Emigration etc.

Even though it is said that sports and politics should always be kept apart, the history line only serves as a proof that the Olympic games have always been more than a sports stage. The 1936 Games in Berlin the Fuehrer used as a means to display the efficiency of the Nazi system, while in the 1968 Olympics in Mexico African American sprinters Tommie Smith and John Carlos accepted their medals shoeless, each wearing black gloves on their raised, clutched fists with silver medal winner Aussie Peter Norman wearing a human rights badge in support of the protest against racial injustice. About 50 countries boycotted Moscow games in 1980 in protest of the 1979 Soviet invasion of Afghanistan and in 1992 in Barcelona Australian basketball team refused to play Americans when one of Dream Team’s stars Eaerwin Magic Johnson announced he was HIV positive, this resulting in Aussie doctors’ statement that if played, Johnson would pose a threat of passing on the virus.

For giants like the USA, the USSR or Yugoslavia the Olympics and especially the team sports have always served as a way to prove their superiority. Two basketball matches between the Americans and the Soviets were as important as the Space Race, with the Soviet Union winning both of them. 1988 Olympics in Seul marked the second time in the Olympic history the American basketball team was beaten and it was the second time the USSR did it. When the Soviet Olympic basketball team was standing on the podium that summer clenching their gold medals, it was the last time the team of 12 were listening to the anthem saluting the victory of Communism's immortal ideas and an unbreakable union of freeborn republics. After four years four out of that team were standing on the podium in Barcelona, this time with bronze medals, but without the crossed hammer and the sickle on their T-shirts. The anthem of their unknown country wasn’t played in 1992, since the American Dream Team took the gold, but it was the first time in the Olympic basketball history the players of this Western giant were surrounded by the representatives of two dwarf countries, which for decades remained anonymous to the world. Croatia took the silver, while Lithuania took the gold. That moment epitomized the triumph against the system and the pride to finally represent the country you were born in, but were not allowed to mention its name, because it was part of the ‘unbreakable union’.

The subject of the freedom of Tibet is not first time the most powerful countries remain silent in the face of violence and human rights violations, while it is labelled as an internal issue. If the freedom of speech exists, this summer Olympics, which initially were supposed to be the celebration of vigour and beauty of the human body, will be interrupted with various protests, hopefully only verbal ones.

Yet putting the issue of Tibet aside, what fascinates me a resident of this country, is how little interest and ambition Ireland displays in the Olympics, even though it has one of the highest GDPs per capita in the world.

I got used to the fact that the winter Olympics are completely ignored by the local media (thus confirming its parochialism), but I can partly justify it with the absence of snow on this island. Yet one expects that a prosperous country should be investing into brining up and training athletes that could compete not only in the perpetual Munster-Leinster contest, but would represent Ireland on the world stage.

Although, in my opinion, hurling and Gaelic football are fascinating games, it is a shame that when young, the best athletes oftentimes are directed into these two almost exclusively Irish sports. This is what a friend of mine working with the most prospective young tennis players in Ireland says. Playing for your city is great, but for the majority of sportsmen and women representing their country in the Olympics is the most prestigious experience.

This year Ireland is sending a squad of 51 athletes to Beijing, representing 12 sports: athletics, badminton, boxing, canoeing, cycling, equestrian, fencing, rowing, sailing, shooting, swimming and triathlon.

Ireland has 20 Olympic medals under the belt overall, with the peak-time being the 1956 Olympics in Melbourne, where Ireland won 5 medals. The summer Olympics in Athens were not successful, as Cian O'Connor lost the show jumping gold after his horse failed a drugs test. The performance of Michelle Smith in 1992 in Barcelona, when this unheard of before swimmer swept 4 medals was marked with controversy, although doping allegations were never proved. Yet two years after the Atlanta Games, International Swimming Federation banned Smith for four year after she was found guilty of tampering with a urine sample. Her performance in Atlanta was never encored with a startling come back.

