The Honeydew II
This was on a night when it was blowing gale force 9 or 10 and just hours after one trawler had already gone down (The Pere Charles sank off Hook Head claiming the lives of all five fishermen on board, both boats sank within 20 miles of each other and they only about four hours apart)
A Naval Service spokesman said the VMS was introduced under EU regulations to monitor fishing activity in EU waters and was never intended as an emergency service for trawlers. While I understand this statement, it doesn’t sway my belief that on a stormy night the lads at Haulbowline could have been a little more vigilant. I mean, on a human level; to keep a watch out for your fellow man, because you can, because you are sitting in front of equipment that makes this possible, then why not? Because it’s not intended as an emergency service???
The last radio contact with Ger was at 11.55pm on January 11th. The search operation for the Honeydew II was only launched about 6pm on January 12th
Tomasz Jagla
Kinsale…
I’m going to take a trip back to the ol’ sod…. I’ll hop on one of these things:
While I’m waiting in the airport, I’ll sit at the bar, and have a few pints of the loosening juice and read a few pages of my book
The pints always get me in the mood for going out slapping backs in Kinsale after I touch down… First port of call is the Greyhound, have a sniff around, see who’s about… then I’ll get dragged to the Bulman which is a bit of a trek, but the sister’s a big fan of the place and she’s doing the chauffeuring. So off to the Bulman:
If it’s a blustery night, you’ll always feel it over at the Bulman because it sits at the edge of the harbour. A few more pints to get the beer coat on…and if we’re lucky there might be some of this going on:
It’s close to closing, so away back into town, tuck ourselves safely into a pub before last call.
Then if I’ve enough pints in me, I may be persuaded to go to the local nightclub, God forgive me – terrible kip of a place – the white lady, they still have a slow set there where men come up and ask you to dance to the likes of “Unchained Melody” etc. If you go out for a dance with any of the ol’ codgers, you’ll soon be wrestling with more than you bargained for… This is the white lady:
Away home in a taxi – Mike will be driving, he’s sound. He always remembers me and we have great craic driving him mad on the way home. Next morning, I’ll cook Jerry, my Brother one of my world famous breakfasts. After, he will mark it out of ten. I always get about 9 and a half out of 10. He’ll dock me half a mark for the smallest things…just to be annoying. He loves when I come home cuz he gets quality brekkies…
I might take a walk out the old head of Kinsale to clear away the cobwebs:
If my Brother, Johnny is in from sea, he might give me a tuna like he did the last time:
If not, I’ll head into fishy fishy:
This place is amazing. They have the best food in the world. I might go for something like this:
Might have a pint of Kinsale Lager to keep it company in me belly:
They say that Kinsale lager doesn’t have any chemicals in it, so you can drink it to your hearts content without getting a hangover.
Did you know that a giant lived in Kinsale once? His name was Patrick Cotter O’ Brien and he was born in 1760. His shoe is inside in the museum in Kinsale. I don’t know where his other shoe is. He was eight foot and three inches and was the tallest man in the world at the time. When he was 18, a travelling showman discovered him working as a bricklayer and brought him to England to star in his “freak of nature” show.
There you have it…
The Confession Box…
This morning, I would have caught the train if I was two seconds faster.
That’s no word of a lie and not one bit of an exaggeration… two seconds
The train selfishly departed from the platform without me being inside it. I looked on after it in well contained bitterness.
There were sparks coming off from underneath the last coach of the train (this is common on London trains)…
I said to myself: ”I hope it blows up”…
…sorry.
I’m glad it didn’t blow up now…
Amusement parks…
Life can be a bit like this sometimes…
There is always going to be someone more privileged than you, it doesn’t mean they are any happier…
Relationships are all about balance. It’s about being in tune with the rhythm and not manipulating it. It’s no fun being on a see saw with someone who keeps you up in the air for too long…
When this happens, it’s better to get off the see saw…
Friends are very important…
We’re never gunna survive unless we get a little crazy…
Cuttin’ Trees
In 1998 all the elm trees in Ireland had to be felled due to a dutch elm disease that caused em all to rot. Having an elm tree on your property was a terrible liability as they were falling all over the shop and so everyone in the country was ordered to chop them down immediately before someone was killed 
My Father asked Jimmy Mac from Ballinspittle if he wouldn’t mind helping him chop down the elm tree we had in our garden. This is the village Jimmy is from:
Jimmy and himself arranged to do it on the following Sunday. So my father and Jimmy arranged to meet in the pub as you do before you have to cut down a tree. About forty pints later, they emerged from the pub ready for action. They got the chainsaw out and scoped out the situation. They had planned for the tree to fall to the left, so Jimmy naturally stood to the right. My father had the chainsaw and started it up. I came out of the house to watch. About a half an hour later, the plan went a bit awry and the tree didn’t fall to the left as planned, it fell to the right and Jimmy was under it. His head was split open and the scalp was flapping in the wind. I saw his brain. Jimmy was rushed to hospital. He lives to tell the tale. There are two morals to this story:
1. Never drink before operating a chainsaw
2. Never get an Irish man to cut down your tree
The aul’ codger…
Every Morning I cycle down the Peckham Rye Cycle Path and I see this fella cycling towards me.
He is an auld codger with a drinker’s face & watery eyes and he meandering away slowly on his crock of a bike.
He wears a luminous orange padded jacket – makes me think he works for the county council…
Although I’m told in London there is no such thing as a county council.
Anyway, as we seem to be the only two souls awake in Peckham in the wee hours of the morning, I took to saying "Good Morning" to him…
"Good Morning!" I say.
"Good Morning" He says.
I regret this decision.
…cuz when I pass him by now, he slows down and gives me that look and stops his bike.
He takes one foot off the pedal and rests it seductively on the path as if to strike up a conversation.
I whizz past as quick as my pins can peddle me…
If you hear about my bloody head hanging out of a bush in Peckham there some day, make sure this fella gets questioned will ye?
Thanks very much.
(I don’t cycle that route anymore, hence the blog!)
The poor aul pup…
Something happened to me when i was a young wan…
My father asked me to go out into the garage and bring in some blocks for the fire… "blocks" we used to call them; wood for the fire. I didn’t want to but I had to, so I went grumpily.
Typically the light in the garage was broken and I had to feel my way around in the dark. My dog Shot was there, she’d given birth to 12 pups a few weeks before and they were all scrambling around the garage. Next thing anyway, didn’t I hear a crunch beneath my foot… followed by a yelp. I picked up the injured pup and brought him inside making sure I didn’t step on any more on the way out and Shot following close behind.
When I got into the light, I got the shock of my life as the dogs head had grown the size of it’s body. I must have stood on his head. I left the puppy there with it’s head still growing larger and larger and ran to get my Dad who ran to get his shot gun. I ran to my room and blocked my ears, but I could still hear the blast of the shotgun…
My Dad wrote a note after and pushed it under my door and I’ve kept the note all these years, I hide it behind a photo of my Dad-
"The best lain schemes of mice and men gang aft agley"
