Christmas. Or Not

You know how it is you watch tv ’til your eyes glaze and it seems every few seconds you think ‘why is there never anything worth watching on tv at Christmas’ because there isn’t there used to be old Hollywood B films about Jesus maybe some of those are still shown but I didn’t notice any this year. My favourite was one of those All Star films I can’t remember the name of the film but I do remember the unmistakable voice of John Wayne saying “This is truly the Son of God” right at the end as Jesus lay on the cross. Oh dear.

That was then. Today we have so many options hundreds of tv channels, the internet and social media, my the professional trolls have their work cut out for them at Christmas time.

This year by way of a change I wandered over to You Tube to have a look at some clips of bursting cysts and abscess I’ve been taking an increased interest in puss since I was informed an abscess on my pancreas had burst and caused septicemia and other complications. Is there puss in internal abscess and if there is where does it go because if all that gunge leaks into the blood stream its amazing anyone including me survives such poisoning. Yuk! So there I was stuck on puss and gore when I just happened to see, and who could miss it, a clip about serial killers.

Have you noticed serial killers have gone out of fashion in favour  it seems of mass killers of groups of innocent people. Isn’t that odd? It seems to me that from the seventies through to the nineties all we heard about was serial killers. Only think of them Gains, Gacy, Cottingham, Dahmer, Nilson, Sutcliffe and so on the list seemed endless. And then it stopped.

Now the big fear is mass killings the politically correct favourites are deranged white people killing black or anyone who is not white. The other biggie are the terrorist killings terrorists are not fussy who they kill so not as politically correct but in some ways the indifference and anonymity does add a frisson of if not fear perhaps anxiety.

I’m not interested in mass killers, oh I go through the motions of condemning them and their cause but I grew up with IRA terrorism and its not that I or anyone feels immune or indifferent but we do acclimatize and as bad as it is mass killings and terrorism are not personal or scary in the sense that you have to double check all the locks and bolts to try to feel safe.

Serial killers however are scary, they don’t seem to choose a victim based on looks although gender does seem to be important to many of them. Most serial killers seem to have things in common, they collect ‘trophies’ of their victims, they choose a particular type of person again not based on looks more on the kind of character or personality and no serial killer that I’ve heard of has ever said he or she didn’t know why they did it, they all knew! Even if it didn’t make sense to anyone but them.

Gacy surely didn’t need to bury more than twenty people under the crawl space in his home. If he did its a good thing he was American most British homes don’t have crawl spaces.

Gains seems to have had a bit of a thing about his mother but as far as I know no one knows for sure if he loved or hated her

Nilson and Dahmer both homosexual murdered young men some say it was to stop the men leaving but is that a good reason to chop someone up and eat bits? Does anyone know if they killed gay young men because they hated being gay or could it be because being young and gay doesn’t last longer than youth and they wanted to preserve the youthful attractiveness of their victims. Hmm

The same could be said of Cottingham and Sutcliffe who murdered women many of them prostitutes. Did they do it because young women grow into older women and they wanted to somehow stop the aging process?

All four appear to have been sexual sadists could that have been the real reason? Presumably a sexual sadist wants to cause as much pain as possible and if a victim is killed does that increase the sexual experience or stop it? I’m leaning toward stop it or at least an oops…..

I really don’t know much about serial killers nor do I want to know I’d hang the lot of them including the Russian guy who is said to have murdered more than fifty people.

All I know for now is that serial killers seem to have gone out of fashion.

Christmas Day

It is Christmas Day in the Workhouse,
And the cold bare walls are bright
With garlands of green and holly,
And the place is a pleasant sight:
For with clean-washed hands and faces,
In a long and hungry line
The paupers sit at the tables
For this is the hour they dine.
And the guardians and their ladies,
Although the wind is east,
Have come in their furs and wrappers,
To watch their charges feast;
To smile and be condescending,
Put pudding on pauper plates,
To be hosts at the workhouse banquet
They've paid for - with their rates.

Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly
With their 'Thank'ee kindly, mum's'
So long as they fill their stomachs,
What matter it whence it comes?
But one of the old men mutters,
And pushes his plate aside:
'Great God!' he cries; 'but it chokes me!
For this is the day she died.'

The guardians gazed in horror,
The master's face went white;
'Did a pauper refuse the pudding?'
Could their ears believe aright?
Then the ladies clutched their husbands,
Thinking the man would die,
Struck by a bolt, or something,
By the outraged One on high.

