Health Politics Scandal

Irish Breast Cancer Scandal

Why did ninety-seven terrified Irish women have to gather together in one place yesterday, under the glare of the media, and wait all day to find out if they had breast cancer?

How did it happen that these ninety-seven women heard on the news that they might have breast cancer?

When the HSE discovered that 568 ultrasound tests needed to be reviewed, who decided to wait until all the tests were checked before telling the women?

Who decided that, even though days and hours might be vital, they wouldn’t contact each woman individually if the ultrasound result was in question?

Who decided it would be more convenient for the system if the women were made to wait months until all 568 tests were reviewed?

Who decided to phone the women who were in the clear first and make the other 97 wait until the end?

Who decided it would be enough to allocate two (2) specialist nurses to make all these phone calls?

Listen carefully.

There are no managers in the Irish health service. No doctors or nurses run our hospitals. There are only administrators.

Remember this: our health service is not run by health professionals.

The Health Service Executive is run by inflated office-boys who have one skill and one skill only: crawling their way upwards through a bureaucracy, grade upon grade, until they arrive at a point where some other office-boy names them Manager. These are the people who, in their unbelievable, ignorant, uneducated hubris have been known to refer to the nurses, physicians and surgeons as the technical staff.

They are not managers. They are only administrators, and bad ones at that.

These people are from the vast ranks of mediocre know-nothings who arrived into the old Health Boards as junior clerks at the age of seventeen with a fair-to-bad school Leaving Certificate. If not for this stroke of luck, they might have struggled to find a job selling shoes.

These “managers” spent their formative years stamping pieces of paper and looking down their noses at poor people huddled outside a wooden hatch in some freezing Victorian health centre.

These are the geniuses who stuff our public service, and strangle the initiative of people with real talent and real vision. These are the dead weight that guarantee our health service is, and will remain, a complete disaster.

Our health service is not run by health professionals. Never forget this. It is run by arrogant office-boys without vision, talent, understanding, skill or sympathy. They have nothing. They are puffed-up windbags without training, without qualifications, without experience, without knowledge. These are the small, empty, self-important, grey, clueless, frightened, boring, semi-literate, arrogant men and women we call “managers” within the health service. The kind of people who have never done a single practical thing in their entire useless lives.

And that is why ninety-seven terrified women crowded into a small clinic where they waited all day to learn their fate while the media mob prowled the car-park waiting to interview the first confirmed cancer-victim and put it on the nine-o’clock news.

A proud day for Ireland.

Somebody in the HSE gave a statement explaining why they didn’t inform each woman immediately it became clear her particular scan was in question. He said something to the effect that they wanted to get a big enough group of people together before recalling them.

Now, one thing is certain: you have to move fast when cancer is detected. But somebody, it seems, decided it would be all right to let these women wait for weeks, or even months, until enough of them had been herded together to simplify things for the HSE.

Go back to the radiologist. It isn’t immediately clear if anybody made a mistake or if the problem arises due to defective equipment. However, if somebody did overlook all these cases, there would seem to be negligence or incompetence involved.

On the other hand, what if somebody dies because of the delay imposed by a HSE official for administrative convenience? Will that be negligence too?

I don’t think so. That, I think, is called manslaughter.



Favourites Politics

The Friends of Bertie Ahern

I thought it would be good to give the political ranting a break, just for tonight, and I was actually going to tell you a joke instead of venting and cursing and posturing and projectile vomiting.

But no.

Bertenstein just won’t go away, will he?

What sort of bollocks is he talking now? What sort of shit is this about the latest bundle of money? Does he think we’re all completely stupid?

Well, come to think of it, maybe we are all completely stupid, having re-elected this crowd of corrupt, inept gobshites over and over again, despite all the revelations about their crookedness and their incompetence. We deserve them.

The latest horse-shit has me in a knot though. No – seriously, I mean my brain is knotted up trying to figure it all out. In fact, I got so knotted up that I had to do one of my simplified chronologies to fit it into my rather inflexible brain.

