As time goes by - January 1984

Dear Ken, Sorry about the long silence. Things pile up. Just finish one month and the next one starts. You know the kind of thing.

Things are very quiet here now, everyone getting over the seasonal splurge. (Ever notice the way people ask, "How did you get over the Christmas?", like it was a small mounntain range? Which is not too far from the truth.) (Ever notice the way people answer that question by saying, "ah, it was quiet"?) Wasn't too bad this year. Nary a tittle of scandal to report. Funderland is closed at the moment, but the TDs are due back soon.

O'Toole is gone walkabout, Brennan still can't get beyond the second bottle without upchucking allover the furniiture, Donal settled down and got married. Head The Ball is as much of a nuisance as ever.

The big news this weekend was that they're going to change the law on contraception. Remember Charlie brought in that Bill just before you decided to head back to civilisation in New Jersey? His Irish solution to an Irish problem. All you had to do to get a condom was make an appointtment with your doctor, produce your marriage certificate, an affidavit from the Best Man and another one from the Bridesmaid and you got a presscription. You took that to the local priest, who blessed it and then read it out from the pulpit for three weeks running. If no one objected, you could then place an ad in the "Articles Wanted" in the Herald and the next day a guy with his collar turned up would arrive at the door and sell you a list of chemist shops that sold the dreaded things. Then you went along to the chemist with your mother (or a peace commissioner) and signed an undertaking that this device would not be used outside the matrimonial state, nor on Sundays or Holy Days of Obligation. Then, once you passed the saliva test, you were home flying.

There was an amendment to the Bill which would have meant that every third condom sold would be pricked with a pin, in order to give nature a sporting chance, but the liberals manged to defeat that one.

Charlie's Act hasn't worked very well. The Act wasn't, so to speak, consummated. A doctor down in Kildare caused a bit of trouble by selling a packet of you-know-whats to a patient without going through the necessary procedure. The boys in blue were down like a shot to haul him off to the pokey. The doctor told the court that it was Friday and there were no chemist shops open and ...

"You should have told your patient to wait until Monday", says the judge. No kidding. This happened. Wait until Monday. So that's why they're called patients.

Incidentally, the ju dge in question happens to be a jockey, which opens all kinds of possibilities. I wrote a piece about riding, but they have people around here with blue pencils to deal with that kind of thing.

So, anyway, Barry Desmond (reemember him - the Elder Lemon?) is supposed to be liberalising away like mad and changing the law to allow condoms be sold in supermarkets and the like. Of course, he's running around protesting that he's doing no such thing, but who believes what politicians say these days? Can't wait for the adverts on the telly. Maurice Pratt trying to keep the blush off his cheeks as he announces this week's Special Offer. "Yellowpack Condoms, only £1.99 - and if you get lucky you might get a trip to the moon on butterfly wings ... "

Oh, this is tasteless, isn't it? Anyyway, it gives a whole new meaning to the slogan "Let's get it all together at Quinnsworth".

Of course, you left before we had Maurice inflicted on us. He's a shill who does supermarket ads on TV. Pratt by name and nature. Back when we were kids and we made our Connfirmation - I suppose that would be bar mitzvah with you - we all came out after the Bishop slapped our faces and we felt so good and nice and righteous and it was like we were going to be like that right until the day we died, with our neat suits and our ties straight and our quiffs sitting gently on our foreheads. Then we grew up and - like John Wayne says in Stageecoach - "things happen". And look at me now. But Maurice - Maurice grew up just like we all intended. You believe him when he tells you someething is good value - he looks like the kind of guy who still has his Connfirmation money.

Anyway, not much else happening.

The shower in power are drawing up their Budget. Garret FitzGerald was on the radio at lunchtime on Sunday, doing the huffing and puffing bit.

Hurts him more than it hurts us. You know the tune. I turned on the telly and watched Sgt Bilka instead. When it was over I went back to the radio and Barry Desmond was expostulating about condoms. Why is it when I look at Barry Desmond he reminds me of Phil Silvers? Must be that they both have the kind of head you need sunnglasses to cut down the dazzle. (Must be all that expostulating - makes your hair fall ou t.) Why is it when I look at any of that shower trying to sell me a bill of goods I think of Bilko?

The biggest thing to hit Ireland recently was the Penny Post, which meant that for one day you could post letters for a penny. This was to celebrate great new developments in communications. I got four letters with penny stamps, all posted on Tuesday. Two arrived at the office on Wednesday, the other two arrived a t home on Friday. The other big development is in the phone system. There's a new guy in charge who says that applications for phones will be met within six weeks. I was going to ring him up and congratulate him, but the phone I applied for eight months ago hasn't been put in yet.

Not to worry, take your time, have a bit of patience, as the judge said to the doctor.

Hope you enjoyed The Boss. It's a bit paranoid in places, I think, but it gives a good account of the fun and games that have been going on in your absence. Sometimes I feel like we're all extras on a movie being shot called Charlie's Frolics. The lad himself is hanging on in there, waiting his chance. It looked like he was going to get a good shot at the local elections, wipe the floor with the Coalition and get a feather in his cap (take two metaphors, mix and add ... ) but the silly buggers in government copped on and took his ball away and now he's up the creek without a paddle (if yer gonna mix 'em, mix 'em, is what I say). If they cancelled elections in some place in South America our man at the UN would probably make a speech about it. But, sure, 'tis only the lads playing their games.

Anyway, time goes by. I'm still trying to shake off the effects of the seasonal sloth and Mind Over Matter is screaming his head off upstairs that I'm going to miss the deadline on my column. Have a burger for me, hold the pickle.
e