Sunday Tribune 13 December
'When things go wrong and will not come right
Though you do the best you can,
When life looks black as the hour of night –
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.'
Brian Lenihan must have been reading Flann O'Brien's The Working Man's Friend before he dozed off and dreamed up last week's budget. What better way to take the sting out of bad news than by buying everyone a few scoops?
I like scoops. Probably too much. I regularly drink more than whatever the recommended guideline is. That's why I'm applauding Lenihan for lowering the pint by 12c. Right?
Wrong. Minister Lenihan, I didn't ask for – and don't want – your 12c cut. You can't buy me that easily. There are far more worthy recipients of your 'largesse'.
How about carers and the blind? Their allowances have been snipped by 4.1%. What does that say? Forget the blind, get blind drunk instead?
Or the pensioners who now have to pay for their medicines. Or the low-income families creaking under debts, levies, reduced dole and child benefits and a new carbon tax? Never mind them, a pint of plain is your only man.
I won't be raising a glass to cut-price booze, because these families won't be. This Budweiser Budget targets the most vulnerable and that's nothing to celebrate. Lenihan says lowering the alcohol excise duty will stop people going north. It won't and he knows it.
Last Tuesday, a bottle of Baileys cost €26.10 in Dunnes, Dublin. In Sainsbury's, €11.08. A litre of Carlsberg €3.98 and €1.84 respectively. The 20% excise reduction won't be enough to stop 'drink tourism'. The adjustment of Vat in January (to 21% here and 17.5% up north) won't make much of an impact either. Booze will still be cheaper.
Lenihan juggled CSO figures to justify his excise cuts. He said 44% of cross-border shoppers are buying alcohol. True. However, the CSO says it's not the main reason people head north – 79% are there for groceries. Instead of tinkering with alcohol, a more courageous move would be to lower vat to 15% and compete with the UK in the grocery market.
Lenihan's gargle cut is not about the north. It's a cynical stunt – along with not taxing cigarettes and gambling – to pacify us. What does that say about his opinion of us? Does he think unemployed people sup pints all day, in between trips to the bookies?
Does he see the rest of us as pliable booze-bags, who can be bribed to look away as he hammers the disadvantaged? The optics may be in his favour here. Look at the pictures of cars stuffed full of bottles and see how ridiculous our obsession with gargle is. Or stand outside the off-licence on Holy Thursday to see the panic-buying for Good Friday.
How does this look to the world outside? Lenihan said: "we're getting our house in order". He obviously meant 'public house'. Here's how the Chicago Tribune saw it: "Lenihan sought to offer one boost to public morale by cutting taxes on liquor. Ireland has the highest rate of alcohol consumption among major European nations…" This referred to the OECD Health at a Glance Report which was published the same day as the budget.
Morale boost: let the rummies drink beer. Embarrassed? I am. And annoyed when I think of all the effort the state made to change my drinking habits.
Look at those patronising 'Enjoy alcohol sensibly' warnings. (Don't most people drink to become insensible?) And the decision to close off-licences at 10pm. And the stricter drink-driving laws.
On Wednesday, none of this mattered. The government needed us boozed up. 'Never mind the warnings, drink up'. 12 cents! Hurrah!
Here's what I'm going to do with my 12c, minister. I'm multiplying it by 100 (pints) and adding it to our Christmas donation to the Vincent de Paul. Calls are up 30% this year and they need the money. It's not much, but it's a small statement of solidarity with those hit hardest by the budget.
Let's end with a rhyme, as we started with one. It's for you, Brian. Hope you like it…
The Working Man's Other Friend
(By DK, With apologies to Flann O'Brien)
When you're old and frail and times are hard
And your only friend's the medical card,
When you've paid your taxes, for your sins,
And they're charging for your med-i-cines,
When it's 50 cents to buy your pills
And you're terrified of getting ill,
'Don't worry,' says Brian, 'you'll be grand –
A pint of plain is your only man.'
When you're young and married with three kids
And life is, generally, on the skids,
When they've slashed your pittance from the dole
And Gormley wants to tax your coal,
When you're angry, broke and your house is cold
And Christmas cheer is put on hold,
When you have no pressies for your tykes
And turn to crime (when the Gardai strike),
When the crap has really hit the fan
And Ireland's swirling down the pan,
'Don't worry,' says Brian, 'you'll be grand –
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.'
dkenny@tribune.ie
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Tax gambling, minister – society will be the winner
Sunday Tribune 6 December
The caller from Cork was outraged. He had "never seen a guard in Douglas" before, and there were two on duty at Bertie Ahern's book-signing. "At either entrance to the shop" where Ahern was flogging his life story. This was for "protection", Liveline was told. For who, I wondered: him or Cork?
Bertie definitely needs protection from Liveline's listeners. They were furious that he was being driven around, at their expense, to sign books. One signing venue that got them particularly annoyed was Newry. Isn't this where his party says only "unpatriotic" shoppers go?
The racket on Liveline won't have bothered Bertie. He has a neck like a jockey's proverbials and knows all there is to know about rackets – political ones at any rate. He's sitting on a pile of pensions and allowances and will make a bundle from his autobiography. And he won't have to pay any tax on it.
Basket Case Ireland strikes again. We blame Ahern for the economy, yet his tax-free version of events is likely to be the most-read book this Christmas. Instead of making him put a sock in it, we're putting him in our stockings.
Will someone please put Ireland back in its straitjacket? Anyway, this column isn't about Bertie not paying tax on his story-telling. It's about him not paying tax on another pastime: the horses. Remember how he revealed his fondness for them at the Mahon tribunal? How he won his unexplained cash?
Last year, Bertie and other chancers spent €5.5bn at the bookies. This was a great boost for the exchequer, right? Wrong. According to Horse Racing Ireland, €1.7bn of it was gambled, tax-free, online.
Just as well the bookies paid tax on the rest, then. What was the rate? 20%? 30%? No, they paid… 1%. Remember that figure when you read Brian Lenihan's budget cuts this week. Everything else is screwed by the taxman but gambling is virtually untouched.
Why? Because the racing/gambling industry is enmeshed with Fianna Fáil. This goes back to 1969 when Charlie Haughey introduced tax exemption for profits on stallions at stud. Thirty years later, Charlie McCreevy did the industry a favour again and lowered betting tax from 10% to 5%. Charlie's from Kildare – racing's heartland – so no bias there. In 2001, he made it 2% to "safeguard the betting industry by reducing the incentive for Irish bookmakers to move off-shore". The only stipulation was that the bookies, not the punters, would pay this nominal amount. This derisory 'tax' was then put back into racing, for prizes etc, through the new Horse and Greyhound Racing Fund. In 2002, Fianna Fáil reduced it to 1% 'just to be sure'.
It was a bit like the banks, really. Fianna Fáil gave the bookies a form of 'guarantee' so their business wouldn't collapse.