This is more a stream of consciousness than a posting tonight, so feel free to drift away any time it starts to get on your nerves.

Here’s what I have so far, but maybe some of the People will help to fill in the gaps or correct whatever I got wrong. A sort of Bocollaboration. I’ve converted all the amounts from Britpounds and old Irish punts to Euros for simplicity).

1993 Bertie, Minister for Finance, gets £28,000 from his friends, who are:

Paddy Reilly, Des Richardson, Padraic O’Connor, Jim Nugent, David McKenna, Fintan Gunne, Mick Collins and Charlie Chawke

For clarification, I bought a house around the same time. I took out a mortgage for 20 years. It was for about £28,000. It was very expensive. This was not small money. Just to keep things in context, this was the kind of cash that most people were borrowing to buy their entire house.

Yet, Bertie knew people who could just hand it over to him.

Me: 20 years working to pay for it.

Bertie: There ya go. No problem.

What the fuck???

1993 Bertie, Minister for Finance had saved €50,000 in cash, despite ruinous marital separation. As his bank account was in joint names, he kept all the money in cash. It isn’t clear why he couldn’t just open an account in his own name.

1994 Bertie, Minister for Finance gets €20,000 from his friends, who are:

Joe Burke, Dermot Carew, Barry English and Paddy Reilly

Of these gifts, €25,000 went to his daughters’ education according to Bertie, leaving a balance of €23,000.

1994 Bertie, Minister for Finance, attends a function in Manchester attended by businessmen and engages in a spontaneous question and answer session. The businessmen spontaneously collect €8,000 for him because they know he’s having a messy separation from his wife. Mick Wall, a millionaire businessman, is present but doesn’t attend the function. He’s only a bus-driver (a millionaire bus-driver) and he waits outside.

1994 According to his police driver, Bertie, Minister for Finance, travels to Manchester with a suitcase full of cash.

1994 Bertie rents house from Mick Wall, millionaire bus-driver. House value is €190,000. Monthly rent €600. Cost of house to Mick Wall at prevailing interest rates, about €2,000 per month.

Dec 1994 Mick Wall, millionaire bus-driver, gives €40,000 in cash to Celia Ahern, Bertie’s partner at the time. (Obviously, this has nothing to do with the money Bertie is alleged to have taken to Manchester earlier in the year.)

Bertie explains this week: Any money that Ms Larkin received was a stamp duty issue and it was towards refurbishing the house

Tenants are not liable for stamp duty and €40,000 seems like a lot of money to refurbish a brand new house.

1995 Mick Wall changes his will, leaving the house to Bertie, Minister for Finance.

1994 – 1997 Bertie and Celia live in the house, paying about a third of what it would cost for a mortgage. The rent they pay in the three years is about half of the €40,000 Mick Wall is said to have spent on the refurbishment. Obviously, Mick didn’t get a great return on his investment.

1997 Bertie buys the house for €220,000. Not a bad deal for a Dublin house in that location. Not bad at all.

Bertie sees nothing wrong with a Minister for Finance receiving such gifts and favours, even when the people giving money have extensive property interests, and might benefit significantly from certain tweaking of various Finance Acts. Something a Minister for Finance might be in a position to do, in the National Interest.

Take, for instance, Des Richardson, one of Bertie’s generous friends in 1993. Richardson’s company, Berraway, had what was termed a “strategic consultancy” with Rohan Holdings, who paid the company €1.08 million in fees between 1996 and 2000. Now, it just so happens, purely by coincidence, that Bertie introduced a tax break in 1994 which, astonishingly, had only one beneficiary: Rohan Holdings. As a result of the tax break, Rohan immediately saved €2 million in tax, and a further €200,000 every year from then on. But of course, this is purely coincidence.

Am I just plain stupid here?

What do you think?


related posts

The Manchester Monkeys

More Bertie

Bertie Ahern

Irish General Election

And they call ME a robber???

Elsewhere: Gavin Sheridan

Favourites Politics

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.

OK. I can’t help it. Sorry. I just can’t help saying all this because the time is right and there’s an election coming up and it has to be said.

