Archive for October, 2011

The Lost Weekend

October 16th, 2011

It has been one of those weekends.

It all started innocently enough when myself and a few of the neighbours went down the pub for a few scoops of a Friday night.  You know yourself how it is when the craic is mighty and the drinks are flowing?  The idea of going home didn’t occur to us.

I don’t know what time I got home but I made it in one piece, even if I stall can’t remember where I left my trousers.

Yesterday didn’t happen.

Even today, things are a little flaky but at least I can see only one of everything.  Of course my Puter insists on choosing today to act up and even the broadband has decided to slow to a crawl.  It hasn’t done that before so I reckon it must be slowing down in sympathy with me.

What saddens me is that it looks like age is catching up with me.  Gone are the days when I could drink solidly through Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights and still be up with the lark of a Monday.  Gone are the days when I could safely sink many pints and still have a clear head in the morning.  I can’t have had more than eight or nine pints on Friday but they had an effect on me that I have never previously experienced.   The one drop of consolation is that one of the neighbours just dropped in looking for some Aspirin and he is a good deal younger than me.  Young people these days just don’t have the stamina.

The one big problem is that I missed out on all that happened in the world yesterday.  None of the neighbours knows either.

There’s only one thing for it.

I’ll have to nip down to the pub tonight to catch up on all the news.

Now if only I could remember what happened to my trousers?

Citzalia revisited

October 14th, 2011

Someone came sniffing around this site the other day looking for Citzalia.

I had forgotten about Citzalia.

What is it, you may well ask?  Hah!

Citzalia is a game that has been developed by our friends, lords and masters in Brussels for us to play.  Isn’t that exciting?  It only cost a bit over a quarter of a million, which is chicken-feed to the EU.  After all, that probably only represents the travel allowance of a single MEP?

The idea of the game is quite simple.  It is a virtual reality thing representing the goings on in Brussels.  You can wander around and attend meetings.  You can debate issues and put forward proposals.  There is only one problem with it – it is so far removed from reality as to not even qualify for the name ‘virtual’.  Are they seriously suggesting that any old Joe Soap can wander in off the strasse and put a proposal to an MEP?  This is the organisation that wants a million signatures before they will even consider a proposal?  Fuck that!

Nah!  I think they should revisit this project and play by more realistic rules.

First of all, you are bombarded with promises.  Join Citzalia and your worries are over.  You will make lots of friends and you will all live as one big happy family.

You decide to join, but you are told that you have to provide your banking details.  You fill in the form and immediately lose all the content of your savings account.  Undeterred, because you have been promised endless riches you carry on with the registration.

OK. You are now a member.  You decide to explore to see what’s going on.

You enter the Parliament building as you have been told that is where the action is.

You are promptly thrown out by security.

Outside the building you are promptly arrested, as standing in the street is against the rules of Citzalia.

Having spent a time in prison you are released only to be arrested again, as freedom is against the rules of Citzalia.

You decide to appeal for help from your representative in parliament.  You are told that they are away in Thailand for the month and that they won’t talk to you anyway.  The contents of your current account in your bank vanish without trace.

You appeal to the Court of Justice and are told that you can only appeal if you hand over the deeds to your house.  You lose your appeal.  And your house.

You decide that this game is maybe not for you so you decide to leave.  You are told this is against the rules of Ctzalia, and that from now on they will control your entire banking and will only be paid what they see as appropriate.

You switch off your computer in exasperation.  You computer refuses to switch off as it’s against the rules of Citzalia.

You sigh, and are promptly told that sighing is against the rules of Citzalia and are fined ten billion Euro.

You regret ever having anything to do with the fucking game but it’s too late now.

Homeless and penniless, they have you by the balls.

Luckily it’s only a game.

Or is it?

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves

October 13th, 2011

I had the misfortune to watch the presidential debate last night.

What a shower of fucking tossers!  There isn’t one of ‘em deserves to be captain of a rowing boat, let alone president of the country.

McGuinness of course spent his time waffling on about his part in the Peace Process in Norn Iron, totally overlooking the fact that there wouldn’t have been a need for a peace process but for him and his pals in the IRA.  The only way to survive his speeches is to count the number of times he uses the word “rayaliddy”. Bonus points are awarded for “rayaliddy of the siteeashun”.

Norris was his usual self, full of bonhomie towards the other candidates.  The only problem with him is that he never shuts the fuck up.  Once launched, he becomes completely unstable and won’t stop until someone hits him.

Davis blotted her copybook when she was asked about being on the board of a building society that was handing out 100% mortgages.  Firstly she couldn’t explain how she got on the board, hotly denying that there was political favouritism, and then said she had no knowledge of the fact that the company was recklessly lending money.  She was on the board but didn’t know what was going on?  What the fuck was she doing on the board, so?

