Grandad May 16th, 2008
I’m in foul form today.
I did too much yesterday and tired myself out. Then I didn’t get much sleep last night.
I’m tired and irritable. I have a headache, and I’m aching all over.
I’m going out shortly to cull some knackers. That is long overdue, as our K8 will testify.
I doubt that will cheer me too much though.
So it is up to you lot.
Cheer me up.
Or the fucking kitten gets it.
OK?
Grandad May 15th, 2008
What the fuck is a metrosexual?
Is it someone who has a fetish for humping underground trains?
Apparently Darren has become one. He proudly announces that he is one and has a Man Bag.
Now I have a Man Bag. All men have them, except those who have been involved in very nasty accidents. Under no circumstances am I going to walk around showing mine off though.
Darren examines his on the DART. That is disgusting. I might scratch mine, but that’s as far as I’d go. This metrosexual thing seems to have quite a few perversions attached.
Another is that he has a photo of that ponce Beckham on the page. Even worse, he has a photo of me on the same page. Maybe my photo is there to show what a real man should look like? I sincerely hope so.
I am worried for Darren.
Next thing he’ll be subscribing to Oxendales.
Or, [God between us and small farms] he’ll stoop so low as to start commenting on Beaut.ie and put them on his Blogroll.
Darren, my son. Men are men, and women are women. Stop blurring the boundaries. It leads to trouble. The only fashion accessory you should ever have or need is a wristwatch. Put your hands in your pockets where they belong and stop faffing about.
I blame the oestrogen in the water supply.
Grandad May 14th, 2008
Do I have the best postal service in the country?
Yesterday at around ten in the morning, I phoned my insurance company and told them I had shredded my insurance certificate.
They said they would post another out to me, if I promised not to shred that too. I promised.
Later at lunchtime, I went out, and posted my latest rental back to MovieStar.
This morning, I received my new insurance certificate.
I also received an email from MovieStar to say they had received my old DVD and a new one was in the post.
I received my insurance cert in less than 24 hours.
MovieStar received my DVD even faster.
Is that a record?
Grandad May 12th, 2008
I just received an email from Amazon.
I buy quite a lot of stuff from Amazon, as I’m an avid reader and so is Herself. In fact, I received a delivery from them only last week.
They write to me frequently suggesting books I might like, which is fair enough, though I just delete them as if I want a book, I’ll order it.
This email has me worried.
First of all, they are recommending ‘Thanks for the Memories’ by Cecelia Ahern. Now, this goes to show just how wrong computers can be. Why in the name of all that’s holy would they think I would want that? I read books. Good books, by good authors, and they suggest Cecelia Ahern? Jayzus! I have enough firelighters in stock, and they are a lot cheaper than Cecelia Ahern’s books.
The bit that has me worried though, is their suggestions for non-fiction.
They want me to go camping in the UK. Why? They want me to order ‘Caravanning and Camping in Great Britain’. I don’t have a caravan or a tent. To go with it, they want me to buy the ‘AA Big Road Atlas, Britain’. They are very keen to send me there.
They obviously realise that I may not want to go to Britain [which I don't, at the moment] so they are also offering me the Lonely Planet Guide to Thailand.
I wouldn’t mind seeing Thailand, and they must know this. In fact, I think they know a lot more than they are letting on.
The last choice they have sent me is ‘Make the Most of Your Time on Earth’.
That worries me.
What do they know, that I don’t?
Grandad May 9th, 2008
I went for my annual haircut the other day.
Apart from being a good cutter, I like the bloke there because he doesn’t have a holiday fixation. I can never understand that weird aspect of haircutting. You can get chatting to anyone anywhere, and they will talk about the weather, or politics or [God help us] sport, but they never mention holidays. With hairdressers, it’s always the first question - “Got any holidays planned for this year?”
His opening gambit was “what are you doing with yourself these days?” This is a tricky question. If I say ‘work’, they ask me about that, but seeing as I don’t know what I’m doing, it’s hard to explain to them, so we both end up confused. If I say I’m doing nothing, it sounds lazy, and it’s not true. I told him I was writing a book, and immediately regretted it.
He perked up and became interested. We had crossed the boundary of casual chat and had entered the realm of serious conversation, and I knew I was lost because I knew what was coming next.
“What’s the book about?”
I floundered. I hate that question. I never know what to say.
“It’s about life,” I said hopefully.
This, of course confused him. “Is it fact or fiction?” he asked.
Again I was stumped. “It’s sort of a bit of both, but it’s mainly fact.” I wasn’t going to tell him about blogging because he was confused enough already. And even if he was an avid blogger, he would only ask me what my blog is about. That’s another question that brings me out in a cold sweat.
“It’s about rambles,” I said hopefully.
“Ah! A book about walking?”
“No. Not that kind of rambles. It’s about what goes on in my head.”
This utterly bewildered him, so we were both now in the same boat.
He started to ask a couple more questions, but thought better of it, and finished the cutting in silence. He did a good job.
So, Dear Reader. I need your help.
What the fuck is this blog about?
How can I describe it in a couple of concise sentences that won’t have people reaching for the Prozac, or quietly phoning the men in white coats?
If you can do that, then you have more or less described the book.
You will be doing me a service and possibly saving my hairdresser’s sanity.
Grandad May 6th, 2008
To those of you not familiar with Irish weather, we have two kinds of summer here.
The normal summer lasts from May until September. It is typified by grey skies and rain. Occasionally, it stops raining for a couple of days, and we call that a drought. That is when the hose-pipe bans are put in place and we are asked to conserve water. People complain about the cold and the rain and the standard greeting in the street is “are we ever going to get a summer?” The rain is invariable at its worst when there is an open air concert planned or when people book their annual leave.
The other is a rarity and it is what we call a heatwave. This is when the sun shines and the temperature rises above 16 degrees.
During a heatwave, everyone goes mad and goes around wearing next to nothing. They complain about the heat and how their gardens are drying up. On the rare occasions when heatwaves coincide with weekends, they pile into their cars and all head for Brittas Bay. When they get there, they complain about the crowds, and then on the way home again, they complain about the traffic jams. After two days of this they are muttering about how they wish it would cool down a bit because the heat is killing them.
Heatwaves usually occur in the lead up to the end of year school exams, thereby ensuring that no study is done. They also usually occur mid-week, when everyone is at work anyway. They rarely occur when people take their annual leave.
We are enjoying the End of Year Exam Heatwave at the moment. It is expected to last until Thursday. But then it may end tomorrow, or Friday. It’s unlikely to last until Saturday, because people will be off work then. Heatwaves rarely last more than a week. Another one should be due at the beginning of next month because that is when the exams actually take place.
Unfortunately, this time, the heatwave coincided with a bank holiday. This led to the entire transport infrastructure grinding to a halt as everyone frantically headed for the seaside. Rumour has it that nobody actually reached the beaches at all. They just sat in their traffic jams until around mid afternoon when they all turned around and went home in disgust.
I stayed at home and did some gardening. The estate was getting a bit out of hand as it has been sopping wet up until now. I actually managed to get the grass cut, and made a respectable little pile of grass cuttings.
That blur on the left is Sandy. She is ambushing me for a game of tennis.
I’m sorry about the quality of the photograph. I forgot to set the camera for sunlight, because it’s a setting I rarely use.
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