In a recent interview with the BBC the world number three in men’s tennis Serbia’s Novak Djokovic was trying to explain to the journalist, how come his poor and war torn country has so many first-class tennis players. “It's just a hunger for success, a mentality that we've been through a lot of difficult times in the past. We appreciate some things much more in life and we fight for every match”, he explained.

After the restoration of the independence in 1990 my country has won 11 Olympic medals. If you include the ones Lithuanians won representing the Soviet Union, we have 53. Luckily, in the past few years the government started to understand that basketball shouldn’t be the only sports supported by the state. Last year our country’s sports budget was 16 mln euro – as opposed to Ireland’s 316 mln.

This summer we are sending 69 athletes to Beijing - more than ever before. We have at least six medal hopefuls: a discus thrower, cyclists, wrestlers among them and, of course, basketball players. Recent survey shows that half of the population is hoping we could win up to three medals, while the quarter of the respondents believe we could win up to six. Even if we don’t win any, the country will be obsessed with the Olympic fever. For me it is an overwhelming feeling to see somebody on the TV with our little three-colour flag next to their name and to know that they are not representing some unbreakable political union.

Written for "Metro Eireann"

I am at war. BIG TIME. Even though I got that plug that you stick in the socket and it makes the ultrasound that should discourage the mice from nesting and sticking their filthy nose into my private 150 or so square feet, the little fucker came back yesterday and, contrary to the first encounter, halted for a while, looked into the direction of the plug and me and rushed back into the gap between the stove and the sink.

So I got the traps today and bought a can of tuna - apparently the mice learned to nick the cheese without getting trapped (forget cartoons) as the cheese dries quickly, therefore something pasty works better. Bite the dust!

In search for response to Christophe's comments on begging, over the past few days I came across two stories in the morning newspapers.

But in the meantime I just want to mention that of course, Christophe, when speaking of freedom I meant to say that our independence and the EU expansion opened the gate and we flooded through them driven by economic necessity and selfishness, yet we chose to work rather than to beg, even when a few years ago we were working illegally, without work permits, often for less than the minimum wage, but we worked, we were not begging (!). And I think I've written enough in my blog about Irish in order for you not to get the impression that I call all Irish street people. God forbid!

According to the recent stories, child begging is up by 30 percent in Ireland and according to some officials, the hike was due to both a change in legislation making it no longer illegal for adults to beg and the growing numbers of Roma in Ireland. This story only heralds my previous post in some way, yet I don't have the answer with a possible solution for this dilema.

Also I discovered that accordng to Dublin Simon Community, about a quarter of Dublin's homeless population suffer from serious mental illness and this is the question of the chicken and the egg: was it mental illness that drove them to the streets or are the streets to be blamed for their mental condition? Either way this should be tackled, but a penny or even a shiny euro jingleing into the empty "Starbucks" cup won't solve the problem.

Come ye who thirsty or starve or are simply lazy and the Celtic Tiger will embrace you all.

Previously on various occasions I have mentioned a view quite a vast number of my fellow citizens have expressed in cyber-discussions. I am a Judas. And so are those who have left Lithuania. Although I have to admit that after my and a few other bloggers' outrage against such opinions those voices have hushed. A Polish friend of mine says similar judgments sometimes are manifested in her homeland.

However. I have converted my best friend to my religion of savor-the-world-and-live-life-before-settling-in-anywhere-especially-when-young-and-without-kids.

I know, living in Ireland is not a per se savoring of the world. Majority of young Lithuanians, Polish, Latvians, Italians and Portuguese flow here because of the wages. And the temptation is high to see nothing beyond a weekly pay cheque.

When I popped in to say hello to my previous boss in Lithuania a couple of weeks ago, she nailed me with a straightforward question What keeps you in Ireland? My sister, I answered hasty. Although I should have added AIB. Hopefully by the end of February I will pay off whatever I have to and then... I guess I'll start savoring more of the world. A very good friend of mine whom I've discovered in Ireland and who recently nearly climbed this (bad weather conditions to be blamed) has seduced me with an idea to go hiking to Himalaya next Autumn. I might as well shut myself in a tiny monastery somewhere on the roof of the world. I suppose it is easy to stay away from carnal pleasures with a view through your window like this.

