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 Just Local Horse Talk Sure It’s Just Horse Talk:
The American tourist was driving in Thurles, County Tipperary, when the engine of his rented car suddenly came to a halt. Getting out of the stricken vehicle the tourist lifted the car hood, hoping to locate the trouble.
Suddenly, a voice behind him said, “The trouble is the carburetor.”
He turned around and could only see an old horse. The horse said again, “There’s probably dirt in the carburetor.”
The American nearly died with fright and hastily dashed into Skehans Pub, in Liberty Square, where he ordered a large whiskey. Having given this unusual animal encounter some thought, he decided to confide in the barman and told Murphy the bartender, what the horse had said to him.
Murphy replied, “For God’s sake, don’t pay any attention to him, everyone around here will tell you, sure he hasn’t a damn clue about motorcars.”
Street Talk:
Three elderly ladies met in Liberty Square on a recent very stormy day. The wind was so strong and loud that they had difficulty in hearing each other.
Mrs Brown said, “It’s windy, isn’t it.”
Mrs Ryan said, “No it isn’t, it’s Thursday.”
Mrs Kennedy said, “So am I, let’s go and have a drink in HQ nightclub!”
Sure nobody cares if you are miserable, so you might as well be happy and have a laugh!
 It’s April 10th 2011 and the sun is beaming brightly over our Tipperary landscape, spreading 21°C of warmth, on this the 3rd anniversary of the visionary prediction’s of Fianna Fáil’s Mr Donie (Daniel) Cassidy, who in 2008 warned the Irish Nation that house prices would increase by at least 25% higher than then existed in 2008.
Happy ‘Donie Cassidy Day ‘ to all you property speculators, who now feel that those of us who were careful with our spending, should now pay for your extravagances.
From a local perspective, a report in the Irish Independent claims that Tipperary North TD Michael Lowry has been at it again, striking secret deals with two former Taoisigh. During his time propping up the Fianna Fáil governments of Bertie Ahern and Brian Cowen, the Tipperary North TD was given the task of doling out three positions on State Boards to his favourite supporters. Of the Ministers in cabinet at the time, only the two Taoisigh knew the full details of these special deals. Mr Lowry defends controlling these three posts he was allocated. It appears that unlike the filling of other public situations vacant, a nod and a wink from a politician can replaced PublicJobs.ie and the usual basic requirements to attend for interview with updated Curriculum Vitae.
Speaking of salary’s and expenses, readers note that more cuts to Social Welfare look likely, after Department of Finance briefing documents indicate that savings will have to be made on welfare expenditure. The documents are understood to state that there is little justification for high earners receiving social welfare, through children’s allowance. Payment of half-rate Job-seekers Benefit or Illness Benefit to recipients of One Parent Family Payment will also come under the microscope. Social Welfare accounts for almost 40 % of all money spent by the Irish state, with €20.6 billion now set aside for social welfare expenditure this year. Meanwhile the head of Eircom will continue to receive his salary of approx €720,000 this year, head of Anglo Irish Bank, latter which lost €17 billion in 2010, will be paid approx €974,000, head of Rehab will receive around €450,000, and head of Aer Lingus will receive -well who really cares knows or cares anymore.
Other Good News.
There is however good news for 30,000 over taxed daily motorists using Dublin’s Phoenix Park. In an effort to impress Queen Elizabeth II, the Office of Public Works is to spend €92,000 to fix the gaping potholes. Rural commuters expect delays as this urgent work begin on Monday lasting for eight to ten days. Gaping craters in Tipperary have not as yet been deemed sufficiently matured enough, to warrant any immediate attention.
One bit of other good news for some lucky individual, this weeks ‘Mid-week Lotto ‘ is heading for €4.5m.
Take risks… if you win, you’ll be happy… if you lose, you’ll be wise.
 Happy Mother's Day Mum, in prison you would get three square meals a day cooked for you.
At home, you cook three square meals a day and try to persuade your kids to eat it.
In prison, you get an hour each day in the yard to exercise and mingle.
At home you get to clean up the yard.
In prison, you get to watch TV.
