Cappagh, a large farming and quarrying area in the middle of Tyrone, has been heralded as an example to the entire planet after it emerged that 98% of the townland’s energy is powered by human waste due to its biomethane and general biomass initiative.
The project, which was accidentally started when schoolmaster Kenny McGrath passed wind whilst walking past a tilly lamp causing it to ignite, has saved the Irish National Grid £300’000 in under a year. Martina Mallon spearheads the Keep Cappagh Lit programme and told us it wasn’t all plain sailing:
“It took a long time for many families to synchronise their bowel and wind movements to maintain a continuous supply of power to their homes. Children and parents were under pressure to perform on the toilet when things were running low, sometimes just for a simple cup of tea.”
Leaflets were distributed to homes in the area advising on appropriate foods for spontaneous mass energy production as well as slow burners for long-term projects. Paul O’Neill, a father of 8, explained:
“We have a system going where the 4 eldest eat porridge and spuds. They maybe don’t go to the toilet too often, but when they do it’s a hefty haul and we use that for the washing machine or oven. The younger 4 eat a lot of fruit and stuff that goes right through you. We employ their waste for the continuous running of general electricity. Myself and Maura supply the biomethane by devouring beans 4-5 times a day and that looks after the heating. It gives you a fair grasp of energy conservation.”
The Irish National Grid have laid on bus tours of Cappagh for other villages, towns and cities to see how it’s done and are told not to pass judgement on the smell as it offends the natives.
Inspired by the story of a senior panel from Donegal club Naomh Columba who stopped to help a man turn his turf in Galway at the weekend, Ballygawley outfit Errigal Ciaran attempted a similar gesture whilst driving through Eglish on the way back from a game in The Moy yesterday.
Unfortunately, the attempted act of kindness which involved digging up 300 kilos of potatoes the size of grapes and 600 pallets of unripe strawberries, has left Eglish farmer Phonsie Jordan thousands of pounds in the red.
Clubman Johnny Bradley admitted:
“We’ve cocked up, yes. We thought it would be great PR for the club after we saw the Donegal lads do the same with the turf. We’ve a lot of students on the team and they haven’t really seen fields with spuds or strawberries in them so they aren’t to blame. We just ripped everything up and waited for the farmer to get back, with smiles on our faces. When he lifted that gun we fairly moved. In fact, some lads ran more in that thirty seconds than in the game against The Moy, going by the GPS trackers still on them.”
Jordan, who has been producing high quality produce for 50 years, fumed:
“Shower of do-gooders. Some of them spuds were as small as peanuts. How did it not dawn on them? And green strawberries….holy Jaysus.”
The Ballygawley outfit have vowed to make up for the innocent error by offering their services as scarecrows over the summer for the Eglish entrepreneur, starting with the defenders in July.
Derrytresk GAA’s new manager Joswano Malinko has stunned the senior squad after enforcing a ban on consuming a plate of spuds on the morning of a match, and extending it to turnip and cabbage on Championship days. Malinko, who originally hails from Faro but has been working as a bouncer outside several Dungannon watering holes since 2006, claims there is strong scientific evidence to suggest that a slap of spuds impairs performance for up to nine hours after consumption.
During his first press conference at a corner of the field before the friendly against Maghery, Malinko reminded players he would be checking through windows to make sure the ban was being enforced:
“I have the addresses of everyone and I’ll be doing spot-checks during breakfast. When they least expect it I’ll pop up from under window sills. One of my best friends is Jose Mourinho and I was telling him about the Derrytresk ones eating plates of spuds with their jam in the morning. He took a quare laugh.”
Ex-captain Paddy Mulgrew reckons Malinko has made a big mistake early in his management career, citing the traditional nutritional benefits of the potato before a game:
“I’m a bit annoyed by this. For years we’ve been almost unbeatable at home and that’s undoubtedly the spud-effect. A man with a bellyful of potatoes and cabbage is far harder to shoulder over the sideline. This Portygal boy has waltzed in with his fancy dan ideas like omelettes and orange juice and thinks he’s deadly. Well, we’ll see. There’s boys already talking about filling their boots with spuds and eating when they can during games. This’ll not end well.”