Back to my friend. My emigration propaganda has finally shattered her shell of doubts and she's heading for Ireland in the end of October. This time it was easy - I didn't even have to persuade her to come along. Although I have done that previously, yet without much success. She is working in a sort of Lithuanian FAS as a graphic designer. Her salary is a joke and the women she works with are useless. She doesn't expect to get a graphic designer job here - her English is not good enough. In fact she says she would be perfectly happy making sandwiches. Although I'm sure she'll go further than that after a while. And then she'll come back. Like many other Judases (strange plural...). And we'll all live happily ever after.

Whenever I encounter a foreigner who has visited Lithuania more or less recently I ask them how was it. Don't want to sound full of myself, but majority seem to like it there. Even my Polish friend's friends who had visited Wilno (that's how Polish call the capital Vilnius - it belonged to Poland for a while anyway) said that they liked it. When they have Krakow it is hard for us to compete... Anyhow.

A lovely elderly couple walked into the shop today and they mentioned that they had been in Vilnius in 2000. After saying that I will be going there shortly, they remarked that the place must be quite different now.

"There must be more prosperity now, possibly like in Ireland," they commented and chuckled.

"I hope not too much of prosperity," was my reply and they smiled.

That is my honest hope and prayer.

I've been living in Ireland for over two years now and I have seen so many people who were born into money (is that the way the saying goes?) that it nearly gets scary. My sister came back from Paris last spring and she said that just by judging the amount of new cars in the streets Paris looks like a shabby place compared to Dublin. Yet she came back from Lithuania a month ago and said that she was amazed by the quantity of luxury cars on the roads there...

Now I have nothing against new cars or new houses. I am just dumbfounded at the speed at which Ireland is turning to a classic consumerist society. Somehow I get even more conscious about it when I return from countries who have been rich for a long time, i.e. Denmark. As we were walking the streets of Copenhagen in July with a friend of mine, both of us remarked that it looks like in Dublin people live just for the sake of SHOPPING and DRINKING.

Of course, they do shop and drink in Copenhagen or Strasbourg, yet in Dublin quite often you get the feeling that people stay alive just by talking about prices, selling or buying. The amount of places selling coffee 2 go is booming - what about funky little cafes where you can sit and relax inside or outside and just have a good coffee without the need of purchasing a sandwich? Not those chain cafes - Insomnias or Starbucks... Alas - everybody is rushing to sell or buy, thus there's no time for un café...

When in the shop, now and again we chat with customers about the future of Ireland. Just like the newspapers we keep wondering how long this economic boom will last. Quite a few people (mostly those who are older and who have travelled a bit) mention that the growth of economy was so rapid you can hardly believe it would last for long. It's like a genetically modified chicken - so young yet so big, but somehow missing the real flavor.

I find Ireland getting more and more similar to the clichéd image of the USA - McDonald's, drive-ins, drive-throughs, to-goes, buy-2-get-1-frees. I spend therefore I live - the infectious slogan of new economies. That's what I mean by saying I hope Lithuania doesn't get too prosperous.

I know I am not making too much sense, therefore I suggest to read the last two issues of my favorite magazine "Monocle" - the previous one is about the cities that offer the best quality of life and the current issue is about building a country.

I hope somebody in charge of Lithuania's future reads them too...

It's a tranquil afternoon in Dun Laoghaire. The sea is about two hundred yards away and the tide never seems to be present here. Delightful. In front of me - a slightly too watery latte (made by a Polish guy who seems to be new in the cafe, ah well, I'll just give him time). It looks like something went terribly wrong with the air conditioning - judging by the reaction at the table next to me I am not the only one thinking the smell is somewhat reminiscent of pooh.

