consultation with Heads of School, Heads of administrative and support areas, and student representatives is underway to seek solutions and mechanisms to address the financial crisis. I would also like to engage the whole community. To this end I will hold a number of public fora at the beginning of December to further discuss the situation and to solicit your suggestions.

The impact of the financial situation on the quality of teaching and the overall student experience is a cause of grave concern and I am extremely appreciative of the efforts being made by staff in all areas of the College to cope with the reduced staff numbers already taking place over the last two years. My colleagues in the IUA and I have been working actively with the HEA and the Department of Education and Skills to find solutions and to secure the best possible arrangements for the College within the context of the Employment Control Framework.

It is inevitable that personal cuts in pay, the current lack of promotional opportunities, the prospect of increased student charges as well as the adverse nature of much public commentary will have an impact on the morale of our College community, but there is also a resilience and a determination to succeed that is helping us to achieve our goals and to meet our obligations, notwithstanding the unprecedented extent of the current national crisis. By creative planning and looking at all options – short and long term – I am optimistic that we can seize the opportunities offered by the current crisis and emerge stronger and very well placed to contribute to the country’s inevitable recovery.

I hope that the government in whatever form will not take such steps as to fatally damage the system.

John Hegarty

Provost

Correspondence

As part of training, we get regular (usually three times daily) updates from our coach, via email. Now granted that there are about about 35 novices in the group, the mailing list is still being sent out to near two hundred people, so obviously there are lots of people who don't row, yet they are still being inundated by Neal's emails.

Last week, there was a rather amusing incident when I emailed everybody on the mailing list about hiring tuxedoes for next week's Boat Ball. When I found this response in my inbox, I was both puzzled and delighted at the hilarity of the situation.

Here was the original mail:

From: MJB

To: Novices mailing list

Hi guys

For anyone considering going to the Boat Ball, I just checked the rates with the place that I get my tuxes from.

They will do a group rate of €49.50 when there is a group of ten people or more. The normal hire rate for a tux is €75.00, so it's a good deal if there's a group of guys who want to hire tuxedoes.

The place is Aston Formalwear, in Temple Bar; so it's in Temple Bar around the corner from O'Connell Bridge, about three minutes away from Front Arch.

Anyway, it's an idea worth considering.

Regards

MJB

To which this reply came:

From: Cameron Kenny

To: Neal, MJB

Hi. can you all please delete me from your mailing lists? I keep trying to block one sender, and then someone else on this enormous contact list e-mails me again.

I'm a woman living in Montana. Please stop e-mailing me! :-) Thanks!!!!!!!!!!!!

At which point, I couldn't but respond:

From: MJB

To: Cameron Kenny

Hi Cameron

Are you sure you don't want to rent a tux?

Regards

MJB

Elbow typing

This ad caught my eye earlier and I loved it. In general, I'm a huge fan of the "Here come the girls" campaign by Boots; they have really owned that tune. This one made me smile and laugh, probably because I remember interviewing for a job in a call centre. I really love the elbow typing, it's a sublime touch. Anyway, cheers to Boots, it's great stuff! Hope you enjoy...

Not doing gifts

Another cracker (ha ha, geddit) from Boots. Normally I would think it's too early for Christmas at this juncture in early November, but for this case I'll make an exception!

Here come the girls!

Made at the boat club

Take That's latest music video was shot down at the Dublin University Boat Club in Islandbridge, resulting in my feelings of "that looks awful familiar" as I watched the start of the video. I'm used to the view of the boats and the blades, so when I saw the feet lifting the boat out I was very surprised to find the faces were not those of the Trinity crew. I think the Trinity crew are definitely better looking!

Anyway here's the video, you can judge for yourself. I think that it's a bit nonsensical really. I'm pretty sure that there is not such thing as a five person boat, and also there is no way that one could row and sing simultaneously. We could, of course, try incorporating the song into our playlist for circuit training, but I think that that would bomb rather quickly. Still, the boathouse looks good!

Wee Daphne

Here's a rather heart warming and well-reasoned piece by an American mother whose five year old boy wanted to go as Daphne from Scooby Doo for Hallowe'en this year.

Fair play to this woman. She is obviously clear-thinking and sensible, and she argues her case with poignancy and understanding. She not only describes, but she also tackles people's prejudices head on. I'm very impressed!

Gaga in a 2:2

The Guardian reports today about the University of South Carolina which is offering a module in Lady Gaga Studies.

One can only imagine what it would consist of, but the Guardian has written a rather humourous yet withering piece about it.

Be our guest

I'll admit it: I've been singing this for the last two days. It's too good not to! My favourite lyric is "Try the grey stuff; it's delicous. Don't believe us? Ask the dishes!"

Disney at its best!

In the bin

"In the bin" is a debating term for when a team performs really badly in a debating competition and is therefore seeded really lowly. As the rounds progress, a poorly performing team will be seeded against teams of equally abysmal poor speakers and social misfits. This was what happened to the team that I was subbing on, Hist L, yesterday. By round five, we were, really and truly, were in the bin.

Absolutely brilliant video! Hopefully I'll be in a position to avoid the bin come the Manchester IV in February!

Something we made earlier

This is the promotional video for the TCD Debating IV, to be held in January 2011.

We shot it last week in the Chamber, as as you can see it turned out rather well!

It's a corrupt oul' world

I'm just after finding this on the Guardian's website, and it's rather interesting as it reduces the whole world to a series of dots. The colour and the size of the dots relate to how corrupt the country in question is. I've always been fascinated by such alternative ways of displaying "the world". I find them very hand for challenging our prejudices.