I know – all right? I know I’m repeating myself. I know I said all this yesterday, but there’s an election coming up, which is a thing we don’t see every day. In fact, if the government had their way, you wouldn’t see one at all.

Let’s get it absolutely clear.

This government gave €1.2 billion to the religious orders because Bertie used to work in the Mater hospital and they have some hold on him. They paid one thousand two hundred million euros of your money to cover the claims against the rapist clergy, instead of making them sell their extensive land banks.


Because the nuns have some hold over Bertie.

This government decided to locate the new national Children’s Hospital in the Mater because Bertie used to work there, and they have some hold on him. They put it in the wrong place for the sick children and their families, but that doesn’t matter when the nuns have you by the bollocks.


Because the nuns have some hold over Bertie.

This government gave National Toll Roads (Roadstone) a gigantic pile of money for the bridge that they used to rob Irish people on the M50 for 20 years because National Toll Roads are buddies of this government.


Because Roadstone have some hold over Bertie.

This government failed to tax second and third homes, because it would inconvenience their builder pals, allowing the property market to inflate to such an extent that our children will never afford a house.


Because the builders have some hold over Bertie.

This government handed a national resource free to Shell Oil because the crook Ray Burke was in charge of the deal. Ray Burke, the convicted fraud, handled the transfer of our national wealth to Shell and nobody is asking what’s going on. There are 200 police in Rossport beating the local teachers, farmers and and lifeboat crew off the roads because Ray Burke, the crook, gave our national resources free to a company that has killed many people across the world. Free! This crook! This fraud!! This gangster in charge of giving away what belongs to you and me!!!


Because Big Oil has some hold over . . .

ah, work it out for yourself. I hope you’re angry.


Irish General Election

I see our government has decided to go to the country.

Great. Time to start torturing those political reptiles that call to your door once every four years. After all, even if you didn’t disagree with their policies, it’s very hard to like a heavily-sweating man in a bad suit with a gigantic belly and highly-suspect hair.

I hate these people, but I don’t – obviously – expect you to be so vehement. Obviously. Did I mention that I hate these fuckers? Yes. However, you don’t need to be anywhere near as vehement. Just ask them a few questions when they come to your door, and while I think of it, may I just enter a small caveat? Thanks.

Caveat: This is a completely non-party site. This site hates all political parties equally, naturally, because they are all equally power-grabbing scum-sucking cynical parochial arse-licking morality-free fuckheads. All of them. Including the Greens, the Browns, the Greys, the Socialists, the Socialites, the Luddites, the Lignites, the Meteorites, the Bentonites and of course, the Gelignites. Not to mention Hurricane Johnny and the Jets. The whole dishonest, shit-eating lot of them.

That is Bock’s view on politicians, both established and incipient. A crowd of wankers. Tosspots.

However, as only one party has been in power in this benighted little country for a generation, unfortunately it’s going to look as if I have adopted some kind of party-political stance, when in fact it’s simply that there isn’t anyone else to attack. I mean, the only people who have fucked up in recent memory are the government parties. OK? That makes sense.

Here’s my suggestion. I’ll make a list of hard questions. You can paste them on the inside of your front door and then, instead of listening to the nauseating shite you know they’re going to throw at you, simply say

Hold on a minute. I have a couple of questions.

What do you think? Is this revolutionary or what? People with real questions challenging real stupid politicians.

Now here’s a problem. Because this is Ireland, a small tiny little country on the periphery of just about everything, there are certain things I can’t recommend to you. For example, I can’t suggest you say

Why did you invade Iraq, you murdering fucker?

Of course not. We didn’t invade Iraq.

You could, however, ask something along the lines of

Why did you give Shannon Airport for the use of the US military to invade Iraq, you murdering- by-proxy fucker?

Or you could try something more parochial. For example, you could ask

Why did you give €1,200,000,000 of my money to bail out the religious orders who raped and abused Irish children? For clarity, that would be one thousand two hundred million euros. Could you explain that please? Thanks.