I have to admit Primal Sneeze is right. I am suffocating in frustration. Especially for the past couple of months. I guess the fact that I got a chance to travel this year more than ever (thus the balance in my credit card is zero) had influenced my feelings as well. I know, it is not Cambodia or Argentina (yet), just Krakow, Seville, Italy (Interrailing from Valle d'Aosta to Palermo and back up North) and Denmark (Odense & Copenhagen). Hope you have enjoyed the pictures.

In other words I have been busy exploring the continent and whenever I come back to Éire I have to face the bitter fact that Dublin is a part of an island. Not only just geographically. Despite the fact Dublin makes it to majority of various polls in Europe estimating the possibilities for job seekers and the quantity of happy people living here (and most of the time it's in the top 10 at least) there are still many things to be improved.

As I was reading the list of 20 most liveable cities in the world announced in the last issue of Monocle at work (during those lazy afternoon hours), many customers expectantly were asking if Dublin had made it to the list. I had to disappoint them. The criteria for selecting the cities(sustainability, medical care, public transport, local media, access to international media, environmental initiatives among others) were exactly the ones where Dublin needs a huge push forward.

Bellow are the cities in declining order that, according to Monocle, are the most liveable in the world:

Munich
Copenhagen
Zurich
Tokyo
Vienna
Helsinki
Sydney
Stockholm
Honolulu
Madrid
Melbourne
Montreal
Barcelona
Kyoto
Vancouver
Auckland
Singapore
Hamburg
Paris
Geneva

Despite the fact that almost all of them belong to countries that have high GDP per capita and wages far greater than the ones in Lithuania, it looks like economic factors were not the most essential ones for Monocle. And I take my hat off for that.

By the way, does anybody remember the 178-nation "Happy Planet Index" which reveals the the south Pacific island of Vanuatu with a population of 209 000 is the happiest nation on the planet, while the UK is ranked 108th? The index is based on consumption levels, life expectancy and happiness, rather than national economic wealth measurements such as GDP.

However let's come back to Dublin. I believe everybody could sketch a must-do list which could improve living here. On the other hand a temporary infatuation with a country were you've spent a mere week and living in it most of the time turn out to be two totally different stories. Conclusion - Dublin is great yet it has the potential to become greater and on a vast scale it all will depend on the generation to come. I hope this generation stops scratching the balls (a sight seen on the streets of Dublin more often than in any other city I have been to) and starts using the hands to build a better country. Their parents gave them the Celtic Tiger. What are they going to give to their own children apart passion for Guinness and GAA?

Now don't get me wrong. I deliberately posted this beforehand. Yet I have to assert that constant state of happiness for me is unfamiliar. Therefore (some might say driven by frustration) recently I did the following:

* A couple of weeks ago I applied for a Photography and Digital Imaging course in the National College of Art and Design. As always is the case in Dublin the 24-week-long course should cost what each year of full-time BA studies in photography costs in the Netherlands. One doesn't have to be Susan Sontag to distinguish the level of photography over there and here, in the Emerald Island. The course, after researching the works of the graduates of the college, seems to be one of the best in Dublin and without the promises to teach you to make pretty shots. Fingers crossed...

* Applied for volunteering in Dun Laoghaire Festival of World Cultures. Last year I was over the moon as I watched buskers banging congos, a violinist Oleg Ponomarev in leather trousers, who brought the house down playing Russian//Gyspy music and Congolese guitar wizard Niwel Tsumbu. Many visitors of the festival said they did not expect such a cultural fiesta in an island. This year should be just as good, although what a shame, Lithuanians do not participate again on a larger scale and I don't know whom to blame anymore - our embassy or the lack of initiative in our Ministry of culture or artists themselves... As for me I am getting an M size T-shirt and a badge "Volunteer". Hopefully the boss will be happy enough to give me a weekend off...

There are a few more things but I will keep them undisclosed for a while.

So I guess frustration is THE driving force for me.

Blessed are those who are busy from 8 am till 5 pm and drunk afterwards, for they shall have no time to ask wrong questions.

