Head Rambles

Grandad March 22nd, 2010

I’m in foul form today.

I think it started with the Vindaloo I had last night.

Normally I would have my curry towards the end of the week, but for some reason, last week I didn’t and decided to make up for it last night.  It was delicious!!  Melt in the mouth chunks of lamb, ripping hot sauce, and a pile of mushrooms and other stuff that I robbed off Herself.  I rounded it off with a few glasses of whiskey to cool the tongue.

For as long as I can remember, I have had this peculiar necessity to fart when I get into bed.  It never fails.  As soon as I pull the quilt over myself, I just have to let rip.  Normally, that’s it – I can then go to sleep, but last night was different.  The flatulence was mighty, loud and unending.  Every time I managed to drift off to sleep, there would be another loud explosion that would wake me up again.  I didn’t get much sleep.

I woke early this morning with a fucking headache.  Not only had I headache, but I had a gut-ache as well.  It’s years since my ulcer played up [Doc insists on calling it my ulster, but what would he know about it?] and it was not a welcome return.

I got dressed and made my breakfast of a mug of tea and a fill of the pipe.  Surely the day could only get better?

How wrong I was.

I started getting cold calls.

Did they know I was in foul form, or were they just waiting for Monday?  I had a succession of calls and frankly, I got quite tired of roaring “fuck off” into the phone.  So now, not only was I in pain, but I was in foul mood too.

Then my laptop packed up.  The fucking mouse just stopped working so I threatened it, and I threatened it mightily.  I even scared myself with my threats, but it did the trick, and started to work again.  The mood got worse.

I had ordered groceries to be delivered at two, but the fuckers arrived at twelve, when I wasn’t ready and I half strained my back trying to clear some sacks of coal off the kitchen table to make room for the delivery.  Now there were three major parts of me racked with pain.

I was packing the groceries and came to the final tin of beans.  I went to slide it onto the top shelf, but it wouldn’t slide.  Something small was blocking the way, so I slid my hand up to feel what it was.

It was a mousetrap.

If my fingers were a mouse, they would be dead now.  As it is, I hardly notice the throbbing as it just adds to the general pain.

So my day is now a misery.

My advice to you all is very simple.

Never, ever eat a Vindaloo on a Sunday. 

• Around the house
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Grandad March 21st, 2010

It’s two for the price of one, this time around.

I don’t know what it is about these two, but I am completely pissed off with the sight of them.  They seem to crop up everywhere, and in all the kinds of television programmes that I despise.  The X-Factor!  Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, or whateverthefuck it’s called!  I think they even had their own Saturday night programme?

In particular it’s the one on the left.  Ant?  Dec?  Who gives a fuck?  I just want to give him the sledgehammer treatment.

Who the fuck are they?  Are they the failed remnants of some long failed pop group?  Are they someone’s sons?  Are they related/lovers?  Are they failed actors?  Their entire talent seems to be based on their ‘cheeky, chirpy chappies’ reputation.  I fucking hate ‘cheeky chirpy chappies’

Then they started cropping up in those advertisements for the Wii, which damned near put me off buying one myself.  The whole basis of the advertisement nicely demonstrated what I hate about the pair – a family sitting at home when the two lads walk into the room.  Immediately everyone cheers up and has a great laugh with the two lads making witty comments [at least I assume they did – I always had the sound muted].

Some may love them as ‘lovable rogues’.

I see them as a pain in the hole.

Hobnails, here I come…..

The Faces collection.

• Faces
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Grandad March 20th, 2010

So this is a ‘very historic day for Ireland’, is it?

Well fuck me.

This is a day that will be taught about in history lessons to future generations?  This is a day that we will fondly reminisce over in future years?

To those of you abroad who are missing out on this momentous occasion, I feel sorry for you, for we in Ireland are the chosen ones.  You must be devastated.

You see, we have been sent a letter by an 82 year old member of the Hitler Youth!  Wow!  We are truly honoured.

Old Joe Ratzinger himself has written to apologise for the mayhem and chaos that his followers have caused in the past.  Apparently though it isn’t all their fault.  No.  We are to blame.

The cause of all the child abuse, rape, and general carnage was caused by our secularisation.  I can understand where he is coming from here.  If we had stuck with the good old days and if we still treated the clergy with the deference and adoration that they deserved, then none of this would have come to light.  We would still be stepping off the pavement into the gutter to let a priest pass and we would never have dreamt of questioning their little hobbies that involved our sons and daughters, brothers and sisters.  It never would have occurred to us to demand the resignation of the bishops and cardinals who ran one of the most efficient and organised paedophile rings that the world has ever seen.