Gallagher turned out to be a died in the wool Fianna Failer.  As far as he is concerned, Fianna Fail’s shite is chocolate.  Fuck that!

Higgins just didn’t come across at all.  He was like the ghost of Christmas past, blathering on about nothing in particular.

Mitchell was another waffler.  If I hear just once more how he and his family come from a humble background, I swear I’ll shoot the fucker myself.

And then there was Dana.

Ah, sweet Dana.

First of all she couldn’t explain how when she was taking out American citizenship that the oath didn’t apply to her when it came to renouncing all other allegiances.  The oath was read out to her but she all but said her fingers were crossed when she took it.  Then of course there was the Big Dramatic Moment.  That came towards the end when she suddenly stepped up to the microphone and read out a pre-prepared script abut some dramatic news that was about to break and how she was denying it all.  She was nearly in tears reading her piece, yet when she was asked what the fuck she was talking about, she wouldn’t say.  It was either a brilliantly staged attempt at winning the sympathy vote or else she is a brainless paranoid twat.  I prefer the latter theory.

There was only one winner last night.

Seven fucking losers and one winner.

I’m voting for Miriam O’Callaghan.

Losing a tock

October 12th, 2011

Many years ago I bought a clock.

It one of those wall hanging clocks that I believe is called a short case clock, or a granddaughter clock.

Short case clock

I bought it for three reasons -I liked the look of it, I needed a clock for the sitting room and I was pissed at the time.

One of the unusual things about the clock is that it is driven by clockwork.  Ne’er a battery or chip to be seen anywhere.  All it requires is the occasional wind and off it goes.

All these years it has been hanging on the sitting room wall, gently tick-tocking away and telling the time with a remarkable degree of accuracy.  Of course it stops occasionally as I sometimes forget to wind it, but that is all part of its charm.

When we came back from the wee trip to France last month, I noticed that it had stopped.  That was no problem – I wound it up, gave the pendulum a belt and left it.  Some hours later I discovered it had stopped again.

Bugger!

When I was a nipper there were loads of shops that could fix a clock or a watch.  Virtually every jeweller had a bloke employed purely to fix anything clockwork.  In fact I have strong memories of a clock shop in Johnston’s Court off Grafton street.  It was a haven for horologists, with wall lined with clocks all ticking quietly away and chiming in unison.  I loved visiting that shop, preferably just before ten or eleven in the morning or at midday.

Nowadays of course everything is driven by batteries, and the art of fixing a clockwork mechanism is virtually dead.  If I lugged our clock into the local jeweller they would laugh at me and tell me to buy a new one.  No fucking way!

Yesterday I brought the clock to the kitchen table and dismantled it.  In no time the table top was covered in clock parts, screws too small for the naked eye, springs and dozens of little brass cogs.  It was a beauteous sight to behold!

I cleaned and oiled everything and set about reassembling it.  I actually achieved that without a single screw left over which is a miracle in itself.

The clock still wouldn’t work.

I dismantled it again and delved even further into its guts.

In the end, I got tired of it, so I reassembled it again and hung it on the kitchen wall, with every intention of working at it again today.

No need.

Since I hung it, it has been telling perfect time and chiming merrily on the hour and half hour.

I did notice there was one problem though.

The last time I assembled it, there wasn’t a single extra screw.  Every piece had been put back in place.  But somehow I had lost a vital piece of the clock.  I have searched everywhere for it but it is definitely missing.  Maybe the dog ate it?  Maybe herself chucked it in the bin?  I don’t know, but I can’t find it anywhere.

Somehow, I have managed to lose its gentle tick-tock sound.

No more boobies and willies

October 11th, 2011

I see they are introducing Interweb censorship in the UK.

It’s only right and proper, as we all know that children must never ever see images of boobies or willies.  They are disgusting unnatural things and their sole function is to sully young people’s minds. We are better off without them.

Of course the censorship will have to extend to profanities too.  We can’t have our pure and innocent children calling us motherfuckers and cunts now, can we?

Naturally any mention or even a hint of a mention of cigarettes is out.  We all know that the word alone is sufficient to cause a massive coronary even in the youngest of the young, and even if they survive that, the word will inflict a lifetime’s addiction on them.

And what about seditious writings?  We all know [in fact the science is proven] that seditious writings lead to anarchy and we can’t have our children growing up thinking that politicians are not wonderful people who only have our interests at heart.  Personally I think everything on the Interweb should be banned apart from YouTube videos of Teletubby programmes.

I have only one thing to say on this…..

I would like to thank all my UK readers and commentators.  It’s been great chatting with you all.

Somehow I think I am soon to vanish off your screens.

Heh!

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