And if you draw a blank on that, maybe you could ask them the following:

How much of the profits from the Corrib gas field go to the Irish citizen?

[Hint 1: The answer is not a penny]

[Hint 2. This is where the Government has sent 200 police to beat the local protesters off the roads while real criminals walk around unhindered everywhere else.]

[Hint 3 This was the deal signed by the convicted fraudster and crook Ray Burke when he was Minister for Energy.]

You might add another supplementary question if you feel sufficently splenetic:

When he gave away this valuable national asset to Shell, how much did Ray Burke make out of the deal?

[Hint: No problem, Ray. Sue me.]

And as this is a Limerick-based site here’s a local one.

Limerick is a much smaller town than Dublin. It only has a population of about 120,000 people in the greater area, compared to the 1.2 million of Dublin. Therefore the most we could expect is a tenth of whatever Dublin gets, per head of population. For instance, as the Luas tram system in Dublin cost €800 million, wouldn’t it seem reasonable that we could have €80 million spent on a tram system for Limerick? A tenth, in other words.

That way, it would be less annoying to see all our tax money spent on a city we don’t live in.

Fine. Here’s the question:

When will the government spend as much per head of population on Limerick’s public transport as they did in Dublin?

[Note: Substitute Cork, Galway, Waterford, Sligo or wherever else you prefer.]

Isn’t it great? And we’re only starting on these bastards.


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The Feast of the Blessed Condescension

Bertie’s Parallel Universe

Bertie Ahern – Scientist, Accountant and Statesman

Bertie Ahern

The Power of Belief


Ryanair / Aer Lingus

Locating a Children’s Hospital

Bertie’s Parallel Universe

Favourites Politics

Irish Medical Consultants

There’s an almighty row going on at the moment about the contracts being offered to new hospital consultants.

An incredible uproar.

And the reason? Well, the government is going to hire more consultants, but they’ll have to work exclusively in the public health service. They won’t be able to have private patients under the new contract but instead will have to devote their full attention to public work.

This won’t affect the conditions of employment enjoyed by the present consultants, nor will it reduce their income in any way, but they’re not a bit happy. They don’t want their money-making system changed, and they’re not used to being questioned.   You see, Irish consultants have a great set-up, whereby they get a salary from the government and can also treat private patients in public hospitals, using theatre facilities, laboratories and hospital beds provided by the taxpayer. Not to mention all the nurses and junior doctors, also paid for by the taxpayer. On top of all that, many of them behave like arrogant strutting demi-gods, as we saw for instance in the Neary scandal.

They like it that way, and who could blame them?

I had a look around and, as far as I can establish, these are the only group of public-service workers entitled to this kind of working arrangement. As far as I’ve been able to find out, all other professional groups within the civil service and in local councils are barred from doing private work. Lawyers, engineers, veterinarians, architects and a host of others are all explicitly barred from working privately in their own profession.

When you walk into an Irish hospital, you can choose to be a private patient or a public one, and it is a festering scandal in this country that, if you walk into a publicly-funded hospital and choose to go private, you will get faster treatment in the hospital and better attention from the consultant, because you can pay. This is true and it’s a disgrace.

Did you know that in Ireland, by law, there’s a universal entitlement to free healthcare, regardless of whether you have private health insurance or not? And yet, everybody entering an Irish hospital is asked if they have insurance, and if the answer is yes, they’re automatically routed into the private channel.

The Comptroller and Auditor General recently published a report into all of this. He concluded that, even though hospital consultants have, by agreement with the government, a right to use up to 20% of hospital beds for their private patients, they routinely take more. Likewise, they refuse to account for their hours of work though – depending on their category – they receive between €140,000 and €180,000 a year to attend work.   In addition, for their private work, they get all the back-up services available at the hospital, paid for by you and me, including staff to work for them.

Now, I know I made this comparison before, but just let me say it again. It’s the very same as if you walked into your local Council, and you said to the planner: I want to build a house.

The planner looks back at you and says, OK, but you’ll have to wait two years. I’m busy.

