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Irish Independent
29-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Independent
Lucinda O'Sullivan's restaurant review: Take out the wallet for beef with all the trimmings at this king ‘bullsh**ter's' buzzy restaurant
There's an art to being a bullsh**ter, writes our critic. Often it's a fine line between obnoxious and charming, but in this restaurant it is definitely the latter For good and for bad, there have always been bullsh**ters around the hospitality scene. I'm talking about the kinds of hosts, chefs and guests that waffle about the night they quaffed a 1957 Chateau d'Yquem with Charlie Haughey, while discussing affairs of State and his penchant for Charvet shirts, or sipped Dom Perignon with Prince Albert at the Monte Carlo Rally. Then there's the inevitable smartass that 'told' Gordon Ramsay or Marco Pierre White how to properly cook a sausage. All of this, you can take with a grain of salt. They know everyone, even the ones that they don't! Some diners, however, just revel in being acknowledged and very often 'wanna go where everybody knows their name' – which is why the bullsh**ters often thrive. Back in the day, people flocked to Sean Kinsella's legendary Mirabeau in Dun Laoghaire. Kinsella was a good chef but an arch-bullsh**ter who set the bar high by having his Rolls-Royce parked outside the front door, presented menus with no prices to the ladies, and fawned obsequiously over celebrities, politicians and businessmen, who'd arrive with their latest squeeze. However, if anyone queried anything, he tore up the bill and threw you out with the dishwater.
Irish Examiner
28-06-2025
- General
- Irish Examiner
Clodagh Finn: Lessons to save us from reinventing the wheel in the fight for equality
Here is a little-known fact about the setting up of the Rape Crisis Centre in Ireland. When asked, Charlie Haughey, then a TD, happily and speedily went about obtaining a telephone service – and 'a new-fangled answering machine' – for the nascent helpline. 'I will be glad to assist you,' he wrote in a letter to founder member Evelyn Conlon in September 1978, 'and if you let me have the address of the centre I will get in touch with the Minister of State at the Department of Posts and Telegraphs on your behalf.' Then, Evelyn Conlon, Anne O'Donnell, the centre's first administrator, and a group of 19 volunteers went about, first, learning how to use the answering machine and, once they got 'the amazed hang of it', opening the lines. It was February 19, 1979. 'We learned, ferociously, and on their feet, Everything from listening, advocating, accompanying to Garda stations, attending court,' Conlon writes in After the Train (UCD Press), a gloriously affirming collection of essays that sets out not only what was wrong in Irish society 50 years ago but, more importantly, how it was righted. Charlie Haughey's contribution is mentioned in the book as an aside, but it somehow jumped out at this reader as a vivid example of what can happen when someone identifies an issue, speaks up and then goes about doing something to change it. The power and effectiveness of that three-step dance is evident on every page of this account of what happened after the famous contraceptive train from Dublin to Belfast jolted a Catholic country into a conversation about contraception and bodily autonomy. I like to think that momentous outing in 1971 by the Irish Women's Liberation Movement to illegally import contraceptives to Dublin is universally remembered (please tell me that it is), but what has certainly fallen below the radar is the fearless work carried out by the members of Irishwomen United (IWU) in the years that followed. Hands up, now. Which of you can outline the work done by this group of women – 'wailers broadcasting the death of the old regime' – who plotted volcanic change during their Sunday afternoon meetings in an upper room in 12 Pembroke Street in Dublin? You won't find it in the history books, apart from a dismissive paragraph here or there; examples of the kind of 'stalwart myopia' that inflamed writer Evelyn Conlon to join forces with academic Rebecca Pelan to gather the voices of the women who were there. Picture: UCD Press In 20 essays, they recall the crackling energy, the excitement and the considerable trepidation of coming together to tease out the issues of the day – 'the taboos, restrictions, inequalities, discriminations, exclusions, violence and coercion that dogged our lives', to quote Ger Moane's illustrative and profoundly dispiriting list. One of those restrictions, banal and accepted at the time, was the widespread refusal to serve women pints in pubs. Here, from Gaye Cunningham, is a wonderful description of how the women who went before us, including the late, great Nell McCafferty, went about changing that: [Nell] went into one of the pubs that refused to serve women pints and, accompanied by a group of 30 or so women, ordered brandies. When the drinks were