The Perfect Pipe

Grandad February 8th, 2010

For as long as I can remember, I have been searching for the perfect pipe.

I wanted a pipe that was comfortable and well balanced, and it must provide a cool dry smoke.

My first perfect pipe was the Ronson.  It was lovely, as it had a nice cooling system built in.  Unfortunately, it turned out to be not so perfect after all, as the bowl screwed into the stem, and after a while the threads in the wooden bowl wore, and the damn thing leaked.

I tried a Falcon.  Again, that had had exactly the same problem as the Ronson, and I gave up on that.  Tobacco juice is not pleasant stuff when it leaks everywhere.

I have a grand range of briars which I have smoked for years, but they all suffer from the same problem – the juice tends to make the tobacco at the bottom of the bowl soggy and towards the end, the smoke becomes somewhat acrid.  As a result, half my tobacco gets chucked away.

A couple of years ago, I found a great web site – Elie’s Freehand Pipes.  What attracted me was the sheer artistry of the pipes he produces.  They are all made by himself in his workshops.

Elie's pipes

Some time ago, I bought an Elie’s Comrade.  This was an excellent pipe.  It had a grand cooling and filter system, and had a series of interchangeable bowls.  It did suffer from a minor design flaw that meant that after a while, leakage started between the bowl and the stem.  Maybe it was just mine – I don’t know – but it meant I was having to cope with juice on my hands again.

A few weeks ago, I was browsing his site, and I noticed that he has developed a new range – his EKool range.  They looked great.  I wrote to Elie, who incidentally is the most helpful bloke you could meet and made enquiries.

To cut a long story short, I have found the Perfect Pipe.

EKool Curved

So what is so special about it?

For a start, all joints are metal to metal, so there are no wooden threads to wear.  Then the mouthpiece extends down inside the stem with an ingenious cooling system to prevent goo or liquid reaching the mouth.  When liquid begins to condense and collect, it is a simple matter to quickly unscrew the plug at the end to drain it.  The tobacco remains dry and can be smoked to the last scrap.  The bowls are interchangeable too, and I got a lovely selection.  Last but not least, I think it looks great.  It’s different.  It also looks a little on the illegal side, which is a added bonus.

If there is anyone out there contemplating a pipe purchase, then I suggest you toddle over to Elie’s site.  There is something there for everyone.  Quite honestly, I would be tempted to buy some even if I didn’t smoke.

Incidentally, Elie doesn’t know I’m writing this.  He didn’t ask me to and I’m only doing it because I am so impressed.

Mind you, if he sees this, and feels he has to respond, I wouldn’t half mind a d’ElieSmoke.  Heh!

d'ElieSmoke

Welcome to The Third Reich

Grandad February 7th, 2010

Anyone who visits here on a regular basis will know that I was vehemently opposed to the Lisbon Treaty.

Ay the time, I gave my main reasons which I won’t rehash in detail, but basically I said that the whole process was anti-democratic and Europe was building a United States of Europe, where we would loose all rights to self determination.

The pro-Lisbon crowd came back at me and said this was a load of bollox and that it was merely a ‘tidying up exercise’ and that it wouldn’t affect our national status in any way.  The pros also said we had to sign up to help us out of the current financial mess.

So, let’s have a look at the state of play at the moment.

For a start, we have gained absolutely fuck all by signing up.  Our banks are still in a mess.  Unemployment continues to rise with no end in sight.  Businesses continue to close.  Where is Europe when you need them?  They are sitting on their fat, overfed, overpaid arses and laughing at us.

What have we lost?

There are those who said that Europe would have no powers to meddle in our affairs.  How come then there is a grave risk of our losing the right to trial by jury?  This is a fundamental right that has existed for centuries, yet it will be denied us without any recourse. 

How come Europe is applying bully-boy tactics to the Greeks?  They have been told [not asked – told] to get their affairs in order and to report on a regular basis like a naughty schoolboy.  If Europe doesn’t like what Greece are doing, then Europe will take over and the Greeks lose the right to their own financial affairs.

I see Europe has decided that the smoking fiasco isn’t going far enough and is threatening to impose restrictions on all member countries.

I also notice that Europe always refers to it’s members as ‘states’.  Slowly but surely we are being indoctrinated by the back door on the concept of a group of states under the umbrella of Europe.  When are we first going to hear the words ‘united states’ creep into the lexicon?  I guarantee it won’t be long.

Well.  I won’t say I told you so.

But………….

Paedophilia and prostitution

Grandad February 6th, 2010

Maybe it’s just me and my old fashioned attitude to life, but I found this rather nauseating.

You know that kid Miley Cyrus?  She’s the one who was forced into a life of show business at the age of fourteen or fifteen or something by her father.  She is now probably facing a life of substance abuse and mental torment as a result.

