Grandad January 20th, 2011
I never watch television before six in the evening.
Today had to be an exception, as it is a rare event to watch a government implode before our eyes.
For those of you who don’t follow Irish politics, a whole clatter of ministers have resigned for various reasons ranging from ill health to being too old. The real reason though is that they all know that they are going to be annihilated in the upcoming election.
One piece of great news is that Mary Mad Cow Harney is gone. Even better – she won’t even be a candidate in the next election. To counter that, we have the disastrous news that her portfolio has been handed to Mary the Bimbo Coughlan.
All the vacant portfolios have been handed on to existing ministers, which begs the question as to why we need so many ministers if each one can handle at least two portfolios? To avoid confusion, all ministers will henceforth be referred to as Minister for Lots of Things.
Another great piece of news is that the election date has been announced. It is to be on the 11th March next, so we only have fifty more days left of the worst government in Irish history.
The only question I have now is whether Fianna Fail are going to have the sheer neck to stick Biffo’s slobbering face on their election posters.
I am looking forward to the election, this time around.
I like the sight of blood.
Grandad January 19th, 2011
Do you ever have one of those days?
I suppose when I think about it, there are several flavours of ‘one of those days’, but the type of ‘one of those days’ I am having at the moment is a nice one.
I was all fired up to write about one of several topics today, but then the ‘one of those days’ struck and I just sat and enjoyed the peace.
Yes. It’s one of those days when I just feel like doing sweet fuck all. It’s a Fuckit Day
I had intended to clean out the back room today – Fuckit, I don’t feel like it.
I was going to go to the village – Fuckit but I couldn’t be bothered.
I’m having a nice, a quiet restful day. Just me and Sandy. We are just sitting here admiring the clear blue sky, the frost on the ground and Herself who is trying to clear some weeds. The only occasional disturbance is when that fucking moggy from next-door-but-one wanders into the Manor and Sandy gets a little worked up.
In case any of you are wondering about my attitude to last night’s vote – I’m delighted. Yup. Biffo is leading the party into the next election. They haven’t a fucking chance in hell with his cheerful mug on the posters.
Our Devine Leader.
It’s going to be Biffo’s Last Stand.
I hope he is slaughtered.
Grandad January 18th, 2011
I was talking to Herself the other night.
That in itself isn’t that unusual, as we tend to talk when she is sober enough.
“You used that word again” she said with a scowl that scared the dog.
“What word” said I in my most innocent way.
“I have been reading that thing you write and you used the C-word. You know I hate it.”
“What C-word?” I replied with an air of alter-boy innocence. “Cucumber? Copernicus? Crumbatiousness? For God’s sake, give me a clue!”
“You know the word I mean. You used it when writing about Cowen”
“You mean, Cowen is the word?”
“No. What you called him. You could have called him something else.”
“Like what?”
“A fucking ignorant loutish liar who hasn’t a fucking clue how to run a game of golf, let alone a country. And that’s just for starters.”
“You don’t think much of him then?”
“No. He’s a fucking cunt.”
I sighed and went back to reading my book.
Grandad January 17th, 2011
Winter is losing its grip.
I have noticed already that the days are getting longer. Or maybe the nights are getting shorter? I’m not sure which and I hope the distinction isn’t important.
The day to day change isn’t noticeable. It’s a bit like that spot of rust on the car – it never seems to change until one day you realise that the door has fallen off. The changing time is a bit like that. You don’t suddenly wake up to full sunlight where the previous day it was dark. Oh no. It’s too sneaky for that. It’s only when you realise that you are switching the lights on at five instead of half four that you realise that things are changing.
There are a few little milestones that we haven’t reached just yet. The snowdrops are up but aren’t exactly a solid bed of little white flowers yet. The frogs won’t have their massive orgy in the pond for another four weeks or so, but we are getting there. Slowly but surely winter has had its day.
Of course winter can be fucking sneaky, and it wouldn’t surprise me if we didn’t have another significant fall of Global Warming in the next few weeks, but it will be a last gasp attempt by winter to deny the inevitable.
The birds have changed their tune too. For the last couple of months there hasn’t been much in the way of birdsong, but that has changed. Quite a few of them are getting randy already and are shouting their heads off from the treetops. It will soon be time to comb Sandy and wodge the combings into the bushes for the nest-builders to fight over.
I think I’ll leave the sunbeds in the shed for another few weeks though.
Grandad January 16th, 2011
So the Spluttering Cunt is going to announce his future, is he?
He has spent the last few days deciding what is best for Brian Cowen the country and his party. I can tell him what is best, but it would be too violent for live television.
This drunken, dribbling idiot has destroyed the country both when he was Minister for Finance and as leader. If he does step down, then there will have to be a new leader. The possibilities don’t inspire much confidence. The front runners are Martin, who is the bollix who brought in that fucking smoking ban, and Hannafin who is a right cold calculating bitch. The only barely tolerable replacement would be Lenihan, but his health is bad and it’s unlikely he would stand.
I’m not going to hang around for the big announcement which is due in the next half hour. Frankly I couldn’t give a flying fuck what he does. Any choice of outcome is irrelevant, unless he decides to disband the whole fucking Fianna Fail Party.
The horse has long bolted so it doesn’t matter what they do with the stable door.
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