O'Leary should land 300 jobs; Coughlan should take off

Sunday Tribune 21 February

There is an old schoolyard game called 'One, Two, Three O'Leary' you may have played as a child. It involves shouting out numbers and bouncing a ball between your legs. The rules, as with most childish pursuits, are arbitrary.
'Childish' and 'arbitrary' are good ways to describe the antics of another game-playing O'Leary. Last week, the Ryanair chief stood in the centre of the national schoolyard roaring about numbers and hopping the ball. The object of his bullying was Head Girl, 'Mary, Mary Quite Contrary' Coughlan. The pair spent the week brawling over a hangar at Dublin Airport. It took Williegate to dislodge them as lead story in the news. (By the way, if O'Dea is done for perjury, I'm starting the 'Free Willie' campaign. The logo will be a gun-toting whale with a moustache.)
O'Leary says he will create 300 engineering jobs at Dublin Airport. There are conditions, though. He won't talk to the DAA and he wants Hangar Six, which is leased to Aer Lingus. He contacted Coughlan to secure it for him, which she "failed" to do. The stupid girl.
The protagonists actually have quite a bit in common. Both are foul-mouthed and stubborn. Both are headline grabbers: O'Leary for putting his boot into the government; Coughlan for putting her boot in her mouth. She was the obvious choice for Villain of the Piece, 'cocking up yet again'.
In Leinster House, the opposition did more knee-jerking than a Riverdance chorus line. They howled at Brian Cowen to tear up Aer Lingus's lease. It was all just political hay-making, with insults tossed around the house by the country's best-paid tossers.
This was never a simple equation of 'Hangar Six minus Aer Lingus = 300 Ryanair jobs'. Aer Lingus's lease stated they could only be moved on the grounds of 'aircraft operation' or 'airport development' – not to make way for another tenant. Hangar Six is the only one capable of accommodating more than one of their wide-body Airbus A330 aircraft. They were staying put.
Coughlan offered O'Leary alternatives: Hangars One and Two or a newly-built premises. Sites at Shannon and Knock were also available. Like Andy, the churlish Little Britain character, he huffed, "I want that one", pointing at Hangar Six.
So why does he want Hangar Six so badly, given that he doesn't have any wide-body aircraft? He says he wants to move his HQ there. The suspicion, however, is that he wants to use it as a terminal. On Thursday, he produced a letter giving 'guarantees' to the IDA which he hoped would dispel this suspicion. It didn't. O'Leary knows that if he ever hopes to open Hangar Six as a terminal, then he must acquire it first. 'Guarantees' can be dealt with later.
Coughlan is an easy target for his criticism. Last week, Senator Eoghan Harris attacked O'Leary for demeaning the office of enterprise minister. In truth, Mary has done a fine job of demeaning it herself. Her handling of the Fás fiasco still beggars belief. We don't need O'Leary to tell us she is useless at her job – we already know it. The former Dell and Waterford workers know it. Cadbury's workers may know it soon too.
However, O'Leary's attack backfired as the week progressed. It became obvious he was playing a media game with her. Coughlan, he said, had "tragically" lost the 300 jobs. Why? Because he was asking for something he knew she couldn't give. He pined for the days when Haughey was running the country. Why? So he could avail of the services of a crook?
Lurking at the back of all this is O'Leary's penchant for score-settling. He's still seething over the government's €10 airport tax. It infuriates him that it's less money spent on his bagged alcohol or scratch cards.
If there is any lingering doubt that this is at the core of his manufactured row with Coughlan, then look at Ryanair's website. On 5 February, it announced it will be reducing its Shannon jobs from over 300 to less than 200 because of the tax. At the end of the statement it says, "these cuts would be immediately reversed if the €10.00 Visitor Tax is scrapped". Does that sound like he's holding hundreds of families hostage? O'Leary sees his employees and the unemployed merely as pawns. He's never experienced the soul-sapping desperation of being on the dole. To give jobless people hope and then take it away is cruel beyond comprehension. Whether those jobs materialise or not, he's dragged hundreds of vulnerable families through the ringer.
The bottom line is that he has 300 jobs in his gift. If he really cares about bringing employment to Dublin, then he should shut up, take what's on offer and create them.
Cowen, meanwhile, should start taking a Ryanair approach to his cabinet and stop placing loyalty above ability. Coughlan wouldn't be employed at corporate level in Ryanair. The Hangar Six affair may not have been of her making, but there are plenty of other reasons for hoofing her out of the enterprise ministry.
She has allowed O'Leary to play her like a ball in a schoolyard game. O'Leary should do the nation a favour and stop hopping the ball. It's One or Two, O'Leary… Hangar Six is out of the question. Now create those jobs or hop it.

dkenny@tribune.ie

February 21, 2010

No more bailing out of Ahern's long finger

Sunday Tribune 14 February

Michael Murray is a walking cliché. His beady blue eyes, shaved head, mean, craggy face… if he had 'convicted rapist' tattooed across his forehead, his past couldn't be more obvious.
Last week, the Evening Herald pictured him at the door of his flat in Inchicore. His body language suggested that of a hunted animal run to ground.
Murray doesn't like being photographed. On Tuesday, solicitors for the serial rapist tried to effectively bar the Herald from using images of him at his new address. Murray values his privacy – with good reason.
In 1995, he was arrested on suspicion of rape and released pending a decision on charges. Over the following five days, he raped three more women and sexually assaulted two others.
He was jailed for 18 years but was released five years early last summer and then disappeared. Liveline and the Herald tracked him down. He may have been living next door to you.
As Murray was attempting to gag the Herald last week, another rapist, John Ryan, was sentenced to seven years for attacking a teenager in his taxi. After sentencing, it emerged Ryan had been allowed to continue driving his taxi following the rape allegation – despite garda objections. Ryan may have given your daughter a lift home while awaiting trial.
Two men, two threats, both at large when they should be kept away from the public.
Now consider the case of Dominic McKevitt. In December, McKevitt was arrested in Dundalk and taken to Mountjoy. The St Vincent de Paul volunteer had forgotten to get a €12.70 licence for his rescue dog Nemo and hadn't paid the €300 fine. He spent 12 hours in jail before being freed by the embarrassed authorities.
Cases like Murray's, Ryan's and Mc Kevitt's highlight the seemingly arbitrary nature of our legal system. They undermine public confidence by reinforcing the perception that the law is skewed in favour of the criminal. It's not, but appearances are everything.
Justice minister Dermot Ahern is aware of this. He has made a big show of dealing with the fines problem. Like Dublin traffic he has the appearance of movement but is really just snailing along.
Almost a year ago, Ahern published the Fines Bill 2009, to give judges alternatives to jail sentences. Incredibly, it is still not law and there is no date for its enactment.
During the first 10 months of last year, 3,366 people were jailed for non-payment of court fines. Sixty-two of these were jailed over TV licences. The overall figure compares to 2,520 in 2008 and 1,335 in 2007. While we wait for Ahern's fines law, the number of incarcerations is increasing. Dog and TV licence fine defaulters are going to prison while individuals like Murray are being set free early. Where are our priorities?
Ahern says defaulters are "a tiny fraction" of the prison population. Presumably, these 'little people' – like McKevitt – are not significant enough to warrant some haste on his behalf.
Last November, Ahern made another promise. He said he was finally going to reform the bail laws in favour of public safety. The figures for bail crime are frightening. The Dáil has heard that suspects for eight murders in 2008 and 13 committed in 2007 were on bail. The mother Sylvia Roche Kelly and Swiss teenager Manuela Riedo were both murdered in 2007 by bailed criminals. Twenty four serious sex offences were committed by people on bail in 2008. Thirty-four suspects threatened to kill people.
Between 2004 and mid-2008, 90,000 serious crimes were committed by bailed suspects.
Seven out of eight people who apply for bail are successful.
Will Ahern move quickly to deal with this problem? On the evidence of the Fines Bill, don't hold your breath. Before his proposals are even published, they must be approved by the AG and tested against the Constitution and European law.
Reform of the bail laws will drag on interminably. Why? Because of resources. Ahern admitted last April that reform was impractical because of prison overcrowding. During 2008, nine jails operated at or above capacity. The cost of keeping a prisoner is €92,717. Without Thornton Hall, bail will continue to act as a prison valve.
Ahern, while appearing to address the issue, has kicked reform to touch. He is playing the Fianna Fáil long ball game. The banks probe won't begin until the summer – a year and a half after the economic crisis began. Nama is still not up and running – a year and a half after the economic crisis began. The Fines Bill is still not enacted – one year on. Even Ahern's plan to tag sex offenders is still not a runner – one year on.
The public has a fundamental right to confidence in the legal system. It has the right not to be afraid of being attacked by someone on bail. Women shouldn't have to worry that their taxi driver is going to rape them, or that demons like Murray will be released early and quietly move in next door. The public has a right to more than 'optics' from a justice minister moving in slow-motion. It's about time Ahern started making a tangible difference on the streets of Ireland.
Long arm of the law? It's more like 'long finger of the law'.

