2007 May | Head Rambles

Archive for May, 2007

I have lost the thread

Grandad May 22nd, 2007

Anyone who has read this blog might have guessed that I am a pipe smoker.

To a pipe smoker, the pipe is as important as the tobacco.

One of the first pipes I had was a Ronson.

It was a strange affair in that it had a plumbing system. It cooled the smoke and trapped all the gunk and was a very nice pipe to smoke. It was a bit tricky to clean because of all the tubing though.

Later, Ronson produced a different version, which was even cooler and had a simpler plumbing system. It had a round barrel and just two tubes that overlapped in the middle. It was much easier to clean, and was just as cool and clean.

I still have both pipes, but unfortunately, the threads have worn out on the bowls, so I can’t use them. Ronson don’t make pipes any more, and noone makes bowls with that type of thread. That is a crying shame because I loved those pipes.

Another one I had which I liked was my churchwarden.

A churchwarden is a lovely cool smoke because the smoke has to travel further. Though I used to get the odd strange look in the pub. They need special pipe cleaners too, as the regular ones aren’t long enough. The one problem with them is that they are very delicate, and the two I had both snapped. Bugger.

When I was in France last year, I treated myself to a couple. One is a EWA “Aubrac” which is nice and has a lovely carved bowl. The other is a St. Clauds “Amsterdamer” which has a nice feel to it in the hand. I have several others lying around of various shapes and sizes.

But I really miss my Ronsons

Strange things

Grandad May 21st, 2007

A strange thing happened on Saturday.

I went down to the shop to get the paper and some tobacco.

No. That’s not the strange thing – I do that every Saturday. But when I got home Herself asked if I had bought bread.

I’d forgotten [short term memory loss again!], but that happens all the time so that’s not strange.

I went back to the shop and bought bread.

When I got back, the strange thing was happening.

There was a car parked in my gateway.

There is more than enough space to park two or three cars in front of the house. In the past I have parked four. But this one was just blocking the gate. So I had to park outside.

I went into the house and the first thing I saw out the window was a bloke wandering around the garden with a clipboard and a camera.

“Who’s he?” says I to Herself.

“I don’t know,” says she “but he showed me identification. he’s from the government or something”. She suffers from short term memory loss too.

I watched him for a while. He was a distinguished looking gentleman. He took tons of photographs and made lots of notes on his clipboard. He waved to me and smiled when he saw me watching, so he was obviously harmless. He climbed in and out of the bushes and took more photographs. Eventually, after about half an hour he and his car just vanished.

My first thought was that he was CIA or had been sent by Bertie. But he was wearing a tweed hat and didn’t have dark glasses, so I dimissed the CIA. And he was much too intelligent looking to be one of Bertie’s pals.

Next thought was that he was from the Ordnance Survey. But it was Saturday, and he was too old for them. I’ve seen them at work. They are young lads and they rush around in a hurry. And they don’t use cameras.

Then I thought that maybe they were going to re-route the M3 through here to avoid the Hill of Tara, and I was about to be compulsorily purchased. But the government have made it plain that they aren’t going to re-route the M3 for anybody. They have their minds made up on that one, and nothing will shift them.

Maybe he was examining the birds’ nests? Maybe they are going to turn my garden into a National Monument? Maybe he was admiring my wee plot of “herbal tobacco”? Maybe Herself got it wrong, and he was from the press – “Excusive Pictures of Grandad’s House” across the front page of Hello magazine? [But then he would have wanted to interview me, so that's out].

Maybe he was just an amateur photographer with a new approach? He wasn’t very good, if so, as he missed the more picturesque parts of the garden. He missed the woodlands, and the pond. He missed the pile of old junk in the back woods. He missed the compost heap. He even missed the huge pile of election posters I’ve been collecting for a bonfire.

Strange.

Never mind. I’ll have forgotten about it tomorrow.

What is the point?

Grandad May 20th, 2007

In the old days, the heart of Dublin was Nelson’s Pillar.

It was the focus of the city. It was marked as the destination on buses going to the city.

I used to love that pillar. For 6 pennies [a tanner] you could enter the dark doorway, and climb the spiral staircase inside, right to the top. The view was fantastic. The flower and fruit sellers used to have their stalls around the base. It was a meeting place. I loved it.

In 1966 the IRA blew it up. The bastards. It was supposed to represent “British Imperialism” or something. Crap. It was an icon of the city.

They should have left the stump as a monument to stupidity.