What's really amazing about it is that it's as if North America and Western Europe vanish, and the shape that remains is fairly recognizable as the rest of the world. The entire African continent is basically unchanged; what does that say about its levels of corruption?

As a matter of interest, Ireland doesn't fare too badly at all, clocking it with 8 out of 10. (10 being good.) That's marginally better than Great Britain (7.6), slightly worse than Iceland (8.5) and bit still far short of class-topping New Zealand (9.3).

And the bad news... Well it's not looking good for Somalia (1.1), or Iraq (1.5), or Afghanistan (1.4) or the Sudan (1.6); so that would lead us to believe that where there is war, corruption follows close behind. In terms of countries that have more industrial clout, yet have brown envelopes and back handers a-plenty, we've Italy (3.9), China (3.5) , Russia (2.1) and Brazil (3.7). I'm not really sure what that tells us about those countries, but rather I suppose it confirms anecdotal evidence.

Still, as a cartographic exercise, it's very interesting.

Lovely London

The Guardian have put this little slideshow together of newly built, buildings under construction, and proposed buildings in one of my favourite cities, lovely London.

They even come with handy nicknames; The Walkie Talkie, The Cheesegrater, Some shite that Zaha Hadid threw together... Enjoy!

Stereotyping

It's funny how we stereotype. For example, I was explaining to Stephen earlier about who the cox is in a boat. I described the cox as "generally a small D4 girl who sits in the stern and gives instructions." To which he replied: "Oh roysh, they wear Uggs and say "loike oh moy Gawd, row foster".

Well at least he got the Uggs bit right.

Links fahren!

This was spotted on Google Streetview. It's funny, 'cause there used to be a similar sign on the tiny bóithrín that my sister lived on during her first year in college. Her road, An Sruthán, was located about a kilometre short of An Cheathrú Rua itself. Galway County Council had, in their eternal wisdom, put a 60kmph speed limit on the road betweeen Casla and An Cheathrú Rua, despite it being a good quality, paved, national secondary route. To turn onto An Sruthán, a driver must come around a bend, stop, and then turn right at a 110 degree angle (backing on to oneself) over a small humpback bridge, onto a boithrín with grass growing in the middle. As this meant that the driver had left the main road, which had a 60kmph speed limit, they were greeted by two shiny signs on either sign of the grassy lane which proudly proclaimed 80kmph!

If you only watch one video today, watch this

This is an amazing little presentation on how good family planning can transform the fortunes of a country. Here we see how a proactive policy of prophylathic provision imrpoved the lives of millions of people in Thailand. The speaker is funny and erudite, and this video will leave you informed, with a big smile on your face. After all, isn't Thailand known as The Land of Smiles...

Whilst we're blowing people up...

Grant has just introduced me to Harry and Paul, a new BBC comedy; good stuff by the looks of it. You just got to love the BBC. RTE, stop, looking and take heed!

This little sketch appealed to me. It's like a mix between Mr Bean and the 10:10 campaign video, only without the public outcry. Enjoy.

Parody Season

As per my previous post, the No Pressure video has sparked some parodies.

Like this one, about Muslims:

Bare Arsed Ballinteer

Google Street View went live for Dublin during the week and I'm just after seeing this little article in the Irish Times. Apparently two young fellas, with little else to do with their time, exposed their bare arses to the Streetview camera car as it drove past. The result is a full moon on a fine sunny day in Ballinteer.

Apparently people have being going wild about it on Twitter, with directions being given how exactly to find the house. Google have stepped into the furore, and blurred out the offending buttocks.

I have never used Streetview before, but I must have a wee gander at it now and see if my house comes up on it. I wonder what the weather was like and who was out walking on the day that they did my road. A lot of my friends tend to get lost in Drimnagh, saying that "it all looks the same". Maybe street view will be a remedy for that, at least they can practice getting here before they even leave home.

UPDATE: I've just looked at my house on Streetview and I deduced this much:

1. It was summer. My car is parked in the driveway. I only have the car during the summer.
2. It was last year. The dead stumps of the trees are still on the street, the Council hadn't replanted them yet.
3. It was Friday. My neighbours have their recycling bins out.
4. The weather was overcast and generally miserable; sounds like last summer alright.

Finally, a bit of sense.

Here's a copy of a Tweet from Fine Gael TD, Nora Owen. I've never met Nora, but she does seem to have a nice practicality about her, like a long standing member of the ICA.

“Will no one tell Enda (a good and decent man) to go quietly and gracefully? A new energetic team needed. (keep Ml Noonan)”

At least she seems to have some amount of cop on, thank God. Poor Inda, he really seems determined to be Taoiseach, like a petulant five-year-old who is throwing tantrums until he has his turn. It kind of has echoings of Gordon Brown's insistance that he must become Prime Minster, simply because he had waited and waited and now it was his turn. And we all know how that worked out...

It's kind of pathetic really, poor Inda doesn't seem to get that his chance came and went. Imagine that it was an American teen movie. The Irish electorate (Ireland) are the hot girl that everyone wants to get into bed with; Inda was the slightly odd character who just wasn't cool enough for her, and when he asked her out on a date, Ireland said "no".

Not that Inda isn't a great guy, and sure Ireland would have been very lucky to have him, had she have realized it at the time, but sure she was getting loads of attention from the class jock, Fianna Fáil. Now Fianna Fáil was an exploitative dickhead, and Ireland knew that, but sure she got into bed with him anyway. Now, Ireland has discovered that she's in major trouble due to her involvement with Fianna Fáil, but it's too late; they were the choices that she made.

