Head Rambles

Grandad September 19th, 2009

French flies are incredibly irritating.

Their one redeeming feature is that they are incredibly fucking stupid.

They have a habit of taking a fancy to a particular spot and if you try to swat them and miss, they nearly always come back to the same spot a few seconds later so you can have another swipe at them.

For some unknown reason, they like my laptop screen.

I take great exception to any person having a sneak preview of my forthcoming Magnum Opus, let alone a fucking fly, so I keep a fly swatter just in case, to the side of the laptop.  The Magnum Opus must be quite gripping, because they are quite happy to sit there reading it while I smack them one over the head, whereupon they slide gracefully down the screen and into the hinge.  This means that every time I close my laptop lid, there is a grand scrunching noise, which has the added bonus of driving Herself insane.

Herself has a large can of spray which is fuck all use as it just gives the files an incentive to land on me instead.  All the spray does is make the place smell of lemon.  It’s amazing how quickly one can learn to get tired of the smell of lemon.

I’m quite a dab hand with the swatter.  I have actually been know to get three with one swat which isn’t bad, and also quite clever, as they rarely hang around in groups.

So far I have only seen one hornet.

I went upstairs to bed one night and this huger fucker was buzzing around the bedroom.  Herself wasn’t too happy about him so I went down and got the swatter.

By the time I climbed the stairs again, he had taken refuge in the beams and was out of reach.  I gave him a blast of fly spray to dislodge him and then realised something…….

It is not a good idea to piss off a hornet when you are bollock naked.

Boy, was he pissed off!  He did several circuits of the room while I protected those parts of me that needed protection until eventually he landed on the quilt.   I then learned something else – it’s hard to squash a hornet on a very soft surface.

I stunned him in the end, and flicked him out the window.

Somehow he made the flies seem tame.

• Holidays
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Grandad September 18th, 2009

A few times in the past I have mentioned products and their websites.

I used to write a bit about Cully and Sully simply because I liked their attitude, and more important – I liked their product.  We had a bit of a skit about what to do with the left over ceramic bowls, and it was all a bit of fun.

Then I wrote about Elie and his fantastic range of handmade pipes.  I wrote about him because I had bought a pipe off him, and I thought his service was exceptional.  I also think he designs the most incredible pipes.

I have also written about e-Cigarette Direct because I bought a pipe off them, and once more they gave exceptional service.

Not only have I written about them, but I have put links on the side of the site.

All of these people have one thing in common.

Not one of them asked me to write about them.  I did it because I wanted to and because I thought they deserved a mention.

Now for some reason, known only to God and a small fella called Wak in China, people have started asking me to endorse things.

I keep getting emails asking me to link to their sites in exchange for a test of their product.

What the fuck is this all about?  Have I landed into a sort of alternative spam place?  Some place where instead of trying to add five inches to my todger, I have to try their products for nothing?  Weird.

I had one yesterday wanting me to try out a credit card.  They offered me one for nothing.  I have several problems with this.  The first is that I have a credit card that does everything their one does, so I would only be cluttering my pockets up.  The next and biggest problem is that to try it, presumably I would have to spend money on something.  I would have to go out and buy something I didn’t want just to see if a bit of plastic works.  And how do I tell if I like it?  What is there to like about a credit card?  It works, or it doesn’t.  I’m hardly going to rave about something just because it’s a different colour, and that is the only difference I can see.  No disrespect, but this ain’t the place for you.

I had another one asking me to write about tungsten wedding rings. 

What the fuck would I be doing writing about tungsten wedding rings?  They offered me a ring in exchange for writing about their produce, but I already have a ring.  It belonged to my grandmother and is 22 carat solid gold.  Apart from the sentimentality, it is a rarity these days, and I am very proud to wear it.  It is the only jewellery that I wear, or intend to wear so I doubt I would have much use for a tungsten ring.   No disrespect, but this ain’t the place for you either.

I had yet another request from another crowd asking me to link to their site.  I get quite a few of those and occasionally [please note – very rarely] I will add a link, if I like the site and if it is a blog.  This request though was from some crowd asking me to link to a religious site.  What the fuck?  Don’t these people know I don’t write about religion?  I wouldn’t mind too much but these bastards didn’t even try to offer something in return.  Not even a plenary indulgence.

So here is a little message to all you lot who are looking for endorsement.

READ MY FUCKING SITE.

Does it look like a site that tests products?

Does it look like a site that endorses things?

I am not interested.

Unless of course you want me to test drive a Bugatti Veyron. in return for a present of one?

• Blogging
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Grandad September 18th, 2009

This is a remarkably quiet and peaceful place.