It was removed though, and replaced with a “fountain”. That was an ugly yoke. It was a figure of a very depressed looking female sitting in a tub. It was supposed to represent the river Liffey. It became known as “The Floozie in the Jacuzzi” and became a handy place to dump your old beer cans and McDonalds junk. It was removed.

I can’t describe what replaced it. It’s not a monument. It’s not a statue. It’s certainly not a building, even though they employed a firm of architects to “design” it. I don’t know how much training they had to learn to draw a straight line?

It cost nearly 5 million Euro to put up. But what is it?

It is completely functionless.

If they grew sweet pea plants up it in the summer, it would be nice. If they had drilled holes through it, it could have made a fluting noise in the wind. If they had attached mobile phone antennas at the top, it would have a purpose. Come to think of it, a mobile phone mast would have been more attractive.

It is supposed to be self cleaning. I have this vision of it waiting until no-one is looking and then shaking itself like a dog. And they still have to clean it every year!

It has, of course attracted a load of colloquial names:

Bertie’s prick,
Stiletto in the Ghetto,
Erection at the Intersection,
Stiffy by the Liffey

It even has it’s own website for god’s sake. The only nothing in the world to have a website.

I don’t like it, because there is nothing to like. I don’t dislike it, because there is nothing to dislike.

I just wish someone would tell me what it is, or what it does, or what does it represent?

What is the point?

My God it was ugly…

Grandad May 19th, 2007

Unlike Thursday night’s debate, last night’s Prime Time debate was an uglier affair.

Fighting desperately to hold on to his position as Number One, TM looked tired and old.

GD, the contender, on the other hand looked fresher, more confident and more able.

MOC, who was chairing the debate, and who had just been groped by GD, just looked out of her depth.

TM gave a good account of himself. He pointed out that he had held the throne for many years. He claimed to have brought the Blogosphere from a backward poverty stricken area to a forward thinking phenomenon.

“When I took office, people were emigrating to Bebo in their masses,” TM claimed “and now they are returning to WordPress in their thousands”

GD counterattacked by pointing out that this was a world wide phenomenon and that TM couldn’t claim the credit for that. He also pointed out that the country had become too reliant on WordPress, and that if there were a downturn in that sector that Blogging would be in a terrible state.

TM said that he loved blogging and that he lived for it. It was his life.

GD brought up the subject of TM’s personal finances.

“It is a matter of public record that you have been involved in shady deals with publishers. You have sold out. You are a disgrace to the country” said GD.

TM looked worried but rallied.

“My dealings with the publisher were on a friendly basis” TM stuttered “They are old friends of mine. I met them through my daughter. They are helping me out as I am going through a rough time. I have given a full and frank account of my publishing deals and that is now history. That has nothing to do with my blogging.”

“You have sold out to capitalism!” roared GD. “You have taken the King’s Shilling. The people have lost faith in you. They are looking for a new fresh approach. They are tired of the same old faces – the Dirty Daves and the Stinking Petes. They want a leader who takes a fresh approach. They want accountability. They want promises that will be fulfilled.”

Doing a great impression of Alan Sugar, GD pointed his finger at TM [and goosed MOC with his other hand] – “You are a disgrace. You are useless. YOU ARE FIRED!”

“You cunt” muttered TM.

So TM lit up a Major, and GD lit up his pipe, and both headed off for a few pints in Rons.

And the winner is …

Grandad May 18th, 2007

I have been hearing a lot lately about Opinion Poles.

Everyone seems to think they are great.

If the party is looking good in the poles, then “Poles are the voice of the people”. If the party is looking bad then “we don’t pay much attention to the poles. It’s the election that counts”.

In its eternal quest for truth, Head Rambles has decided to do its own pole.

So I headed off. The first pole I came across was a telegraph pole. It was plastered in election posters. Someone had shot Bertie Ahern through both eyes with a .22 [good shooting, by the way!]. It gave him a rather blank and vacant look. Very realistic, I thought.

I headed on, passing many poles and they were all plastered in posters. On one of them, Michael McDowell was hanging upside down. He looks much better that way. You should try it permanently, Michael. Your ratings might go up.

Eventually I ended up in a shopping centre with one of those big department stores.

This is where I found my Pole at last.

“Hello” says I. “Are you a Pole?”

“Cześć” says he.

“OK. You are a Pole, and I want your Opinion”

“Nie rozumiem”

“Who do you think is going to win the election?”

“Kocham Cię” he replied.

This wasn’t getting on as well as I’d hoped.

“Which coalition would you prefer to see in power?”

“Jestem w ciąży. Wyjdziesz za mnie?”

“Who would you like to see as Taoiseach?”