Archive for the 'Around the town' Category

Down at heel

Grandad May 10th, 2008

I went into town yesterday.

Town has always been a haven for Skobies, and I was shocked to find that they were in a minority.  The place has been overrun with foreigners.  I was relieved though to see that the foreigners are learning fast.

All the foreign girls are getting pregnant as fast as they can, and are pushing prams around to get into practice.  They are getting very adept at the knack of pushing a pram while lighting a cigarette and talking loudly into their mobile phones all at the same time.

All the foreign lads are learning the tricks of hanging around the betting shops and throwing empty lager cans at their passing women.

In no time at all, Skobieville will be back to normal, but with different languages.

One of the reasons I went into town was to buy a pair of shoes, as the soles had fallen off my old ones.

I’m fussy about shoes.  I couldn’t give a damn what they look like as long as they are comfortable and hard wearing.  I went through quite a selection before finding a lovely pair.  The girl who was serving me had a lovely pair too.  [She was foreign, of course]

I was about to pay when Herself turned up.  I threw her out because she was smoking a fag, and that’s not allowed in town.  But she put it out, and came back in.

“You’re not buying those?” she said in horror.

“Why not?”

“Because they are lime green.  You’d look a right eejit.”

“What about these then?”

“No.  Not in a thousand years.”

“Why not?”

“Because they have little lights that flash in the heels.  Everyone will laugh at you.”

I sighed, and picked an ordinary pair of shoes.  They weren’t quite as comfortable as the others, but I prefer discomfort to nagging.

The only problem is that the heels aren’t quite as thick as the old ones.  So if I stand still for more than a moment or two, I fall over backwards. Herself has to keep picking me up.

Serves her right for being so picky.

Getting dressed for the occasion

Grandad November 14th, 2007

I had to go into town yesterday, as I mentioned.

It was a typical town visit - I sat around for hours while Herself vanished. Once she gets a smell of a shop she dematerialises like something out of Star Trek, and I don’t see her for ages. Then she re-materialises, laden down with stuff we don’t need. She has even phoned me on occasions to tell me which shop she’s in. The strange thing is that I’m in that shop at the time and I still can’t see her.

Anyway, I digress.

The main object of the exercise was to get myself kitted out. The invitation said ‘black tie’ but that’s daft. You’d freeze to death wearing only a black tie, and anyway, I’d have nowhere to put my pipe and tobacco. So I phoned a friend [I'd already asked the audience, and done a 50:50 but they were useless]. The friend said that what they really meant was a monkey suit. Why the hell couldn’t they say?

So I went off and got fitted.

I am going to look great on the night. Very suave. very elegant. Very distinguished.

gorilla

I can practice my guerilla tactics on the audience..?

I’ve been tagged again

Grandad November 11th, 2007

Our K8 has come up with a new meme.

And, bless her little cotton socks, she has passed it on to me.

She wants me to write a post that uses every tag. It’s all very well for her - she only has a few. I have loads. The cow!

Now I may be getting old but I find these difficult. I had a hard days blogging yesterday, as I had a good rant on a podcast to America. That was after I did my post on Cully and Sully.

So today I went for a ramble around the garden, trying to think of a topic. No go. There was no inspiration around the house either, and I’m damned if I’m going around the village or around the town for something so trivial.

Back in the 70’s life was a lot simpler. There were no computers or Internet, or even television so there were no memes. I had no irritating daughter in the family either. We found our pleasures in simple things. I remember learning to drive so we could go on holidays touring in the West, with no worries about flying and Global Warming. We had such simple sports as children in times past, like watching spiders spin their webs, and the designs they’d make. We’d go for rambles through the woods and have picnics of tea and spam sandwiches. We were a lot healthier for it.

Nowadays, work is the new religion and people have lost the use of their imagination. People only get worked up over celebrities and smoking out corrupt politicians. They panic over property prices and have lost sight of the soul of life.

No.

I can’t think of anything.

I elect not to do it.

I’m going to file this under Uncatagorised.

Maybe Sixty should have a bash at this?

Or how about Kirk at Just Thinkin’? I haven’t tagged him before.

And it’s a while since I annoyed Grannymar!!

tag-award

F*cking memes….

Every cloud has a sliver lining

Grandad March 30th, 2007

I had to go into town this morning.

