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Dark Secrets: The Inside Story of Joanne Hayes and the Kerry Babies‘ (published by The Kerryman, 1985) by Gerard Colleran and Michael O’Regan (edited by Gerard O’Regan).

Frilly Keane writes:

I started watching a thing called Designated Survivor, I’m still not sure why I persisted beyond the second or third episode, it’s a bit too much like that Scandal thing with Fitz and Olivia.

It could well be that I’m taking some shallow and nasty comfort in Keifer Sutherland not aging as well as say, one of his exes. But I came across a line in it, ridiculous as it is now going to read, but, here goes:

“I believe our Country is only as strong as our journalists. I expect you to keep us honest.“

And all I could think about was that book [Dark Secrets: The Inside Story of Joanne Hayes and the Kerry Babies‘ (published by The Kerryman, 1985) by Gerard Colleran and Michael O’Regan (edited by Gerard O’Regan], Ger Colleran on Sean O’Rourke, and Michael O’Regan on Marian Finucane..

We were once again introduced to Joanne Hayes, Judge Kevin Lynch, The Kerry Babies tribunal and the Heavy Gang – who instead of being investigated themselves got to sit back while Kevin Lynch promoted Joanne’s anatomy, sex life, and menstrual cycle as more persuasive than evidence crushing the superfeckyougirlundation theory that Gerry O’Carroll still insists on.

Joanne Hayes was mentioned in our mainstream more times in the last month than any member of that Elite Murder Squad. Or even the Justice Minister of the day; Michael Noonan.

Mr Colleran’s first utterance on Sean O’Rourke was “be nice to me.” Before they drove on into the Kerry Babies Case and the Lynch Tribunal; of which Mr Colleran was heard telling the country was “a travesty of Justice from start to end.”

I haven’t read Dark Secrets by the way, well not beyond what was hosted here. But for anyone who has can I ask the question; where in that book does it discuss “elaborate confessions” and “contrived confessions”?

Instead of panning a searchlight over the entire investigation and the Lynch Tribunal to make it visible for the world, they let whom they now liberally refer to as “The Establishment” off the hook.

They allowed the truth to be obscured for profit and professional gain.

I can say that without fear of being taken down or threatened in the way these overly familiar media luvvies do; do you know why? In their own words:

“We couldn’t say things that needed to be said at the time the report came out…”

“It was a whitewash from start to finish..”

“led astray….”

“failure of the State …”

“we were all complicit in that…”

Here we have two local lads, with Colleran himself now back home with the swagger of a middle child after making good in the big city, lapping it up around the Montrose Radio Centre like they’re the Kingdom’s own Woodward & Bernstein.

Put yourself back into that room in Tralee and imagine sitting where Joanne was sitting; now think about the fact that her story was used for personal and financial gain by two men from Kerry; Ger Colleran & Michael O’Regan.

That is called self-interest; not Journalism. Neither gentleman should ever be a cheerleader for Free Speech and Freedom of the Press since they sold that right all those years ago.

On Broadsheet on the Telly there a few weeks ago, Neil Improv fella’s sister, a grown married woman admitted she never heard of the Kerry Babies until this latest reoxygenation. I’m almost offended by that, but maybe I’m jealous.

I did my leaving cert in 1985 – I can see more clearly now why I just wasn’t in the humour to think beyond the following weekend. For years since I relied on the recession and the probability I was heading off meself anyway for that indifference towards my own future.

I also realised lately that I’ve never really shaken off the institutional abuse and the inequality I grew up to be accustomed to.

But those who are only learning about what it was like, and I am only waking up myself the more I look back and the more I extract from the new bandwagon; there were others. Look into Eileen Flynn and familiarise yourself with the legal term “norms of behaviour.”

Incidentally, it wasn’t just the Church that were sacking female employees for having children, the Gardaí themselves were quick to fire any Ban Garda who had a baby without being married. And all this going on here while we were dancing to Duran Duran, U2, Madonna, A-Ha, A-House, Wham, Feed the World ……… doesn’t seem that long ago now does it?

But thank you Nell. Without you we might still be wondering what really happened, and we may never have known about the deception and betrayal perpetrated between the Gardaí, the Catholic Church (Cura) and St Catherine’s hospital.

You’ve also led to a whole new generation, and indeed future generations only knowing the truth. I am not going to pretend life has been kind to you in recent years, but I promise you – this is your legacy girl. Stand tall.

And from my teenage-self Nell; thank you for enabling me to dispute every official line that came my way about Joanne Hayes, The Kerry Babies and The Lynch Tribunal.

Thank you for helping me know I wasn’t some wild child anarchist reacting for the sake of it.

Thank you for letting me know that crying for Ann Lovett was the decent reaction to have and not fear that it could so easily have been any one of us.

I knew a girl that slashed her wrists, I knew girls that were thrown out of the only homes they ever knew, and one the night she went into labour, I also knew girls that went themselves and never came back.

There really were days when I could have begged the Red Cross to come in and save us all; but I knew then Nell, you won’t go down quietly. You had our backs. You were our voice. Thank You. A bit late. But Thank you.

For any Journalist to support a line of thought that is not their own is a fraud. They risk our democracy, and the citizen is their victim.

So there it is, “I believe our country is only as strong as our journalists. I expect you to keep us honest.“

See what happens when I watch too much telly? Blame my teenage crush on Kiefer.

Frilly Keane’s column usually appears here on the first Friday of every month. On this rare occasion, owing to unforeseen circumstances, it appears on the second Friday. Follow Frilly on Twitter: @frillykeane

Previously: Throwing The Book At Them

Rollingnews

2017 was a funny year for me on Broadsheet; I started it off in a bitta’ve mood and ended it deciding to return weekly; in as much as I can.

But I wonder if it was like that for all of us really; those of us above the grey line and those of us below. (I count myself as a tenant of both those locations in case ye’re confused.) Trolling went from its more commonly understood, blaggarding, messing and organised messaging to actually become vengeful, spiteful and shifty. Truth be told, and whether ye like it or not, I’m none the worse for it. Well OK, maybe I’ve every intention of going a bit boulder because of it.

The Broadsheet Bake Sheet came and proved so well it was as if wild yeast logged in and created its own avatar. And I promise so much more for 2018, so ye bin’ warned.

It was also the start of Broadsheet-on-the-Telly, the Shurt Index, the Shift, and the killing fields of the Broadsheet Chat-Pit. Memes came and went and is somewhere in-waiting again I have no doubt.

But for me the Broadsheet Year Ending 2017 was all about the Brave-Hearts.