Bookies have stopped taking bets on Derrytresk exiting the Championship in the first round, suspecting they’ll throw it in order to kill the turnip ban early on.
39 towns and villages in Tyrone have agreed to boycott potatoes “for the foreseeable future” after thousands of complaints about how they’re being treated in restaurants and cafes across the county since the 1990s. Customers have finally had enough of being offered continental dishes from baked potatoes to potato wedges when all they ask for is a plate of spuds.
Eskra farmer, Mike Kelly (71), explained their annoyance:
“You go out for a feed of spuds and the waiter rhymes off a rake of fancy dishes like roast potatoes or some other la-de-da stuff like that. What does a man have to do to get a slap of pitters? People are watching them food TV shows like Mastermind Chef or Can’t Dine With Me and now think they’re deadly at the cookin. Not a spud will be bought in this county til people get back to basics.”
Ballygawley restaurant owner John Lally admits this is the nuclear option they never anticipated:
“We’re banjaxed now. If we want to get a Michelin Star for our establishments, or even a half decent review in the local paper, we have to offer dishes that outsiders or experts eat like garlic spuds or potato soup. But our bread and butter daily clientele are giving us some savage abuse every day now. Last week our most loyal customer threatened to burn the joint down because we weren’t doing ‘plain spuds on a plate and nothing else’. What a county!”
The first ‘Save Our Spud’ rally takes place on Wednesday night in Galbally with organisers promising ‘a slap of floury balls’ for all attendees.
Meanwhile, the Garvaghey bobsleigh announced they plan to enter the 2018 Winter Olympics and are training flat out up at the new GAA complex which retains a sub-zero temperature 12 months a year.
The annual County Tyrone Potato Appreciation Society Convention was abandoned yesterday after police and priests were unable to contain a mass brawl in Cappagh Hall. Eyewitnesses claim to have seen men and women ‘throwing deadly slaps’ and ‘clodding spuds’ at each other after a disagreement over the correct local pronunciation of the potato.
Current County Tyrone Potato Appreciation Society chairperson Mary Nolan (68) was not in the mood for a peaceful resolution:
“Them there loughshore ones and go and buck. I’ve never heard of people calling spuds ‘pitters’. Pitters? Everyone knows it ‘purdees’. It was always purdees going back to the 1800s because I was there. And the Strabane ones can bugger off too. Their representative started going on about ‘poundies’. Sure that’s a completely different sort of dish. The westies and the easties couldn’t handle the truth and started boxing and slapping. Well, us Cappaghonians didn’t take it lying down so they got a few hard purdees up their gobs for their troubles.”
Nolan confirmed that they have officially changed their name to the County Tyrone Purdee Appreciation Society much to the annoyance of Washingbay rep Johnny Corr (77):
“Well, if that’s true I’d like to announce the formation of the Continuity Pitter Society. Anyone can sign up, even disaffected purdee people. We will make sure the local spud is called by its correct title. I’d also like to extend a hand of friendship to the new Strabane militant group, The Real Poundie Association. Together we can crush the Purdees. Up the Pitters.”
Fr Henry McAteer, who was called to the scene of the riot, recommended a time of reflection and cool heads:
“This is an emotive issue in Tyrone. The correct pronunciation has hampered us for centuries. It threatened to derail the 1798 rebellion in Tyrone after a massive fallout between the Brocagh and Aghyaran ones over a plate of spuds. I’m prepared to act as peacemaker and suggest we call them praties from now on.”
Fr McAteer has since been chased back to Maynooth.
Tyrone Tribulations took a tour around the country this morning to catch people just walking about. We asked them for their views on today’s All-Ireland final between Mayo and Donegal.
