Sunday Tribune 14 February
Michael Murray is a walking cliché. His beady blue eyes, shaved head, mean, craggy face… if he had 'convicted rapist' tattooed across his forehead, his past couldn't be more obvious.
Last week, the Evening Herald pictured him at the door of his flat in Inchicore. His body language suggested that of a hunted animal run to ground.
Murray doesn't like being photographed. On Tuesday, solicitors for the serial rapist tried to effectively bar the Herald from using images of him at his new address. Murray values his privacy – with good reason.
In 1995, he was arrested on suspicion of rape and released pending a decision on charges. Over the following five days, he raped three more women and sexually assaulted two others.
He was jailed for 18 years but was released five years early last summer and then disappeared. Liveline and the Herald tracked him down. He may have been living next door to you.
As Murray was attempting to gag the Herald last week, another rapist, John Ryan, was sentenced to seven years for attacking a teenager in his taxi. After sentencing, it emerged Ryan had been allowed to continue driving his taxi following the rape allegation – despite garda objections. Ryan may have given your daughter a lift home while awaiting trial.
Two men, two threats, both at large when they should be kept away from the public.
Now consider the case of Dominic McKevitt. In December, McKevitt was arrested in Dundalk and taken to Mountjoy. The St Vincent de Paul volunteer had forgotten to get a €12.70 licence for his rescue dog Nemo and hadn't paid the €300 fine. He spent 12 hours in jail before being freed by the embarrassed authorities.
Cases like Murray's, Ryan's and Mc Kevitt's highlight the seemingly arbitrary nature of our legal system. They undermine public confidence by reinforcing the perception that the law is skewed in favour of the criminal. It's not, but appearances are everything.
Justice minister Dermot Ahern is aware of this. He has made a big show of dealing with the fines problem. Like Dublin traffic he has the appearance of movement but is really just snailing along.
Almost a year ago, Ahern published the Fines Bill 2009, to give judges alternatives to jail sentences. Incredibly, it is still not law and there is no date for its enactment.
During the first 10 months of last year, 3,366 people were jailed for non-payment of court fines. Sixty-two of these were jailed over TV licences. The overall figure compares to 2,520 in 2008 and 1,335 in 2007. While we wait for Ahern's fines law, the number of incarcerations is increasing. Dog and TV licence fine defaulters are going to prison while individuals like Murray are being set free early. Where are our priorities?
Ahern says defaulters are "a tiny fraction" of the prison population. Presumably, these 'little people' – like McKevitt – are not significant enough to warrant some haste on his behalf.
Last November, Ahern made another promise. He said he was finally going to reform the bail laws in favour of public safety. The figures for bail crime are frightening. The Dáil has heard that suspects for eight murders in 2008 and 13 committed in 2007 were on bail. The mother Sylvia Roche Kelly and Swiss teenager Manuela Riedo were both murdered in 2007 by bailed criminals. Twenty four serious sex offences were committed by people on bail in 2008. Thirty-four suspects threatened to kill people.
Between 2004 and mid-2008, 90,000 serious crimes were committed by bailed suspects.
Seven out of eight people who apply for bail are successful.
Will Ahern move quickly to deal with this problem? On the evidence of the Fines Bill, don't hold your breath. Before his proposals are even published, they must be approved by the AG and tested against the Constitution and European law.
Reform of the bail laws will drag on interminably. Why? Because of resources. Ahern admitted last April that reform was impractical because of prison overcrowding. During 2008, nine jails operated at or above capacity. The cost of keeping a prisoner is €92,717. Without Thornton Hall, bail will continue to act as a prison valve.
Ahern, while appearing to address the issue, has kicked reform to touch. He is playing the Fianna Fáil long ball game. The banks probe won't begin until the summer – a year and a half after the economic crisis began. Nama is still not up and running – a year and a half after the economic crisis began. The Fines Bill is still not enacted – one year on. Even Ahern's plan to tag sex offenders is still not a runner – one year on.
The public has a fundamental right to confidence in the legal system. It has the right not to be afraid of being attacked by someone on bail. Women shouldn't have to worry that their taxi driver is going to rape them, or that demons like Murray will be released early and quietly move in next door. The public has a right to more than 'optics' from a justice minister moving in slow-motion. It's about time Ahern started making a tangible difference on the streets of Ireland.
Long arm of the law? It's more like 'long finger of the law'.
dkenny@tribune.ie
February 14, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
We can rebuild our spirit, but Cowen must rebuild our trust
Sunday Tribune 7 February
Brian Cowen wore a top hat, tails and tapped his cane on the stage. "You've got to… aaaaaccent-uate the positive…" he sang, "ellllllimmm-inate the negative… and don't mess with Mr In-Between!" He attempted to do the splits, failed and slid along the dancefloor on his knees instead, doing 'jazz hands'. The crowd was delirious. Someone threw their underpants at him and…
I woke up in a cold sweat. It had been a bad dream: the product of too much cheese and RTÉ's report of Cowen's speech to Dublin Chamber of Commerce on Thursday. Our leader wants us to stop being negative. We need to be like the heroes of 1916, lads. We need some new optimism, lads. Neo-optimism, if you like.
As unintentionally funny speeches go, this was second only to Donie Cassidy's mad ramble in the Seanad on Wednesday. (Donie kept referring to the 'Jack and Jill' charity as the 'Jekyll and Hyde' charity.)
The Taoiseach's pep talk was all the more remarkable as it came on the heels of a report which shows that Ireland is suffering Europe's worst confidence crisis. The Edelman Trust Barometer says our trust in government has fallen to 28% (global average is 49%), while trust in business is 31% (average is 50%). The latest MRBI poll says three quarters of us are dissatisfied with this government.
What planet is Cowen living on? It will take more than rhetoric to get the nation behind him. With its references to 1916, the Taoiseach aimed his speech at our nobler side. Anyone who doesn't heed his call is a pessimistic traitor. All critics are just being "populist".
"Populist" is the latest dirty word Fianna Fáil uses to dismiss dissenters. If you hammer home a point about cronyism or expenses, you are being "populist". This paper was accused of being "populist" when it pursued John O'Donoghue over his crazy expenses.
Even Jim McDaid, who is permanently camped under the public gallery, has a new aversion to "populism". Last Wednesday he, bizarrely, told Liveline that headshops shouldn't be banned "for purely populist reasons". Jim – not for the first time – was driving against oncoming traffic.
The opposition were also accused of being "populist" when they urged Brian Lenihan to intervene over Permanent TSB's rates hikes. Of course, Lenihan couldn't intervene, but it's the opposition's job to rattle his cage on behalf of the mistrustful 'Great Unwashed' – ie, be "populist".
There were plenty of reasons, last week alone, for the public not to trust Cowen and Co. For example, how can we trust transport minister Noel Dempsey about, well, anything? Last August, we learned that taxpayers will compensate the operators of the M3 if car numbers fall below a certain target. Dempsey refused to reveal what that target was.
Last week, he gave us the silent treatment again and wouldn't explain why he appointed his election canvasser to the National Transport Authority board. Damien Usher is, coincidentally, a former bank manager.
Or what about the revelation that the company which built the M50 for €58m will ultimately make €1.15bn from it – at our expense. We're paying that company €50m a year for the next decade in 'compensation' for buying the road off them. Padraig Flynn and George Redmond signed off on that contract.
Or how can we trust the Greens to protect our environment when they seem powerless to halt the building of the massive Poolbeg incinerator? Will John Gormley be steamrolled like he was over the banks? After his betrayal of Tara, how can we trust Gormley to handle concerns over the proposed Slane bypass at Newgrange? There are 44 archaeological sites within 500 metres of the route. Will he ask councillor Nick Killian what he meant when he dismissed local archaeology as "historic bric-a-brac"? Can we trust Gormley to safeguard our 'bric-a-brac' heritage? (See www.savenewgrange.org).