In 2017 we lost one of our own, and in contradiction to the work she loved and the professional standards she fought and defended shamelessly for, her death was more observed here for the walkouts and fallouts than the circumstances and facts around her tragic demise, and largely by those who never even met Dara Quigley.

Secrecy in institutional powers continues to be one of the biggest crimes in this State, and I have no intention of turning a blind eye to this one or any of the others. But one thing I know absolutely and for sure now, because qualified and knowing people I trust told me so, Dara Quigley would have put that link up herself and would have had murder if Broadsheet refused.

I know this isn’t the last time I am going to mention Dara Quigley again, nor will it be the last time I am going to insist that nobody should be denied access to truth and facts, no matter how personal or unpleasant.

On Broadsheet, and everywhere else on the Internet, Social Media, and in the Mainstream – it’s bloody easy to join up in the outrage, it’s not so easy to swim against it.

But my friend and chat-pit comrade Janet didn’t think twice about baring all and diving in herself. Before putting herself on a train to Dundalk with an armful of homemade posters, she came here to us first, to the Broadsheet commentariat.

She trusted us with the most private and intimate parts of her life. Janet didn’t consider anyone of us anonymous cowards or trolls, nor did she once fear backlash or negative responses from any one of us; whether we are known above the line or below.

She knew what she was doing when she sought out our help in her hunt for Will. The most remarkable thing about her reaching out to Broadsheet is that Janet knew full well what the response might be, and yet still didn’t look back when she boarded that train in Connolly Station. She was fearless – because she didn’t know what the outcome would be or who would know all about it.

I can say this because I know Janet, and she knows me. I’ll admit I was cross with her for going up to D‘dalk on her own for what on the face of it all could have been a drag hunt over the Cooley.

Yet I’m so proud of her; she didn’t fear backlash from a Border community nor did she fear bad news. But just as importantly, for me as a Broadsheet inbred, she didn’t fear any one of you reading her story or hearing what you had to say.

And neither did Broken-Hearted when he came here too. He didn’t know what to expect or what he could cope with hearing, but yet he still put it all in front of us. He didn’t fear trolls or anonymous cowards either.

There is a very important point in his follow up post  that I think we all need reminding of “but what is the best way of getting impartial advice than getting a bunch of commentators on the net to do it!” That is what I love and trust about the internet the most. The truth will always, albeit eventually, surface somewhere.

Oh yeah, I happen to know Broken-Hearted too btw. And I can tell ye he’s fully recovered; but still wants to settle down, get married, get a mortgage, get a family, whatever yer having yerself.

So like Janet, Broken-Hearted was all about the Happy Ever After too; whatever it took.

So, what about 2018?  I hope it’s a bumper year for Brave-Hearts.

Frilly Keane’s column usually appears here on the first Friday of every month. Follow Frilly on Twitter: @frillykeane

Tom Humphries

“It’s not a great thing in the current editorial climate for a columnist to lack certainty. Seeing both sides of the issue is a crippling form of paralysis in a environment where the pace is set by bloggers and chat-room tyrants, those lucky creatures who have never felt a second or third thought tugging at their sleeve.”

Tom Humphries. The Locker Room, Irish Times, 2008

That was in November 2008. I’m not going to provide the link to the full Locker Room article, but the quote currently sits on a thread on a an old GAA chat forum that hosts over 1500 posts.

 

The above is being applied as an example of how the established media and their household names treated those of us that populated this now very efficient super-highway from when it was still a scruffy slow-going boreen.

We [those on the chat forums] had our stuff lifted and cogged, while being called names like tyrants and keyboard warriors.

During all those forums, threads and posts, I don’t know of any authentic Chat-Room Comrade that went legal to shut someone up or have commentary removed that did not suit; there was plenty posturing, leg cocking and threats to Moderators, a bitta’ blagguarding at matches here n’there, (like a bucket of slurry traveling from Galway to the CBS Car Park in Thurles) but that was the real fun of those days.

Because nobody was really to know then that there were two victims and 16,000 texts, or that something far more sinister was going on behind the need to use the Irish Times Locker Room to cover his real interest in underage camogie; I’m not going to poke in to it again.

 

The subject of that particular Locker Room was the second Cork Strike. (The one led by Donal Óg Cusack, and the then GPA by association).

Tom Humphries used the Irish Times, to represent, promote and shout out Donal Óg’s agenda, and wholly on behalf of, and for the benefit of Donal Óg  He took sides, and to add to his denying the primary principle of a Journalist, he was also engaged by Donal Óg in a private sub-contracting capacity as a ghost-writer.

Not his employer, his editor nor a single colleague dared mention his hypocrisy, or question his exposure to conflict and influence, or that as a consequence he has brought their profession into disrepute.

Likewise, from his own peers in the sports writers fraternity specifically the GAA writers; not one dared criticise the Irish Times and their Sports Section referring to non-striking Inter-County hurlers as “Spotty Imposters.” Or even the GPA for refusing membership to these players.

That is a Double Standard that continues today. It’s the blind eye.

Back then there was them, the established Print and Broadcast Media and Us – the t’internet “the pyjama people.”

Actually, I remember an All-Ireland winning Manager calling ‘me’ “a coward and a very depressed individual who must be one of Corks worst losers.” As shur we all thought it was funny at the time. We were the Puck Rockers and getting picked out like that was like cracking a bottle of Champagne off the bow of pirate ship call the Anarchy.

Today we are all steadily balanced between Mainstream Media and Social Media; and the likes of me are no longer the tyrants. But professional scepticism, Independence and transparency has never been more important.

Never before has it become more important to disclose the credentials and possible partialities and self-interests of any commentator or expert presented to the public in either medium or format.

In the era of Fake News and a more dominant ownership controlled media, the citizen has to be advised fully to the ethos and business interests of anyone being presented as an Expert, or presenting themselves as such. That includes paid staff Journalists, pundits and columnists.

There was a notorious blind eye event here on our own doorstep witnessed by those same people and organisations, including us Tyrants, that was allowed off to be forgotten about.

I am talking about a former Ireland Captain and Lions player, who is now to be seen regularly sitting behind a TV studio sports desk or pictured as a correspondent in the print media.

With all due respect to him, his family, his fans, his employers even that ape Hook; the media – be it social or Mainstream, that includes me and all of you, and our hosts here; we simply cannot dare to question a randy, narcissistic Theatre Director for their carry on and leave this and all the others behind and out of the spot light.

That makes us all complicit in the Double Standards and cover ups that take years before there is any contrition or truth realised.

