Head Rambles

Grandad September 30th, 2007

I just upgraded my blog. I’m getting really good at this!!

But the upgrade f*cked up my site.

Apparently, there is an error in the new code, so that when you upgrade, you may get an error -

Warning: array_key_exists() [function.array-key-exists]: The first argument should be either a string or an integer in blah/blah/blah/wp-includes/category-template.php on line 176

Now I did some research and apparently there is a line in a file called wp-includes/category-template.php.

That line says

if(array_key_exists($category, $categories))

What it should say is

if(array_key_exists(’$category’, $categories)) [with the little quotes].

That fixed it!!!

And now I can do all sorts of fancy things like change the colour of the text.

Or play cards - ◊ ♣ ♥ ♦.

I wonder if it will write my posts for me?

• Internet
• Comments(21)

Grandad September 30th, 2007

I don’t know how I forgot to mention this.

It’s one of those little lapses that happens with old age, I suppose.

There is a new web site up and running. It’s only a new-born so there will doubtless be sleepless nights, and loads of nappies to be changed.

It’s called Kilos of Craic.

So what is it all about?

Just think of four or five people sitting in a pub, having a bit of a laugh. The conversation flows freely and the topic changes from minute to minute. Now imagine that those people are in fact sitting up to 12,000 miles apart! That is Kilos of Craic.

A group of us - Jefferson Davis, BrianF, Baino, Doctor Don and myself get together once in a while and have a group chat in the Interweb. Sometimes we have contributions from others, like Daz. It can be weird, zany, crude and even funny. It can be very disjointed, because, like any good craic, it is unscripted.

As for who is who? This episode starts with me bitching about my software. I’m the one with the non-American, non-Australian accent. Baino is the soft Australian female voice. Jefferson is the one with the Southern Drawl, and BrianF is the other one - the one who never shuts up. Doctor Don makes the odd appearance [so if you hear a strange voice cut in, it's probably him. He doesn't say much].

So head over to Kilos of Craic and have a listen. Let’s know what you think.

Incidentally - Craic means ‘fun’, ‘laughter’, ‘good conversation’.
Not to be confused with Cráic which means ‘arsehole’

• Podcasting
• Comments(12)

Grandad September 30th, 2007

I’m in a foul mood.

It started on Friday night when Herself insisted on watching that prat Pat ‘The Plank’ Kenny.

He is a very bad start to a weekend.

The mood sort of hovered around the “don’t touch me or I’ll kill you” level yesterday, but I managed to keep it under control.

This morning I got up. It has to be a better day. But no. I still feel like killing something.

Even God is against me. He’s pissing on me. I was standing at the kitchen window, waiting for the kettle to boil, when there was a bang that made me jump, and made Sandy scurry for cover. It was rain. It just came out of nowhere. One second, it was fine, and the next second I couldn’t see the hedge the other side of the garden. It lasted about thirty seconds and stopped as suddenly as it started. I swear it was God having a leak. I hope that’s all He does….

I have to go up to Dublin tomorrow, and that’s not adding to my cheery state.

I have to be in St Vincent’s Hospital at four. That in itself is no problem, though it means going near RTE, and that is going to make my trigger finger itch like hell. What it does mean, is that I’m going to be stuck in the rush-hour going home. And that is something I’m dreading.

The only thing that is cheering me is that that little sh*t Bertie is going to be up The Mountains this week opening a flash hotel [€5,000 a night?????] and I am going to do my best to be there to murder the little w*nk*r.

• Rants
• Comments(7)

Grandad September 29th, 2007

The doorbell rang a few minutes ago.

I went to see who it was.

A very nice young couple with clipboards, who are updating the Electoral Register.

Now most of the people around here are away or out, and I was one of the few people they found actually in residence.

I put on my most trustworthy, ‘Grandad knows best’ face and told them not to worry, that I’d update them on all the people around here. They were very relieved, because it was raining, and it would save them a lot of knocking on doors.

So we sat down and went through the list. I had to make a few changes for them, because there has been a lot of coming and going since they last made the list.

I now have an extra five sons, and four daughters living at home and all of voting age.

My next door neighbour is now Micheál Loch and the house across the lane is owned by Finn and Mary McCool.

I told them that the people at the back of my property had moved to Spain on a permanent basis [unless of course the warrant is quashed on appeal]. I said that the new owners depended on the Criminal Assets Bureau, who had seized the property.

It should be interesting, come the next election.

And between herself and myself, we have an extra nine votes.

• Politics
• Comments(6)

Grandad September 29th, 2007

Are you a Compulsive Depressive?

Do you do things and regret it after?

Do you buy very expensive houses, and wake up the next morning after only to realise that you have landed yourself with a massive mortgage millstone for the next thirty years?

I have just the property for you. I found it in the Irish Times.

Note the caption to the photograph….

So there you have your solution.

• Property
• Comments(18)

Grandad September 28th, 2007

I went to see the doctor yesterday.

“Howya, Doc” says I.

“Howya, Grandad. Are ya well?” says he, which is a weird question from a doctor. Is he hoping that I am, or that I’m not?

“Grand.” says I “Just here for the 10,000 mile service.”

So he poked me and prodded me and we talked about this and that. He listened to various parts of me, but not what I was saying. I’m used to that.

Blood pressure - normal. Heart - normal. Lungs - normal [Yup! I can carry on puffing away]. Teeth - none. Hearing - brilliant [apart from the tinnitus]. All in all, he reckons I’m good for a few miles yet.

Then he put on a rubber glove and started talking about Prostates.

Jayzus! I was across the floor and standing splayed with my back to the wall before I knew it. I’m not having anyone poking around there. There are limits to my friendships. How can you greet a bloke in the village when he’s had his finger up your arse?

“Relax” says he. “I’m just going to take some blood.”

He did. About a gallon. It left me feeling quite drained, but I don’t mind.

He asked me then about the Tourist Shooting, and how it was going. It transpired that he wanted to join up. This was great news as this means that the only non member in the village now is the grave digger. He’s too busy to join.

“What about the Hippocratic Oath?” says I.

We pondered this for a few minutes, but we decided it only applied to patients. And by definition, a tourist isn’t a patient. So I signed him up.

We’re going hunting next week.

But I’m going to make damn sure he is some distance away from me when I go squatting in the undergrowth.

• Health
• Comments(14)