Archive for the 'Around the village' Category

Ending it all

Grandad March 17th, 2010

An horrendous thing happened to me the other night, and I haven’t slept much since.

It has depressed me beyond your wildest imagination.

It started with a simple visit to the coffee shop.  There were some tourists who pissed me off so I decided to send them to meet their ancestors.  I nipped back to the car, and then it happened.  I realised that I had left all my hunting equipment at home.  I drove home as fast as I could but by the time I got back to the village the feckers had gone.

This has never happened to me before.  My quarry has always ended in the quarry, and the vision of those bastards who got away will haunt me to my dying day.

I have decided it’s because I am getting old.

I knew this day would come eventually, and have already made the appropriate arrangements.  I am already a member of Dignitas and have informed my solicitor that I am quite prepared to make my own choice about the date and manner of my exit from this life.  The one thing I refuse to even contemplate is the vision of myself sitting in the corner of some Old Folk’s Home, dribbling, pissing and shitting myself and mumbling incoherently about the good old days.  And if anyone says that is the way I am now, you can go fuck off.

My arrangement are quite comprehensive.

I already have my open ended one way tickets to Switzerland.  I need two tickets, because I have to be accompanied, apparently.  I have arranged a surprise trip for Herself here.  She has always said she wanted to visit Switzerland.  There is no point in her returning to Ireland as, in the old Celtic tradition, I shall be burning my house to the ground before I leave, so I will be booking Herself into Dignitas at the same time.  Actually, rather than burning the house down, I shall be using Semtex and Nitro Glycerine as I intend to go with a bang.  I had better warn the neighbours to start looking for alternative accommodation beforehand?

So there you have it.

I shall be winding this site up shortly and shall be taking my one way trip.

…..

But there again, I have just remembered that trip to the coffee shop was after forty eight hours without sleep……

Maybe on second thoughts, I’ll postpone Switzerland for a while.

I’m off out now.

Today is the biggest day in the sporting calendar.

Vows are made to be broken

Grandad March 10th, 2010

I had to go down to the village yesterday.

As I have said here before, I was somewhat erring on the tired side, so I thought that while I was there I would have a mug of strong coffee.

It was very pleasant outside the coffee shop.  The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the ice was nearly melting on the footpaths.  There was a feeling of Spring in the air.

As I was leaving, I found my way blocked by two elderly women.  I know I am getting on in years, but these two were old.  One stood firmly in my way and glowered at me.

“Are you Low Cal?” she asked in that terrible accent that sends shivers down my spine. Forget your swallows or your cuckoos – the Americans have arrived!

“They call me Polly Unsaturated” says I as pleasantly as possible while wondering what the fuck she was on about.

“Do you live around here, Polly?” she asked without missing a beat, and in a voice that started dogs barking a quarter of a mile away.

Ah!  She was asking if I was local.  Fucking Americans.

“I do,” I replied.

“Is this it?” she asked sweeping her hand around to indicate the village.  “Are there no more shops than this?”

It was the way she said that last bit that did it.  I can take a lot, and had even silently vowed to be nicer to tourists this year, but what the fuck did she expect in a country village?  A fucking Walmart on every corner and the gaps filled in with drive through McDonalds?

“That’s all there is,” I said in a take it or leave it kind of way.  “It’s just a country village, and that’s the way we like it.”

“I know it’s just a country village!” she barked in unison with the dogs in the distance.  “I just expected a bit more.”

Well, fuck her.  I bet she comes from Hicksville, Arizona too.  She was really pissing me off at this stage.

“Is there any WahDur around here?” she said as if accusing me of murdering someone.

“Water?” I said.  I was about to suggest she ask for a glass of the stuff when she ordered her coffee, but realised she meant more than that.  “There’s a river under the bridge over there,” I said helpfully.

“I mean real WahDur” she snarled.  Fuck me but she was a prime example of womanhood at its worst.

“Go a few miles that way and you’ll come to the sea?”

“Would that be the Addalantic?” she asked suspiciously.

“No.  The Irish Sea.  It’s smaller but just as wet.  If you sail across it you’ll come to Wales.”

“What would I want to go to Wales for?  We’ve just come from there.”

I sighed. 

“Would you like some real shopping?” I asked.  “Somewhere you can buy real, authentic Aran sweaters, and CDs of Riverdance?”

“That would be good,” she muttered, but I could see she was hooked. 

I gave her the directions, and left her to turn her coffee sour.  Not a fucking word of thanks, or a farewell, or even a ’have a nice day’.

Later they drove past me, following the directions I had given.  I waved to them, but they ignored me.

I hope they enjoyed their drive.  It’s a beautiful road with incredible scenery.  There are no shops or tourist attractions ruining the distant vistas, just endless miles of bogland.

No American has ever come back alive from The Bogs.

I felt good.  Summer really is coming.

Twinning

Grandad January 20th, 2010

I confess I am at a loss to understand this twinning of towns lark.

Everywhere you drive in Ireland you pass signs proudly proclaiming that some Godforsaken village is twinned with some place you have never heard of.  Even Skobieville, our nearest town is twinned with some place on the continent which is one of the biggest mistakes ever made by our continental friends – I bet someone got hung, drawn and quartered for that little miscalculation.

But what is the point of it?  Is there free transport between the two twins?  Can the people of one place go to their twin and demand free accommodation and discounts everywhere?  What benefit is there in all of this?

