Local Weather

real feel: 22°C
wind speed: 5 m/s S
sunrise: 6:23 am
sunset: 8:45 pm


Mikey Ryan – Mystery Of Vanishing Fairy Cakes

“I see ‘The Geezer’ McGrath sadly passed away last week”, said I to Mikey Ryan. We were both above in the Arch Bar, Liberty Square, Thurles today, sheltering once more from the suns dangerous ultraviolet (UV) rays, latter being emitted and targeting currently the town of Thurles here in Co. Tipperary.

The reason for my own stopover was merely to support Mikey, latter who had informed ‘Frau’ Ryan, his lesser half, that it was crucial that he watch the longest eclipse of this century, when the moon was set to line up with the earth and the sun on tomorrow, July 27th, 2018, to form a ‘Blood Moon’.

Somehow or other Mikey had managed to fully convinced ‘Frau’ Ryan that he needed to be there a day early, to be sure, as he said himself, “of getting a front row seat in the Lounge of the Arch Bar, near to any device that might be used to observe distant objects, their emissions or absorptions, and / or their reflection, if any, of expected electromagnetic radiation”.  Sure, like isn’t ‘a nod as good as a wink’ to a blind ass, if you know what I mean.

“Ah yes, the poor auld Geezer, decent enough auld skin”, said Mikey, “sure I worked with him, only once mind you, on the graveyard shift; when we painted over in Sweeney’s Bakery in Mitchell Street, in the late sixty’s”.

“Yes, those were the days; begob the smell of those fresh loaves of bread and sponge cakes coming out of the oven would do your heart good back then”, continued Mikey.

“I suppose they would throw you the odd auld loaf of ‘scab bread’ (A traditional Irish Batch Loaf) as a bonus; still warm from the oven, for your breakfast, when you were heading home?” said I.

“Sure Justin, the head man, was as mean as feckin dishwater”, said Mikey, “he wouldn’t give you so much as the steam of his, you know whatSure, over in the canteen he insisted that a fork be kept at all times in the sugar bowl”, continued Mikey.

“Begob yes”, said I, “sure I heard many a Thurles person state that they suspected that the once 7-sided 50 pence piece, was actually designed by him; to replace the old 10-shilling note; thus, making it easier to extract from a customer’s fist, using an adjustable Wrench”.

“You know, come to think of it, one of the reasons I only ever worked once with ‘The Geezer’ was because of a little episode in that bakery”, said Mikey. “I once managed to lift one of their Fairy Cakes, quickly concealing it in my overalls, without ever being spotted by head buck cat, Justin Fogarty, which believe you me was a major feat of ingenuity in itself “.

“On the other hand, according to ‘The Geezer’, who had spotted my manual dexterity; same action was just plain blatant thievery”, said Mikey. “Now, said ‘The Geezer’, let me show you how to do that honourably; while achieving a more moral, yet similar result; in this case not worthy of even a mention when I should next visit the confessional in the local Cathedral of The Assumption”.

“So, he calls over Justin”, said Mikey, ” Justin Fogarty, said he, do you want to see a piece of real magic, which I will only demonstrate once, said ‘The Geezer’, just one time and one time only”.

“Somewhat intrigued, Justin waltzes over, confident no doubt that any magic performed or trickery attempted by ‘The Geezer’ that day, he would and could easily interpret and explain to those employees assembled roundabout.   ‘The Geezer’ closed one eye, before reaching out and then in one swift movement he grabbed a fairy cake, hastily eating it, reducing it to a few tiny crumbs.”

According to Mikey, “That action will cost you 50 pence, said Justin, alarmed that his baker’s dozen had been drastically reduced to a standard twelve; before then asking the question, where was the feckin magic to be found in someone simply eating a Fairy Cake?”.

“Ah now, replied ‘The Geezer’, sure you thought I ate your miserable fairy cake, didn’t you, now you take a look in the pocket of Mikey Ryan’s overalls and you will see that my action was a mere optical illusion.”


Mikey Ryan Goes On African Safari

” You’re doing a lot of yawning, you must be tired”, said I to Mikey Ryan. We were both above in the Arch Bar, in Liberty Square last Thursday night; our mission to break one or two open and quench our uncontrollable thirst.