Now Inda has come to prominence as leader of the Sci-Fi Soc or some similar obscure society within campus, which gives him an inflated sense of his own importance, yet most outsiders continue to view him with utter disdain. And he's still desperately trying to get in with Ireland, despite plenty of hints that she simply isn't interested. Meanwhile Inda continues unabated, simultaneously being both mocked and pitied by all who witness the spectacle. Sound familiar?

So maybe Nora Owen should invite Inda around for a nice cup of tea, and gently break the news that he's not going to be the next Taoiseach. He'll probably be devastated, as most five-year-olds are when there are told that they are not going to the zoo, but he'll eventually realize that it was never to be. He won't get a trip to the Áras; but eventually, he'll probably see that it's for the best.

Batman Cake

This is possibly the coolest birthday cake ever baked. Of course, I don't need to tell you that it is a two tier Batman birthday cake which, wait for it - is actually blue on the inside.

This wonder of culinary creation was dreamed up by Amanda, in response to her six-year-old's call for a Batman themed birthday party. As I'm sure you can see, the results were rather impressive.

I was lucky enough to drop by on Saturday evening to see this creative confection in the early stages of its development i.e. in the oven. Amanda assured me that the acrid smell of burning plastic was, in fact, perfectly normal. Like the peasant hanging around the master's table, I pounced on the crumbs once Amanda started to cut and level the cake, prior to icing. To my amazement and delight, the cut cake took on the appearance of a blue sponge. No no, not a blue sponge cake, but actually a blue sponge; I soon began to wonder what exactly she'd put into the mixture...

Well mysterious mixtures aside, here's a photograph a slice of cake. I think that we can all agree that real beauty is on the inside!

The little bit of spice that makes existence extra nice!

For some bizarre and inexplicable I found myself signing this in the shower this morning, and so I thought that a sign to put it on the Legion. It's a great oul' number, but the only problem with it is I can't find a video for it, so you gotta make do with the audio alone. However, if you'd like to see the video and listen to it in Spanish, click here.

We'll see

This evening, Ida and I sat in watching Charlie Wilson's War; a film which I feel deserves a place in anyone's DVD collection. Even through a rose tinted Hollywood lense, it does go some way to explaining the situation in Afghanistan and how there came to be a war there. At the end of the film, the character of Gust (played by Phillip Seymour Hoffman), relates this story; I think it's worth consideration:

The was a boy who lived in a village, and for his fourteenth birthday he received a present of a horse. Everyone said "How wonderful!" The Zen Master said "We'll see."

Two years later he fell off the horse and broke his leg. Everyone said "How terrible!" The Zen Master said, "We'll see."

Then a war broke out, and all of the young men of the village had to go off to fight; except the boy who could not fight because of his leg. Everyone said "How wonderful!" The Zen Master said, "We'll see..."

Cursing. It's fucking excellent stuff!

Here's two minutes of Stephen Fry extolling the benefits of cursing. It's funny; I nearly wrote "bad language" instead of cursing. But that would have been preposterous, considering that good cursing can really enliven and embellish good language. The clips are all taken from the youthful days of Fry and Laurie; my God were they gorgeous. Enjoy!

Speed reading

Yesterday the English class met for the first time. There were 161 of us in the J M Synge Theatre. Looking around the room, it was clear to see that most of those present had arrived in university straight from the Leaving Cert; making me older than the sum of their combined ages.

The Head of Discipline provided us with some sage words as regards the importance of reading; reading considerately, reading carefully; thinking while you read. She warned of the dangers of "speed reading", whereby one would just skim a text and perhaps miss key elements. She recounted Woody Allen's exploits, who had reportedly sped-read War and Peace in one evening; "It's about Russia" he said.

The politics of transport

At the inaugural Hist debate on Monday, the Chair decided to enlighten the assembled Freshers as to the cultural and political significance of Luas - Dublin's tram system.

The Green Line is like Fianna Fáil; it exists in self-absorption and isolation from the real world. The Red Line, however, is like Sinn Féin; it's a little bit scary and does very well in disadvantaged areas.

Naturally, I live on the Red Line, or Breadline, as Stephen so succinctly puts it.

Sign me up!

Today was the start of Freshers' Week, and as such, I dutifully turned up to college bright and early this morning to get a taste of the excitement. Stalls abounded, offering everything from the Chinese Society to the Visual Arts Appreciation Society, from Rugby Club to the Fencing Club to the Young Socialist's Workers Whatever-you're-having-yourself Party. The array and the sheer amount of choice is dazzling, so much so that several circuits of Parliament Square are required just to scope out what was happening. It appeared to be a bit like an air traffic control queueing system, with people circulating and occasionally dropping finding a stall to slot into.

Much to my delight and surprise, I was headhunted by the Boat Club (rowing). This came as a total surprise, as beneath my coat, I was hiding a skinny frame; a frame far too skinny for rowing, one would have thought. It turns out that this is not so, and they are more than happy to have tall skinny people on board (literally). I later sussed out that they had scouts finding all of the tall people, and trying to persuade them to the boat club, as apparently height is a sought after quality in such circles.

As a giraffe myself, I suddenly felt very at home with all of these tall men (with shoulders!) showing interest in me. Granted rowing is notoriously competitive, and I suspect that I would be shite at it; but then again it presents a challenge. Also, as most freshers are total novices, and therefore unlikely to be any good, there is some consolation in the thought that we are all in the same boat, so to speak. It might well come to nothing, but it's worth a try.

