Something in the air

Cows fart, the air is fouled and we all suffer. Yes, it s official Irish cows fart too much, breaking emission standards set by the EC.
Too much methane in the air here, the bureaucrats growl. Who are they telling? It s smelly out there. That is not the fault of the cows. Blame must be firmly laid at the feet of Irish farmers, who are putting stuff on the grass, designed to make it grow faster, that makes our cows fart more than do their European counterparts.
Whether this stuff is illegally procured, here or from abroad, or whether our local bureaucrats just aren t up to speed on the effect of certain chemicals, emission-wise, on our cows, I don t know.
There s a lot about cows, chemicals, emission and the air we breathe that is beyond the knowledge of most. This is not to say that you have to be an Einstein to keep with up with matters environmental. You just have to be aware. Or go to the Humbert Summer School in Ballina every year, where such arcane matters are routinely discussed.
The farting Irish cows lecture was delivered this year by Paddy Walley from County Cork, who helped set up the Ballyfermot Tenant s Association in Dublin nearly 30 years ago. That biographical note of detail should warn us that when Paddy speaks, it is time to wake up and smell the methane. Along with Ivor Browne, he was among the first to detect rumblings in the social undergrowth which we would ignore at our peril. Ballyfermot has survived threats which other neglected suburbs did not.
Alas for him, care for the environment is not an issue which ignites the revolutionary consciousness. When people vote Green, it is more of a two-fingered gesture to the establishment than an informed stand on the quality of the air that we breathe and the water we drink. Beyond mention of anti-nuclear politics, it is doubtful that many could recite the policy programme of Patricia Mc Kenna.
The day is far off when people will take seriously any warning from her about the danger posed by the great Irish farting cow (assuming she knows about it.) Right now, her energies are understandably concentrated on thwarting the government s attempts to enlist us in a European army.
It is but a short step from the threatening methane-emission levels of Irish cows to the dangers posed by the methane-emission levels of garbage disposal dumps. We understand dumps to a short and pithy point not in our backyards, the smelly things but beyond that, our minds remain firmly closed to the increasingly pertinent question: where, then? We have not at all grasped the magnitude of the problem. If the annual garbage collected in Ireland were dumped in one place, it would amount to the spread and size and height of Cork city and suburbs. (Is Paddy Walley subconsciously mounting a rearguard action here on behalf of his native county?) Year by year, we are storing up trouble for ourselves.
We are creating one almighty fart, building up to the father of all big bangs. It is difficult to engage constructive popular attention on this one, local government elections apart (many politicians won seats on a platform of opposition to local dumps).
To that end, concerned persons might usefully recommend a reading of Underworld, the novel by Don De Lillo. This writer bought it in the mistaken assumption that it was about American gangsters, a great read for the holidays, a cast-iron guarantee against woe in the mist of a Kerry summer. (Nobody ever invites me to a free week in Provence, more s the pity.)
A central theme of the De Lillo blockbuster is the disposal of waste. What a thriller it turned out to be. You end up consumed with guilt and worry and curiosity about empty wine-bottles, discarded newspapers, used sticks around which iced lollipops are constructed and
gobsmacked at the brilliant manner in which the methane given off by garbage is harnessed and recycled. (We could heat Cork, free of charge, for one thing.)
You also get to read a great novel, don t go home sick at having wasted yet another week reading trash and learn strange new things I have at last fully grasped the power and beauty of being a sports fan, thanks to the baseball set-piece at the start of the book. Those who are already acquainted with the love that could not speak its nature will find that their feelings have finally been put into proper words.
Read De Lillo and your garbage will come alive. n