Thursday 23 January 2020

Ian O'Doherty: Calm down, dear, it's only a whistle

When it comes to the way the sexes treat each other, there are times when it's hard not to think that we have lost all common sense.

For example, only an idiot would think that it's acceptable to pinch a woman's bum, because apart from the fact that it's a physical assault it is just completely obnoxious.

Also, and far more importantly, if the women I know and hang around with are anything to go by, if you pinch their arse you'd be spending the next six months in hospital as doctors try reconstructive surgery on your groin.

Having said that, some women can look for offence where none is intended and see sexism and patronising misogyny at every turn.

The silly moos.

Now, showing just how far removed from common sense Britain has gone, there are renewed calls from various groups to outlaw the wolf whistling and "all comments liable to create an uncomfortable or sexualised environment".

Now, I've never whistled at a woman in my life because I am a) utterly socially inept and b) I have never been able to whistle.

But to start making laws prohibiting banter?

However, in the interest of balance, I am prepared to state publicly in this column that if any woman wants to objectify me, reduce me down to the mere status of nothing more than a sex icon and generally ignore my vast intellect and sunny personality in favour of making crude sexual innuendo at my expense then I am completely cool with that.

Nay, I would even welcome such crude sexual advances, because God knows it has never happened before.

But I draw the line at any of them pinching my arse.

I do have standards, after all.

So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, adieu

Well, have you stopped laughing yet?

The only thing funnier than seeing the Occupy Dame Street eejits finally turfed off the Central Bank was listening to their whingeing and bleating afterwards.

Contrary to what some of them were saying about the eviction and its aftermath, I spoke to one reporter at the scene who commented ruefully: "I didn't see one of those hippy pricks getting a hiding, not one."

I should stress that he wasn't advocating violence against hippies, he was just sorry that he didn't get a more dramatic story.

Well, I think that's the reason, although when I put this to him, he just grunted something about hating scruffy crusty bastards and then he walked off in a huff.

No, for once the authorities made the right call and the cops should be congratulated on carrying out an operation where the only thing bruised was a few egos.

Interestingly, one of the protesters started to complain about their 'democratic rights' being infringed and how Ireland was no longer a democracy.

I wondered at the time how they would have fared staging such a protest in a dictatorship -- they wouldn't have lasted five minutes, let alone five months.

But while we're talking about democracy allow me to ask one question -- who gave these spoiled, privileged wasters the mandate to protest and block all traffic on Dame Street on Thursday evening which completely buggered my journey home from work?

I mean, I was mildly inconvenienced by the whole thing.

Hanging is too good for them, mate.

The perfect start to the day

So, it's Friday morning, I'm at home getting ready for work when I go into the kitchen. And there it is -- a big steaming pile of poop.

Molly, it would appear, hadn't been able to get out to the back garden in time and had effectively committed her own dirty protest on the tiles of the kitchen.

Now, I'm not a particularly squeamish person but I'm sure you'll agree that nobody wants to start their day by cleaning up a mess like that. However it's something we get used to.

Oh, by the way and for the record for any casual reader -- Molly is the name of my dog, not my wife.

I'd hate for any confusion to occur.

Set your TV to . . . off

TV3 seems intent on single-handedly dumbing down our society.

I haven't actually watched Tallafornia but despite that I can loftily inform you that it is sh*te and now TV3's latest one looks like a doozy. And a rather convoluted one at that.

It started out at as Real Housewives of South Dublin, then changed its name several times because half of the people in this 'scripted reality show' weren't actually married and they weren't from the southside.

And now it has been announced that alongside that weird-looking bird who is known as 'Dr Botox' despite the fact that she's actually a dentist, one of those Macari chipper birds and Lisa Murphy (who is actually a nice woman and slagging her is a bit like pinching a puppy) they have also added to the 'cast' Paul Martin, showbiz reporter and pain in the neck.

Somehow I doubt that Brian Kennedy will be tuning in to this one . . .

Irish Independent

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