So anyway here's a list of what I joined, and why:

• An Cumann Gaelach: An Ghaeilge a labhairt agus deiseanna a chothú tri sin a dhéanamh.

• The Phil: Possibly the most famous and influential society in TCD; it's notionally a debating society, but I'm unsure of how that stands up to scrutiny. Still trying to determine its dickhead to sound quotient, but I'm sure that will rapidly become apparent.

• The Hist: The oldest society in TCD; it's notionally and possibly more practically a debating society, however that will also require scrutiny. It's possible that dickheads abound here too, we'll just have to wait and see. I've joined both, in order to hedge my bets.

• The Theo: This the the University Theological Society; it could be well worth a look in. Apparently they've secured a devout Creationist, i.e. a person who genuinely believes that God created the world during the course of a six day period, for one of their weekly debates, which to me sounds something akin to bear baiting; this should be a howl.

• Dublin University Kayak Club (DUKC): Kayaking was originally "my sport" before I discovered hiking, so it's time to make a long-awaited reemergence onto the river.

• Dublin University Boat Club (DUBC): See above

• Trinity Arts Workshop: Ever since I was a child, I always wanted to try my hand at pottery. Come to think of it, Santa once brought me a potter's wheel for Christmas. Results at the time were unconvincing, but hopefully that with a bit of tuition and guidance I should be giving Demi Moore and the ghost of Patrick Swayeze a run for their money.

• Knit Soc: When I was working for the Office the Never Works (OPW) I used to knit at my desk in order to pass the time. In fact, I would hypothesize that productivity within government departments could be boosted if all civil servants were provided with wool and needles, especially as we run into the winter season. Anyway, I've joined the Knit Soc, just in case...

• SUAS: Rebecca recommended this, it's an overseas aid education trust, providing education to disadvantaged children in the Third World, or something to that effect; providing schools in Coolock, in other words.

• Voluntary Tuition Programme: I've signed up to teach one grind a week as part of a volunteer programme. It's only an hour, so if my small contribution helps someone who is struggling with their education, then it's an hour well spent.

• Labour Youth: I've finally decided to get political. Selection was made by process of elimination: Fianna Fáil were obviously the first to go, followed closely by the Greens. Fine Gael are basically just Fianna Fáil only in blue, so that left Labour. So yes, it's official; I'm now a communist!

So anyway, that's me now. The next job is to figure of when all of the various training sessions are and try and fit them into a reasonably workable schedule; should be fun!

Legionnaire's Testimonial

My friend Stephen keeps an excellent blog. Yesterday, I became the subject of one of his postings. He said some very nice things about me, which is very unusual for Ireland; great nation of begrudgers that we are. I texted him about it afterwards and he said that it was a "tribute".

In Ireland, generally tributes are only made after death, to ensure that there is no chance of the compliment actually being heard by the receiver; so it's lovely to hear nice things said about oneself without being laid out cold in the front room.

Anyway, if you would like to read what Stephen said about me, click here.

Mind that child

Thanks be to Allah I don't live in Iran

Stop me when this stops sounding normal:

1. It's Saturday night. Normal.
2. There's a party. Normal.
3. There's guys and girls, mixing and chatting together. Normal.
4. There's alcohol. Eh, c'mon! Normal.
5. The police arrive and start making arrests. Could be normal; I've been to one or two parties like that.
6. The punishment is whipping, fines or imprisonment. What the?

Welcome to Tehran. Iranian police arrested 60 partygoers on Saturday; their crime? Points 2 - 4.

It's coming

Next Thursday week, we will have equinox, when it is exactly twelve hours of daylight and twelve hours of darkness. For me, this conjours the image of a spinning coin tipping on it's edge, getting ready to fall; a fall that will bring us into the long nights of winter. And like night follows day, like it or not, winter is coming.

As with all inevitable things in life, we have the option of trying to ignore and then begrudge them once their reality is forced upon us, or we can celebrate them. It's heartwarming to see that people are still celebrating the equinox at the passage tombs of Lough Crew, County Meath. For it is at the passage tombs of Lough Crew that the rising and the setting sun illuminates the inner chambers of the burial mounds, (one facing due east; one facing due west) five thousand years after our ancestors built them. I've never been there myself, but D Reilly assures me that it's worth an early start for.

This is an Irish Times photo presentation of the Spring Equinox, last March; and just listening to it gives me the tingles. Don't get me wrong; I'm far from thrilled at the prospect of another damp, cold, miserable Irish winter, but this is inevitable. It's coming: get over it. So this gives me two choices; I can either try my best at blithely ignoring it, and still end up waking up one day to find that's is dismally cold, utterly inclement and pitch dark at 8.30am; or I can wrap up, put on my coat and boots and climb an ancient hill at dawn to welcome the winter.

If all of this talk of winter darkness depresses you, I urge you to take to heart the simple, yet profound, words of Ok Go: "Let it go. This too shall pass". For on Wednesday, 23 March, we'll have another chance to traipse to Lough Crew; this time to welcome the summer.

Great Lies To Tell Small Kids

Fact.

Good Morning Dublin!

You may remember some time ago, that there was a small outbreak of furore over Spencer Tunick's photoshoots in Dublin and Cork. More so in Cork actually, which featured hundreds of naked people standing around in the rain at Blarney Castle in the dark, as they waited for dawn in what might have been October last year. Not my idea of fun, but then hypothermia just doesn't do it for me...

