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 Thurles Cathedral The old monk Friar Francis, as he was affectionately known in his Franciscan Priory in New York, was returning to Thurles, Tipperary, flying Ryanair to Shannon airport. Unable to obtain his preferred window seat due to his late booking, he found himself seated beside the isle, on one side and a very attractive but rather glum faced, young woman with whom he had not yet become acquainted, seated next to the window.
Friar Francis missed not having his normal window seat, but the unexpected and sudden death of his brother had provoked this hurried reason to return to his native Tipperary. Speed was of the essence, as his brother’s funeral Mass in Thurles Cathedral was being delayed, awaiting his arrival.
Friar Francis closed his tired eyes, welcoming the silence emanating from his female co-passenger. His thoughts drifted back to his early youth. He remembered the one and only chastisement he had ever received from his long dead mother. It was for telling lies and he could still almost feel the painful sting from that unexpected wet dishcloth, which had made contact with his right ear. His mother, as she tucked him into bed later that night, had explained that her sudden wet dishcloth assault was meant to act as a future painful reminder and a deterrent. “Lying is unacceptable,” she had explained, after all “What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,” she had continued.
The subject of his then deceit had been formulated around some stolen apples removed from Mrs Ryan’s orchard next door, which he remembered were of the hard green cooker variety and uneatable anyway, but the good Friar had been careful to never lie in the true sense, after that fateful date.
As he explored this now long past memory, behind his closed eyelids, the Friar was aware of the Central Remedial Clinic’s (CRC) scandal back in Ireland, sure the world knew about it, but lies come under several category headings, there are fraudulent greedy lies like CRC, slanderous lies and there are even truthful lies, the latter to which in two hours time he would knowingly now become a participant.
About two hours into the journey his thoughts of those happier times, now gone forever, had continued to flow. He was remembering his last meeting with his now deceased brother, when suddenly his meanderings were interrupted by the here-to-fore silent attractive female, who now, out of the blue, turned to him and asked in a whisper; “Father, may I ask a very great personal favour?”
Somewhat amused by the young lady addressing him as ‘Father, Friar Francis smiled and then stated “Of course child. What may I do for you?” “Well, Father, I bought my mother a very expensive GHD hair straighteners, while shopping yesterday in New York. It’s for her 60th birthday next week actually.” she whispered.
“Really, that’s great,” said Friar Francis yawning. “Remember child; always be nice to your mother. We should never ignore our parents, time passes so quickly and then they are gone, nothing but guilty memories tend to exist.” he continued.
“Oh I do Father, I do, but this GHD is unopened, still in the original box and well-over my limits for imported goods and I’m afraid Father that Customs will confiscate it. Is there any way maybe you could carry it through customs for me?” enquired the young lady in pleading tones. “Sure you could hide it easily under your habit maybe?”
Friar Francis thought for a moment or two in silence. Could this package contain illegal drugs? Images of a trained drugs sniffer dog identifying him at the ‘Arrivals Gate,’ flashed upon his inward eye. Yet this young lady looked innocent enough and after all she had remembered her mother’s birthday. Hardly the kind of action one would expect from a girl operating as a professional ‘Drug Mule’ for some as yet unrecognised Columbian drugs cartel.
“I would love to help you child, but however I must warn you, if your gift is identified on my person, I will not lie to Customs Officers on your behalf, to save your skin.” replied the kindly old Monk. “There exists already, too much dishonesty abounding in this rotten world of ours.”
“Thanks Father, God bless you, sure with your honest face, no one will hardly question you,” replied the young lady, releasing a sigh of relief.
Taking the rectangular box slipped to him by his new acquaintance, from her hand luggage and checking that the Stewardess was otherwise occupied, Friar Francis now slid the article up the long sleeve of his habit and adjourned to the toilet, where he then placed it securely into the elastic band of his underpants, before returning to his seat.
When they both arrived at Customs in Shannon, the young lady agreed to let the priest go ahead of her. The beady eyed Customs Official halted the Friar and asked, “Sir, do you have anything to declare?”
“From the top of my head down to my waist I have nothing to declare.” smiled the Monk, looking somewhat deviously, yet directly into the eyes of the questioning Customs man.
Thinking this a rather strange answer, the vigilant now smiling Customs Official, tongue in cheek, asked the Monk, “And Sir do you have anything to declare from your waist down to the floor?”
“I do, I have a marvellous instrument designed to be used only on women, but which to date remains unused.” replied the grinning Friar.
Roaring with laughter and with a wave of his hand the Customs Official replied, “You are good, go ahead Sir, – Next customer please.”
The temperature here in Thurles last Friday morning rose higher than the over 40 degrees currently being experienced this week in Melbourne, Australia, following the RTE exposé on dog turds by Irish Columnist, Playwright and Scriptwriter, Fiona Looney and broadcast to the nation on RTE1.
Having removed her sun glasses on arrival, Fiona had quickly located these dog turds around Semple Stadium and same was the talk of every Supermarket, Pub and “High End, Bond Street” type shop in Thurles, the following Friday morning.