I think there are enough of us that know better than to believe the insincere waffle from RTÉ and Marian [Finucane] and the likes, while pretending to have discussions between sides who clearly have pockets filled with conflicts.

Let’s boycott the papers for not reporting the news in full. Let’s question every single utterance from commentators and experts being put in front of us, and have them empty those pockets of conflicts out in front of us.

Let’s do more than just tell them that our eyes are wide open; lets prove it.

Only then can they all be convinced that they can no longer rely on the Blind Eye that greased their operational and professional Double Standards, and cushioned their failures for all those years.

There can be no friends or an assumed loyalty more important than Truth and Justice.

This is a new World Order lads; Get used to it and get yere houses in order.

Frilly Keane’s column usually appears here on the first Friday of every month. Follow Frilly on Twitter: @frillykeane


From top: RTE, Montrose, Donnybrook, Dublin 4; Twitter account for ‘secret rte producer’

Frilly Keane writes:

“RTE deplores the content and intention of this account. It is profoundly disloyal to staff”

On the one hand, I’m with RTÉ in taking issue with the motives of the @RTESecretpro twitter account. But disloyal to staff?

That’s proof right there now of a whole semi-state engaged in the mission of self interest and self service. No mention of disloyalty to the licence payer. Or disloyalty to the Irish citizen. Or disloyalty to the State that bestowed RTÉ the rights that come with being the National Broadcaster.

Just a brief intro to this twitterer; they are claiming to be an RTE Producer with a load of juicy durt, and so far there’s plenty of whinging about no promotion, ould’useless department heads, no innovation, and shyte studio & technical crews that are run by Unions.

It’s that last bit that’s worth a mention here on its own btw; the unions have a director collecting a top-up on the RTÉ board, Aengus Mac Grianna currently as far as I remember, yet he’s not a camera man.

Ara tis just really a load of sad attention seeking, miserable moaning and tell-tale’ing.
If even what they report about the sloppy time keeping, the taxis, the coffee breaks, the studio crews overtime and work practices was of a genuine concern; then report it to the Comptroller Auditor General. The Licence Payer is entitled to value-for-money; at the very least.

But what we, the Community-At-Large that is, are all entitled to is the Truth and The Facts. REPORT THE FÚPPING NEWS! Tell the Truth.

@RTESecretPro isn’t any more superior than that commissioning editor that doesn’t tell people when they are back to work on their out-of-office automated reply or the one that cancelled Podge n’Rodge for Craig Doyle.

She, I’m saying it’s a she because it’s my own original hunch, so I’m sticking with she regardless of some of the names being touted. She is just as lazy and uninspiring as anyone one she is cribbing about in those tweets.

Everything she posts about RTÉ Sport, Entertainment and Children’s telly and the state of the Late Late production and the Unions is stuff we all already know.

This all makes me look at the roll of ting’foil in the press and put it to better use; is @RTESecretPro really an RTE Producer?

Has management put together a frape room of their own? To try an’ shift the unions and the work practices out the door? To get rid of the embedded analogue age department heads & commissioning editors that won’t work outside the original Live@3 and Going Strong formats.

Maybe tis some poor oul’divil that got dumped by Craig Doyle. Maybe it’s all a Ballymount Road lark? (Ha! Bodger is rubbing off on me!)

One of the most telling series of tweets, starting at 08.58 15th September last;

Someone asked me if I think the licence fee is worth it. and why. My answer is yes it is, but a lot of it is being waster.

Why is it worth  it? First independent investigative journalism – He who cannot be named owns every media outlet worth talking about. Apart from RTÉ We need someone to report the news that isn’t owned by a billionaire.

Secondly, Irish output – TV  proper investigative journalism etc. Not their fault – they are dirven only by market forces. Licence fee means RTE can do that which make no kids, comedy, irish language, isn’t driven by profit. RTE just need to do a better job of it.

The most laughable thing is that RTÉ are not Independent and they are patently not free from bias, just look at who they use to stock the talk show slots; stock rotation by way of convenience and familiarity and not by sell-by-date. RTÉ News & current affairs is powered with stories where Conflict of Interest lie alongside a cosy relationship.

RTÉ already filters the news and are selectively choosy about the stories they are prepared to investigate, they follow the Government Messengers and MSM PR & Advertisers preference on what they will spin and who they will have into their studios. Even how they moderate debates.

RTÉ produce, commission and break stories that suit similar protected and well-paid entities to themselves, like say, the HSE who must have been delighted with the Creches and Nursing & Care Homes Investigations.

But Water Protestors, Murder investigations from Donegal to Dalkey, Rugby Players Rape Charges, The Gardai & The Charleton/Disclosures Tribunal, whatever yere having yerselves…. They’re fairly tight lipped then alright.

I’ll admit to engaging her a bit, most notably on referring her to the RTE Whistleblowing Policy and to speak up.

Predictably the reaction was typically look how that worked out for Maurice McCabe. Look to Maurice McCabe now you tribe of fatted self-serving un-talented cowards.

It took real independent Journalism to keep the public fully informed. Not RTÉ, and it took a whistleblower with gumption and integrity and the will to defend the best interests of all of us to achieve the truth.

Go public if you really have something the public need to know, otherwise form a WhatsApp group with the rest of the uselsess in your job and keep the internal bitching about getting shafted and overlooked t’yerselves.

I am minded to pick a bone with her on a matter that would suggest my own bias; her cribbing about the GAA giving away some of the Broadcast rights.

My dear, RTÉ were making a hames of so many matches for years; the very least the GAA Community were entitled to expect is yere Colour Commentary Man getting the names of the Captains right. He’s still making mistakes btw and he’s still there.

I’ll close off by saying that as far as I’m concerned anyone engaged by RTE should the last source of a “He who cannot be named” remark and to claim they are an Institution of “Independent Investigative Journalism” is an insult.

Jesus I’d love your job; egg chips n’beans for €3.50. Grand for some.

Frilly Keane’s column usually appears here on the first Friday of every month. Follow Frilly on Twitter: @frillykeane

Rollingnews

The year flew didn’t it

I bet some of the young wans here didn’t realise how fast time is capable of actually travelling when they see this is exactly 51 weeks on from this column

So here’s the annual return.

In terms of the promises I put out there; here’s some achievements.

Coffee is pretty much gone save for the odd stop off at the Costa or Topaz when I’m on the road. And on that the Sweet Treats for a yoyo deal are gone too. They don’t even get a look in and its Americanos only. The hot beverages consist of Puerh Tay mostly with Rooibus in the evenings.