As you may have gathered by now, I hate going into town.

But I had to meet some people and, what was nice, they let me use their parking spot. So that was one problem out of the way.

However, I also had to leave a yoke in for repair way up the other end of town, and I wasn’t going to try finding parking there, so I decided to walk. Big deal, I hear you say.

Now I like walking. I used to do a lot of hill walking, and a 25 mile ramble was nothing. But now I have a ‘condition’ [which I am not going to go into] which means that any sort of exercise leaves me knackered. So I walked up to the other end of town and got rammed by the usual clutch of Skobies. I left in the yoke but they told me I’d have to call back later. B*ll*x!!

So back I trundled to the first place and had my meeting. Very nice. I could sit down, and I had a nice cup of coffee.

But then I had to walk up to the other end of town again. I collected the yoke, which was nicely repaired, but at this stage, all strength had gone out of me. I had to rest.

So I found a nice quiet doorway and sat down for a smoke. I was out of the way of the Skobies, and the muscles were beginning to ease, and that cheered me. So I began to sing softly to myself.

Herself is very fastidious about the way I dress when I’m going out, but this morning I’d managed to sneak out in my usual clobber - runners with a sole coming loose, tatty jeans and an old cardigan. I had the cap with me too in case it rained, but I just left that on the ground.

I suppose it was an easy mistake to make. And quite a few people made it.

And I made €83.50.

The old tricks are the best

Grandad March 20th, 2007

Ron and I went for a few pints the other night.

All differences have been forgiven and forgotten.

Ron and I have been pals for years. I am the quiet one. He is the one most likely to cause trouble.

He is the kind of bloke who will get a full pint of water in a pub, put a beermat over it, turn it upside down, put it on the counter and then whip the beermat away. He does it for the hell of it. We’ve been thrown out a few times for that one.

Anyway, we were having a few. It was a friendly night, but the cash ran low.

“Fancy one for the road?” says Ron.

“No cash” says I.

“Don’t worry about that” says he. “There are always ways and means…”

He called the manager over.

“Excuse me” says Ron “but my friend and I are having a bet. He says there are four pints in a quart, and I say there are three. Could you set us straight?”

The manager laughed. “Yiz are both wrong. There are two”. He went away.

Ron called the barman over.

“Same again” says he, “and it’s on the house.”

“Yiz are joking” says the barman. “No-one gets free pints here”

“Well, the manager just said we could. Hold on. I’ll clarify this” says Ron.

“How many pints did you say” he yelled at the manager.

“Two” the manager yelled back.

“Funny” says Ron to me, “but they always fall for it. Even after all these years”

“Cheers” says he as two fresh pints are placed in front of us.

Today is cancelled

Grandad March 17th, 2007

All right people - you can go home again.

Saint Paddy isn’t a saint after all.

It transpires that this is just an ordinary day.  The festivities have been cancelled.

The whole thing was getting out of hand anyway.

On March 17th all Americans become more Irish than the Irish themselves. And the real Irish go out and watch American marching bands in every backwater in Ireland.. It is getting confusing.

I remember the good old days when we used to sit for hours waiting for a pipe-band to march past. That would be followed by a tractor pulling a trailer with someone all dressed up sitting on it. The bits of shamrock would blow past in the gutter like tumbleweed, and we’d all freeze to death. But it was worth it.

Now it’s crazy. We have to have the ubiquitous marching bands and cheerleaders with characters floating around like refugees from a New Orleans Festival [maybe they are New Orleans refugees?]. The parade is so long now that the front end has reached the tail end before the tail end has even started. So it forms a vicious circle and goes on forever.

And just when the frostbite is nicely settling in, they start the fireworks. Some head off to the pubs where they traditionally get out of their heads and maybe start warfare in the streets, or just collapse in a coma.  The rest stay to watch the fireworks until rigor mortis sets in.

Oh how the pubs must love today! The one day of the year they are guaranteed to run out of stock. Then the hospitals fill up with the injured and the drunk. Oh joy!

Everyone is going around wishing each other “Happy Saint Patrick’s Day”. Why pick today to wish happiness? Do they hope you’ll die of Galloping Knob Rot the rest of the year?

Aw f*ckit! I’m off to the pub….

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