Last year, Brian Lenihan raised the tax back to 2%. The bookies cried as if it was the apocalypse. They have loud voices, bookmakers. In May, Lenihan crumbled and 'postponed' the rise to examine the impact of offshore, online gambling on the industry.
What has been the major bookmakers' response to this threat? They've gone… offshore themselves.
Someone is having a laugh here – and it's not the taxpayer.
The bookies claim 2% tax will endanger jobs. Everyone's in danger at the moment, so why should they get preferential treatment while paying so little back? Gambling has been around for millennia – it's not going to disappear overnight. Bookies shops are closing, certainly, but people haven't stopped gambling. Online betting, according to Horse Racing Ireland, accounts for one-third of wagers. A betting shop can't compete with the accessibility of a computer.
Fianna Fáil has shown disproportionate favouritism to gambling over the years. This was epitomised by the annual bash at the Galway Races. Here they toasted Ireland's new gambling fraternity – the Property Speculators. Our property bubble, the most reckless 'gamble' of them all, was inflated at a race course.
Last week on TV3, Ahern recalled the betting that took place at Galway. On Budget Day, Lenihan can put some distance between his party and that era of gambling.
Doubling the tax won't be enough. Last year it raised a paltry €36.5m from €3.8bn worth of taxable bets. Get your abacus out minister, we can do better than that. Make it 10% and bring in some real money.
If you think the bookies can't sustain this, then divide the tax between them and the punter. If someone can afford to potentially lose money on a bet, then they can pay 5% tax on it. That would add just 50c to every €10 punt.
If that's too much for either side to bear, then tax the winnings, rather than the stake, at 10%. Tax all online betting, too, and level the field for smaller bookies.
This is your chance to make gambling work for society, minister, and it comes with a 'sweetener'. Bertie had a go at you last week for bitching about him behind his back.
You can't get even by slapping tax on his autobiography, so why not slap one on those mysterious wagers he loves?
You won't get him on the book Brian, but you can definitely hit him at the bookies.
dkenny@tribune.ie
December 6, 2009
The caller from Cork was outraged. He had "never seen a guard in Douglas" before, and there were two on duty at Bertie Ahern's book-signing. "At either entrance to the shop" where Ahern was flogging his life story. This was for "protection", Liveline was told. For who, I wondered: him or Cork?
Bertie definitely needs protection from Liveline's listeners. They were furious that he was being driven around, at their expense, to sign books. One signing venue that got them particularly annoyed was Newry. Isn't this where his party says only "unpatriotic" shoppers go?
The racket on Liveline won't have bothered Bertie. He has a neck like a jockey's proverbials and knows all there is to know about rackets – political ones at any rate. He's sitting on a pile of pensions and allowances and will make a bundle from his autobiography. And he won't have to pay any tax on it.
Basket Case Ireland strikes again. We blame Ahern for the economy, yet his tax-free version of events is likely to be the most-read book this Christmas. Instead of making him put a sock in it, we're putting him in our stockings.
Will someone please put Ireland back in its straitjacket? Anyway, this column isn't about Bertie not paying tax on his story-telling. It's about him not paying tax on another pastime: the horses. Remember how he revealed his fondness for them at the Mahon tribunal? How he won his unexplained cash?
Last year, Bertie and other chancers spent €5.5bn at the bookies. This was a great boost for the exchequer, right? Wrong. According to Horse Racing Ireland, €1.7bn of it was gambled, tax-free, online.
Just as well the bookies paid tax on the rest, then. What was the rate? 20%? 30%? No, they paid… 1%. Remember that figure when you read Brian Lenihan's budget cuts this week. Everything else is screwed by the taxman but gambling is virtually untouched.
Why? Because the racing/gambling industry is enmeshed with Fianna Fáil. This goes back to 1969 when Charlie Haughey introduced tax exemption for profits on stallions at stud. Thirty years later, Charlie McCreevy did the industry a favour again and lowered betting tax from 10% to 5%. Charlie's from Kildare – racing's heartland – so no bias there. In 2001, he made it 2% to "safeguard the betting industry by reducing the incentive for Irish bookmakers to move off-shore". The only stipulation was that the bookies, not the punters, would pay this nominal amount. This derisory 'tax' was then put back into racing, for prizes etc, through the new Horse and Greyhound Racing Fund. In 2002, Fianna Fáil reduced it to 1% 'just to be sure'.
It was a bit like the banks, really. Fianna Fáil gave the bookies a form of 'guarantee' so their business wouldn't collapse.
Last year, Brian Lenihan raised the tax back to 2%. The bookies cried as if it was the apocalypse. They have loud voices, bookmakers. In May, Lenihan crumbled and 'postponed' the rise to examine the impact of offshore, online gambling on the industry.
What has been the major bookmakers' response to this threat? They've gone… offshore themselves.
Someone is having a laugh here – and it's not the taxpayer.
The bookies claim 2% tax will endanger jobs. Everyone's in danger at the moment, so why should they get preferential treatment while paying so little back? Gambling has been around for millennia – it's not going to disappear overnight. Bookies shops are closing, certainly, but people haven't stopped gambling. Online betting, according to Horse Racing Ireland, accounts for one-third of wagers. A betting shop can't compete with the accessibility of a computer.
Fianna Fáil has shown disproportionate favouritism to gambling over the years. This was epitomised by the annual bash at the Galway Races. Here they toasted Ireland's new gambling fraternity – the Property Speculators. Our property bubble, the most reckless 'gamble' of them all, was inflated at a race course.
Last week on TV3, Ahern recalled the betting that took place at Galway. On Budget Day, Lenihan can put some distance between his party and that era of gambling.
Doubling the tax won't be enough. Last year it raised a paltry €36.5m from €3.8bn worth of taxable bets. Get your abacus out minister, we can do better than that. Make it 10% and bring in some real money.
If you think the bookies can't sustain this, then divide the tax between them and the punter. If someone can afford to potentially lose money on a bet, then they can pay 5% tax on it. That would add just 50c to every €10 punt.
If that's too much for either side to bear, then tax the winnings, rather than the stake, at 10%. Tax all online betting, too, and level the field for smaller bookies.
This is your chance to make gambling work for society, minister, and it comes with a 'sweetener'. Bertie had a go at you last week for bitching about him behind his back.
You can't get even by slapping tax on his autobiography, so why not slap one on those mysterious wagers he loves?
You won't get him on the book Brian, but you can definitely hit him at the bookies.
dkenny@tribune.ie
December 6, 2009
Why Ireland is the (shopping) basket case of Europe
Sunday Tribune 29 November
"See that man over there, he's on strike." The crop-headed Dub pointed off-camera. We couldn't see the striker, but there was a dull 'thunk', which might have been a slab of beer hitting a car boot. Newry's The Quays Shopping Centre was full of southern reg plates – many of them belonging to striking public sector workers.
