Head Rambles

Grandad April 21st, 2009

I am fucking furious.

I was sniffing around the Interweb just now and came across this.

What the fuck is that about?

The little bollix goes off without a word to anyone and makes a unilateral decision that affects all of us.  The little shit.

It’s all right for him.  He can go off mincing around doing his gardening and his knitting or whatever poncy things he likes doing but what about me?  I have serious commitments that require funding.  I have Guinness and tobacco to buy, and ammunition to purchase.  How am I supposed to manage now?

This really is serious.  Like the banks, I need capitalisation and funding.  My adventures cannot continue without liquidity [more Guinness].

I am loth to put up one of those Donate Here buttons because that would turn me into a beggar, and God knows you can’t walk for ten steps these days without tripping over one of them.

There is only one solution.

Get out there and buy the fucking book!  I need sales in the hundreds of thousands to afford my simple lifestyle, so push the book like mad.  Buy copies for your neighbours.  Buy copies for your friends.  Buy copies for your enemies.  Get me on Oprah or whatever the bint is called.

Nuclear missiles aren’t cheap, you know.

Even on eBay. 

• The Book , work
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Grandad February 26th, 2009

I have been doing some research on the Interweb.

Did you know that the submarine U-105 was a type IXB and was built in 1940?  I bet you didn’t know that.

It sank in 1943.  It was hardly worth building.

So why this sudden interest in submarines?

It started with a phone call on Monday.

A lovely young lass phoned me and asked if I was up for it.  I of course replied that I was.  I’m used to that type of call, you know.  The girls around here just can’t keep their hands off me.

Anyway, it transpired that there was a bit of a misunderstanding, and what she really wanted was for me to do a radio interview.

I said I would, and asked what radio station she was from.

That’s where the submarine bit comes in.

She said she was from U 105.

That is when I did my research, and that’s when I discovered that I had been talking to a young lass who had been talking to me from a submarine that sank 69 years ago.  Weird.

I didn’t expect to hear any more from them as they must have drowned by now.

To my amazement, she phoned again yesterday and handed me off to a bloke with a soft Norn Iron accent, who promptly compared me to Victor Meldrew.

Just to be on the safe side, I recorded it.

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This Interweb is a surreal place.

• The Book
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Grandad February 14th, 2009

Life has become rather surreal since I started this site, and especially in the last few weeks.

I had a phone call this morning.

“Hello!  Is that Grandad?”

“It is, indeed,” I replied.

“This is John from Limerick and I just wanted to apologise for this morning, but I ran out of time.”

“That’s no problem,” I said.

Now who the fuck was John from Limerick?

The only person I know of in Limerick is Bock, and he is merely a fig-leaf of my worst nightmares, so it wasn’t anything to do with him.

I know the only thing they do down in Limerick is shoot each other.  It used to be known as ‘Stab City’ but since all this Celtic Tiger shit, they went upmarket and got themselves guns. 

Maybe John had been asked by a Grandad to shoot someone, and had phoned the wrong Grandad?  But as far as I am aware, I am the only real Grandad in Ireland.

I was pondering all the permutations and combinations of the various possibilities, when John interrupted my train of thought.

“Is there any chance you could do the live interview next Saturday?” he asked.

The penny dropped.  It must be a radio station. 

Then I remembered that next Saturday is the Irish Blog Awards, and I am travelling down to Cork on that day.  I told him about that.

“No problem.  We can do the interview at seven in the morning.”

Now I know they are a bit wanton in Limerick, but what kind of fucking looper listens to the radio at seven on a Saturday morning? 

“Can you make that a bit later?” I said in my best ‘I’m a celebrity; don’t fuck with me’ kind of voice.

“No problem,” he said.  “I’ll phone you a few minutes before nine.  Next Saturday then…”

Now I didn’t realise they had radio stations in Limerick.  I wasn’t even sure they had electricity down there, but apparently they have.

One thing is for certain though.

I’ll be wearing my Kevlar vest at nine on Saturday.

• The Book
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Grandad February 3rd, 2009

Some people have a hell of a fucking nerve.

I was sitting here quietly on Sunday, having a few whiskeys and tearing bits out of the papers to throw at Minnie, when I came across this in the Sunday Tribune -

Click to embiggen

Who the hell does he think he is, calling me names?

Headcase? How very fucking dare he!

What’s worse, he is trying to garner sympathy for Herself!  Jesu Christi! Is the man insane?

I have been on to my solicitor, and the papers are being served.

I’ll sue him for every penny he has.

Or else I’ll force him to do a guest blog.

I like his style.

• The Book
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Grandad February 1st, 2009

I decided to go into town yesterday.

I got some library books out last November and they were cluttering the place, so I thought I had better return them.

On the way, I called into the local shop to get the paper. 

I was greeted with a big grin – ‘We have got your tobacco at last, Grandad’ he said.  Five fucking weeks and he expects me to be grateful?  I thanked him anyway and told him his wife and children would be released unharmed.

This did cheer me up a bit so I sang quietly to myself as I drove into town.

I managed to get my usual spot right outside the library.  It’s one of those places with a sort of weird wheelchair thing painted on the road but it is always empty.

I returned my books and took a saunter around the stacks.  No sign of “Headrambles” anywhere, so I complained to the head librarian. 

‘It’s on order’ says he.  ‘There is a waiting list for it.  Do you want to be added?’

’Nah!’ I said.  ‘I have already read it.  It’s not much good anyway’ and I left.

I decided to take a stroll up to the bookshop for a laugh.

The first thing I saw when I entered was a big display.  They were flogging a book by Barack Obama.  Now, it would be nice to have a best seller on my hands, but I’ll be damned if I am going to get myself elected as President of America just to get one.  That is just too high a price to pay, and I don’t fancy living in The White House anyway.

I checked the best seller rack anyway, just in case.  No sign.

I checked the new releases rack.  No sign.

I checked the Irish releases rack.  No sign.

I checked under fiction, hobbies, gardening, science and children’s.  No sign, so I asked the assistant.

She brought me to the humour section for some reason, and there it was.  ‘You’re in luck’ says she.  ‘There is one left.’

Fuck that.  I came to photograph a nice block of books, not a single copy.  It looked sort of sad there stuck between “The Mega Book of Useless Information” and “Bad Cat”.

It wasn’t an entirely wasted journey though.  I was getting very tired of our shopkeeper’s wife and her constant bitching.

I’ll be glad to be rid of her.

• Around the town , Smoking , The Book
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