served, she ordered a pint of Guinness; when the barman refused to serve, they refused to pay. It was, writes Cunningham, one of the lighter, more madcap moments in the history of the women's movement, although there was certainly something madcap and magnificent about the day – July 24, 1974 – a band of IWU members 'invaded' the all-male bathing spot, the Forty Foot, in south county Dublin. They invaded the 'men-only' Fitzwilliam Tennis Club too and, in 1976, they burst into the Federated Union of Employers headquarters to campaign for equal pay. Looking back, Mary Doran writes: 'I am amazed at our confidence and how we felt that the end justified the means.' And what fearlessness. In 1973, Maura O'Dea, a single mother, wrote a letter to a newspaper in an attempt to get in touch with other 'unmarried mothers', to use the phrase of the time, who had kept their babies as well as those who had been forced to give them up for adoption. It was the start of Cherish, now One Family, an organisation that not only showed there was such a thing as lone parenting but advocated to improve their rights. The IWU took a stand on a wide range of issues, campaigning for access to free contraception, LGBT+ rights, bodily autonomy and equal pay. As Mary Dorcey writes: 'We women's liberationists and gay activists, passionate but inexperienced, transformed our country from the ground up… We were the first generation to refuse to emigrate, or to be silenced, or banished. We insisted on making noise and making our presence felt.' They made space for the new, or rather the shock of the new. For the first time, publishing houses (Attic Press and Arlen House) laid open the 'untravelled terrain' of writing about the body and female experience. Picture via Evelyn Conlon private collection Another Mary (O'Donnell, poet and author of the excellent, just out Walking Ghosts, Mercier Press) recalls the influence of norm-breaking poet Eavan Boland: 'Until then, the body had not been permitted space in poetry or literature. So those of us who included aspects of feminine experience in our writing were really like frontier women heading into the unknown.' Those frontier women carved out new pathways and set up a number of organisations that still exist today – the aforementioned Rape Crisis Centre and the Well Woman Centre to mention two. In acknowledging, remembering and celebrating that fevered time, After the Train also makes it clear that feminism did not start with them. It quotes the incomparable Hilda Tweedy, founder member of the Irish Housewives Association and author of A Link in the Chain: So many people think that the women's movement was born on some mystical date in 1970, when it had actually been a long continuous battle… each generation adding something to the last. That is really important to remember in a week when Women's Aid reported the highest level of disclosure of domestic abuse in its 50-year history. It, like so many other feminist organisations, has its roots in those mould-breaking days of the 1970s. (Indeed, Women's Aid gave the fledgling Rape Crisis Centre a room in its building in Harcourt Terrace.) At a time when it seems we have made no progress, particularly when it comes to the epidemic of violence against women, it's important to remember what went before. As Evelyn Conlon so eloquently puts it: '… 'We always need to keep our eyes on the history books, because every time we take our eye off the true telling of what happened, we create the necessity to begin inventing the wheel all over again.' The wheel, though it might not feel like it, is indeed turning. Take this single example. When the Well Woman centre opened its doors in 1978, it 'elicited zero media coverage', writes founder Anne Connolly. Not a line. News of it made the papers only when four anti-abortionists picketed the clinic, a backfiring protest if ever there was one as it gave the centre the kind of publicity it could never afford. Now, at least, the issues ignored in the 1970s are mainstream news. On the same day that Women's Aid CEO Sarah Benson was invited to speak at length on the flagship Six One News, a documentary about Natasha O'Brien, the woman randomly and brutally attacked on the street by ex-soldier Cathal Crotty, aired on RTÉ. 'Don't bite your tongue,' she said, a mantra needed as much now as it ever was. Just remember, though, that we don't need to reinvent the wheel. We are links in a very long and interconnected chain. Read More Justice minister promises domestic violence register following report on record abuse complaints
Irish Times
19-05-2025
- Politics
- Irish Times
Why Donald Trump is stupid to accept Qatar's gift of a luxury jet