I mention this because I got an email this morning from some place in France I have never heard of.  It was a very nice letter, and it said that they were desperate [heh!  They must be!!] to twin with a village in Ireland.  They said they had heard of Glendoher from somewhere and that we sounded like the ideal match.  Now, few people in Ireland have heard of Glendoher, and that’s the way we like it, so I’m not sure how the French are so fucking well informed.  Unless of course it has something to do with my trip over there?  I admit I may have mentioned where I came from, and I admit I may have made a couple of small exaggerations, but even I didn’t recognise the description of my village in the mail.  

My own personal theory is that it is just an excuse for councillors from each town or village to go on little junkets at our expense.  I can’t see any other purpose.

I wrote back to the French crowd and politely declined.

You see, we are already twinned.  We were quite quick on that bandwagon, though I must add that it wasn’t anything to do with me.

We were twinned with a lovely little place in Ukraine back in March of 1986.

There used to be a little sign on the way into the village.

You are now entering Glendoher

Proudly twinned with Chernobyl

How to earn Brownie Points

Grandad January 3rd, 2010

Herself ran out of fags a couple of days ago.

She had been nagging me unmercifully to get her some more, but I didn’t fancy going out in the cold and the snow, so I told her the roads were too dangerous.  She suggested that I walk, but I told her I wasn’t going to slip and break my neck for anyone.

Herself is a terrible sight to behold when she runs out of smokes.  If possible, she gets even more cantankerous and nothing is safe around the house.  The guinea pigs built mounds of hay and hid for the duration, and Sandy only came out when she was sure the coast was clear.  After a bout of abstinence I usually have to restock on crockery too.

She started by threatening me, but the baseball bat put a stop to that.  Then the pleading started, with promises to behave herself and do all sorts of favours if I would only nip down and buy a packet of fags.

Yesterday, she really got on my nerves, and spent the morning pleading with me, promising never to nag again and that she would never ever mention my indiscretions again.  It was pathetic.  As it happened, I had run out of pipe tobacco, so I told her I would go down to the village… just for her.

The village was nice and quiet when I went down.  Our lane was pretty slippery but the road was grand.  I stocked up on tobacco and bought a couple of packs of fags, and contemplated going for a coffee.  But there again, sitting outside in the freezing cold supping coffee isn’t really my cup of tea, so I decided to go back home.

The only person I met [apart from the girl in the shop] was Doc.  He yelled his usual “How are ya, Grandad?” and as usual, I ignored him.  I knew the mean old scroat would only bill me for a consultation if I replied.

I gave Herself her fags when I got back and she lit up with a trembling hand.  Soon the house rang with the sound of her cough, and the animals knew the coast was clear.  She has a lovely sweet cough – a bit like someone trying to start a faulty chain-saw.

“Where the roads bad?” says she, between hacks.

“Terrible,” says I.  “Just take a look at the lane.  I had to abandon the car half way, and walk.”

“There was no need to go to that trouble,” says she, shooting a perfectly aimed glob of phlegm into the fire.

“Ah, there was,” says I.  “I knew you needed a smoke and I hate to see you suffer.”

“You’re a pet,” says she, as she lit up the next one.

I know.

A wild goose chase

Grandad December 24th, 2009

It started a few weeks ago.

Our K8 muttered something to me about buying a turkey from some bloke that would help Puppychild’s school.  I’m all for helping the school, so I said that was fine by me.

She phoned a few days later to suggest that we got a goose instead.  I said that was fine by me.  A bird is a bird so long as it’s not an ostrich.

She phoned yet again a few days ago to say my goose was ready and that I could collect it from the school.

She phoned an hour after to say I could collect my goose from the local butcher.  This was getting confusing.

I called down to the butcher yesterday afternoon but they didn’t have it.  They said it had arrived but that they had passed it on to the bloke from the school who ordered it.  They suggested I call to the school but I pointed out that the school was closed.  They said they couldn’t help and that I should ask the bloke.  I didn’t know who the bloke was though.

I phoned K8.

Several phone calls later, it was all arranged.  I had to call to her house where the goose would be delivered.

I called around to her house and played Snap with Puppychild.  Puppychild won because she cheated. 

Finally, at long last, I was united with my goose, but then I realised something was wrong.  I was expecting an oven ready goose but I realised that this goose wasn’t quite oven ready when it chased Wouldya, the big black dog out of the house and then ate Wouldya’s dinner.  It then proceeded to demolish K8’s Christmas tree while it was chasing Puppychild around the room.

We managed to corner it, and I grabbed it by the neck and dragged it out to the car where it promptly decorated the passenger seat with copious quantities of shite.

I got it home eventually and managed to get it into the house.

“Jayzus! It’s fucking live!!” shrieked Herself.

“You noticed?” says I as I let go of the goose.

The goose promptly attacked Sandy to the accompaniment of loud shrieks and whistles from the guinea pigs.  Herself waded into the fracas to try to save Sandy and  got a duckbill up the arse for her efforts.  Now I know the origin of the expression “to goose”.

In the confusion, somehow the door to the garden flew open, and the goose shot out.  Judging by the noise it took a fancy to the neighbour’s cats.  I haven’t seen it since.

I have to go out now.

I have to buy a tin of baked beans for Christmas dinner.

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