But the pauper sat for a moment,
Then rose 'mid a silence grim,
For the others had ceased to chatter
And trembled in every limb.
He looked at the guardians' ladies,
Then, eyeing their lords, he said,
'I eat not the food of villains
Whose hands are foul and red:

'Whose victims cry for vengeance
From their dank, unhallowed graves.'
'He's drunk!' said the workhouse master,
'Or else he's mad and raves.'
'Not drunk or mad,' cried the pauper,
'But only a hunted beast,
Who, torn by the hounds and mangled,
Declines the vulture's feast.

'Keep your hands off me, curse you!
Hear me right out to the end.
You come here to see how paupers
The season of Christmas spend.
You come here to watch us feeding,
As they watch the captured beast.
Hear why a penniless pauper
Spits on your paltry feast.

'Do you think I will take your bounty,
And let you smile and think
You're doing a noble action
With the parish's meat and drink?
Where's my wife, you traitors -
The poor old wife you slew?
Yes, by the God above us,
My Nance was killed by you!

'Last winter my wife lay dying,
Starved in a filthy den;
I had never been to the parish, -
I came to the parish then.
I swallowed my pride in coming,
For, ere the ruin came,
I held up my head as a trader,
And I bore a spotless name.

'I came to the parish, craving
Break for a starving wife,
Bread for the woman who'd loved me
Through fifty years of life;
And what do you think they told me,
Mocking my awful grief?
That 'the House' was open to us,
But they wouldn't give 'out relief.'

'I slunk to the filthy alley -
'Twas a cold, raw Christmas eve -
And the bakers' shops were open,
Tempting a man to thieve;
But I clenched my fists together,
Holding my head awry,
So I came to her empty-handed
And mournfully told her why.

'Then I told her 'the House' was open;
She had heard of the ways of that,
For her bloodless cheeks went crimson,
And up in her rags she sat,
Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John,
We've never had one apart;
I think I can bear the hunger, -
The other would break my heart.'

'All through that eve I watched her,
Holding her hand in mine,
Praying the Lord, and weeping,
Till my lips were salt as brine.
I asked her once if she hungered,
And as she answered 'No,'
The moon shone in at the window
Set in a wreath of snow.

'Then the room was bathed in glory,
And I saw in my darling's eyes
The far-away look of wonder
That comes when the spirit flies;
And her lips were parched and parted,
And her reason came and went,
For she raved of our home in Devon,
Where our happiest years were spent.

'And the accents long forgotten,
Came back to the tongue once more,
For she talked like the country lassie
I woo'd by the Devon shore.
Then she rose to her feet and trembled,
And fell on the rags and moaned,
And, 'Give me a crust - I'm famished -
For the love of God!' she groaned.

'I rushed from the room like a madman,
And flew to the workhouse gate,
Crying, 'Food for a dying woman!'
And the answer came, 'Too late.'
They drove me away with curses;
Then I fought with a dog in the street,
And tore from the mongrel's clutches
A crust he was trying to eat.

'Back, through the filthy by-lanes!
Back, through the trampled slush!
Up to the crazy garret,
Wrapped in an awful hush.
My heart sank down at the threshold,
And I paused with a sudden thrill,
For there in the silv'ry moonlight
My Nance lay, cold and still.

'Up to the blackened ceiling
The sunken eyes were cast -
I knew on those lips all bloodless
My name had been the last;
She'd called for her absent husband -
O God! had I but known! -
Had called in vain, and in anguish
Had died in that den - alone.

'Yes, there, in a land of plenty,
Lay a loving woman dead,
Cruelly starved and murdered
For a loaf of the parish bread.
At yonder gate, last Christmas,
I craved for a human life.
You, who would feast us paupers,
What of my murdered wife!

'There, get ye gone to your dinners;
Don't mind me in the least;
Think of the happy paupers
Eating your Christmas feast;
And when you recount their blessings
In your smug parochial way,
Say what you did for me, too,
Only last Christmas Day.' 

George Robert Sims

Source:  http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christmas-day-in-the-workhouse/

The last resort of the desperate and as time wore on increasingly for the elderly and disabled. The last vestige of the poor laws disappeared in 1948. It may seem as if Workhouses belong in the ancient past but 1948 is less than a hundred years. Not so long ago at all.

Its that Time Again and I know I'm Lucky to be Alive

Have a wonderful Christmas

Me? I'm really not in the mood..

What is it

I don't remember ever feeling depressed at Christmas I'm not even sure if I feel depressed now. I feel exhausted, angry and very upset but are they the same as depression? I don't think so.