dkenny@tribune.ie

February 14, 2010

We can rebuild our spirit, but Cowen must rebuild our trust

Sunday Tribune 7 February

Brian Cowen wore a top hat, tails and tapped his cane on the stage. "You've got to… aaaaaccent-uate the positive…" he sang, "ellllllimmm-inate the negative… and don't mess with Mr In-Between!" He attempted to do the splits, failed and slid along the dancefloor on his knees instead, doing 'jazz hands'. The crowd was delirious. Someone threw their underpants at him and…
I woke up in a cold sweat. It had been a bad dream: the product of too much cheese and RTÉ's report of Cowen's speech to Dublin Chamber of Commerce on Thursday. Our leader wants us to stop being negative. We need to be like the heroes of 1916, lads. We need some new optimism, lads. Neo-optimism, if you like.
As unintentionally funny speeches go, this was second only to Donie Cassidy's mad ramble in the Seanad on Wednesday. (Donie kept referring to the 'Jack and Jill' charity as the 'Jekyll and Hyde' charity.)
The Taoiseach's pep talk was all the more remarkable as it came on the heels of a report which shows that Ireland is suffering Europe's worst confidence crisis. The Edelman Trust Barometer says our trust in government has fallen to 28% (global average is 49%), while trust in business is 31% (average is 50%). The latest MRBI poll says three quarters of us are dissatisfied with this government.
What planet is Cowen living on? It will take more than rhetoric to get the nation behind him. With its references to 1916, the Taoiseach aimed his speech at our nobler side. Anyone who doesn't heed his call is a pessimistic traitor. All critics are just being "populist".
"Populist" is the latest dirty word Fianna Fáil uses to dismiss dissenters. If you hammer home a point about cronyism or expenses, you are being "populist". This paper was accused of being "populist" when it pursued John O'Donoghue over his crazy expenses.
Even Jim McDaid, who is permanently camped under the public gallery, has a new aversion to "populism". Last Wednesday he, bizarrely, told Liveline that headshops shouldn't be banned "for purely populist reasons". Jim – not for the first time – was driving against oncoming traffic.
The opposition were also accused of being "populist" when they urged Brian Lenihan to intervene over Permanent TSB's rates hikes. Of course, Lenihan couldn't intervene, but it's the opposition's job to rattle his cage on behalf of the mistrustful 'Great Unwashed' – ie, be "populist".
There were plenty of reasons, last week alone, for the public not to trust Cowen and Co. For example, how can we trust transport minister Noel Dempsey about, well, anything? Last August, we learned that taxpayers will compensate the operators of the M3 if car numbers fall below a certain target. Dempsey refused to reveal what that target was.
Last week, he gave us the silent treatment again and wouldn't explain why he appointed his election canvasser to the National Transport Authority board. Damien Usher is, coincidentally, a former bank manager.
Or what about the revelation that the company which built the M50 for €58m will ultimately make €1.15bn from it – at our expense. We're paying that company €50m a year for the next decade in 'compensation' for buying the road off them. Padraig Flynn and George Redmond signed off on that contract.
Or how can we trust the Greens to protect our environment when they seem powerless to halt the building of the massive Poolbeg incinerator? Will John Gormley be steamrolled like he was over the banks? After his betrayal of Tara, how can we trust Gormley to handle concerns over the proposed Slane bypass at Newgrange? There are 44 archaeological sites within 500 metres of the route. Will he ask councillor Nick Killian what he meant when he dismissed local archaeology as "historic bric-a-brac"? Can we trust Gormley to safeguard our 'bric-a-brac' heritage? (See www.savenewgrange.org).
Or how can we trust Eamon Ryan's posturing over transparency when he appoints a new Commissioner for Energy Regulation (€165,000 pa) after a phone conversation?
And there's more. How can we trust the state's judicial system when a serial rapist like Michael Murray can be sentenced to 18 years, released after 10 and then go to ground?
How can we trust that system not to waste our money when a district court judge can run up €91,909 in expenses and the constitution won't allow us to lower his/her wages?
How can we even trust Irish businesses to sell us Irish goods? Did you know that Fruitfield's 'Old Time Irish' marmalade, which has an address in Tallaght on the label, is made in the UK and Portugal?
The above are just a few examples for Cowen to contemplate. All "populist" topics worth highlighting. He is correct when he says we need to rebuild our spirit. As leader of the country, it's up to him to rebuild our trust.
Half a million are on the dole. There's no harm in the media and opposition playing to that gallery once in a while – within reason – if it reminds the government that it's being watched. Cowen can make a song and dance about being optimistic, but he must first eliminate the negative before the disenchanted can consider accentuating the positive. We'll give you your 'neo-optimism' when you get rid of the nepotism, Taoiseach.
Noel Dempsey, please note.

dkenny@tribune.ie

February 7, 2010

An all-Ireland hero is let down by political pygmies

Sunday Tribune 24 January


"This man is a true hero." Gay O'Brien blushed as my father gushed about his bravery. "He filmed Derry in 1968." It was October 1979 and I was 12. I hadn't a clue what the old man was on about. Filming a city sounded acutely boring. Nonetheless, I shook Gay's hand and made all the right noises.
Afterwards, my father explained that 'Derry' had been a watershed in the north's history. Civil Rights activists and elected representatives had been baton-charged by the RUC on the city's Duke Street while making a peaceful protest. O'Brien filmed the officers going berserk and his RTÉ footage was shown around the world. Finally, outsiders saw the RUC for what it was: a brutal, sectarian organisation.
O'Brien had put personal safety aside and stood his ground in the face of savagery. My father was right to embarrass him: he was a hero.
PSNI officer, Peadar Heffron is a hero too. Not for his exploits as captain of the PSNI GAA team or his championing of Irish in the Queen's constabulary. Not even for surviving a dissident Republican bomb earlier this month – he was a hero long before that. Heffron is a hero because he, too, stood his ground despite threats. He answered the call to create a new North and joined the PSNI. He took his Catholic Irishness into what many still see as enemy territory to dilute the force's old RUC reputation.
His decision to do this is a measure of how far this island has come since O'Brien filmed events in Derry. His payment for that decision was an amputated leg and multiple horrific injuries. Last week, Heffron regained consciousness to the sound of squabbling at Hillsborough. The DUP and Sinn Féin were head-butting each other again over the devolution of policing from London to Belfast – something all parties had signed up to.
As Heffron's wife, Fiona, reflected on her husband's future, the two men responsible for keeping peace in the North went running to mammy. Peter Robinson and Martin McGuinness tugged at the governments' apron strings and Gordon Brown and Brian Cowen doled out the sticking plasters and Savlon. There was also a flash of the wooden spoon and 'daddy' America was phoned at work. This was a soap opera – with the same old risible plotline and characters. It was another show of the pathetic, self-important nonsense we're used to from the North's politicians.
While Heffron's mutilated body was being nursed in hospital, McGuinness and Robinson were bickering over 'points of principle'. Time wasted over 'points of principle' is time given to malcontents like those who attacked Heffron. It creates disillusion and breeds more recruits for their pointless 'cause'. There is no time for 'points of principle' while the bombers are regrouping. The DUP and SF were playing politics with people's lives. The former Chuckle Brothers have become the Bare Knuckle Brothers.
Jim Allister of the TUV hit the target when he said that the DUP and the Shinners can't even get their act together over the education system. Why, he asked, give them even more power? His observation appeared to be reinforced by their play-acting for the cameras.
There is now major concern that this pantomime will be staged every time there's a hiccup in the peace process. The Knuckle Brothers must stop throwing shapes and start governing. The alternative is a slide back into the past.
It's only 12 years since the celebration of the Good Friday agreement was rocked by the Omagh bombing. Twelve years since 29 people were blown apart. The era of paramilitary barbarism was only yesterday in our island's long history.
It's only five years since the GAA lifted Rule 21 which banned policemen like Heffron from playing gaelic games. It's only 17 years since the lifting of Section 31, which outlawed the broadcasting of Sinn Féin voices. It's only 26 years since a Loyalist mob invaded Clontibret, Co Monaghan. A mob led by Peter Robinson.
The past is still very close.
Our Taoiseach's involvement in last week's mess highlights how important the North's stability is to the Republic. Peace has brought both jurisdictions closer together. The cross-border traffic we witness at Christmas is testament to the eased relationship.
The lessons learned over 40 years make it harder to understand attacks like those on Heffron. They also make it harder to understand last week's time-wasting.
The histrionics at Hillsborough did him a huge disservice. He has paid his price for peace. It's now up to the North's leaders to honour his sacrifice and start behaving like statesmen rather than sulky local politicians.
Robinson said of the Heffron outrage: "Those who perpetrate such attacks will not succeed in returning Northern Ireland to the dark days of the past." Maybe not, but squabbling politicians like himself and McGuinness might.
In the meantime, Peadar Heffron's pain, like Gay O'Brien's archive footage, is a reminder that the dark days 'haven't gone away' yet.
His GAA-playing days are over, but Heffron is an all-Ireland hero in the truest sense of the phrase.