Blessed are those who fall asleep without wondering what they might dream about for they shall fall asleep immediately.

Blessed are those who fall in love with those who are imperfect and don't attempt to change them for they shall have less grey hair to pluck.

Blessed are those who are not frustrated for they shall live in contentment.

PS
I promise - no more mentioning of frustration :)

Finally.

"Human crisis or welfare tourism". The front page of The Irish Times supplement Weekend Review on the 21st of July. Alison Healy's story about 32 Roma adults and 22 children encamped on M50 motorway roundabout near Dublin airport.



It is Ireland's busiest road and Roma have been living here since early May. It took nearly three months to break Irish patience and now the story is all over the place: The Irish Times, BBC, The Observer, etc.

Like a refugee camp

According to The Observer, conditions at the camp have deteriorated over the past few days. The scene resembles the slums of an Asian city rather than 21st-century Ireland.

The air around the two camps reeks of human excreta and rotting food; children as young as two play in mud and filth; grass verges to either side of the families' makeshift shelters are covered in rubbish and colonies of tiny flies attach themselves to anything that moves. The tents they sleep in have been flooded during the recent heavy rains. A number of parents have even put down discarded posters from the last general election; one child could be seen last Thursday having a nap on top of a picture of Taoiseach Bertie Ahern.

Last Thursday two children from the camps were taken to Temple Street Hospital in central Dublin following an outbreak of severe vomiting and diarrhoea. Non-governmental organisations campaigning for the Roma to stay in the state have claimed that there is a danger of disease breaking out.


Photo by J P. Ireland Photoline

In A. Healy's words, the conditions resemble a refugee camp, but when the people are asked why they don't take up a Government offer to be flown home, the answer is always the same. "I no want to go back to Romania. I die from the hunger in Romania. Here I have somewhere where I can sleep", says one of these Roma people in English which far exceeds many Lithuanians' and Poles' who have been flooding Ireland since 2004 - after being accepted to the EU.

Finito to welfare tourism

Unlike Lithuanians or citizens of any of 10 countries who joined the EU in 2004 Romanians and Bulgarians are restricted from working in Ireland unless they have a work visa or are self-employed, although they do have freedom of movement within the EU. They are not entitled to social welfare payments, child benefits or emergency accommodation.

It seems that Irish government has learned from its previous mistakes when in the years before my country had joined the EU hundreds of my fellow-citizens surged towards the generous embrace of the Celtic Tiger. Some of them on the claims that they've been blackmailed by gypsies were seeking asylum here (and I happened to witness such an interview in the Department of Justice as a translator). If their wives gave birth to a child prior the decision thanks to the newborn baby they would become residents of Ireland and thus get the right to work. The days of "welfare tourism" are way behind now.

Romanians are not among the supporters

Pavee Point - a group supporting Irish Travellers' in Ireland - seems to be have become the main voice in the fight for Government's intervention in the "Roundabout Roma" situation. "They don't need Hilton Hotel, they just want one chance to work", The Irish Times quotes George Dancea, director of the Roma support Group, which was set up by Pavee Point Traveller's Centre. Pavee Point is also calling on the Government to provide emergency accommodation for the group.

This call is supported by 20 non-governmental organizations, yet strangely (?) enough the Romanian Community of Ireland is not among them. Quite the contrary. The groups' chairman Vasile Ross points out that if the Government gives in to Pavee Point's pressure, more Roma will come. And some figures say that there might be about 2 mln of them in Romania alone. "This is how Roma work. They will try to gain access. Give them a finger and they will take both hands", says Vasile Ross in The Irish Times.

If you aspire for a job, you'll get one

Tolerance and bloodsucking slothfulness are two totally different things. Let me remind you that before my country had joined the EU hundreds and quite possibly thousands of Lithuanians arrived to Ireland seeking to work illegally. For cash, yet half the amount of the minimum wage, without paying taxes, blue-collar workers sweating in unbearable conditions in mushroom processing factories in the Northern Ireland, students with Master's degrees working as kitchen porters in order to save money for Ph.D studies, husband's leaving their wives back home and doing nightshifts while meditating how they'll make love again in the newly refurbished house, etc.