So you say, But I can pay!

And the planner takes a step backwards. Why didn’t you say so? Come into my Council office here and I’ll get a Council technician to draw up the plans for you. We’ll print them out on the Council’s printer and you’ll have permission tomorrow morning.

Seriously. Isn’t it exactly the same? And yet, any planner attempting such behaviour would be arrested.

There was an article in the Irish Times last Friday that I thought was very revealing of the sort of elitist condescending mindset at work among some of the medical profession in this country. An outraged sense of entitlement not unlike that of your average welfare scammer.

It was written by a guy called Ronan Cahill, described as a senior specialist registrar at Cork University Hospital.  He’s close to becoming a consultant himself, and no doubt he received all this training from my taxes and yours, but he’s not the slightest bit happy that the gravy train is about to come off the tracks. He thinks that the level of pay on offer won’t attract people to take up consultant posts in this country. Incidentally, the salary is in the order of €200,000 a year, and I heard one English-based consultant on the radio during the week saying it was better than the British rates, and better than many self-employed consultants in the USA could make.

But the real giveaway, I thought, was a nasty little comment embedded in the article where he remarked that the new contracts would prove attractive to clock-punching, detached, disengaged automatons whose ambition is levelled at achieving a reasonable monthly salary.

I had to read it twice to be sure I was right.

clock-punching, detached, disengaged automatons

Hold on. That’s me he’s talking about, isn’t it? And you. And nurses. And junior doctors. And technicians. And radiographers. And physiotherapists. And everyone else inside or outside the health service who holds down a paying job. The very people, in other words, whose taxes paid for Ronan’s training. This is a guy who regards just about the entire world with contempt and I have no doubt he’s a good example of his breed. No wonder he’s peeved: this man is clearly consultant material, in his condescending attitude if nothing else.

Ronan makes the point that exceptionally innovative, educated people – such as himself – won’t train to be consultants any more because the money won’t be good enough. All along, throughout his training, he expected to get the State salary and also have his own private income, and to be fair to him, you can see his point. There is a lot more money in the private work. He’s right.

Aha! I have it!!

Why doesn’t Ronan forget about the public work? Why doesn’t he just go off and work in a private clinic where the rewards are so much greater? That will solve his problem.

Oh! No, sorry, I was wrong. It won’t.

You see, then there would be no €200k from the State. No free beds. No free nurses. No free theatres. No free technicians. No free pathology. But worst of all, there would be nobody at the front desk to tell 20% of publicly-entitled patients that they have to go privately and pay Ronan a big pile of money. That’s what’s pissing him off, the miserable, grasping little prick.
And they accused the nurses of greed?


related article from The Bitter Pill


Tribunal Lawyers’ Fees (and Hospital Consultants)

So the lawyers aren’t going to suffer a crippling reduction in fees after all. What a relief.

It looked for a while as if they were going to be forced to manage on a measly €1,000, but no.  Common sense prevails and their fees remain at a richly-deserved €2,500 per day.

Now, I know that some begrudgers are saying uncharitable things about the fine fellows who struggle by on this pittance.

Bah! say I. Year after year, at the Planning Tribunal, these splendid intellects have toiled away for a paltry  €650,000 a year in the service of the Nation – as fine an act of patriotism as you will ever see. Foresaking the thrill of going out and competing for work, they have instead chosen the dull and unglamorous drudgery of the Tribunal, with the dreary boring sound of its week-by-week cheque for €12,500 flopping onto the carpet. Oh Jesus, you can hear old Tribunal lawyers groan, Not another fucking €12,500 cheque for me to lodge.”

I feel their pain.

Quite properly, they point out that they gave up the chance of earning far higher fees to work at the Tribunals. True. I had the same experience. By taking a day-job, I gave up the chance of becoming a Texan oil-billionaire.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I wish the lawyers the very best, and I certainly wouldn’t want to seem churlish, but there’s one thing I can’t help wondering: as the Tribunals are not courts of law, why do they need to be run by lawyers? If they’re looking for people with a high level of professional training and administrative skill, why not consider other professions? Can accountants not read and speak? Or geologists? Or physicists? What about union negotiators? Architects? Doctors?