I really feel honoured that he has written.  As an outsider to his flock, I do feel a little left out, as the letter is not being read to me personally.  That honour is strictly reserved for those few who, despite everything, still believe in Catholic Church Incorporated.

I am delighted to hear that Joe is sending over his minions to visit us all and to apologise in person.

I have it on good authority that they will be bringing with them many thousands of mirrors, because staring at our reflections seems to be the only way out of this mess.

Yes. 

It truly is a very historic day for Ireland.

• Religion?
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Grandad March 19th, 2010

Einstein proposed the theory that time is relative.

According to his theory, time varies according to speed, and the closer you get to the speed of light, the slower time passes.

I would like to add a little codicil to his theory, and state that the older you get, the faster time passes.

I remember the hazy lazy days of my youth, where a day would seem endless.  This was great, because by the time summer holidays came to an end, I had forgotten what school was like, as it was so long since I had been there.  The other side of the coin was that school terms lasted for fucking years, or so it seemed.

Now that I have racked up a few years under my belt, things are different.

Days are flying past.  It’s not exactly as though my days are packed with hectic activity which always seems to make time pass a little quicker.  On the contrary, I life a slow life – a nice lie in, followed by a mooch around the Manor. Maybe I’ll wander off for a bit of hunting, of maybe I just won’t. You would imagine that I would be bored with nothing to fill my days, but the problem is that I don’t have the days to fill.  The fucking things are flying past like carriages behind an express train.

It’s always Saturday in this place.  At least, that’s the way it seems. It is always either Saturday, or it’s just been Saturday, or it’s just about to be Saturday.  Saturdays are fucking haunting me.  I wouldn’t mind, but it’s not particularly my favourite day of the week.

I could have sworn that yesterday was Saturday, but in fact it’s tomorrow.  It’s back again.  Where the hell are Monday, Tuesday and the others gone?

The months are playing tricks on me too.  I could have sworn that this was the beginning of February, but apparently we are over half way through March.  I noticed today that the Christmas decorations are still up in the village.  That’s fine by my mind, because Christmas was last month.  But in actual fact it was three months ago.  Where in the name of all that’s holy did those three months go?

Maybe this is the answer to what happens to us after we die?  Maybe time just passes at an infinite speed?  I don’t know exactly what the effect of infinitely fast time would be?  One instant it’s now and then it’s a million years in the future?  Who knows?

But I bet it involves getting stuck in a Saturday somehow?

• Getting old
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Grandad March 18th, 2010

What the fuck is wrong with Google Earth?

You can go to the middle of the Sahara Desert and get incredibly detailed photographs of what?  Fucking sand.  That’s what.  Who wants incredibly detailed photographs of sand, except maybe a crab?  And I doubt they use Google Earth much.

Some years ago, when they brought in those damned Nanny Laws about smoking here, we started taking our holidays in Norn Iron.  They were civilised up there, and allowed smoking in the pubs, and the Guinness was cheaper.  We stayed in a lovely quiet little spot in a small village within crawling distance of two pubs.  It was lovely.

As I said, it’s a very small village, but guess what?  They not only have detailed photographs, but they have the whole fucking area covered with their Street View.  I even found the house we used to stay in.  It looks small, but it was lovely and cosy, with a big log fire, and Sandy was welcome too.

Move south of the border to Real Ireland, and what do you get?  Sweet fuck all.

Google Earth seem to have stuck us at the bottom of the list.  They do have a few areas covered all right.  My own gaff is well photographed, but what the fuck use is that?  I know what my place looks like, and they had a fucking liberty photographing it anyway without asking permission.  I didn’t even get a chance to mow my lawns first.

Suppose I want to look at Ireland’s most popular hunting tourist spot though?  This is what I get when I try to look at Killarney.

I need Google Earth.  I need to plan my hunting trips holidays.  I need detail, and all I get is a fucking smudge.

Surely Ireland isn’t that hard to find?  For fuck’s sake we are a fairly large island just to the west of the Isle of Man.  We are even big enough to have our own postage stamps.

Come on, Google Earth.

What the fuck is keeping you?

• Holidays , Photography , Rambles
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