Politics Scandal

Bertie Ahern: In Case I Didn’t Make It Plain Enough

Bertie Ahern was Minister for Finance.

Des Richardson did consultancy work for Rohan Holdings.

Des paid Bertie large amounts of cash, supposedly contributed by his friends.

Bertie changed the tax law, to the sole benefit of Rohan.

Rohan got back 2 million in tax.

Rohan paid Des a million.

One donor says he’s not a friend and that his company paid Des some money for Bertie on a false invoice.

That’s called money-laundering.

He also said he was asked for the money to help with Bertie’s political overheads, not his private life.

That’s called deception.

Where did the rest of the money come from?

Why weren’t the rest of the “friends” too worried if they got their money back?

Was there really a dig-out?

Did anyone make a donation?

Politics Scandal

Te Morituri Salutant

Well, Bertie is finally going before the Tribunal to explain how he was given a pile of money and a house by his builder friends while he was Minister for Finance, and how there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a finance minister receiving huge financial gifts from property developers.


I was just trawling through the back catalogue and I thought it might be useful to refresh our memories of previous bile-filled outpourings, so here you go, in no particular order.


The Manchester Monkeys

More Bertie

Bertie Ahern

Be Afraid.  Be Very Afraid

Bertie’s Parallel Universe

The Friends of Bertie Ahern

Bertie Ahern: Please Quit Now

Bertie Ahern – Scientist, Accountant and Statesman

General Election

The Power of Belief

The Sisters of Mercy

The Feast of the Blessed Condescension



What it says in the papers

I didn’t get a chance to read the papers closely today, due (as you know) to my intensive engagement with shovelling tons of rubble and building stone walls.


One piece of advice for you: don’t ever do this. Ever. Got that? Never.

Anyway, as I said, I only had a chance to scan the paper, pick out a few headlines to dig slightly deeper into, and I have to say, there’s a nice selection today.

Bertie Ahern might have to finally come clean and ‘fess up at the Tribunal after a bank official confirms that his story about the source of dodgy lodgements simply doesn’t stack up. Well done, Bertie: let’s find out just how crooked you are. Have a look back at some of these.

Then there’s the hundred Roma gypsies camped on a roundabout in Dublin. A humanitarian crisis, as Pavee Point call it, or a bunch of scammers on the lookout for a soft touch, as the majority of Irish people see things. These people came from Romania without work permits and set up a small shanty town at the side of a motorway. They also want houses and jobs. Well fuck me sideways, but doesn’t everyone? However, just as I might like to have a job in the States or Australia, and be given a house, I know what would happen if I tried it: I’d be kicked straight back on a plane. And amazingly, in this new PC Ireland where nobody bears personal responsibility for anything, that’s exactly what happened. They’ve been served with deportation orders. Good. And goodbye.

I see the good news that those Bulgarian doctors and nurses have been released from a Libyan jail at last after eight years. They were sentenced to death on the insane charge of deliberately infecting 460 children with HIV and claim to have been abused and tortured during their time in prison. Good old Gadaffi. Flying the flag for nutcases everywhere.

There’s the usual litany of murders, rapes, fish-kills, toxic toothpaste scandals, 12-year-old Russian oil billionaires and Man Critical After Shooting Himself in Head. Hmmm. Not sure what to make of that. You would tend to be a bit critical all right, I suppose.

But my absolute favourite story of the day is headlined thus:

Boy Injured by Wooden Chicken

This five-year-old’s family successfully sued Budget Travel for €8,500 after he was head-butted by a spring-loaded wooden chicken in the Canary Islands. You can imagine the trauma the poor little fellow went through, and will continue to experience all his life, now that his childish trust in wooden chickens has been destroyed in one senseless wooden act of spring-loaded chicken savagery.

kick it on

Politics Scandal

Irish Democracy is Totally Screwed

I was sitting down tonight with a former secret policeman, savouring a quiet pint and enjoying his stories of beating confessions from suspects when he made an observation that, I have to confess, I’d overlooked.

This Vincent Browne thing, he remarked.


The way his show was axed.

Indeed, I interjected. I love the Vincent Browne show.

And it’s gone now, he completed for me.

‘Tis, I agreed. That’s the end of Vincent grilling politicians on the radio.

And re-enactments of Tribunals, he added. Why?

I don’t know, I replied, contritely. Tell me.