dkenny@tribune.ie

January 31, 2010

Why public will gobble Gormley's Greens at election

Sunday Tribune 24 January

There's a new 'green' in town. Last week, farmers unveiled the first new vegetable in 10 years. It's called the 'flower sprout' and is a weird-looking kale hybrid that veggie heads hope will give the maligned Brussels sprout an image makeover.
News of the flower sprout's arrival broke on the same day that another green vegetable was being boiled in public. Like the sprout, Green Party leader John Gormley is hugely unpopular and leaves a noxious odour behind him. On Wednesday, Pat Kenny turned the heat up on his defence of the government's whitewash of the banking crisis. Gormley said he welcomed the Commission of Inquiry, which will save key political figures a public grilling. (End of cookery puns.)
Just in case there's any confusion: this was the same Gormley who demanded a FULL PUBLIC inquiry. This was the same Gormley who pointedly didn't attend the Dáil announcement last Tuesday. His colleagues stayed away too.
Even by Gormley's usual hypocritical standards, his performance was off the scale. He hid behind buzzwords like 'scoping'. What's scoping? Is it some unpleasant medical procedure we get to inflict on the bankers? No. Scoping means drawing up the terms of reference for the inquiry… four months from now. The commission will begin in July and a document will be delivered next year – three years after the crisis began. Gormley didn't get the public inquiry he wanted. He got a delaying tactic.
He told Pat he couldn't understand why people were "dissing" the commission. (It nearly rhymed. "Yo! Don't you be dissin'… mah co-mish-on..."). Memo to gangsta rapper Gormley: people are "dissing" it because they want to see the architects of their misfortune dragged through the streets. They want revenge. He knows this despite his protestations.
They don't want a party with no integrity left propping up another one that had no integrity to begin with. Since signing up with Fianna Fáil, the Greens have compromised on every major principle they stood for. Before entering government, they supported the Shell to Sea movement, the halting of US military planes landing at Shannon and the re-routing of the M3.
Today, Eamon Ryan is in charge of the Corrib gas project and military flights still stop at Shannon. The latter is a classic example of the Greens being duped by a Fianna Fáil stalling tactic. In 2008, the government was forced to set up a cabinet committee to review the searching of suspected CIA rendition flights. Last week, Amnesty's Colm O'Gorman recalled Ciaran Cuffe happily endorsing it. Two years on, the committee has only met twice and there is still no review. There's a lesson to be learned in that.
Tara is the greatest betrayal of all, with Gormley steamrolling the M3 through the historic valley, despite the international outcry. His defence of this vandalism is even more galling when you consider that the M3 tolls are going to a multinational for the next 40 years. When there is a shortfall in usage the Irish taxpayer will make up the difference.
Now there is another archaeological flashpoint on the horizon. Plans were announced last week for a bypass at Slane, 500m from the edge of the Newbridge world monument. Who wants this vandal in charge when the fight begins over this?
Even in a business as devoid of conscience as politics, Gormley stands out as a man missing the shame gene. He was very misleading on Prime Time about the sourcing of extra grit/salt during the freeze.
He knows the banking inquiry is buying time for Brian Cowen. He also knows that the Toxic Trinity of banker, builder and politician is still with us. Two weeks ago, housing minister Michael Finneran said there were up to 140,000 unoccupied houses around the country. The construction industry suggested 40,000.
However, a study carried out at NUI Maynooth concluded there are 302,000: enough to satisfy demand for years to come. That's bad news for the construction industry – and the government if it has been spinning figures to suit its building buddies. Here is the physical proof that Ireland was deliberately over-developed by the Toxic Trinity.
Next month, the third member of that trinity, the bankers, will start throwing people out of their homes as the repossession moratorium comes to an end. This is as good a reason as any for Gormley to have forced Fianna Fáil's hand over the banks.
By his own lights he had the power to demand a full public inquiry. In 2008, he ran into problems with the EU over his plans to ban incandescent light bulbs. His spokesman said those problems could be over-ridden by EU legislation. Why couldn't Gormley have applied similar logic to the banking inquiry? If legislation is hindering you, find a way around it or change it. As with everything else, he sold out to stay in. He betrayed us, just as he betrayed our heritage. He has proven again that he believes in power at all costs.
His inquiry is a con job. Like the flower sprout, it's an illusion. A sprout is still a sprout no matter how you dress it up. A whitewash is still a whitewash.
The only consolation is – come election time – Gormley is one green the public will really enjoy getting their teeth into.