Another man asked the RTÉ reporter "sure, what else would you do on a day off?" It summed up the insanity of Tuesday's day of protest. Our public servants went on strike saying they're hard-up, got docked a day's pay… and legged it over the border to spend money they don't have on a Christmas they can't afford in a country that can't pay their wages.
Strike? This was trade unionism striking a blow for capitalism.
Not that anyone should be too shocked. This is just further proof that Ireland is Europe's Largest Open Air Lunatic Asylum. Tuesday's behaviour wasn't an aberration, it was just 'The Irish Way'. Country in crisis? Don't just pull a sickie: pull a sickie while… pulling a sickie.
This wasn't the only example of The Irish Way in action last Tuesday. Here's another five random ones, all from the same day.
1: The Irish Way is to let a tax evader hold you ransom in the Dáil. Brian Cowen was asked to reveal what voting deal Fianna Fáil has with disgraced TD Michael Lowry. Had plans to build a €460m Las Vegas-style casino on his Tipperary doorstep anything to do with keeping him sweet? No, swore Cowen. Honest.
The Irish Way is to do deals with cheats. It's also to build a massive casino during a recession. It's hard to say which is madder.
2: The Irish Way is to be quick to take offence. On Tuesday, Liveline buzzed with complaints about Tesco putting security tags on meat in less affluent areas of Dublin. It was disrespectful. Disgraceful. How is wanting to protect your goods in a time of rising petty crime 'disgraceful'? The real disgrace is that no one said how sad it is that people are now stealing food.
3: The Irish Way is to believe, like Whitney Houston, that "children are our future". President McAleese said she does in the Irish Times. Just think: that orange, American-accented teen, gawking at the telly, is going to be running the country some day. God. Help. Us.
A few pages away, a poll in the same newspaper revealed that 81% of 18- to 24-year-olds want to see the number of foreigners living here reduced. Children are our future… and that future's the Fourth Reich.
4: The Irish Way is to introduce webcasting to local government to show that councillors are not wasting money. The Evening Herald revealed that Dun Laoghaire council spent €30,000 on 12 broadcasts last year. The council had wasted money to prove… it wasn't wasting money.
5: The Irish Way is to declare we are a post-Catholic, pluralist society – and then introduce a crackpot Blasphemy Law. Surprisingly, it has its fans. A conference in Dublin heard that one country has cited it as an example of "best practice" – Pakistan. Ireland is now a role model for one of the world's maddest countries.
The Irish Way is to be an irrational, reckless, dysfunctional race, who really are too cracked to govern themselves. The sooner we realise this, the better it will be for our mental health. There's only four million of us. We're not as important as we think we are. In Europe's eyes we're a medium-sized city – and a complete basket case.
The Germans think we drink too much. To them, we're the annoying little tosser who turns up drunk at the party, drinks all the host's booze and then picks a fight with him.
To the French, we're ungrateful peasants. They forced us to replay the Lisbon Treaty but wouldn't replay the Paris match. They got away with this because Fifa doesn't like us either. Even the eastern European countries don't like us: they keep booting us out of the Eurovision. Stuck out here in the Atlantic, we're like Europe's mad cousin, locked away in the attic. Ignored and unloved.
We only have each other now. So, instead of feuding, I propose we have a National Day of Inaction, with both sectors working out a plan to get someone sane to rule us.
Here's an idea: how about selling Ireland to the US and becoming the 52nd state? With a little investment we could re-open the country as a huge water theme park.
Think I'm not serious? It's not as batty an idea as that strike last week. As the protestors headed north, Ireland slid out of the IESE Business School's list of top 20 countries to invest in. We've gone from 16th to 21st. Could the striking and general stupidity on display have anything to do with this?
The unions have threatened further action. So here's my plan: on the day of the strike, all us non-protestors will meet up along the border and hide in the bushes. Then, when the last striker has crossed into Newry, we'll leap out and seal the border. Let the Queen keep them. Problem solved The Irish Way.
We really are the (shopping) basket case of Europe.
dkenny@tribune.ie
"See that man over there, he's on strike." The crop-headed Dub pointed off-camera. We couldn't see the striker, but there was a dull 'thunk', which might have been a slab of beer hitting a car boot. Newry's The Quays Shopping Centre was full of southern reg plates – many of them belonging to striking public sector workers.
Another man asked the RTÉ reporter "sure, what else would you do on a day off?" It summed up the insanity of Tuesday's day of protest. Our public servants went on strike saying they're hard-up, got docked a day's pay… and legged it over the border to spend money they don't have on a Christmas they can't afford in a country that can't pay their wages.
Strike? This was trade unionism striking a blow for capitalism.
Not that anyone should be too shocked. This is just further proof that Ireland is Europe's Largest Open Air Lunatic Asylum. Tuesday's behaviour wasn't an aberration, it was just 'The Irish Way'. Country in crisis? Don't just pull a sickie: pull a sickie while… pulling a sickie.
This wasn't the only example of The Irish Way in action last Tuesday. Here's another five random ones, all from the same day.
1: The Irish Way is to let a tax evader hold you ransom in the Dáil. Brian Cowen was asked to reveal what voting deal Fianna Fáil has with disgraced TD Michael Lowry. Had plans to build a €460m Las Vegas-style casino on his Tipperary doorstep anything to do with keeping him sweet? No, swore Cowen. Honest.
The Irish Way is to do deals with cheats. It's also to build a massive casino during a recession. It's hard to say which is madder.
2: The Irish Way is to be quick to take offence. On Tuesday, Liveline buzzed with complaints about Tesco putting security tags on meat in less affluent areas of Dublin. It was disrespectful. Disgraceful. How is wanting to protect your goods in a time of rising petty crime 'disgraceful'? The real disgrace is that no one said how sad it is that people are now stealing food.
3: The Irish Way is to believe, like Whitney Houston, that "children are our future". President McAleese said she does in the Irish Times. Just think: that orange, American-accented teen, gawking at the telly, is going to be running the country some day. God. Help. Us.
A few pages away, a poll in the same newspaper revealed that 81% of 18- to 24-year-olds want to see the number of foreigners living here reduced. Children are our future… and that future's the Fourth Reich.
4: The Irish Way is to introduce webcasting to local government to show that councillors are not wasting money. The Evening Herald revealed that Dun Laoghaire council spent €30,000 on 12 broadcasts last year. The council had wasted money to prove… it wasn't wasting money.
5: The Irish Way is to declare we are a post-Catholic, pluralist society – and then introduce a crackpot Blasphemy Law. Surprisingly, it has its fans. A conference in Dublin heard that one country has cited it as an example of "best practice" – Pakistan. Ireland is now a role model for one of the world's maddest countries.