 “Sure nowadays, what with all this gender equality, yawning is about the only time a married man ever gets to open his mouth”, replied Mikey grinning. “No really I think it has something to do with this unusual sultry weather”, he continued, “sure if this keeps up, come next Lent, Thurles will feature on the front of the new Trocaire Box”.

“I cod you not Mikey” said I, “but out around Ballinahow, Borrisoleigh and the Two-Mile-Borris areas of Thurles, the cows are giving evaporated milk; farmers are feeding their hens on crushed ice to keep them from laying hard-boiled eggs, while the larger trees are actually whistling for dogs.

“Not trying to change the subject”, said Mikey, “but have you noticed or is it my imagination, but there seems to be a lot less flies hanging around Tipperary this year, less than previous years.”

“They probably have all gone off to Dublin like our young people, following the jobs trail”, said I, “sure there is nothing to be found anywhere for anyone in this God forsaken rural wasteland. But come to think of it I haven’t seen you around in several weeks either”, said I, “sure I thought you had emigrated”.

“Truth is”, said Mikey “wasn’t the wife one of the 20 lucky winners of half a million on the Euro Millions Lotto Jackpot recently here in Thurles, not that her win greatly benefited my bank balance.  But Frau Ryan decided to take myself, her mother-in-law and our brats to Tanzania in South Africa, of all places, on a Wildlife Safari.  But I hasten to add, it would have been better had I stayed at home”.

“What happened, did you get left stranded by the recent Ryanair strike”, said I.

“Oh, now it’s a long story”, said Mikey, “but I’ll give you the guts of itLast Sunday night, while we were sleeping deep in the Tanzanian wilderness, didn’t Frau Ryan, my lesser half, wake up to find her mother had wandered off.  Rushing into my tent next door, she insisted on me getting up and going outside to try to locate the doddery ‘auld wagon’.

In an attempt just to keep the peace, I picked up my Ruger, over and under shotgun, that she had bought me for the trip; took a swig of whiskey from my discreet, leather encased, silver hip flask, and beckoned her to follow me”.

Mikey continued, “A couple of minutes later, there in a clearing, not 100 metres from our camp-site, I came upon the most chilling of sights. Imagine the scene yourself; there was my mother-in-law with her fat arse up against a thick Baobab tree, and standing in front of her was a large, snarling, mangy looking lion”.
“The wife whispered to me,” Mikey continued, “Jasus, said she, what are we going to do now Mikey?’
Mikey continued “I replied, absolutely nothing dear, sure that feckin lion got himself into this mess, now let’s see how he manages to get out of it.”


Potholes Of Ballycahill, Co. Tipperary

You have all heard of the Cliff’s of Moher; the Doolin Cave; the Aillwee Cave; the Tipperary – Mitchelstown Caves and now here in Co. Tipperary a new tourist attraction has been developed by Tipperary Tourism; welcome to the “Potholes of Ballycahill, situated near, Thurles, here in Co. Tipperary.

No brown directional signposts have been erected as yet, but one such heart-shaped hole can be found coming up to the 80k speed sign, found when exiting this most picturesque of rural village. (See photograph below.)

It was right here that last Friday a motorist, travelling to Limerick, seriously damaged a front brake disk, resulting in one his front wheels heating up to such an extent that it buckled, forcing him to abandon his vehicle.

Meanwhile on the direct route from Thurles to Templetuohy, again here in Co. Tipperary; local residents appear to be filling their own tourist attractions after dark, much to the annoyance of local County Councillors.

Same Councillors are aware that if our young people, forced to emigrate for work from the area since 2008, were attracted to return home on holidays from abroad, they could claim evidence of higher tourism figures visiting the Premier County.

Ah Yes, Tipperary, the Place, the Time.


Mikey Ryan Proves Existence Of Thurles Golf Club Leprechaun

No Optical Illusion

“Sure, maybe you can explain this!”, said Mikey Ryan.

We were above in The Arch Bar, in Liberty Square, here in Thurles, last Good Friday night, when Mikey proudly produced his new Smart Phone to show me a photograph he had taken earlier in the day.

“Begob Mikey, where was that taken?” inquired I.

“Back of Thurles Golf Club, heading out to the Mill Road / Littleton junction”, replied Mikey.

“It looks like the father and son of T. Junction signs”, said I laughing, “Don’t tell me that council signs have now begun breeding like Japanese Knot Weed. Sure, in July of 2017 didn’t Tipperary Co. Council engineers employ a contractor to spray roadsides where Japanese Knotweed is found, and are we now going to have to spray road signs as well.” 