I'm always tired, and I've been always tired for at least a couple of years. I literally have to force myself to do anything and so I do very little.

Is feeling tired to do with having been ill? Probably but if it is its a peripheral thing I should be getting on with things and I'm not or only ever the bare essentials and only at the last minute.

People can give themselves all the excuses they like it doesn't alter what was done and it doesn't change or help the future.

This & That

I tried telling myself I could leave it 'til later but its Christmas how much later is allowed? Not enough is the answer. I walked into town and frankly on a dull, grey, blustery day its a boring walk not one redeeming feature.

Oh well, once in town it did get a bit better I went into the bank there wasn't a queue and this always brightens my mood. Not enough after all I am still in town but at least I don't have to queue for the privilege of paying in or taking out my own money, there is much to be said for keeping your wealth under the mattress or if there's a danger climbing into such a bed would be like climbing Mount Everest put it in a hay shed for who would ever look there.....

I really haven't kept up with whatever Mr Murphy has been doing in his spare time but and its just my opinion, I reckon you'd need oxygen to get to the top of E800,000.

Not the point! Tom Murphy did not get a fair trial. I don't care about excuses the state was the victim, the investigator, the prosecution, the judge and the jury and that no matter who is on trial is wrong.

I digress! I was in town never a pleasant experience for me and its hardly my fault if standing at the cash desk I couldn't help but notice that my balance is less than E800,000 by about E799,900 and the bank charges for what it is pleased to call its services. Huh! There's a lot to be said for hay sheds or in my case a sock...

However needs must and I hobbled off, hips giving me gyp, to do my shopping which I kept to a minimum because I wasn't in the mood, would you believe the people in the second shop I went into knew my name? They did. I don't know how they knew I don't know any of their names. Its not that they are unpleasant they're all very nice people but they know my name and I'd had enough. I went home.

Greville Janner

Has finally died. How relieved some of his friends and fellow paedophiles in the establishment must be.

In 1991 in a court case involving the notorious paedophile Frank Beck Janner was accused of sexually abusing a boy. He denied it and won. Following the trial Janner made a speech in parliament and received a standing ovation from fellow MPs. His friend and colleague Keith Vaz MP was so impressed he tried to get the law changed.

In 2009 Child Sexual Abuse was in the headlines again and thanks in large part to the power of the internet and the determination of victims and their supporters it was clear Child Sexual Abusers were being hunted as never before. The victims of paedophiles discovered they had more support than they had previously been aware of and they grew in number, strength and confidence.

In 2009 Greville Janner was found to be suffering from dementia. A Lasting Power of Attorney was issued and he put his assets out of reach. But however demented he was he didn't stop attending the House of Lords he appeared some 203 time after the diagnosis was made and was paid each time. The total being more than a £100,000 

Janner only stopped going to the House of Lords in December 2013 which is when sheer coincidence I'm sure...His home was searched by police who were apparently finally shamed into doing their job.

Janner spent years wriggling out of accusations of Child Sexual Abuse the last time being just a month or so ago when he was declared unfit to stand trial.

All of the victims of Lord Janner were young boys as many as twenty two are said to be suing him.

And now Greville Janner is dead.

Al Capone

Alphonse Gabriel Capone was leader of a mafia gang in Chicago. He was a notorious gangster and the equally notorious Chicago mayor and chief of police of the time did nothing to stop his reign.

In 1931 the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) failing to find evidence of any other crime prosecuted Al Capone for tax evasion. He was found guilty and sentenced to eleven years in prison. I've no idea what happened to the corrupt mayor or the equally corrupt police chief but I wouldn't be surprised to find they lived to respectable and very wealthy old age.

Thomas 'Slab' Murphy is alleged to be the chief of staff of the IRA Irish Republican Army (spit). We don't know this for sure because there's no evidence or even definite allegations which no doubt explains why Tom Murphy was charged with, of all things in Ireland: tax evasion.

You know what? Charges against both Capone and Murphy  were measly, cowardly and in the case of Ireland downright reeking of hypocrisy.

I'm no supporter of the IRA. I do believe in a united Ireland but I don't think its worth killing for. I think murdering people delays unity and increases the distrust and suspicion of both sides. And, I've no time for Tom Murphy either if the Irish government were to charge him with the murder of however many people I would fully support it but that's not what happened

Tom Murphy is a very powerful and at the moment still rich man, for all I know he may well have fiddled taxes and been involved with various other not quite legal money making enterprises that's not the point.

