Three years ago, Thurles housewife Mrs Brooklin Casey a part-time well known, investigative, free-lance journalist; packed her overnight bag and headed to Afghanistan, to study the culture and treatment of Afghan women, under the then Taliban regime.
On arrival Mrs Casey was shocked to discover that all married women in Afghanistan were expected to walk a minimum of ten paces behind their chosen male spouses.
Brooklin asked her guide, Mr Abdul-Badi, why and he said, “Because women are considered to be of a lesser status in Afghan society.”
An outraged Mrs Brooklin Casey, 5 days later, left Afghanistan; arriving home to Thurles, to flood Irish newspapers and magazines, each hard pressed for news; dispatches condemning the Taliban regime’s treatment of married women in their capitol city of Kabul.
Last year, following further armed conflict in Afghanistan, she decided to return to report on the further violence in the region and was surprised to see all women walking some ten paces in front of their spouse.
She turned to her guide who again luckily was Mr Abdul-Badi and this time she asked, “Why has this custom regarding women suddenly changed?”
Four Thurles wives were waiting for a bus on Liberty Square in the town; on Saturday last.
As they waited the subject of each of their individuals social classes in local Tipperary society, became a topic for discussion.
The first wife Mrs Taytum Kenny says, “I’m a YUPPIE; you know, Young, Urban, Professional.”
The second wife Mrs Stefani Brown says, “I’m a DINK; you know, Double Income, No Kids.”
The third wife Mrs Arleth Hayes says, “I’m a RUB; you know, Rich, Urban, Biker.”
All three now turn to the fourth wife and one of them asks, “So what are you?” Mrs Amelia Gilroy replies, “I’m a WIFE; you know Wash, Iron, Fold, Etc.”
[Note Please: Any resemblance to the Jackie Collins’ novel and television mini-series ‘Hollywood Wives’ is purely coincidental.]
Episode 1.
Thurles Wives
According to Thurles born Mrs Brooklin Casey, (who claims she heard it directly from the horse’s mouth), her neighbour and also housewife Mrs Harper Penelope McCarthy, got home from work rather early yesterday. [Not that it matters, but Mrs Casey was anxious to point out to me that Harper McCarthy was high up in the Civil Service, and works a flexitime schedule, which allows her to choose when to start and to end her average working day].
As she turned the key in the latch, she was startled by a strange, rather high pitched, screaming noise, emanating she felt sure, from her upstairs bedroom.
Pounding up the creaky stairs, she located her husband Mr Waylon McCarthy, lying totally naked on their bed, drenched in sweat and breathing with short, quick breaths.
‘What’s wrong?’ a concerned Harper asked.
‘I think I’m having a heart attack,’ whispers Waylon her husband.
Harper rushes back downstairs to get her iPhone from her discarded handbag and just as she begins dialling, one of her children; five-year-old son Jaxon McCarthy comes down stairs shouting, “Mummy, Mummy, Aunty Shirley is hiding in the walk-in wardrobe in your bedroom and she has no clothes on”
Harper slams the mobile phone down on the hall stand and storms back upstairs into her bedroom, rushing past her husband, latter still naked on their bed, but breathing showing signs of improving.
Harper slides open the black mirrored sliding wardrobe doors and there, sure enough, is her sister Shirley, totally naked; cowering in one corner, on the floor.
‘You rotten bitch’, Harper screams, ‘there is my husband having a heart attack, and here you are running around naked, playing hide and seek with the kids’.
“Wouldn’t you think Thurles Municipal District Council would introduce cycle lanes here on Liberty Square?” said I to Mikey Ryan. “With ‘foot-fall’ almost non existent, might ‘cycle-fall’ be a good idea”.
We were above at the Thurles Music festival in Liberty Square, Thurles listening to that Tribute Band “AᗺBA“, but Mikey appeared to be preoccupied, staring at a blonde lady, dressed; for all intents and purposes, in a bra and tights.
After giving Mikey a dart in the ribs with my elbow, I repeated the question. “Oh sorry there”, said Mikey, “I was miles away”, (then in a lower tone), but I swear I went out a few times with that girl’s mother”.
“Now to answer your question the one word that immediately comes to mind is NO“ said Mikey, “most definitely not. This is more of that Green Party propaganda, being put out there in an effort to increase unemployment; destroy the Irish Republic’s overall economy and adding not a whit to the country’s gross domestic product.”
“Let’s be totally honest here”, continued Mikeynow in full rant, “Cyclists don’t buy motor cars. They don’t borrow money from Thurles Credit Union to buy motorised vehicles. Cyclists don’t pay car insurance or road tax. They don’t buy petrol or diesel fuel, don’t go out to Tom Harold in Two-Mile- Borris, to have their vehicle properly serviced, or indeed crash repaired.
“Tell me then”, said I, “why have we erected all those chrome “Sheffield Toast Bike Racks” on both sides of the Square?“
“Forget the Toast Bike Racks” , said Mikey, “Worst of all these cyclists types don’t pay for street parking, hence reductions in the salaries of local councillors and their officials. Cyclists don’t even need multi-lane highways, charging hefty tolls.”
“Be jasus, I never thought of it that way Mikey”, said I.
“And I’ll tell you what’s more”, Mikey continued, “them cyclists, by their very nature of riding bicycles, usually remain fitter, healthier individuals, than car drivers, hence they don’t buy medicine; don’t visit doctors surgeries or clog up waiting rooms and trolleys in Limerick University Hospital.
Mikey’s rant continued, akin to a €3k a week, paid Sinn Féin politician, during question time in Dáil Éireann.
“And talking about health, do you see all those chip & burger joints here on Liberty Square? They create untold employment. They will, hopefully, in the foreseeable future automatically, by their very existance, create highly paid posts in the Health Service Executive for Specialists like Cardiologists, Dietitians, Nurses, Junior Doctors and Nutritionists. “Change your way of thinking now”, said Mikey, “cycle lanes won’t put bread and butter on the table of Thurles businesses, either now or in the years ahead”.
“Still”, said I, “I think Thurles needs cycle-fall as well as foot-fall on Liberty Square, before all we have are out-of-town supermarkets”.
“Shut your face and listen to Agnetha Fältskog”, said Mikey, “Boy wasn’t she top of my ‘to do’ list in me younger days”.
“I see you are checking the situations vacant columns again Mikey”, said I, as I joined Mikey Ryan in the Arch Bar in Liberty Square, Thurles this dinnertime.
“I’ll tell you this and I’ll tell you no more”, said Mikey Ryan, “but didn’t I see advertised in the local paper, last week, the perfect job for any unemployed person and with absolutely no training deemed necessary“.
“And what job was that”, said I.
“WANTED one bikini waxers assistant”, said Mikey. He continued, “All you had to do was to assist in the removal of underwear and then to rub soothing, scented oil over the waxed area, after the waxing procedure was complete”.
“Well did you apply for the job”, said I.
“No point”, said Mikey, “When I asked a member of staff at the Thurles Social Welfare office, she said I had to go to Dunfanaghy, Co. Donegal”.
“Why is that where the job was being offered?” said I, “It would be a long way to commute from Thurles, every morning, especially with the current price of petrol”, I continued.
“No it wasn’t that at all” said Mikey, “The job is here in Liberty Square, in Thurles, the Social welfare assistant assured me; but Dunfanaghy, Co. Donegal was where the back of the fecking queue was currently; waiting to be interviewed!
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