The IRA statement yesterday was greeted with much fanfare and hoop-la. Tommy Gorman was practically having orgasms on RTE radio as he talked about it.  But for me, well, do I believe them? Are they really going to stop the punishment beatings, smuggling, laundering of diesel, intimidation of communities, bank robberies e.t.c e.t.c.? If, to accompany their statement, they handed over the killers of Robert McCartney to the police, well, that would have been a statement.   Words are cheap bla bla bla.  After over thirty years they are going to be quiet and start being loyal British subjects? Republicans? Loyal British subjects? Because that is what they are going to have to be.  Law abiding, loyal British subjects. There may be power-sharing and devolved government, but the six counties are still part of the United Kingdom not part of the Republic of Ireland.  Suddenly, the Shinner’s and the ‘RA heads can stomach that? Suddenly they are happy to peacefully negotiate Northern Ireland’s future? And in the mean time, to be loyal subjects of the Queen.  Can leopards really change their spots over night?

Mary Harney’s comments about the morning after pill have courted a lot of controversy, if she had said thirteen, maybe not so much controversy, but she said eleven. Many were up in arms about this. What? Girls as young as eleven having sex? Of course. This is Ireland. This is where sexual abuse was and is covered up. This is the country where serial sexual abusers get laughable sentences. That isn’t to say, she meant it in relation to sexual abuse cases, she may have been referring to a case of an eleven year old who had sex with someone her own age, eleven year olds are old enough to know the facts of life, are old enough to have been exposed to so many magazines and television programmes, that whilst they may not fully understand the implications of having sex, have surely heard of it and have some understanding of the basic mechanics of it.

I think Mary Harney didn’t go far enough. Along with the morning after pill being available to those under sixteen on perscription, it should be available to everyone over sixteen without perscription. Pharmacists, should, on production of a valid form of ID, be allowed to give the morning after pill to people without them having to go to the doctor. Because, how many clinics are open on a sunday morning? Or GPs offices? And the earlier the morning after pill is taken, the more effective it is.

Pre-teen sex is well documented, as is early teen sex. Yes, it is stautory rape, but does that mean we should act as if it isn’t going on? Oh, what a breath of fresh air. Someone with a dose of reality. As for pharmacists who refuse to sell contraceptives, well, as pharmacy is so well licensed and protected, they should also be prevented from doing any medical card and drugs refund scheme business, which as has been documented is extremely profitable.

On sunday, I put the stopper in the sink, turned on the hot water tap (that dribbles and takes at least five minutes to fill the sink) and squeezed in some washing up liquid. Then the phone rang, so I went to answer it, closing the kitchen door behind me. The sink in the kitchen does not have an overflow. After the phone call I remembered I had a DVD to return, so off I went, up the road, to the video library. Stopped in the local shop to peruse the magazines. Came home, went into the living room, turned on the TV and got engrossed in some crappy programme. About an hour later, I remembered. Oh. Mother. I turned on the tap, it is still running. Hoping for a small flood in the kitchen, I opened the doorway into the hall to find it awash in water. Literally awash. Uh-oh. Memories of childhood when I accidently left a tap running in the downstairs loo and flooded the bathroom and some of the hall. Uh-oh. I walked into the kitchen, sloshing through the water and unplugged the sink. The water running out of the tap was cold. Oh dear, at least a whole tank. Towels, towels, grapped four, threw them on the carpet in the hall to soak up some of the water. SK found me about thirty minutes after I had started my mopping up endeavour. Put towel down, soak up water, go to bath, squeeze water out. Repeat. After about an hour, SK and I gave up and put down newspapers, to take out more of the moisture. Eventually, we pulled up the carpet. But still the smell. How can a carpet flooded with clean water smell so bad. Two billion rotting dustmites is all I can think. As it slowly dries, it is smelling less stinky. I am hoping the stink will gradually dissipate when the carpet dries fully, except, my mother once assured me, that a house, once flooded, a carpet, once flooded, never stops stinking. It isn’t rotting, it’s definitely drying. Perhaps the smell is of two billion decaying dust mites. Perhaps when they have all decayed and there is nothing left to decay the smell will go away. Thankfully, no downstairs neighbours have appeared to give out to us about the water damage caused to their apartments from the water seeping through the concrete. The carpet may need replacing, but it is worth leaving it dry out first. But there was a worse disaster to follow. Whilst stepping over the pulled up carpet, I inadvertently caught my foot in the phone cable and proceeded to rip the DSL filter apart. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek. Worse than smelly carpet, no broadband. So today, I sacrificed my lunchtime to make the long trek across Dublin to get a filter. I probably should have been going about pricing carpet, but I know where my priorities lie.