Oh. Now don’t get me started on that.

All right, then. Go on.

Hospital consultants. Now there’s another crowd of fine individuals, for sure and certain.

These are a bunch of guys who want to have a contract to work as public employees, including a guaranteed salary, pension and all the rest, which is fair enough. But they also want to be able to run a private practice, and why not? I can see how there would be no conflict of interest at all there. That’s why, here in Ireland, you can just walk into any hospital and say I’m sick – fix me, and they’ll ask you if you’re a private patient or a public patient, but it won’t matter. You’ll receive instant attention either way, isn’t that right? Not like in that parallel Ireland invented by the media where you walk into a hospital and they ask you if you can pay, and you say no, and they tell you to come back when you’re dead. That was all made up by commies in the media, wasn’t it? And consultants won’t put you to the top of the list just because you can pay them. Of course not. And they don’t have the use of facilities already paid for by you in your taxes – do they? Oh Jesus no. They pay for the whole lot. Of course they do.

It’s just like when you walk into your local Council, and you meet the planner and you say

I want planning permission for my bungalow.

And the planner says Fuck off!!

But I can pay, you protest.

And the planner takes you by the elbow. Why didn’t you say so? Come in here to my consulting rooms paid for by the public, and I’ll draw up your plans on the computer bought out of your taxes and it’ll all be sorted out by the morning for you and don’t worry one bit. Would you like a coffee while you’re waiting?

That’s right. Nobody would mind that, would they? Of course not. And that’s why we allow hospital consultants to do the same thing.

Crime gardai Policing Scandal

Worst police force in Europe

Did you ever hear of Frank Shortt?

Probably not, but I won’t be long telling you who he is.

Frank Shortt owned a bar in Donegal, and in 1995 he was convicted of allowing drugs to be sold on his premises. The bastard, you might say. Indeed.

In its judgement last Wednesday, the Irish Supreme Court increased an earlier award to Frank Shortt for miscarriage of justice from 1.93 million euros to 4.5 million euros.

He was imprisoned, lost his business, his family and his health and was struck off as an accountant because Irish policemen lied to put him in jail. As Mr Justice Hardiman remarked in his judgement, Frank Shortt was “perjured into prison” by the Irish police.

This was one of the most damning judgements ever handed down by the Irish Supreme Court and continues a long line of disastrous investigations into the most inept and corrupt police force in Europe.

You only have to read the Morris report to see what these guys are like.

Here’s Mr Justice Morris, quoted in an earlier post:

The Tribunal has been staggered by the amount of indiscipline and insubordination it has found in the Garda force. There is a small, but disproportionately influential, core of mischief-making members who will not obey orders, who will not follow procedures, who will not tell the truth and who have no respect for their officers.

These are the people we pay to stand between us and the criminals. Maybe we should reconsider. Maybe we need to pay criminals to stand between us and the Guards. Maybe there isn’t any difference.


Gardai Deny Farting at Suspect

Gardai Deny Everything

Who Killed Richie Barron?

Freddy’s Back

Do you know your Daddy’s a murderer?

Police and thieves

The Heart of Darkness

Worst police force in Europe

Three tragic deaths

The Cannibal Murders

Anti-social behaviour orders

Non-lethal weapons

Oh those funny old Guards

The Professionals

Losing hearts and minds

kick it on


The Italian Job

Not everything I write here is true. Did you know that? Sometimes I make things up to keep you amused, but occasionally life smiles on me and something just happens.

I was locking the Bockmobile yesterday at the supermarket when a small car pulled up beside me. The driver was a stocky, vaguely Mediterranean-looking man with a jaunty little moustache and beard.

Scusi, gentlemens, he said. Maybe you speak Italiano?

I knew immediately what I was dealing with, and you probably do too. This comes up every year on radio shows: a friendly Italian man approaches you, says he’s a fashion designer, he was at a trade show and now he has this big stock of leather jackets he doesn’t want to take back to Italy with him.

