Archive for July, 2008

Feeling old

Grandad July 31st, 2008

Bugger me, but I’m getting old.

I woke this morning at seven [that's part of old age - waking early].

I was pottering around the kitchen, when the door handle to the lobby started rattling.  The door can be a tad stiff at times, so I opened it.  There was Puppychild, looking all fresh and perky.

“Good morning, Grandad” she said with a cheeky little grin.

“Good morning,” I replied [my mother taught me to be polite], “and how are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, “are you OK?”

“I’m grand,” says I, but I felt old.

So we had a fine conversation about the weather and the state of the world.

Later she asked if she could watch cartoons on television.  I tried not to be old and narkey, so I let her.

Those cartoons drove me to the pits of despair.  It is no wonder that modern children all talk with American accents and use the most appalling slang.  The characters were saying things like “awesome”  and “todally radigal” every two seconds.  The advertisements were even worse.  I felt as old as the hills.

Later, Puppychild spotted a pack of sweets high on a shelf and demanded them.  I don’t know how she spotted them, as the shelf was in the lobby where it is dark, and even I had difficulty seeing them, and I’m over twice her height.  I refused her the sweets, as it was too early in the day, and I felt very old.

She is a forgiving child though.  I made her some toast instead, and she is now on the floor at my feet doing a jigsaw puzzle.

puppychild
She is disapproving of  cameras.

I like being a Grandad.

In fact, I like being old.

Telling a woman to get lost

Grandad July 30th, 2008

I have been having some problems with my SatNav.

I always bring it in the car, because I have a nice selection of music on it, and it is also very handy as a hands-free system for my phone.

Because I always knew where I am going, I always programmed in Belfast as my destination.  It confused the hell out of the woman in the SatNav but she sounds very sexy when she panics.

The real trouble started whenever I was stuck at traffic lights.  The bitch would shout out at the car next to me and ask for directions.  Why do women always have to ask for directions?  It was embarrassing because I knew where I was going but she just made me look foolish.  I had to keep the windows closed at all times, which annoyed Sandy, as she likes to stick her head out sometimes and get a bit of wind in her ears.

Then the woman went into a sulk.  When I switched on the SatNav, she would mutter about acquiring satellites and would ask me for my destination.  I would type in ‘Belfast’ and that was it.  I wouldn’t hear another peep out of her.  I was back to driving in silence, apart from the Rolling Stones.  This worried me a bit, as I was going to be relying on her in the near future, and was on the point of returning the unit as being faulty.

Then I had my idea. 

I fired her.

I installed a bloke to give directions instead.

This was an outstanding success.

He never shouts at passing cars.  He never panics.  When I program in ‘Belfast’ and head south, he tries to make me turn around but very quickly acknowledges that I’m a man too, and therefore I must know what I’m doing.

I started programming in my actual destination, just to see what would happen.  He is damned good.  He has showed me some rather neat shortcuts.  I did run into a bit of trouble the other day, when a farmer stopped me in the middle of his yard and demanded to know what I was doing there.  I explained to him that the bloke was giving me directions and he was very happy about it.  He told me that if it had been the woman, I would have received both barrels of the shotgun.  He must have the same make of SatNav himself.

Roger and I get on very well now.  I call him Roger because he sounds like a Roger.  He isn’t very sexy, but he always gets me there.

I don’t know why they put a woman in a SatNav.

Everyone knows that women are fucking hopeless at navigation.

Golf

Grandad July 29th, 2008

It was a long time since I had a good game of golf.

Yesterday, it struck me as being the perfect chance for a round.

We have had a very unseasonable period of very dry weather, and there has been a lot of sunshine.  Also we have had a couple of visits from our K8’s dog Wouldya.  The material was plentiful and in perfect condition.

I was sorry last night to see Bock launch such a vitriolic attack on such a fine game.  He has obviously never played the game properly, as the satisfaction of sending a quarter pound dog turd flying in an open car window has to be experienced before the true subtleties of the game can be appreciated.  I must invite him for a round sometime.

I had a fine time.

My golfing skills have improved immeasurably.  Using a driver, I was able to sail turds off into the next parish.  Using my irons, I was able to loft magnificent examples of dog excrement into the various neighbouring properties.

I didn’t score any eagles or albatrosses.  I did score a magpie, which surprised him no end.

Incidentally, I have a little message for my neighbour.

I hope you enjoyed your barbeque.  It smelled delicious from my place.

One thing though.  That large frankfurter….  I’m not quite sure how to put this…. It wasn’t a frankfurter.  It was a rather neat shot from beside my pond.

I hope you enjoyed it.

I did.

Infallible dogma?

Grandad July 28th, 2008

I read an interesting post yesterday over at For the Faint Hearted.

What is interesting to me is that as far as I am aware, Ian is a non-smoker, yet here he is, making a stance on behalf of the [pipe] smoker.

As Ian points out, smoking is unhealthy, yet it is a victimless crime.  The only person who suffers palpable risk is the smoker.

Modern society is a dangerous place.  Suppose I drive into Dublin on a Saturday night.  I run a high risk of an accident on the road, as the standard of driving is appalling.  When I arrive in the city, I have an equally high risk of being attacked by some drunk for no reason other than random chance.  Statistically, I have greatly increased odds of not surviving that trip.  Yet the odds on dropping dead from the effects of a passenger smoking in that car are nil.

So why have smokers been targeted?

Society has always needed a scapegoat.  We have always looked for an element in society to vent our spleen.  We need to look down on some defined grouping and whip them into submission just to make ourselves feel good.  In the past, it was the Negro, the Jew or the Pakistani who felt the wrath.  This is now rightly seen as racism, so society needed a group that was non-race defined.  Smokers filled the bill very neatly.  They crossed the ethnic and religious divides, so no one can be accused of racism.  They are defined merely by the fact that they have a cigarette, pipe or cigar on hand.

The arguments for heavy restrictions on driving or drinking are very strong.  The levels of death and destruction from both are horrifying.  When one takes into account the social misery, the domestic violence, the crime and the wanton destruction caused by people under the influence of drink it is a mystery as to why alcohol is allowed at all.

Yet when we look at the benefits to society of the smoking ban, there are very few.  People say their clothes smell better after a night out.  What?  People say it is healthier for them.  Is it?  How many people really suffer from passive smoking?  Very very few.  Compare that to the number of spouses who are battered on a nightly basis or the number of people who are victims of crime or traffic accidents as a result of drink, and you can see where I am coming from.  Also, those people who claim that a night out is now healthier also conveniently forget that the damage they have done to themselves from alcohol is far greater than the damage from passive smoking.

So why were smokers chosen to be the subject of a vitriolic campaign?  God knows.  A movement started somewhere amongst non-smokers, and it gathered momentum.  It became a popular movement and ultimately became politically correct.  People now espouse the non-smoking policy without thought, or examination of the facts.

As yourselves which would you prefer – to spend a day in the passenger seat of a souped up Golf driven by a boy racer; to spend a day in the company of a very drunk lout or to spend a day with a smoker?  I know which I would chose.

In the meantime, I am going to write to Ian to ask his friend Richard to get in touch with me.

I need the company of a pipe smoker.

I don’t want to become extinct, just yet.

Grandad MD

Grandad July 27th, 2008

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