Kicking Against The Pricks

The title of this post is an old English idiom, and it refers to rebelling against authority.  It was a common theme expressed to me as a schoolboy, and were it still in use, or in use in the U.S. at all, it would no doubt still be used against me.

I mistrust and dislike most authority figures, and always have.

In the old days, of course, it was largely political institutions and their acolytes (cops, etc.), but in recent times that’s grown to include busybody scolds such as the Climate Hysterics.

Which makes the following story all the more delicious.

An Irish pub has won plaudits for its devastating reply to a local tourist centre after it told them off for using a traditional peat fire. 

JJ Houghs Singing Pub, in Banagher, Ireland posted a picture to their Facebook page of two customers innocently enjoying the first turf fire of the season on Friday.

But local tourist centre Working Holiday Ireland was not happy about the use of turf (also called peat) as fuel and decided to publicly reprimand the owners of the 250-year-old pub.

In the comment section, they said: ‘I see you’re burning turf?! Carbon footprint guys…’

The response from JJ Houghs was immediate, and savage:

‘It’s how we heat the pub. Looking at your page you rely on tourists from abroad coming to Ireland correct? How do they get here? They hardly swam.

‘How would you quantify and compare the emissions of a Boeing 747 to a small turf fire. How do your guests get around Ireland when they arrive, do they walk?

‘I also see by your page you promote Dunnes Stores, who have 138 stores in Ireland and abroad, do you query their carbon footprint? When your guests are here do you check their clothing to ensure they aren’t made of synthetic polyester, a byproduct of petroleum? Did you write your critique of my turf fire on a phone or laptop? Both of which were developed and are powered by fossil fuel technology. 

‘Maybe think before criticising a small family run pub’s turf fire. Maybe call in some day and I’ll give you my carbon footprint up your hole.’

If ever I get to Ireland, I shall go to the Singing Pub and drink and eat excessively, because they are a place after my own heart and deserve my (and everybody else’s) support.

And to hell with these simpering, self-righteous assholes who have set themselves up as Guardians of the Galaxy, or something.  A pox on them all, the interfering killjoys and wokescolds.