Humour « Thurles Information

Only A Storm In A Teacup

Tipperary County Council hopeful M/s Ciara McCormack, representing the Party of Protest (Sinn Fein) last Saturday, complained bitterly about individuals tearing down election posters. M/s McCormack claimed on TippFM this morning and wrote on her Facebook, quote; “Up to 60 of my election posters were deliberately torn down since we put them up. Somebody must be afraid of my message. Thanks for all the support and information I have received over the past few days, it has been overwhelming. The Gardaí and Tipperary County Council have been informed. If anyone else seen (The word is ‘SAW’ M/s McCormack, “If anyone else saw..” )anyone tampering with my posters please let me know.”

As a website administrator, totally supportive of hard working local Councillors, I immediately called in ‘The Boys’. Pulling down election posters is I believe grossly insouciant; even insensible for someone trying to obtain a five year contract, earning a mere crust of €16.500 (at least, plus travel and subsistance) per annum.

‘The Boys’ moved quickly to report back. It seems that those responsible for erecting M/s McCormack’s posters were somewhat inexperienced and naive in such matters; punching holes too close together, before inserting their sharp little white cable ties.

Look at it this way, as Mikey Ryan said to me today, “It could happen to a Bishop, and I have no doubt M/s McCormack will be as red faced as her new jacket, when she reads this; issuing sincere apologies left, right and centre to her electorate in Thurles and surrounding hamlets”.

Meanwhile, following M/s McCormack’s complaint to Gardaí, same are anxious to interview a lady named Hannah Storm, latter whom they believe is responsible for felling two trees near Barry’s Bridge, here in Thurles. To date no one has been arrested.

No, before you start sending me those emails and Facebook PM’s; M/s Hannah Storm is not the sister of that renowned singing star M/s Rebecca Storm. You know the lady, she sings that song, “The Winner Takes It All”.

Now get on about your business, in the certain knowledge that this sorry episode was itself only a mere “storm in a teacup”.

P.S. One of these posters can be located for inspection at the rear of Spaview Veterinary Office on Ikerrin Road, Thurles.

An Post & The Dead Horse Theory

So, it’s a certainty; An Post is moving to the shopping centre for definite; that’s despite the intervention from the most powerful in our community; namely the politicians, local councillors, those who would like to be local councillors and politicians and a disorientated, dying, Chamber of Commerce, all intent on riding a dead horse.

Together, however, they did have some success; mainly driving home a wedge; dividing Thurles town into two sections, instead of working to improve Liberty Square and Thurles Town as a single unit.

One wonders if the current 127 workers plus business proprietors / owners in the Thurles Shopping Centre, will now be rushing out to an upcoming local election, to vote for party’s like Fianna Fáil or the ‘Party of Protest’ (The Bully Party) and certain Independent representatives, all who attempted to directly affect very limited, local, yet available employment.

The Dead Horse Theory

The efforts undertaken by the “Save Our Square” [S.O.S.] committee had all the hallmarks of the “Dead Horse Theory”, so often attempted by Government TD’s and Local Councillors. Indeed, the tribal wisdom of the Dakota Indians, which has been passed down from generation to generation, clearly states, “When you discover that you are riding a dead horse the best strategy is to immediately dismount”.

Ignoring the fact that Tipperary County Council, of which many of the S.O.S. committee are card carriers; same are solely responsible for the decline of Thurles town centre and other towns in Co. Tipperary, through the introduction of Parking Charges. Again, ignoring this logical, simple fact the “Save Our Square” committee choose to attempt a new strategy in their dealings with An Post, the now dead horse:-

(1) They bought a stronger whip. (2) Changed Riders. (3) Threatened the dead horse with termination. (4) Appointed a committee to study the horse. (5) Discussed the feasibility of sending councillors to foreign countries to see how other riders rode their dead horses. (6) Provided further additional funding to improve the dead horse’s performance through the introduction of a dodgy “Dead Horse acquisition and refurbishment fund”.
Now, with election votes dangerously reduced, this dead horse is most likely to be promoted to a supervisory post, enabling it to hire a replacement horse.

The solution to the Thurles town centre decline, which will correct this imbalance, is simple; call a halt to the payment of parking charges, before yet more businesses are forced out of our town centre.

Tipperary Co. Council built six social houses at Cabragh, Thurles, at a cost of some €370 thousand Euro each. We saw recently the Peter McVerry Trust acquiring 25 social houses for €5million through a generous donation made by the Dublin Capuchin Day Centre. Do your arithmetic folks; €5 million divided by 25 = €2 hundred thousand Euro. These units were purchased in Dublin and Kildare (the most expensive accommodation areas in Ireland). It is my opinion that Tipperary Co. Council are simply burning taxpayer’s money and frankly do not need parking charges to fund local government.

“Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear.” – St. Mark Chapter 4. Verse 9.

More advice for ailing Local Councillors and Politicians in our next news bulletin.

A Bedtime Story For Elected Public Representatives.

“Whoever shuts their ears to the cry of the poor will also cry out and not be answered”. Proverbs 21:13.

It is Friday evening after all and the vast majority of Irish elected, public representatives will be back home with their families, most having completed yet another busy three day week in Dáil Éireann.

As you lie back with your slippered feet crossed, perched on the coffee table; your bottle of Italian Prosecco suitably chilled; we thought that perhaps a four minute short story, read aloud, might help you to fully relax, as you plot your next move in an effort to ingratiate yourself with those who mistakenly gave you power in the first place.

So, with your kids tucked safely in bed, don those headphones, keeping in mind that this short story is not at all suitable for the ears of minors.

