Free Download by clicking here: The Life and Times of Paddy Pylon
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Did yees know that auld Nelson Mandela over dere in Africa was imprisoned by the evil aparthate regime for blowing up a pylon? And we all know what happened to your man after that – the Nobel Peace Prize and getting the title of world champion of the twentieth century. Makes youse think dunnit?
Some of ye lads might be startin to tink we have our own evil regime right here.
I was just after seeing the Mandela fillim “The Long Walk to Freedom” and it showed how he was a lawyer, and tried to live within the law, and followed the rules, but after a while he realised that the laws were so evil that it was impossible to follow dem and be a good person at the same time – one had to choose between good and evil. He chose good and so blew up that pylon.
So then I was thinking what is the law here? The law is called The Strategic Infrastructure Act, and it fecks over the previous planning laws altogether. It says that when the government call something a strategic infrastructure, all the doors fly open and they just walk right in, usually over the dead bodies of good and honest Irish citizens. The same law says that these strategic infrastuctures don’t need to go to the elected County Council first for Planning Permission, they go straight to An Bord Pleanala, and of course we know that the ABP are full of government appointed hoors, falling over themselves to get a sniff of Enda’s backside. ABP now means Arse-Bandit Plonkers.
Me being a blocklayer I thought I must have got this wrong. As a youngfella I was taught that we lived in a democracy. A democracy means the citizens get the last word. Peig couldn’t help me, so I thought I would see for myself. I went up to Portlaoise on the train and got hold of the file on the ABP decision to allow EirGrid to build a substation in Coolnabacca, which is in the Laios-Kilkenny area. The file was thick and took me all day to read it, there were so many representations from the people of the area. They all felt new to the touch – like they were never read before.
Jaysus wept. They call it a sub-station. There is nothing sub about it – it’s a feckin Super-station with 17 bays which means 17 high-power (400kV) lines comin in: Connections to a lot of wind farms, any fool can see that, it’s as plain as da tits on a monkey.
Eirgrid said it was for the upgrade and extension of a 110 kV line to Kilkenny and the ABP agreed with them. Evidence was led by the local people that it was to connect lots of wind farms – the evidence was a letter from Eirgrid in 2009, where the Project Manager says “the substation is for the future connection of renewables (windfarms)”. That seemed pretty clear to me: Eirgrid were talking bollocks with their story of a line extension, but that was ignored by your man from the APB.
When they realised their Environmental Impact Statement was dodgy, Eirgrid asked to amend it there and then in the hearing, without giving the people time to respond, and your man from APB allowed them, saying it was ‘within his remit to do so’. Your remit needs a refit methinks. In the bad old days we’d be lookin for the brown envelope – but this is just too daft to be bent, and having shit for brains is not a crime.
Anybody, even a blueshirt with half a brain, can see that feckin Eirgrid will use this super-station to connect the wind-farms in the Counties of Kilkenny, Laois, probably Wexford – 17 wind farms is a lot of wind farms – they said so in their letter. Hundreds of good folk trusted An Bord Pleanala to see through this obvious lie and banjax the whole mess, but the ABP just became part of that lie and let it go ahead.
This is when good people, who have obeyed the law their whole life, come to that point where your man Mandela was at when he said – the law is fecked-up evil, I cannot stand by and let it go on. You would understand if some yoke felt desperate enough to do something silly – please God that never happens. It is up to this regime to show the people it is not evil and stop this madness – now.
There’s two types of medicine – medicine that works, and medicine that don’t work. Just like there’s two types of doctors – the medical doctors, and the others.
When I fell off the pylon trying to rescue the cat, I landed on my back, but shoulder first, with an awful clatter. The shaggin pain was brutal altogether. So I went to the hospital to see one of these chiropractors, I think it was. I waited in the sitting room for over two hours, with your wan in the other chair moanin about her neck and giving me the eye, and me getting water in them little plastic cups, splashin all over her dress like. When it wasn’t her the other old wan was dropping her cane, and me with the back having to pick it up. The other fella in there was texting fit to bust, probably to himself, just to keep his head down and ignore all around him. That left me to act the eejit to your two’s every wish.
Finally I was called into the Palace of Pain, with a hundred certificates on the wall, probably from the University of Lower Mississippi or just printed off Google Images – how would you know? Your man hummed and hawed for five minutes, made me take my shirt off and put it on again, and showed me a picture of a skeleton with scary eyeballs. That was it. He sent me on my way with a prescription for painkillers with a price so dear I said feck that and got three bottles of Paddy for the same money. Best feckin painkiller I know. If youre gonna cover the pain rather than fix the problem, at least make it taste good.
But of course when the Paddy ran dry, the pain was back, and I was dying, no two ways about it.
Peig is wicked into this ‘alternative medicine’, which is funny given her time at med school. I don’t go in for the crystals and the fairies at the bottom of the garden, but I was desperate with the pain. She’d heard about this fella all the way over there in Dungarvan. Fair play to her, she drove me all the way there, with me lying in the back seat, moaning like a rescue dog.
His name was Patrick, just like that online bookie, in fact I tried to lay a bet but he’d have none of it. This fella is called an osteopath, and he laid me on the couch and twisted and turned and massaged me until I felt like one of those rubber bands. Jaysus, what a difference. Without a single drug and just a coupla scoops I’m now moving around again. I wouldn’t be able for the blocks, but I’m on my feet, ready to two-step to Garth Brooks at Crokers.