The point is Ireland went bankrupt because of the alleged corruption of various politicians, bankers and property developers and the Irish authorities full of righteous indignation charge one man apparently unconnected to AIB, NAMA or Bankers, with of all things tax evasion.

How many bankers have been charged, how many corrupt politicians took nice big brown envelopes padded with cash and how many property developers are sitting in luxury mansions free as a bird and not even questioned much less charged with any crime?

Whatever else he is Tom Murphy is not Al Capone. He is and has always been a loyal member of the poxy IRA. He had a major role in the peace negotiations indeed it could be said that without him there would have been no Good Friday or if you're Unionist Belfast agreement.

And he is charged and found guilty of tax evasion, and I find myself defending Tom 'Slab' Murphy. Not because I like him or the scumbags in the IRA. I just can't stand the eye watering hypocrisy of it. Because would you believe it it was a no jury also known as Diplock trial! So, the state charged someone with offences against the state and it was tried and judged by the state.

I've never been against Diplock trials I believe the proliferation of gangs means Diplock trials are likely to increase not decrease, but there's reason in all things and if anyone is to be charged with a crime against bureaucracy to have any credibility at all the trial must be by jury. 

You really could not make this shit up. Its not even fucking original.

What's in a Name?

Child Sexual Abuse is not the same as rape although obviously it includes rape but it also includes much more. Often its not a stranger and not in some alley or quiet street or park. Child Sexual Abuse (CSA) happens in places a child should feel safe: the home, school, clubs are places where some of the very people we should be able to trust fail so many children.

Late last evening I read something that angered me. It seems the governments much admired £4.85 million earmarked for victims of CSA didn't get to many actual CSA charities it went here and there much of it to Rape Crisis Groups and I have a problem with that.

As the figures were mentioned on Twitter a member or supporter of Rape Crisis appeared and said to the effect Why not, what's in a name?

There's a great deal in a name, most adult rapes fall into three or four categories 1) date rape 2) domestic abuse) 3) Someone we know 4) A stranger we encounter outside our home or a home invader. There are variations but those are the main groups rapists fall into. And, they have very little to do with CSA To deal with the trauma of CSA the treatment has to be far more in depth and specialised than that provided for victims of adult rape.

Child sexual abuse is more likely to be long term rather than a sudden abduction. Its more likely to be a family member, a close friend of the family or someone automatically respected by parents like a teacher or a coach. All rape involves emotional psychological and mental damage but in every case the harm done to children has to be much greater and longer lasting than the harm done to adults. Adults have much more experience of life and trust and much more sexual experience, maybe domestic abuse is the closest comparison but again its done to an adult by someone they know and have very much more experience of than a child possibly could. To me it seems the connection between CSA and adult rape is very thin and assuming such a connection could do more harm than good to the child victim even if the child victim is an adult when they receive counseling.

Rape Crisis Groups are good for women but are they as good even for men? How many men rape victims go to or even contact Rape Crisis groups the very name sounds female and whilst in time men may find it easier to talk to women about rape I believe it does take time.

For children it must be almost unimaginable to even consider rape crisis as an option. So I think names do matter and I think specialist professional CSA counselors should have got the bulk of the funding. I also think that the main reason child sexual abuse survivor groups didn't get the funding is a) controversy surrounding some groups and b) the good counseling groups won't necessarily toe the establishment line, why would they most were founded because of the lack of appropriate counseling and total lack of establishment support for CSA victims.

So for the most part the government have given a lot of money to established groups who they know will behave in a satisfactory manner which means stay within government guide lines and most important of all be the soul of discretion.

None of which is necessarily in the best interest of child victims.

I've said before that counseling irritates me much of it is new, lacks proper training and like so many charitable organisations almost all of it is money orientated. Not too long ago CSA was rarely if ever mentioned there seemed to be an unwritten law, a taboo about even admitting it happened. The first chink of light was I think the exposure of child abusing priests and nuns in the Roman Catholic Church in the USA and Ireland, slowly after that the floodgates began to open. At which point CSA became a subject of financial interest to some groups.

I think names matter specialist child sexual abuse counselors are essential, Money allocated for victims of child sexual abuse should only go to qualified professional specialist child sexual abuse counselors if not then yet again children will lose.

This is just my opinion and I'm no expert but I do think its an important subject because it maybe that this time not all the money allocated to victims of CSA has gone to them, much of it may well be used to provide counseling therapy for adult victims of rape which is in one way a good thing but in another more important way its very bad.

