Archive for the 'Tourists' Category

Proving a point

Grandad December 17th, 2007

 

I bought myself an early Christmas present.

It’s a Barrett M-107 rifle.

m107

I couldn’t wait to play with it, so the other day, Doc and I went off for a bit of hunting.

Tourists are pretty thin on the ground at the moment, but there are still a few around.  We just had to rely on luck.

As it happened, we were in luck.  We were up in one of the back valleys when Doc pointed.  "There you go" he said, pointing to some woods on the far side of the valley.  I got out the binoculars, and sure enough there were two of them.  They were over a mile away, but I could see they were Canadians by the flags on their rucksacks.

As we watched, one of them got up and pulled down his trousers.  He was obviously going to take a dump.

"F*ck" said Doc, "That’s disgusting"

"Quick" says I, "Which one?"

"The one on the right"

So the one on the right it was.  I took quick aim and fired.

"Holy God" said Doc. "That was a brilliant shot."

"Not bad" says I.  "It’s a damn good gun.  And it proves one thing."

"What’s that?"

"Bears don’t shit in our woods!"

And if you don’t believe me, ask that bloke in Chicago who is missing a right testicle.

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….

Surreality

Grandad October 22nd, 2007

I’m in bad mood today. What else is new?

I wrote my little anniversary post this morning, and ended it politely like Me Mammy always taught me to.

I then had to go out to the village.

First thing was that I found my gate blocked by a f*cking SUV! As I am surrounded by damned building sites at the moment, I picked a builder at random and nailed him to a gatepost. He eventually told me who owned the SUV, just before he passed out.

The SUV was moved [and that is going to be a pile of ashes by tonight] so I went to the village. I found a nice parking spot but another f*cking SUV swung into it just ahead of me. Is it any wonder I hate the things?

In the shop, I saw a notice pinned to the wall. To cheer myself up, I read it, as it was from the local Senior Citizens’ Club.

Dear Friends,
It’s that time of year again when we have our last get-together.
With supper, music and dancing.

What the hell is this about? Senior Citizen Culling? A Lemming Syndrome? I didn’t realise they held an annual mass-suicide.

I won’t be going. I have no intention of popping my clogs just yet.

On my way home I got stuck behind a tourist bus. In October! Do they not know any better? Do they not read by blog?? Luckily, I had my RPG with me [Sandy was sitting on it, so it was nice and warm]. That made me feel a lot happier.

Then I get home and find my blog is filling up with comments.

What’s wrong with you all? Did no-one ever to say good bye when you are finishing a conversation? Should I have said ’see ya’, or ‘talk to you tomorrow’ or whatever the modern idiom is?

I liked the comment from Rhodester -

You best not quit blogging now.. if you do, I shall bring the missus and visit Ireland. We’ll hang out in your local pub and beat everyone at darts while regaling you with tales of life in California. We’ll be loud, brash and rude, and we’ll wear Hawaiian shirts and take pictures of EVERYTHING, so we can post them to our blogs upon returning home. Our friends will read about it and see the pictures, then they’ll want to come, and come they shall.. in droves..

Reminds me of the 60’s!!

And it just goes to show [to quote the Irish Rail ad] “A lot done, a lot more to do”.

The madness and the mayhem will continue. If only to keep Rhodester out.

I have to go now.

I have a few more builders to cull.

The ride to end all rides

Grandad October 16th, 2007

I saw a video a while ago.

I can’t remember where I saw it, but it gave me my greatest idea yet - a new tourist attraction!

It’s a very simple idea and should prove a huge success.


Cliffs of Moher

The idea is this. We build the attraction on top of the Cliffs of Moher. It will face west, so the customers will get the best view. Essentially it will consist of a chair, in which tourists will be invited to sit. We will leave a little pile of Aran sweaters, and leprechaun dolls to entice them. We won’t tell them what it’s all about because we want it to be a nice surprise.

And off they go. The ride to end all rides. They will see the cliffs as few others have seen them.

Here is a video of the prototype in action [using squirrels instead of tourists] -

How to survive your first Guinness

Grandad October 10th, 2007

Most visitors to Ireland can’t wait to try a real pint of Guinness.

They are right. It’s the only country where you can get a real pint. The foreign stuff is the piss they scrape off the top. They have to get rid of it somewhere.

However, your first pint is potentially the most lethal trap you will have to encounter. 99% of tourists give themselves away on this one. So here is how to do it….

Enter the pub. Look nonchalant. Don’t look as if you are about to have a life changing experience. Walk casually to the bar and wait. Don’t call the barman. Don’t rap a coin on the counter. He’ll come to you.

If he speaks with a foreign accent, get the f*ck out of there. He won’t know how to pull a pint.