Anyway, Tunick was back in the news again recently as, shock! horror! he had taken another photograph of hundreds of naked people standing in front of a famous landmark. This got the cogs churning, and I decided to google the Dublin shoot, as I couldn't remember what the result of it was. And this was the result:

I was delighted to find this; I think it's really interesting. Firstly, it's not a run of the mill landmark, like the Sydney Opera house, which frankly, is just a bit boring. It's one of my favourite and least well known places in Dublin - the Great South Wall; four miles of granite that stretches into Dublin Bay and creates Dublin Port. It's lovely to see a place that is dear to me immortalized.

Secondly I love the way the the naked crowd vanishes into nothing as it winds its way out towards the Poolbeg Lighthouse. It both gives an idea of the size of the South Wall and the amount of naked people who appeared to freeze their tits off for the dawning of the day.

And thirdly, and most importantly, I love that the Irish Ferries Ulysses is lurking on the horizon and is about to enter the port. One can only imagine the announcement that the captain made from the bridge that morning. "Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking..."

Google

I'm not really sure what to make of Google. Is it a benevolent force or am I just giving a major corporation endless ammunition? Who knows? I must certainly did not read the small print, despite ticking the box to the contrary. It probably doesn't pay to spend too much time thinking about these things; ah sure, it's all a big conspiracy really...

I use google daily; it supports my email and it hosts this blog. Incidentally, next week when I register for university, I will be given a @tcd.ie email address, which will also work off the Gmail platform. So whether I like it or not, Google and I are inextricably linked. Were we to part ways in the morning, it would be a rather messy and painful breakup.

Google is constantly modifying it's service and now one can select an image for one's home page. I've chosen this one; I call it the "Three Little Pigs" and I think that it strikes the right note between utter gayness and financial prudence.

The latest thing they they are offering is Google Instant (which isn't available in Ireland yet). This is suggested search technology that instantly brings up multiple results, dependent on the characters typed - now there's no longer any need to hit the search button. Apparently it saves about 3 seconds per Google search, and that makes it "better". I dunno, I'm not convinced.

I quite like to go to Google and frame my question; i.e. think for a moment about what I am going to ask the oracle, rather than just chucking random words at it and rummaging through the results. I have never been a huge fun of suggested searches coming up when I start typing in the search bar. To be honest it kinda creeps me out, for the computer is taking note of everything I do; it is digitally and psychologically profiling me. For example, I often ask Google a question, beginning with "how do I..." and sometimes the suggestions are rather alarming! For instance:

How do I know I'm pregnant

How do I know if I'm depressed

How do I get my PPS number

How do I register with Fás

This would lead us to believe that I am a young girl, possibly pregnant, that I am unemployed, with rather limited prospects and I'm necking Prozac in order to cope with this grim reality. Google, you know me so well!

Dogging

Here's a wonderful little ditty about dogging, sung by a lady that you think might know better. But then again, I'm sure that's exactly the point...

"I quickly had his flagpole up responding to my touch,

And the next thing I was upside-down and staring at the clutch."

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, here's what the Urban Dictionary coughed up:

Dogging actually derives from the term 'walking the dog'. It is a pastime that has evolved from blokes taking their dogs for walks and stumbling across couples at it in bushes etc. They originally only spied on these couples. The 'sport' has now become much more organized and seedy - with regular meeting places, and more or less a free-for-all spirit. This year the newly created Ultimate Dogging Championships was held at Rivington nr Chorley, Lancs. Their were many disciplines including 10 Man Train, Pearly Rain, and Most Extreme Slapper. The TV rights to next year's event are currently in negotiation with a Dutch Satellite TV station.

"I'm just taking the dog out for a walk love"

"Okay, don't be 5 hours this time, and try not to get so muddy"

Oh yes...

The kids are back in school, so that means an Indian Summer, right?

(Thanks Paul.)

Nice Boots Camp

Another fantastic ad, this time for Littlewoods. Nice to see someone else getting into the game, apart from our usual contenders of Specsavers and Boots. Of course, the Nancy soundtrack goes a long way in accounting for it's appeal.

Bye bye Mr Blue Sky

Giant hay bale kills ELO founder.

I kid you not, this is a headline into today's Irish Times. The cellist from ELO, Mike Edwards, was killed on Friday by a renegade hay bale. He was driving in his van in Devon, when all of a sudden the giant haybale burst through the hedge and crashed into his vehicle.

The haybale in question weighed 600kgs and may have fallen off a tractor working on a nearby hill. It picked up momentum as it moved towards the road, eventually killing Mr Edwards. He was 62 and was noted for the ability to play the cello with a grapefruit.

Here's a little stop motion video of Mr Blue Sky. It was somebody's second year short film project. It's rather cool actually. They could do with painting their gate pillars though.

N.B. I've just watched it a second time. It really does have strong religous overtones, what with the bodily ascension into heaven...

Thinking of Aretha

I'm off to see Aretha tomorrow morning. It's time to feed the bees and tuck them away for the winter.

So here's a little Aretha for you. "Think! Think! Think..."

Picture this

I'm currently corresponding with a lovely lady that I met while at Bee Camp in Gormanston. She told me today of her neice's wedding. Here follows the description of it, and the soundtrack. Enjoy!

It was in a yurt* in a field in Kent. The bride designed her own outfit, consisting of a strapless mini-dress, white diamonte studded boots and a beautiful lace veil!

When the ceremony was over, instead of the traditional wedding march they played Stevie Wonder's "Signed Sealed Delivered, I'm yours!" (but you're probably too young too know that one). And instead of a wedding cake, a vintage icecream van drove round the tent giving out ice cream...

