Those were the days discuss ...

The ould Celtic Tiger mauled the bejasus out of this country. She came purring along, brought out the worst in us - scratched the ***** out of us and left quick as she came.

Gone were the happy Paddy days when we hadn't a pot to piss in - but were content. When a weekend in Bunclody would have done you, or a 10 year old Ford Escort. If you got out two nights a week and a few pints of porter you'd be happy as a pig in *****. Neighbours were neighbours. You knew their names and they did stuff for you! They didn't annoy the head off ya with loud music and turn it louder if you complained. They cared and shared. You went around with the sleeve out of your jumper, the **** out of your trousers, a snot hanging out of your nose - but God you were happy. And the old dears down the road were Mrs this or Mr that and if ye gave them any guff the ould lad wouldn't even ask what happened - well not without thumping you first. If you got a ten years old hand me down Dub jersey you were king. And Christmas ... well the sight of a duck's egg wrapped in tin foil was heaven.

And then we lost the run of ourselves. Mind you long before the Celtic Tiger the Yuppies started it. But the CT was grist to the mill - our inherent greed, materialism and selfishness was given full vent and boy did we ride that Tiger to death. A new car? **** it give us two. Holiday in Ireland me **** - or Phuket as a lot said and did. Jaysus we're not living here anymore - see that gaff in D9 and it only €1.9 million! Designer clothes, jewellery and homes became de rigeur and the more you had (borrowed) the more you rubbed your neighbour's nose in it. 'Oh you're only going to Disney for two weeks? We're going for a month. And the pubs - fecking shots and Alcopops and Fat Frogs ... no wonder we were sundered. Cappuccino anyone - WTF was wrong with Maxwell House? Even the church went pear-shaped on us and the scandals were a great excuse to walk away from the guilt that was bashed into us as kids. So the 'shackles' were off and the shekels were in.

It was all MM ME ME ME ME ME ME ME (still is)! Ye couldn't get a fella to even quote you a job for less than €300 and then he wouldn't even show. No tomorrow was the motto ... Anyone with an ounce of sense could see the writing on the wall but they chose not to.

And then it all came to a screeching halt. As quickly as the lights used to go on after the National Anthem was played in the disco it was gone. Like it was never here. But it was here cos the fallout was tumultuous. And everyone blames everyone else. And everybody rang in to that clown and whined for Ireland.

Ah will we ever get back to what we pretended to be at all ..... discuss

Well at least you knew the country before it was fooked, this is just normality for my generation and the one before me. Ya hear tales of what Ireland used to be like pre-celtic tiger and you'd swear it was the funnest place in the world but like was it really that great? Times often look nicer from a distance.

Whatever happened to:

People hitching lifts
Phoneboxs
Sweet shops
Old Biddys/Paddys heading to collect the pension on a Honda 50, drinking 10 jemmy and reds and driving home
using bikes as form of transport
Taking a grey diesel/35 to Mass
Sharing the petrol money
Glucoplus
The Irish Press
The Sunday Journal
Crepe hats for GAA matches with "Up Down"
Headin to a nearby dairy farmer for the daily bucket of milk
Man and a van selling sweets/cakes and other sundry goods
Village shops taking a half day on a wednesday
main street filling stations

Ah yes, the good oul' days of the CT....There are many victims of this malaise nationally and locally, but I'm pleased to report the only known success from this era, in this neck of the woods. It concerns an old and dear friend (previously mentioned in reports) of mine, Dan the Dauber...
In the pre-tiger days Dan would be called upon to "whitewash" walls prior to REPS inspections, paint the kitchens and parlours of houses before station masses and "emergency painting jobs" should an elderly crone be awaiting the arrival of The Grim Reaper.
After canvassing every house within miles in the run up to the 1997 General Election and his man romping home, it was decided, by way of recompense, to let Dan "try the school". Aided by one of his own lads this proved a success (it took about 3 weeks for a 2 teacher school) but Dan was launched...

By 1998 he'd progressed to taking on new house builds (5 week jobs) and when the boom came Dan was up to speed. A van was acquired and customised (it had 52 different coloured stripes and 365 assorted stars or spots). The children in the local playschool were treated one day a week to a "paint Dan's van day". 3 foreign nationals who knew their stuff were hired initially and a son, Danny Dan, was summoned home from the UK to be a project manager.

Governmental buildings were the order of the day and 3 more Ukrainians joined the team. Another son, Davy Dan, returned (some say from Wormwood Scrubs) to captain the 2nd string. Meanwhile Dan acquired a Toyota Landcruiser for tipping about and nice and handily over a year or two, bought 3 small "farms" of land with derelict or ruined cottages on them.
He avoided developers and kept to single shot jobs and as many schools/offices/Co.Council works as could be safely screwed his way...About this time he became a pain in the hole for a while. Previously he'd bullshit on about football, cattle prices, local tit-bits and general bollocksology, but now it became all about Dulux Moda range, Farrow & Ball is top class paint, I'd only buy Harris brushes etc., until one night he announced he'd bought a monkey suit...
The pub erupted...A fookin' monkey suit, FFS, a monkey in it....harsh truths were told, heritage invoked and a Fenagh man owning a monkey suit..