The Irish Way is to be an irrational, reckless, dysfunctional race, who really are too cracked to govern themselves. The sooner we realise this, the better it will be for our mental health. There's only four million of us. We're not as important as we think we are. In Europe's eyes we're a medium-sized city – and a complete basket case.
The Germans think we drink too much. To them, we're the annoying little tosser who turns up drunk at the party, drinks all the host's booze and then picks a fight with him.
To the French, we're ungrateful peasants. They forced us to replay the Lisbon Treaty but wouldn't replay the Paris match. They got away with this because Fifa doesn't like us either. Even the eastern European countries don't like us: they keep booting us out of the Eurovision. Stuck out here in the Atlantic, we're like Europe's mad cousin, locked away in the attic. Ignored and unloved.
We only have each other now. So, instead of feuding, I propose we have a National Day of Inaction, with both sectors working out a plan to get someone sane to rule us.
Here's an idea: how about selling Ireland to the US and becoming the 52nd state? With a little investment we could re-open the country as a huge water theme park.
Think I'm not serious? It's not as batty an idea as that strike last week. As the protestors headed north, Ireland slid out of the IESE Business School's list of top 20 countries to invest in. We've gone from 16th to 21st. Could the striking and general stupidity on display have anything to do with this?
The unions have threatened further action. So here's my plan: on the day of the strike, all us non-protestors will meet up along the border and hide in the bushes. Then, when the last striker has crossed into Newry, we'll leap out and seal the border. Let the Queen keep them. Problem solved The Irish Way.
We really are the (shopping) basket case of Europe.
dkenny@tribune.ie
Unwrapping some good news amidst all the gloom
Sunday Tribune 22 November
The rain is streaming down my coat and into my shoes. My collar is drenched and there's a drip on the end of my nose. I'm broke. The only thing rattling in my pockets are my keys. I am walking through soggy Dublin thinking of Donie Cassidy.
One of the reasons I am thinking of Donie is because I've forgotten to bring something to cover my head. The other is to do with something he said in the Seanad. He, and some of his colleagues, believe the media is responsible for the grim state of the nation. Senator Anne Ormonde says the press is "creating so much gloom that it is depressing those in the world outside".
Donie's solution is to get broadcasters to "give us 30 minutes of good news every day" as a tonic. Suddenly a lightbulb has switched on over my head: maybe Donie's right. So I start flicking through the week to find something positive to write about for a change.
Ireland is no longer corrupt, according to new figures released by Transparency International.
That's good, isn't it? Or does it just mean there's less money around to steal?
Irish writer Colum McCann has won the top prize for fiction at the US National Book Awards. Great but, well, it's hardly going to overshadow our World Cup heartache, is it?
Brian Lenihan has 'scored' a victory over AIB by making it accept the €500,000 salary cap. That's good, isn't it, Donie? If you ignore the Financial Times poll that rated him Europe's worst finance minister. See, Donie, it's hard to find something positive to write about.
Another lightbulb goes on over my head. I look up: Miriam O'Callaghan has switched on the Christmas lights on Henry Street. Or 'Hahnry' Street as she calls it.
Finally, something positive to report: the lightening of Dubliners' moods by something simple and free. I am a boy again in town with mum, dad and sisters, looking at the Moore Street stalls as ould wans sing "Annywan for de last of de Cheeky Charlies?" Gaudy beads of yellow, blue and green light shiver between the lamp posts. Sleet spits at us, but we hardly notice: we are too excited at the prospect of seeing Santa in Arnotts. Afterwards, there will be coffee, cake and the unwrapping of colouring books and plastic crappery which will break, like the Cheeky Charlie, on the way home.
Walking south across the bridge, we wonder what herky-jerky robotic wonderland waits for us in Switzers' snow-sprayed window.
Memory is a great bolthole. There's no entrance charge and looking back beats looking forward into an uncertain future. If I sound like I'm going soft, I'm not. Even cynics need a break sometime.
In previous years I've given out about Christmas coming too early. Last November, mayor Eibhlin Byrne lit the city's tree at the start of the month. This was to encourage us to do our "civic duty" and spend our money in Dublin, not Newry.
I wrote a column telling her to stop turning Retail Therapy into Retail Guilt. If Dublin wanted my money, then its merchants should lower their prices. Groceries were 28% cheaper up north.
This year, Mary Coughlan led the patriotic charge. She said cross-border shoppers are supporting "her majesty's government". I thought we'd moved on from that "Crown Forces" rhetoric. The war is over, minister.
Although her faux-republicanism is annoying, I agree with Coughlan in principle. Not about ropey patriotism but about our economic reality – 250,000 southern households are shopping over the border (TNS Worldpanel). It doesn't take a genius – and Coughlan's no genius – to see how this affects our tax take.
Southern retailers can't win a price battle with the north. Running a business here is more expensive, between energy costs, Vat and exchange rates. They are trying, though. The National Consumer Agency says prices are continuing to fall.
It's no longer a case of "them and us". Retailers are now as jiggered as the rest of us. They may have fleeced us in the past, but I don't like seeing businesses go to the wall.
Unlike last Christmas, Dublin City Council deserves some credit this year. It's easing the idiotic bus corridor on College Green for the festive period and providing 1,400 free parking spaces.
The city's merchants have started to show some civic spirit too. In 2006, 30% of them were unwilling to fund the Christmas lights. This year, they've paid to illuminate six new streets.
All that said, I'm not telling anyone where to shop. It's a matter of conscience and means.
If you decide to head north, the best of luck to you. I won't see you there, though. I've decided to spend less this Christmas – and to spend it locally.
So there you are, Donie. I've tried to write a positive column this week. I'm giving Dublin my business and thanking its retailers for temporarily blinding me, with Christmas lights, to the rain, the soccer etc.
Why don't you come and see the lights with me, Donie? You've a day off on Tuesday because of the Oireachtas strike, haven't you? Tell you what, come to O'Connell Street this evening instead to watch the lighting of the tree.
Damn it, hang on a minute, more bad news: wasn't it made in France?
dkenny@tribune.ie
The rain is streaming down my coat and into my shoes. My collar is drenched and there's a drip on the end of my nose. I'm broke. The only thing rattling in my pockets are my keys. I am walking through soggy Dublin thinking of Donie Cassidy.
One of the reasons I am thinking of Donie is because I've forgotten to bring something to cover my head. The other is to do with something he said in the Seanad. He, and some of his colleagues, believe the media is responsible for the grim state of the nation. Senator Anne Ormonde says the press is "creating so much gloom that it is depressing those in the world outside".
Donie's solution is to get broadcasters to "give us 30 minutes of good news every day" as a tonic. Suddenly a lightbulb has switched on over my head: maybe Donie's right. So I start flicking through the week to find something positive to write about for a change.
Ireland is no longer corrupt, according to new figures released by Transparency International.
That's good, isn't it? Or does it just mean there's less money around to steal?
