Head Rambles

Grandad February 29th, 2008

A photograph purporting to be me appeared in today’s Irish Daily Mail.

I wish to state clearly and categorically, that Glenda Gilson and I are not an item.

We only met the once and I spoke to her briefly a couple of other times.

The fact that she has been spotted leaving here on many occasions in the early hours of the morning is a figment of the imagination.  I would please ask my neighbours to stop phoning the papers about it.

On a more positive note, the article is entitled “Misfits no longer, Irish bloggers are snapping up book deals“.  That’s good.  I’m no longer a misfit.  It’s official.  Thank you Sinéad.

If you do happen to see the article, concentrate on the photograph of Feebee.  She’s much nicer looking than me.  Well, a little bit.

And before anyone says anything, we’re not an item either.

• The Book
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Grandad February 29th, 2008

I’m not going to the Irish Blog Awards.

I know I said I’d go, and I even wrote to that Mulley bloke and said I would.  But I have better things to do.

I’ll be sending that other fella.

He’s a boring old shite.  He’s half deaf and totally humourless, and he doesn’t even drink much. 

He is a lousy social mixer and will probably try to hide in the corner somewhere.  He’ll have Herself and K8 the GR8 with him so at least he’ll have someone to talk to.  Until they get bored with him and bugger off to someone who can hold a conversation.

The only things I can say in his favour are that he looks a bit like me, and he does smoke a pipe.  Apart from that, he’s a crashing bore.  He is so dull, he doesn’t have a name.  If you’re at the awards and see him, call him Grandad anyway.  He’ll like that.  It will give him an undeserved feeling of being someone.

The only other thing I can say in his favour is that he does all my typing for me.

• Awards
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Grandad February 28th, 2008

I wrote last week that there was to be a meeting about my trees eating lorries.

The meeting was held.

My God, it was horrible!

I decided to bring TAT along as my weapon of choice.  I asked our K8 not to feed him for a day or two beforehand, and not to give him his pills that day.

Unfortunately, she got overenthusiastic, and withheld all his medication for 24 hours, including the injections.

I didn’t know this, and when the meeting started, I let TAT loose.

Even I was horrified at the carnage.  They had to call three ambulances.  Two of my neighbours now think they are Napoleon and are emigrating to St Elba.  Three more are in a state of catatonic shock and doctors don’t hold out much hope of recovery.  I was OK because TAT knows my smell [pipe tobacco, and old socks], but for the first time in quite a while, I was scared.

I eventually managed to get TAT caged again.  The meeting was cancelled because the chairman was crying in the toilets and wouldn’t come out.

I think my trees are safe.

Thanks, TAT.

• Property , Rambles
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Grandad February 28th, 2008

• work
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Grandad February 27th, 2008

There are times, [not often, I grant you] when I am almost at a loss for words.

There is an event taking place tomorrow that I frankly find so bizarre that I feel either I am going insane, or else the rest of the world is.

A “performance artist” is being paid to come to Dublin.  This “performance artist” does things that frankly should have him confined to a nice comfortable well padded secure room for his own good.

Mark McGowan claims he is famous because “he once pushed a peanut along the road with his nose for 7 miles”.  Art?  Insanity?  I’ll let you choose.

Anyway, as I say, he is being paid to come to Dublin.  And what is he going to do tomorrow?  Wait for it…..  This is a classic…..

In an extra ordinary art performance, artist Mark McGowan is to dress up as the An Taoiseach Bertie Ahern and crawl on his hands and knees, while attempting to pull an incredible 300 kilos of potatoes (in a large bulk aggregate bag attached to his leg by a piece of string), along the road for an amazing 4 miles, in Dublin, Ireland. The intention is to show the people of Ireland the difficulties and struggles of being the Irish Leader, he has the weight of Ireland along with his own personal problems, such as the Mahon Inquiry to deal with, and this performance is an attempt to show everyone just how hard it is being Bertie Ahern.

What the fuck?

So this little wanker is going to crawl four miles along a road in support of that lying little toe-rag, and he is being paid out of public money?

I am going to do my own bit of “performance art”.

I have hired myself a small lorry.

I shall be driving through Dublin tomorrow.

I will let Mark McGowan do a proper impression of Bertie - as a nasty little stain in the gutters of Drumcondra.

Mashed potatoes, anyone?

• On the road , Politics , Rants
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Grandad February 26th, 2008

There seems to be a lot of interest in The Book.

I call it The Book, because it doesn’t actually have a title yet.

So far, I have done written interviews for Damien Mulley, and the Evening Herald.  I believe Declan Burke is going to mention it this evening on The Last Word on TodayFM.  There is also supposed to be an article in next Friday’s Irish Daily Mail, by Sinéad Gleeson.  It also got a mention in this months edition of PCLive.

I am very grateful to all the above and I am very flattered.

My problem is that really I don’t know what I’m talking about.

I was originally approached by Mercier Press, last year and was asked if I would like to write a book.  I had never written one before and had never considered it.  It was a bit daunting.

The original idea was to do a compendium of posts - a sort of "Best of Head Rambles".  But by the time I had weeded out the too topical, the insane, the libelous and the blasphemous, I was left with about two pages.  I think Mercier expected a bit more than that?

So the idea of the novel was born.  And a novel is a different thing altogether from writing a blog.  A novel requires characters, plots, a start, middle and an end.  It requires a storyline, and all of this has to be worked out in advance.

Now comes the really tricky bit..  People are asking questions about the novel. 

They are asking what it is called.  I don’t know that yet.  I have a few ideas, but I have to discuss them with the publisher first. 

They are asking what type of novel it is.  That is a tricky one.  I would like to think it is humorous.  It isn’t a thriller because there are only a few explosions in it.  It isn’t a murder mystery, though there are a few deaths, and a murder trial.  It isn’t a romance, though there is a bit of romance in it.  I don’t really know how to describe it.  But then how would you describe this blog?

They are asking when the book will be published.  I don’t know.  It depends on when I get the first draft done.  It is 90% there, but that last 10% could be the rock that I perish on.

What is the book about?  It’s about me.  Grandad.  Herself and Sandy are in it too.  If I said it was about life in the village, that would sound boring.  I hope it’s not boring.  A lot of strange things go on in this weird world I inhabit, as any regular reader of this will know.

On a positive note, Herself asked me to read her the first couple of chapters.  When I stopped reading, she pleaded with me to continue.  She hounded me night after night to read her more.  So either she is a crap judge of literature [but she hates Cecelia Ahern?] or she’s a masochist.  She certainly isn’t listening just for my dulcet voice, or to flatter me.  Herself doesn’t believe in flattery.

Suggestions for a book title on a postcard please.

• The Book
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