I say remarkably, because there is a main road only a few feet from us.  However, we are about fifty feet above the road on a cliff so we can’t see it all and can hardly hear the traffic.  The road is very smooth and the cars are quiet.

The river flows the other side of the road and we hear more from that than from the traffic.  The ducks can be quite noisy, and when there are canoeists we can hear every word they say.  Sound carries well here, as there is rarely so much as a breeze.

Beyond the river on the other side of the valley, there is a railway.  It is a local branch line and every hour or so a train trundles past as if it were in no hurry to go anywhere.

Occasionally we hear a brief roar from the sky.  There are a lot of hot air balloons around here and they make make quite a noise with their propane burners.  It can be quite disconcerting to be sitting in the garden and to suddenly hear this roar from over your head as another balloon floats past just above the chimneys.

We are enjoying our second thunderstorm at the moment.  You get your money’s worth with a French thunderstorm.  It is quite spectacular watching the lightning zap the local hilltops and then feeling your ribs rattle with the noise.

The thunder isn’t the loudest thing though.

Not by a long chalk.

Oh no.

That distinction goes to the air force.

They don’t do it that often, but every now and then they decide to buzz the valley.

These mothers fly their jets at close to sonic speeds, so you don’t hear ‘em coming.  The first you know is a massive roar that turns your ears to jelly, and that is followed by an horrendous ripping noise as they streak up the valley just above the tree tops. 

Jayzus but they are fucking fast.  And noisy.

It occurred to me that just one of those planes carries more firepower than the Irish defence forces have ever owned in their entire history.

I wonder where I can get one?

• Holidays
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Grandad September 17th, 2009

At last there is some good news from the home front.

First of all, I’m delighted to see that there was a full turnout by Fianna Fail for the debate on NAMA.

But the most exciting news is the Dublin Transport Authority has finally integrated the bus and Luas services.

Judging by the crowds, it seems to be a popular move?

• Rambles
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Grandad September 16th, 2009

For me, it is the little things that define a country.

During my stay here in France, I have been keeping my eyes open, not for the things that holidaymakers generally seek, but for the day to day minutiae that make a country what it is.

There some quite astounding differences when you look beneath the surface.

First and foremost, my overwhelming impression is the feeling that I am being treated like an adult and not some wayward child who has to be watched at every turn.

It’s the little things. For example there is the fact that I can walk into a pharmacy and buy a box of 48 Neurophen.  Not only that, but I can buy any number of boxes of 48 tablets, should I so wish.  In Ireland, they are prohibited from selling more than 24 at a time.  Why?  There can be only one reason – that I am not to be trusted with such an apparently lethal drug?

I read an excellent article in a blog during the week [and my apologies to the author, but I can’t remember where] about the introduction of that bicycle scheme in Dublin.  He quite rightly berated the organisers for demanding a €150 deposit before using the “free” bikes.  He went on to discuss the lack of trust that is prevalent in Ireland.  This is so true.  Here, I can wander into a cafe or bar and order the drink of my choice.  I then sit outside while it is delivered to me.  Is there any mention of money?  Does the barman or cafe owner stand over me like a grizzly bear waiting for payment?  No.  I am trusted to be an upright member of society, and they know I will pay in full before I leave.  Frequently I have wandered into shops and have browsed to my heat’s content with no sign of the shop owner.  He or she is probably across the road having a chat with someone, knowing that I am to be trusted.

Rubbish collection here is remarkably different too.  There is no such thing as ‘bin day’.  Or if there is, I haven’t noticed it.  Household rubbish is collected in the home and then is dumped in communal waste bins.  Again the householder is trusted to sort out the various types of waste into the various bins.  In Ireland, of course each wheelie bin is bar coded and the council keeps a very careful eye out for the disposal habits of the individual. 

I have been here for nearly three weeks now, and I can honestly say that I don’t remember seeing any litter anywhere on any of my travels.  What’s more, I haven’t seen any threatening signs about litter wardens or the massive fines that will be imposed if I transgress.  I am trusted to keep the place clean as a responsible citizen and they don’t need to threaten me.  Come to think of it, apart from the odd ‘no right turn’ or ‘no entry’ sign I have seen very little, if any signs telling me what to do or what not to do.  I am trusted.

I mentioned the fireworks that I found on sale.  They were quite openly displayed as if they were racks of cabbages or newspapers.  There were no signs about age limits or the fact that they were dangerous.  If it weren’t for the small additional ‘no smoking’ sign, I might have taken them to be theatrical props.  Again, the purchaser is trusted to know the consequences and to behave responsibly.

All this begs the simple question – why are the Irish not trusted?

In my book there can be only one answer.  Treat people with trust and respect and they will behave like adults.

Treat people with like they are delinquent children, and they will rebel and act like delinquents.

• Holidays , Rambles
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