Irish writer Colum McCann has won the top prize for fiction at the US National Book Awards. Great but, well, it's hardly going to overshadow our World Cup heartache, is it?
Brian Lenihan has 'scored' a victory over AIB by making it accept the €500,000 salary cap. That's good, isn't it, Donie? If you ignore the Financial Times poll that rated him Europe's worst finance minister. See, Donie, it's hard to find something positive to write about.
Another lightbulb goes on over my head. I look up: Miriam O'Callaghan has switched on the Christmas lights on Henry Street. Or 'Hahnry' Street as she calls it.
Finally, something positive to report: the lightening of Dubliners' moods by something simple and free. I am a boy again in town with mum, dad and sisters, looking at the Moore Street stalls as ould wans sing "Annywan for de last of de Cheeky Charlies?" Gaudy beads of yellow, blue and green light shiver between the lamp posts. Sleet spits at us, but we hardly notice: we are too excited at the prospect of seeing Santa in Arnotts. Afterwards, there will be coffee, cake and the unwrapping of colouring books and plastic crappery which will break, like the Cheeky Charlie, on the way home.
Walking south across the bridge, we wonder what herky-jerky robotic wonderland waits for us in Switzers' snow-sprayed window.
Memory is a great bolthole. There's no entrance charge and looking back beats looking forward into an uncertain future. If I sound like I'm going soft, I'm not. Even cynics need a break sometime.
In previous years I've given out about Christmas coming too early. Last November, mayor Eibhlin Byrne lit the city's tree at the start of the month. This was to encourage us to do our "civic duty" and spend our money in Dublin, not Newry.
I wrote a column telling her to stop turning Retail Therapy into Retail Guilt. If Dublin wanted my money, then its merchants should lower their prices. Groceries were 28% cheaper up north.
This year, Mary Coughlan led the patriotic charge. She said cross-border shoppers are supporting "her majesty's government". I thought we'd moved on from that "Crown Forces" rhetoric. The war is over, minister.
Although her faux-republicanism is annoying, I agree with Coughlan in principle. Not about ropey patriotism but about our economic reality – 250,000 southern households are shopping over the border (TNS Worldpanel). It doesn't take a genius – and Coughlan's no genius – to see how this affects our tax take.
Southern retailers can't win a price battle with the north. Running a business here is more expensive, between energy costs, Vat and exchange rates. They are trying, though. The National Consumer Agency says prices are continuing to fall.
It's no longer a case of "them and us". Retailers are now as jiggered as the rest of us. They may have fleeced us in the past, but I don't like seeing businesses go to the wall.
Unlike last Christmas, Dublin City Council deserves some credit this year. It's easing the idiotic bus corridor on College Green for the festive period and providing 1,400 free parking spaces.
The city's merchants have started to show some civic spirit too. In 2006, 30% of them were unwilling to fund the Christmas lights. This year, they've paid to illuminate six new streets.
All that said, I'm not telling anyone where to shop. It's a matter of conscience and means.
If you decide to head north, the best of luck to you. I won't see you there, though. I've decided to spend less this Christmas – and to spend it locally.
So there you are, Donie. I've tried to write a positive column this week. I'm giving Dublin my business and thanking its retailers for temporarily blinding me, with Christmas lights, to the rain, the soccer etc.
Why don't you come and see the lights with me, Donie? You've a day off on Tuesday because of the Oireachtas strike, haven't you? Tell you what, come to O'Connell Street this evening instead to watch the lighting of the tree.
Damn it, hang on a minute, more bad news: wasn't it made in France?
dkenny@tribune.ie
Monday, December 14, 2009
PC brigade are stifling proper debate on racism
Sunday Tribune 15 November
It was the image of the week. Alan O'Brien's face contorted with rage as he pierced the air with his finger and berated Pat Kenny on The Frontline. "Six hundred thousand pounds!" he roared, confusing currencies in his condemnation of Kenny's wages.
His outburst was so forceful, unexpected and prolonged that it had a surreal quality to it. At first I thought it was a comedy interlude. It soon became apparent, however, that this was no parody. O'Brien was as stable as the price of trophy houses in south Dublin.
The following day it was revealed that O'Brien was a former psychiatric patient. A "nutter" as the red tops put it. On Wednesday, the headlines screamed that the "nutter" was also a "racist". He was once convicted for incitement to racial hatred after verbally abusing foreigners on Grafton Street.
Commentators justified calling this mentally ill man a "nut" by counterbalancing it with the PC word "racist". You can get away with most things if you call someone a racist.
O'Brien says he's not racist: "I'm a white b****rd myself." He may have a point. The fact that he's a 'nut' weakens the racist tag. Being mad, he's not responsible for what he says, is he? I don't know if he's really a racist, although the words he used on Grafton Street certainly were.
Is the mayor of Limerick a racist? Last week, FG's Kevin Kiely was called one for saying that newly-arrived EU nationals should be deported if they haven't found a job within three months. This would stop them "abusing" the dole. The howls of "racist" were deafening. Is it racist to suggest we stop dole fraud?
Is Judge Aingeal Ní Chondúin a racist? Two weeks ago, comments she made in the Children's Court were criticised for reinforcing racial stereotypes. She said the Roma community seemed to raise their children to steal. At the time she was dealing with a Roma teenager who admitted theft. Is it racist to suggest that Romas raise their children to steal when there is evidence that some do?
There have been no satisfactory answers to any of the above questions, because there has been no debate about them. Just the predictable PC scramble to be heard crying "racist".
The opportunity to engage in a meaningful discussion about these issues has been squandered again. Ní Chondúin's remarks were ill-judged because they were too general. An entire community can't be bred to thievery. A proportion can, though, ie, a majority or minority. Many condemned her, but no one was brave enough to analyse what she said.
Ní Chondúin is an expert on children and crime. No one asked how many Romas she deals with in her court. Are we being overrun by Roma thieves? Or is it just a matter of one or two? Anyone who believes that no Roma children steal is as ignorant as Mayor Kiely.
Like the judge's comments, Kiely's were condemned but not analysed. There's a warped logic to what he believes. Our dole bill is crippling and some non-nationals are scamming the system. Last July, the Department of Social Welfare revealed that from a sample number of non-nationals claiming benefits, 11% were not living here. Kiely is right: cheats, like Roma thieves, do exist.
While the PC brigade branded him a racist, no one attempted to educate Kiely and people like him. To dispassionately point out that the authorities are pursuing dole fraudsters. To allay fears that all foreigners are potential cheats. To explain that the EU is trying to help us deal with unemployment among non-nationals. Last month, it granted us €600,000 a year from the EU Return Fund to help hard-up immigrants return home – if they want to.
When his party colleague, Leo Varadkar, suggested something similar last April he, too, was called a racist.