Its that Time Again

The gas arrived

So did the electricity bill

Its not the gas or the electric its that each time the gas is filled up and the electricity bill hits the carpet I'm reminded I've not gone and I'm not going anywhere yet.

I hate it.

It never fails to depress me. I should have been gone in July but ill health got in the way.

Now I don't know when and it feels like never.

Bloody bills, bloody house.

Bullying

Its in the press on TV and its everywhere on Social Media. Bullying and bullies the two top trendy words and possibly the most misunderstood subject ever.

It bothers me because by continually using the word to describe trivial events we devalue the meaning to such an extent it becomes a nothing almost meaningless and who ever suffers from anything that is almost meaningless?

Bullying is not one blog post or one insult  however wounding nor is it a squabble on Twitter or Facebook, all can cause great harm but neither are full on bullying which should lead us to ask: so what is bullying?

Here is a definition from Wikipedia

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bullying

Jump to Definitions - Bullying is the use of force, threat, or coercion to abuse, intimidate, or aggressively dominate others. The behavior is often repeated and habitual. One essential prerequisite is the perception, by the bully or by others, of an imbalance of social or physical power, which distinguishes bullying from conflict.
---

Bullying is never a one off argument between peers every living being grows up with and among arguments that's not bullying not even if you lose the argument.

Bullying is, whatever the experts say, long term. Its a form of character assassination and its a form of imposed servitude similar to slavery. You can run away from it for a time but you can't escape it. In the end you have to face it and deal with it.

The way we deal with bullying varies and can take years. Bullying can wreck our school years because school is not our own or even our parents choice so its impossible to escape the school environment. Its a case then of ducking and diving arriving at school first or last and hiding in cornersd during breaks.

Bullying can force us to move jobs to escape a bully who is impossible to deal with in many cases complaints don't seem to be considered important or relevant to work nothing could be further from the truth a bully will always find a victim and that must cause problems at work.

In some tragic cases the only escape for the victims can be suicide.  No one commits suicide because of a one off verbal or physical assault. The assault that leads to suicide is done over time, often involving others and always involving pain emotional and physical and both public and private humiliation.

The answer?

I really don't know. Oh, I know the obvious ones we all know those and we also know they don't always work, some schools seem willfully blind to bullying and some work places actually promote bullies because they see them as driven and driver of people and those firms also refuse to recognise the results of bullying.

Bullying is everywhere even maybe especially in communities the nasty gossip between neighbours and very often church goers because few bullies are worse than the pious, sanctimonious but oh so respectable church goer.

No, bullying is not a slanging match on Twitter or Facebook  although they have been known to be an extension of or start of bullying and neither Twitter or Facebook can end bullying that can only come from recognition outside the bulling crowd and from within the bullies.

Often a bully is a weak envious person almost anything they envy is a subconscious reason to hate someone, they see hurting their victim as a way of taking what they envy their victim for and with the advantage as they see it of affirming their own status and popularity within their peer group.

Ending bullying is not a simple or easy thing to do possibly the only way is to find out what is the bullies underlying problem because there will be at least one problem and if it can't be found the bully can't be stopped s/he can only be moved and wherever they go they will take the tendency with them.

In the end both bully and victim are in a shared pain but only by treating the bully can the pain be cured.

Not a Rant a Whine

It started fine I got there in plenty of time went to the hole in the wall and waited while the woman ahead of me did her thing. As she walked away I was about to put my card in when I noticed there was cash in the slot. Technically I know I should have taken it into the bank but I'd seen the woman just a second ago so on instinct I ran to the curb and called her. She turned looked at me and I said "Did you forget something?" The look on her face! I gave her the money and returned to the bank to get mine.

Technically I should have taken the money into the bank but if I had the woman might have had to wait until tomorrow or later to get her money and you never know that might have been all she had. It wasn't much and if it turns out I made a mistake I can replace the lost 20 euros without too much pain.

After that the trip was an up hill struggle. I saw the paedophiles employment agent aka mini cab driver and that pissed me off. It takes such control not to tell him exactly what I think of him the struggle wears me out.

In the end I didn't do much shopping I don't like the avaricious type of person and I don't like dismissive type of people it would be too easy for me to be the same and I don't see why if I can make an effort to be polite others cant.

Not a good trip it should have been I had a laugh in the second hand shop, gave the forgetful woman her money and did what I went to town to do except I didn't do even a half of it. I didn't have the heart. I did the barest minimum and went home.