“Well by the look of things certainly these signs could take a lick of water, but wrong answer,” said Mikey.

“I bet is it something like the continuous yellow line regulation”, said I.

“What do you mean?” said Mikey.

“Well here in Thurles a single yellow line means you can’t park there at all”, said I, “while above in Dublin they have a double yellow line, indicating that you can’t park there at all, at all.  Sure anyway, isn’t it offering a double health & safety warning to our over taxed motorists”, I continued.

“Do you remember Mikey”, said I, “that unfortunate Borrisoleigh girl that got severely injured and trapped, following a nasty car crash at that same T junction last year. Pumping blood, she was, before the paramedics arrived on site”.

“Remember it”, said Mikey, “sure, I came across it minutes after it happened and called the AmbulanceThe paramedic said to the girl: “You’re going to be OK, I’m a paramedic and I’m going to ask you some questions; tell me what’s your name?”.
“Mary Ann McBride”, said the girl:
“OK Mary Ann, was this once your car?” asked the paramedic.
“Yes”, said Mary Ann.
“Now tell me, where are you actually bleeding from?”, said the concerned paramedic.
“Actually, I’m from bleedin Borrisoleigh”, said Mary Ann.

“Anyway”, said Mikey, “the next thing you are going to tell me is that the County Council sign erector was too feckin lazy to remove the second sign; but you’re never going to guess the true reason for both these T junction signs, so I’ll better tell you.”

“Look, it is actually obvious when you think about it”, said Mikey, “One sign is for small people and the taller one is for adults. Now do you believe me when I told you that a leprechaun was living in the woodland, just across that Mill Road ditch, close to the 16th hole on Thurles Golf course.”

“I think I’ll have an early night”, said I, “Goodnight Mikey, Goodnight Pat.”


Mikey Ryan Calls HSE’s Actions Into Question

“Mikey, have you ever noticed that all women’s problems start with “MEN”, well as a general rule anyway? said I after much reflection.

Mikey Ryan & myself were above in the The Arch Bar in Liberty Square, for the first time ever, of a Good Friday night, when I broached; well what I considered at least, to be a very debatable question.

“How do you mean ‘Men’; I’m not sure I fully understand your question?” replied Mikey.
“Well, women suffer an awful lot from the MENopause, MENtal illness, MENstrual tension, they are well noted for often behaving like MANiacs, and are forever visiting GUYnaecologist, not to mention undergoing HISterectomies”, I replied, “Now, if that don’t indicate an overall male influence on women, then what does?”

“Tell me, this and tell me no more; talking about medical problems”, said Mikey, “But is it me or is it that feckin Health Service Executive (HSE), that has gone totally mad?”

“I’m not sure I understand what exactly you mean”, said I, truthfully.
“Well, in the strictest confidence”, said Mikey in a low tone, “Paddy, that’s me 85-year-old father, went over to the Doctor on Wednesday last, for his half yearly check-up, to be told he would need to supply a sperm count, as part of his physical examination”.
“The doctor gave me father, Paddy, a bottle”, continued Mikey, “Telling him to take this container home and to bring him back a sperm sample tomorrow.”

“Well, the very next day me father made the return trip to the Doctor’s Surgery and gave him back the bottle; unused and as clean as a whistle. Needless to say, the Doc wanted an explanation”, continued Mikey.

My father explained, “Well, doc”, said he, ’twas like this, first I tried with my right hand; nothing. Then I tried with my left hand; still nothing. Then I asked the wife to assist. She then tried, first with her right hand, then with her left; still nothing. She tried with her mouth; first with her teeth in, then with her teeth out; result still nothing. Sure I even called in Mary and her sister Kay from next door.  They tried, first separately and then together, first with both hands, then using an armpit, and sure Mary even tried squeezing it between her knees, but still nothing.”

The doctor’s complexion turned sickly pale, before seeking confirmation, “Your telling me, you actually asked your next door neighbours”, he queried in disbelief. According to Mikey, his father replied, “Doc, I’m sorry to say it, but it’s a fact; and despite all our efforts, we still failed miserably to remove the screw cap off that feckin bottle.”

“Give us the same again their Pat”, said I, “I think it’s your turn to do the honours this time Mikey; am I right?”