When you shout the word 'racist' without stopping to examine what's being said, you blur the lines between incitement and honest social commentary. There was a fine example of the 'race' word being used out of context in Joe Duffy's Irish Mail on Sunday column last week, calling a negative description of Ballyfermot, by an author, "racist rubbish". Racist? Are the people of Ballyfermot a new ethnic group?
This kind of kneejerking is dangerous. It stifles debate through fear. Fear breeds resentment. Resentment breeds racism.
Subconsciously, we might also be afraid of debating racism because this would be an admission that some Irish people are racist. We never colonised anyone – the Irish can't be racist, can we?
By making PC noises and not discussing the problems that come with racial integration, we are ignoring a time bomb. The country is boiling with anger: public sector v private, both sectors v the government. Who will the mob turn on next?
The budget is weeks away and the Christmas social-welfare bonus is being axed. It doesn't take a genius to see how this could create further tensions.
It's critical that we discuss all sides of the integration issue. People like Kiely must be made see how their generalisations are wrong. Not just told they're wrong.
Kiely must be made understand that his half-baked notions are far more dangerous than the racist ravings of Alan O'Brien on Grafton Street. People sometimes heed politicians. No one heeds nutcases.
Unless they're ranting about Pat Kenny, of course.
dkenny@tribune.ie
November 15, 2009
It was the image of the week. Alan O'Brien's face contorted with rage as he pierced the air with his finger and berated Pat Kenny on The Frontline. "Six hundred thousand pounds!" he roared, confusing currencies in his condemnation of Kenny's wages.
His outburst was so forceful, unexpected and prolonged that it had a surreal quality to it. At first I thought it was a comedy interlude. It soon became apparent, however, that this was no parody. O'Brien was as stable as the price of trophy houses in south Dublin.
The following day it was revealed that O'Brien was a former psychiatric patient. A "nutter" as the red tops put it. On Wednesday, the headlines screamed that the "nutter" was also a "racist". He was once convicted for incitement to racial hatred after verbally abusing foreigners on Grafton Street.
Commentators justified calling this mentally ill man a "nut" by counterbalancing it with the PC word "racist". You can get away with most things if you call someone a racist.
O'Brien says he's not racist: "I'm a white b****rd myself." He may have a point. The fact that he's a 'nut' weakens the racist tag. Being mad, he's not responsible for what he says, is he? I don't know if he's really a racist, although the words he used on Grafton Street certainly were.
Is the mayor of Limerick a racist? Last week, FG's Kevin Kiely was called one for saying that newly-arrived EU nationals should be deported if they haven't found a job within three months. This would stop them "abusing" the dole. The howls of "racist" were deafening. Is it racist to suggest we stop dole fraud?
Is Judge Aingeal Ní Chondúin a racist? Two weeks ago, comments she made in the Children's Court were criticised for reinforcing racial stereotypes. She said the Roma community seemed to raise their children to steal. At the time she was dealing with a Roma teenager who admitted theft. Is it racist to suggest that Romas raise their children to steal when there is evidence that some do?
There have been no satisfactory answers to any of the above questions, because there has been no debate about them. Just the predictable PC scramble to be heard crying "racist".
The opportunity to engage in a meaningful discussion about these issues has been squandered again. Ní Chondúin's remarks were ill-judged because they were too general. An entire community can't be bred to thievery. A proportion can, though, ie, a majority or minority. Many condemned her, but no one was brave enough to analyse what she said.
Ní Chondúin is an expert on children and crime. No one asked how many Romas she deals with in her court. Are we being overrun by Roma thieves? Or is it just a matter of one or two? Anyone who believes that no Roma children steal is as ignorant as Mayor Kiely.
Like the judge's comments, Kiely's were condemned but not analysed. There's a warped logic to what he believes. Our dole bill is crippling and some non-nationals are scamming the system. Last July, the Department of Social Welfare revealed that from a sample number of non-nationals claiming benefits, 11% were not living here. Kiely is right: cheats, like Roma thieves, do exist.
While the PC brigade branded him a racist, no one attempted to educate Kiely and people like him. To dispassionately point out that the authorities are pursuing dole fraudsters. To allay fears that all foreigners are potential cheats. To explain that the EU is trying to help us deal with unemployment among non-nationals. Last month, it granted us €600,000 a year from the EU Return Fund to help hard-up immigrants return home – if they want to.
When his party colleague, Leo Varadkar, suggested something similar last April he, too, was called a racist.
When you shout the word 'racist' without stopping to examine what's being said, you blur the lines between incitement and honest social commentary. There was a fine example of the 'race' word being used out of context in Joe Duffy's Irish Mail on Sunday column last week, calling a negative description of Ballyfermot, by an author, "racist rubbish". Racist? Are the people of Ballyfermot a new ethnic group?
This kind of kneejerking is dangerous. It stifles debate through fear. Fear breeds resentment. Resentment breeds racism.
Subconsciously, we might also be afraid of debating racism because this would be an admission that some Irish people are racist. We never colonised anyone – the Irish can't be racist, can we?
By making PC noises and not discussing the problems that come with racial integration, we are ignoring a time bomb. The country is boiling with anger: public sector v private, both sectors v the government. Who will the mob turn on next?
The budget is weeks away and the Christmas social-welfare bonus is being axed. It doesn't take a genius to see how this could create further tensions.
It's critical that we discuss all sides of the integration issue. People like Kiely must be made see how their generalisations are wrong. Not just told they're wrong.
Kiely must be made understand that his half-baked notions are far more dangerous than the racist ravings of Alan O'Brien on Grafton Street. People sometimes heed politicians. No one heeds nutcases.
Unless they're ranting about Pat Kenny, of course.
dkenny@tribune.ie
November 15, 2009
Someone in RTE should really talk to Joe
Sunday Tribune 8 November
I did something last week that I'm ashamed of. I emailed a radio show. I don't usually contact talk shows or write strongly-worded letters to the Times, but my irritation got the better of me.
On Wednesday, Joe Duffy unleashed the hounds on Jim Connolly, author of The Culchie's Guide to Dublin – a book which pokes fun at the capital. Unlike most of the people who ranted on Liveline, I have a copy. In it, Connolly describes Ballyfermot as a crime-ridden dump. Joe is from Ballyfermot. He was "outraged" and ripped Connolly asunder. As his listeners fought over Connolly's body parts, Joe wanted to know where he lived, despite this being flagged in the opening pages.
"Where are you from, Jim?"
"South Dublin."
"Where in south Dublin?"
"Dalkey." Dalkey. This was outrageous: a Dalkey snob demeaning the plain people of Ballyfermot. Joe finished him off by quoting the book's favourable description of Dalkey's, apparently, crime-free status. Cue a barrage of stereotyping about 'southsiders' from his listeners.
For the record, I'm from Dalkey and I know Connolly. I'm not defending him. He set out to be politically incorrect and can suffer the consequences. I'm not endorsing his book either – primarily because it's in competition with a similar book I wrote 10 years ago.