My water intake is still not at the 3 – 4 litres a day but I am getting there and am working on it. In fairness the drinking was top loaded over the latter part of August, as ye well know it was my 50th so things went on a bit. But overall I’d say alcohol since probably

April is a quarter of what I would have supped this time last year. And I hope to drop that even further. Incidentally nights out are now only bottles of Coors Light. No top shelf or cocktails or pints.

And interestingly, I don’t need to pay attention to it anymore, I just stop automatically. Which is a standard I never would have envisioned this time last year.

No more Drive -Thrus either since say January; the only Maccy D’s since then was treating Fluffy to a Happy Meal a few weeks ago and of course I kept him company. Takeaways are so rare now that they are recognised as a treat and not the normal recourse for Dinner.

That Mezzanine level I talked about last year, well it is down a bit, but not enough. I am in the process of getting tested as my GP thinks I might have an intolerance. Which doesn’t surprise, as unlike what I set out to do this time last year, I haven’t managed to let go of the Spud.

In any form. Same with the bread and pasta n’ stuff. So there is still plenty to do there. And the Salt, I’m still a divil for the salt.

Now the bad stuff;

That bike I mentioned is still hanging on its hook in the garage, it never even got touched
And that 3 stone I wanted to shift. Well at Christmas I was asked about it, and I had to answer “only 4 more to go.”

That October and November was murder, and it was all my own doing. For days and sometimes whole weeks all my food intake was drive thru, take-aways, garage meal deals – you name it.

I got away with it largely because I’m tall and my work clothes were always a size up. And still are. So to be 3 stone lighter than I was this time last year, I have about 11lbs to go. And I am in a size 14 but as I said, I prefer looser fitting especially when I’m on the road, etc.

Over the last 5 months I did get back into the sea, but mainly kayaking. Which actually suits me better now. So hopefully I’ll keep it up over the winter and get canoeing again over in Strawberry Beds.

But I do aim to get back into deepwater swimming; so like the starchy carbs that too is a work-in-progress, and better again – its because I actually want to.

But these are some the physical outcomes of my 50th year. I also came upon some new outcomes for myself.

I made some new friends that I can’t bear to think about being without. Hopefully they know who they are when they read this.

I have also decided that I only want people in my life that I want to hang out with or work with. People that enhance my life or contribute to it. It wasn’t a decision I made, it was an organic conclusion about the rest of my life that came upon me naturally.

I am not wasting what time is left on matters and people I have no interest in or don’t add something. Simply put, if they aren’t going to feature when I’m 70 or 80 I’ve no room for them now.

I have also found my grá for writing again. So that book I started 10 years ago is finally going to resurface. I also think some possible writing partnerships have opened up; whether they materialise into an’ting daycent or not – it doesn’t matter. I’m there for it.

Also, I’ve discovered I am not afraid of being me. Since my early 20s I never allowed photos of myself save for the odd work one, and I was never pro-active in promoting myself professionally or talking myself up. I have been known to turn down opportunities and staying where I am.

In fact feedback from an Interview one time recorded that the panel could tell I was holding myself back. But that’ll never happen again. I am going to say yes to everything that fits me and go through every door that opens up in front of me.

Which is why I kinda gave my 50th a full go, a proper blow out that started on the 17th and came to end in the early hours of the 27th – and with one of our own too.

On a personal level, I am delighted with myself that I gave in to it and didn’t brush it off like any other day, which is what I would have done this time last year. So when it comes your way, and it will, I would absolutely recommend you do the same.

Going forward I want to live and work with who I want, and the way I want, there is no more making do, or putting up with things because its handier and easier, or towing the line, conceding for the easy way out, or staying in the rut because I know were the grooves and rough edges are.

I will live and work in a manner that I want, am proud of and hopefully love. And I will be exactly where I want to be.

So was it worth it? This 50th year Test Drive with myself? Absolutely. I’m not looking like a yoga instructor or an’ting. But that was never the point. But this paying attention to myself was worth it. And I know I will it keep it up.

One other thing that I have decided on, in fact there was no real decision to be made or thought put into it; I am retiring my Stars and Bars bikini. I could be glib about it and say it doesn’t fit me anymore, or the beany doesn’t go with the jersey, or the flags got mangled in a storm. I won’t.

It breaks my heart. I was always very proud of my reasons for the flag and I will always defend them and stand up for them.

But the Confederate Flag now flies to a very different and disgusting pride to mine, and I couldn’t possibly do that to my Grandparents and theirs before that, or to Cork.

Frilly keane’s column usually appears here on the first Friday of every month. Follow Frilly on Twitter: @frillykeane

You know what pisses me off the most about Paul Murphy TD? Is how some people are continuously reminding us about where he went to school.

As if it was a fault or even a halfway decent loophole in a defence; but all it manages to secure is a flimsy attempt at man-marking. Handbags stuff. It’s no one’s business where his parents sent him to school; and ye all know that.

Likewise; it’s no one’s business where his Mam and late Dad lived, and as long as it was legal nor is what they did to earn a living. But ye know all that too.

What the real motivation for this constant durty elbowing about his personal and family background is this notion that those that face the Left, by and to whatever degree; be they elected Politicians, Candidates, Activists, former Presidents, Party Members or Supporters, must somehow at some point in their lives have struggled with poverty and going-without, experienced neglected communities, addiction, attended overcrowded and failing schools, were denied third level educations and know their way to the nearest Labour Exchange.

There is this premise being heavily sold by the main Parties and their associated luvvies, to counter the mainstreaming (albeit slowly) of Sinn Féin, and in the wake of the Water Protests and Occupy Apollo etc, that you can’t be an authentic Left Winger if you never saw a Vincent De Paul Christmas box or attended a fee paying school.

Daniel McConnell in the Indo a few years back referred to Paul Murphy’s “posh accent” and that he went to Gonzaga. So? In the words of Terry Prone herself … So? Was he really saying that Paul Murphy isn’t qualified to fight against Austerity alongside people who rely on medical cards, FIS, schools with breakfast clubs and sound like Dustin the Turkey?

So, because Paul Murphy has what the Indo described a “posh accent” and that he went to the same school as Peter Sutherland and Michael McDowell he must be a fake playboy Socialist, and the donkey jacket is just for show over the old’s chool uniform colours as shared by McDowell and Sutherland. Is that it so?

The Indo is notoriously responsible for all sorts of shyte – from the ridiculous to the contrived, but Jaysus even that bates Barry’anagher.

Admittedly, I’m the last one to agree or even be seen on the same side as Peter Sutherland and Michael McDowell (politically anyway.) Yet here I am wishing that a few other ‘Zaga alumni should be so willing to represent or even acknowledge the existence of those who rely on Money lenders and Community Welfare Officers to get to the end of the week.

