Archive for July, 2010

Time and tide wait for no man

July 9th, 2010

Many many years ago I bought myself a digital watch.

It was a cheap one, but I bought it because it still had hands on it, but it told the date and month in a little window.

The reason I liked this was because I always had difficulty remembering the precise day of the month, and that is important when writing cheques or remembering court appearances.

Even though it was a cheap watch, it kept remarkable time, and was accurate to a few seconds a month.  Now, everyone knows that time is exceptionally important when programming ICBMs so this was a big plus in favour of the watch.  Eventually, it broke down, and I replaced it with an identical model, which turned out to be just as reliable.  In fact, I’m on my third one now and it is as accurate as the previous two.

Initially, I used to use it to get the day of the month.  However, as the sands of time trickled down, I found myself using the month of the year feature more and more.  I now regularly check my watch to see what day of the week it is, and occasionally check the month too.

Yesterday, I had to write a cheque.  Do you think I could remember what year it was?  Not a fucking chance, and the watch doesn’t stretch that far.  I had to do some fairly careful mathematics.  I know what age I am and had to work back from there.  I eventually calculated the year and wrote the cheque.

Is anyone planning anything fancy for the turn of the millennium next December?

A really caring government

July 8th, 2010

I think I have seen it all now.

While our Glorious Government are spending billions on fripperies like an underground railway in Dublin, cutbacks are hitting the most vulnerable in society – the disabled.

Now I happen to know a little bit about caring for the disabled, as our Laughingboy is not exactly able to care for himself, and it therefore falls to his mother.  I know for a fact that this is not an easy job, as it requires 24 hour attendance, a shed load of medication and a lifetime of dedication.  Frankly, she needs all the help she can get.

Our Glorious Government however have decided that carers don’t have many votes and are therefore bottom of the pile when it comes to handing out the few resources we have left.  TD’s pay and allowances and the banks are much more important than the disabled so they are doing their damndest to cut back on funding.

The latest wonderful piece of logic comes from the HSE, who, in their infinite wisdom have decided that nappies are expensive and are therefore trying to cut back on them.  Some bright spark has come up with the idea that if the person you are caring for needs extra nappies, you have to prove that they are needed.  How do you do this?  By bringing the used ones in to be weighed, of course.

Enda Egan of the Carers’ Association is not easily shocked, but he was appalled recently by the indignity inflicted on some of his members, in the name of saving the HSE a few euro.

Egan was horrified to learn that some carers who dared to ask for extra incontinence wear to make their loved ones more comfortable, were asked to bring in used “nappies” to be weighed.

A small number of so-called “incontinence managers” put carers through this trauma in a crude attempt to measure the amount of fluid passed, in order to calculate if they really did need more than the permitted quota of pads, he says.

I’m not quite sure how this works though.  If the nappy is underweight, are you supposed to bring it back home and put it back on your child or aged parent until they have filled it a bit more?  Is there a minimum quantity of piss or poo before a nappy qualifies for renewal?

Finally, our Lords and Masters have reached the lowest of the low.  We are scraping the bottom of the barrel. 

What am I going to do about it?

I’m going to collect all Laughingboy’s pads and force feed them to that Minister for Obesity of ours.

Fucking bitch!

The smoking rebellion

July 7th, 2010

Some time ago, I had cause to freeze my bollox off outside a pub.

It was midwinter and I was in a different village so, like it or not I had to join the throng on the pavement outside for a smoke.

As is nearly always the case, the atmosphere outside was a lot more convivial than the one inside.  The pub reeked of stale piss, stale beer and sweat and the non-smokers were as usual staring glumly into their pints.  Most of those non-smokers seem to be miserable bastards.  Outside however, there was a lot of laughter and banter interspersed with shivering and the chattering of teeth.

I was chatting up a Yang Wan who tried to bum a fag off me.  I told her I didn’t smoke cigarettes, so she blagged one of someone else.  ‘Hey, Debbie!  I didn’t know you smoked?’ someone shouted.  ‘I don’t’ she replied, ‘but it’s a lot more craic out here’.

