Head Rambles

Grandad February 27th, 2008

There are times, [not often, I grant you] when I am almost at a loss for words.

There is an event taking place tomorrow that I frankly find so bizarre that I feel either I am going insane, or else the rest of the world is.

A “performance artist” is being paid to come to Dublin.  This “performance artist” does things that frankly should have him confined to a nice comfortable well padded secure room for his own good.

Mark McGowan claims he is famous because “he once pushed a peanut along the road with his nose for 7 miles”.  Art?  Insanity?  I’ll let you choose.

Anyway, as I say, he is being paid to come to Dublin.  And what is he going to do tomorrow?  Wait for it…..  This is a classic…..

In an extra ordinary art performance, artist Mark McGowan is to dress up as the An Taoiseach Bertie Ahern and crawl on his hands and knees, while attempting to pull an incredible 300 kilos of potatoes (in a large bulk aggregate bag attached to his leg by a piece of string), along the road for an amazing 4 miles, in Dublin, Ireland. The intention is to show the people of Ireland the difficulties and struggles of being the Irish Leader, he has the weight of Ireland along with his own personal problems, such as the Mahon Inquiry to deal with, and this performance is an attempt to show everyone just how hard it is being Bertie Ahern.

What the fuck?

So this little wanker is going to crawl four miles along a road in support of that lying little toe-rag, and he is being paid out of public money?

I am going to do my own bit of “performance art”.

I have hired myself a small lorry.

I shall be driving through Dublin tomorrow.

I will let Mark McGowan do a proper impression of Bertie - as a nasty little stain in the gutters of Drumcondra.

Mashed potatoes, anyone?

• On the road , Politics , Rants
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Grandad February 22nd, 2008

Our K8 wrote a while ago about her carnivorous plant.  Her plant ate teeny little flies.  I can go one better than that.  I have trees that eat lorries.

Yesterday I got a letter.

Well, actually, I didn’t.  A letter was chucked over my gate into a puddle, the night before, and a neighbour kindly brought it into me.  It was sopping wet, but I managed to read it.

It was from another neighbour.  I’ll call him Mr Digger.

Now, Mr Digger wants some changes up our lane, and he is rounding up support.  So everyone got this letter, including my puddle.

What does he want?

First and foremost, he is losing a lot of sleep over two lads and their widowed mother.  They have been refused planning permission, and are currently living in squalor in a mobile home.  He wants them to get planning permission with our support.

Hmmmm?  ‘Two lads’?  They are around thirty years of age.  Their ‘widowed mother’?  She walked out on the family years ago and bought a house in Spain.  They don’t live in the mobile home either.  I met one recently going up to the old home to collect his post [mail].  I am all for the “lads” getting permission, and have done everything in my power to help.   What the hell is going on here?  Then it struck me.  Mr Digger applied for planning permission himself, some years ago, and was also refused.  So the crafty bugger is getting ‘the two lads’ to do all the fighting with the council, employing engineers and surveyors, in the hope that if they get permission, that he can then reapply too.

I also find it strange that he has developed such a fondness for ‘widowed mothers’, seeing as he bullied my [widowed] mother into her 80s to an extent that she required medical attention and the services of a solicitor.  He stopped bullying her then, for some reason.

The reason that planning permission is being refused is that my lane meets the main road on a bend.  It is therefore difficult to see if there is a car coming.  But we manage, no problem.  But according to Mr Digger - “I think most of us would agree that this is an accident waiting to happen, if something is not done soon“.  I don’t agree.  I have been living here for forty three years and there hasn’t been an accident?

What he wants is for us to donate some land so they can change the entrance.  He can fuck off.

He is also complaining about the potholes in the lane.  We do have a magnificent collection.  They are the envy of the county.  The irony here, is that Mr Digger ran a haulage plant hire business from his house for many years [did he have planning permission for that?] and was constantly trundling low-loaders, JCBs and the like up and down.  That’s what wrecked the lane in the first place.