dkenny@tribune.ie

January 24, 2010

The Boat That Rocks

Sunday Tribune 17 January, 2010


Did I ever tell you I once skated from England to Spain? Then took a break for some rock-climbing at Gibraltar? Oh, and I surfed from there to Rome?" It would be an interesting conversation-stopper to hit the grandkids with. And technically it would be true. The Independence of The Seas has an ice rink, rock-face and surfing deck included in its many amenities – and I mean many amenities.
The second largest cruise ship in the world is a staggering sight, with its 15 passenger decks and towering funnel. If it was turned on its bow, it would be taller than the Eiffel Tower. Not that you'd want to see it turned on its bow. Remember Titanic?
It's so massive that our main concern was whether it would swallow us up. Would it be so colossal and impersonal that our fortnight would be spent endlessly queuing? Could it manage 4,000 passengers and still have room for the finer touches?
The first hint of an answer came when we noticed that the day of the week was printed on the carpets in the lifts. Why bother? We found out the reason later in the week.
We were booked into a third-deck Ocean View state room which had a wide, fixed porthole at the bed head. The Balcony rooms above are airier but being able to prop your pillow against the porthole and watch the waves below wasn't a bad trade-off. There's adequate storage, a compact bathroom, a minibar and TV. You won't use the latter though. There's too much to see.
We went for a ramble on deck. It was a grey day but the bright blues and yellows of the pool, and the pinks and oranges of the cocktails, gave Southampton an almost tropical feel.
Drinks in hand we leaned on the handrail as the Isle of Wight drifted away and… nearly leaped overboard when the ship's horn sounded. The Independence's klaxon, like the rest of the ship, is CAPITAL LETTERS throughout. It bellows: 'LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!'
Rattled, we headed to the top of the ship to see the sporting facilities. Above us, helmeted passengers picked their way up a man-made rockface several thousand miles high (43ft). Others ran about in the hockey and basketball courts. A few teenagers queued for the FlowRider – a wave simulator for deck-top surfboarding. It packs a punch and watching cocky teenagers being flung about by the force of its water was excellent entertainment. We bravely opted for mini-golf instead.
The sea air builds up a great appetite, which is good as there's food everywhere. There are 10 eateries to choose from and even a self-service frozen yoghurt machine by the pools. Above it, there's a running track. If you want to annoy smug joggers, place your sun lounger across it and sit there licking your ice cream. I did.
One of the worries about cruising is that you'll be stuck sharing a table with a stranger who picks their teeth or won't stop talking at you. The main dining area also has just two sittings (6.30pm and 8.45pm), which may not suit, either. The plus side is that the food here is excellent and elegantly served. There are alternatives, however. The vast Windjammer and Jade buffets serve food almost all around the clock. This is heaven, with everything from roasts to veggie meals, Asian, pizzas, fruit, burgers and salads.
There is also the excellent, if formal, Portofino Italian restaurant and Chops Grille and Johnny Rocket's diner which all have a surcharge.
We opted for My Time Dining, which meant we could book a table for two at any time in the main restaurant. To do this, you will have to agree in advance to pay your tips (see panel), but we felt it was worth it.
There's no shortage of after-dinner entertainment. The live shows in the 1,200-seat theatre are Broadway quality, if you like that sort of thing. There's also a casino, movies, live game shows and ice-skating performances.
There are 14 bars, featuring various forms of live entertainment from the excellent Schooners and Bolero music lounges to a not-so-excellent 'English Pub' called the Dog and Badger. This is in the centre of the ship on the Royal Promenade, which is a 'main street' with cafes, wine bars shops, boutiques and souvenir market stalls.
The patrons of the D and B sat outside it as if they were on their hols in Fuengirola. Now, I'm not a snob me, but… actually I am a snob. I can't understand why anyone would go on a cruise and spend it below deck in a mock 'pub'.
As the ship sails from Southampton it's understandable that a lot of the entertainment is geared towards the English, but it got a bit grating after a while. One Union-Jacked, 'Knees Up Muvver Brahhhhnnnn' night on the Promenade was so 'geezer-ish' we ran screeching to our cabin. A Norwegian couple we later befriended asked us if they had wandered onto the set of EastEnders.
From Southampton we travelled to Vigo in north Spain, Lisbon, Cadiz, Cagliari then on to Italy taking in Rome, Florence and Pisa, back to Cannes and Gibraltar and then home.
There is a drawback with cruising on a ship this size. If you like to explore then this is not the ideal way to do it as time is tight at each destination. This is more of a 'tasting menu' cruise than a slap-up European meal.
It's actually tempting just to stay on board – there's so much to do that the ship is a 'destination' in its own right. Sports, gaming, line-dancing classes, quizzes, seminars... Best of all, there's lying by the pool eating ice cream.
Parents can happily dispose of their offspring (not overboard, that's not allowed) in the kid's amusement centre and not see them for two weeks, if they like. There is a water park, the H2O Zone, and the activities rota will make their little heads spin.
Once they're out of the way you're free to have a quiet drink or go a few rounds in the gym's boxing ring with your spouse. Alternatively, you can just sit still and watch the sun go down over north Africa on a balmy evening, while distant forest fires light up the sky over Spain, as we did. (We were celebrating a significant anniversary.)
We thoroughly enjoyed our time on the Independence, which is skippered by the affable Teo Strazicic – a gifted artist in his spare time. He and his staff have turned an extraordinary vessel into an organic, living one. All the finer details are taken care of, right down to the 'weekday' carpets in the lifts. Remember them? As time progresses you get so relaxed you lose track of the days. It's a subtle touch, but…
If you want an alternative holiday, scything through the waves in five-star luxury, then this is highly recommended. It's particularly well-suited for groups of friends or families.
Be aware though, with increased discounting, cruising may be losing its 'exclusivity', if that's what you're looking for.
Was the Independence of the Seas too big and impersonal? Definitely not. It felt a lot smaller as I hauled myself down the gangway – but then I was a lot bigger. I blame all those ice creams by the pool.

Tipping

The work ethos on board the Independence is American and therefore tipping is expected. This is a source of annoyance for many non-Yanks. Last year Royal Caribbean said staff received far less tips when British passengers were on board.
The company is looking at addressing the issue for the Southampton run.
Whatever you feel about it, the staff work extremely hard and depend on their tips. Allow €11.50 per passenger, including children, per day for cabin and restaurant staff. 15% is automatically added to drinks. Booze isn't cheap, so be careful.

How my battle with weight nearly consumed me

Sunday Tribune 17 January 2010

It's relentless. A flier has just dropped onto the mat advertising something called 'Salsa Slims'. I've put it with the other ads for Crunch Fatness and Blobwatchers 'Lose Weight, Slim Down – you fat bastard!' programmes. Under the litter tray.
It seems our lives are run on a marketing man's calendar. Christmas parties are advertised in summer, the festive season starts at Hallowe'en. January sales begin in December and summer holidays are advertised in January. These are sandwiched between new year's plugs for nicotine patches and fad diets.
The latter ads are the most galling. You're urged to eat everything in sight over Christmas, then, a week later, the same marketeers are tut-tutting at the weight you've put on. "You've had Christmas, now PURGE, fatso. Get in shape." Whose shape? We're not all supposed to be the same shape. That's what makes us individuals.
As I type this, Gillian McKeith is haranguing someone on the TV. Angelina Jolie's weight loss is Grazia's cover story and the annoying Kerry Katona is battling the bulge in Closer magazine. Last week, Michael Flatley was pictured holding in his tum on the beach under the headline 'Flatley has pull-in power'.
There's an endless media barrage to make us believe in some standardised shape for a happy life. It's not just women that buy into this rubbish. Men do too, although they won't admit it. The Flatley picture is a perfect example of the hypocrisy surrounding weight issues. Whereas it's not okay to poke fun at a woman's physique, it's acceptable to slag off a man's. It doesn't bother us. Well actually, it does.
Seven years ago, constant comments/jokes led me to become obsessed with my weight.
It started out as a mild midlife crisis. Looking through some holiday snaps, I barely recognised myself. I saw a balding, fat man. My hair had started receding, but I wasn't really fat. I was 13 and a half stone, which for 5' 10" is fine. I've always had a skinny frame and when I put on weight it goes on my chin and stomach. This can make me look a lot heavier than I am. People started joking about my 'porkiness'. My confidence went through the floor.
At the same time, we started looking to buy a house. Mortgage, impending baldness and obesity: I was becoming middle-aged. I started a bastardised version of the Atkins diet: cutting out all fatty foods and carbohydrates. I ate only twice a day: lunch was a tray of ham and dinner was grilled chicken breast with veg.
I exercised like mad. In three weeks I had lost a stone. The diet was boring but my confidence was returning. I worked harder and cut down my food intake. Meals were snack-sized. I was becoming obsessed with dieting and exercising.
Food became a nuisance and, really foolishly, I started smoking again. This speeded up my weight loss. My appetite went entirely and my weight plummeted.
I was so wrapped up in dieting, I couldn't see how gaunt I had become. For the record, I wasn't anorexic or bulimic – just very stupid.
In 10 weeks, my weight had dropped to nine and a half stone. I couldn't sleep at night as I kept cramping up. I felt nauseous and exhausted and paranoid about putting my weight back on. I couldn't eat.
As I had no fat left to burn, my body had started eating muscle tissue. My legs and arms were like rope. Walking became uncomfortable as my legs felt as if they were always on the verge of buckling. Even sitting down on my boney butt was uncomfortable.
I got so skinny that my wedding ring kept slipping down my finger. People told me how terrible I looked, just as they had when I was chubby. That was a great help to my self-confidence.
I came back from holiday and saw another person in the pictures: with hollow cheeks and ribs poking through.
My nutritionist sister finally got through to me when she told me the heart is a muscle and I was probably damaging mine. It was a battle to get back to a reasonable weight as my stomach had shrunk. A year and a half after starting my diet I was back to 11 stone.
Since then, I've been around the 11 and half stone mark although my chin might suggest otherwise. I don't care any more. After having been through the (tread)mill I realise that's just my body shape. There are more important things to worry about.
The media's pressure to lose weight is cynical and profit-driven. And hypocritical: last year Kate Moss was castigated for saying "nothing tastes better than skinny" by the same magazines pressuring young women to lose weight.
I know I'm open to ridicule for writing this piece, but there are thousands of men who are vulnerable to that pressure too, and won't admit it. It's estimated that one in five anorexics is male – the number is believed to be rising. There's no shame in talking about it.
A third of us will break our new year's diet resolutions over the next fortnight. For some, that may not be such a bad thing.
To hell with weight fascism – here's to the Fatkins diet.