I've always believed if somebody wants to work and is prepared to work hard, one will find the job. Let me ask you then why those gypsies who beg on Grafton Street in the heart of Dublin city don't? Why they make their 8-year-old children beg (and I've seen this)?


Flights, benefits and possibly free housing offered... in Romania

A spokesman for the group on the roundabout confirmed to the BBC they had been offered free flights back to Romania by the Irish Government, but none of them wanted to return. They were also promised by the Romanian government that they would have health and education benefits and would be considered for free housing.

Romanian embassy officials in Dublin say they are embarrassed by the activities of the gypsies, many of whom are begging on the streets of Dublin. The embassy, according to The Irish Times, even doubts "Roundabout Roma" claims that their living conditions in Romania were unbearable. According to the embassy sources, the families had sold their houses to fund their trip to Ireland.

15 days left

On the 21st of July, at around 5.30 am, Garda National Immigration Bureau (GNBI) officers served immigration papers on 86 Roma people camping in Ballymun. The group have 15 days to make representations to Minister for Justice Brian Lenihan as to why he should not make a removal order, in which case they would be transported back to Romania.

New Irish Government faces a very tough challenge now. Ireland previously has made decisions which earned this country the name of a Celtic Tiger. The Gordian Knot on M50 is a test that questions Tiger's courage and determination. And the situation is being observed by 2 mln. Roma in Romania and the whole EU, who previously had doubts about accepting Romania to the club and I am convinced Roma people were one of the main reasons for these reservations. But let me remind just once again - tolerance and bloodsucking slothfulness are two totally different things.

If they don't like it here why don't they go back?

It was a very good point. The conversation took place in the USA, I think it was 2002. We were talking about America with Americans. Everybody had agreed on the imperfections and flaws of the country, i.e. dumb politicians, citizens' naivety, horrifying criminal situation. Yet despite constant grumbles the USA for many still is THE promised land - the country of unlimited opportunities and acknowledgment. In other words - you've had expectations, you've made it to get the visa (which for the citizens of my country, daring to cross the threshold of the embassy of the USA, is something in between Darwin's fight for survival and a sacrifice of one's privacy*), therefore please have respect for a country that has welcomed you, do the best you can and perhaps then it will indeed turn out to become your Eldorado.

I guess the same attitude could be applied in any country, be it New Zealand, Tanzania or Ireland. We all cross the borders with expectations - greater or smaller. And when the reality doesn't meet them we start to bitch. The cost of living, the amount junk food sold (and consumed), nasty weather, unpredictable public transport, filthy streets, knackers, junkies, beggars, narrow-minded press, boring music on the radio, tracksuits, spoiled kids, obese girls, binge drinking blokes... I could go on and on...

Some of us get trapped in this fussy list and forget the question posed in the beginning. If you nearly hate this place why don't you go back to Poland, Latvia, Slovak Republic or Lithuania? Oh... I see... The pay is ten times less and despite being the citizens of the EU many locals still behave as if they were cavemen?

Fair enough. Then ask yourself if your country would be as welcoming as Ireland (or UK, or Sweden or any other EU country that has its borders wide open for accession countries' labour force). Would it embrace and open its borders to thousands of foreigners: black, Chinese, Asian, gypsies, homosexuals, transsexuals, former criminals escaping their past, inexperienced students, unemployed elders, abrupt countrymen, losers trying to break through once again and illiterate cheep labour force unable to utter a single word in your language. The list could go on and on.

I can assure you my country is not ready for a tsunami like this. I remind myself about it now and again and that makes me stop my moans. After all perfect countries don't exist. As the saying goes, far away hills are always blue. Yet once you approach them you start to notice that even tigers have flaws. Therefore although it might be hard we should accept imperfections, try to live with them and learn to become more flexible. Then it is easier to notice that there are still plenty of good things around. And you might live happier ever after...