Poor Donald Trump. Just a week ago he declared only 'a stupid person' would turn down a $400 million luxury plane presented to him as a personal gift by Qatari royals. But it seems like he is the stupid one twice over. Forbes has reported that Qatar's rulers had put the plane on the market in 2020 but failed to find a buyer, suggesting they decided to offload the 747 on the US president to save them 'a big chunk of change on maintenance and storage costs', given 'the fading demand for these huge, fuel-guzzling, highly personalised aeroplanes'. It turns out you should, in fact, look a gift horse in the mouth. Charlie Haughey could vouch for that. Flattered by the attentions of a wealthy international art dealer in 1989, the then taoiseach accepted his donation to the State of seven pedigree Arabian horses which, when they arrived on Irish soil, were found to be 'of a very poor standard'. Declassified State papers revealed the taxpayer was left with a hefty bill for transport and stables for the millionaire's nags. READ MORE The lesson for puffed-up leaders is to, literally or figuratively, kick the tyres of any jets that the superrich try to offload on you before you say yes. But Trump has revealed his stupidity in a deeper and more profound sense by trousering an expensive bounty in a blatantly unethical manner. To understand why, we need to go back to Socrates and his principle that no one does wrong voluntarily. Immorality is the result of ignorance. Too often in public debate an assumption is made that wrongdoers are acting with malice. Dig a bit deeper, however, and one usually finds a perverse logic – a stupidity, in other words – that motivates the offender's actions. There is a strong flavour of Socratic thinking in Christianity. 'Father, forgive them, they know not what they do,' said Jesus as he was being crucified. Before condemning anyone for moral transgressions they should be pitied, or at least understood. Pope Francis reiterated the point, describing selfishness as 'a form of self-harm . . . Selfishness is stupid'. The Lutheran pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer developed this idea into a general theory of stupidity. Writing from a German prison, after being arrested by the Nazis for plotting against Adolf Hitler, he declared: 'Stupidity is a more dangerous enemy of the good than malice. One may protest against evil; it can be exposed and, if need be, prevented by use of force. Evil always carries within itself the germ of its own subversion in that it leaves behind in human beings at least a sense of unease. Against stupidity we are defenceless'. Trump is no Hitler. But he is tearing up international law. Using political office to personally enrich himself is part of that. So too is his style of using war for commercial opportunities – whether it's accessing rare minerals in Ukraine or licensing private firms to provide food in Gaza. (Sure, you'd be 'stupid' not to take your cut.) Before we get too judgmental, however, Trump is acting in ways familiar to any citizen in late-stage capitalism. He is what Keynesians would call the 'rational economic actor' writ large. According to 'rational choice theory' in economics, individuals will try maximise their advantage – and to minimise their losses – in any situation. Trump can break rules against accepting personal gifts as US president because there is only an upside. He doesn't have to worry about losses since he has already dismantled official systems of accountability. The rest of us don't have that power. If you don't pay your taxes, there's a good chance Revenue will come after you and penalties await. Looked at this way, it's not moral superiority that makes us play by the rules while the oligarchs cheat. Rather it is economic rationality. So before condemning Trump, it is worth considering whether you have your own price? Would you break a moral code if it was 'rational' on a cost-benefit basis? Under today's crony capitalism, Trump represents a pure form of economic rationality. He also epitomises stupidity in Socrates' understanding of the word. No one would intentionally harm themselves, the Greek philosopher said. But, through ignorance, the greedy and vain man destroys his own character. Writing as fascism marched across Europe, Bonhoeffer realised that rationality – or what passed for it in civilised society – was itself the problem since millions of Germans saw Hitler as the logical answer to their problems. Against tyranny, he asked: 'Who stands firm?' His answer: 'Only the one whose ultimate standard is not his reason'. It is the person who is 'prepared to sacrifice all' for higher principles – specifically, for Bonhoeffer, Christian faith. Bonhoeffer turned down opportunities to escape Nazi Germany. Was that stupid of him? He didn't think so: 'The ultimate question for a responsible man to ask is not how he is to extricate himself heroically from the affair, but how the coming generation is to live. It is only from this question, with its responsibility towards history, that fruitful solutions can come, even if for the time being they are very humiliating.' A few months after writing those words, Bonhoeffer was arrested. On April 9th 1945, he was stripped naked and executed with five other prisoners at Flossenbürg concentration camp. He was aged 39.