However, I will say that I have less of a problem with Connolly's offensive description of Ballyfermot than I do with Liveline's reaction to it. The outcry illustrated how we are being manipulated by people, like Duffy, peddling victimhood.
Siptu's Jack O'Connor is another victimhood peddlar. On last Monday's Frontline, he accused Pat Kenny of owning a 'trophy' Dalkey home. Whether Kenny is overpaid or not, this was a cheap shot aimed at the union gallery. It was meant to reinforce Siptu's 'them-and-us' philosophy. The hypocrisy behind the jibe is extraordinary. O'Connor also earns a handsome salary – €124,000. That's what the state will have to pay to keep 12 of his members on the dole for a year. And that's where he's leading them, by fostering divisions between the public and private sectors.
Instead of behaving in the national interest, Siptu has been promoting a victimhood culture. The public sector feel victimised by the private because they have to take cuts and levies. The private sector feel victimised because they are paying for the public sector. And so it goes on, until we reach the obvious conclusion: a state of economic civil war.
Meanwhile, on the sidelines are people like Duffy, apparently observing but in reality egging the protagonists on, like he did last Wednesday. He accused Connolly of reinforcing stereotypes – and then hypocritically encouraged his listeners to do just that. Connolly was attacked not just for his comments, but also his address. According to Liveline's world view, all Dalkey-southsiders are spoilt, out-of-touch, snobs. Ironically, this is the same portrayal Connolly's book uses. Joe didn't mention this.
The reality is that the majority of Dalkey southsiders are decent, honest people – just like the residents of Ballyfermot. A small number are wealthy like Pat Kenny, but most are levied middle- and lower-income earners. Some are losing their houses and some have been made redundant.
Liveline has done a lot of praiseworthy work over the years. This was all about Joe though. His home had been insulted and so two days were spent denouncing something that merited three minutes, but probably should have been ignored.
This wasn't Tommy Tiernanesque. This wasn't the Lonely Planet guide insulting some national institution. This wasn't going to affect tourism in Ballyfermot. This was published in a book called The Culchie's Guide. How could this justify all the national airtime? Answer: ratings.
Duffy – like O'Connor – benefits from dividing society. Duffy wants ratings, so he pits one 'victimised' part of Dublin against an 'affluent' one. O'Connor causes disunity because he needs to justify his salary.
The perpetrators of the economic crime against us are Fianna Fáil and the bankers – not our beleaguered fellow citizens. Our energies should be focused on installing a new government – one which will get us working again – not fighting among ourselves. Unity is the only way out of this mess. We must not be manipulated by people like O'Connor and Duffy.
I mentioned earlier that 10 years ago I wrote a guide to Dublin. It made Connolly's book look PC. ('Summerhill Fair is where Dubs buy back their stolen handbags'/Southsiders are 'limp-wristed nincompoops'). Everything in it was deliberately untrue and, by Joe's standards, grossly offensive.
However, Dubliners got the joke and it became a bestseller. The difference between its reception and Connolly's is easy to explain – we didn't take ourselves so bloody seriously back then. This is what I wrote in my email to Joe. He didn't reply.
I'm sending you a copy of that book, Joe. It's going to annoy you and you might give it two days of free publicity like you did with Connolly's. You can email any complaints to the address below. I promise to respond.
'Talk to Joe' is the catchphrase. Yes, someone in authority in RTE should talk to Joe alright.
dkenny@tribune.ie
November 8, 2009
I did something last week that I'm ashamed of. I emailed a radio show. I don't usually contact talk shows or write strongly-worded letters to the Times, but my irritation got the better of me.
On Wednesday, Joe Duffy unleashed the hounds on Jim Connolly, author of The Culchie's Guide to Dublin – a book which pokes fun at the capital. Unlike most of the people who ranted on Liveline, I have a copy. In it, Connolly describes Ballyfermot as a crime-ridden dump. Joe is from Ballyfermot. He was "outraged" and ripped Connolly asunder. As his listeners fought over Connolly's body parts, Joe wanted to know where he lived, despite this being flagged in the opening pages.
"Where are you from, Jim?"
"South Dublin."
"Where in south Dublin?"
"Dalkey." Dalkey. This was outrageous: a Dalkey snob demeaning the plain people of Ballyfermot. Joe finished him off by quoting the book's favourable description of Dalkey's, apparently, crime-free status. Cue a barrage of stereotyping about 'southsiders' from his listeners.
For the record, I'm from Dalkey and I know Connolly. I'm not defending him. He set out to be politically incorrect and can suffer the consequences. I'm not endorsing his book either – primarily because it's in competition with a similar book I wrote 10 years ago.
However, I will say that I have less of a problem with Connolly's offensive description of Ballyfermot than I do with Liveline's reaction to it. The outcry illustrated how we are being manipulated by people, like Duffy, peddling victimhood.
Siptu's Jack O'Connor is another victimhood peddlar. On last Monday's Frontline, he accused Pat Kenny of owning a 'trophy' Dalkey home. Whether Kenny is overpaid or not, this was a cheap shot aimed at the union gallery. It was meant to reinforce Siptu's 'them-and-us' philosophy. The hypocrisy behind the jibe is extraordinary. O'Connor also earns a handsome salary – €124,000. That's what the state will have to pay to keep 12 of his members on the dole for a year. And that's where he's leading them, by fostering divisions between the public and private sectors.
Instead of behaving in the national interest, Siptu has been promoting a victimhood culture. The public sector feel victimised by the private because they have to take cuts and levies. The private sector feel victimised because they are paying for the public sector. And so it goes on, until we reach the obvious conclusion: a state of economic civil war.
Meanwhile, on the sidelines are people like Duffy, apparently observing but in reality egging the protagonists on, like he did last Wednesday. He accused Connolly of reinforcing stereotypes – and then hypocritically encouraged his listeners to do just that. Connolly was attacked not just for his comments, but also his address. According to Liveline's world view, all Dalkey-southsiders are spoilt, out-of-touch, snobs. Ironically, this is the same portrayal Connolly's book uses. Joe didn't mention this.
The reality is that the majority of Dalkey southsiders are decent, honest people – just like the residents of Ballyfermot. A small number are wealthy like Pat Kenny, but most are levied middle- and lower-income earners. Some are losing their houses and some have been made redundant.
Liveline has done a lot of praiseworthy work over the years. This was all about Joe though. His home had been insulted and so two days were spent denouncing something that merited three minutes, but probably should have been ignored.
This wasn't Tommy Tiernanesque. This wasn't the Lonely Planet guide insulting some national institution. This wasn't going to affect tourism in Ballyfermot. This was published in a book called The Culchie's Guide. How could this justify all the national airtime? Answer: ratings.
Duffy – like O'Connor – benefits from dividing society. Duffy wants ratings, so he pits one 'victimised' part of Dublin against an 'affluent' one. O'Connor causes disunity because he needs to justify his salary.