Or how can we trust Eamon Ryan's posturing over transparency when he appoints a new Commissioner for Energy Regulation (€165,000 pa) after a phone conversation?
And there's more. How can we trust the state's judicial system when a serial rapist like Michael Murray can be sentenced to 18 years, released after 10 and then go to ground?
How can we trust that system not to waste our money when a district court judge can run up €91,909 in expenses and the constitution won't allow us to lower his/her wages?
How can we even trust Irish businesses to sell us Irish goods? Did you know that Fruitfield's 'Old Time Irish' marmalade, which has an address in Tallaght on the label, is made in the UK and Portugal?
The above are just a few examples for Cowen to contemplate. All "populist" topics worth highlighting. He is correct when he says we need to rebuild our spirit. As leader of the country, it's up to him to rebuild our trust.
Half a million are on the dole. There's no harm in the media and opposition playing to that gallery once in a while – within reason – if it reminds the government that it's being watched. Cowen can make a song and dance about being optimistic, but he must first eliminate the negative before the disenchanted can consider accentuating the positive. We'll give you your 'neo-optimism' when you get rid of the nepotism, Taoiseach.
Noel Dempsey, please note.
dkenny@tribune.ie
February 7, 2010
Brian Cowen wore a top hat, tails and tapped his cane on the stage. "You've got to… aaaaaccent-uate the positive…" he sang, "ellllllimmm-inate the negative… and don't mess with Mr In-Between!" He attempted to do the splits, failed and slid along the dancefloor on his knees instead, doing 'jazz hands'. The crowd was delirious. Someone threw their underpants at him and…
I woke up in a cold sweat. It had been a bad dream: the product of too much cheese and RTÉ's report of Cowen's speech to Dublin Chamber of Commerce on Thursday. Our leader wants us to stop being negative. We need to be like the heroes of 1916, lads. We need some new optimism, lads. Neo-optimism, if you like.
As unintentionally funny speeches go, this was second only to Donie Cassidy's mad ramble in the Seanad on Wednesday. (Donie kept referring to the 'Jack and Jill' charity as the 'Jekyll and Hyde' charity.)
The Taoiseach's pep talk was all the more remarkable as it came on the heels of a report which shows that Ireland is suffering Europe's worst confidence crisis. The Edelman Trust Barometer says our trust in government has fallen to 28% (global average is 49%), while trust in business is 31% (average is 50%). The latest MRBI poll says three quarters of us are dissatisfied with this government.
What planet is Cowen living on? It will take more than rhetoric to get the nation behind him. With its references to 1916, the Taoiseach aimed his speech at our nobler side. Anyone who doesn't heed his call is a pessimistic traitor. All critics are just being "populist".
"Populist" is the latest dirty word Fianna Fáil uses to dismiss dissenters. If you hammer home a point about cronyism or expenses, you are being "populist". This paper was accused of being "populist" when it pursued John O'Donoghue over his crazy expenses.
Even Jim McDaid, who is permanently camped under the public gallery, has a new aversion to "populism". Last Wednesday he, bizarrely, told Liveline that headshops shouldn't be banned "for purely populist reasons". Jim – not for the first time – was driving against oncoming traffic.
The opposition were also accused of being "populist" when they urged Brian Lenihan to intervene over Permanent TSB's rates hikes. Of course, Lenihan couldn't intervene, but it's the opposition's job to rattle his cage on behalf of the mistrustful 'Great Unwashed' – ie, be "populist".
There were plenty of reasons, last week alone, for the public not to trust Cowen and Co. For example, how can we trust transport minister Noel Dempsey about, well, anything? Last August, we learned that taxpayers will compensate the operators of the M3 if car numbers fall below a certain target. Dempsey refused to reveal what that target was.
Last week, he gave us the silent treatment again and wouldn't explain why he appointed his election canvasser to the National Transport Authority board. Damien Usher is, coincidentally, a former bank manager.
Or what about the revelation that the company which built the M50 for €58m will ultimately make €1.15bn from it – at our expense. We're paying that company €50m a year for the next decade in 'compensation' for buying the road off them. Padraig Flynn and George Redmond signed off on that contract.
Or how can we trust the Greens to protect our environment when they seem powerless to halt the building of the massive Poolbeg incinerator? Will John Gormley be steamrolled like he was over the banks? After his betrayal of Tara, how can we trust Gormley to handle concerns over the proposed Slane bypass at Newgrange? There are 44 archaeological sites within 500 metres of the route. Will he ask councillor Nick Killian what he meant when he dismissed local archaeology as "historic bric-a-brac"? Can we trust Gormley to safeguard our 'bric-a-brac' heritage? (See www.savenewgrange.org).
Or how can we trust Eamon Ryan's posturing over transparency when he appoints a new Commissioner for Energy Regulation (€165,000 pa) after a phone conversation?
And there's more. How can we trust the state's judicial system when a serial rapist like Michael Murray can be sentenced to 18 years, released after 10 and then go to ground?
How can we trust that system not to waste our money when a district court judge can run up €91,909 in expenses and the constitution won't allow us to lower his/her wages?
How can we even trust Irish businesses to sell us Irish goods? Did you know that Fruitfield's 'Old Time Irish' marmalade, which has an address in Tallaght on the label, is made in the UK and Portugal?
The above are just a few examples for Cowen to contemplate. All "populist" topics worth highlighting. He is correct when he says we need to rebuild our spirit. As leader of the country, it's up to him to rebuild our trust.
Half a million are on the dole. There's no harm in the media and opposition playing to that gallery once in a while – within reason – if it reminds the government that it's being watched. Cowen can make a song and dance about being optimistic, but he must first eliminate the negative before the disenchanted can consider accentuating the positive. We'll give you your 'neo-optimism' when you get rid of the nepotism, Taoiseach.
Noel Dempsey, please note.
dkenny@tribune.ie
February 7, 2010
An all-Ireland hero is let down by political pygmies
Sunday Tribune 24 January
"This man is a true hero." Gay O'Brien blushed as my father gushed about his bravery. "He filmed Derry in 1968." It was October 1979 and I was 12. I hadn't a clue what the old man was on about. Filming a city sounded acutely boring. Nonetheless, I shook Gay's hand and made all the right noises.
Afterwards, my father explained that 'Derry' had been a watershed in the north's history. Civil Rights activists and elected representatives had been baton-charged by the RUC on the city's Duke Street while making a peaceful protest. O'Brien filmed the officers going berserk and his RTÉ footage was shown around the world. Finally, outsiders saw the RUC for what it was: a brutal, sectarian organisation.
O'Brien had put personal safety aside and stood his ground in the face of savagery. My father was right to embarrass him: he was a hero.
PSNI officer, Peadar Heffron is a hero too. Not for his exploits as captain of the PSNI GAA team or his championing of Irish in the Queen's constabulary. Not even for surviving a dissident Republican bomb earlier this month – he was a hero long before that. Heffron is a hero because he, too, stood his ground despite threats. He answered the call to create a new North and joined the PSNI. He took his Catholic Irishness into what many still see as enemy territory to dilute the force's old RUC reputation.
His decision to do this is a measure of how far this island has come since O'Brien filmed events in Derry. His payment for that decision was an amputated leg and multiple horrific injuries. Last week, Heffron regained consciousness to the sound of squabbling at Hillsborough. The DUP and Sinn Féin were head-butting each other again over the devolution of policing from London to Belfast – something all parties had signed up to.