Imagine the society we could have if Peter Sutherland represented the people living from one day to the next, from one hotel room to the next, from one waiting list to the next.
What really infuriates me about this ‘he’s a posh boy’ sneering behaviour is the nerve of those, some claiming the Left themselves by the way, but mostly Centre and Right Facing, and not forgetting the Main Stream Media that inflates it all, is that compassion and empathy with those that your current Taoiseach would call a Cheater is being questioned at all.

This isn’t by any means a shout out for Paul Murphy and the treble As. No chance.
But you see, I include myself in the Left direction. In fairness, I’d be a fair bit more short-sighted than Paul & his crew. But it’s no secret I have advocated for (some) Sinn Féin reps.

However I’ll make no apology for earning similar to Paul Murphy (‘ish – and I have longer hours and no pensions and freebies like an office set up and printer cartridges.)And make no mistake, I’m not giving up part of my income after tax to make a point.

I’ll do what I like with my self-made hard earned and tax paid few bob. If I can afford to drive something that is not a 12 year old Toyota, and manage the School-of-their-choice fees, I will. And while I can afford my brands, bling and holiday home; I’m having it. But all that doesn’t mean I’m disqualified from having a Social Conscience and wanting a fairer and more equal society.

I want all our schools to be better, I want everyone, EVERYONE, to have access to the same healthcare I do, I want everyone to have daycent pensions and the supported care and assistance if they have the need, and if that means paying tax according to my means, railing and rising against overpaid public servants of every rank, creed, quango and charity, then that’s what it takes.

And I fully expect to stay like this by not apologising for earning as much as I can and doing what I like with it. I won’t be taking any vow of poverty if I can help it.

So why is it that by virture of my own self-made lifestyle, would I be questioned for even considering looking left, endorsing (some) Shinners, and expecting our democracy to be decent and human to those that need it?

To add further salt to my indignation; I know a lad that got a very nice favour via NAMA and the blind eye of a few UK Bankruptcy Trustees, who subsequently sold up and is now on extended stay in the States; aka he didn’t stay on and stump up his bitta CGT.  I bet my self-earned lot that Leo wouldn’t dream of calling him a cheat. He has a posh accent, and went to a posh school too by the way.

Frilly keane’s column usually appears here on the first Friday of every month. Follow Frilly on Twitter: @frillykeane

 

Frilly Keane writes:

I suppose tis no secret that I’m no fan of Gender Quotas. In any walk of life. I’m one’ve those who believe that Equality as a statutory right should be enough. Mad right? But why should it. Be mad like?

Why should a governing policy or funding condition be implemented just to insist on my place on a Board or on a Party Ticket, or to even up the numbers on a Management team if I’m already qualified and suitable for the post anyway.

Aren’t I already entitled to equal consideration if I’ve declared my interest?

At this stage of our evolution here in Ireland, why should anyone still have to sue for a right they already have. I not going to deny it never occurred to me, but on the most recent occasion, I neither had the stomach nor the patience, but mainly because I was mortified that I would have to.

Now I’ll be honest, I really thought that part of what I’m about to introduce to ye would’ve bin done already, by those professional Opinion’ators and Journalists; those we’re expected to take seriously because the Main Stream Media news and views endorses them.

Maire Whelan: She had a job she was qualified for; Yes. She had a responsibility to do it right, honestly and beyond reproach; Yes, and not just to her employer, us, but also to her Professional Body – An Honourable Society apparently. Could she, or did she achieve any of those obligations? No.

She was a shyte Attorney General throughout both her terms. And that’s not an opinion, it’s a confirmed fact; how her responses to the Fennelly Tribunal alone didn’t even earn her a performance appraisal suggests some jobs cannot be questioned.

Even with the blanket of pals in high places she has very obviously depended upon throughout a pretty insipid career at the Bar, could she not muster up some semblance of professional obligation to a profession that’s served her too well as it is.

Nope. Not a bit of it; as AG Maire Whelan was obliged to present to the Government the three applications for a significant appointment in our Judiciary, but she wanted it for herself so she kept the applications to herself. Self-Serving – that’s not fair play and it is a denial of Equality. Something she is required to observe.

It’s not the appointment itself I have an issue with, it’s the conniving snakey way Maire Whelan secured the job for herself that I’m most offended by. And in truth, well my truth anyway, she and the then Government turned their arses to Transparency, Equal Opportunity and simple bog-standard Fair-Play.

Yet when they require it from dependents on the State, and those seeking Social Welfare assistance or Carers grants; Christ they’re all about it.

Anyone caught trying a bitta crafty non-disclosure there might end up with a Blue Shurt Manifesto named after them. Named and Shamed – and with the exchequer funding the advertising campaign.

So why didn’t Maire throw her hat into the ring with the other three candidates; like if she was that sure of herself she would have competed equally with the other candidates.

It’s a disgusting final play from someone who had the responsibility of being the first Woman Attorney General. Would Mary Robinson have conducted herself so grubbily? That’s up to ye. But one thing is certain, I have no confidence in how our Judiciary gets appointed.
I’m disgusted at myself for having had to say the first woman in the job. What the fúck should it matter. The best person for the job is what I want to be endorsing. And that’s where these Gender Quota lobbyists deny us all true and fair treatment.

Another snakey Lady in High Placement is our Garda Commissioner, Noirin O’Sullivan; now I don’t know if she actually earned that Job, or even the High ranks she captured on the way up to it.

That whole organisation has been rotten for decades, and is a closed shop and only serves those secured into it. It’s clear now that we cannot rely on any internal or external oversight other than hoping our Judiciary can. See above.

Here’s annuder one; Mary Mitchell O’Conner – talk about a sense of entitlement. She was elected a TD, that’s the job she has actually earned. That’s it as far as I can see. So what are her credentials to be granted a Ministerial Super Junior job ON FÚCKING DEMAND?

What we do know is that she was a terrible Minister and can’t retain senior staff; that latter part right there is a big enough signal that she’s just not fit for any enhanced role.

Gender Quota advocates should put that into their defence prep notes.

The whole Gender Quota thing is a cod anyway; its pander and lip service the Girls:Boys ratio; The optics – to be seen to be doing sum’ting. But in truth it’s all just what we’ve always called jobs for the boys. Get used to it lads, it’s not really about boys.

It’s about favouritism, payback, and patronage, and what can cope with the spin cycle. Not about Skill, Achievement, Expertise, Qualification, Contribution, Potential or Equality; which is what we deserve.

