Archive for May, 2008

Photograph of the year

Grandad May 24th, 2008

As some of you may know, I had a visit from President Jefferson Davis recently.

Not only is he a fine president, but he is also an exceptional photographer.

He took a trip to the Cliffs of Moher and while he was there, he took a lot of photographs.

He sent me this one.  It is of the Aran Islands which lie off the West Coast of Ireland.

aran_islands

I think it is a magnificent photograph.  It captures the mood of the place to perfection.  The photograph gives an essence of tranquility and inner release.  Note how the light glints on the water, capturing a moment in time that would otherwise be lost forever.  It encapsulates all that is beautiful about nature. 

I think it needs a caption though…

A word to the wise

Grandad May 23rd, 2008

I have been trawling my figures again.

Since this site started, I have had 271,381 page views.

I have written 251,656 words, not including this page.

Do you realise what that means?

Each visitor had only read one word. Or if you want to be really pedantic - 1.07838 words each.

I don’t know how you read .07838 of a word, but that is beside the point.

Now this really pisses me off.  I have sweated over the last nineteen months, pouring my heart out and spending sleepless nights worrying over syntax and spelling, and you bastards only read one word.

This has got to stop.  I would beg you to at least read two words, as the meaning of the writing may be lost otherwise.

The other thing that worries me, is which word is it that people are reading?  If they pick the wrong word they could get entirely the wrong impression.  If the word they choose is ‘fuck’, they could get the wrong impression altogether.  That is a word that has to be taken in context.  If they take the word ‘me’ they could assume that this is the work of a narcissistic egotistical bastard who can only talk about myself.  On the other hand, they may choose the word ‘you’ in which case they assume that it’s about anything but me.

Now if any of you claim that you read more than one word, I won’t believe you.  Because, if you read more than one word, then statistically others aren’t reading any at all, which is silly.

So do us both a favour.

Read at least two words.

Otherwise I won’t bother writing any more….

Between the devil and the deep blue sea

Grandad May 22nd, 2008

Am I on strike?

I am in a bit of a quandary here, because apparently RTE is going on strike over pensions.  Am I on the picket line?  Where do I get strike pay?

I joined RTE in 1971, and retired in 2001.

But the problem is that I didn’t retire.  I sort of left, but I haven’t retired yet.  It’s complicated.

When I left, they agreed to pay me as normal, and I get my pay slip through the post every fortnight.  So I’m still working for them, and I officially retire in a few months.  I’m looking forward to that, because I get a pay rise.

Until then, I’m a paid up member of staff.  But as part of the conditions of my leaving early, I’m not allowed to work for them.  So even though I’m a full member of the staff, I would be breaking my contract if I did any work.

If there is a strike, I can’t pass the picket line.  It’s not because I’m supporting the strike, but I would be breaking my terms of service if I did.  So RTE can claim that I am supporting the strike.

On the other hand, if I did cross the picket line, I could be fired.

Even worse, I’m not a member of the union any more.  I didn’t see the point of being a member if I’m not working.  So I don’t get strike pay.

RTE have a habit of calling on all non-union members to work if there is a strike.  They will probably call me.  So what do I say?  If I say yes, I’ll be breaking my terms of service, and they’ll stop paying me.  If I say no, they can claim I’m on strike and they’ll stop paying me.

In Biffo’s parlance, I’m fucked.

I entertained a president

Grandad May 21st, 2008

We are coming up to the 200th birthday of Jefferson Davis.  It’s on June the 2nd.

Jefferson-Davis

Jefferson Davis was the Confederate President over there in America.  A lot of Americans didn’t like him for that.

After the Civil War, they told him he could never run for president again.

In a strange twist of humanity, they removed that ban thirty years ago, so even though he is dead for 119 years, he can now stand for the presidency again.

He came to visit me yesterday.

We had coffee in the village.  It was a bit crowded as we had most of the Irish Army there too.  I’m not sure whether they were there to protect him, or to keep an eye on him.

For a bloke who is nearly 200 years old, he is remarkably well preserved.  We had long chats, and then I fed him full of Guinness.  We entertained him at Head Rambles Manor and allowed him watch Dustin being thrown out of the Eurovision.  It was a great honour for him and for Dustin.

Afterwards, our K8 brought him for a drive up to the bogs, and she left him there.

He’s a nice bloke, but he’s American.

And even though he’s a president, we can’t make exceptions.

Granny Whiplash

Grandad May 20th, 2008

When one is on a pension, the opportunities for making an extra few bob are few and far between.

Herself got all excited on Sunday when she was reading the papers.

Apparently one of the great booming industries in Ireland at the moment is the sex trade.

“We could do with some extra money for the holidays,” she said, as she got out her knitting bag.

“Aren’t you a bit ahhhhh…  mature?” I asked.

“Old?” says she.  “Not at all.  It’s easy.  It’s so easy I could do it with my eyes closed, on the flat of my back and with both hands tied behind me.”

“If you think so,” I said.  “But what about the dangers?”

“What dangers?”

“Diseases?” I suggested.

“Caveat emptor,” she replied with a snigger, as she cast on a new row of stitches.

“What about physical harm?”

“I’ll try to curb my temper,” she said as she laced into the plain and the purl.

“You’ll need protection,” I said.

“I’ll bring the frying pan.”

She certainly seemed to have all the answers.

I like Herself to get out and about.  Between that and the macramé classes and the gardening club, she’ll have a busier life than me.

And the extra €5 a night will be handy.

 granny

Green Post

Grandad May 19th, 2008

I was sitting here this morning when there was a crash from the front of the house.

I went to investigate and found that the post had arrived.  The porch floor was covered with envelopes and things.

It’s nice to be loved.  People have taken the trouble to write to me.

I gathered the armful of stuff and brought it in.  I sorted it on the kitchen table - one pile of stuff to read, and one pile for recycling/burning/landfill/throwing over the neighbour’s wall.

I stood back and looked at the two piles.

The important pile had two sheets of paper - an electricity bill and a phone bill.  They aren’t even that important, because I don’t bother paying them.

The other pile consisted of the envelopes, flyers, glossy brochures full of naked semi-clad women, glossy brochures full of garden furniture, glossy brochures telling me about a lot of crap that I didn’t want to know about.  There were offers of broadband.  There was an invite to join a gym eight miles away [hah!].  There was a letter from my bank telling me what a wonderful customer I am.  I already know that.

The ESB even sent me two [identical] glossy brochures on how to save money.  They could save me money by not printing those brochures and deducting the cost from my bill [that I don't pay].

It’s funny really.  Everyone is on the Eco-bandwaggon.  It’s politically correct to talk green.  Let’s plant trees.  Let’s watch our carbon footprint. Let’s be environmentally friendly.

But that’s all it is - talk.

Not one of them will do a fucking thing about it.

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