* the latter meaning that you have to submit heaps of documents stating your income and financial obligations, moreover you must participate in an interview that might strip you of any privacy and all of the above - for the cause of eliminating any possibilities you might chance to stay in the USA after the expiry of your visa

"Why do Irish people drink? Because sober people write whiny letters while they're on holidays. And skinny people never get their round in. And Hans Christian Andersen wrote rubbish stories. And Carlsberg tastes like donkey wee. And mind the saloon doors don't smack you on your skinny little bottom as you leave."

Al C O'Holic

Despite the fact that Dublin's daily "Metro" (distributed for free) encourages readers to include their full name in the emails sent to the editor, the author of the above email is anonymous.

The outrage is an answer to a Danish guy Christian who after arriving to Ireland after 10 years came to conclusion that the only difference he notices is the fact that there are more men with beer bellies and women with spare tires. This slapping of a Celtic tiger did not stay unnoticed.

"One must be blind not to notice the level of binge drinking in this
country: girls crawling from pubs on their knees and men taking a leak
wherever possible. Have you ever tried to walk in Temple Bar on a
Sunday morning? The place stinks of every excrement possible."

This was part of my response to Al C O'Holic which I had emailed to "Metro". In case he/she doesn't know that every fifth person in this country is obese (and these are the figures of 2000). Or in case he/she is not aware of the fact that Ireland has the highest level in EU in terms of binge drinking. It is not shamrocks or leprechauns in Ireland anymore. It is broken pint glasses on Grafton street and the smell of puke and piss in the city centre 24/7. Celtic tiger is getting wasted. Slainte.

By the way, for the likes of Al C O'Holic I highly suggest visiting Denmark. For pure educational purpose.

Ok. You have your suitcase packed. You've just had an appointment with a dentist (this will keep you going for half a year until you come back). You're sporting a new pair of shiny glasses and a new haircut. Passport and ticket in your pocket.

"Now what?", they ask you before you get on the plane. "What will you do for a living over there?"

It all kicks off with a CV.

Your name.

Skip the letters that don't belong to the local alphabet. Abbreviate your last name. Modify the first one. Become another Paddy, John or Amy. Who cares about the name anyway?

Work experience.

It must be relevant to the position you are applying for. Don't expect anything posh. Miracles don't happen in a day. Otherwise half of the more than average journalists you know from home would be applying for jobs in BBC. PR people would be knocking on the doors of those who partake in making something like this and finance analysts would be doing anything to get in HSBC or the likes.

Perhaps the best ones might even turn out to be lucky. Yet few even try - many choose rather to become local celebrities than international mediocrities. Thus we have 30-year-old journalists who act like gods, love to pose for local celebrity photographers and drive new BMWs. The result - our TV stations tend to focus barely on cheap reality TV shows (they sell) and our reporters can't afford to research for a story for a month (actually, it is the editors and the bookkeepers who can't afford it). Journalists get wasted with MPs, editors go to Majorca with those who advertise on the front page and reality TV shows produce journalists. On the other hand who cares about good quality media? Prime time is given to crime investigations anyway.

Back to the CV.

Since you're not applying for a job in RTE or "Irish Independent" and only want to get those alluring 8.65/hour voila you state your relevant experience. Your summer in the USA and the tables you've waited over there, places you used to go to for a pint back home (nobody examines the facts in your CV anyway) and a few months of experience of making latte in some Dublin cafe.

If you are a bloke you go into construction - they make more than the minimum wage (so ***ing sexist) or into IT if you have any idea about PCs (***ing computer geeks).

You might include the fact you've been working as a news editor for the largeset news portal in the country (a sort of Lithuanian BBC). But it was not in Ireland so who should care?

There's little point to mention a couple of months spent in the national radio as a reporter either. It was not RTE anyway. Besides you're not applying for a reporter's position (although you might consider it later).