I have a short fuse. I admit it. Sometimes I can tend to shoot first.

Fuck off! I told him.

You call me fuck off? he shouted back. Fuck you!!

And that seemed to be that. I regretted being so quick to say what I said, but not because I felt sorry for the thieving scumbag con-man. I just thought, Shit, that would have made a good Bockpost, if only I’d let him make his pitch. Fuck it!

And then I forgot about him.

Today, I was walking down the street when a small car pulled up beside me. The driver was stocky, vaguely Mediterranean and had a snappy little moustache with a beard but, to my surprise, he was a different swarthy mustachioed stocky foreigner.

He leaned over to the passenger window.

Excuse, please. You are speak Italian? English? You Irish, yes?

I felt myself bristling, but remembering yesterday, I restrained my tongue.

Yeah. What’s the problem?

Is no problem for me. No problem. I cannot find road to airport. Is late. I miss aeroplane. Please, where is road to airport?

No bother, I said. Turn around here, take a left, keep going, follow the signs.

Ah, grazie, he smiled. Ciao.

I replied, and waved him off.

Christ Almighty. Imagine if I’d allowed my suspicious nature to take control and told him to fuck off. He’s back home, munching his antipasti and waving his glass of Chianti at his grandmother. Those Limericks? They are crazy. I lose my way, I ask one of him for directions and he tell me Va Fanculo!!

Lost in my remorseful little thoughts, I failed to notice the small car pulling up beside me.



There he is again. Scusi please?

Jesus, I said. Did you miss the turn?

You know Brown Thomas? Is big departmen’ store here in Limerick?


Brown Thomas. I am fashion designer and I have here many clothes in car. You are business, perhaps?

Ah for fucksake, I said. Wait there a second.

And to my great surprise, he did. He waited long enough for me to take this:


Adam Keane is a Convicted Rapist

Did you know that?

Adam Keane, a 20-year-old rapist from Daragh in Clare, claims his life has been ruined by the publicity surrounding his recent conviction for rape. He doesn’t like to see his name mentioned in public, even though he is a rapist and a piece of shit. The rapist, Adam Keane, 20, from Daragh, Co Clare, is upset because his victim, Mary Shannon, went public to protest against the leniency of the sentence that Adam Keane, the filthy rapist, got for committing rape.

Adam Keane, the rapist, was in court during the week, in front of Mr Justice Carney. Adam Keane, the rapist, broke into a woman’s house and raped her. When charged, Adam Keane pleaded not guilty and bizarrely, despite the fact that there was DNA evidence to prove that he was the rapist, two of the jury decided he was innocent. Adam Keane, the scumbag, was nevertheless convicted by a majority of 10 to 2. And Adam Keane is therefore officially a convicted rapist.

Mr Justice Carney said that he was uncomfortable giving Adam Keane the rapist a custodial sentence, because what Adam Keane did was “out of character”. Adam Keane, the rapist, came from a good home, and furthermore, the rapist bastard, Adam Keane, couldn’t remember committing the crime because Adam Keane, the filthy rapist fucker, was under the influence of drink and drugs.

So what did Mr Carney do? He gave Adam Keane, the rapist, a three-year suspended sentence.

Mary Shannon was horrified, and decided to waive anonymity. As a result, poor Adam Keane, the filthy rapist, thinks his life is ruined.

Now. Does Adam Keane, the scum rapist, think he had anything to do with ruining his own life, or that of Mary Shannon?

Apparently not. It’s the victim’s fault for not staying quiet about being raped by Adam Keane, the filthy vermin rapist scum.

And it’s the fault of the media for reporting Adam Keane’s identity. Did they lie? They did not. They simply reported that Adam Keane, 20, who lives in Daragh, County Clare, is an evil raping bastard. Which he is. Which is, in fact, simply the truth.

I’m fascinated by this defence, however, and I’m going to use it the next time I plough into a family of travelling Carpathian acrobats.

