Head Rambles

Grandad September 15th, 2009

Day after day, I browse the headlines from Ireland in the hope that I will find something to cheer me up.

Day after day, it’s the same old shite.  Murders, NAMA, debt, Lisbon and politicians giving reasons why they shouldn’t explain why they are allowed to milk the system.

It is so fucking depressing.

I want to wake up one morning and tune in to see something really cheerful.

“Gardai are not treating the assassination of Bertie Ahern as suspicious”

“U2’s offshore accounts to be repatriated to solve financial crisis”

“Collapse of Lisbon support cited as reason for Fianna Fail mass suicides”

“Smoking ban rescinded as passive smoking is found to be harmless”

“John O’Donoghue’s application for bed in Simon Community refused”

“Grandad to be granted ministerial pension in recognition for services rendered to the state”

There are plenty more that would cheer me up, but I will leave that to you.

I live in hope.

• Rambles
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Grandad September 14th, 2009

We went for a drive the other day and ended up in a place called Souillac.

It’s quite a large town and a nice place to wander.

In the course of my wanderings, I came across a wee shop on the main street.

There was nothing very remarkable about the shop.  I don’t know why I went in.  There was nothing in particular about the place, apart from a strange urge to enter.

Inside the shop they were selling all sorts of weird stuff.  There were clothes, and boots.  There were paper flowers and toys.  There were paper weights and plates.  It was a strange sort of mixed up shop.

Then I went through a door into the back room.

Sweet holy divine FUCK!

Everywhere I looked there were fireworks.

I’m not talking about those little squibs they try and flog you down Moore Street.

I’m not talking about those irritating little bangers that the skobies throw around at Halloween.

I am talking about the biggest light-the-blue-touch-paper-and-kiss-your-fucking-arse-goodbye type fireworks that I have ever seen.

There were rockets five foot tall.  There were bombs about five inches in diameter.  And they were stacked by the crate load all around me.

I swear those yokes had been tested on some unfortunate atoll in the South Pacific

Everywhere I looked there were shelves stacked high with them.  They were leaning against the walls.  They were cluttering up the floor.

One fucking match and Souillac is erased from the map.  For good.

For the first time ever, I was happy to see a small sign that said “No Smoking”.

I’ll say one thing for France.

They treat responsible adults like responsible adults.

No fucking Nanny State here.

• The Nanny State
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Grandad September 13th, 2009

Yesterday I had a glance through the headlines from Ireland.

It was much the same cheerful stuff that’s there every day – murders, bank raids, gloom, doom and more fucking gloom.

In fact, one glance at the Irish headlines any day of the year is more than sufficient excuse to slit the wrists and be done with it.

There was the usual shite about Lisbon, but being the open minded chap that I am, I read what a few of our so called leaders had to say about it.

“Minister for Finance Brian Lenihan claimed that a No vote would shatter international confidence in Ireland’s ability to work through the current economic crisis.”

What?

I am confused.

What the fuck has the treaty to do with confidence?

As far as I can see, international confidence has already been shattered, not only by the way the government plunged us into a crisis in the first place, but by their utter incompetence to get us out of it again.

“Mr Lenihan claimed this would lead to a shortage of funding for our banks, increased costs of borrowing and less money for State services.”

So somewhere buried deep in the treaty, where I certainly can’t find it is a clause saying that should Ireland pass the treaty, that everyone will shout ‘hooray’ and start pouring money into Ireland?  I have searched, and I have searched hard, but I can find no mention in the treaty about confidence, or for that matter anything about digging anyone out of a hole.

“The Minister denied he was pursuing the politics of fear”

Mwaahahahahahahaha!  Jayzus, Lenihan, but I have to hand it to you.  You’ve a great sense of humour.

“He said it was a matter of goodwill and Ireland needs plenty of goodwill.”

Ah.  So now we are getting to the point.

But are we?

Again, I have searched right through the treaty, and I can find no mention whatsoever of goodwill.  That is aside from the fact that it isn’t goodwill we need.  What we really need is a government with more sense than an amoeba and a series of court cases where most of the government, and their builder and banker pals will end up behind bars.

There is a lot of talk about this ‘goodwill’.  There is a lot of talk about ‘sending the right message’.

Can someone please explain this to me??

I always thought we were supposed to be voting on a treaty – a series of rules, laws and regulations.

Or have we become so insecure that we have to suck up to the big boys?  Do we have to curry favour in the hope that they will be nice to us?  Is it really a case of ‘be nice to us and do as we fucking say, or we will be nasty to you’? 

Have we sunk so low that we are reduced to giving Brussels a blow job, just in case they hit us if we don’t?

• Politics
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Grandad September 12th, 2009

There is a wee place in the nearby town that we have taken to visiting on a regular basis.

It is a small building that for some reason reminds me of a signal box.  Inside, it is a tiny bar, a tobacco shop and like nearly all French bars it serves lovely coffee.

Outside, there is a little terraced area with sunshades over the tables and it is a fine place to relax in the shade after a hot day in the sun.

It’s not a tourist trap.  It’s off the beaten track, so the only people you will find there are locals.  And us.

We were sitting there last night enjoying a grand coffee and got talking about the things we miss about home.

“Sandy” I said immediately.

“Apart from Sandy” says Herself.

I thought long.  I thought hard.

“Sweet fuck all” says I.

The damage had been done though as I started to miss Sandy again.

We had originally intended bringing her.  One of the reasons we chose this place is that it’s pet friendly and has a fenced boundary.  But in the end we decided it wouldn’t be fair on her.

In retrospect, it was the right decision.  We have spent a lot of time in the car, where it is extremely hot, and a lot of time wandering around towns and villages where it is also hot.  Even when we are back at the house it is fucking hot, so a long haired dog would not be comfortable.

I miss her though.

I miss ruffling my fingers through her mane.  I miss her tail-wag.

To reduce the pain, I adopted Eddie Lizard.

Eddie doesn’t have a fur coat to ruffle.

Eddie is painfully shy and doesn’t bark with joy when I come home.

Eddie doesn’t rest his chin on my lap and stare lovingly at me.

All in all, he is really fuck all use as a pet.

I suppose he’ll have to do though.

*sigh*

• Holidays
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Grandad September 11th, 2009

Sarlat is an amazing town.

The entire place has been preserved as a medieval town, yet far from being a museum piece, it is a thriving place, bustling with activity from early morning through to very late at night.

It is a nightmare of a place for anyone with a camera, for the simple reason that you don’t know where to turn next.  In Sarlat, the camera rules supreme.

They also make bloody good coffee.

There is one feature of Sarlat though that has always intrigued me.

Those doors.

To be honest, a camera doesn’t do them justice.  They are the biggest fuck-off steel doors I have ever seen.

Apparently, they are over fifty feet tall and each one weighs over 8 tons.  Sixteen fucking tons of door.

They remind me of that monolith in “2001 – A Space Odyssey” – you look at them but you don’t see anything, because they are vast sheets of grey, with no features to focus on.

I have seen them when they are open and I have seen them when they are closed, but I have never seen them being opened or closed.  They don’t have handles or keyholes, but then I suppose you would need a forklift to carry the key?

I’ll say one thing for them though.

I would love to see a Jehova’s Witness try to get past them.

• Holidays
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