As Heffron's wife, Fiona, reflected on her husband's future, the two men responsible for keeping peace in the North went running to mammy. Peter Robinson and Martin McGuinness tugged at the governments' apron strings and Gordon Brown and Brian Cowen doled out the sticking plasters and Savlon. There was also a flash of the wooden spoon and 'daddy' America was phoned at work. This was a soap opera – with the same old risible plotline and characters. It was another show of the pathetic, self-important nonsense we're used to from the North's politicians.
While Heffron's mutilated body was being nursed in hospital, McGuinness and Robinson were bickering over 'points of principle'. Time wasted over 'points of principle' is time given to malcontents like those who attacked Heffron. It creates disillusion and breeds more recruits for their pointless 'cause'. There is no time for 'points of principle' while the bombers are regrouping. The DUP and SF were playing politics with people's lives. The former Chuckle Brothers have become the Bare Knuckle Brothers.
Jim Allister of the TUV hit the target when he said that the DUP and the Shinners can't even get their act together over the education system. Why, he asked, give them even more power? His observation appeared to be reinforced by their play-acting for the cameras.
There is now major concern that this pantomime will be staged every time there's a hiccup in the peace process. The Knuckle Brothers must stop throwing shapes and start governing. The alternative is a slide back into the past.
It's only 12 years since the celebration of the Good Friday agreement was rocked by the Omagh bombing. Twelve years since 29 people were blown apart. The era of paramilitary barbarism was only yesterday in our island's long history.
It's only five years since the GAA lifted Rule 21 which banned policemen like Heffron from playing gaelic games. It's only 17 years since the lifting of Section 31, which outlawed the broadcasting of Sinn Féin voices. It's only 26 years since a Loyalist mob invaded Clontibret, Co Monaghan. A mob led by Peter Robinson.
The past is still very close.
Our Taoiseach's involvement in last week's mess highlights how important the North's stability is to the Republic. Peace has brought both jurisdictions closer together. The cross-border traffic we witness at Christmas is testament to the eased relationship.
The lessons learned over 40 years make it harder to understand attacks like those on Heffron. They also make it harder to understand last week's time-wasting.
The histrionics at Hillsborough did him a huge disservice. He has paid his price for peace. It's now up to the North's leaders to honour his sacrifice and start behaving like statesmen rather than sulky local politicians.
Robinson said of the Heffron outrage: "Those who perpetrate such attacks will not succeed in returning Northern Ireland to the dark days of the past." Maybe not, but squabbling politicians like himself and McGuinness might.
In the meantime, Peadar Heffron's pain, like Gay O'Brien's archive footage, is a reminder that the dark days 'haven't gone away' yet.
His GAA-playing days are over, but Heffron is an all-Ireland hero in the truest sense of the phrase.
dkenny@tribune.ie
January 31, 2010
"This man is a true hero." Gay O'Brien blushed as my father gushed about his bravery. "He filmed Derry in 1968." It was October 1979 and I was 12. I hadn't a clue what the old man was on about. Filming a city sounded acutely boring. Nonetheless, I shook Gay's hand and made all the right noises.
Afterwards, my father explained that 'Derry' had been a watershed in the north's history. Civil Rights activists and elected representatives had been baton-charged by the RUC on the city's Duke Street while making a peaceful protest. O'Brien filmed the officers going berserk and his RTÉ footage was shown around the world. Finally, outsiders saw the RUC for what it was: a brutal, sectarian organisation.
O'Brien had put personal safety aside and stood his ground in the face of savagery. My father was right to embarrass him: he was a hero.
PSNI officer, Peadar Heffron is a hero too. Not for his exploits as captain of the PSNI GAA team or his championing of Irish in the Queen's constabulary. Not even for surviving a dissident Republican bomb earlier this month – he was a hero long before that. Heffron is a hero because he, too, stood his ground despite threats. He answered the call to create a new North and joined the PSNI. He took his Catholic Irishness into what many still see as enemy territory to dilute the force's old RUC reputation.
His decision to do this is a measure of how far this island has come since O'Brien filmed events in Derry. His payment for that decision was an amputated leg and multiple horrific injuries. Last week, Heffron regained consciousness to the sound of squabbling at Hillsborough. The DUP and Sinn Féin were head-butting each other again over the devolution of policing from London to Belfast – something all parties had signed up to.
As Heffron's wife, Fiona, reflected on her husband's future, the two men responsible for keeping peace in the North went running to mammy. Peter Robinson and Martin McGuinness tugged at the governments' apron strings and Gordon Brown and Brian Cowen doled out the sticking plasters and Savlon. There was also a flash of the wooden spoon and 'daddy' America was phoned at work. This was a soap opera – with the same old risible plotline and characters. It was another show of the pathetic, self-important nonsense we're used to from the North's politicians.
While Heffron's mutilated body was being nursed in hospital, McGuinness and Robinson were bickering over 'points of principle'. Time wasted over 'points of principle' is time given to malcontents like those who attacked Heffron. It creates disillusion and breeds more recruits for their pointless 'cause'. There is no time for 'points of principle' while the bombers are regrouping. The DUP and SF were playing politics with people's lives. The former Chuckle Brothers have become the Bare Knuckle Brothers.
Jim Allister of the TUV hit the target when he said that the DUP and the Shinners can't even get their act together over the education system. Why, he asked, give them even more power? His observation appeared to be reinforced by their play-acting for the cameras.
There is now major concern that this pantomime will be staged every time there's a hiccup in the peace process. The Knuckle Brothers must stop throwing shapes and start governing. The alternative is a slide back into the past.
It's only 12 years since the celebration of the Good Friday agreement was rocked by the Omagh bombing. Twelve years since 29 people were blown apart. The era of paramilitary barbarism was only yesterday in our island's long history.
It's only five years since the GAA lifted Rule 21 which banned policemen like Heffron from playing gaelic games. It's only 17 years since the lifting of Section 31, which outlawed the broadcasting of Sinn Féin voices. It's only 26 years since a Loyalist mob invaded Clontibret, Co Monaghan. A mob led by Peter Robinson.
The past is still very close.
Our Taoiseach's involvement in last week's mess highlights how important the North's stability is to the Republic. Peace has brought both jurisdictions closer together. The cross-border traffic we witness at Christmas is testament to the eased relationship.
The lessons learned over 40 years make it harder to understand attacks like those on Heffron. They also make it harder to understand last week's time-wasting.
The histrionics at Hillsborough did him a huge disservice. He has paid his price for peace. It's now up to the North's leaders to honour his sacrifice and start behaving like statesmen rather than sulky local politicians.
Robinson said of the Heffron outrage: "Those who perpetrate such attacks will not succeed in returning Northern Ireland to the dark days of the past." Maybe not, but squabbling politicians like himself and McGuinness might.
In the meantime, Peadar Heffron's pain, like Gay O'Brien's archive footage, is a reminder that the dark days 'haven't gone away' yet.
His GAA-playing days are over, but Heffron is an all-Ireland hero in the truest sense of the phrase.
dkenny@tribune.ie
January 31, 2010
Why public will gobble Gormley's Greens at election
Sunday Tribune 24 January
There's a new 'green' in town. Last week, farmers unveiled the first new vegetable in 10 years. It's called the 'flower sprout' and is a weird-looking kale hybrid that veggie heads hope will give the maligned Brussels sprout an image makeover.
News of the flower sprout's arrival broke on the same day that another green vegetable was being boiled in public. Like the sprout, Green Party leader John Gormley is hugely unpopular and leaves a noxious odour behind him. On Wednesday, Pat Kenny turned the heat up on his defence of the government's whitewash of the banking crisis. Gormley said he welcomed the Commission of Inquiry, which will save key political figures a public grilling. (End of cookery puns.)