All the Long, Long Day

Endoscopy EUS
Is an endoscopy examination combined with Ultra sound test.

First things First
I had an appointment at 10 am at St James Hospital in Dublin. Naturally I no sooner saw the address than I went into one. I  rang my local hospital, Mayo General in Castlebar and shrieked that it was impossible I couldn't leave my cats and dogs for so long, I couldn't get there in time and anyway I don't like Dublin. So there.

For some inexplicable reason Mayo General were unmoved the clinic insisted I go, they said Mayo General doesn't do Endoscopy EUS. So there!

I cried I really did I know its silly and if anyone is ever old enough to know better I am but I'm not one hundred percent fit and anyway I'm very fond of getting my own way and this time I couldn't, of course I was upset! I was spitting nails!

However in due course and let me tell you it took several hours I calmed down, made inquiries and after my usual dithering booked a cab, there really wasn't a lot choice, there is no as far as I know, quicker way to get to Dublin by 10 am there are buses one goes at 01.am and arrives at 5.30 am the other one goes at 5.30 am and arrives in Dublin at 10.30 am, neither are what you might call ideal and getting to town in the pitch black, freezing cold night is not ideal either.

So, at enormous expense I went by cab which involved leaving home at about 6.20 am and getting to St James in Dublin at 9.0 am (ish).

St James Hospital

Is huge. I bet it covers acres of Dublin and is the major employer in the area. Its also efficient and the staff are kind and empathic. As you might have noticed I do like St James Hospital.

I was taken into the Endoscopy department at about 10.30 am which is good for a hospital department that seemed packed to the gills. Once there I lay on a trolley type bed until the doctor was ready. I fell asleep.

A nurse woke me at about 12 and took me into the test area where still on the trolley I was told to get into the right position which apparently is lying on your left side. The staff seemed to take it for granted that I would have sedation I said "no" Well that's not quite right I asked what sedation involved and they said it meant I would need a responsible adult... and I would have to be driven home and watched for twenty four hours. I don't like being watched for five minutes. I said no sedation!

I must be honest this wasn't an heroic act or ignorant bravery I have had an endoscopy test before I know how gut wrenchingly awful it is but I also know it doesn't take long and if you don't have the anesthetic you can go home almost immediately and sulk at your own time and at your own leisure.

I had the test they tried to take my teeth off me but I held them in a tissue in my hand and refused to let go.

I did not kick the doctor or the nurse, which is a little, really quite minor, indiscretion I have been known to indulge in with doctors and dentists.  I was apart from my attachment to my teeth very well behaved I gagged on the truly appalling stuff they use to numb your throat and I gagged and gagged when they put the endoscopy tube down my throat I wasn't being difficult I defy anyone to cope with an alien object being shoved down their throat without gagging. A long way down the throat that is not the usual tickle the tonsils job at all.

The doctor twiddled with the tube moving it here and there and naturally I gagged at each move He and the nurse talked all the while mostly about nothing that interested me but  there was something about a gall stone moving He said passing but I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed if a gall stone passed me.

Afterward I had to wait for the numbness to wear off and for the doctor to come and talk to me. I was only slightly restless. I mean I know I kept looking at my watch and glaring at nurses but I didn't actually say anything well not for an hour or so, and then I asked one of the nurses how much longer I would have to wait because I did want to get back to Mayo that night and I had two cats and three dogs sitting with their legs crossed and one of the dogs, she who is a tiny little pain in the arse, can't be entirely trusted with anything least of all her own bladder.

Good News! I Hope

The doctor came to see me and he said he thinks my solitary gall stone passed but there looks to be something he called gristle. I don't know from gall stones I asked about my Pancreas and he said. He thought it looked the right size! No inflammation!!

I think I have to wait for the full diagnosis from my GP or the consultant at Mayo General but I'm smiling I do at this minute think its good news. Phew!

Going Home

Involved a long walk until I got fed up and got a bus to the bus station All day I had promised myself that I would get a MacDonalds and save it to heat in the microwave when I got home, and just as I was on the bus I saw a Burger King and a MacDonalds right next door to each other. I immediately decided to get one of each. I got up and the bus driver put his hand out and said "No, you're not there yet" And the bloody burgers shot out of sight! But not out of mind all the way home I was thinking of the burgers I didn't get.

I got to the bus station just after 3 pm and the bus home was due to leave at 4 pm. I relaxed, bought a Cajun Chicken sandwich a cup of tea and a packet of eclairs for the addict.