*yurt |yoŏrt; yərt|

noun

a circular tent of felt or skins on a collapsible framework, used by nomads in Mongolia, Siberia, and Turkey.

Anglo Irish Relations

In Ireland, we are prone to gripe on about our neighbours from across the water with mumbles of "700 years..." And in fact, at least for the last 200 years or so of that period, a large part of our cultural identity has evolved around the nature of the relationship between Ireland and Britain; in other words - Anglo Irish relations. For example, we had the Anglo Irish War of 1919 to 1921 (also known as the Tan War, or the War of Independence). We had the Anglo Irish Treaty of 1922, granting the Irish Free State, and then in the 1985 we had the Anglo Irish Agreement, between Lady Thatcher and Grandpa Garrett Fitzgerald. So the words Anglo Irish are rather official and important, given our recent history, and they generally deal with "the English" being difficult, mainly over relinquishing parts of their empire.

However during last two years, the words Anglo Irish have come to mean something else; once more, they are a national preoccupation. However this time, the source of the trouble is not the English, but rather one of our own - Anglo Irish Bank. Like many people, I confess to being somewhat cloudy as to who exactly Anglo Irish are, why they got into the mess that they are in, and more importantly, why the Irish taxpayer is paying their debts. If Brian Lenehan were to introduce a levy on the words "Anglo Irish Bank" with one euro to be collected for each utterance, it is quite likely that RTÉ alone would be fined sufficiently to balance the flailing bank's balance books by the end of the autumn schedule. But for all of the bandying about of those three little words, how much do we actually understand about what is going on? Do you, like me, just need someone to sit down and explain it, slowly, in nice plain English?

Well if you do, you're in luck. Thankfully, the Irish Times has presented us with a Crash Course on Anglo Irish Bank.

Leave a stagelamp burning

It was with great sadness that I learned of the death of Mick Lally yesterday. He died, suddenly, at the age of 64.

For me, Mick Lally had always been Miley in Glenroe, "Ah, Holy God" and to be frank, there wasn't much there to talk about. It wasn't until I listened to him being interviewed one morning by Miriam O'Callaghan that I was surprised to learn a bit more about what I would soon see was truly fascinating character. I was subsequently lucky enough to hear him interviewed a second time, this time with Glenroe co-star, Mary McEvoy.

These interviews shed some light on the upbringing of Mick Lally. He was the child of a poor peasant farmer from the Mayo Gaeltacht. But for a relation in had sent money home from America, he never would have had the chance to go to secondary school. Listening to him speak, he never lost sight of that; how all of the opportunity in his life arose due to the quiet generosity of one man.

Fintan O'Toole writes an obituary today in the Irish Times, listing some of Lally's great achievements. Now most of the stuff happened before I was born, or I was too small or disinterested to take notice. The conclusion is that Lally was a giant of a man, both physically and metaphorically; but he was a quiet and humble giant. At sixty four, his death was far too sudden; sure, wasn't he due to be on stage next week. Like that, I only heard him being interviewed a few weeks ago, and he never mentioned dying.

My thoughts are with his family, and with those whom he loved, and who loved him. May he rest in peace.

Queen Bee

My friend John as just moved to Rotterdam and speaking of beekeeping, he sent me this.

Thanks John.

Scary Mary

As anyone who knows me will be unsurprised to learn, I was raised by Mary Poppins. It was the seminal film within our house as kids. I watched it endlessly, or at least what seemed like endlessly - at least twice anyway.

Facebook has thrown up this little beaut, courtesy of Colm. It's very clever really, and I think it legitimately illustrates the concerns of a large group of people whom Mary Poppins scared the bejaysus out of.

What's really interesting about it is it shows how something can take on a different meaning when it is taken out of its original context. With a bit of clever editing, anything to be turned on its head; it's the essence of good propaganda. Note also, how important the music is. Mary's lullaby is used as a rouse, followed by those chaotic strings designed to make the heart beat faster. It's only a minute long, but it really is a very subtle and succinct creation.

I recently read the original book Mary Poppins by Pamela Travers. Once you read the book, you see that she wasn't as sugar coated candy sweet as Disney and Julie Andrews would make her out to be.

Hide the children.

It's all an illusion

Having seen the trailer for this last week, I bundled Grant off the the Lighthouse to see The Illusionist. It's a strange film; I'm not entirely sure that I got it. Perhaps it was too subtle for me.

It was beautiful though. The drawings are beautiful and the story was sad, weird, poignant and oddly silent. At the end of the film I turned to Grant and said "Well?" He was oddly silent too.

There's hope

"And my favourite show, which thank God only ran one season because it was truly distasteful - was The Littlest Groom where thirty desperate women competed to marry a dwarf!"

Smart, funny and fair.

It was Panti who had originally posted this on her blog, so I stopped to watch it. I was so impressed that I hunted down Savino's website and wrote her a quick email of thanks.

Stephen Slater

About two weeks ago, there was much ado in the media about a flight attendant for JetBlue airlines in the US called Stephen Slater. One day Stephen just had enough; one unreasonable passenger too many; he saw red. And then he saw yellow - the yellow of the inflatable slide as he bounced his way out of his airline career and into his fifteen minutes of international fame.

Whilst working on a Stephen Slater t-shirt design earlier, I came across this article. It is written by a fellow flight attendant on condition of anonymity. It's well written and thought provoking, and best of all it's balanced. It shows but the pros and the cons for what Stephen did. I recommend that you read it. You might learn from it. I did.

