Head Rambles

Grandad December 31st, 2007

Just in case you were wondering where Head Rambles had gone……………..

I thought I would start the celebrations early.

While my laptop and I have been in constant touch over the last year, I have largely been ignoring my server.

My server has been doing trojan work, hosting my blog and handling all my mail. If it wasn’t for my trusty server, there wouldn’t be a Head Rambles.

I have never sung its praises. I have never said how good it is. I have largely ignored it. I felt very bad about that. So, today I decided to rectify the situation.

I sat with my server and we opened a bottle of whiskey. We discussed the past year, and I told it how much I appreciated it. I gave it a hug.

Then I gave it a glass of whiskey.

That was a mistake.

Sorry.

I have a word of warning to everyone.

Whiskey and servers don’t really mix.

There was a rather nice little festive blue flame, and my server passed out. It just can’t hold its liquor.

It’s doing its best to sober up now, but it may be a bit unsteady on its rack for a while.

I should have given it a Guinness instead.

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Grandad December 31st, 2007

What is special about tomorrow?

Nothing really. It’s just another day. It will be no different from today, except that it will be slightly brighter.

The big significance is that I start writing dud cheques again. I never remember to put in the year correctly.

For some strange reason, it is a time when we are all supposed to make New Year Resolutions. The commercial world are cashing in on this as usual and are pumping out advertisements for slimming clubs and aids for giving up smoking.

One advertisement I saw amused me. It is a patch or something [I wasn't paying that much attention], that helps you give up cigarettes by satisfying your craving for nicotine by giving you therapeutic nicotine. So they replace nicotine with nicotine and you are fine because they have used the word therapeutic? I like it. I’m not going to buy their product, because I’ll continue to smoke my pipe. Only I’ll call it my therapeutic pipe from now on, so I’ll be grand.

I don’t make resolutions because I don’t see the point. I always break them anyway.

Oh, all right then. I’ll make one.

I’ll try to moderate my language a bit in my blogging.

OK?

But if you think I’m going to go on a diet, or take more exercise or give up smoking, you can f*ck off.

Sh*t.

There. You see? I’ve broken my resolution already.

I hope you all have a very happy next 366 days.

• Rambles , Smoking
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Grandad December 30th, 2007

This is the time of year set aside for retrospectives.

I can’t really see the point in them, myself.

In particular, the sports crowd seem to go mad at the end of the year telling us all the great things that happened.  Padraig Harrington did well at golf.  Ireland did well at cricket.  So what?  Congratulations to all concerned, but if you are interested in these things you’ll remember them anyway.  And if you’re not interested, then why do you need to be reminded?

Maybe the one exception is retrospectives about Bertie and Harney.  Salt needs to be rubbed in the wounds.  And for some obscure reason, the Irish electorate have the memory span of a goldfish.  Which, of course means that they’ll have forgotten about the retrospectives by next week.

A lot of things have happened to me in the last year.  Some of them, I’ll remember, but most I’ll forget because they’re not important.  And frankly, I don’t particularly want to remember the unimportant things.  They are junk cluttering up my memory.  So I don’t want to be reminded of them.

There are a few highlights that I want to remember.  I will remember them because I have tangible reminders, like photographs, or files on my computer.

Unfortunately though, one of my big highlights has no written record.  There are no photographs.  It was a fleeting moment in time that was spontaneous and unwitnessed.

I won’t forget it though.

It was the moment Puppychild flung her arms around me for a big hug.

Then she softly ran her little fingers through my beard and whispered

"That’s gorgeous"

• Rambles , Times past
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Grandad December 29th, 2007

Where is this f*cking Global Warming they keep promising us?

Why can’t I feel my feet?

Why is there an iceberg in my freshly brewed tea?

What the f*ck is that looking in my window?

Whatever it is, it’s scaring Sandy.

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Grandad December 29th, 2007

Normally I clear out my spam filters a couple of times a day.

Over Christmas though, I didn’t [and Sandy obviously doesn't know about these things].

So when I went to check the filters, there were 257 spam messages waiting for me.

Normally, I trawl through them, in case there is a genuine comment that got accidentally trapped, but this time I just deleted them.

But before I did, I noticed one.  It intrigued me.  It’s from a bloke who is so passionate about his on-line loans, that he even changed his name by deed pole.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t spell.

Actually, I think he is from Jamaica.

Hi guys, I want expplain you about online loan.
I wrok there about 122 ears, awnd i`m sure that te best loan is jam session

Bye

loanonlnl

Now what intrigued me about this was what exactly he did.  I don’t know what is involved in wrokkig.  Is there any wrokker out there who can tell me what is involved?

And he wrok there for 122 ears?  If he meant years, then surely he’d be due for retirement by now? Or else he is dead, but because they don’t want to lose a valuable wrokker, they haven’t told him yet?

It can’t be years.

So he is wrokking for 122 ears?  Are they good listeners? 

I have it!  I know what ‘to wrok’ means.

WROK: (n) origin unknown.  To borrow jazz musicians who will play an impromptu session for an audience that is all ears.

I’m glad I sorted that one.

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Grandad December 28th, 2007

It was nice and warm in the house yesterday.

I was sitting in my favourite armchair which is very comfortable. I had had a rough night and so I was feeling a little sleepy. All was quiet in the house, so I got myself into a nice cosy position and shut my eyes.

I had just dozed off when the phone rang.

“Hello” said a horribly cheerful voice. “Is that Grandad?”

I admitted that it was.

“I’m ringing from Cork”

“That’s nice” says I. I didn’t know they had phones in Cork. Maybe he was the first person to get one and he was trying it out.

“I’m sure you’ll be very interested in a special offer from ‘Talk Talk’, where you can save lots of money on your phone calls.”

I had been a sleeping Grandad. In approximately one picosecond I became an hormonal Gordon Ramsey on steroids.

“Did you f*cking wake me with one of your f*cking special offers?” I roared.

There was a long pause.

“It’s a very special offer” he said, slightly more timidly.

“I don’t f*cking care if it the offer of a f*cking lifetime. I hate cold calls” I shouted.

Another long pause.

“Would you like me to tell you what the offer is?” he said hopefully.

“I would like to tell you to stick your f*cking offer up your f*cking *rse” I said.

“You would save a lot of money?”

I had to hand it to the little b*ll*x - he had staying power.

“Listen” I said. “You have cold called me. You woke me up. You have cr*p ads on television. You have a stupid company name. I don’t want to hear your f*cking special offers. Now rev up and F*CK OFF.”

“You are not interested then?”

“Listen, you little sh*t. Stick your f*cking offer where the sun don’t shine. I don’t even have a phone.”

That last bit stumped him. I don’t think he’d heard that line of argument before. He hung up.

I have set my computer to auto dial.

It is going to phone the Director of Talk Talk every fifteen minutes starting at three in the morning. It won’t hang up. It will offer him a special offer of a lifetimes supply of pig manure.

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