dkenny@tribune.ie

January 17, 2010

Illness hasn't turned Lenihan into Superman

Sunday Tribune 10 January 2010

Peter Robinson's lip trembled as he spoke about his pain. He looked like a man with a thousand Lambegs banging in his head. His voice faltered as he spoke of his wife's infidelity and suicide attempt last March. He would "get through this".
Gerry Adams' voiced trembled on Pat Kenny's show as he countered negative reaction to his revelations of childhood abuse. Like Robinson's, his story was very affecting. Here was a heart being bared. A heart we didn't necessarily know existed in the first place.
Brian Lenihan's voice was strong and clear as he told Sean O'Rourke about his cancer. The nation's heart crumpled to the floor.
The sound of the alpha male breaking has a distinctive resonance. The harder the exterior, the louder the crack. Alpha males are hard-wired not to show emotion and so we watch every gesture, listen to every syllable and wait for their humanity to break through. When it does it can be devastating. Robinson's 'snap' came with his wish for 2010 to be a "better year" and Adams' when he hinted he may have suffered abuse. Lenihan's came with his declaration that he would defeat cancer or be defeated by it.
The image of the stoic Irishman suppressing emotion always brings a lump to the collective throat. We become afflicted with a form of 'Irish amnesia' and forget his transgressions. We temporarily forget that Robinson's a bigot and Adams has blood on his hands.
The Irish 'nice' gene forces our emotions to over-ride our common sense. As we are incapable of doing anything by half measures, this frequently leads to national hysteria. Remember the Thierry Henry furore?
What I'm about to write next will anger many readers. I can't apologise for that. This amnesia and hysteria was evident in the response to Brian Lenihan's interview last week.
His words were inspirational and he reinforced my opinion that he is a decent, hardworking man. However, the public and press reaction went way over the top, even by Irish standards.
On Monday, Liveline buzzed with sympathetic callers. This is the same Liveline that has aired public-sector workers weeping over his cuts to their pay. The same forum for everyone with a gripe about his work as finance minister.
The following day the newspapers were full of unbridled praise for his undoubted courage. 'Braveheart Brian's battle cry lifts the country' yelled the Irish Independent, which also compared him to Winston Churchill.
The Daily Mail, not to be outdone, called him 'Superman'. He "has united the country". He is our "talisman". Superman? Talis-man? Oh, man.
Can we please stop for a reality check? Brian Lenihan is very ill and we all feel sorry for him and wish him well. However, his illness hasn't suddenly given him superhuman powers. He's still the same Brian Lenihan we criticised for setting up Nama. He's the same man who cut the price of booze while cutting carers' allowances. He's the same minister who axed medical cards for the elderly. The same man who crumbled to the bookies and rescinded his increase in gambling tax while levying the rest of us.
Now he is Superman? Get a grip.
It's time we stopped searching the skies for potential saviours. If we're not waiting for Our Lady to appear at Knock, we're handing an ill politician a cape with an S on it. We need to stop being misty-eyed and dreaming of superheroes. Lenihan is still the same finance minister he was when he delivered his budget.
We can admire him on a human level (and I do), but we must separate his private and political personas. We can't pull our punches as an electorate because we feel sorry for him. We must continue to lambaste him when he slips up – as he did over the carers' allowance.
That sounds harsh. It's not intended to be, but after last week's coverage some balance is needed. I hope Lenihan will understand what I mean by that.
He told the opposition not to give him an easy ride in the Dáil: to leave the kid gloves at home. The citizens of this state must leave the gloves off, too. Lenihan has shown himself to be a pragmatist over the past 14 months. He's been on a learning curve and it's not unreasonable to suggest that he sometimes heeds us when we shout. He admitted his mistake over medical cards, for example. He needs our voices to guide him as much he needs the opposition's.
His illness should not cloud our judgement of his decisions. When he is being grilled on RTÉ, the temptation to think "ah, ease up on him, he's not well" should be resisted.
Something similar can be said of Robinson and Adams. While feeling sympathy for them, we must also realise that their alpha male confessions were damage limitation exercises. Robinson spoke in advance of BBC revelations about his wife's murky financial affairs. Adams has been accused of lying about his alleged paedophile brother's relationship with Sinn Féin. Lenihan's confession had no hidden agenda. The only damage he can hope to limit is to his health. He is a fine man and deserves our unstinting sympathy in a balanced, measured way.
His recovery should be wished and prayed for… but it shouldn't overshadow the recovery of our nation.

dkenny@tribune.ie

January 10, 2010

New Year's Predictions

Sunday Tribune 1 January, 2010


The best thing about 2009 is that it’s over. Unfortunately, in 2010 the government will invent new ways to squeeze even more money out of us. In addition to Nama, Brian Lenihan will set up Sofa (the Search Out extra Finance Agency).
This will deploy squads of taxmen to rummage down the back of the nation’s couches for spare coins. Apparently, there is still €370m-worth of pre-euro money hidden around the country. Start rummaging.
Iceland will continue to be a great source of relief to us as we say “could be worse. We could be Iceland”. We will continue to outperform Iceland financially. Iceland the supermarket chain, that is.
The financial institutions will announce the creation of new jobs… in India, by outsourcing. (Hibernian Aviva have already started that ball rolling.)
Sometime this year, the search party will return with news of George Lee. Has anybody seen him since he was elected last June? It might also find ‘ad hoc’ minister Mary Harney – it’s about time some party took her in. This year she will finally leave Biffo’s – and our medicine – cabinets.
Bertie Ahern will be elected honorary mayor of Newry. A year ago he told Newry Chamber of Commerce “the area deserves to be to the forefront of Ireland’s economic renaissances”. His book-signing there before Christmas, with the other southern shoppers, certainly played its part.
Visionary Joe Coleman will make further predictions. Last year, he forecast visions at Knock and pilgrims witnessed the “sun dancing in the sky”. This year I predict Our Lady appearing on ‘Dancing With The Stars’ on the telly.
Dermot Ahern’s Blasphemy Law will get its first test case. Possibly over the above gag. God will be called as witness for the defence. Get out of THAT one Ahern.
I predict another vision in the sky – that of John O’Donoghue taking a cheapo Ryanair flight.
Mary Coughlan will receive the Noble [sic] Prize for her thesis on Darwin’s Theory of Revolution and Frankenstein’s Theory of Relatives.
The Kimono will finally take off as Ivor Callely spots a gap in the rag trade. Beverly Flynn will have the upside-down coat hanger surgically removed from her smug gob.
Iran, continuing its brinksmanship, will play a practical joke and swap chairs with Ireland at the UN. Later, as the Yanks are nuking us, the Iranians will claim not to have had their “contact lenses in that day” and blame the alphabetical seating. ‘Iran, Iraq, Ireland’…
In showbusiness, Big Brother will end and I predict a headline in this paper that reads ‘Big Brother (no-one) is watching you’.
X Factor will return with Louis Walsh’s latest protégé: Jed Ward – a singing member of the Travelling community with a split personality.
In sport, Tiger Woods will restart on the Pro Tour. Not the golf one, the other kind of ‘pro’ tour.
As the monsoon season begins, Disney will buy County Galway and turn it into a water theme park called ‘Pirates of the Corrib’.
Ryanair will introduce ‘Pay-as-you-go’ airmiles. Run out of credit mid-flight? Off you goooooooooo….
Despite cutbacks at the station, TV3 will somehow find money to set up Ursula Halligan’s new office in the oncology unit of the Mater.
Finally, my top prediction for 2010 is … the end of the world. Later this month, in Switzerland, Cern’s Large Hadron Collider will be restarted. Critics say the Big Bang machine will create a black hole that will rip Earth apart. So forget the above predictions – we’re doomed.
The good news is that we’re all going down together. See you on the other side, folks.