The perpetrators of the economic crime against us are Fianna Fáil and the bankers – not our beleaguered fellow citizens. Our energies should be focused on installing a new government – one which will get us working again – not fighting among ourselves. Unity is the only way out of this mess. We must not be manipulated by people like O'Connor and Duffy.
I mentioned earlier that 10 years ago I wrote a guide to Dublin. It made Connolly's book look PC. ('Summerhill Fair is where Dubs buy back their stolen handbags'/Southsiders are 'limp-wristed nincompoops'). Everything in it was deliberately untrue and, by Joe's standards, grossly offensive.
However, Dubliners got the joke and it became a bestseller. The difference between its reception and Connolly's is easy to explain – we didn't take ourselves so bloody seriously back then. This is what I wrote in my email to Joe. He didn't reply.
I'm sending you a copy of that book, Joe. It's going to annoy you and you might give it two days of free publicity like you did with Connolly's. You can email any complaints to the address below. I promise to respond.
'Talk to Joe' is the catchphrase. Yes, someone in authority in RTE should talk to Joe alright.
dkenny@tribune.ie
November 8, 2009
No piece of cake
Sunday Tribune 8 November
It's reputation as a haven for the elderly is just not fair. Dave Kenny had an action-packed, thrill-seeking holiday in Madeira, and not a zimmer frame in sight
David Kenny in Madeira
Madeira: land of the zimmer frame. God's waiting room, where pensioners sunbathe in their overcoats. Madeira, like the sticky bottle of wine named after it, sweet, old-fashioned, lingering in the back of the cupboard. Why would any youngish person want to spend their winter holiday in a place that shares its name with their granny's favourite cake?
This question troubled me as we touched down in Funchal. Along with "Isn't it strange that 'Mad' and 'Fun' are the first syllables of the island and its capital's names?"
At first view, Funchal looked a bit too built up. As if the buildings, housing 100,000, were designed on a standing-room-only basis. This didn't augur well. We checked in after dark and hoped the morning would show the city in a better light.
It did. As the sun rose, Madeira threw off its house coat and hair net and introduced itself properly. This is a beautiful, vertiginous island of soaring peaks and lush valleys. Of sheer green-thatched cliffs lapped by sapphire waters. For showiness alone, it's easy to see why the Portuguese claimed it 600 years ago.
Over the years it has built up a reputation as a pensioner's paradise – which it certainly is. However, what most don't realise is that it's also an adventure-seeker's playground. Madeira – which is sunny all year round – can be as adrenaline-fuelled as it is sedate. If it was a movie, it would be Cocoon.
Where do you start? The best way to experience Madeira is to alternate lazing by the pool (it's currently 25ºC) with excursions. These range from wine-tasting to clifftop paragliding. A morning whale-watching with a marine biologist costs €45 a head but is worth much more for the thrill of watching dolphins break the surface – like missiles from an underwater bunker – or a whale spouting 200m away from your boat.
How's your head for heights? A trip up to the Funchal parish of Monte – 800m above sea level – is a must. Four to a cable car, we ascended for 15 minutes, passing quietly over terracotta rooftops as the sea receded behind us and a wispy coils of mist beckoned us into the greenery at the summit. The trip costs €10 single or €14 return. Don't buy a return ticket. Instead, walk a few yards from the station – and skitter down the hill in a basket. Seriously, if you're happy to risk being mangled by a passing schoolbus, you have to try this. The basket toboggans seat two and are steered by men dressed as gondoliers who manipulate the wooden running boards with their rubber soles. It takes about 10 minutes of twisting and shrieking to get to the bottom where a hawker will offer you a photo of you displaying your tonsils for a tenner. I captioned mine 'Chicken in a Basket'.
Speaking of food, Madeira is festooned with excellent restaurants, such as Riso (from €30) which specialises in rice dishes and is partly al fresco, overhanging a lido and with great sea views. Espada (Black Scabbardfish) risotto with bananas may sound disgusting, but you'll ask for seconds.
O Jango is a superb fish restaurant in downtown Funchal, where you can choose your dinner date from a wide selection – John Dory, cod, espada etc – on ice near the kitchen. The grilled swordfish was the best I've ever had. Another island speciality is skewered, barbecued beef, hung at the table with a saucer to catch the juices – which are delicious mopped up with sweet potato bread.
Eating great food and fooling around in baskets was all very well, but the highlight of our trip was a 'levada' trek in the picturesque Laurisilva National Park. Back in the 1500s, the locals began constructing aquaducts (levadas) to bring water downhill to the farms. There are 2,170km of them clinging to the sides of towering, laurel-clad mountains. (I'm getting vertigo typing this.) At one point I found myself walking along a crumbly ledge, 25 inches wide, with nothing between me and infinity other than a 'fence' that looked like a washing line. If, like me, you're a gibbering coward, arrange for a walk with a guide through one of the less challenging routes.
In the afternoon, amble about the tiled streets of Funchal. Passing under the shade of the jacaranda trees, head for the market in the old quarter, where there is a vast array of tropical flowers on display.
Contrary to what you may have heard, Madeiran nightlife doesn't end with a cup of Horlicks at 9pm. Party-loving Madeirans let off steam at clubs like Vespa, Marginal, Café do Teatro and Chega de Saudade. The best advice is just to follow the crowd and explore the side of Madeira your granny never told you about.
Madeira is not what I expected. It's quirky, beautiful and good value for money. The Madeirans themselves are one of the best reasons for visiting. They're dignified, warm and – surprisingly, given the tourist demographic – very young. Forty percent of them are under 25.
Madeira/Funchal was Mad/Fun. I will definitely be returning – well before I need a zimmer frame.
Getting there
Topflight has just introduced Madeira to its Winter Sun Programme, in partnership with SATA Airlines, with direct Sunday flights to Funchal.
Dave Kenny stayed at the Tivoli Marina Hotel, which boasts top-class facilities and a courtesy bus into Funchal. www.topflight.ie
Weeks of 22 and 29 November
Dublin-Madeira
4* B&B from €499.50
Includes flights, transfers and seven nights' accommodation. Taxes not included.
The native liquor
A trip to Madeira isn't complete without a tour of a winery. The Old Blandy Wine Lodge is based in the heart of Funchal and runs visits and tastings. The Blandys are the only family of all the founders of the Madeira wine trade to still own their original wine company. They've been at it since 1811 and the lodge reeks of history. Madeira is a fortified wine, brown in colour and is used as an aperitif or, in higher alcohol doses, a digestif. Don't get the two mixed up.
A bottle of Rainwater Dry/Medium will set you back €6.90 while a single vintage 1993 costs €34. Whatever you buy will have to go in your suitcase, so quality over quantity is probably the best policy.
www.blandys.com
November 8, 2009
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