To be fair I don’t necessarily blame Leoseach for his Cabinet; he had fúck all talent to choose from anyway. But I hate the Gay Mixed-Race Taoiseach header that accompanies every event, photo op, and announcement.

What the fúck has that got to do with him being a Doctor, an elected TD, Minister, Leader of his Party, and now Taoiseach. If there was true Equality in this country, like inherently bred into us, the fact that he’s gay and half this n’ that wouldn’t even occur to anyone; and even less a matter required to enhance positive messaging.

Stick to the fact that #CampaignForLeo is the only thing of substance he has accomplished in years.

I’ve a pal and work colleague that is going to run in the next GE. She’s already a very active Councillor, but deliberately refused at Gender Quota place in the last one.

Her manifesto is very simple; People remember results. If she does get elected; and it’ll be tight if I’m honest, it’ll be because she has worked for it and the constituency she is hoping to represent will recognise her work and contribution already on their behalf, and her capacity to replicate it Nationally.

Not the Mná, and not that she was their only choice. Unlike Leo’s effin’ cabinet.

The Girls mentioned earlier really had a far bigger responsibility; to prove they could do the job under the same rules has the Men that sought to deny women for decades. They’ve done us all harm.

I’ve gone way over again, but for the weekend that’s in it; Hon’Cork

Frilly keane’s column usually appears here on the first Friday of every month. Follow Frilly on Twitter: @frillykeane

Frilly Keane is back!

Has she had some work done?

Frilly writes:

So, a few weeks ago I was on a ‘work’ weekender thing. You know, bar on check-in, chicken supper cabaret dance, residents bar, followed by a whole day of motions n’ shyte n’ freebies n’ stuff, then the free bar, the gropey dinner dance, and then more residents bar networking; the you’sh.

And of course I’m suited and booted through it all; hair and nails done, bits done; well you never know. Anyway, on these long-day late-nighters, I use a thing call Beauty Flash Balm to keep the paint work together and in some way manageable without constant touching up.

It’s like a primer in a way – it smooths out all the rough spots and holds the next layer of paint perfectly.

But when you do your nightly scrub off; your face literally falls away into a limp flaccid useless organ; until the following day when you do it all again and this stuff pulls it all together and firms it up as much as it can; and after a few days detox and rest everything goes back to normal.

But not this time; and a few nights after when I took my face off I found a crack.

The crack is traveling from the edge of my lips, between upper and lower, and sloping down. And is now followed by a mirror image on the other side. And it was all so sudden.
And I’m not coping with it. I have it in my head now that I’m dribbling.

I would insist I’m not vain and I know I’m not afraid of getting old; I just can’t not notice them.

So what happened next just started off with a quick search about fillers; and within 3 hours I was having conversations with three different clinics; and have actually being diagnosed, Marionette Lines. Incidentally all three clinics are on a direct bus route from my gaff.

Anyway, it all got very real and then as if I wasn’t already being ridiculous, it got even more ridiculous.

Like an eejit I filled out an online form, gave them what ye just got about the cracks, and now mentioned the vertical crevice kindly hidden by the bridge of my glasses; which I now know is a Glabellar Line.

Within 24 hours, clinics in Barcelona, Prague, Wroclaw and Szczecin – they’re both in Poland btw, and another one in Holland were in touch with their fancy and well-presented websites.

Suddenly I was now considering Lipo as they all have a 2- for-1 and other discounts on bundles, and was now learning about the package deals they all offer.

Then I was being introduced to my Personal Assistant for my stay and surgery. Then the surgeons themselves were contacting me for photographs of the mentioned worksites. Even through WhatsApp, and, no word of a lie as I type this, Arthur in Szczecin for Dr Osadowska is sending me pictures of “real Patients” and links to LipoLife3G demos.

Interestingly, three of the clinics advised that my Health Insurance was a possible payment option, along with interest free payment plans. And I have now been offered a 10% additional discount from Anna if I book beforeh June 30

It’s all being made so doable and why not-able; and d’ya know what, why shouldn’t it?

Why shouldn’t I invest further in personal appearance? I already get my roots done every 5-6 weeks, I get mani – pedis, facials, waxed, massages, and like to shop, whether I need another pair of shoes or another work shirt or not.

I invest in my profession, skills and my practice. I NCT the car and replace it with a newer one every 5’ish years and I maintain a totally avoidable yet expensive Personal Grooming regime.

Like, if there’s a cream, serum or scrub for it, I have it. It’s not Vanity. Not a bit’ve it. Its maintenance. I’m not enhancing an’ting I’m just fixing stuff.

If a crack appeared over the front door of the house you’d get it sorted.

So what’s stopped me, or at least delayed me picking a surgeon and booking the flights.

Me. The sheer indulgence of spending €2.5 – 3k on meself, when there’s school fees, ‘van fees, new tyres needed, renovations, ara’ the list goes on, brings on a guilt that I can only describe as a pure Me Fein that I’m very uncomfortable with.

And something someone said to me lately “its not about you” probably secures the guilt.

Secondly; the imposition of being out of action for some time, for what is simply an electable set of procedures is just not fair on work and home.

And finally, I don’t want to do it on my own; despite the availability of a Personal Assistant. I don’t want to be sore and drugged and on my own, and I definitely don’t want to be in a departure lounge swollen, bruised, and weary, on my own; more selfish self-interest I suppose.

So surgery is ruled out; for now. Unless I win the lotto then all bets are off.

But I’m definitely getting fillers. Don’t ask what ones, or what clinic etc.

So if ye’re all wondering, like, what to get me for the biggie; all these local clinics sell gift vouchers.

Frilly-new-face on the way; an’ with a bitta luck by the first Sunday in September, it’ll be like I only left Cork yesterday.

Frilly keane’s column usually appears here on the first Friday of every month. Follow Frilly on Twitter: @frillykeane

LorcanFinnegan

Two women in Dublin by Photographer Lorcan Finnegan from his street series Granny Fashions

Frilly Keane is back.

With some hand me down wisdom.

Frilly writes:

In case ye haven’t noticed, I’m not a bit afraid of where I’m from, and I don’t cringe when I hear Olé Olé Olé, in fact I join in. I’m a divil for the sing song, and a divil for the dance floor, and I never care who’s looking. And I’m proud to announce that only one generation separates me from The Marsh.

I don’t ever feel the need for Window Dressing since I’m not a bit impressed by addresses or schools, or trappings or who Daddy’s Daddy was. Or Watches …. However I’ve a bitta’ve thing when it comes to accents tho’, I love genuine rootie ones, and break out in a rash at the Mt Anville.