We need the unsinkable community spirit of the west

Sunday Tribune, 27 December

"He'll never make it. He must be mental." We watched the brown water at Kiltartan rise higher up the JCB's wheels. "Seriously, he's mental."
The stinking river, tainted by slurry and overflowing septic tanks, flooded across the broken N18 outside Gort, turning the hard shoulder into a beige waterfall. A snapped 'Stop' sign lay semi-submerged in its foam.
The driver was hell-bent on ferrying his neighbour's home. The torrent was hell-bent on making his digger join the 'Stop' sign. It was a tense few minutes.
We started to breathe again when his tyres re-emerged and he barrelled, defiantly, up the road.
There was a lot of defiance washing around Galway last month when I visited its flood sites. People whose homes were destroyed were defying the urge to drown in their own misery. They were determined that their neighbours would do the same.
In the hinterland of Beagh, I traipsed across acres of Somme-like mud with Hugh O'Donnell. Hugh's family, including his aged mother, had to be airlifted from the farmhouse he was born in. He, too, was defiant as he led us to his sub-aquatic home: he wouldn't let his spirit sink along with his belongings. "It just proves that you're not guaranteed anything in this world," he said philosophically, as the water lapped around his window sills.
His chief concern was that his mother was safe and happy "and that's all that counts". No self pity. 'There's always someone worse off than yourself'.
Above the waterline, we could see a kettle and a picture on the wall – the flotsam of 50 years of family life on the O'Donnell farm. Memories, his wife Kathleen later told me, were attached to every fitting: even to the gate Hugh's late father had built. There were memories attached to frames as well: the only pictures Kathleen had of her mother were in the house.
"I lie awake at night and wonder if I'll ever see a picture of her again." It was not a complaint, it was a regret – and all the more poignant for it.
Everywhere we went, we heard the same philosophy flowing through the conversation: don't complain, there's always someone worse off than you.
On Ashfield Drive in Ballinasloe, Michelle Devlin showed us around her parents' home. The flood water had receded, leaving cracks in the walls. The Sacred Heart hung behind her father Eamonn. "This is our dream home for 21 years," he said. "Now it may have to be knocked down." There was no display of, justifiable, self-pity. Just a resigned sadness and an overflowing concern for others as Michelle listed the damage her neighbours had suffered. There's always somebody worse off than you: someone deserving of your sympathy even though you're up the creek yourself.
The sad stories flooded out, as did the warmth and humanity of the people we met. Neighbours' dogs were being minded, houses were being cleaned and possessions stored. The Church of Ireland chapel was offered for mass as Catholic St Michael's was under threat from the river.
There was no public/private sector divide. There was no 'them and us'. There was just 'us'.
After a year of disharmony and disturbing revelations, here was tangible proof that we are still a fundamentally decent race.
We frequently behave like idiots – and we have some terrible skeletons in the national closet – but at the core we're disarmingly kind, despite what we say about ourselves.
Our problem is that we are, collectively, mad. Freud said we're the only race "for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever". We're too contrary.
Part of this madness manifests itself in our Dysfunctional National Body Image (© Dr Kenny). We don't know how small we are. We look in the mirror and see a big nation, although we're only the same size as Manchester. Look at the first Lisbon Treaty vote when we told Europe to stuff it. Four million of us against 500 million. We're nuts.
Look at the declaration of war with France over Thierry Henry. If we could harness the energy we wasted complaining about him we could be out of this mess by next week.
This lack of objectivity has led us to expect more from the world than we are entitled to. The result has been an inflated sense of entitlement which has now driven a wedge between the public and private sectors. We've wasted a year squabbling when we should have been behaving like a community. We're not some great sovereign power. We're a small community on the west coast of Europe that occasionally punches above its weight. We're the south Galway of the EU – and there's no shame in that.
Hopefully this new year we will start acting like a community again, bear the hardships for each other and stop the interminable bickering. The defiant, unsinkable community spirit of the west has shown that we can unite to ride out any storm – despite what Freud said.
That spirit will serve us better than the one displayed by Siptu's Jack O'Connor when he talks of indefinite strikes in February. We just need to tap into it.
The west's awake – the rest of Ireland needs to start waking up too.

dkenny@tribune.ie

December 27, 2009

At Christmastime, we let in light and banish shade

Sunday Tribune, 20 December 2009

Warning: the following contains scenes of people enjoying themselves. Might be suitable for children.

We lit the tree in our village last week. We poured petrol over it and… only joking kids (don't try that at home). We turned on the lights and Christmas was welcomed in on a cold dark, Dublin evening.
Christmas always looks its best at night. Black suits it. It accentuates the light winking on trees and gutterings and spilling out of living rooms. Shadows retreat. The longest nights of the year are actually the brightest – and it's a man-made brightness.
When that brightness returned to our village last week, something else retreated. For an hour, cynicism, sadness and futility were exiled to the edge of town.
Small voices bubbled up around the stage in the church carpark. Clouds of breath hung in the air as children sang the praises of Rudolf's remarkable hooter. Inflatable snowpeople hummed along as air was pumped up their white posteriors from an invisible generator. The chill crept up through the soles of my shoes. "Santy," we were told, "will be along presently."
Feet shuffled, noses snuffled and children raced through prayers as Father John blessed the tree.
"Godblessourtree. Aaaaamen-wheressanta?"
The switch was pressed, the tree blazed. Light was slung over its branches like a broken cobweb. Then Santa appeared, in a shower of sparks, on top of Goat Castle. Children squealed and hundreds of adults, including non-parents like me, were led by the hand out of reality back to our childhood. Everybody was smiling.
Later, walking past the four dead businesses on Castle Street, I wondered what it would be like to see Christmas through a child's eyes again. To rub out the rubbish bits of reality and only see the good stuff. To blot out the misery of the past year.
Then I remembered the story of Jenny O'Connell. In May, the Dun Laoghaire mum had her sight restored after 46 years of blindness. She was able to see her husband and her children for the first time. She was able to see all the things we take for granted.
I realised that this is the first Christmas Jenny has seen since she was 11 years old. The visible world will be bright and new again on Christmas morning.
What a year to regain your sight, though. Since May, there has been nothing but images of floods, marches and angry faces. Jenny may have seen Alan O'Brien's, contorted with rage on The Frontline, as he berated Pat Kenny over his wages. Hardly a sight for sore eyes.
She may have seen Paul Gogarty's face as he effed and blinded in the Dáil.
She may have seen Bertie Ahern's as he told TV3 he wasn't sure if his years in politics "had been worth it".
She will finally have put a face to Brian Cowen but may still wonder what most of his government look like. From May to late September they were on holidays and now they're gone until 19 January. Biffo's probably on the couch, munching a mince pie reading this. Hey Biffo, quit dropping crumbs all over me, will you? And put on a shirt, like a good man.
She also regained her sight in time to read the headline announcing the cuts to her allowances and those of her blind husband.
She may have seen her first Christmas card in five decades. Hopefully it won't have been from her local TD. The exchequer spends €2.7m on TDs' cards. Imagine: your benefit is slashed and a card arrives with a picture of a politician on it – and you've paid for it. Happy Christmas.
She can finally see a Christmas panto again, if she likes. I recommend 'The Pied Piper' in Thurles tonight. Michael Lowry is making his stage debut in it as the 'good mayor' who holds the balance of power in Thurles/Hamelin. All together now: "He's behind you, Biffo – just so long as it suits him."
Apart from all the stupidity, avarice and anger, Jenny will see good things too.
After years of darkness, she will be surrounded by light. She will see it twinkling on trees and strung across streets. She will see carol singers, Santa hats and spray-frosted windows. She may be fortunate enough to see plundered selection boxes and faces streaked with chocolate. She'll see torn wrapping paper. She will see tinsel and baubles and cribs and stars and angels. She'll see primped people hiding hangovers at Christmas mass.
She'll see eejits jumping into the icy water at the Forty Foot. She'll see those eejits, purple and jibbering, race back ashore.
She'll see kindness in most faces and hopefully smiles on those of her family around the table. She can finally see where the sprouts are.
After 46 years of waiting, Jenny O'Connell will see Santa again. Hopefully, she'll see enough pleasant things this Christmas to fatten her spirit up for the lean months ahead. I hope you do too.
Here's a thought to end on: tomorrow, Monday 21 December, is the shortest, darkest day of the year. On Tuesday, the days will start getting longer again.
We'll have turned the corner. The darkness won't be here forever. If you don't believe me, go ask Jenny O'Connell.
Happy Christmas.

dkenny@tribune.ie

December 20, 2009

I won't be raising a glass to this 'Budweiser Budget'

Sunday Tribune 13 December

'When things go wrong and will not come right
Though you do the best you can,
When life looks black as the hour of night –
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.'