(Former secret policemen tend to have that effect on you).

Simple. He asked too many hard questions.

Which was the exact precise fuck-you moment when I realised that Irish democracy is well and truly screwed.

Do you remember the iconic incident when Vincent confronted our crooked-as-fuck Prime Minister at a press conference in the run-up to the last election, and asked him about his crooked-as-fuck contributions from big business? And wouldn’t be shut up by the arrogant-as-fuck PR guy, PJ Mara? Do you remember how he publicly reminded Mara that the crook Haughey had quelled such questions in the past but it wouldn’t happen a second time?


Now the penny drops!

In the same way. In the very same way that Bertie decided to rehabilitate the crook, Beverley Flynn, and suddenly – by magic – our national broadcasting company agreed to halve Beverley’s outstanding legal bills, it appears that the same broadcaster decided to get rid of the turbulent Browne who had the temerity to question Bertie’s honesty.

Magic or coincidence? You decide!

One way or the other, Irish democracy is now a thing of the past.

Goodnight and God bless. Hope y’all enjoy the chicken!


General Election

I’m glad this is nearly over. I’m so glad, I’ve even stopped kicking my dog and making disparaging remarks about tinkers Travellers.

This stupid election has turned me into a different person, and indeed, a person I’m not at all sure I like.

Sarcastic. Aggressive. Loud. Excitable. Overbearing. Pessimistic. Angry.

Oh, wait. It had no effect at all on me. Sorry.

Two PD canvassers had the bad luck to be standing at my door during the week when I pulled up in the old Bockwagon with three bags of cheap Aldi dogfood and a dozen bottles of wine for later. I also got something for the dogs.

What? I screamed reasonably.

Oh, we were hoping to get your Number One vote for our candidate, Tim —

Vote? I roared amicably. Listen here. Answer me this. Wasn’t it an ex-PD minister, Cullen, who called me a stupid fuckwit because I didn’t like the anti-democratic flaws in his badly-designed e-voting machines that are now stored in some disused airship hangar at great cost and will never be sold except to Robert Mugabe or Vladimir Putin for tying around the necks of his political enemies for dropping them into the Volga when he runs out of Polonium 210 or teabags or both?

Eh —

And wasn’t it your Justice Minister who has 200 policemen in Rossport to beat the local schoolteacher, lifeboat skipper and farmers off the road so that Shell Oil can force their gas pipeline through the community? While the rest of us are crying out for police on our streets to fight real criminals?

Eh —

And didn’t your government give away, free and at no benefit to me, all our gas reserves to the same Shell Oil company? And wasn’t the minister who did that a convicted crook who did time in jail for being a crook?

And didn’t your government give one thousand two hundred million euros of my money to bail out the child-abusing catholic clergy?

Eh —

And didn’t your government’s leader give the National Children’s Hospital to the Mercy nuns in a completely unsuitable location because he used to work for them and they have some hold over him?

Eh —

And didn’t the same man get a pile of money from somebody connected with a big company. And the same year, didn’t he change the law to give a tax break to that company alone?

Eh —

And didn’t your government sell off our national telecommunications company to an asset stripper with the result that there has been almost no investment in economically vital broadband?

And isn’t it the same government who have just handed a huge pile of our money to the same robbers who have a bridge in the middle of a vital motorway, which our money built in the first place, to deliver customers straight to their cash-desk?

Eh —



Fuck off.


Bertie Ahern: Please Quit Now

Do you know something?

It’s true.

In spite of all I’ve said about Bertie Ahern, the fact remains that he was the one who finally delivered the agreement on the North. He was the one who established a personal chemistry with Tony Blair (though God knows how) and in the end he was the one who shook hands with Paisley.

Therefore, if he delivered the unthinkable, shouldn’t his private affairs – however questionable – be out of bounds?

After a deep breath, I’m forced to answer YES.

He should be a national hero. He should be left alone, considering the huge service he has done us, no matter what sort of crookery he’s been involved in.

However, a second question follows on the heels of the first. If he decides to run for office a second time, should we be asking him hard questions?

Answer: sorry Bertie, but Yes.

Why not retire while you’re ahead?

The Friends of Bertie
Bertie Ahern – Scientist, accountant and Statesman
The Manchester Monkeys
More Bertie
The-Power of Belief
Bertie’s Parallel Universe