And that got me thinking about the different types of doctors, the ones with the PhDs and the medical ones. Sure what would your man with the PhD know about people getting sick from the pylon dust? Peig scares the shite outta me with her talk of breast cancer and stuff, but she always gives me the links, even showing that men can get breast cancer from pylons. What?
Now, I’ve been a Fianna Failure all my life, but walked away from the party when Biffo took over cos it was getting like the Sopranos with all these heavies walkin around doing dodgy deals. And then of course The Crash came and we blamed everybody we could point at, forgetting it was us who took out the credit card and bought all that useless shite we didn’t need, in between the holidays to Majorca. I wanted the FF boys to do something to restore my confidence because sure, even if you don’t like the cute hoors, they be the only ones strong enough to stand up to the Blueshirts. To be sure, the independent TDs do feck all, just claiming every allowance they can get their grubby paws on.
I heard on the FF grapevine (stupid feckin expression, sure, Marvin Gaye was no Irishman, that’s clear) that they will be callin for a moratorium on the pylons. That sounds like cute election spin to me and I’ll believe it when I see it cos I wouldn’t be buying a donkey from your man Me-Haul. I also see on their website that they be asking for Dr. Graham Roberts, who is a proper doctor, to be included on the Panel with your wan the Judge. Now to that I give the thumbs-up:
We need a proper doctor to be on the Panel. Not someone with a PhD in rat’s bollocks, but someone who knows loads about Leukaemia and Pylonaemia and all those other horrible cancers, especially breast cancer in men, for fecks sake.. Eirgrid didn’t have any proper doctors when they thought up the Plan, so sure, what would they know? And the way your man Rabbitte is looking at the moment, he’d be needing a proper doctor too. If you can’t take the heat Pat, get the feck outta the kitchen.
I realised today that I wouldn’t throw a politician on my fire even if it was the only thing I had to warm my house. The stink would be awful.
You’d be amazed what someone with a bit of time on his hands can find on the internet, while his daughter coughs in her bed, his cat is up the pylon and its brass monkeys outside. I’ve been reading all I can on the Grid 25 project, and before that what was called the NREAP (National Renewable Energy Action Plan). The whole feckin thing was cooked up by politicians for politicians. The ordinary person didn’t get a look-in.
The same goes for EirGrid – it came in under the radar. After Mary O’Rourke was bet black n blue over her handling of the whole electricity mess she quietly cooked up EirGrid by Regulation, instead of putting it before the Oireachtas and the voters. Ordinary feckers like me didn’t have a notion that EirGrid even existed until it was too late. Us poor eejits have only been hearing about Eirgrid in the last coupla years (some people in the last coupla months) but EirGrid was invented back in 2000, whilst those FF gobshites were in power. It was their plan – scribbled down on the back of Bertie’s packet of smokes. The same gobshites who are now jumping up and down pointing fingers at Enda and the Rabbitte. You couldn’t tell em apart, that’s why they wear the coloured ties.
Fianna Fail cooked the whole thing up. Fine Gael and Labour ran with the ball when they saw the money at the end of the rainbow and so doubled the order of wind farms, hoping to sell power to the Brits. The wind farms need 400kV cable to connect to the grid, and 400kV cable needs pylons to hold it up. Now its goin arseways cos the Brits don’t need our electricity and we are paying millions to the private wind farms to switch off at night. So now the hoors are jumping ship like the rats they are as they’re looking at a beating in the elections.
The neck of them thinking they could put pylons across the country. They got so used to talking down to us and telling us what to do. They got away with the Great Bank Robbery. They got away with the less wages and more tax. They got away with the cut in child benefit. They got away with the land tax and the second residence tax when we took on the mortgage for our kids who had no jobs but their own kids to house. They even took away a free visit to the dentist – not that it would affect their shark smiles. But then they got too cute and thought they could build pylons outside our doorsteps – and now theyre caught with their bollix hanging out.
Ireland is now top of the EU hit parade as the most corrupt state in Europe. That’s quite a show when we have the Italians, Spanish and French for our neighbours. Pity it aint Eurovision – we would win the feckin thing again and Marty would have something to talk about.
The system stinks like a County Manager’s piss after a flagon. If the newspaper writers actually want to become journalists again, they might want to take a look at a few things:
Who is on the EirGrid Board and where did they come from and how much are they paid?
How many ex-Ministers and TDs hold positions in EirGrid?
What really happened to the ESB pension monies?
How many FF ex-Ministers and current FG/Labour Ministers own land in the GridLink corridors?
How many Ministers and TDs, both current and ex-, have money in wind farms?
What promises did the current and past governments make to the private wind farm owners? In particular, is there a penalty payment to the owner if the wind farm is not hooked up to the grid?
For example (and this is one tiny example of a stinkin mess), why did the Waterford County Council extend the planning permission on Barrannafaddock Wind Farm seemingly in complete contravention of the conditions attached to the original planning permission?
Who makes Pat Rabbitte’s suits? (that one is my own question – the man is the dog’s bollocks for makin a silk purse out of a sow’s ear – and I need a new suit for my neighbour’s son’s wedding next month).