He also doesn’t like my trees.  I have a wildlife stretch of woodland beside the lane with a nice selection of fir trees and silver birch.  I have let it grow wild and I think it is attractive.  It is very rural, and the wildlife loves it.  Every spring it is full of nesting birds and they sing their hearts out all summer.  I even have a resident red squirrel.

I will quote the next bit because it is all about my trees.

“Overgrown / protruding hedges and or overhanging trees onto the laneway at the cul-de-sac need to be cut back and maintained to their proper boundary lines, thereby exposing the full width of the lane to safe and unobstructed movement of vehicles, let them be large or small.
For example: oil delivery, furniture removal, goods delivery / Eircom / ESB trucks etc, are being scraped and damaged as a result of protruding boundaries.  Furthermore vehicle side wing mirrors are being obstructed by overhanging trees and hedges, which could result in further damage, or indeed injury to persons.  In conjunction with the above we as residents also have an obligation to maintain such free unobstructive access, not only for our own convenience but also for the emergency services, i.e. Fire Tenders, Ambulances, etc.”

Fighting talk, huh?  Very emotive stuff.  All these ambulances and fire tenders constantly roaring up and down our lane?  They only do that when I set the neighbours house on fire from time to time.  And how can an overhanging tree result in injury to a person?  Apparently my trees attack lorries, but they have never attacked a person that I know of?  In fact, we have had some very big lorries up and down the lane, with no problem.

There is also talk that the lane should be widened to a two lane road.  What?  Why?  That is a big fuck off too.

He also talks of how my trees are causing properties “to be seriously devalued, and will remain devalued resulting from the untidiness“.  Wowee! I’m seriously devaluing everyone’s property, am I?  That is very strange.  A small house recently went for auction on the lane.  It sold for 50% above the asking price.  I must grow more trees! If that is serious devaluation, then bring it on!!

What it boils down to is this.  He wants street lights.  He wants wide roads with footpaths.  He wants road names.  He wants all hedges and trees neatly trimmed and tidy.  Does that sound familiar?  Yes.  Suburbia.  So why doesn’t he fuck off back to suburbia where he belongs?  He’d be much happier there.  And the rest of us who like the orderly chaos of nature can continue to enjoy the countryside.

He’s holding a meeting next week to ‘discuss’ all of this.

I’m going.

Me and my shotgun.

And I’m thinking of setting TAT on him.

• Around the house , On the road
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Grandad February 12th, 2008

At last Head Rambles is taking its righful place in the history books of Ireland.

At last the government is listening to Grandad.

OK, so they are a year late, but what the hell.

Of course Donie Cassidy is claiming all the credit for himself [the bastard], but

Ireland debates switch to right-hand driving

Now the credit is actually mine.  I proposed this, over a year ago.  As proof, here is the gist of my article…

-oOo-

For centuries, Ireland has been the poor relation of England. We inherited their laws, their architecture, their language and their way of life.

We see ourselves now as an independent state that is more European than British. We have adopted the Euro as our currency. We have established Irish as an official language within the European Union. We have won the Eurovision Song Contest more times than anyone else. It is time for the next step.

We propose that from the 1st of July 2007, we will adopt the European standard of driving on the right hand side of the road.

This is a major initiative that will bring us in line with the rest of Europe, along with metrication. Furthermore, with the rate of immigration expected to increase, by the year 2010, the majority of the population will have originated in countries that drive on the right.

We already have the physical infrastructure in place. It is just a matter of public education.

Starting from the 1st of February, motorists will have a five month period in which to have their vehicles adapted to left hand drive. During this period, road signs and traffic lights will also be adapted. All new vehicles sold after this date will be configured for left hand drive.

Starting on the 1st of July, there will be a period of transition.

Period of transition

Initially, all buses and articulated vehicles will move to the right to allow for a period of adjustment. Car owners may opt to make the switch themselves on an individual basis, depending on their level of confidence.

Starting on the 1st of August, all motorists outside city limits will be required to drive on the right. And finally on the 1st September, all city traffic will make the transition.

