Cannabis at the chemist? It’s about time!

Given last week’s explosive litany of disclosures that saw Taoiseach Enda Kenny and Tánaiste Frances Fitzgerald both refusing to say when they’d first heard of the chilling and entirely false allegations of sexual abuse that were contained in a Tusla file against Garda whistleblower Maurice McCabe – an innocent man who became a gigantic thorn in the establishment’s side – I would have to say one would wonder if our Government Ministers even correspond with eachother any more?

  I mean, the whole debacle beggars belief and leads me, and probably other right-thinking citizens, to wonder if a massive cock-up of biblical proportions has occured, or if there is now a level of ineptitude and incompetence in place that is surely so huge the collective electorate would need to have the intellectual ability of a gnat to swallow what’s currently going on. Or indeed, if there was a major, conniving frame-up going down… either way, a good cop’s life and his family’s lives are being ruined and some levels relating to the integrity, lack of scruples and the proficiency of some of our state bodies has now come under question.

  But now that I’ve got that off my chest, I will say that thank God our Government has managed to do at least one thing right last week when they decided to make cannabis available to treat a ‘limited number of medical conditions,’ despite there being a lack of evidence around its safety and effectiveness.

  Look, pot, weed, cannabis, marijuana, (call it what you will), has I suppose been somewhat politically correct on university campuses since the 1960s (I could be wrong in assuming this), however it’s also been blamed along with alcohol for impairing one’s inhibition. But I wouldn’t know, I’ve never smoked a normal cigarette let alone touched this or any other illegal substance. However, the fact is, 92% of Irish people believe that weed should be legalised when prescribed by a doctor, and given a researcher at the Virginia Commonwealth University Health System in the US has found its actually less addictive than the three cups of coffee I drink daily, I’d have to agree with them.

  In addition, for years advocates as well as studies have shown that medical marijuana can be used quite effectively to treat lots of conditions; and for those people suffering with such health disorders as multiple sclerosis and  severe epilepsy, and for patients suffering intractable nausea and vomiting associated with chemotherapy, I believe a restricted use under a doctor’s supervision surely cannot do them any harm; especially if it gives them respite from their debilitating conditions. Another plus is having a bit of dope around…for medicinal purposes only of course… could make listening to the likes of Madonna’s music much more easy on the ear.

  Now I’m not advocating that people should be allowed go mad, run down to the local chemist and demand a joint in the same way they would a packet of paracetamol, neither am I saying it should be legal to dish out your own home-grown stash to the neighbours…if you had one that is; but for those poor suffering people who’re living with chronic pain, causing sleep deprivation and incapacitation, for those whose bodies due to their disabling conditions are constantly rejecting themselves, I have to say I’m glad our Government has realised that it’s about time they were given some understanding, help and compassion. 

Lovely Linda’s not a dead ringer for style!

Well readers, last Friday night at great risk to my mental health, I tuned into the Late Late Show’s Valentine’s Special and ended up having front row seats at what was possibly the most disastrous piece of TV in Irish history with the first thought going through my head being ‘Why Me?’ I mean I just kept thinking, what egregious crime did I commit that I’m forced to sit here and watch this spectacle?

  Let me explain. Desperation seeping from every pore, looking like the ‘70s had thrown up and landed all over her, Panto/Eurovision Queen Linda Martin, possibly the most dangerous thing to happen to old men since the invention of Viagra – dressed in a black leather jacket/mini skirt/fishnet tights/heels combo; hair backcombed so high it looked like she’d hidden an Easter egg in it – and acting like your drunk granny after too many sherries, dueted with comedian Al Porter on Meatloaf and Cher’s Dead Ringer for Love. Dead Minger for Love more like!

  Look, I’m all for glam grans and all that – sure take the likes of Lulu, Helen Mirren and the fabulous Joanna Lumley. They’re elegant, confident and like Ms. Martin, ahem, pensioners; yet you wouldn’t see them prancing around dressed in such questionable attire… now would you? Now I’m not saying the lovely Linda, who normally looks absolutely amazing BTW, should fade into a wisp of pastel and check into an old folks’ home. However, witnessing her fishnet stockinged leg writhing up and down Al Porter’s thigh, nearly revealing her, er, breakfast, left me decidedly slack-jawed and wondering why someone in the RTE wardrobe department didn’t take this vibrant, gorgeous, sexy lady aside and tell her whatever look she was going for, she’d clearly missed.

  Look folks, I’m all for giving a hair-tossing shoulder shrug to age and wearing what you want, sure I do it every single day, but I try to do it by not shying away from applying that one little rule that sophisticated Roscommon ladies would call style.

My hubby’s a keeper!

I hope you all had a wonderful Valentine’s weekend; I did. You see, as we’re both what some cheeky people would call…approaching middle age…and, as we’ll be together nine years in April, and looking forward to our fourth wedding anniversary in August, you could say, we’re no longer the serial snoggers we used to be; but we’ve hit what I call that blissful comfortable stage in our lovely relationship where we do everything together and enjoy spending our weekends participating in mutual hobbies and dote on our pack of fur babies and our granddaughter.

  So I suppose last weekend, even though I wasn’t expecting flowers or choccies, in the same way I wasn’t prepared for hubby’s most romantic gesture to beat all romantic gestures.  You see, picking up on the fact that the neat freak in me was practically panicking over the amount of dog hair on the rug and the urgent need to polish the handprints out of the dining table, this wonderfully sharp and amazing man I’m married to said…wait for it…you have a coffee darling, I’ll hoover the house! OMG, I went weak at the knees. Seriously girls, I was rendered speechless…not a condition I often suffer with. My romantic man is a keeper!