Archive for April, 2011

That wedding

April 29th, 2011

I am sick and tired of hearing about that fucking wedding.

Herself has been wittering on about it all week, and I am being driven demented.

I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but she just accused me of being unromantic.

She rabbited on about them being a lovely couple and that they were madly in love and that I should be happy for them on the biggest day of their lives.

I pointed out that they were only getting married because she was up the stick and her father happened to be the proud owner of a large shotgun, and was known to be a complete lunatic.

I told her all about the groom – that he was a waste of oxygen and had never done a day’s work in his life and that the only time he ever used his brain was to calculate how to sponge more allowances off the state.

I told her all about the bride – how she was known throughout the land as ‘the bike’ and how she had had more rides than a professional jockey.

In the end we agreed on a compromise.

She agreed not to mention the wedding again, and said we needn’t go.

In return, I moved the portable television down to her shed, so she could watch the other wedding.

The royal one.

Fly with cunnilingus

April 27th, 2011

There is an old joke about the bloke who thought cunnilingus was an Irish airline until he discovered Smirnoff.

Our Sandy has discovered cunnilingus.

She has always been a very clean dog.  She also is extremely shy about her bodily functions. She won’t have a dump within view of the house, and is always extremely embarrassed when she has to have a pee while on the lead.

Until now.

She started a couple of months ago.  I was sitting about to tuck into my dinner.  Sandy was lying on the couch minding her own business, when suddenly the hind leg went up in the air and her head disappeared down her nether regions.  This in itself wasn’t too bad, but she then proceeded to make the most revolting sloshing noises.  That was the end of my appetite.

I have watched her since.  She can lie in the garden in the sunshine all day and the only thing that will catch her interest is the odd bird on the lawn, or a stray cat.  As evening draws in, she will come indoors and either gaze out the window or have a sleep. 

But as soon as I am about to have dinner she starts.

The leg goes up and the long loud protracted sloshing noises start.  And if that isn’t bad enough, she then gives a loud swallow.  I can tell you, my stomach doesn’t half turn.  I haven’t been able to eat a full dinner since she started.

Some of you may claim that it’s just jealousy on my part.  I can scotch that rumour straight away.  The thought of plunging my head down into that furry region fills me with the horrors.

I’ll tell you one thing though…..

Face licking is now verboten.

Plain sailing my arse

April 26th, 2011

Last January I mentioned that we had decided on a French holiday again this year.

The holiday is all arranged, with documents signed and deposits paid.  Sandy has her passport and we are all ready to go……..

Except that I forgot to book the ferry.

On Saturday, I sat down and called up the Irish Ferries web site to book the tickets.  I have had a few issues with Irish Ferries but the alternatives either involve driving to Cork or taking a long-cut across Wales and England.  So Irish Ferries it had to be.

The first thing that slaps you in the face as you enter their site is the trip booking section. Fair enough.  So far so good.  I carefully calculated the dates that I wanted to sail and carefully selected the outward journey on the correct day to Roscoff and the return journey from Cherbourg. 

It then insisted that I book cabins.

No problem there.  I booked a cabin for the outward and return journeys.

It then wanted to know all about Sandy.  I told it all about Sandy.

It then wanted to know all about me.  I told it everything except my religion.

It then wanted to know all about Herself.  This was getting tedious.

It then wanted to know all about the car.  Fucking hell!  I was rapidly running out of Prozac at this stage.

Finally it got to the payment section.  At fucking last.  It then asked if I had travelled with them before, and could I please enter my password.  It is two years since I last used the site, so of course I had forgotten my password.  I tried a few on the off chance but none of them worked.  Bollox!  I clicked the link to be sent a new one.

I waited for the email.  No joy.  Time passed and I got bored.  I tried a few more passwords.  Still no go.

Finally, about twenty minutes after I had requested it, the mail arrived with the Unlock Code, as they called it.  I went back to the site and entered the code.  It told me to fuck off.  It told me that the code had expired as I should have entered it within ten minutes of requesting it.  Now that would have been fucking difficult as the bastards hadn’t sent it to me by then.

I took a handful of Prozac and requested a new code.

This time, they were a tad quicker offt he mark and sent me another Unlock Code within five minutes.  I beetled back and lashed in the code.  That worked, and I set a new password.  Great stuff!!  Now I am getting somewhere.

Now that I was logged in, I went to the booking form to complete my payment, to find that the fucking thing was blank!!  I had to go back and select my sailings and book my cabins, and then had to tell it all about myself, Herself and Sandy all over again.  It finally presented me with a page with all the details on it and it asked me to check them carefully.  I did.  I read through the page very carefully as I didn’t want to book a wrong day or a wrong car or a wrong something else.

