Went to see WTWTA (just getting in there first with the FLA). The reaction to the film is firmly routed in the unfulfilled expectations that many people will have, me included. Then again, I didn’t really know what to expect. I found the kid really annoying and his mother even more so. Their relationship is one of child controlling the parent which always irks me. When I saw the trailer, I remembered the friendly monsters from the Muppets and Sesame Street. But friendly monsters can be assholes too. The boy is simply a precocious brat for lack of proper parental attention. He needs a good talking to and some discipline, not just simpering long pitying silences from his ineffective mother. The boy is a loner yet attention seeking, troubled, unguided. Next.

The music became a distraction. Yeah yeah yeah, we get it.

This is not a children’s film. But I fear many achingly right-on Ranelites and Rathgarians may bring their organic free range sensitive mop haired kids to see this after a morning force feeding them some art in IMMA. 

Self indulgent, hip for hip sake, not very good but not really bad. Expect to see loads of references to it at all the outdoor music festivals in 2010.

If enough members of An Garda Siochána go on strike then the possibility of Martial Law being declared is very real. Control of law and order must be maintained and if the national police force cannot be relied upon to deliver that, then the army will have to be brought in to patrol the streets and respond to emergencies. Then in turn, if the majority of the army refuse to comply with that order, you have a coup scenario. 

I have never known Ireland to be so potentially militant in tone. The talk of revolt and revolution is gaining pace. But nobody seems to know where to start or what form this should take.

It has been obvious to many for years that our country has been controlled by a small minority of self interested groups. But only the in the last year or so has it become glaringly obvious to the majority of people that our State is not our own. We’ve been robbed, fooled, cajoled, brainwashed, conned, raped and betrayed. 

The current government is the most vulnerable we’ve had in our lifetimes. Predators prevail by attacking the weak. We are the weak.

The Iona Institute, another sinister religious group who like to tell us how to live our lives and operate in the shadows by influencing members of the government and public service. Everyone is entitled to their opinion but these people think they have a supreme right to determine the moral issues of our democratic state. It’s a bit like Iran. 

Below is a copy of a simplistic post from their blog recently on the current civil partnership bill going through the Dáil. For those of you who don’t know, Brendan Howlin TD is a gay man. I wonder if that has anything to do with their mention of him in this piece. I’m sure I’ll get some nasty comments from some foot soldier.

From the Iona Blog: (where you can’t leave any comments)

In the Dail yesterday Labour’s Brendan Howlin approvingly quoted Australian High Court judge, Michael Kirby, to the effect that marriage is “a civil status, created and defined by the law”. This was in the context of the ‘debate’ about the Civil Partnership Bill. 

Yes, are telling you to know your place, just as you have told us for generations.

When I was growing up, Ireland meant Catholic. Over 95% of the population of the Republic was Catholic. At least that’s what we were told and who knows now? It could be way off. Considering the amount of Protestant churches around and the fact that a few of my neighbours were Protestants, the figure is probably wrong. But we were fed the bullshit line that being Irish meant being Catholic. Protestants were there but they couldn’t possibly be truly Irish. Oh no, they really wanted to be part of the UK again didn’t they? Oh yeah, they couldn’t be trusted, those good living, hard working honest and decent people. As my mother used to say “They’re Protestant but they’re very nice people”.

It turns out that after 80 years of so called sovereignty and freedom from oppression after hundreds of years, the Republic we were so proud of is a farce. The Republic that other countries such as India used as an example of freedom from colonisation is a fake. We thought at last that we were free. We could shape our destiny as an Irish nation at last. Our distinct voice and culture could now breathe and grow and flow out from our shores once again to all corners of the world. 

No. Turns out that we were simply taken over by the Vatican and their loyal servants within Irish high society. The Vatican of course is a city state. So it is in effect, a country. It has diplomatic ties with other countries around the world, same as any other. And this state has interfered and effectively infiltrated the government of Ireland since our founding in 1922. And even more so, since the writing of our Constitution in 1937 as demonstrated here. Now, of course the vast majority were indeed Catholic but many other were Christians and some where Jewish. But the Catholic Church was allowed to dominate daily life and to more or less run the education system which should have only been in state control for a truly equal society.