Dan had a bit of a look at himself and the penny dropped....Quietly over a year or two, he knocked up 3 fine bungalows (paid for) on the 3 little farms he'd bought and has 2 sons and a daughter and their families ensconced. The van, of course is no more, but the Landcruiser lives on...

I'd have huge time for Dan, a real sound skin..We'd often laugh about the madness of it all and of course he's back to pre-tiger days, but the memories of his meteoric rise will remain....and the Richard Nixon resignation phrase applies, and Dauber loves it..."It's only when you've been to the depths of the valley you can appreciate the slopes of the mountain"......

If you're reading this Dauber fair play, one of the very finest...A full solid gent....

Whatever happended to


Fighting over who gets the spoon the Ould doll was using to make buns
Some neighbour landing to the house with her surplus Rubarb and the realisation that that was desert fooked for the next 3 sundays. - This was real Irish stuff here - some biddy would land with Rubarb (I know there should be an H in there somewhere)
The mother would have to return the visit with a Rhubarb tart
The visit would have to be returned to give the plate back. You could fill the diary for a month with surplus garden produce.
Signifcant religious festivals - remember some nonsense where we walked around the town in our communion suits - with a brass band playing
Silver Circle - A mafia type numbers con that was used to pay for the new church roof
Our custard Coulored Fiat Mirafori with red foam seats.
Remember the mother getting a bag of kids clothes froma neighbour and us giving clothes to another neighbour - it was the thing to do once your kids of that gender had outgrown them

On the flip side - times when you should have known that the Tiger was ready to belch

I was talking to a lad one day who had Gaming machine issues in his teens and never gambled after that - He was telling me about who he works out his stop loss on his oil shorts on his spreadbet account.

Talking to a lad in the army who told me that him the brother and the father had bought 3 apartments beside each other in Bulgaria without even seeing the place

In 2007 a lad told me that he was offered 1.2m for a plot of land his grandad left him but he was going to look for planning himeslf and develop it . I knew the land in question and the only view was up and the only ones looking were the sheep and bog worms.


A lad I knew had a built a house overlooking the beach in Donegal - on his fathers land. Some banker from Belfast had built on land behind him (holiday home). There was a tree on my mates land which impacted about 1% of the line of vision from the holiday homes conservatory. He was in negotiation about the pruning of said tree - The bid at the time was £20k sterling to cut off two branches - He was holding out for 25k.

The worst episode in the CT era that I witnessed was going into a nightclub during a festival in a rural town. The fella in front of me in the massive queue was a genial enough chap in his mid 30's, merrily drunk after a belly of pints no doubt going in to have a few straightners before getting a greasy kebab and an early taxi home. The porter had slowed reaction and movement somewhat and when the owner barked the price at him (if I spoke in a similar tone to the dog Mrs Smith would be on my case) the guy dug the big calloused hand into his 501s and produced a handful of shrapnel which he proceeded to get the admission from. I believe the owner's exact words were "Do you think I have time to be waiting for you to count your fookin change? Get out!" Followed by a swift shove sending him out on to the sidewalk..

Yes JS - we are a classy lot!

OMAR - I was dragged brought up 10 minutes from Croker - in a terraced road that were fetching +€1m a few short years ago. Quality Strain built houses (a famous Belfast builder) dating to 1913. Our neighbour was a diamond lady from Bangor Erris who's husband died young leaving her to bring up 4 daughters and 2 sons. All did really well - class people - and one owns a top very southside mountain pub. Old Mrs H (died many years ago) was forever - depending on season - passing an apple/rhubarb tart across the wall. In enamel plates!

Across the road was a Newry woman (4 daughters and one son, poor *******! ) husband died in 1968 and she reared a fine brood. Two doors down a clan of five boys and four girls with very Republican leanings - class folk. All reared 'Dubs' - where did we all go wrong ...

Jonsmith wrote:The worst episode in the CT era that I witnessed was going into a nightclub during a festival in a rural town. The fella in front of me in the massive queue was a genial enough chap in his mid 30's, merrily drunk after a belly of pints no doubt going in to have a few straightners before getting a greasy kebab and an early taxi home. The porter had slowed reaction and movement somewhat and when the owner barked the price at him (if I spoke in a similar tone to the dog Mrs Smith would be on my case) the guy dug the big calloused hand into his 501s and produced a handful of shrapnel which he proceeded to get the admission from. I believe the owner's exact words were "Do you think I have time to be waiting for you to count your fookin change? Get out!" Followed by a swift shove sending him out on to the sidewalk..

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