Brian Lenihan must have been reading Flann O'Brien's The Working Man's Friend before he dozed off and dreamed up last week's budget. What better way to take the sting out of bad news than by buying everyone a few scoops?
I like scoops. Probably too much. I regularly drink more than whatever the recommended guideline is. That's why I'm applauding Lenihan for lowering the pint by 12c. Right?
Wrong. Minister Lenihan, I didn't ask for – and don't want – your 12c cut. You can't buy me that easily. There are far more worthy recipients of your 'largesse'.
How about carers and the blind? Their allowances have been snipped by 4.1%. What does that say? Forget the blind, get blind drunk instead?
Or the pensioners who now have to pay for their medicines. Or the low-income families creaking under debts, levies, reduced dole and child benefits and a new carbon tax? Never mind them, a pint of plain is your only man.
I won't be raising a glass to cut-price booze, because these families won't be. This Budweiser Budget targets the most vulnerable and that's nothing to celebrate. Lenihan says lowering the alcohol excise duty will stop people going north. It won't and he knows it.
Last Tuesday, a bottle of Baileys cost €26.10 in Dunnes, Dublin. In Sainsbury's, €11.08. A litre of Carlsberg €3.98 and €1.84 respectively. The 20% excise reduction won't be enough to stop 'drink tourism'. The adjustment of Vat in January (to 21% here and 17.5% up north) won't make much of an impact either. Booze will still be cheaper.
Lenihan juggled CSO figures to justify his excise cuts. He said 44% of cross-border shoppers are buying alcohol. True. However, the CSO says it's not the main reason people head north – 79% are there for groceries. Instead of tinkering with alcohol, a more courageous move would be to lower vat to 15% and compete with the UK in the grocery market.
Lenihan's gargle cut is not about the north. It's a cynical stunt – along with not taxing cigarettes and gambling – to pacify us. What does that say about his opinion of us? Does he think unemployed people sup pints all day, in between trips to the bookies?
Does he see the rest of us as pliable booze-bags, who can be bribed to look away as he hammers the disadvantaged? The optics may be in his favour here. Look at the pictures of cars stuffed full of bottles and see how ridiculous our obsession with gargle is. Or stand outside the off-licence on Holy Thursday to see the panic-buying for Good Friday.
How does this look to the world outside? Lenihan said: "we're getting our house in order". He obviously meant 'public house'. Here's how the Chicago Tribune saw it: "Lenihan sought to offer one boost to public morale by cutting taxes on liquor. Ireland has the highest rate of alcohol consumption among major European nations…" This referred to the OECD Health at a Glance Report which was published the same day as the budget.
Morale boost: let the rummies drink beer. Embarrassed? I am. And annoyed when I think of all the effort the state made to change my drinking habits.
Look at those patronising 'Enjoy alcohol sensibly' warnings. (Don't most people drink to become insensible?) And the decision to close off-licences at 10pm. And the stricter drink-driving laws.
On Wednesday, none of this mattered. The government needed us boozed up. 'Never mind the warnings, drink up'. 12 cents! Hurrah!
Here's what I'm going to do with my 12c, minister. I'm multiplying it by 100 (pints) and adding it to our Christmas donation to the Vincent de Paul. Calls are up 30% this year and they need the money. It's not much, but it's a small statement of solidarity with those hit hardest by the budget.
Let's end with a rhyme, as we started with one. It's for you, Brian. Hope you like it…

The Working Man's Other Friend

(By DK, With apologies to Flann O'Brien)

When you're old and frail and times are hard

And your only friend's the medical card,

When you've paid your taxes, for your sins,

And they're charging for your med-i-cines,

When it's 50 cents to buy your pills

And you're terrified of getting ill,

'Don't worry,' says Brian, 'you'll be grand –

A pint of plain is your only man.'

When you're young and married with three kids

And life is, generally, on the skids,

When they've slashed your pittance from the dole

And Gormley wants to tax your coal,

When you're angry, broke and your house is cold

And Christmas cheer is put on hold,

When you have no pressies for your tykes

And turn to crime (when the Gardai strike),

When the crap has really hit the fan

And Ireland's swirling down the pan,

'Don't worry,' says Brian, 'you'll be grand –

A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.'


dkenny@tribune.ie

Tax gambling, minister – society will be the winner

Sunday Tribune 6 December

The caller from Cork was outraged. He had "never seen a guard in Douglas" before, and there were two on duty at Bertie Ahern's book-signing. "At either entrance to the shop" where Ahern was flogging his life story. This was for "protection", Liveline was told. For who, I wondered: him or Cork?
Bertie definitely needs protection from Liveline's listeners. They were furious that he was being driven around, at their expense, to sign books. One signing venue that got them particularly annoyed was Newry. Isn't this where his party says only "unpatriotic" shoppers go?
The racket on Liveline won't have bothered Bertie. He has a neck like a jockey's proverbials and knows all there is to know about rackets – political ones at any rate. He's sitting on a pile of pensions and allowances and will make a bundle from his autobiography. And he won't have to pay any tax on it.
Basket Case Ireland strikes again. We blame Ahern for the economy, yet his tax-free version of events is likely to be the most-read book this Christmas. Instead of making him put a sock in it, we're putting him in our stockings.
Will someone please put Ireland back in its straitjacket? Anyway, this column isn't about Bertie not paying tax on his story-telling. It's about him not paying tax on another pastime: the horses. Remember how he revealed his fondness for them at the Mahon tribunal? How he won his unexplained cash?
Last year, Bertie and other chancers spent €5.5bn at the bookies. This was a great boost for the exchequer, right? Wrong. According to Horse Racing Ireland, €1.7bn of it was gambled, tax-free, online.
Just as well the bookies paid tax on the rest, then. What was the rate? 20%? 30%? No, they paid… 1%. Remember that figure when you read Brian Lenihan's budget cuts this week. Everything else is screwed by the taxman but gambling is virtually untouched.
Why? Because the racing/gambling industry is enmeshed with Fianna Fáil. This goes back to 1969 when Charlie Haughey introduced tax exemption for profits on stallions at stud. Thirty years later, Charlie McCreevy did the industry a favour again and lowered betting tax from 10% to 5%. Charlie's from Kildare – racing's heartland – so no bias there. In 2001, he made it 2% to "safeguard the betting industry by reducing the incentive for Irish bookmakers to move off-shore". The only stipulation was that the bookies, not the punters, would pay this nominal amount. This derisory 'tax' was then put back into racing, for prizes etc, through the new Horse and Greyhound Racing Fund. In 2002, Fianna Fáil reduced it to 1% 'just to be sure'.
It was a bit like the banks, really. Fianna Fáil gave the bookies a form of 'guarantee' so their business wouldn't collapse.
Last year, Brian Lenihan raised the tax back to 2%. The bookies cried as if it was the apocalypse. They have loud voices, bookmakers. In May, Lenihan crumbled and 'postponed' the rise to examine the impact of offshore, online gambling on the industry.
What has been the major bookmakers' response to this threat? They've gone… offshore themselves.
Someone is having a laugh here – and it's not the taxpayer.
The bookies claim 2% tax will endanger jobs. Everyone's in danger at the moment, so why should they get preferential treatment while paying so little back? Gambling has been around for millennia – it's not going to disappear overnight. Bookies shops are closing, certainly, but people haven't stopped gambling. Online betting, according to Horse Racing Ireland, accounts for one-third of wagers. A betting shop can't compete with the accessibility of a computer.
Fianna Fáil has shown disproportionate favouritism to gambling over the years. This was epitomised by the annual bash at the Galway Races. Here they toasted Ireland's new gambling fraternity – the Property Speculators. Our property bubble, the most reckless 'gamble' of them all, was inflated at a race course.
Last week on TV3, Ahern recalled the betting that took place at Galway. On Budget Day, Lenihan can put some distance between his party and that era of gambling.
Doubling the tax won't be enough. Last year it raised a paltry €36.5m from €3.8bn worth of taxable bets. Get your abacus out minister, we can do better than that. Make it 10% and bring in some real money.
If you think the bookies can't sustain this, then divide the tax between them and the punter. If someone can afford to potentially lose money on a bet, then they can pay 5% tax on it. That would add just 50c to every €10 punt.
If that's too much for either side to bear, then tax the winnings, rather than the stake, at 10%. Tax all online betting, too, and level the field for smaller bookies.
This is your chance to make gambling work for society, minister, and it comes with a 'sweetener'. Bertie had a go at you last week for bitching about him behind his back.
You can't get even by slapping tax on his autobiography, so why not slap one on those mysterious wagers he loves?
You won't get him on the book Brian, but you can definitely hit him at the bookies.