Education

Don't bother with subjects taken, just mention having received the degree. In any case nobody knows your university.

Hobbies and other details worth or not mentioning

Make sure your contact phone number is on the very top of the page, bright and clear.

God forbid don't put your photo on the CV (an especially common trend among Eastern Europeans).

For Christ's sake skip "traveling" or "taking pictures" - it sounds so dull. Worth mentioning yoga.

If by the time you hand in the CV you can have a basic conversation with the manager of x cafe in English, it is magic! Don't give up if nobody has called you, print lots of copies and knock on many doors. It is nearly impossible to fail in this economic boom.

After a couple of years you might even chance to apply for a more demanding job - in order for the local celebrities you have left back home not to call you a failure. Perhaps you could even turn out to become an international mediocrity after all...

A soon-to-be-deported Israeli vice girl - whose forthcoming novel ‘Confessions of a Celtic Tiger Call Girl’ will be published anonymously by Opportunity Press spills the beans on her many high-profile Irish clients.

As confessed to Lorcan Roche of "Mongrel":

***

What does it matter to you, my name? You have all called me so many names in your accents, and whining voices. Horrible, Irish names (Seoige! Ni Bheolain!), Jewish ones too (Sharon!). You called me names as studio sweat and make-up and liquid guilt ran down your candy-striped arses, arses you paid me to whip and insert objects into. Like a torn-up contract for a better Ireland, while you pulled down your Lycra cycling shorts, halfway, and pumped the air.

You called me ‘Glenda’. You made me arch one eyebrow, like Dr. Spock. You made me scrub your pink skin raw, then rub Wintergreen ointment on your member while you babbled about ‘controlled passion’. You made me dress in an English rugby jersey, then you beat me with a copy of LIFE magazine. When you came, without warning, you screamed ‘Stringer! Stringer!’... What does this mean? Should I have tied you with cheap string, the kind my mother wrapped around my battered suitcase the day I left my homeland?

You came to me in the morning, sweating from the studio lights at RTÉ and you made me eat linguine and clams, three bowls, and you wanted me to confess in minute detail what other RTÉ presenters had requested, and it thrilled you (especially what Derek had asked for) and your greedy eyes grew wide and you wanted to see me with olive oil drizzling on my chin, like you often have on TV, except of course you have several chins. My God, I will never forget your lips, so big, and rubbery. They moved this way, and that, on my body, and your tongue was visible, always, like a ferret trying to escape from a ball of silly putty.

You came to me from RTÉ in the afternoon, and you crawled on the floor below me and looked up with real fear in your eyes, and you moaned ‘Grainne, Grainne’ and you asked me to dress in leather and to humiliate you, and to speak with a sexy lisp. Humiliating a grown man, even a redhead, and speaking in a sexy lisp at the same time is hard. But, after watching the show I mastered it. It’s about attitude, heels, and self-belief.

You came straight from the law library, wearing a pinstripe suit. You made me jump up and down for hours to Michael Flatley’s music, wearing a blonde wig and white stilettos. You invited me to a party in Killiney, but I had been there before - to Vico Road, where I was forced to dress in red and have deviant sex with a nanny and a dwarf. Vico Road. Where a famous film director paid me to beat him while he sat in a wheelchair, where a famous singer – dressed in PVC and big stupid glasses – paid me to chase him round the room with a can of fly-killer.

You told me your name was Eamon. You sniffed cocaine off my nipples and you said after that I was a good whore, but not a great whore, that the best whores worked in TV, then you scribbled all over the walls of my apartment, screaming about a homosexual farmer called Giles.

You said your name was George. You seemed kind, but then you took too much Viagra and you held me captive for days while you beat off and talked about yourself, endlessly. You said your name was Michael. I stroked your bald head. I let you play with my stormtrooper costumes. You cried. You opened up to me. But then I saw the guilt in your eyes – and knew it was you who would ring immigration.

***
Was trying to google the book, but couldn't find it. Hopefully will manage to get hold of it.