Just in case there's any confusion: this was the same Gormley who demanded a FULL PUBLIC inquiry. This was the same Gormley who pointedly didn't attend the Dáil announcement last Tuesday. His colleagues stayed away too.
Even by Gormley's usual hypocritical standards, his performance was off the scale. He hid behind buzzwords like 'scoping'. What's scoping? Is it some unpleasant medical procedure we get to inflict on the bankers? No. Scoping means drawing up the terms of reference for the inquiry… four months from now. The commission will begin in July and a document will be delivered next year – three years after the crisis began. Gormley didn't get the public inquiry he wanted. He got a delaying tactic.
He told Pat he couldn't understand why people were "dissing" the commission. (It nearly rhymed. "Yo! Don't you be dissin'… mah co-mish-on..."). Memo to gangsta rapper Gormley: people are "dissing" it because they want to see the architects of their misfortune dragged through the streets. They want revenge. He knows this despite his protestations.
They don't want a party with no integrity left propping up another one that had no integrity to begin with. Since signing up with Fianna Fáil, the Greens have compromised on every major principle they stood for. Before entering government, they supported the Shell to Sea movement, the halting of US military planes landing at Shannon and the re-routing of the M3.
Today, Eamon Ryan is in charge of the Corrib gas project and military flights still stop at Shannon. The latter is a classic example of the Greens being duped by a Fianna Fáil stalling tactic. In 2008, the government was forced to set up a cabinet committee to review the searching of suspected CIA rendition flights. Last week, Amnesty's Colm O'Gorman recalled Ciaran Cuffe happily endorsing it. Two years on, the committee has only met twice and there is still no review. There's a lesson to be learned in that.
Tara is the greatest betrayal of all, with Gormley steamrolling the M3 through the historic valley, despite the international outcry. His defence of this vandalism is even more galling when you consider that the M3 tolls are going to a multinational for the next 40 years. When there is a shortfall in usage the Irish taxpayer will make up the difference.
Now there is another archaeological flashpoint on the horizon. Plans were announced last week for a bypass at Slane, 500m from the edge of the Newbridge world monument. Who wants this vandal in charge when the fight begins over this?
Even in a business as devoid of conscience as politics, Gormley stands out as a man missing the shame gene. He was very misleading on Prime Time about the sourcing of extra grit/salt during the freeze.
He knows the banking inquiry is buying time for Brian Cowen. He also knows that the Toxic Trinity of banker, builder and politician is still with us. Two weeks ago, housing minister Michael Finneran said there were up to 140,000 unoccupied houses around the country. The construction industry suggested 40,000.
However, a study carried out at NUI Maynooth concluded there are 302,000: enough to satisfy demand for years to come. That's bad news for the construction industry – and the government if it has been spinning figures to suit its building buddies. Here is the physical proof that Ireland was deliberately over-developed by the Toxic Trinity.
Next month, the third member of that trinity, the bankers, will start throwing people out of their homes as the repossession moratorium comes to an end. This is as good a reason as any for Gormley to have forced Fianna Fáil's hand over the banks.
By his own lights he had the power to demand a full public inquiry. In 2008, he ran into problems with the EU over his plans to ban incandescent light bulbs. His spokesman said those problems could be over-ridden by EU legislation. Why couldn't Gormley have applied similar logic to the banking inquiry? If legislation is hindering you, find a way around it or change it. As with everything else, he sold out to stay in. He betrayed us, just as he betrayed our heritage. He has proven again that he believes in power at all costs.
His inquiry is a con job. Like the flower sprout, it's an illusion. A sprout is still a sprout no matter how you dress it up. A whitewash is still a whitewash.
The only consolation is – come election time – Gormley is one green the public will really enjoy getting their teeth into.
dkenny@tribune.ie
January 24, 2010
There's a new 'green' in town. Last week, farmers unveiled the first new vegetable in 10 years. It's called the 'flower sprout' and is a weird-looking kale hybrid that veggie heads hope will give the maligned Brussels sprout an image makeover.
News of the flower sprout's arrival broke on the same day that another green vegetable was being boiled in public. Like the sprout, Green Party leader John Gormley is hugely unpopular and leaves a noxious odour behind him. On Wednesday, Pat Kenny turned the heat up on his defence of the government's whitewash of the banking crisis. Gormley said he welcomed the Commission of Inquiry, which will save key political figures a public grilling. (End of cookery puns.)
Just in case there's any confusion: this was the same Gormley who demanded a FULL PUBLIC inquiry. This was the same Gormley who pointedly didn't attend the Dáil announcement last Tuesday. His colleagues stayed away too.
Even by Gormley's usual hypocritical standards, his performance was off the scale. He hid behind buzzwords like 'scoping'. What's scoping? Is it some unpleasant medical procedure we get to inflict on the bankers? No. Scoping means drawing up the terms of reference for the inquiry… four months from now. The commission will begin in July and a document will be delivered next year – three years after the crisis began. Gormley didn't get the public inquiry he wanted. He got a delaying tactic.
He told Pat he couldn't understand why people were "dissing" the commission. (It nearly rhymed. "Yo! Don't you be dissin'… mah co-mish-on..."). Memo to gangsta rapper Gormley: people are "dissing" it because they want to see the architects of their misfortune dragged through the streets. They want revenge. He knows this despite his protestations.
They don't want a party with no integrity left propping up another one that had no integrity to begin with. Since signing up with Fianna Fáil, the Greens have compromised on every major principle they stood for. Before entering government, they supported the Shell to Sea movement, the halting of US military planes landing at Shannon and the re-routing of the M3.
Today, Eamon Ryan is in charge of the Corrib gas project and military flights still stop at Shannon. The latter is a classic example of the Greens being duped by a Fianna Fáil stalling tactic. In 2008, the government was forced to set up a cabinet committee to review the searching of suspected CIA rendition flights. Last week, Amnesty's Colm O'Gorman recalled Ciaran Cuffe happily endorsing it. Two years on, the committee has only met twice and there is still no review. There's a lesson to be learned in that.
Tara is the greatest betrayal of all, with Gormley steamrolling the M3 through the historic valley, despite the international outcry. His defence of this vandalism is even more galling when you consider that the M3 tolls are going to a multinational for the next 40 years. When there is a shortfall in usage the Irish taxpayer will make up the difference.
Now there is another archaeological flashpoint on the horizon. Plans were announced last week for a bypass at Slane, 500m from the edge of the Newbridge world monument. Who wants this vandal in charge when the fight begins over this?
Even in a business as devoid of conscience as politics, Gormley stands out as a man missing the shame gene. He was very misleading on Prime Time about the sourcing of extra grit/salt during the freeze.
He knows the banking inquiry is buying time for Brian Cowen. He also knows that the Toxic Trinity of banker, builder and politician is still with us. Two weeks ago, housing minister Michael Finneran said there were up to 140,000 unoccupied houses around the country. The construction industry suggested 40,000.
However, a study carried out at NUI Maynooth concluded there are 302,000: enough to satisfy demand for years to come. That's bad news for the construction industry – and the government if it has been spinning figures to suit its building buddies. Here is the physical proof that Ireland was deliberately over-developed by the Toxic Trinity.
Next month, the third member of that trinity, the bankers, will start throwing people out of their homes as the repossession moratorium comes to an end. This is as good a reason as any for Gormley to have forced Fianna Fáil's hand over the banks.
