Archive for January, 2009

Tools of the trade

January 26th, 2009

We suffer a lot from wind, up in the mountains.

I’m not necessarily talking about flatulence, as we can suffer from that anywhere.

Down at city level, when there is a strong wind the worst you may experience is that your bins blow over.  Up here, it’s not unknown for the bins to end up in the next parish.

We have a lot of trees here, and every now and then, one of them gets blown over.  It’s very handy for thinning out the weaker trees, and it also thins out the neighbours fleet of cars if the trees happen to fall that way.  One good winter storm can provide us with enough wood for a year and it benefits the local car sales.

Of course the wind can damage other things apart from trees.

A couple of nights ago, Herself wanted to watch something on BBC television.  She switched on the set and changed channels.  The BBC channel was beautiful – it was a psychedelic pattern of luminous colours that undulated gently across the screen.  We tried all the BBC channels and every one was the same.  As every other channel was working perfectly, I assumed the BBC had something wrong with their transmitters and told Herself to read a book instead.

Last night, there was something else she wanted to watch on BBC.  Reception was still the same shimmering mass of colour, which didn’t please Herself.  It surprised me because I thought they would have fixed it by then.  I mad a phone call or two and found that everyone else was OK and it was just in this house.

I made the bold assumption that the BBC weren’t picking on me in particular and went off to see what was wrong.

I soon found the problem.

The fucking wind had blown the satellite dish off line.

Alignment of satellite dishes is a very precise matter.  The dish has to point to a tiny satellite that is 22,000 miles away, so there is no margin for error at all.  To align a dish, you need highly specialised equipment.

So I gave the dish a wallop with a lump hammer.

It worked, and Herself was happy.

It’s amazing what a lump hammer can fix?

Podcast my arse

January 25th, 2009

I was going to try a podcast this morning.

For some strange reason, a couple of you suggested that I should.

Frankly, I can’t really see the point.  Instead of reading me droning on, you hear me droning on.

I suppose there are advantages to podcasts, in that you can listen to what I have to say while you are driving, or making mad passionate love with your significant other [or even your insignificant other?].  But you can do that anyway, because all my posts are converted to audio anyway by those people in Odiogo.

On the other hand, I would have to moderate my language somewhat, as you could be listening in the office, or with the children playing in the background.  Visual stuff is grand, because you can always pretend it is something else, but when the sound blares out of the speakers, it tends to travel and everyone around gets the benefit of my fucking and blinding.

I did get as far as putting the microphone on and switching on the recorder.  I said my cheerful “Hello all.  This is a podcast” and then I went blank.  What the hell was I supposed to say?  Feck all has happened between yesterday and today, apart from raiding a couple of tobacconists across the County Border and having a quiet game of poker with Sandy last night.  [Never play poker with a dog – you can’t tell what they are thinking.]

So there I was, staring at the recording program as it quietly recorded nothing, except me breathing.  I suppose I could do a half hour of heavy breathing, but my probation officer has warned me about that, so I can’t.

Anyway, when I do a solo spot into a microphone, I tend to drone.  I sound like a footballer being interviewed, or at worst, I can nearly sound as bad as Harney [the Queen of the Depressed Drones]. 

The microphone has been packed away again.

If you want me to podcast, you are going to have to do some of the work.  You are going to have to suggest what I do, or what I talk about. 

If I could find some way of recording Skype, I could have a phone in.  That would be interesting?  But you’d all have to be around at a prearranged time, and I know from experience trying to do a podcast with America and Australia that that can be a pain in the hole, as everyone is in a different time zone.

So it’s back to the old keyboard…….

Lack of tobacco is dangerous

January 24th, 2009

I am really getting pissed off.

I am looking for blood at this stage as my patience has run out.

Four fucking weeks with no tobacco.

What the hell is going on here?  There is no strike on at the factory that I know of.  The distributors are still in business.  It’s not my local shop that is playing silly buggers.

I did a search on the Interweb.  It usually knows all the answers, but not this time.

The first thing I found was that Gallaghers are now owned by a Japanese company.  Could there be a clue here?  Maybe the Japanese don’t smoke pipes?

I searched their site and found nothing.  The only thing of mild interest is that they produce Silk Cut.  Herself smokes Silk Cut and there is no problem getting them, therefore the chain of command between manufacturer and customer is intact.

So what the hell is going on?  Has anyone got a clue?

I’m down to my last pack.

condor

Once more I have to hit the road and travel God knows how far.  I have cleaned out the local 500 square miles and I’m having to motor further each time.

All this driving is extremely dangerous for my health.

The bare facts

January 23rd, 2009

I had a phone call this morning.

A girl wants to call up to the house to photograph me.

I have heard of these people. I generally don’t read the tabloids, but The Lads down the pub have talked about women who get all steamed up at the thought of naked old men.  Mind you, for my age, I’m not in that bad a shape.  OK, so the stomach has to be held in from time to time, but the man-boobs are still less than an A cup.  I can’t blame the girl for choosing me as her pinup.

So I have a bit of a problem.

For a start, there’s Herself.  Do I lock her in the coal-hole for the duration?  Do I drug her?  Do I tell her that it is a scientific experiment?

And what is the etiquette in these situations?

Do I greet her stark naked at the door? Or for the sake of propriety, do I keep my briefs on?

Am I allowed to ask for the return favour?  I presume it is only fair that the traffic isn’t only one way?

So many questions.

So few answers.

I’d better start by finding that old bottle of chloroform…..

-oOo-

In the meantime, while I am otherwise occupied, here is a recording I made of yesterdays effort, for all you sad people who want to laugh at me.

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Airing Grandad

January 22nd, 2009

I had a mail the other day.  They wanted to know would I go on the radio.  I said OK, because I wasn’t planning on doing anything else. 

When I emailed them I asked them where they were located.  They mailed me back and said they were opposite the cemetery.

I mailed them in turn and asked it they had many deaths among their contributors but they said they didn’t have that many.

They asked me if I knew where the cemetery was.

I asked them if they meant the one opposite the radio studios, but they didn’t reply to that.

Anyway, this morning I went up there.  It was a very pleasant morning for a drive through the county for a change, as most mornings lately it has either been snowing or pissing rain.

I was right.  It was the cemetery opposite the studios, so having found that, I found the studios. 

In my previous incarnation, when I worked in RTE, I used to see people waiting to go on the radio.  I used to feel sorry for them because they all looked like they were waiting on death row.

Then I would get annoyed with them because they were always treated like royalty while the rest of us were treated like shit.

Today I was the royalty, so I dutifully looked down on the staff as I was whisked into the studio.

It was great craic in there.  We had a laugh for a while and the next thing I was thrown out the door.  It way have been the pipe smoke that annoyed them; I don’t know.

I didn’t hear the programme.

It was live so I couldn’t be at home to listen to it.

I will say one thing…

It was all so fucking easy.

Watch out Rick O’Shea.

I’m on the way up.

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