The Mayor of Thurles Michael Grogran, speaking on Radio Tipp FM on Friday, felt our Mid Tipp town had been unfairly portrayed in this RTE programme, “painting the town in a bad light,” thus damaging our non-existent tourism sector. But I suppose the nice part about living in a small town like Thurles is that when you yourself don’t know what you’re doing, someone else does.
We here on Thurles.Info had done our best, God knows. We wrote about this and other problems two years earlier in March 2011.
Is it any wonder therefore that, according to a recent audit, our Town Council discovered that 40% of eligible rate payers in Thurles are now refusing to pay their dues, and “back of the envelope” economist Sinn Fein Town Councillor David Doran (Not my words but stated in the Tipperary Star Newspaper by fellow councillor Michael Cleary, God forbid that I would use such language) is left wondering if there are any facilities available for those who cannot meet their payments.
Let’s see if our local Councillors actually changed anything in the past two years, to warrant such business behaviour, by looking at the 2011 video hereunder.
OK, no change there then, so what is the solution for the Thurles dog turd issue, (remembering of course we are not known as “Thurles Information,” by the way we comb our limited hair).
With only four meetings left before Minister Phil Hogan cuts off local Council salaries, mobile phones and top-up expenses, listen and learn from our European partners, latter who currently remain ruling our sovereign state.
Officials in Brunete, latter a town of similar size to Thurles, with 10,100 inhabitants on the outskirts of Madrid, came up with an idea for a social awareness campaign last year. They also were attempting to stamp out their dog excrement problem and came up with a novel ground breaking campaign. Town officials boxed up the offending faeces and sent them back to the pet owners’ homes. The amount of dog turds on their streets dropped considerably as a result.
In February 2013, Brunete Town Hall recruited 20 volunteers to patrol the streets in search of guilty dog owners. As soon as they spotted a turd that had not been correctly “pooper scooped”, these undercover volunteers /agents would then approach the owners and strike up a casual conversation with them. They would ask pet owners what was the dog’s name and pedigree. Through this casual conversation they found out the address of the pooch’s owner. These volunteers would then later pick up the turd, box it and deliver it to the pet owner along with an official fine and warning, while a cameraman filmed the whole embarrassing episode.
Brunete Town Hall now estimates the amount of dog-mess seen on the streets has dropped by 70%.
Anyway back to that eventful Friday morning; local council workers were dispatched at daybreak to clean up the offensive faeces, swarming over the entire area armed with their besoms (later brooms made from a bundle of birch twigs tied to a hazel wood pole ) together with shovels specially purchased for the occasion. Yes and a fine job of work they did, sure you could eat your dinner of the surface when they were finished.
This brings me back to the lovely ‘sun glassed’ Fiona Looney, who now may decide to run for Tipperary in the May Local and European elections. A deputation from Thurles is expected to travel shortly to the land of the “Floozy in the Jacuzzi,” the “Tart with the Cart,” the “Hags with the bags,” the “Dick with the stick” (James Joyce), the “Flue with the View” (Smithfield Village Chimney Stack lift), the “Stilleto by the Ghetto,” also known as the “Stiffy by the Liffey” (The Millennium Spire) or better known down our way here as the most littered city in Europe, according to Irish Business Against Litter (IBAL). This deputation now believes that anyone whose presence can command such instant action from our officialdom at Thurles Town Council, could take possibly two seats here in the Tipperary election.
Good God, I sincerely hope I haven’t “painted Dublin in a bad light,” thus damaging their tourism sector.
P.S. I know I am not Fiona Looney, but, weather permitting, could this same workforce be drafted in to do a quick sweep, from the entrance beside the bridge (Emmet Street) to the back of Tesco, where I counted a mere fourteen turds today, over a 25 yard stretch of footpath. Sure everyone knows where the Bridge Castle is and the back of Tesco can be easily identified by the fact that this Supermarket giant has failed to give its premises an outside coat of paint in over 20 years.
“Ireland Exits the Bailout.” This was the headline that Paddy and Mick first saw, wrapped as it was around two portions of battered cod and curried chips.
Having spread out the wrinkles and creases which partially protected their lunch, Paddy read out loud all that was visible of this Daily Mail newspaper report; “Mr Noonan also paid tribute to emigrants and those who lost their jobs, saying everyone owed a debt of gratitude to them for helping Ireland come out of its greatest crisis. The people who suffered most are those who lost their jobs. The second worst hit are those forced out of Ireland in search of work. We want to reverse both trends.”
Paddy and Mick had been forced to emigrate to England from Tipperary some months earlier, due to the severe unemployment crisis and some other minor, yet unmentionable, misunderstandings with the Department for Social Welfare. Having read the headline and finishing their curried chips, Paddy and Mick now decided immediately to head their old truck for the ferry back to Ireland. Ireland was open for business again and their newly set-up tarmacadam contracting business here in England had failed miserably anyway, partly due to the recent poor weather conditions and their even poorer ability at mixing tar and other chosen aggregates.