dkenny@tribune.ie

December 6, 2009

Why Ireland is the (shopping) basket case of Europe

Sunday Tribune 29 November

"See that man over there, he's on strike." The crop-headed Dub pointed off-camera. We couldn't see the striker, but there was a dull 'thunk', which might have been a slab of beer hitting a car boot. Newry's The Quays Shopping Centre was full of southern reg plates – many of them belonging to striking public sector workers.
Another man asked the RTÉ reporter "sure, what else would you do on a day off?" It summed up the insanity of Tuesday's day of protest. Our public servants went on strike saying they're hard-up, got docked a day's pay… and legged it over the border to spend money they don't have on a Christmas they can't afford in a country that can't pay their wages.
Strike? This was trade unionism striking a blow for capitalism.
Not that anyone should be too shocked. This is just further proof that Ireland is Europe's Largest Open Air Lunatic Asylum. Tuesday's behaviour wasn't an aberration, it was just 'The Irish Way'. Country in crisis? Don't just pull a sickie: pull a sickie while… pulling a sickie.
This wasn't the only example of The Irish Way in action last Tuesday. Here's another five random ones, all from the same day.
1: The Irish Way is to let a tax evader hold you ransom in the Dáil. Brian Cowen was asked to reveal what voting deal Fianna Fáil has with disgraced TD Michael Lowry. Had plans to build a €460m Las Vegas-style casino on his Tipperary doorstep anything to do with keeping him sweet? No, swore Cowen. Honest.
The Irish Way is to do deals with cheats. It's also to build a massive casino during a recession. It's hard to say which is madder.
2: The Irish Way is to be quick to take offence. On Tuesday, Liveline buzzed with complaints about Tesco putting security tags on meat in less affluent areas of Dublin. It was disrespectful. Disgraceful. How is wanting to protect your goods in a time of rising petty crime 'disgraceful'? The real disgrace is that no one said how sad it is that people are now stealing food.
3: The Irish Way is to believe, like Whitney Houston, that "children are our future". President McAleese said she does in the Irish Times. Just think: that orange, American-accented teen, gawking at the telly, is going to be running the country some day. God. Help. Us.
A few pages away, a poll in the same newspaper revealed that 81% of 18- to 24-year-olds want to see the number of foreigners living here reduced. Children are our future… and that future's the Fourth Reich.
4: The Irish Way is to introduce webcasting to local government to show that councillors are not wasting money. The Evening Herald revealed that Dun Laoghaire council spent €30,000 on 12 broadcasts last year. The council had wasted money to prove… it wasn't wasting money.
5: The Irish Way is to declare we are a post-Catholic, pluralist society – and then introduce a crackpot Blasphemy Law. Surprisingly, it has its fans. A conference in Dublin heard that one country has cited it as an example of "best practice" – Pakistan. Ireland is now a role model for one of the world's maddest countries.
The Irish Way is to be an irrational, reckless, dysfunctional race, who really are too cracked to govern themselves. The sooner we realise this, the better it will be for our mental health. There's only four million of us. We're not as important as we think we are. In Europe's eyes we're a medium-sized city – and a complete basket case.
The Germans think we drink too much. To them, we're the annoying little tosser who turns up drunk at the party, drinks all the host's booze and then picks a fight with him.
To the French, we're ungrateful peasants. They forced us to replay the Lisbon Treaty but wouldn't replay the Paris match. They got away with this because Fifa doesn't like us either. Even the eastern European countries don't like us: they keep booting us out of the Eurovision. Stuck out here in the Atlantic, we're like Europe's mad cousin, locked away in the attic. Ignored and unloved.
We only have each other now. So, instead of feuding, I propose we have a National Day of Inaction, with both sectors working out a plan to get someone sane to rule us.
Here's an idea: how about selling Ireland to the US and becoming the 52nd state? With a little investment we could re-open the country as a huge water theme park.
Think I'm not serious? It's not as batty an idea as that strike last week. As the protestors headed north, Ireland slid out of the IESE Business School's list of top 20 countries to invest in. We've gone from 16th to 21st. Could the striking and general stupidity on display have anything to do with this?
The unions have threatened further action. So here's my plan: on the day of the strike, all us non-protestors will meet up along the border and hide in the bushes. Then, when the last striker has crossed into Newry, we'll leap out and seal the border. Let the Queen keep them. Problem solved The Irish Way.

We really are the (shopping) basket case of Europe.

dkenny@tribune.ie

Unwrapping some good news amidst all the gloom

Sunday Tribune 22 November

The rain is streaming down my coat and into my shoes. My collar is drenched and there's a drip on the end of my nose. I'm broke. The only thing rattling in my pockets are my keys. I am walking through soggy Dublin thinking of Donie Cassidy.
One of the reasons I am thinking of Donie is because I've forgotten to bring something to cover my head. The other is to do with something he said in the Seanad. He, and some of his colleagues, believe the media is responsible for the grim state of the nation. Senator Anne Ormonde says the press is "creating so much gloom that it is depressing those in the world outside".
Donie's solution is to get broadcasters to "give us 30 minutes of good news every day" as a tonic. Suddenly a lightbulb has switched on over my head: maybe Donie's right. So I start flicking through the week to find something positive to write about for a change.
Ireland is no longer corrupt, according to new figures released by Transparency International.
That's good, isn't it? Or does it just mean there's less money around to steal?
Irish writer Colum McCann has won the top prize for fiction at the US National Book Awards. Great but, well, it's hardly going to overshadow our World Cup heartache, is it?
Brian Lenihan has 'scored' a victory over AIB by making it accept the €500,000 salary cap. That's good, isn't it, Donie? If you ignore the Financial Times poll that rated him Europe's worst finance minister. See, Donie, it's hard to find something positive to write about.
Another lightbulb goes on over my head. I look up: Miriam O'Callaghan has switched on the Christmas lights on Henry Street. Or 'Hahnry' Street as she calls it.
Finally, something positive to report: the lightening of Dubliners' moods by something simple and free. I am a boy again in town with mum, dad and sisters, looking at the Moore Street stalls as ould wans sing "Annywan for de last of de Cheeky Charlies?" Gaudy beads of yellow, blue and green light shiver between the lamp posts. Sleet spits at us, but we hardly notice: we are too excited at the prospect of seeing Santa in Arnotts. Afterwards, there will be coffee, cake and the unwrapping of colouring books and plastic crappery which will break, like the Cheeky Charlie, on the way home.
Walking south across the bridge, we wonder what herky-jerky robotic wonderland waits for us in Switzers' snow-sprayed window.
Memory is a great bolthole. There's no entrance charge and looking back beats looking forward into an uncertain future. If I sound like I'm going soft, I'm not. Even cynics need a break sometime.
In previous years I've given out about Christmas coming too early. Last November, mayor Eibhlin Byrne lit the city's tree at the start of the month. This was to encourage us to do our "civic duty" and spend our money in Dublin, not Newry.
I wrote a column telling her to stop turning Retail Therapy into Retail Guilt. If Dublin wanted my money, then its merchants should lower their prices. Groceries were 28% cheaper up north.
This year, Mary Coughlan led the patriotic charge. She said cross-border shoppers are supporting "her majesty's government". I thought we'd moved on from that "Crown Forces" rhetoric. The war is over, minister.
Although her faux-republicanism is annoying, I agree with Coughlan in principle. Not about ropey patriotism but about our economic reality – 250,000 southern households are shopping over the border (TNS Worldpanel). It doesn't take a genius – and Coughlan's no genius – to see how this affects our tax take.
Southern retailers can't win a price battle with the north. Running a business here is more expensive, between energy costs, Vat and exchange rates. They are trying, though. The National Consumer Agency says prices are continuing to fall.
It's no longer a case of "them and us". Retailers are now as jiggered as the rest of us. They may have fleeced us in the past, but I don't like seeing businesses go to the wall.
Unlike last Christmas, Dublin City Council deserves some credit this year. It's easing the idiotic bus corridor on College Green for the festive period and providing 1,400 free parking spaces.
The city's merchants have started to show some civic spirit too. In 2006, 30% of them were unwilling to fund the Christmas lights. This year, they've paid to illuminate six new streets.
All that said, I'm not telling anyone where to shop. It's a matter of conscience and means.
If you decide to head north, the best of luck to you. I won't see you there, though. I've decided to spend less this Christmas – and to spend it locally.
So there you are, Donie. I've tried to write a positive column this week. I'm giving Dublin my business and thanking its retailers for temporarily blinding me, with Christmas lights, to the rain, the soccer etc.
Why don't you come and see the lights with me, Donie? You've a day off on Tuesday because of the Oireachtas strike, haven't you? Tell you what, come to O'Connell Street this evening instead to watch the lighting of the tree.
Damn it, hang on a minute, more bad news: wasn't it made in France?

dkenny@tribune.ie