WHOSE LIABLE?

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I spoke to a man a while ago who was worried that his house was going to be repossessed by the bank. In an attempt to see a silver lining on that cloud his friend suggested that at least he wouldn’t have to worry about the property tax if it happened.

That got me thinking though. You must pay the property tax on any property you own, right? But when you take out a mortgage you do not technically own the property until the money is paid back to the bank, right? I mean look at the guy under threat of losing his if you don’t believe me. Until the day you have the deeds of the property in your hot little mitts and not a penny is owed on it, it isn’t yours. Until then, the bank retains the deeds as their own.

So who owns the place in reality and therefore who is liable for the property tax? If the bank re-possesses yer man’s house, will they, (the bank), have to pay the property tax on it until they dispose of it? By extension then, should the bank be paying your property tax until the mortgage is cleared?

I’m just saying ……….

Moving Miracle

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It's a miracle I saw it

Thirty years ago we had a phenomenon here in Cork when it was suggested that a statue of the 'Virgin Mary' in a grotto near Kinsale was moving. I kid you not!

Reports had people witnessing a stone alabaster statue appearing to be in motion. Now, no one suggested that she lifted her skirts and made off for a decent boozer or anything but the chanting hoards that flocked to the place to pray ran into their thousands. It made headlines all over the world at the time. Naturally the Catholic Church itself wasn't too enthusiastic about it and the senior collars in that organization were keen to play it all down. But the breast-beating rosary-bead brigade were not being put off by that. They had a real happening on their hands.

Back then, as it happens, I ran a business servicing the marine industry through the Port of Cork and had occasion to take a Dutch sea-Captain to dinner in Kinsale. On our way home, this happy bundle of a man, asked if we could swing past the moving statue to see what all the fuss was about. The grotto was on the right hand side of the road and the field on the other side was black with people. It was night time so the whole place was lit up around the statue itself by lighting that had been rigged up.

Bold as you like, I parked beside it and no-one said anything to me. The Dutchman got out to have a closer look and I joined him. Now, you can call me what you like but to me at that moment, the damned thing appeared to be moving. I swear to God! But it was on a height above us so I couldn't be absolutely sure even with 20/20 vision at the time. Then I saw that I could make my way up to it at one side so over the railings I went and climbed up until I was close enough to reach out and touch it.

Guess what? It was still moving! The motion was gentle but easily discernable. The movement was above the waist of the statue and the head looked like it was slowly nodding so I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I reached out and touched the cold stone. It felt solid and static. I watched and touched for about ten minutes before making my way back down to my dinner companion. He was giggling happily because he thought we Irish were strange and quaint anyway. When I told him what I saw, I shot down in his estimation.

But, here's the thing, what exactly does it mean? OK, so I saw something that shouldn't move sway a bit but what is that supposed to make me think. I am not what is called a good Catholic though I do try to be a good Christian. But that alone does not enlighten me one bit as to what effect this moving statue was supposed to have on me. I just wasn't moved by the experience.

As an aside, an old nun came scampering out of the field to grab my arm before I got back into the car. "You saw it, didn't you?" the sad wrinkled face asked. I shrugged and said I did and then she hit me with the bitter punchline. "Only bloody non-believers do!"

Now I did find that particular exchange moving!

TIPPLED

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The Demon Drink

Recently some very weighty medical voices have been stridently bellowing that we Irish have a drink problem and I must say, I have to agree with them. The problem is the ridiculous price of the stuff here.

You can't get a decent bottle of plonk now for under a tenner and that, to my mind, is extortion plain and simple. An acceptable table wine should be available at three yo-yo's or less and a good Merlot, which you might roll appreciatively around the palate, should be a tenner tops. In a moldy old Arab shop in Paris last year I got a peach of a bottle of red for a single euro and the owner was delighted with the sale too.

But of course, the high and mighty are not complaining about price because that is immaterial to their wallets. They spit out the word beer as if it were a corked wine and we all know these types wouldn't be seen dead having a pint. However, they reluctantly admit that a thimble of beer a month is inside safe levels of consumption. Fuck that for a game of soldiers. Where beer is concerned I subscribe to the notion that the first one has a taste of more off it and we all know that it is bad luck to put the cork back on the wine bottle. 

Having said that however, I concede there are some who really do have a problem when it comes to drink. But my theory is that the problem exists already, whatever it is, and the addition of drink only fuels the problem to the surface. That thought brings me to the motivation to drink alcohol. My son in his early twenties tells me his age-group drink to get seriously pissed. They lace into shorts one after another even before they go out for the night. Something more exotic might even get smoked or snorted and by then they're in the mood to shout and dance, and apparently, it is still only 7.00pm.

The word intoxication comes from the latin 'toxicare' or toxic. Alcohol in its pure form is toxic and too much gives you toxic poisoning. If you've ever had a hangover then you know what I mean. You've poisoned your blood stream. But prior to poisoning you have the period of losing control of your faculties or behaviour. That is the reason, I believe, why some people merely drink to get drunk. There is a core unhappiness in the psyche that needs to be smothered temporarily. It is an escape mechanism used to avoid a pain felt when sober. That pain might be a low self-worth, a lack of confidence or something else entirely. The drink is only the tool of escapism.