At home, you get to listen to your children fight over the remote control.
In prison, you can read whatever you want and attend college for free.
At home, you get to read school readers starring Dick, Jane, and Spot and worry about how to send your adorable brat to college, while still being able to eat for the next twenty years.
In prison, all your medical bills are free.
At home, you have to pawn your mother’s jewelry and fill out large amount of insurance papers in the hope that a doctor will see you before you die.
In prison, if you have visitors, all you do is go to a room, sit, talk and then say good-bye when you are ready to go.
At home, you get to clean for days in advance and then cook and clean after your guests and hope that they will one day just leave.
In prison, you can spend your free time reading or writing or just hang out doing nothing in your own free space all day.
At home, you get to clean your space and everyone else’s space, and what the heck is free time again?
In prison, you get your own personal toilet.
At home, you have to physically hold the bathroom door shut in order to keep family members from standing over you demanding to know how long till you’re done, so you can do something for them.
In prison, the prison laundry takes care of all your dirty clothes.
At home, you get to take care of them yourself, plus everybody else’s, and get yelled at because somebody’s favorite shirt isn’t clean.
In prison, they take you everywhere you need to go.
At home, you take everybody else where they need to go.
In prison, the guards transport all your personal effects for you and make sure nothing is missing.
At home, you have to lug around everybody else’s stuff in your purse and then wonder who went into it and took your last dollar.
In prison, there are no screaming or whining children or spouses asking you to do something else for them, or screaming at you because you didn’t.
Happy Mother’s Day all you mums, where would we all be, only for you.
I wouldn’t have been in Monk’s public house in Mitchel Street, Thurles, at that time on a St Patrick’s Day, in the first place, were it not for the wife.
Let me explain. There I was sitting peacefully at home checking the ‘Situations Vacant ‘ column in the Tipperary Star, intent on heading for the Thurles parade, when she swooped like a bird of prey.
Moving quietly in from behind, the ungrateful wretch savagely cracked me on the back of the head with, of all things, the good large metal frying pan I had bought her as a birthday gift.
Now, yelping in excruciating pain, I politely asked,”What was that for?”
With a face on her that was reminiscent of a bulldog chewing a wasp, she replied, “That’s for the piece of paper I found with the name Roseanna written on it, just before I threw your trousers in the wash?.” Dodging her next swing I quickly explained, “You stupid woman, remember yesterday when I went to the Thurles races, ‘Roseanna’ was the favourite running in the 4.30 Machlochlainn Road Marking’s Kinloch Brea Chase.”
She halted on her downward swipe with the pan, delaying what was designed to deliver that final killer blow and from the corner of her eye, I foolishly believed I had caught a slight glimmer of possibly guilt, mixed with a tinge of remorse, for this, her sudden and unwarranted outburst.
Music Courtesy of Sharon Shannon and Mundy.
Now dissecting every word of my explanation, carefully like a female Sherlock Holmes, she slowly turned and walked off to continue her housework, leaving me with what I now recognise as being a ‘false sense of security.’
I use the word ‘false ‘ deliberately because about thirty minutes later, as I dozed in the comfort of my own favourite arm chair, digesting the corn beef and cabbage that I had eaten earlier, she struck again, this time more violently, with the same ‘birthday present.’
Jumping up half dazed, but with the presence of mind, to put the kitchen table between her and me, I yelled. “You ould bag, What’s that for this time?,” She sneeringly replied, as she swung again “Your favourite horse just rang on the phone.”
Despite severe concussion, but in the interest of instinctive self preservation, I made a quick exit via the open back door and keeping an eye on my rear flank, for fear she should make another sudden sneak attack, I fled in retreat to the sanctuary of the Monk’s pub.
I knew I would be safe there until she cooled down, as the wife has been barred from this fine licensed hostelry since I foolishly hosted her last birthday outing. It was on this annual occasion that she, to my great public embarrassment, seriously assaulted the landlord. It was some casual remark he had made, in her ear shot, during a perfectly civilised conversation on the popular topic ‘equality of the sexes.‘ It was generally agree by all the men who dragged her kicking, biting and screaming off the unfortunate bruised and bleeding landlord, that her sudden attack was totally unwarranted. What the poor man had said, during the course of his deliberation on that topic was a fair point “If God had wanted women to be equal to men, he would have given them brains.”