If you ever give yourself a chance, listen to John Evans talk about football, now there’s a lad who has substance, passion, integrity, depth and respect.

Plenty of ye here have accused me of having a terrible dose of the inferiority complexes, and would even insist they could drop a hopper of turf into my chipped shoulder; meh. I’m all Substance over Style. But I’ll do that one another week.

Since there’s been very little middle of the roadie-easy-listening stuff here lately, which is not a complaint since there are some very serious matters before us as a democracy; I’m still going to give ye a 3 minute doss this week.

Recently my teenager (only just mind) was off to Mary’s for a thing called Core – fúcking queuing for tickets weeks in advance n’all. “it’s a social Mother, they’re not called Discos.” Lemme tell ye, if there was a ditch anywhere close, even a daycent pothole,I’d have dived into it and dragged her wi’me.

I don’t blame my baby since most of that “it’s a social” comes from all that High School telly shit. I’d have called it Dancing meself, like “did ye go dancing?”

My Nana Lulu would have said the same, “did ye go to the Dance?” Or sum’ting like “was it that Disco Dancing ye were at up there in the club?” Or she could easily have said “dance hall”

Dance Hall; just saying it puts a smile across ya. So it got me tinking about stuff our Nanas never said, or did.

Chicken Pesto in a Panini please; I think this all started around the late nineties in an’round Mount Street, and that’s not that long ago, so keep yere keyboards steady. I doubt either of my Nanas went beyond Tomato Sangwiches or a Chester Slice in Roches Stores Coffee Bar, where, incidentally coffee was white or with cream, proper cream – out’ve a bowl and not a squirty tin.

As I write this the smell of Roches Stores Coffee Bar has wrapped around me like a steaming bubble bath. And the range of cakes …. that all came in proper bakers trays.

Tis the crowds coming back from Italia ’90 wanting Cappuccinos instead of milky coffee are a much to blame.

What’s the wiffy code? or pin number; our Nanas kept cash in their purses; big brown plasticiky yokes, where they knew exactly how much was in them. And they kept address books. I can recant my own phone number, but nobody else’s, not even the landline at home.

They kept hall tables with a seat that they sat down on when making or taking a call. It was an event, a time out with a cup of real tea. Now we do the ironing or the supermarket shop talking into a phone. We used to talk to people on the bus and train; now we talk into the phone. I prefer their way.

What d’ya mean I can’t smoke here?
Ok we’re the better for that one. Back in the day, I had a beauty of a mullet, permed n’all, but the smell off it in the mornings when I put my head under the shower hose; actually, does anyone do that anymore, kneel down beside the bath and wash their hair under a rubber hose?

Anyway, I don’t like to think about how Nana Lulu would react to not being able to have a fag on a plane. I’d say she’d have preferred to walk from Dagenham to Cork rather that put her arse onto the LHR to ORK if there wasn’t a smoking section.

My other Nana, who I never really knew, probably never even entered an airport. I remember distinctly when My mother had to have an emergency appendectomy and her Mam, my Nana, used to bring me into the Mercy to visit, and the first thing she did at the side of the bed was light up a fag. By the way that girl lived to 88.

Unleaded please; or daysel, to be fair, neither of my Nanas ever drove. Then again, neither did my Grandfathers, and one worked in Fords for enough years that got him a Gold watch. I never knew my paternal Grandfather, although I know he left my father and uncles well set up, which didn’t last long. Nothing new there. But if they did drive, they’d tell the lad how much to put in; none of that now, and I miss that, and not just the three pounds’ worth of petrol.

I need to get the man in to look at the dishwasher. Not only was it an uber-luxury item bordering on the ridiculous, like having a private jet in today’s money, Kitchens were smaller and the freezer was a little shelf with a flap in the fridge, and it only held an ice cube tray and a half a block of Neapolitan, and maybe a few fish-fingers.

That’s another thing, Neapolitan ice cream was the fancy stuff; with Jelly and Ice Cream on a Sunday. Maybe I have evolved a bit, since I hate both Jelly and Ice Cream. And Ice Cubes, I hate them too, but why our Nanas needed them I’ll never know as nobody drank at home unless it was a funeral.

I need to floss. They all took their teeth out at night. Did you ever notice old photos taken in larger towns and cities? All the smiles are the same. That’s ‘cause they all had the same factory teeth.

Years ago, when Big Tracey was minding her own Nanny, she brought a lad back from the Felons one night, and when he was in the loo afterwards, he thought the cup at the sink was liquid soap. It’s still funny to think of yer man plucking through his walk of shame in the dark. Although the dentures that nearly bit yer’man weren’t Nana’s there were “mau’Graunnies pur wee teeth.”

I need to get waxed before the holidays. Ha! Imagine that. My Nana Lulu wouldn’t even take off her tights to go paddling in Youghal. No flip-flops, bikinis or tramp stamps. Going to the Sea-side was a day out in the Sunday best. If it wasn’t for Section 23 holiday apartment blocks and Spars, our sea-side towns would be a thing of the past too; how many long for the days when Crowds arrived with flasks and bottles of tay, and knitted togs, and bought sticks of rock home for the neighbour’s kids. Imagine your Nana bringing your Mammy to school in a Pyjama Pants; Christ she’d a’bin taken off her.

A 12” with Pepperoni and Sweet-Corn; delivered please; take-away was the chipper on the way home from Bingo. D’ya know, I’m no one to talk about take-outs, home deliveries and drive-thrus; but wouldn’t we all be better off with if it was just the Chicken Supper on-the-way-home from a night out?

I can already hear yere cribbing about the writing and the maudling reminiscing; but it really is incredible to think how our trappings in life change so fast, from the Hall Phone to Tap n’Pay, from the Dance Hall Slow Set and Ladies Choice to Tindr, and our Integrated Dishwashers that just get replaced rather than repaired, to how we eat and exercise; just ‘cause Discos, Mulletts, Flasks of Tay, Girdles, and The Parish Dance slash Bingo Hall are all things Millennials snort at – just like we did at pals in hand-me-downs, doesn’t mean we should be ashamed of them and pretend we’re any better off.

Hon Cork, and see ye on the 24th

Frilly keane’s column usually appears here on the first Friday of every month. Follow Frilly on Twitter: @frillykeane

garda

Frilly Keane is back with her calculator: crunching the numbers behind the Garda’s dodgy statistics.

Frilly Keane writes:

Before ye go any further, in the service of transparency and disclosure, I’m one of the 14,700 driving offenders that haven’t been processed, or caught up with, or witnessed by Paddy O’Gorman.