Catholic societies like Opus Dei, Knights of Columbanus, Order of Malta, Legion of Mary, Catholic Family Movement, ensured they had people in positions of influence such as the police, the judiciary, the professions, finance, education and broadcasting. They were like spies for the Vatican, ensuring that no doctrine would have any chance to threaten the Catholic culture of the state and to facilitate and protect the interests and status of wealthy Catholics. A secret police essentially and really that is what they were and still are. And that is how the rape and abuse of children went on without anyone being prosecuted for years and years. Hundreds, thousands of people knew it went on. People knew that priests were abusing children in the room behind the altar and did nothing because they were either afraid or in denial. If you spoke out, you were shunned, black listed, disgraced. Senior police and social workers knew and did nothing. In some cases they actively hid all evidence and dumped official police files.

This is the stuff of post-war East Germany. It is the stuff of Burma/Myanmar, Soviet Russia, China. It is the very same kind of secrecy. The theft of a state from its own people. And it’s happening right here in Ireland and it is far from being over. All political parties are infiltrated too. Fianna Fail and Fine Gael are probably the most poisoned of all of them. The leader of the country, Brian Cowen can’t even make a brave stand on the latest abuse report. He refuses to castigate the Vatican for their refusal to deal with the abuse. It is just diabolical rejection of his mandate to lead and govern for the welfare of the citizens of this country.

What’s really needed is the Second Republic. Ireland really does need to revolt and remake herself. We need to oust the spies and warn them to desist from all activity contrary to the operation of a modern free secular democracy. All abusers, cohorts and those who prevented justice to be tried and jailed if convicted. We must no longer play the drunken sycophantic rogue which so suited our Vatican oppressors because we thought that was our place and we had to constantly repent for it. Oh we were great old craic but we were bold all the same and we needed our priests and bishops to tell us right from wrong. Well no more of that. No more smoke and mirrors politics. No more using the old civil war bullshit to distract us from demanding proper and fair government.

There is a part for every Irish person and every person living in Ireland to play in this. What’s my part? Well I have long abandoned the Catholic Church but not the teaching of Christianity. I’ve always tried to live in a Christian way and by that I mean to be considerate, respectful, forgiving and to help people more unfortunate than me. I often wonder too, how can a country have healthy societies and communities without a common moral code or some kind of regular voluntary gathering where people meet and reinforce the humanity of everyday life. If I ever get married and have children, I think I would want my family to be part of something like that. 

I think I’ll become a Protestant and then a truly proud Irishman.

As a break from all the bad news, here’s a little story for you.

I was about eight or nine years of age. In my room, I used to have a little toy town of lego and wooden blocks and toy lego and matchbox cars and trucks. There were some farm animals, trees from train sets, even a working street light running of a small transformer. The scale of everything was way off but it didn’t matter. Every couple of weeks or so, it would be destroyed and rebuilt as something different. All evidence of the previous town was obliterated in an earthquake or catastrophic plane crash. Sometimes oblivion came in the shape of an unprovoked attack from my brother’s army forces or the legs of my mother as she changed the beds in the room. The devastation would be awesome and total every time.

But this time was going to be special. At the time, Northern Ireland was in the depth of some of the worst bombings of the late 70s. Almost daily, scenes of massive car bombs were relayed. Naturally as a child you were influenced by it. It was coming up to Halloween. I had acquired several black cat bangers from the older boys on the road. These bangers were very loud and very explosive. The trick was to wrap them in sellotape to make them even louder and to pack them tighter with powder for a more dramatic flash of light and more smoke.

I managed to get about ten or fifteen bangers. The plan was to make five big bangers out of these, wrap them in tape and light them from one fuse which would then separate into five. The five ‘bombs’ would be placed inside a lego truck which was specially made for the purpose. It was also packed with small train track tacks from my brother’s train set stuff. I paid close attention to news reports you see.

The preparation of the bombs took place out in my Dad’s shed unknown to him of course. With the deadly ordinance now in my pocket, I walked nonchalantly passed by spud peeling mother at the kitchen sink. She smiled lovingly at her innocent little son. I proceeded upstairs to my room and carefully placed the bombs inside the lego truck with the tacks on either side. The smell of late autumn was in the air. The sound of Gay Byrne floated up from the kitchen downstairs. Muted sounds of pots and pans and plates too.

I ‘drove’ the truck up to the (newly constructed) police station. Carefully, I rolled the fuse out as far as I could. I practiced jumping over the bed to the other side for cover. I had no real idea of how destructive this could be. With successful jump completed, I then took a match and carefully lit the fuse. Immediately, I jumped over the bed and landed just as the bomb went off with an enormous bang, I yelled in fright as onesies and twosies of lego flew up from the floor and landed all over the place. The little tacks went everywhere.  The smoke was thick and noxious and the devastation was awesome and total. My poor mother though as the devastation of the plates she holding at the time was awesome and total too.