Now nursing a pounding head ache, I straightened the bunch of shamrock in the pen pocket of my jacket and ordered a slow pint, while surveying the almost deserted ‘snug.’
Continue reading How Was St Patricks Day 2011 In Thurles For You
Johnny Smith was an elderly, feeble man living alone in a run down house here in Thurles, Co. Tipperary. His family history was one of continued hardship and failure.
His only surviving relative, a son named Paddy, was serving a five year stretch in Portlaoise Prison. It seems that when Paddy was younger, he used to pray for a Honda Accord 2.2i-DTEC Executive 4DR car, but as the years passed, Paddy came to the realisation that God doesn’t work that way, so he stole one from Dennis Kinnanes Garage and prayed instead for forgiveness. But Police caught up with him before God could answer his nightly prayers.
At the subsequent court hearing, Paddy claimed, despite the best advice of his solicitor, that his religious conviction was the sole reason for this act of thievery. Paddy informed the Magistrate that both Jesus and his Apostles all drove Honda’s, and he wanted to follow in his masters footsteps. To support his belief, he claimed Jesus had a Honda but didn’ t like to talk about it and cited as proof a verse from St. John 12:49, where Jesus tells the crowd, “For I did not speak of my own Accord.” He further supported this claim regarding Honda ownership by the Apostles, with a quote from Young’s Literal Bible Translation, Acts 2:1 ” They were all with one Accord at the same place.” The Magistrate was not impressed by this biblical defence and hence the five year detention.
 Potato Sowing Paddy’s Uncle, Jimmy Smith, his fathers sole younger brother, had emigrated to America in 1963, but had died suddenly and tragically having being executed in the electric chair. His Father Johnny had managed to kept the news quiet from the local Tipperary Star Newspaper. The local paper had carried a correct, yet somewhat misleading account of Jimmy’s sudden passing.
The local paper article had read, “It is with sincere regret that we announce the recent passing of Jimmy Smith, late of Sing Sing, New York and Thurles, Co Tipperary. Prior to his death the late Mr Smith had occupied a Chair of Applied Electronics, at an important American Government Institution, a position to which he was attached by the strongest of ties. His sudden and untimely death came as a huge shock.”
There was a massive out-poring of sympathy locally, as you can imagine.
Anyway, I digress, I’m supposed to be telling you about old Johnny Smith’s predicament, but I’m inclined to ramble a bit these days.
Old Johnny Smith had a major problem this Spring, his rheumatoid arthritis was playing up hell, inflamming his joints and the surrounding tissue. He had dosed himself with all the recommended known cures, like stinging himself with nettles, cranberry juice, Epsom salts, cod liver oil and eating porridge daily, but to no avail.
He wanted to get his annual potato crop sown, as one does, best before the 17th of March every year or before the next full moon. Unable now to use the spade himself, because of his affliction, he didn’t know anyone who was prepared to spade up his potato garden for him.
At a loss and as a last resort, Johnny wrote to his incarcerated son Paddy about this problem and received the following reply, “For HEAVENS SAKE, don’t dig up that garden, that’s where I buried the GUNS from my last failed robbery.”
Last Friday morning, 6.00am, old Johnny was awakened by the sound of a dozen or more Gardaí, both male and female, complete with yellow reflective jackets, spades and an assortment of other gardening equipment, busy digging up his entire garden plot. No guns were found and although old Johnny was interviewed, he could not tell the inquisitive gardaí anything.
Now further confused, Johnny wrote to his son Paddy, telling him what had happened and asking in the letter what he should do next.
His son’s reply was brief and to the point: “Just plant those bloody potatoes. Expect to be home in three months.”
Ah, sure it’s all in a day’s work here in Thurles and as my granny used to say “People usually get what’s coming to them… unless of course it was sent in the mail.”
Sure if it weren’t for electricity we’d all be watching television, here in Thurles, by candlelight.
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