“The Tooth” read by Annette Bening.

Written by Avi Slodovnick and illustrated by Manon Gauthier.

Trust you liked our story and, even more importantly, we hope you actually gleaned something from its content, but for God’s sake don’t let your children hear it.

Night, Night all.

Mikey Ryan – The Dreamer

**The Arch Bar, Liberty Square, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.**

“You know sleep is a peculiar thing”, said Mikey Ryan. We were above in the Arch Bar, in Liberty Square last night, watching the rugby highlights on the television when he made the above pronouncement.

“You’re right there Mikey”, said I, “Sure, I once read somewhere that there are supposed to be five stages of sleep. The first four stages of sleep make up our non-rapid eye movement, and the fifth stage is when rapid eye movement actually occurs.”

“I can’t help you there”, said Mikey, “but my little woman has suddenly begun to cherish dairy products. She claims they are essential for healthy bones. So, last night I had to endure a feed of some rather blue, mouldy looking cheese, that she had purchased above in the Aldi Supermarket”.

“Begob, sure I know the stuff”, said I, “It’s lovely on hot buttered toast, last thing before you go to bed.”

“I hadn’t even made it to the bed last night”, said Mikey. “I was finishing off this stuff, washing it down with a can of ‘Red Bull’ while watching The Chase on the television, when I apparently dozed off. Then all of a sudden, I see the wife rubbing skin care cream; latter designed and guaranteed to make the wearer look 10 years younger, onto the face of my nine-year-old daughter. She slowly vanished and I woke in a sweat.”

“Gegob you need to be careful with that ‘Red Bull’, said I , “They say that Red Bull makes you fly”.

“True for you”, said Mikey “And fly I surely did. I must have dozed off again, for the next thing I remember there I was sitting on a Boeing 737. On board were five other passengers. There was the US President Donald Trump, Taoiseach Leo Varadakar, His Holiness Pope Francis, British Prime Minister Theresa May and my nine year old daughter. The aircraft pilot suddenly announces over the loud speaker that the plane was about to crash and regrets that there’s only five parachutes on board for six passengers”.

President Trump said “I need one, I’ve got to sort out building that Mexican wall”. He straps one on and jumps. Next, Prime Minister Theresa May says, “Talking of walls, I most definitely need one, as I’ve got to sort out this wretched ‘Brexit Hard Border’ crack”. She takes a parachute and jumps. Then Taoiseach Leo Varadakor says “I’m being the smartest man in Ireland am needed to sort out the long standing Irish financial crises back home”. So, he grabs a parachute and jumps. Next His Holiness Pope Francis smiling says to my daughter, “You and your father can have the last two parachutes my child, I’ve lived a long life and look forward to meeting my God”. My daughter says, “Sure there’s three parachutes left, the ‘Smartest Man in Ireland’ just donned my school bag”.

“I’d call that a nightmare Mikey“, said I, “But would you believe I have two good mates that are afraid to go to sleep at night. They have this recurring dream that they have found jobs and now have to go to work”.

“Give us something similar there Pakie, when you’re ready”, said I, “Remind me again, is it your round or mine Mikey”.

Police Raid On Farmland In Upperchurch Area

“Good God your haemorrhoids would turn to polaroid’s, if you had to stand outside in that bitter cold, for any great length of time tonight. So, tell me, any news, gossip or scandal that I should be made aware of”, said I to Mikey Ryan, as he tried to attract the attention of Pat Hayes, above in the Arch Bar, Liberty Square, last night.

Attempting to hold two conversations at the same time, Mikey replied “Not much; give us two of your best pints Pakie like a good man, before we die of the thirst”. “No not much now, however I did hear on the grapevine that the Peelers were above in Upperchurch, Wednesday last, not sure what exactly they were about”, said Mikey now turning towards me.

“Probably Poitín makers, sure they are world famous for manufacturing that ‘pure, clear, elixir of life’ in that hilly area”, said I, “I wonder were they buying or raiding, did you hear”.

“Don’t know, all I heard was that two members of An Garda Síochána, stopped off at a farm to interview some old local farmer, who was greasing the nipples on the front loader of his tractor. They told the farmer that they believed that illegal activity was being carried out on his farm and they needed to inspect his property,” said Mikey, before swallowing half of his pint glass in a single gulp.

“On the other hand, he could have been operating one of those illegal ‘Grow Houses’, used to propagate cannabis herb”, said I.

“Don’t know that”, said Mikey, “what I do know is the farmer said okay officers, but please don’t go in that field over there clearly pointing out the exact location”.

“Then the Sergeant, I understand, just verbally exploded”, said Mikey, “aggressively stating he had a search warrant, which gave him the complete authority to go wherever he wished on this property, with no questions asked. “Do you understand”, he bellowed, waving his identity card and search warrant under the farmers nose. According to locals, the farmer just nodded politely, apologised, before shaking his bald head and continuing to work with his grease gun” Mikey continued.

“Typical Gardaí” said I, “so what happened next”.

“Well”, said Mikey, “the Gardaí moved off, but a short time later, the old farmer heard loud screams. On raising his eyes, he spotted the two cops running for their life, being chased by his massive Hereford bull, which boasts having the longest horns in Munster. From the farmers vantage point, with every step, that bull was rapidly gaining ground on the Gardaí, and it seemed likely that they could get badly gored, before the men could reach the safety of a nearby high wooden fence”.

“The old farmer threw down his grease gun”, said Mikey, “and ran to the fence while yelling at the top of his lungs, your search warrant, your search warrant, show him your feckin search warrant!!“

“You better give us the same again Pat, when you’re ready”, said I.