Up in smoke
NO SOONER had the news broke than the celebrations began. The people had waited a long time for this one, and they were in jubilant mood:
“They’re after legalising weed, haha gwan Enda.”
“Some buzz, gonna be like Amsterdam now.”
“I’m off to the doctor’s in the morning lads, see if he’ll give me a nine-bar.”
Of course, their enthusiasm was wholly misplaced. The Dáil may have passed a bill to make cannabis available for medicinal use in Ireland, but your GP won’t be prescribing a big fat one for your dodgy knee any time soon.
However, it wasn’t just those in the purple haze who were confused. Thanks to a vague, characteristically wishy-washy, announcement from our Government, everyone was left wondering just what all of this meant.
Were we about to become the new Amsterdam, a mecca for stoners the world over? Or was this medicinal stuff going to be the watered down version, a high-free, and therefore fun-free, substitute for the real thing?
Only by scrolling through the Bill itself (all 28 pages of it) is it possible to get an indication of what it actually entails, and even then it’s open to interpretation.
The key phrase throughout is that cannabis will be made available for “medicinal use” only. This is reiterated ad nauseam, carefully tacked onto the end of every sentence lest Ming Flanagan get any ideas.
But details on the cannabis itself, what it will contain and how it will be administrated, are not included. At one point it is implied that the doctored product will contain both CBD (the part said to have medicinal properties) and THC (the part that gets you high) but even this vital information is buried deep within a section about ensuring the ingredients are labeled correctly.
All the more preposterous is that before any of the finer, and in this case, important, details can be finalised, our Minister for Health, Simon Harris, must consult a third-party to ascertain the scientific value of the cannabis plant.
What they will tell him is anyone’s guess. And therein lies the problem for, despite widespread anecdotal evidence, there is no hard science to back up the theory that cannabis alleviates pain or lessens the symptoms of several debilitative illnesses.
Yes, you may know people who swear by it, whose quality of life has been improved by it, I do too. But without concentrated, controlled research, results and proof that it actually works, how can it be prescribed to anyone, regardless of their needs?
Luckily the Bill includes a plan to establish a Cannabis Research Institute, a centre of learning that will help those tasked with providing the drug to understand it better.
A person with “established expertise in education and research in the field of cannabis” (presumably Ming) will direct the Institute and determine just what goes on the market.
However, before this Institute can be established, before research can begin, the Bill must be passed, and then, once the legislation is in place, it will take another twelve months to get the Institute up and running.
So instead of doing the research and then deciding whether to legalise the drug, we’re doing it the other way round.
It smacks of something dreamed up by meddlesome members of a minority party, which is then, to their complete surprise, approved by the big boys. Which is exactly what it is.
I doubt the man responsible for the Bill, People Before Profit’s Gino Kenny, expected his proposal to make it this far. He and the other members of the far-left have made careers out of ruffling feathers, and this poorly drafted proposal looks like just that; a spanner in the works, a publicity stunt, an opportunity for air-time on Six One.
However, for reasons known only to himself, Minister Harris, has run with it. Perhaps it’s an age thing; Harris is just thirty years old, which makes him the voice of the youth in Dáil Eireann.
Maybe he’s just trying to be cool; distancing himself from Enda and all the other fuddy-duddies, hanging with the bad boys of the AAA-PBP, trying to impress them with fabricated tales of debauchery in the Dam. Perhaps he’ll announce the legislation with Mick Wallace and Ming by his side, a spliff lazily inserted into his insouciant gob.
That this Bill is passed in the same week that the HSE announce they will not pay for Orkambi, a drug proven to alleviate the symptoms of Cystic Fibrosis, makes it all the more galling. While Harris and Gino Kenny faff about with this hip new legislation, attempt to make history, etch their names in the annals forever, people in dire need continue to suffer unnecessarily.
The irony is that the majority of Irish people would be happy to see cannabis legalised, and not just for medicinal purposes. But they’d like to see it done properly and promptly, and not at the expense of other much-needed pharmaceutical products.
But in this country bureaucracy is king, and doing the right thing isn’t as important as being seen to do the right thing. So we’ll get our medicinal cannabis, the good stuff, and we’ll smoke it till our eyes water. We’ll get stoned, so stoned that we won’t even care about Orkambi, people on trolleys or the state of our health system. Which was probably the plan all along.
Ruff justice
Ever take a walk along Howley’s Quay of a winter’s eve? Quite pretty isn’t it? All those picturesque views of the Shannon, the way it shimmers under the moonlight, it’s enough to take one’s breath away.
However, despite the scenery on offer, it’s always wise to keep your head down when perambulating along the seafront. You may be tempted to cast your eyes towards the horizon, rapt by the spectacular vista on offer, but to do so would be folly, an error with potentially disastrous consequences.
The boardwalk may be pretty, it may offer breathtaking views, but it’s also riddled with dogshit.
The stuff is everywhere; whether it be carefully arranged stacks or slithery, slimy entrails, the entire area is a minefield.
And this is in spite of concerted attempts to clean our streets. A couple of years ago, there were nationwide adverts promising hefty fines for those failing to clean up after their pooches, there was even a tannoy system down by the quay, an officious little voice reminding dog-owners to clean up after Rover.
But now; nothing.
It’s all been forgotten about.
Salvation may yet be at hand, though. Robert Menard is the mayor of the French town Beziers, and he has come up with a novel way to ensure the streets of his municipality remain squeaky clean. He is setting up a canine database, containing the DNA of every dog in the district, which he will use to identify its owner should doggie-doo-doo be found on the streets.
The Mayor has come in for some criticism, with some calling the initiative “repressive”, but I think it’s a great idea. Put simply, if you’re not capable of cleaning up after your pet then you shouldn’t own one. I’ll go one step further; dog licenses should only be handed out to those willing to submit their pet’s DNA to the aforementioned canine database.
But in the meantime, while we wait for Limerick to follow Beziers’ lead, we must continue to tread carefully, tiptoeing our way through what’s meant to be one of the city’s leading tourist attractions.