It is appreciated that there will be some confusion initially, but death rates within the first year are expected to be below the 50,000 mark. This is a small price to pay for the estimated five lives a year that will be saved after the transition.

Some initial confusion

The Government is committed to reducing the appalling death rate on our roads, and to further harmonisation with our European neighbours.

• On the road
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Grandad February 2nd, 2008

When you live in the mountains, there are certain things you know by instinct.

You know you should always have a good supply of candles, fuses, bottled gas and of course pipe tobacco.  Because you never know when there is going to be a power cut, or the roads are going to be blocked by snow.

You know that there are certain things you should not do.  Like put up anything that is likely to be blown over, or let yourself run low in pipe tobacco.

But there is one golden rule.

Never drive up to the top of the mountains in the snow.

I got a phone call yesterday.

It was from a very old friend of mine.  Actually he’s younger than me but we’ve known each other for over fifty years.

The twat had driven up onto the mountains in the snow and had ended in a ditch.  He wanted me to tow him out.

I had to think long and hard.

I decided that what he did was the height of stupidity, and that the laws of Darwin must prevail.  For the sake of the human gene pool, he must suffer the consequences.  Future generations will be stronger, and they will thank me.  I made myself another cup of tea and relaxed.

But then I remembered playing games on summer days when we were kids, and what fun we had.

Fuck it!  I went up and collected him and his wife.  I left his car in the ditch though to teach him a lesson.

On the way back, through the snow, we met three cars heading up.

The first was an Irish car.  I stopped him and told him that the road ahead of him was extremely dangerous.  He thanked me, turned around and followed me back.

The second was a tourist,  I gave them a wave as I drove past.

The third was a boy racer in a souped up sports car who shot along the mountain road, doing about sixty.  He didn’t realise there was a load of ice and snow on the road around the next bends.

Maybe Darwin had his day after all?

• On the road
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Grandad November 30th, 2007

Last June, I wrote about Bernie.

She’s a nice person but a bit on the weird side.  Whenever I spoke to her, I always felt I was entering a parallel universe.

Mine is a world of peace and quiet; of birdsong and the wind blowing in the trees.

Hers is a world of police raids, the sound of breaking glass and looking up the paper to see how her son did in his last court appearance.

The two worlds rarely overlap.  Thank God.

One of the things about Bernie, was that she couldn’t drive.  She hadn’t the faintest idea how to control a car.  But that didn’t stop her.

She used to arrive here and park her car in the middle of the lane.  She wasn’t sure how to pull into one side, and as for the idea of driving in through an open gate……!!  So I used to have to go out and park her car for her every time she arrived.  And when she was leaving, I’d have to drive the car out onto the lane again, as she was afraid of hitting the gate posts.

One time, she decided to park further up the lane.  I think she was getting a bit embarrassed at asking me to park the car all the time.  Of course, when she did park up there, she took a chunk out of the car by hitting a wall.  This wasn’t noticeable, as there were chunks missing all around the car - a great testament to her driving skills.

When the time came for her to leave, she just drove into a neighbours garden.  I don’t know why she did that, and she probably doesn’t either.  But this left her with a problem.  You see, Bernie couldn’t reverse.  She had never reversed a car in her life and didn’t know how to.  So she called up to the neighbour’s door, and asked him very politely if he could possibly reverse her car out of his garden!  I would love to have seen his face…

Bernie has been driving for the last ten or so years on a provisional licence.  She has done the test on numerous occasions and was laughed out of it each time.  When the government decided to clamp down on this business of endlessly issuing provisional licences, the first person I thought of was Bernie.

I met her yesterday.  She was outside the local shop, still behind the wheel of her car.  I went over to say hello.  After the usual pleasantries, she proudly announced that she had passed her test!  I thought she was having me on, but she then proceeded to reverse very smartly into a very narrow entranceway, turn the car and then park perfectly at the kerb.  I know people who have been driving for years, who couldn’t manoeuvre as smartly as that.

I felt myself entering that parallel universe again.

• On the road
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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!!

F*cking memes….

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