Are Tyrone definitely not in it? In that case I’ll be watching the Eastenders Omnibus. It hasn’t been the same since Peggy Mitchell left. She was some blade. Took no crap. Reminded me of Mickey Harte without the stubble. JAMES MCCANN, Drumragh
I’m going for Mayo. There’s something about McGuinness that unnerves me. Some say he looks like Jesus. I see the buckin devil. Those big thick eyebrows. His eyes are dead inside, like Jaws in Jaws 1 and 2. The wife’s fond of him but she also had a notion for Pete McGrath and Sean Boylan so it seems to be a management thing. I’ve applied for a management job at Moy Park. Maybe that’ll rekindle the romance. JOHN MOORE, Edendork
I couldn’t give two fooks. HENRY MCGUIGAN, Ardboe
Ah, I’ll be supporting Donegal. Them big strapping lads like Murphy and McFadden I could watch all day long. Young McHugh and Lacey mightn’t be as easy on the eye but sure look at the ugly fcukers we have in Tyrone. I’d tackle livestock before curtin a Tyrone man. JENNY ARCHER, Dungannon
And I’ll tell you another thing. Shove that microphone in my bake again and you’ll be pulling it out of your hole. Ye hear me? Now fook away aff. HENRY MCGUIGAN, Ardboe (again)
To tell you the truth I’ll not be watching it atall. I’d be big into the religion now and I don’t think people should be playing things are enjoying themselves on a Sunday. I’ve just come back from tying up all the swings in the local play park. God be with you. CECIL WINTERBOTTOM, Tullyhogue
Donegal – no doubt. I’ve seen enough from that day they met us earlier in the year. You shoulda seen the size of their teeth and ears. Their eyes bulged and they were at least 1-2 feet taller than our lads. Penrose looked like a gnome. I’m not saying they’re completely off their heads on steroids but there’s something they’re eating and we need the recipe. Some big mad fecking new spud or something. Donegal by 17 points. PETER RYAN, Omagh
Ach probably Mayo but here listen, were there any cops up the road? The bastards were dipping last night in Donemana I heard. GARY MULGREW, Loughmacrory
Brackaville, an outer-Coalisland nether region that most people just drive through, was awash with rumour last night that one of their favourite sons didn’t get his Kerr’s Pinks after work. Patsy Rea, an aged Brackaville labourer, was expecting his daily dose of potatoes, cabbage and bacon but was reportedly furiously enraged to be faced with a plate of curly pasta and a mild salsa sauce. In an attempt to ‘get with the times’, his wife Maisie dished out the unique meal shortly after the Angelus on the wireless, having watched ‘one of them cooking programmes’ on RTE earlier in the day.
“Ask any man”, Rea told us, “and he’ll tell you that all a brickie thinks about from 3pm onwards is the big feed a spuds. It’s what keeps ye going. Like today I was digging a hole again. I’ve been digging the same hole for three months now. To come home after that and to have to look at this oul hatchet-faced bitch is one thing but then to be presented some some kind of foreign shite on a plate. Well, no man could take that.”
Neighbours reported that Rea went into a frenzied rage through all the gardens in the estate, pulling trees and plants out by the root and shouting obscenities directed at his wife and life in general.
“I was frightened at first”, one neighbour told us. “We had just sat down to watch The One Show after a tremendous gorge of Greek spuds. Out of the side of my eye I saw my wife’s prize dahlias soaring through the sky. I headed out to give Patsy a good hiding until he told me about the pasta. Sure it’s like a death in the family. I couldn’t even imagine his resentment and I can tell you now – I’d completely wreck Brackaville and half of Coalisland if I was given a plate of that shit.”
Rea eventually calmed down and ate the pasta, claiming afterwards that “it wasn’t bad.”
The gruesome townland of Galbally was rocked yesterday when local girl, Maisie McGarrell, fell to her knees outside the Vivo after she spotted the face of 1980s Blonde Adonis Plunkett Donaghy on a potato.
Having innocently felt the weight of several bags of Kerr’s Pinks in preparation for feeding her extended family of 32, McGarrell let out an unmerciful scream, yelling “sweet mother of Jaysus, isn’t it Plunkett” and fell to the ground in convulsions.
“I thought she’d been robbed again”, said the shopkeeper from Pakistan, “She’s an awful hoor for leavin her purse on the counter besides the Kerr’s”.
The Parish Priest, Fr Dinsmore, arrived at the scene soon after and demanded that Mr Ahmed clear out all his stock and replace it with moving statues of Plunkett Donaghy, candles and rosary beads. It was soon pointed out to Fr Dinsmore that Donaghy was, in fact, still alive and wreaking havoc around the Moy every weekend. They decided to go ahead with the shrine as Galbally was ‘a brave lock a miles from the Moy anyway’.