By his own lights he had the power to demand a full public inquiry. In 2008, he ran into problems with the EU over his plans to ban incandescent light bulbs. His spokesman said those problems could be over-ridden by EU legislation. Why couldn't Gormley have applied similar logic to the banking inquiry? If legislation is hindering you, find a way around it or change it. As with everything else, he sold out to stay in. He betrayed us, just as he betrayed our heritage. He has proven again that he believes in power at all costs.
His inquiry is a con job. Like the flower sprout, it's an illusion. A sprout is still a sprout no matter how you dress it up. A whitewash is still a whitewash.
The only consolation is – come election time – Gormley is one green the public will really enjoy getting their teeth into.
dkenny@tribune.ie
January 24, 2010
The Boat That Rocks
Sunday Tribune 17 January, 2010
Did I ever tell you I once skated from England to Spain? Then took a break for some rock-climbing at Gibraltar? Oh, and I surfed from there to Rome?" It would be an interesting conversation-stopper to hit the grandkids with. And technically it would be true. The Independence of The Seas has an ice rink, rock-face and surfing deck included in its many amenities – and I mean many amenities.
The second largest cruise ship in the world is a staggering sight, with its 15 passenger decks and towering funnel. If it was turned on its bow, it would be taller than the Eiffel Tower. Not that you'd want to see it turned on its bow. Remember Titanic?
It's so massive that our main concern was whether it would swallow us up. Would it be so colossal and impersonal that our fortnight would be spent endlessly queuing? Could it manage 4,000 passengers and still have room for the finer touches?
The first hint of an answer came when we noticed that the day of the week was printed on the carpets in the lifts. Why bother? We found out the reason later in the week.
We were booked into a third-deck Ocean View state room which had a wide, fixed porthole at the bed head. The Balcony rooms above are airier but being able to prop your pillow against the porthole and watch the waves below wasn't a bad trade-off. There's adequate storage, a compact bathroom, a minibar and TV. You won't use the latter though. There's too much to see.
We went for a ramble on deck. It was a grey day but the bright blues and yellows of the pool, and the pinks and oranges of the cocktails, gave Southampton an almost tropical feel.
Drinks in hand we leaned on the handrail as the Isle of Wight drifted away and… nearly leaped overboard when the ship's horn sounded. The Independence's klaxon, like the rest of the ship, is CAPITAL LETTERS throughout. It bellows: 'LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!'
Rattled, we headed to the top of the ship to see the sporting facilities. Above us, helmeted passengers picked their way up a man-made rockface several thousand miles high (43ft). Others ran about in the hockey and basketball courts. A few teenagers queued for the FlowRider – a wave simulator for deck-top surfboarding. It packs a punch and watching cocky teenagers being flung about by the force of its water was excellent entertainment. We bravely opted for mini-golf instead.
The sea air builds up a great appetite, which is good as there's food everywhere. There are 10 eateries to choose from and even a self-service frozen yoghurt machine by the pools. Above it, there's a running track. If you want to annoy smug joggers, place your sun lounger across it and sit there licking your ice cream. I did.
One of the worries about cruising is that you'll be stuck sharing a table with a stranger who picks their teeth or won't stop talking at you. The main dining area also has just two sittings (6.30pm and 8.45pm), which may not suit, either. The plus side is that the food here is excellent and elegantly served. There are alternatives, however. The vast Windjammer and Jade buffets serve food almost all around the clock. This is heaven, with everything from roasts to veggie meals, Asian, pizzas, fruit, burgers and salads.
There is also the excellent, if formal, Portofino Italian restaurant and Chops Grille and Johnny Rocket's diner which all have a surcharge.
We opted for My Time Dining, which meant we could book a table for two at any time in the main restaurant. To do this, you will have to agree in advance to pay your tips (see panel), but we felt it was worth it.
There's no shortage of after-dinner entertainment. The live shows in the 1,200-seat theatre are Broadway quality, if you like that sort of thing. There's also a casino, movies, live game shows and ice-skating performances.
There are 14 bars, featuring various forms of live entertainment from the excellent Schooners and Bolero music lounges to a not-so-excellent 'English Pub' called the Dog and Badger. This is in the centre of the ship on the Royal Promenade, which is a 'main street' with cafes, wine bars shops, boutiques and souvenir market stalls.
The patrons of the D and B sat outside it as if they were on their hols in Fuengirola. Now, I'm not a snob me, but… actually I am a snob. I can't understand why anyone would go on a cruise and spend it below deck in a mock 'pub'.
As the ship sails from Southampton it's understandable that a lot of the entertainment is geared towards the English, but it got a bit grating after a while. One Union-Jacked, 'Knees Up Muvver Brahhhhnnnn' night on the Promenade was so 'geezer-ish' we ran screeching to our cabin. A Norwegian couple we later befriended asked us if they had wandered onto the set of EastEnders.
From Southampton we travelled to Vigo in north Spain, Lisbon, Cadiz, Cagliari then on to Italy taking in Rome, Florence and Pisa, back to Cannes and Gibraltar and then home.
There is a drawback with cruising on a ship this size. If you like to explore then this is not the ideal way to do it as time is tight at each destination. This is more of a 'tasting menu' cruise than a slap-up European meal.
It's actually tempting just to stay on board – there's so much to do that the ship is a 'destination' in its own right. Sports, gaming, line-dancing classes, quizzes, seminars... Best of all, there's lying by the pool eating ice cream.
Parents can happily dispose of their offspring (not overboard, that's not allowed) in the kid's amusement centre and not see them for two weeks, if they like. There is a water park, the H2O Zone, and the activities rota will make their little heads spin.
Once they're out of the way you're free to have a quiet drink or go a few rounds in the gym's boxing ring with your spouse. Alternatively, you can just sit still and watch the sun go down over north Africa on a balmy evening, while distant forest fires light up the sky over Spain, as we did. (We were celebrating a significant anniversary.)
We thoroughly enjoyed our time on the Independence, which is skippered by the affable Teo Strazicic – a gifted artist in his spare time. He and his staff have turned an extraordinary vessel into an organic, living one. All the finer details are taken care of, right down to the 'weekday' carpets in the lifts. Remember them? As time progresses you get so relaxed you lose track of the days. It's a subtle touch, but…
If you want an alternative holiday, scything through the waves in five-star luxury, then this is highly recommended. It's particularly well-suited for groups of friends or families.
Be aware though, with increased discounting, cruising may be losing its 'exclusivity', if that's what you're looking for.
Was the Independence of the Seas too big and impersonal? Definitely not. It felt a lot smaller as I hauled myself down the gangway – but then I was a lot bigger. I blame all those ice creams by the pool.
Tipping
The work ethos on board the Independence is American and therefore tipping is expected. This is a source of annoyance for many non-Yanks. Last year Royal Caribbean said staff received far less tips when British passengers were on board.
The company is looking at addressing the issue for the Southampton run.
Whatever you feel about it, the staff work extremely hard and depend on their tips. Allow €11.50 per passenger, including children, per day for cabin and restaurant staff. 15% is automatically added to drinks. Booze isn't cheap, so be careful.
Sunday Tribune 17 January, 2010
Did I ever tell you I once skated from England to Spain? Then took a break for some rock-climbing at Gibraltar? Oh, and I surfed from there to Rome?" It would be an interesting conversation-stopper to hit the grandkids with. And technically it would be true. The Independence of The Seas has an ice rink, rock-face and surfing deck included in its many amenities – and I mean many amenities.
The second largest cruise ship in the world is a staggering sight, with its 15 passenger decks and towering funnel. If it was turned on its bow, it would be taller than the Eiffel Tower. Not that you'd want to see it turned on its bow. Remember Titanic?
It's so massive that our main concern was whether it would swallow us up. Would it be so colossal and impersonal that our fortnight would be spent endlessly queuing? Could it manage 4,000 passengers and still have room for the finer touches?