All was OK, so I clicked on the payment button.  It told me that the page had timed out for security reasons [?!].  I had to go back and start the whole fucking procedure again from scratch.  FUCK!  Another handful of Prozac.

This time I went at it like a greyhound out of the traps.  I lashed in all the information as quickly as I could and when it came to the confirmation page, I whipped past it and into the payment area.  I paid and it finally sent me a confirmation thing to print off.

I have no idea what I have booked.  I trust I am going to France.  Or maybe I have booked us a trip to Wales?  I have no idea who is going and in what car with which dog.  I put in the information too quickly and didn’t have time to cross check it.

So we are sailing on the Third.  I’m not sure what month, but we are definitely booked in.

I wonder where we are going?

A green and black future

April 25th, 2011

Head Rambles Manor.  Date: 25th April 2031

You are lucky that I am able to write this as I have had no power for the last week or so.

We have been having quite a spell of reasonable weather.  We have had a few sunny days and it has been dead calm with the odd light breeze.  As a result of this, we are having one of our regular blackouts, as the wind-farms haven’t been able to generate more than a couple of megawatts.

I am reasonably warm, as the new house has been built of hay-bales which are quite good as insulation.  The neighbours didn’t fair so well last week however when their hay-house burned to the ground.  I managed to charge a few batteries during the sunny days, but they discharged again after I boiled a couple of kettles.

The one thing that is bothering me is that I am fucking starving.  There isn’t any food to be had anywhere.  I blame the Local Produce Law which they enacted a couple of years ago that states that all food shops are forbidden to sell anything that is produced more than five miles from the shop.  That’s all very well, but all the farms around here are growing nothing but rape seed and rushes for use as fuel, so the only way to obtain food is on the black market.  I could travel a bit further afield to do my shopping but the battery in the car is flat yet again.  The fucking thing only seems to last about twenty miles before it needs a recharge, and then of course there is no electricity to recharge it.

I have taken to buying those old car batteries.  It is illegal of course because there is nowhere to dispose them when they run flat.  I have a mountain of the damned things filling the garden at the moment, and am thinking of building an extension out of them, just to clear some space.

There is a rumour doing the rounds that we are to have some windy days over the coming week or two.  That would normally cheer me a bit as at least I could boil a kettle to have a cuppa, but now there is that new law that states that domestic users can only use electricity when there is none, because if there is power, then it all has to be given to industry and the like.  In the last four months, the factories have been up and running for about twenty days.  No wonder the shelves are bare.

The great irony is that the directorate in the United States of Europe have been introducing all these draconian measures for the last few years to save the planet and so far it hasn’t made the blind bit of difference to World Climate or anything else for that matter.  All they have done is to make life miserable.  Because of their complete lack of success they are talking about  introducing new laws next month that will make euthanasia compulsory for the over forties as they now reckon that it is our exhaled breath that is causing this mythical Global Warming.

I would light up and relax with a nice pipe-full of baccy but the only place left where we can smoke is in a designated one acre field to the west of Dingle.

How I wish I was back in 2011……

Goatus interruptus

April 23rd, 2011

I had myself a bit of a lie in this morning.

Actually, I have a bit of a lie in most mornings.

Oh all right then, I have a bit of a lie in every morning simply because I can.

Anyway, that is all beside the point.

I was fast asleep and dreaming beautiful dreams when I was woken by the door bell.  Who the hell would be ringing my doorbell of a Saturday morning?  I had brief hopes that maybe it was a private detective who had tracked me down to tell me that some distant cousin had died and left me a couple of billion.  Or maybe a neighbour had run out of sugar and wanted a cupful. Leastwise I threw on my dressing gown and opened the front door.

The first thing I saw was a bible.  Seconds later, I realised that there was a man there too, holding the said bible and he had a young boy with him. The man started waffling off some spiel or other about Easter and glad tidings or some shite like that.  I didn’t listen.  I was already too busy working out how to get rid of them.

My first thought was to give out to them, telling them that they had interrupted my prayers to the Lord Lucifer and that because of their interruption, they had spoiled the goat sacrifice.

Then I pondered the notion of hiving them one of my biblical quotes – “get thee from my dominion lest I smite thee with great fires from the heavens” or some shit like that.

However, I was still half asleep so I didn’t bother with either of those.  The bloke was still rabbiting on about his Great Message.  He had that bland look on his face that you see only on the simple minded and God Botherers.  He was bothering me.  So I just told the pair of them to fuck off, and then I set the dog on them.

Have these people nothing better to do of a Saturday afternoon?

Next »