Mr Bock. You are charged with driving your gigantic Bockmobile straight into a troupe of travelling Carpathian acrobats, killing nine and maiming twenty-four of them. How do you plead?

Eh. Well, Judge. I’m not sure.

Come, come, Mr Bock. What can you mean?

Well, Judge, you see, I was out of my skull on tequila slammers and mescaline. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face and I don’t remember a fuckin thing about it.

Oh. I see. Well, Mr Bock, as you clearly come from a good family, and as you’ve never mown down a family of acrobats before, I’m sentencing you to four nights in the pub. Now be off with you.

Thank you, Judge.

You’re welcome, Mr Bock. Next!

kick it on

Crime Favourites gardai Policing

The Cannibal Murders

In March 1997, two mentally-ill women living in “sheltered housing” in Dublin were murdered in a savage attack during which the killer ritually mutilated their bodies. The crime, which came to be known as the Cannibal Murders, was plainly committed by a madman, and a forensic psychologist working on the case warned that the killer was likely to strike again.

The Gardai swung into action and in July they arrested Dean Lyons, a homeless heroin addict with psychiatric problems. They grilled him intensively and eventually he cracked. Lyons signed a confession containing such minute and excruciating detail that its author must have been present at the scene of the crime. The DPP duly charged him and Lyons went to prison on remand.

A month later, in Roscommon, a young couple were murdered in an identical manner. Their killing was attended by the same ritualistic mutilations as that of the two women in Dublin. The Gardai in Galway were quick to solve the case and soon had a man in custody for the killings. In addition to admitting the killings of the Roscommon couple, Mark Nash, from England, made a statement confessing to the Dublin murders, and he described in detail the interior of the Dublin house and the manner of the killing, including the sadistic details of what had been done to the women’s bodies.

Despite this confession, Dean Lyons was kept in prison for another seven months before the charges against him were finally dropped. He’s dead now. He died in prison in England after a conviction for shop-lifting to feed his habit.

Now. Here was a man with a vulnerable and highly suggestible personality. With an extreme fear of authority figures such as policemen. A heroin addict. A weak mentality. Some would say a scumbag. But not a murderer. And yet, he came to sign a confession while in police custody. A confession that described in microscopic detail what had happened in a house he had never entered, and in the course of a crime he had not witnessed.

So how on earth did he come by this information?

Was he psychic?

If you were a senior policeman, wouldn’t you be wondering how he came to sign such a confession? Wouldn’t you be wondering how your subordinates allowed him to remain in prison for months after they knew the real killer had been caught? Well, apparently not. The Gardai carried out an internal investigation, the results of which were never published. Nobody was ever disciplined and nobody was charged with the murders of the two women, despite Mark Nash’s having confessed to them.

Good, good, good. That’s the way the cops are in Ireland, it seems.

Finally, eight years later, in 2005, the government appointed a senior barrister, George Birmingham, to chair a commission of inquiry into the case. He finished his report last year and though it was supposed to be published in September last year it wasn’t released to the public. Somebody within the investigation team was obviously worried, because a journalist, Mick McCaffrey, came into possession of certain details in the report. He revealed among other things, that some investigating officers were unhappy with the charging of Dean Lyons, but were overruled by their superiors.

What was the outcome of all this? After all, here we had a disgraceful situation. A vulnerable man who confessed to a crime he never committed. Nobody charged with the crime, in spite of a credible confession from a known murderer. The results of an internal investigation suppressed. The official inquiry’s report gathering dust and never released to the public. An absolute disgrace crying out for action.

Well, at long last the authorities have acted. Yesterday, they arrested the journalist.

That’s Ireland for you. Watch out soon for mass arrests of the dogs in the street.


The Cannibal Murders Revisited

police and thieves

The Heart of Darkness

Worst police force in Europe

Three tragic deaths

The Cannibal Murders

Anti-social behaviour orders

Do You Know Your Daddy’s a Murderer?

Non-lethal weapons

Oh those funny old Guards

The Professionals

Losing hearts and minds