Archive for January, 2009

Alarming dogs

January 17th, 2009

It’s not often that I get a lie in.

I was having a nice one this morning.  The few pints last night had gone down well, and I was in a nice deep sleep.  Things between myself and Sharon were just getting interesting.

There was a loud crash as Sandy flung open the door and came over and slobbered all over my nose.

One of Sandy’s little tricks she learned many years ago is the ability to open doors.  If the door has a handle, she can open it.  She never learned to close the fucking things behind her though.  We have to lock all the doors at night, or we’ll wake to find badgers rooting around the kitchen or a deer in the living room.  Sandy likes to invite in her friends.

Normally though, she respects the bedroom and we don’t lock that door.

Sandy obviously decided this morning that ten was a bit late for me to be in bed, so she came in and rectified the situation.  I nearly rectified her.

That dog will have to go.

I’ll never discover now what Sharon was going to do with that cucumber.

I am damned

January 16th, 2009

I am very busy today.

In fact, I am so busy, I don’t have time to write anything.

And if I’m too busy to write anything, I certainly don’t have time to answer the bloody door.

The door bell rang earlier.  I tripped over Sandy on the way there, so I wasn’t in full greeting form when I opened the door.

There was a couple there.  He was a respectable enough looking bloke, and she was a tasty blonde.  We looked at each other for a moment.  The fact that I had no clothes on may have put them off their stride a bit.

I thought it was a bit early for election canvassers, seeing as they haven’t called an election yet, and the meter reader came yesterday, so I waited.  Luckily it wasn’t too cold.

He started blustering then and waffled on about something, when suddenly I spotted the pamphlets he was carrying.  Religious freaks, out to convert me!

Our Puppychild had left a stick of chalk in the porch, where I had been teaching her to write on walls, ready for their new house.  I took the chalk and carefully drew a pentagram on the ground outside the front door.

pentagram

“Right,” says I, “I will happily talk to you, but you must stand inside the sacred symbol”.

They gave me a strange look and ran.  Obviously their faith isn’t that strong?

I am a bit baffled by these people.

I have my beliefs, but I don’t try to convert anyone, except maybe the Rector.  My religion is my business, and yours is your own.  Fine.  Let’s leave it at that.

But they feel compelled to “save” me.  Why?  Does it really matter to them if I go to hell?

I’d say they’ll have their work cut out in this neighbourhood.  I doubt many will even answer their doors.

Most people around here will be knackered after the midnight sacrifice we held last night.

If it ain’t broke, then break it

January 15th, 2009

Back in 1971, I went to work in RTE.

It was a great place to be then.

The place was run by programmers and engineers and it was all one big happy family.

It was run on a very casual basis, and because there were few rules and restrictions, the staff responded by giving their best.  I loved it there, and I worked my arse off along with everyone else.  We had a pride in our jobs and in what we were doing and were all very happy.

Over the years, it changed.

Slowly but surely, the programmers and the engineers were elbowed out, and the accountants took over.

In the early days, if you came in late for work, no one minded, provided you got the job done.

The accountants were different though.  They were clock watchers, and punctuality was far more important than anything else. The people who used to be erratic about their timekeeping but who worked their balls off were hauled over the coals.  The slackers who were punctual got all the praise. 

Morale took a downturn over the years. 

The accountants eventually got their teeth into everything and money became God.  If a programme was good but the accountants weren’t happy with the returns, it was axed.  Slowly but surely, programmes sank to the level of the lowest common denominator.  If it was cheap, it was good.  The motto of the station became “If it ain’t broke, then break it”.

Rick O’Shea and Nikki Hayes are the latest victims of financial rectitude.

The accountants have decided that somehow they can shave a few cents if Rick and Nikki cut the cackle on their radio programmes and just play records.  Being accountants, they don’t realise that the cackle is what makes the programme.  Rick and Nikki worked very hard to build up an audience and they were damned good.  That’s gone now.  The programmes are becoming as bland as the rest of the shite that the other stations put out.  But the accountants are happy.

I retired from RTE in 2001.  I couldn’t wait to get out.  It had become a depressing place to work in.