The destruction of my backside was awesome and total when my Father got home. But despite it all, it was totally awesome.

I have come to the conclusion that the Irish weather forecast should just be repeated instead of being broadcast live every day. A kind of best of the weather collection of the most likely weather forecasts. 

Last week I heard the forecaster say “Prolonged heavy rain spreading from the south to all areas following by scattered showers and a clearance from the west with occasional localised downpours, some thundery and merging to form longer and more widespread rain spreading to all areas overnight”. On the screen to left of the weatherman, were several low pressure systems spread out from east coast US, right across the Atlantic towards Ireland. They looked like a holding pattern of planes waiting to land on Christmas Eve. Cruelly, they seem to head straight for us, with their tightly packed isobars indicating gale force winds and strong gusts. 

Sometimes in the summer, a big H appears. We get our hopes up and coax it towards to us, watching it’s progress over a couple days… yes yes yeeeeesss. Noooooo noooo, it’s being taken from us, sucked from our desperate grasp by the bastard bay of Biscay and is subsumed by the Azores high, another one taken from us so cruelly. And so, the lows batter us one after another. Vortexes of crisp packets and plastic bags on street corners, howling chimneys and uncool hair.

All these lows and lows.

We are. Let he who has never nodded or winked, cast the first aspersion.

I have had to cut back to 1997 levels recently. In order not to make people redundant in work, we have all decided to live like paupers and have no lives to speak of. So we all have a job but no life. We’re down about 40% on our salaries. I have become more acquainted with MBNA. They do good cop bad cop by the way. I haven’t had a meal out with friends for over six weeks. Fivers are the new tenners. Christmas really will be one day this year. I have postponed the valeting of my car until 2011. I really hope it doesn’t break down. 

The holiday in Senegal will have to wait… unless I drive there, down through France, Spain. Over to Morocco and then down the coast camping on beaches along the way. Maybe take six weeks out. Should be plenty time, shouldn’t it? Maybe I won’t come back.

Hmm. Anyone got an old 4×4 for sale?

Says here the alternator is pretty important

I’ve been working late. I don’t want to but I stop off at Spar on the way home. I don’t like Spar type shops. I lose my imagination the second I walk in the door. All notions of gathering wholesome and cheap ingredients are out the anti ramming toughened windows. Diagonal aisles trick me by displaying more frontage of over priced goods. The illusion of choice hides the fact that there is really only one brand of each thing. 

I know where I’m heading for but I don’t want it. It’s always disappointing and bloating. No, not tonight. I slip past though and just have a glance. The price flashes are getting bigger but I can’t remember what price it ever was before. That Chris Barry is on the radio in the background, egging on some illiterate half wit, tricking them into saying something racist. 

I buy some bread I don’t need and more milk just in case. But it’s all just a distraction, a delaying tactic. Desperately, I try to assemble an easy healthy meal in my mind. Why can’t I? I can do it no problem at home. But no, it’s drawing me closer. I pass a second time, a third. It’s pointless, I just can’t escape it. It’s late, I need to eat soon. It’s so convenient, it only takes 20 minutes at gas 6. And I know it will lie like a doughy football in my stomach as I lie on the couch and belch at Primetime. I know how I’ll feel and I don’t want it. 

Bastard processed crap shop pizza. Why, why do I do it?

Holemaster says No to…

• Michael Bublé
• Tesco own brand rip offs replacing my old favourites.
• X-Factor and Strictly Come Dancing fans.
• MBNA who kept upping my credit limit to the point where I could buy a car on it.
• Being broke.
• Noel V.Ginnity.
• Down the side of the oven.
• Enda Kenny – I don’t care about the Seanad, what’s your plan for the economy?
• Civil service versus private sector – Divide and conquer. Don’t fall for it. Unite against FF.
• Isolation of the eldery.
• Obesity – learn how to eat.
• Alf McCarthy on late night Radio 1 – You have no place on my radio, ever.
• Jamie Callum – Someone somewhere got the annoying squeaky voice you should have.
• Bill Cullen – Learn to speak English before you try to sound authoritative. That means in charge Bill.
• The slow but sure ruination of Phantom FM by boy/girl combo graduates from the Rathmines College of Commerce and Communications. A convoy of blondes in Fiat 500s any day now if not already.