The first hint of an answer came when we noticed that the day of the week was printed on the carpets in the lifts. Why bother? We found out the reason later in the week.
We were booked into a third-deck Ocean View state room which had a wide, fixed porthole at the bed head. The Balcony rooms above are airier but being able to prop your pillow against the porthole and watch the waves below wasn't a bad trade-off. There's adequate storage, a compact bathroom, a minibar and TV. You won't use the latter though. There's too much to see.
We went for a ramble on deck. It was a grey day but the bright blues and yellows of the pool, and the pinks and oranges of the cocktails, gave Southampton an almost tropical feel.
Drinks in hand we leaned on the handrail as the Isle of Wight drifted away and… nearly leaped overboard when the ship's horn sounded. The Independence's klaxon, like the rest of the ship, is CAPITAL LETTERS throughout. It bellows: 'LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!'
Rattled, we headed to the top of the ship to see the sporting facilities. Above us, helmeted passengers picked their way up a man-made rockface several thousand miles high (43ft). Others ran about in the hockey and basketball courts. A few teenagers queued for the FlowRider – a wave simulator for deck-top surfboarding. It packs a punch and watching cocky teenagers being flung about by the force of its water was excellent entertainment. We bravely opted for mini-golf instead.
The sea air builds up a great appetite, which is good as there's food everywhere. There are 10 eateries to choose from and even a self-service frozen yoghurt machine by the pools. Above it, there's a running track. If you want to annoy smug joggers, place your sun lounger across it and sit there licking your ice cream. I did.
One of the worries about cruising is that you'll be stuck sharing a table with a stranger who picks their teeth or won't stop talking at you. The main dining area also has just two sittings (6.30pm and 8.45pm), which may not suit, either. The plus side is that the food here is excellent and elegantly served. There are alternatives, however. The vast Windjammer and Jade buffets serve food almost all around the clock. This is heaven, with everything from roasts to veggie meals, Asian, pizzas, fruit, burgers and salads.
There is also the excellent, if formal, Portofino Italian restaurant and Chops Grille and Johnny Rocket's diner which all have a surcharge.
We opted for My Time Dining, which meant we could book a table for two at any time in the main restaurant. To do this, you will have to agree in advance to pay your tips (see panel), but we felt it was worth it.
There's no shortage of after-dinner entertainment. The live shows in the 1,200-seat theatre are Broadway quality, if you like that sort of thing. There's also a casino, movies, live game shows and ice-skating performances.
There are 14 bars, featuring various forms of live entertainment from the excellent Schooners and Bolero music lounges to a not-so-excellent 'English Pub' called the Dog and Badger. This is in the centre of the ship on the Royal Promenade, which is a 'main street' with cafes, wine bars shops, boutiques and souvenir market stalls.
The patrons of the D and B sat outside it as if they were on their hols in Fuengirola. Now, I'm not a snob me, but… actually I am a snob. I can't understand why anyone would go on a cruise and spend it below deck in a mock 'pub'.
As the ship sails from Southampton it's understandable that a lot of the entertainment is geared towards the English, but it got a bit grating after a while. One Union-Jacked, 'Knees Up Muvver Brahhhhnnnn' night on the Promenade was so 'geezer-ish' we ran screeching to our cabin. A Norwegian couple we later befriended asked us if they had wandered onto the set of EastEnders.
From Southampton we travelled to Vigo in north Spain, Lisbon, Cadiz, Cagliari then on to Italy taking in Rome, Florence and Pisa, back to Cannes and Gibraltar and then home.
There is a drawback with cruising on a ship this size. If you like to explore then this is not the ideal way to do it as time is tight at each destination. This is more of a 'tasting menu' cruise than a slap-up European meal.
It's actually tempting just to stay on board – there's so much to do that the ship is a 'destination' in its own right. Sports, gaming, line-dancing classes, quizzes, seminars... Best of all, there's lying by the pool eating ice cream.
Parents can happily dispose of their offspring (not overboard, that's not allowed) in the kid's amusement centre and not see them for two weeks, if they like. There is a water park, the H2O Zone, and the activities rota will make their little heads spin.
Once they're out of the way you're free to have a quiet drink or go a few rounds in the gym's boxing ring with your spouse. Alternatively, you can just sit still and watch the sun go down over north Africa on a balmy evening, while distant forest fires light up the sky over Spain, as we did. (We were celebrating a significant anniversary.)
We thoroughly enjoyed our time on the Independence, which is skippered by the affable Teo Strazicic – a gifted artist in his spare time. He and his staff have turned an extraordinary vessel into an organic, living one. All the finer details are taken care of, right down to the 'weekday' carpets in the lifts. Remember them? As time progresses you get so relaxed you lose track of the days. It's a subtle touch, but…
If you want an alternative holiday, scything through the waves in five-star luxury, then this is highly recommended. It's particularly well-suited for groups of friends or families.
Be aware though, with increased discounting, cruising may be losing its 'exclusivity', if that's what you're looking for.
Was the Independence of the Seas too big and impersonal? Definitely not. It felt a lot smaller as I hauled myself down the gangway – but then I was a lot bigger. I blame all those ice creams by the pool.
Tipping
The work ethos on board the Independence is American and therefore tipping is expected. This is a source of annoyance for many non-Yanks. Last year Royal Caribbean said staff received far less tips when British passengers were on board.
The company is looking at addressing the issue for the Southampton run.
Whatever you feel about it, the staff work extremely hard and depend on their tips. Allow €11.50 per passenger, including children, per day for cabin and restaurant staff. 15% is automatically added to drinks. Booze isn't cheap, so be careful.
How my battle with weight nearly consumed me
Sunday Tribune 17 January 2010
It's relentless. A flier has just dropped onto the mat advertising something called 'Salsa Slims'. I've put it with the other ads for Crunch Fatness and Blobwatchers 'Lose Weight, Slim Down – you fat bastard!' programmes. Under the litter tray.
It seems our lives are run on a marketing man's calendar. Christmas parties are advertised in summer, the festive season starts at Hallowe'en. January sales begin in December and summer holidays are advertised in January. These are sandwiched between new year's plugs for nicotine patches and fad diets.
The latter ads are the most galling. You're urged to eat everything in sight over Christmas, then, a week later, the same marketeers are tut-tutting at the weight you've put on. "You've had Christmas, now PURGE, fatso. Get in shape." Whose shape? We're not all supposed to be the same shape. That's what makes us individuals.
As I type this, Gillian McKeith is haranguing someone on the TV. Angelina Jolie's weight loss is Grazia's cover story and the annoying Kerry Katona is battling the bulge in Closer magazine. Last week, Michael Flatley was pictured holding in his tum on the beach under the headline 'Flatley has pull-in power'.
There's an endless media barrage to make us believe in some standardised shape for a happy life. It's not just women that buy into this rubbish. Men do too, although they won't admit it. The Flatley picture is a perfect example of the hypocrisy surrounding weight issues. Whereas it's not okay to poke fun at a woman's physique, it's acceptable to slag off a man's. It doesn't bother us. Well actually, it does.
Seven years ago, constant comments/jokes led me to become obsessed with my weight.
It started out as a mild midlife crisis. Looking through some holiday snaps, I barely recognised myself. I saw a balding, fat man. My hair had started receding, but I wasn't really fat. I was 13 and a half stone, which for 5' 10" is fine. I've always had a skinny frame and when I put on weight it goes on my chin and stomach. This can make me look a lot heavier than I am. People started joking about my 'porkiness'. My confidence went through the floor.