Those fucking accountants has destroyed the place and are continuing to do so.

Bastards.

Driving Miss Crazy

January 14th, 2009

So the Road Safety Authority are trying to find ways to stop young drivers from killing themselves?

They have a hope!

In typical Irish/Nanny State fashion, they see a problem and decide that the answer is more laws.

Zero tolerance on alcohol?  Fine, but there are already laws for that.

Night time curfew?  Bollox!  They would have one hell of a job enforcing that, and anyway, how do the new drivers gain night driving experience?

Increased penalty points?  Ha Ha.  What difference will that make?

Hazard perception testing?  Rubbish.  It takes years to become an expert at that.  It is impossible to ‘test’.

Age restriction for passengers?  How the hell do they enforce that?  The first thing a young buck wants to do with his licence is impress his pals/girlfriend.  Forget it.

Mandatory tuition?  I thought they had that anyway?

Restricted car power?  If a bloke has a powerful car, he is going to drive it, and fuck the law.

Extended supervised driving?  Considering that for years, half the country were driving on provo licences while unaccompanied, that’s a joke.

Upgraded driving test?  The only item that shows a glimmer of hope.

There are a few things that the RSA don’t seem to realise.

Firstly, anyone doing a test is going to be on their best behaviour.  They are going to drive by the rulebook.  They have no intention of driving like that once they have their licence, simply because the it doesn’t work.  When I was learning to drive, my instructor told me there were two ways to drive – the Test Way, and The Right Way.  He was spot on.  Therefore the test gives no indication whatsoever as to how that person intends to drive.

Secondly, they don’t understand that mixing immaturity, testosterone and a car is like mixing nitric acid and glycerine – potentially explosive.  All young drivers think they are brilliant.  Speed is king, and you will never teach them otherwise.

Thirdly, they ignore the “it will never happen to me” philosophy.  That one alone negates most of their proposals.

If they want to make the roads safer, all they have to do is police the existing laws.

If they had more patrols on the danger spots and fewer on the ‘easy money’ back roads, they would have a chance. 

I would also suggest a simple penalty. If a driver is convicted of an offence during their probation period – remove their licence, so they have to sit the test again.

Or else just let them get on with it and kill themselves.

Where are Geldof and Bono when you need them?

January 12th, 2009

Those of you who have been reading this site for a while now will have come to realise that I’m a very placid bloke.

I take life as it comes and rarely complain about anyone or anything.

There are times though, when even someone as mild as me gets a little bit riled.  And that time has come.

A week or so ago, I wrote about my local shops having no pipe tobacco.  When I wrote that, the shelves had already been bare for a week.  So this famine has been going on now for over two weeks.

What are the United Nations doing about it?  Where’s Bob Geldof when you really need him?  Why isn’t that fucker Bono screaming from the rooftops?

Right here, in the heart of the so called civilised world, there is a famine of biblical proportions.

I wouldn’t mind if they were just out of my brand, because I am prepared to switch brands temporarily.  I am a reasonable chap, after all.  But there isn’t a sniff of pipe tobacco of any type, shape, flavour or nationality.

They have cigarettes all right.  Tons of the fucking things.  They have cigarette tobacco which temporarily raises my hopes when I see it because the packs are similar.  The poor shopkeepers keep offering me cigarette tobacco when I lambaste them for their lack of consideration but you can’t put cigarette tobacco in a pipe.  It’s disgusting.

What in the name of all that’s holy is going on?

Why have they stopped shipping pipe tobacco to my county? 

At the moment I am subsisting on tobacco that I bought on the ferry back from France.  It’s not my blend and it makes me cough.  I’m down to my last pack of that and I’m getting ratty.

If they don’t ship in some tobacco fast, there is going to be trouble.  I am in a bad mood, and when I am in a bad mood, little girls stop laughing and the birds stop singing.

I want my tobacco NOW.

In the meantime, I’m going out.

I’m going to find some kittens to set fire to, and some butterflies to pull their wings off.

You really wouldn’t like me when I have no tobacco.

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