Denis Doherty

On the evening on the results of the Leaving Certificate, my mind strays to thoughts of Denis Doherty; one of the best teachers I ever had. With Denis, you either loved him or you hated him, either you got him, or you didn't. Quite like me, I suppose.

He was a small, beardy, bug-eyed man from Donegal. He wore odd-socks, he was a Joycean scholar and a rather subversive homosexual. He thought us about Fraud (sorry Mam) and a great many other things besides. And then he was gone; he vanished off to that place where wonderful substitute teachers go.

I'd quite like to seem him again. I would be nice to catch up and see what he would make of me and how I have done so far in this thing I call life. I suppose going back to study English would probably bring a certain wry smile to his lips. Wry smiles - they were something that he dispensed regularly.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with memorable line of his and a song which he so often quoted.

"That's what you'll find about UCD. Everyone there is either called Fiona, or Dave - and that's just the men."

- Denis Doherty,

Fifth Year English, Rang Sláine, Coláiste Cois Life, 2004.

Denis Doherty, this is for you.

His and hers

I'd heard a lot of good things about a new Irish film called "His and Hers" and I was really hoping to catch it before it left the cinema. So when the Lighthouse emailed me to say that they were still showing it, I informed Stephen that I was bringing him to the pictures.

It was fantastic. Stephen laughed and cried, poor thing. It was really really good. I'm so glad when a thing lives up to one's expectations... Not only that, but it was Stephen's first time in the Lighthouse. He loved it, which I'm thrilled about as it's my favourite piece of modern architecture in Dublin and I like when non-architects feel the same way I do about a building.

Anyway, here's the trailer for it here. It's wonderful to watch; perhaps even better to watch, having seen the film.

It's still showing in the Lighthouse for the rest of the week. Grab it while you can. It's worth it.

Dublin looking lovely

This caught my eye this afternoon. It's lovely to see my lovely Dublin looking so lovely.

"Dad! The car is broken!"

This is the latest offering from Specsavers. Pure understated brilliance!

Beware a woman scorned!

Just have a wee listen to the lyrics; this is just crying out to be dragged up. I love the last line - "Now you can go to hell! I'm going to Braaaa-zil!"

Tainted Victory

I have just won by means of cheating; and I feel awful.

I was cycling home from Irene's this evening and as I came up Bridge St about to turn onto High Street, I saw a 123 come through the lights. "Right", I said, "I'll race it home".

The main factors affecting my decision were: a, it was full of passengers and therefore likely to stop frequently; b, I was feeling lucky; and so I took off through the lights after the 123.

My calculation regarding the amount of passengers aboard was somewhat over-estimated, as the bus did not stop as often as I had envisaged. Not only that, the driver was vigorous in his approach, accelerating quickly after each stop. It soon became clear that I would be chasing the bus's taillights if I was lucky, and no more.

I almost managed to catch it as it came into the hospital, but I was paying so much heed to catching it that I forgot that there were actually two sets of tram tracks to cross, not just one, so things nearly ended quite badly. Having regained my balance at the last moment, I managed to swing into the hospital entrancce just after it and only the barrier took a swipe at me as it came down in the wake of the bus. I thought I was going to lose the damned thing then as it didn't stop and headed out of the Rialto Gate. Then jackpot! Red light. Taking my advantage, I swung out on to the South Circular and peddled like bejaysus.

At this point I would just like to make clear that a cyclist "interpreting" a red light does not constitute cheating, it's simply the fastest way to get around town. Know your junctions, that's the trick. Furthermore, I'm touching wood as I type this, for fear of invoking the bad cycling karma. Anyway, tangent aside, back to the race...

Down the South Circular I went, urging Priscilla onward. Bizarrely I was slapping the side of the handlebars, like I would do a horse (just slightly mind, I wasn't going OCD or anything). Still, this is weird considering that the power actually comes from my legs, and patting the handlebars in order to encourage an inanimate object does seem a little pointless... The red light had given me a decent head start, so I managed to get up Suir Road and into Drimnagh, well ahead of the bus.

As I started up (and this is where the uphill kicks in) Galtymore Road, I could see the bus gaining on me from around the corner. Onward I urged the bike, unzipping my jacket to stop me from overheating. I could hear it coming up behind me; I considered playing dirty and cycling in the middle of the road, but I kept in. And then it took me, just by the shops at Galtymore Road. Shit. But wait, there was hope. There were still a couple of people on the bus and it was near the end of the route, so it was going to have to stop. I kept peddling.

It stopped at the bend on Galtymore Road, I don't think anyone got off. I gained on it. It was coming up the the next stop, at the end of the road. Now I knew that I could just about catch it. It was going to have to stop, and then stop again 20 yards further, and make a series of complicated turns on and off the roundabout. It reached the end of the road and turned left. I had just about got it; it approached the roundabout and headed on to it, I was right behind it - and then it happened, I cheated.

The bus had just turned left and started onto the roundabout. I looked right; there was nothing coming, so for the first time in my life, after all my years in Drimnagh, I headed the wrong way onto a roundabout. I could hear the bus circling behind me, but I had left it. I was in the clear, I turned left up Errigal Road and I was home. I pulled the bike up on the path and dismounted, to watch the bus come up the road and pass the gate.

