While rooting in the Medicine Cabinet, perchance I found:
![[Image: vhtTnB6l.jpg]](http://i.imgur.com/vhtTnB6l.jpg)
These were issued 20 years ago - in the paranoia that followed 9/11 and with Wars and Death and Pestilence, the the entire state was issued with a box of these. One per household - up until about 2008. In the interim period, they have been lost, found, lost again, left in the back of the hot-press, mistaken for paracetamol and generally been left aside as a reminder of a bad joke once played on the national population and something which passed into the annals of what, in Ireland, we call the Grotesque, Unbelieveable, Bizarre and Unprecedented. (Sincerely - it's a book called GUBU nation)
We now cast our minds back to the distant year 2001. Ireland has hope for the future. The sun is up and the celtic tiger is roaring. Patios are heated. Properties in the Balkans are bought. We're all partying. There is a sense of all around the land, that each one of us had simultaneously won the Lotto and are finally joining the ranks of the Real countries. Notions abound.
What happens if there's an accident at a British nuclear power plant? The Shadow of the World Trade Centre still falls across the world. What if they go somewhere else next? Somewhere - with substantially more fallout?
The Minister of the day comes on to the radio to calm people's fears. What do we do in the event of a Nuclear Accident?
This was the result as Joe Jacob comes on to the radio to talk to RTE's Marian Finucane (Note: The article is framed by current events - but the interview is the important thing)
It's 30 minutes long. It can be summarised in one line:
"But What do I do now Minister?"
You think it's a skit at first. But by the end, you realise that, all along, Ireland never changed. And maybe, have an inkling why people are suspicious of nuclear power on this island to this day.
God help us if they ever give these people responsibility over anything that could possibly have consequences.
These were issued 20 years ago - in the paranoia that followed 9/11 and with Wars and Death and Pestilence, the the entire state was issued with a box of these. One per household - up until about 2008. In the interim period, they have been lost, found, lost again, left in the back of the hot-press, mistaken for paracetamol and generally been left aside as a reminder of a bad joke once played on the national population and something which passed into the annals of what, in Ireland, we call the Grotesque, Unbelieveable, Bizarre and Unprecedented. (Sincerely - it's a book called GUBU nation)
We now cast our minds back to the distant year 2001. Ireland has hope for the future. The sun is up and the celtic tiger is roaring. Patios are heated. Properties in the Balkans are bought. We're all partying. There is a sense of all around the land, that each one of us had simultaneously won the Lotto and are finally joining the ranks of the Real countries. Notions abound.
What happens if there's an accident at a British nuclear power plant? The Shadow of the World Trade Centre still falls across the world. What if they go somewhere else next? Somewhere - with substantially more fallout?
The Minister of the day comes on to the radio to calm people's fears. What do we do in the event of a Nuclear Accident?
This was the result as Joe Jacob comes on to the radio to talk to RTE's Marian Finucane (Note: The article is framed by current events - but the interview is the important thing)
It's 30 minutes long. It can be summarised in one line:
"But What do I do now Minister?"
You think it's a skit at first. But by the end, you realise that, all along, Ireland never changed. And maybe, have an inkling why people are suspicious of nuclear power on this island to this day.
God help us if they ever give these people responsibility over anything that could possibly have consequences.
I love the smell of rotaries in the morning. You know one time, I got to work early, before the rush hour. I walked through the empty carpark, I didn't see one bloody Prius or Golf. And that smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole carpark, smelled like.... ....speed.
One day they're going to ban them.