The bus was on time and full, so many people travelling its a bit shocking when you think many of them were going home from work. It must mean they have to do a four hour journey twice a day to earn a living and that's tragic and something any government should be ashamed of.

I got back to town at about 8 pm called a cab and was home giving the dogs and cats a run in the pitch black garden at 8.30 pm.

And that's it!

The whole story of my trip to Dublin, the Endoscopy test and yet again the total absence of burgers. But! I think its good news and I'm very grateful to the kind doctors, nurses and admin staff of St James Hospital Dublin who treated a recalcitrant and not always polite woman with courtesy, respect and kindness.

Living with Lies

Its not one case of emperors clothes the lies are naked and they are everywhere.

A Tory MP is said to be involved in selling, distributing ISIS oil and no doubt making yet another million. Is it front page news, does anyone care, has he resigned? It doesn't seem so, and as I write this post he has not.

Another Tory MP receives an email criticizing and insulting her  what does she do? Report it as abusive, send a reply to the author of the email giving him precise instructions as to where he can put his email? She does not. She adds a threat to kill her to the senders email, publishes it and, as anyone with a double digit IQ could have told her, is immediately caught. Does she resign, is she sacked? No she does not, and again not as far as I know.

A Labour MP, quite a senior one, publishes a threatening, insulting email he says he received but which on cursory examination appears to have been written by himself or by someone with access to his online account. Has he resigned? Of course not.

The chancellor of the exchequer is accused of consorting with prostitutes and taking drugs. His accuser publishes incriminating pictures and some more decidedly odd pictures are published including of him in the House of Commons. Does he resign, is he sacked? The answer is very straightforward NO and NO.

The Prime minister is said to have performed a sex act on a dead pigs head in order to be accepted into some dining club or other. Does he resign? He does NOT

A terrorist army called ISIS are committing mass murder and invading countries in the name of their god but we are told not to call them ISIS which is Islamic and we can't call Islamic State terrorists Islamic because it might offend Muslims. In the meantime ISIS not Daesh are continuing to rape and murder anyone who doesn't fit their opinion of the ideal Muslim.

On a lighter but no less irritating note some rubbish rag or other is doing its 'Woman of the Year' award and who is prominent among the nominations? None other than Caitlyn Jenner who as far as I know has not as yet completed the medical transformation of male to female. However anyone thinking the presence of dangly bits should prevent a) the nomination or b) any chance of winning is wrong. The dangly bits were still attached when earlier this year 'she' won another 'Woman of the Year' award.

We are not just ignoring hypocrisy we are wallowing in it, anyone unwise enough to object is condemned as racist, insulted unmercifully and held up as an object of ridicule.

I would just like to know when we sunk this low and how did we all manage to miss the total lack of oxygen?

Shopping up a Storm

I had to go I wanted to check the times of buses to Dublin and as I mentioned in a previous post I hadn’t done much shopping when I was in town on Monday, which is a bit by the by really because I didn’t do much shopping in town yesterday either. I didn’t even get light bulbs the main reason along with bus timetables that I went.

It was ferocious the wind roared contempt for Mayo, the rain had such force it stung as it landed and by about 3.30 pm the sun had had enough and done a runner for anywhere else.

I walked in which just proves I’m stronger than I look or feel. Being me I naturally wore suede shoes, they’re drying under a radiator the gods know when or if they will ever be fit to wear again. The wretched hood on my coat wouldn’t stay up it seemed to me the wind took an altogether unhealthy and unnatural interest in my hood tossing it off my head every time I pulled it up and dared to think I had secured it. I was soaked and the wind blew, the lights were vomit yellow and the rain came at you from every direction.

The first shop I went into was fine I bought an envelope and some stamps which is when I realised I had forgotten the sellotape I had so carefully left in a prominent place on the coffee table, so I wouldn’t forget you understand.

The shop assistant was lovely as we had a brief chat I mentioned to her that I had three or four rolls of sellotape from previous visits she handed me the big roll the shop owners use and told me to write the address at the little desk on the corner. I was very grateful and shot off to the desk, really its a table but desk sounds more efficient, and quickly wrote the address and sealed the envelope and that was just as well because would you believe the shop owner appeared grabbed the sellotape and ran off saying I could have it if I needed it again.

How fortunate that I didn’t. I went to the counter and apologised to the assistant who I suspect is a daughter in law for taking so long, less than five minutes, and being a nuisance. She laughed and said not to worry if only all their customers were as much of a nuisance!