I felt horrible; after all of the effort, I fell at the final hurdle. Had I had of followed the bus on to the roundabout, I probably would have beaten it. It's slow and cumbersome, and it's difficult for it to make the 270 degree turn followed by the immediate left. I could easily have tailed it around, and nipped past him as he made that final complicated turn. On the other hand, had I have tried this, there is a good chance that I could have been flattened by the bus, as pursuing it so closely around tight turns is probably a good way of getting oneself killed. By then, doesn't all sport have an element of risk? Racing especially.

Regardless, I won by cheating. Now I will never know if I would have beaten the bus. Maybe, I would have, maybe not; that's the real killer. I was left standing in my hall, feeling unclean and very sweaty.

Introducing Cat! The new selfish dog!

I love giraffes; dogs I like; cats, not so much. "And gerbil, the kiwi fruit that wakes up!"

Getting friendly with the natives

I was at a table quiz in Kilkenny last night. It was a fundraiser for the first ever Kilkenny Pride, or Not The Only Gay in the Village, or something to that effect.

Perhaps we were arrogant in our approach, but our team really did come acropper on some of the questions. They were much more difficult than what we had envisaged. For future reference, James the Tank Engine is red, ascorbic acid is better known as vitamin C, the chicken is the most common bird in the world and the stomach is the human organ that is capable of expanding to twenty times it's normal size.

The event was compared by that delightful tart, Joanna Ryde. At the end of the tenth round of questioning a guy got up from one of the tables and made for the door. Seeing him leave, Joanna said "Goodbye Stephen", urging everyone in the pub to respond "Goodbye Stephen!" At this point I said, perhaps a little too loudly given my proximity to Joanna's microphone, "Isn't Kilkenny lovely, all the gays know each other by their first names!"

Silence descended, followed by first uneasy, then hysterical laughter. From the corner of my mouth I muttered "Start the car, Frank."

It's in

Well it's gone through the Seanad. Civil Partnership is the new reality. We just need Mary to sign it in up at the Áras so that other Marys can sign up and take it up the...

I would like to quote a senior civil servant (who shall remain anonymous) who rather tongue-in-cheek announced that [he] "welcomes the passing of the Civil Partnership Bill and encourages married people everywhere to downgrade their marriages to Civil Partnerships in the name of equality!"

Also I'd like to thank Rachel for this rather succinct and disturbing summation of the differences between Civil Partnership in Ireland and Civil Partnership (effectively marriage in all but name in the UK):

"The civil partnership here is a lot different to the one in the UK. Here we only really have succession and kinship rights. We arent allowed be considered a family, or adopt, or even be considered a step-parent. Even if we marry abroad those marriages wont be recognised the minute we step off the plane. We will no longer be spouses; we will be considered to be civil partners."

Now if you've road frontage and you're interested in sharing, please send a CP and stamped addressed envelope to the Legion...

Dear John

I was tuned in to the Seanad listening to the Civil Partnership debate, when that particularly pernicious cyst (and brother of Mary Hanafin) John Hanafin, got to his feet. The tirade of hatred that followed was nauseating. So much so, that I decided to to write him a little letter:

Dear John

I'm currently listening to you speak in the Seanad. Part of me feels disgusted at your bigotry, and I'm appalled that a man like you could think that you represent the people of Ireland. However the bigger part, the more Christian part, of me feels pity for you. Why are you so afraid John? Why are gay people such a threat to you?

If you cannot find it in your heart to support this bill, I hope you enjoy the being outside the door of your beloved party. Should you fail to support the bill, I hope that leaves you standing somewhere that not even the crows can shit on you.

Regards,

Marcus

Crufts

Spot the difference.

This is Anne Doyle. I am the news.

(Thanks Tom.)

Acting on Conscience

On Thursday, our glorious legislators finally passed the Civil Partership Bill, something that they have been threatening to do since the Dead Sea was only sick. The rights (or lack of) and wrongs of the Bill have been discussed by others in other fora, prior to this, and I'm not going to launch into a few blown Pro or Anti Treaty debate right now; that's not for here, as Marjorie Dawes would say.

However, I find it interesting that the aul' bigots (20 or so - which out of a country of 4 million people, is a good showing) spoke out to say that the new law would actually criminalize registrars who fail to conduct the ceremony. The particularly sad individual pictured is a man called Sean Burke, from Mayo. My nanna is from Mayo. She has always maintained that "the best people are from Mayo". In this case, I think she'd be ashamed of her fellow countyman.

Seán travelled from Mayo with his wife and five of his 10 children in protest. He is outraged at the Dáil for “they’re giving legal sanction to something God has forbidden,” Funnily enough I thought that the remit of Dáil Éireann was to represent and legislate in the interests of the citizens of the Irish Republic, not pander to the whims of a divine being that may or may not exist. However, I desist. Interestingly he picks up on the penalties that will be imposed for failure to comply with the legislation. “Also, it’s making people who disagree criminals . . . a registrar would be fined €2,000 or jailed for six months if they refuse, even on conscience, to do something that they believe is wrong.”

This is quite interesting. The way that I look at it, there are plenty of people who get married who probably shouldn't get married. I'm sure that every country registrar, from Borris to Ballina, has come across couples where he or she goes "Oh oh, that's not a good idea." However, the registrar is not there to advise, or to pass judgement, or to sanctify who is or is not worthy to marry whom. They are simply there to provide a civil service. They are public servants, serving in this case as an invigilator to make sure that the ceremony is carried out according to the law. You can be damned sure that they judge each and every couple that come before them; consider it a perk of the job! I'm sure plenty of them officiate over a marriage that they personally believe is wrong, for various reasons (rarely religious, one would think), however we do not pay them to for their opinions. Their opinions and their values are their own, but the service that they provide belongs to us.