At the time I though she was joking, but since then I have heard of many tales of people starting to smoke, simply because they felt left out.  Usually it’s women, who feel a bit miffed when the fella nips out for a fag and doesn’t reappear for half an hour.  She decides to see what the attraction is, and the next thing you know, she’s puffing away with the rest of them.

I thought these were merely anecdotes, but I read an article in the Sunday Times where apparently this is the new phenomenon.  People [mostly women] are taking up smoking for the first time simply because of the ban.  The article quoted one woman – ‘A lot of the appeal is the fact it’s a form of rebellion and therefore there’s a perception that it’s cool’  Another woman [who apparently is known as a fitness fanatic] admitted ‘I only started after the smoking ban because I got fed up being left behind when everyone else went outside’.

I would love to know what the Antis make of this little result of their efforts.  I suppose they are all sitting in their smug, odourless, humourless rooms feeding themselves on statistics that they have just plucked from nowhere, and celebrating because they have statistical proof that ingrown toenails are down 80% since the smoking ban was introduced.

There is something that they all overlook.

Make something compulsory and everyone will hate it.

Ban something and it immediately becomes attractive.

The Antis should should have made smoking compulsory for everyone.

In the doghouse

July 6th, 2010

There is supposed to be a recession on in this Godforsaken country.

On one side you have shops, factories and businesses closing.  You have daily reports on the news about more doom and gloom and banks being given billions more as a thanks for screwing us.

On the other side you have the government telling us that the worst is over and we are on the way to recovery.

Personally, I tend to take the government’s word with a super-tanker load of salt.

During a recession, you would imagine people would be happy to cut a deal.  You would think they would be happy to make a few extra bob.  You would think that the money grubbing days of the Celtic Tiger are well and truly gone.

Apparently not.

During our first week there, we started scouting around for somewhere to stay for the second week.  Everyone we spoke to said the same thing – ‘Ah Jayzus! Business is terrible.  There are no visitors around at all.  People are desperate to let their houses.  You’ll have no problem finding a place.’

Apparently not.

We phoned a shed load of people about renting their properties.  I expected a little hassle over the smoking business, but that wasn’t the problem.  The problem was Sandy.

What the fuck is wrong with people?  It’s not like I was being a skinflint – I was prepared to go as high as €50 a week to rent their fucking houses but they all said the same thing – no dogs.  What the fuck is that all about?  It’s not like Sandy isn’t house trained.  She chooses one spot in the sitting room and will only pee and poo in that one spot, so it’s not like she fouls up the whole house. 

I just wish I could say the same for Herself.

Trying to stay legitimate

July 5th, 2010

It’s that time of the decade again.

Time to renew my driving licence.

Normally I don’t bother with such trivia as licences, but in my young and naive days, I applied for one and they made a mistake – they granted me all classes even though I never did a test for driving a Public Service Vehicle, or and Articulated Lorry [and trailer] weighing over 100 tonnes [or a tank for that matter].  Ever since then I have religiously renewed, and ticked all the boxes, and ever since, they have been granting me full rights.

I browsed through the application form and I found a sneaky little trick on their part.  Apparently I can buy a one year licence, which is fine.  Or I can buy a three year licence, which is grand.  Or I can buy a ten year licence which is excellent.  However, there is a fourth category – a licence up to the age 70, which I have to apply for apparently.  Fuck that but I’m getting old!

I filled out the form and told them I was applying for the last category, and then went to see how much it will cost me.  Apparently, it costs €25.  Now, a ten year licence costs €25, but I won’t be getting a full ten years out of it.  I am only getting nine and a half years but the fucking bastards are still charging me for the full ten.  The miserable, cheating, money grabbing cocksuckers! 

I wrote out a cheque for €23.75 which I reckon is a lot fairer.  Actually I am letting them off lightly, as a one year licence costs €5, so I should be deducting €2.50.

So this is my last ten year licence, huh?

In ten years time, I will be considered decrepit and senile, and can’t apply for anything more than a three year one, and even then I have to grovel to Doc for a letter of fitness.  The bastard will love that!  He will probably insist on a rectal examination before providing the letter, if I know him.

On the up side, as far as I can make out I get a free licence from seventy onwards.

It will be small compensation for the pain in the arse I will have to suffer to get it.

« Prev - Next »