She has a nine year old sister, Noah.  I suppose it gives a little insight into the family’s mentality that they should call a daughter Noah?

Anyway, this Noah, at the age of nine, is producing her own range of lingerie for kids!

Is it just me, or does anyone else find this deeply disturbing?

How come a man can prostitute his daughters in such a manner?

The paedophiles must love him.

Caught in the headlights

Grandad February 5th, 2010

I had a bit of a rough night the night before last.  Maybe it was just old age or maybe it was a bad pint, but I didn’t sleep very well.

Last night I made up for it.  I had a great sleep with beautiful dreams where sunny beaches, Sharon Ni Bheolain and bikinis featured prominently.  It was good, and I didn’t wake ‘til late in the morning.

I was just contemplating putting my clothes on, when the phone rang.

I managed to answer it, which was quite an accomplishment, as essentially I was still asleep.  It was TippFM wanting to know if I would do a live interview for their morning programme.  What was worse, they wanted to do it there and then.  Fuck!

I am a bit like a steam locomotive.  I need to have my fires lit and I need to build up a head of steam before I venture onto the track.  So here I was, bollock naked, without my morning pipe full and no mug of tea and worst of all, a head that was still on a tropical island.

They said they would phone back in a couple of minutes, so I frantically put on the kettle and hunted for my pipe.  Too late.  The phone rang, and I was on air.

It was a disaster!

The poor chap in the studio did his best to wake me up, but it was a lost cause.  There I was, stark naked in full view of the entire county of Tipperary and I couldn’t think.  There were lots of emms, and errs, and my mouth was dry from lack of tea, and a mind as blank as Mary Harney’s.

He asked me questions and I struggled for answers as my dangly bits swayed gently in the breeze.

He gave up in the end.  I can’t say I blame him.  That’s probably the end of his career.

I finally got dressed, made my tea and lit the pipe.  I’m now awake and wondering if it all really happened.

I don’t remember what I said as it’s all a bit of a blur.  Did I let rip with a few fucks and cunts?  Did I mention anyone by name?  Can I expect some angry litigation?

Did I really stand naked in front of an entire county?

Growing old

Grandad February 4th, 2010

I am rapidly approaching a Significant Birthday.

It doesn’t bother me at all.  In fact I don’t think about it that much, except that I am beginning to collect pamphlets on claiming free television licences [I don’t know why – never pay the fucking thing anyway], free travel and special hotel offers for Golden Oldies.

I was down with Doc a couple of days ago, as it was time for my routine overhaul.  Everything is ticking`over reasonably well, and he took a few pints of alcohol blood for a battery of tests.

“The Big One coming up?” he says as he stuck yet another needle in my arm.  “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t feel about it” says I.  “It’s just a number.”

“But it’s a significant number” he said as he filled another milk bottle with blood.  “How do you feel about yourself now?  What do you think when you look in the mirror?”

“For fuck’s sake” says I. “Who do you think I am?  Pat Kenny?  I don’t go around preening myself in front of mirrors.  The only time I use them is when I’m squeezing blackheads.”

“But who do you see?  Do you not think you look older?”

I hadn’t a clue what he was on about, but I had to humour him otherwise he might drain my entire blood supply.

“Honestly?” I said.  “I don’t think I look any different from the way I looked last week.  The beard is a bit greyer.”

“It is that.  The rest of your hair is still dark and plentiful though. Do you dye it?”

The one thing I have never done in my life is to dye my hair.  The very idea gives me the creeps.  As Herself keeps pointing out, no one can accuse me of vanity.  The very mention of hair dye makes me see red, though this time the red I saw was Doc’s blood and not mine [I hope].  I left him moaning on the floor and went home in a huff.

There was a programme on last night on television.  ‘Horizon’ did a yoke on the causes of aging.  Mind you, I could tell them that – aging is caused by a little thing called time.

It was the usual Horizon style of programme.  They had long interviews with doctors and scientists and they examined groups of people who are living to a ripe old age.  I noticed that in one of the groups that they mentioned, they accidentally said that one third of the oldies smoked,  I don’t know how that little gem got past the censor?  They interviewed a doctor who was spending tens of thousands of dollars a year on tablets because he wants to live to be a couple of hundred years old.  Daft fucker!  Who the fuck wants to spend a hundred years sitting dribbling spit in a pool of their own piss and staring at a wall because no one has time for them?

I don’t mind being a Significant Age.

In my head I’m still thirty or so, and if the old body says differently, then that’s life.  There isn’t much I can do about it.

Actually, I’m looking forward to the big day.

Because it is a Significant One, maybe I’ll get some decent presents for a change?

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