I don't know about you but I actually like the taste of beer and wine, (in separate glasses naturally). Recently I discovered a draught beer from a micro-brewery here in Cork called "Friar Weiss," and it is a dream beer. You savour every drop rather than hosing it down the hatch. The place that sells it does a sandwich that tastes of everything you like and put the two of them together and the view of the ocean from their back windows and you have a recipe to sit and chat pleasantly for an afternoon. 

I tried tequila twice and the second time I went rubber-numb from the waist down and had to be carried out. The top half of me was coherently telling jokes at the time I tried to stand up and that was just plain weird. I suspect that Tequila makes your ankles pissed. But I'll chance a whiskey in an Irish coffee after dinner and I used to like red rum on cold days. However the feeling of dizzy-drunk is repulsive to me and that leads me to the idea of drunk, what it is and why it is attractive.

We have lots of names for it because drunk is not a single state or thing. There are degrees of drunk from mild buzz right through to unconscious and everything in between. An old friend visits my local pub with me once a month and for five hours and over many pints, we make sense of our lives together. It is talking only with no TV or radio or anything else to interrupt the communication of ideas and thoughts. It is therapy for both and the alcohol and the pub facilitates it.

We forget too that a public house is the opposite of a private house. You wouldn't meet five or six of your mates in your own front room unless you live in the snowy wastes of Canada and the nearest pub is a hundred miles away. The pub in Ireland is an institution for meeting and socializing with friends. It is not what we are but a reflection of what we like. The pub comforts us and the beer loosens us. We become convivial and happy even if it is only for a short while. We all have responsibilities and worries and they'll still be there in the morning regardless. We know that, but what we're saying is, will you just fuck off for a couple of hours and leave me alone to enjoy myself because I don't get out half enough. And while I'm at it, what's it to you?

The way the medical profession has begun lecturing us from their high moral ground about everything we do is grating on the nerves. Knowing we don't have much money and a night out must be planned and budgeted for, they now demand that Government put the price of a few pints beyond us. What the average doctor charges for five minutes in his or her clinic would give me two good nights out in any week. 

So my conclusion is that the drink problem in Ireland is due to Doctors. They'd drive you to drink!!

Up The Poll

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Have you ever been approached by a polling company looking for your views on anything? It is an important question because these polls can influence legislation all over the place. We have RedC and MRBI asking respondents questions and the answers can determine National events and public thinking.

Though the numbers polled can be as little as five hundred to a thousand the research companies involved claim high levels of accuracy in their findings. However, it is not unknown in a given week for one of them to report one thing and the other to report the direct opposite. How's that for accuracy?

AIMRO (The Association of Irish Market Research Organisations),  advises that for a properly conducted scientific national poll, a minimum sample of 1000 interviews is required and 500 interviews for a published local area poll. They waffle on about the scientific methods they use, the neutral phrasing of questions and the right gender mix in both sex and age of the respondents. There are dark hints that it is pointless to use anyone but their members as well. To which I can only say, they would wouldn't they.

Among their cautions too is a warning of what they call, 'funding bias.' He who pays the piper in other words gets to choose the tune. Interestingly, the Irish Cancer Society and the Irish Heart Foundation regularly pay these people for polls with predictable results too. Apparently we smokers would like the price of a packet of fags raised to €50.00 to ahem, 'encourage' us to quit. Shit like that gets national coverage and is followed by calls to Government to get on with it and raise the price because that's what the public want, even if they don't know it. It's an empty charade and a pack of lies but is used as a justification to persecute smokers.

I have complained elsewhere that none of us got to vote for the initial smoking ban that started the rot. Would you have voted to put aging smokers out on a cold winter's night? You see it depends on the question asked. Nobody asked any questions though it just got rushed through the Dail and one day, "WHOOSH" ……. if you lit a fag in the boozer you could be fined €3,000.

But eight years after the ban was introduced, someone did finally ask the Irish people directly. In September 2012 the Journal.ie did ask when they posed their readers the question, "Ireland’s citizens were not given a vote on the smoking ban that was introduced in 2004 so we want to know: How would you have voted?" Was anyone interested enough to vote? Was it a respectable landslide in favour of the workplace ban on smoking?  Were the medical profession, the ahem, 'charities' and the Government correct when they told us there was overwhelming support for the ban?

Well, nearly five thousand people voted that day in the Journal, (4,888 to be exact) and that response is five times the accepted level for a National Poll. But while that's surprising, what truly shocked was that only thirty-seven per cent of them were in favor of the ban. A whopping fifty-two per cent were dead against it. I was stunned because even I had begun to believe the lies we were spun. We were told then too that smokers formed nearly a third of the population at the time and if so, that poll is back to front. Surely every non-smoker wanted to see the smokers banished. But they didn't apparently. Have a look yourself if you don't believe me.

I will come back to the theme of smoking several times on this new site but this poll on the topic raises the question of democracy more so than the right to smoke. Our Health Minister at the time, Michael Martin, just bullied and bluffed this ban  through and appears to have got away with it. But it is far from over. As a wise old man said to me at the time, the ban is just a politically correct fad and it will pass because people will always be people. One bad major war somewhere and we'll all be down the pub smoking and drinking and worrying if we are going to be bombed to oblivion tomorrow. Meanwhile, the pompous narrow-minded, curtain-sniffers will sit at home that night and just fret about us instead of the war.

" Just you wait 'enry 'iggins!"