Ahh, the fabled generosity of the Irish!

I am very discreet but I am also thoroughly pissed off with the fabled generosity of the Irish. Needless to say however if I ever do discover or am told something that requires discretion you my dear and cherished reader will never know.

In the meantime I have to get to Dublin by 10 am I’m reluctantly giving in to the idea an overnight stay will be required.

Did I mention I took my walking stick not because I limp but because I feel better knowing that if I need to I have something I can lean on. I didn’t need and frankly I’m jolly lucky I still have a walking stick. First I forgot and left it in a shop. I was waiting for a taxi home when I remembered it ran back to the shop  and saw it immediately. The shop assistant had put it in a prominent position so that even I couldn’t miss it and I was grateful, after that I held on to my cane all the while until I got out of the taxi at my door where I forgot all about it and left it in the cab. The very kind taxi driver brought it home to me later.

There is generosity in Ireland you find it in the strangers who stop what they’re doing to help you, who let you use their own sellotape rather than milking you for a whole roll. Its in the taxi driver lady who wouldn’t take any money for returning the walking stick which when you think about it is another whole fare, and its in the lady at the shop who placed the stick in a prominent position so that the forgetful, anxious, guilty owner would see it immediately and be reassured

Ireland is full of such unspoken and often I’m ashamed to say unnoticed generosity However pissed off I am with the fabled generosity of the Irish I do remember and appreciate the unconscious instinctive kindness of most of the people I’ve met.

Its Time

I have to go to Dublin I hate Dublin not more or less than other cities I hate London and all major cities. I’ve outgrown them is all.

So to have to go to Dublin is a very big deal, very upsetting. My initial reaction was to cancel the appointment but it is too close and realistically too important I have to know so I have to go and its very upsetting.

Trying to look on the bright side it maybe that this dreaded, hated trip is the catalyst I need to get a move on. Time stopped being on my side when I hit sixty which to be fair is when it stops being on anyone’s side.

Upset, fed up and unless I make a move closely followed by a decision it will only get worse and unsurprisingly my mood will deteriorate even further in response.

Is it all Smoke and Mirrors?

About six months ago those who follow child sexual abuse (CSA) time lines were alarmed to read that a prominent victim and supporter of victims of CSA had been taken ill, there were some tantalizingly vague tweets about her state of health and loads of good will messages. In time it was whispered to be  a failed suicide attempt but not to worry the crisis was over and the victim was feeling much better. All good healthy stuff. Or was it.

This past week there has been a kind of coup one forum of CSA victim supporters has recreated itself installed new members, dismissed its chairman and created a new one. It has apparently been a very nasty, hurtful process, and guess what? One of its leading movers and shakers is the poor woman who attempted suicide and who in shoving all opposition aside has shown the kind of ruthless streak few of us would have believed possible in one so wounded.

A failed suicide who apparently works whilst being on Twitter virtually 24/7 I’m impressed. Or I would be if I believed a word of it.

She may have attempted suicide how could I know? What can I say I can’t be sure she did or that she even wrote any tweets. I hope she is an intelligent, capable woman because I do believe she may be what the media love to refer to as a useful idiot.

She has made a number of allegations and on this I do believe her which doesn’t mean I believe the allegations will get as far as official charges never mind a trial. All too often allegations of child sexual abuse fail not because they are not true but because there is a lack of physical evidence. Its very sad for everyone and for the victims of child sexual abuse it must be agonising

Its a pity then that all the angst and suffering of the many genuine victims of child sexual abuse including her is added to by the apparently never ending hate fest going on between different factions of victims supporters groups on Twitter, maybe its someones shrill and silly idea to keep the subject in the public arena, but if it is its in grave danger of turning people against the real victims of child sexual abuse and I do sometimes wonder if that and other matters could be the real reasons.

One of the other matters is funding, there is a lot of money to be made supporting and counselling victims of abuse. Grants are available from local authority, government and public charities. In order to apply for grants you need to establish a group, you need counselors and most important of all you need victims.

The third reason maybe a need for some form of celebrity some people long to be famous and respected I think its a mistake to under estimate the need some people have to feel respected and even admired  I can think of few things more unhealthy to a recovering victim of CSA than to be burdened with the un-attained ambitions of another.

I’ve mentioned these subjects before both on blog and on Twitter I believe these silly and often contrived disputes endanger the whole search for justice for victims of child sexual abuse.

For now my sympathies are with the victims of the latest bout of undignified, unmerciful infighting. If, that is any of it is true.