The offence, since there was no denying the figure displayed on the hairdryer, happened last June, on the Waherfurd end of the M9, with full NeeNaws n’Blue Lights.

And it wasn’t the first time I’ve been done in that vicinity. NeeNaws then too. But the Guard himself was daycent enough, and promised it would be just Speeding and not Dangerous Driving, so I sucked it up and waited.

A reader (and I’ve no doubt) might say that since I’ve my fixed fine still in the póca, and my insurance renewed by the way of a “Not yet” to the “any penalty points or driving convictions?” that I’ve little ta shyte talk about; but believe me I am going all out anyway.

“The Mission of An Garda Síochána is Working with Communities to Protect and Serve.”

That’s what is says on their website; followed by their core “functions”- one of which is:

“reducing the incidence of fatal and serious injuries on our roads and improving road safety”

Well mannered hashtagging millennials might twerk ‘Epic Fail guys.’ But I’m more of a traditionalist, so tis a my hole ye are.

But it’s too easy and too widespread to call them names or pick on Noirin, although she’s no innocent. So I’m returning to my home ground and using numbers to tell ye we are not safe while An Garda Síochána remain the owners of the upholding-of-the-law gig.

Fairs fair, a good slice of the 14,700 cases of points not pressed onto licenses is for 60 in the 50 zone type’a carry-on; so the world won’t end. And the presence of the squad car and the camera van does put manners on ya when you’re belting down to Thurles.

But I want to go back to the numbers, and present them as Management Information, the kinda stuff Execs, Decision Makers and Business Owners get monthly from their finance departments, cost accountants aka bean counters, and maybe just from their own internal operation systems.

€1,176,000.00 (80 yoyos x 14,700) of Potential Income to the State, was not collected in a timely manner, and the admin chore of allocating the required Penalty Points remains outstanding.

Now that we’re talking about manpower hours; and I’ll use my own case to line it out.

Single Garda manned patrol car trapped me, followed me, stopped me; say 5 minutes, took details and had a bitta chat say 10 more minutes, updated his book and recorded the offence etc., say another 5 minutes, and returned back to his hiding place under the flyover, say another 5 minutes. Plus Diesel and Wear and Tear. Maybe he stopped for a fag. I dunno, but I’m allocating 30 minutes direct labour to my case.

That’s 7,350 Direct Labour Hours.

Imagine an additional 7 thousand teaching hours or Nursing Hours …. Or even the impact a tenth of those available hours would have on our Elective Surgery Waiting Lists

Now I can’t provide the hourly rate at the full Employer cost, so I can’t reliably put a €value to it; but for the purposes of this gig I’m going to post a value of €300k, and 50% of that again to getting the Penalty Points allocated.

450 thousand grand; and in my experience – I’ve seriously undervalued this.

Did anyone notice they weren’t getting value for money for these high cost hours? In industry you would have to do timesheets, and even in the HSE there are CaseMix returns.

Were the People Managers from Sergeant up to Commissioner not getting their monthly/ quarterly reports from Finance. If not, why not?

But if they were and they didn’t act on this wastage; by fúck I’d have them out the door; if t’was Bus Drivers or Train Drivers they’d be long gone.

So, so far, with this quick tot up, the Gardai owe the taxpayer circa 7 thousand labour hours and €1,176,000.00; if I owed the ESB or my LPT they’d garnish my wages; wouldn’t it be great to garnish that 1.176 million and stitch those 7 thousand hours into days taken in lieu.

And I’m only half way.

Even allowing for data entry errors, and we’ve all done it, 5 instead of 2, or 98 instead of 89 or even 301 for 103; that doesn’t come to a million in a two-year period, and definitely not in a country where at the end of 2014 there were 1.9 million cars.

Did the readers of these management reports not cop that circa 48% of the driving population in the State had possibly been breathalyzed?

And you don’t even have ta have Micheal O’Leary skill levels be able to interpret that data handily enough; like if 301 was entered by mistake for 103, the data back would say to the reader that there was an additional 198 breathaliser tests in a shift.

‘That’s some funeral they were waiting outside’ – a well fed Senior might’a thought.

That Senior might also have thought ‘Jay’s we’re getting fierce value those breathaliser hoses’ since the purchases didn’t match the usage data, in fact they were so far apart you could march a Water Protest thru’ them.

But even if they didn’t extract that from their own management accounts for themselves; the vendors of the devices actually told them the Stats they were reporting didn’t tally.

The impact on the likes of you and me is that the 539 Inspector rank and up Gardai had information that suggested that 48% of the cars on the road were stopped on suspicion of Drink being taken.

Beyond the ould’ reliable Christmas Clampdown, what did 539 Senior Gardai do about it? Fúcking nathin’.

They had data that said our roads were not safe and they ignored it. They turned their arses to one of their core missions “reducing the incidence of fatal and serious injuries on our roads and improving road safety.” That’s a non-financial cost btw.

So back to the manpower numbers; 1 million breathalyzers: let’s say 20 minutes for each case, from observing to testing and filling out the book etc. That’s 333,333 Direct Labour hours that is now unaccounted for. But paid for, and pension contributed for, and some of it over-time levied and bonused for.

Since I valued 7,350 hours at €300k, by applying the same spec to this failure you’re now looking at an additional €13,666,653.00

Thirteen and a half million worth of labour and nothing produced.

Plus the 450k from the Fixed Penalty cuntology.

1 in 3 road deaths is caused by Speeding, 1 in 3 by Drink Driving; that’s two thirds of the road fatalities in the State right there, and the Garda Managers don’t even give it their attention or even wonder what value for money they’re getting from the 10,355 Gardai and their 1956 Garda Sergeants.

I don’t blame the lads on the road and at infantry level. They know no better, this is how they were groomed.

Noreen is just biding her time and the Fianna Gael Entente are cooperating with her by lay’veing her be; sur’ isn’t she’s doing them a favour staying on ‘till they Head Hunt the Lad they wanted in the first place.

Then it’s off with the Lumpsum that could buy ya a 4 bed detached in Wicklow and a 6 figure pension for Life.

If a Traveller owned even a 100th of that 14 million, CAB would be up his hole till they got it out’ve him. If someone in Dunnes or a Contract Cleaner in a Hospital gets overpaid today, their wages next week will get stopped.

Noirin and her 54 co-horts there will not be asked to find that 14+ million from their annual allocation. They won’t even be made tell us what really happened

Protect & Serve themselves. That’s their Mission.

And don’t let them convince you of anything else.

Frilly keane’s column usually appears here on the first Friday of every month. Follow Frilly on Twitter: @frillykeane

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