He’ll ask you what you want. Just say “pint, please”. If he asks “a pint of what?” then scowl at him and snarl “Guinness, of course”. Most barmen won’t ask anyway, as Guinness is the ‘pint’ by default.

He will then take a pint glass and fill it about two thirds to three quarters full and place it on the counter.

First Trap: LEAVE THE DRINK THERE. DON’T TOUCH IT! The barman will probably walk away. Don’t mind that. Just stare into the distance. Go have a pee or a quick fag. But you must wait.

After a minute or two, he will come back and top it up to a full pint. Again DO NOTHING. Just wait. He will tinker around with it for a moment, and will eventually bring it over to you.

If he has engraved a shamrock in the head of the pint, then I suggest you sit down and write out your Last Will and Testament. You are as good as dead. The barman has spotted that you are a tourist and has flagged you. The locals look for this and will be quietly loading ammunition into their guns.

Second Trap [assuming you are still alive]: DON’T TOUCH THE PINT. It will still be settling. You have to wait until there is a crisp demarcation line between the black and the white. The longer you wait, the better. At this stage, it is perfectly acceptable to stare at the pint.

Guinness

Third trap: The locals will be watching you to see how you approach the pint. If you try and slurp the white head off [or even worse, blow it off] you have signed your death certificate. The chances are that you will be hung off the wall and the locals will use you as a dartboard for the rest of the night.

Another fatal error is to sip the pint. Sipping is for nancies and their glasses of wine. This is Guinness, for f*ck’s sake. You grasp the glass firmly in your fist and gulp back at least a quarter, if not a third of the contents. Act like this is the first drink you’ve had since coming out of the desert [which it is].

At this stage, the locals will begin to relax. You are quite entitled to burp at this stage [actually, it's unavoidable], but don’t do it too loudly.

If you are a wimp, and don’t like the taste, DON’T SHOW IT. Keep calm. Nip up and order a whiskey. That is acceptable. It’s called a Chaser. But you must finish the pint before knocking back the whiskey. [Which would you rather? Drinking a Guinness, or being shot?].

The chances are, you will like it. You can relax now. You can now savour it a mouthful at a time.

To really convince the locals that you are not a tourist, wait until you have about two inches left in the glass. Then catch the barman’s eye and raise one finger. This is the signal to start processing the next pint. This should arrive just as you finish the first.

Of course this now means that you have to continue ordering pints. Don’t worry about it. You have survived, and that is something to celebrate [if you need an excuse, that is?].

All this has made me thirsty. I think I’ll go and have a pint or five.

It is, after all, Puppychild’s third birthday.

It is time she was introduced to her first pint.

How Not to Look Like a Tourist

Grandad October 9th, 2007

Ireland is a nice country to visit.

The people are friendly and the Guinness is good.

I realise however, that I might have put some of you off with my tales of Tourist Shooting [one of our national sports]. So, just for you nice people who read my blatherings, I’m going to give some pointers on How Not to Look Like a Tourist. This could save your life, so read carefully.

Dress appropriately.

Irish people do not wear shorts, unless on the beach. Nor do they wear coats, unless it’s p*ssing out of the heavens. Loud colours are frowned upon, unless you are female or have female inclinations. The general rule is ‘dress scruffy’. A dab of cow-sh*t on the footwear is also good. Irish people never, ever wear Aran Sweaters. These were invented purely for ripping off Americans, and are a dead [sic] giveaway.

Travelling.

Never stop to read a road sign. All Irish people know that Irish road signs point in the wrong direction anyway, and ignore them. Anyone examining a road sign is a tourist, by definition.

Never ask for directions. You will more than likely end up over a cliff, or up in the bogs. If you are really lost, then be cunning. If you want to find the way to [say] Killarney, then stop someone and say “Jayzus, I need to be at a wedding in Killarney and I’m running late. What’s the quickest way?”

If you have non-Irish registration plates on your car - remove them. If you feel naked without them, then rob an Irish set off a parked car. You must also learn to drive like the Irish. Never indicate. Always hog the overtaking lane. Always drive too fast. Never take a bend on the correct side of the road. Always drive like you have just drunk a bottle of whiskey. Actually, to be on the safe side, it’s probably better to drink a bottle of whiskey before venturing anywhere.

Communicating.

This is a tricky one. An accent is a complete giveaway. Though with the current influx of immigrants, you are a bit safer. American accents are still not tolerated, so Americans should not speak at all. And if you must speak, keep your voices down. For some reason, tourists are always the noisiest table in the pub. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

If you come across a nice view, or something scenic, then, for God’s sake, just grunt. Loud exclamations of appreciation, or telling Harry to get the video camera are out.

That’s enough for now.

I’ll address the likes of Pub Etiquette at a later stage.

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