 It was while in their old battered truck and stopped at traffic lights on the Edgeware Road in London that Paddy’s eye caught the sign displayed clearly in a corner shop window. With a few hundred sterling remaining in their pockets, latter the proceeds of a deposit on work not yet undertaken, the details on this sign now appeared to offer both men certain fast money making possibilities.
The sign read clearly; “Suits £5.00 each, Shirts £2.00 each, Trousers £2.50 per pair“.
As they waited for the lights to turn green, Paddy pointed out the sign to his pal Mick, “Mick look at the prices! We could buy a load of those and when we get back to Dublin we could shift them quick and make a whole fortune. What do you reckon?”
Balancing the business pro’s and con’s quickly Paddy, having the best business mind of the two, finally made the decision for both men; Ok Mick, begod we will try this. Now when we go in you stay quiet as a mouse, okay, let me do all da talking ’cause if they hear your accent, they might think we’re thicko’s from Tipperary and try to screw us over. Sure I’ll be better at imitatin’ their English accent anyway.”
“Be god roight y’are Paddy. I’ll zip up me gob tight and you do all da feckin fenancial business.” said Mick.
Having found a parking spot nearby, Paddy and Mick now make their move and go inside the shop. Paddy, waving a load of £20’s, calls out in a posh English sounding voice, “Hello my good man, can I have your attention over hear. I’ll take 50 of your suits at £5.00 each, 100 shirts at £2.00 each, and 50 pairs of trousers at £2.50 each. I’ll backing up me truck outside, ready to load ’em on, so I will.”
The shop’s attendant stared and then quietly replied, “I suppose you wouldn’t be from Ireland, by any strange sway of the imagination, would you?”
“Well yes,” said a now embarrassed and somewhat surprised Paddy. “Begorrah, what was it that gave me away, I’m wondering? ”
The shop’s attendant again quietly replied, “Perhaps you gentlemen have not yet noticed, but this is actually a dry-cleaning establishment.”
Celibacy (From the Latin, cælibatus) is normally a choice in life or a condition imposed by ones own personal circumstances, e.g. being unmarried or simply sexually abstinent.
However for Thurles resident Cristiano Ronaldo Ryan, better known to his friends locally as Paddy, it was neither.
 Unquestionably, I have to agree that Thurles females are wired with a totally different type of circuitry to those of us representing the male gender. This statement is indeed further clarified by most men in the town and often to be heard whispered in a low tone, most Saturday nights, especially where a minimum consumption of four pints of black porter, has been fully achieved.
Paddy was about to get married next year to his now partner of some ten years, Irina Murphy. Both were attending, (On Irina’s insistence I might add.) a Marriage Guidance Counselling Weekend, which apparently had been organised by the local parish priest, Fr Dick Bradshaw.
Initial resistance to this weekend by Paddy had been futile, so he had eventually agreed, (under threat from Irina) to keep all and any personally held views and opinions on matrimony, to himself and to take the weekend seriously.
Now sober and fully obedient to the letter, Paddy listened to the priest as he offered his profound counselling advice.
“It is essential that future husbands and wives now entering into marriage for the first time should know the things that are most important to one other,” said Fr Bradshaw, who emphasised his point by thumping the small wooden table in front of him.
At this point however, fate was to deal Irina Murphy a cruel blow, for unexpectedly the priest pointed to Paddy and asked; “You Mr Ryan, for example, can you name and describe your wife’s favourite flower?”
Paddy leaned over and caught Irina’s hand and gently stroking it, he quickly and authoritatively replied “She usually buys Odlum’s Self-raising flour every Saturday in Johnston’s Supermarket.”
According to Paddy, whom I found drinking alone last Saturday night in Bowe’s Pub, Friar Street, thus was the start of his life of celibacy.
Free parking has been extended to Thurles town car parks in the run-up to Christmas, well that’s if you are prepared to leave your Christmas Shopping until the very last minute.
Same has been introduced in a bid to encourage consumers into the town centre and hopefully put funding into the cash registers of those businesses trading at a major disadvantage and situated in the area of Liberty Square and surrounding streets, latter forced to compete with free car parking permitted elsewhere on the Towns outskirts.
Obviously the Town Manager and Town Clerk were feeling in Festive Mood last night, allowing our Local Councillors apparently to run riot, thus making at least one real decision on their own, for this year.
Whatever, Thurles Town Council have now announced that free parking will be available in the local authority car parks in Thurles with effect from December 21st to December 24th inclusive.
I wonder was there any debate on the tender being sought for the planning, design and delivery of a proposed new car park on the ‘money side’ of Liberty Square, Thurles, last night? No matter this is possibly information that would only further confuse the average struggling businessman/woman in our town centre and better off not being discussed by the great unwashed.
I don’t often support Minister Phil Hogan, but thank God that as and from June 2014 local secret societies like Town Councils will be banned.
In the words of that minor character Timothy Cratchit, called “Tiny Tim”, is the 1843 novel ‘A Christmas Carol,’ by Charles Dickens, “God bless us, every one!”
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