Cars have personality

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Cars often evoke happy memories in me. I started driving back in 1974 and like all of you, I was and am a great driver! (arf, arf.)

My brother was ten years older than me and he had a love/hate relationship with cars – he loved driving them and just hated crashing them all the time. You see, Michael was a very fast driver and a pretty heavy drinker too. One morning he gave me the thrill-seeker ride into school and, at one point, we had to stop at traffic lights. Facing us on the far side was a Jaguar XJ12, a growling steel beast straight from a young boy’s wet dreams. I was goggle-eyed.

Spotting this my brother said casually, “See the Jag?” and I mumbled awe-struck that I did. “See the guy in it?” and I shifted my gaze to the fat balding man in pinstripe peeping up from behind the steering wheel. I mumbled that I did. Then Michael delivered one of life’s great lessons to me. “He doesn’t see you.”
It says a lot that I understood perfectly what he meant when he said that at fifteen years of age. The great and the good just don’t see us and there is an inherent snobbery in car ownership.

I started with a Mini, moved to an Escort, onto a Renault 6 and from there to a Renault 16. A series of new vans came along courtesy of self-employment and a Rover 3500 was bought from the profits of same. Business closure saw me back in van in gainful employment and then the GTI showed up outside my door. There were Toyotas and Cortinas in the mix as well before a family sized Opel Omega Estate parked its brown bulk outside the new home. A new job then brought another Omega with it and then some big Saabs before the brutish 5-series BMW.

Going right back to the mini, each and every single motor has memories, mostly good. I had one crash when I was twenty-one and didn’t have another until well into my fifties and that was when I reversed into a parked car. For many years I was clocking up 1,000 – 1,200 miles a week so I reckon I did damned well to avoid the claim forms for so long. But those two accidents aside, all of the cherished memories are good. When I think of happy memories now going back over thirty years, some car took me there and got me back. Some of the happy memories even took place inside the car up dark country lanes at night too.

Over time I will write about some of these because many are hilarious and some even thought-provoking. For now though when I think back to those cars I owned I visualize the personalities of each one of them because to me, they all had a personality.

Did you ever have a car with a personality?

Should we be in the EU?

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While the UK are at least debating this, we in Ireland are not even thinking about it.

Back in 1974/75 I met an old German on holiday here. He asked me if I supported joining the then EEC and he took the time to explain to this Irish teenager what it was about. “We rich Germans will give you Irish money so that you can buy yourselves a Mercedes Benz,” was how he summarized it.

Our price to join though was high. We had to give away our fertile under-used fishing grounds all around the coastline to factory ships from France, Spain and Portugal. In return, our agricultural industry, (our biggest indigenous exporter), was subsidized not to produce foods. We had butter mountains and wine lakes to falsely inflate the price of produce.

Money did flow from Europe for key projects like motorways and light rail. Even then though, we had recessions in the seventies, eighties and into the nineties. But our saving grace was that we had our own currency, the Irish Punt. When times got tough we always devalued the punt and this had the duel effect that Irish citizens didn’t buy too many foreign goods but on the flip side, our exports soared because they seemed cheap and we got much needed foreign currency in return.

The switch from a trading block of sovereign nations to a United States of Europe, (the E.U.) was where it went pear-shaped. That move required a common currency and we lost our Punt. To make that move, all that was required was for our snake-oil politicians to pass it in the Dail and they had every intention of so doing. But a teacher up country took a court action against them stating that as it changed our constitution, it required a vote of the people to make the change. There were two EU treaties therefore we got to vote on, the Maastricht Treaty and the Lisbon Treaty, and we voted NO to both of them, (in case you have forgotten). Guess what? We were sent back to vote again with dire threats ringing in our ears.

That was the time I believe that we ceased to be a democracy. We became instead, a plutocracy where all of us became slaves to our political masters. The Irish electorate had spoken but were overruled by the Irish Government. Dress it up any way you like but that’s what happened. At the time of the subsequent bank crash I wrote a letter to the three main broadsheets with my theory about all of this. I had a deep suspicion about the motives of our politicians.

Sir/Madam,

In light of the actions and activities of the Government and their banking buddies, many people are calling for investigations, resignations and punishments for those responsible for the mess we find ourselves in. These calls appear to be rebuffed or just ignored by those in authority. They continue to attack the poor and the middle-classes while still looking after themselves and their friends. Short of a bloody revolution, it’s hard to see anything changing soon.

It’s also hard to understand their lack of remorse, their refusal to account for it all and take responsibility, and worst of all, to see them strut around like peacocks, bloated by their own self importance. Then I discovered what a “sociopath” is.

A sociopath will normally have a conventional appearance, so they do not stand out visually. But then the definition becomes interesting. They are glib and superficial, are manipulative and cunning, have a grandiose sense of self, are pathological liars, they lack remorse, shame and guilt and they suffer from shallow emotions. But it gets better. They are callous and lack empathy, they are irresponsible and unreliable, they lead a parasitic lifestyle, they do not perceive that there is anything wrong with them, they are secretive, paranoid and authoritarian and they have an over riding need to find victims. They have an emotional need to justify their disgraceful deeds so they actually need the victim’s affirmation, respect, gratitude and love. How sick is all that ? Does any of it ring any bells for you ? Are they alarm bells by any chance?

The first 166 names you come up with will probably be the same as mine. It would be an ironic laugh if it wasn’t for the fact that sociopathy is a mental illness that needs treatment. You would not let sociopaths take control of their own cars, much less a bank or a country. Perhaps instead of calling for convictions and imprisonment for our betters, we might show them a little sympathy and instead have them all consigned to a mental home, for their own good and ours,

John Mallon
Cork.

For the benefit of foreign readers, we have 166 elected representatives in our Parliament. That letter was written over seven years ago and it is as valid today as it was then. So maybe the question should be changed from ‘Should we be in the EU’ to ‘Did sociopaths take us into it in the first place?’

And where does that leave the European Parliament as regards sociopaths?

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!