At the same time, we started looking to buy a house. Mortgage, impending baldness and obesity: I was becoming middle-aged. I started a bastardised version of the Atkins diet: cutting out all fatty foods and carbohydrates. I ate only twice a day: lunch was a tray of ham and dinner was grilled chicken breast with veg.
I exercised like mad. In three weeks I had lost a stone. The diet was boring but my confidence was returning. I worked harder and cut down my food intake. Meals were snack-sized. I was becoming obsessed with dieting and exercising.
Food became a nuisance and, really foolishly, I started smoking again. This speeded up my weight loss. My appetite went entirely and my weight plummeted.
I was so wrapped up in dieting, I couldn't see how gaunt I had become. For the record, I wasn't anorexic or bulimic – just very stupid.
In 10 weeks, my weight had dropped to nine and a half stone. I couldn't sleep at night as I kept cramping up. I felt nauseous and exhausted and paranoid about putting my weight back on. I couldn't eat.
As I had no fat left to burn, my body had started eating muscle tissue. My legs and arms were like rope. Walking became uncomfortable as my legs felt as if they were always on the verge of buckling. Even sitting down on my boney butt was uncomfortable.
I got so skinny that my wedding ring kept slipping down my finger. People told me how terrible I looked, just as they had when I was chubby. That was a great help to my self-confidence.
I came back from holiday and saw another person in the pictures: with hollow cheeks and ribs poking through.
My nutritionist sister finally got through to me when she told me the heart is a muscle and I was probably damaging mine. It was a battle to get back to a reasonable weight as my stomach had shrunk. A year and a half after starting my diet I was back to 11 stone.
Since then, I've been around the 11 and half stone mark although my chin might suggest otherwise. I don't care any more. After having been through the (tread)mill I realise that's just my body shape. There are more important things to worry about.
The media's pressure to lose weight is cynical and profit-driven. And hypocritical: last year Kate Moss was castigated for saying "nothing tastes better than skinny" by the same magazines pressuring young women to lose weight.
I know I'm open to ridicule for writing this piece, but there are thousands of men who are vulnerable to that pressure too, and won't admit it. It's estimated that one in five anorexics is male – the number is believed to be rising. There's no shame in talking about it.
A third of us will break our new year's diet resolutions over the next fortnight. For some, that may not be such a bad thing.
To hell with weight fascism – here's to the Fatkins diet.
dkenny@tribune.ie
January 17, 2010
It's relentless. A flier has just dropped onto the mat advertising something called 'Salsa Slims'. I've put it with the other ads for Crunch Fatness and Blobwatchers 'Lose Weight, Slim Down – you fat bastard!' programmes. Under the litter tray.
It seems our lives are run on a marketing man's calendar. Christmas parties are advertised in summer, the festive season starts at Hallowe'en. January sales begin in December and summer holidays are advertised in January. These are sandwiched between new year's plugs for nicotine patches and fad diets.
The latter ads are the most galling. You're urged to eat everything in sight over Christmas, then, a week later, the same marketeers are tut-tutting at the weight you've put on. "You've had Christmas, now PURGE, fatso. Get in shape." Whose shape? We're not all supposed to be the same shape. That's what makes us individuals.
As I type this, Gillian McKeith is haranguing someone on the TV. Angelina Jolie's weight loss is Grazia's cover story and the annoying Kerry Katona is battling the bulge in Closer magazine. Last week, Michael Flatley was pictured holding in his tum on the beach under the headline 'Flatley has pull-in power'.
There's an endless media barrage to make us believe in some standardised shape for a happy life. It's not just women that buy into this rubbish. Men do too, although they won't admit it. The Flatley picture is a perfect example of the hypocrisy surrounding weight issues. Whereas it's not okay to poke fun at a woman's physique, it's acceptable to slag off a man's. It doesn't bother us. Well actually, it does.
Seven years ago, constant comments/jokes led me to become obsessed with my weight.
It started out as a mild midlife crisis. Looking through some holiday snaps, I barely recognised myself. I saw a balding, fat man. My hair had started receding, but I wasn't really fat. I was 13 and a half stone, which for 5' 10" is fine. I've always had a skinny frame and when I put on weight it goes on my chin and stomach. This can make me look a lot heavier than I am. People started joking about my 'porkiness'. My confidence went through the floor.
At the same time, we started looking to buy a house. Mortgage, impending baldness and obesity: I was becoming middle-aged. I started a bastardised version of the Atkins diet: cutting out all fatty foods and carbohydrates. I ate only twice a day: lunch was a tray of ham and dinner was grilled chicken breast with veg.
I exercised like mad. In three weeks I had lost a stone. The diet was boring but my confidence was returning. I worked harder and cut down my food intake. Meals were snack-sized. I was becoming obsessed with dieting and exercising.
Food became a nuisance and, really foolishly, I started smoking again. This speeded up my weight loss. My appetite went entirely and my weight plummeted.
I was so wrapped up in dieting, I couldn't see how gaunt I had become. For the record, I wasn't anorexic or bulimic – just very stupid.
In 10 weeks, my weight had dropped to nine and a half stone. I couldn't sleep at night as I kept cramping up. I felt nauseous and exhausted and paranoid about putting my weight back on. I couldn't eat.
As I had no fat left to burn, my body had started eating muscle tissue. My legs and arms were like rope. Walking became uncomfortable as my legs felt as if they were always on the verge of buckling. Even sitting down on my boney butt was uncomfortable.
I got so skinny that my wedding ring kept slipping down my finger. People told me how terrible I looked, just as they had when I was chubby. That was a great help to my self-confidence.
I came back from holiday and saw another person in the pictures: with hollow cheeks and ribs poking through.
My nutritionist sister finally got through to me when she told me the heart is a muscle and I was probably damaging mine. It was a battle to get back to a reasonable weight as my stomach had shrunk. A year and a half after starting my diet I was back to 11 stone.
Since then, I've been around the 11 and half stone mark although my chin might suggest otherwise. I don't care any more. After having been through the (tread)mill I realise that's just my body shape. There are more important things to worry about.
The media's pressure to lose weight is cynical and profit-driven. And hypocritical: last year Kate Moss was castigated for saying "nothing tastes better than skinny" by the same magazines pressuring young women to lose weight.
I know I'm open to ridicule for writing this piece, but there are thousands of men who are vulnerable to that pressure too, and won't admit it. It's estimated that one in five anorexics is male – the number is believed to be rising. There's no shame in talking about it.
A third of us will break our new year's diet resolutions over the next fortnight. For some, that may not be such a bad thing.
To hell with weight fascism – here's to the Fatkins diet.
dkenny@tribune.ie
January 17, 2010
Illness hasn't turned Lenihan into Superman
Sunday Tribune 10 January 2010
Peter Robinson's lip trembled as he spoke about his pain. He looked like a man with a thousand Lambegs banging in his head. His voice faltered as he spoke of his wife's infidelity and suicide attempt last March. He would "get through this".
Gerry Adams' voiced trembled on Pat Kenny's show as he countered negative reaction to his revelations of childhood abuse. Like Robinson's, his story was very affecting. Here was a heart being bared. A heart we didn't necessarily know existed in the first place.
Brian Lenihan's voice was strong and clear as he told Sean O'Rourke about his cancer. The nation's heart crumpled to the floor.
The sound of the alpha male breaking has a distinctive resonance. The harder the exterior, the louder the crack. Alpha males are hard-wired not to show emotion and so we watch every gesture, listen to every syllable and wait for their humanity to break through. When it does it can be devastating. Robinson's 'snap' came with his wish for 2010 to be a "better year" and Adams' when he hinted he may have suffered abuse. Lenihan's came with his declaration that he would defeat cancer or be defeated by it.
The image of the stoic Irishman suppressing emotion always brings a lump to the collective throat. We become afflicted with a form of 'Irish amnesia' and forget his transgressions. We temporarily forget that Robinson's a bigot and Adams has blood on his hands.
The Irish 'nice' gene forces our emotions to over-ride our common sense. As we are incapable of doing anything by half measures, this frequently leads to national hysteria. Remember the Thierry Henry furore?
What I'm about to write next will anger many readers. I can't apologise for that. This amnesia and hysteria was evident in the response to Brian Lenihan's interview last week.
His words were inspirational and he reinforced my opinion that he is a decent, hardworking man. However, the public and press reaction went way over the top, even by Irish standards.
On Monday, Liveline buzzed with sympathetic callers. This is the same Liveline that has aired public-sector workers weeping over his cuts to their pay. The same forum for everyone with a gripe about his work as finance minister.
The following day the newspapers were full of unbridled praise for his undoubted courage. 'Braveheart Brian's battle cry lifts the country' yelled the Irish Independent, which also compared him to Winston Churchill.
The Daily Mail, not to be outdone, called him 'Superman'. He "has united the country". He is our "talisman". Superman? Talis-man? Oh, man.
Can we please stop for a reality check? Brian Lenihan is very ill and we all feel sorry for him and wish him well. However, his illness hasn't suddenly given him superhuman powers. He's still the same Brian Lenihan we criticised for setting up Nama. He's the same man who cut the price of booze while cutting carers' allowances. He's the same minister who axed medical cards for the elderly. The same man who crumbled to the bookies and rescinded his increase in gambling tax while levying the rest of us.
Now he is Superman? Get a grip.
It's time we stopped searching the skies for potential saviours. If we're not waiting for Our Lady to appear at Knock, we're handing an ill politician a cape with an S on it. We need to stop being misty-eyed and dreaming of superheroes. Lenihan is still the same finance minister he was when he delivered his budget.
We can admire him on a human level (and I do), but we must separate his private and political personas. We can't pull our punches as an electorate because we feel sorry for him. We must continue to lambaste him when he slips up – as he did over the carers' allowance.
That sounds harsh. It's not intended to be, but after last week's coverage some balance is needed. I hope Lenihan will understand what I mean by that.
He told the opposition not to give him an easy ride in the Dáil: to leave the kid gloves at home. The citizens of this state must leave the gloves off, too. Lenihan has shown himself to be a pragmatist over the past 14 months. He's been on a learning curve and it's not unreasonable to suggest that he sometimes heeds us when we shout. He admitted his mistake over medical cards, for example. He needs our voices to guide him as much he needs the opposition's.
His illness should not cloud our judgement of his decisions. When he is being grilled on RTÉ, the temptation to think "ah, ease up on him, he's not well" should be resisted.
Something similar can be said of Robinson and Adams. While feeling sympathy for them, we must also realise that their alpha male confessions were damage limitation exercises. Robinson spoke in advance of BBC revelations about his wife's murky financial affairs. Adams has been accused of lying about his alleged paedophile brother's relationship with Sinn Féin. Lenihan's confession had no hidden agenda. The only damage he can hope to limit is to his health. He is a fine man and deserves our unstinting sympathy in a balanced, measured way.
His recovery should be wished and prayed for… but it shouldn't overshadow the recovery of our nation.
dkenny@tribune.ie
January 10, 2010
Peter Robinson's lip trembled as he spoke about his pain. He looked like a man with a thousand Lambegs banging in his head. His voice faltered as he spoke of his wife's infidelity and suicide attempt last March. He would "get through this".
Gerry Adams' voiced trembled on Pat Kenny's show as he countered negative reaction to his revelations of childhood abuse. Like Robinson's, his story was very affecting. Here was a heart being bared. A heart we didn't necessarily know existed in the first place.
Brian Lenihan's voice was strong and clear as he told Sean O'Rourke about his cancer. The nation's heart crumpled to the floor.
The sound of the alpha male breaking has a distinctive resonance. The harder the exterior, the louder the crack. Alpha males are hard-wired not to show emotion and so we watch every gesture, listen to every syllable and wait for their humanity to break through. When it does it can be devastating. Robinson's 'snap' came with his wish for 2010 to be a "better year" and Adams' when he hinted he may have suffered abuse. Lenihan's came with his declaration that he would defeat cancer or be defeated by it.
The image of the stoic Irishman suppressing emotion always brings a lump to the collective throat. We become afflicted with a form of 'Irish amnesia' and forget his transgressions. We temporarily forget that Robinson's a bigot and Adams has blood on his hands.
The Irish 'nice' gene forces our emotions to over-ride our common sense. As we are incapable of doing anything by half measures, this frequently leads to national hysteria. Remember the Thierry Henry furore?
What I'm about to write next will anger many readers. I can't apologise for that. This amnesia and hysteria was evident in the response to Brian Lenihan's interview last week.
His words were inspirational and he reinforced my opinion that he is a decent, hardworking man. However, the public and press reaction went way over the top, even by Irish standards.
On Monday, Liveline buzzed with sympathetic callers. This is the same Liveline that has aired public-sector workers weeping over his cuts to their pay. The same forum for everyone with a gripe about his work as finance minister.
The following day the newspapers were full of unbridled praise for his undoubted courage. 'Braveheart Brian's battle cry lifts the country' yelled the Irish Independent, which also compared him to Winston Churchill.
The Daily Mail, not to be outdone, called him 'Superman'. He "has united the country". He is our "talisman". Superman? Talis-man? Oh, man.
Can we please stop for a reality check? Brian Lenihan is very ill and we all feel sorry for him and wish him well. However, his illness hasn't suddenly given him superhuman powers. He's still the same Brian Lenihan we criticised for setting up Nama. He's the same man who cut the price of booze while cutting carers' allowances. He's the same minister who axed medical cards for the elderly. The same man who crumbled to the bookies and rescinded his increase in gambling tax while levying the rest of us.
Now he is Superman? Get a grip.
It's time we stopped searching the skies for potential saviours. If we're not waiting for Our Lady to appear at Knock, we're handing an ill politician a cape with an S on it. We need to stop being misty-eyed and dreaming of superheroes. Lenihan is still the same finance minister he was when he delivered his budget.
We can admire him on a human level (and I do), but we must separate his private and political personas. We can't pull our punches as an electorate because we feel sorry for him. We must continue to lambaste him when he slips up – as he did over the carers' allowance.
That sounds harsh. It's not intended to be, but after last week's coverage some balance is needed. I hope Lenihan will understand what I mean by that.
He told the opposition not to give him an easy ride in the Dáil: to leave the kid gloves at home. The citizens of this state must leave the gloves off, too. Lenihan has shown himself to be a pragmatist over the past 14 months. He's been on a learning curve and it's not unreasonable to suggest that he sometimes heeds us when we shout. He admitted his mistake over medical cards, for example. He needs our voices to guide him as much he needs the opposition's.
His illness should not cloud our judgement of his decisions. When he is being grilled on RTÉ, the temptation to think "ah, ease up on him, he's not well" should be resisted.
Something similar can be said of Robinson and Adams. While feeling sympathy for them, we must also realise that their alpha male confessions were damage limitation exercises. Robinson spoke in advance of BBC revelations about his wife's murky financial affairs. Adams has been accused of lying about his alleged paedophile brother's relationship with Sinn Féin. Lenihan's confession had no hidden agenda. The only damage he can hope to limit is to his health. He is a fine man and deserves our unstinting sympathy in a balanced, measured way.
His recovery should be wished and prayed for… but it shouldn't overshadow the recovery of our nation.
dkenny@tribune.ie
January 10, 2010
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