Grandad June 18th, 2011
What is it about Saturdays?
Why is it that I find Saturdays vaguely unsettling?
Why is it that I find Saturdays slightly unnerving?
There is no rhyme nor reason for it.
I do the same on Saturdays that I do on any other day. There is nothing different about it, apart from buying the paper.
There is only one good thing about Saturday -
It isn’t as unnerving or unsettling as Sunday.
Grandad June 11th, 2011
Our ex-Minister of Finance died yesterday.
He is the man responsible for the one decision that plunged this country into bankruptcy when he guaranteed the Irish banks to the tune of €400 billion in 2008.
They say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, so I won’t.
Brian Lenihan [1959-2011]
Grandad June 9th, 2011
Idle thoughts occasionally flit across my mind.
I know you will find it hard to believe that I indulge in whimsy from time to time, but there it is. I do.
One of my idle musings is in trying to work out where all the half dozen or so readers of this site are. What prompts this idle thought is the way traffic to the site drops off at around three in the morning and doesn’t revive until around two in the afternoon.
My first thought is that everyone goes to bed at three, starts work at nine, frantically spends the morning clearing the In Tray to allow for an afternoon of unbridled reading of rubbish on the Interweb. That would fit in neatly but for one thing – most of my visitors are in the U.S. If I subtract say five hours then that would mean that everyone is frantically surfing from the moment they get into the office. Naughty!!
In the hours between three in the morning and two in the afternoon, most visitors get here by way of searching for porn. It’s incredible the amount of traffic generated by searches for ‘senior citizen porn’. Three of the most recent searches are for ‘senior citizen nude’, ‘Ireland granny porn’ and ‘buy kinky stuff’. Fucking perverts.
As I said, most visitors are in the U.S. which would explain the kinky stuff, followed by the U.K. The Irish apparently have given up on me. Either that or they are too fucking depressed or are all out looking for jobs.
Of course another answer could be that I have trained you all well? I usually scribble around this time of day so you are all sitting there with baited breath waiting for my latest gem of wisdom?
Somehow though, I doubt that.
Grandad May 20th, 2011
There seems to be some confusion about events tomorrow.
Tomorrow is of course the End of the World, just in case you haven’t heard.
Now the world isn’t just going to end with a spectacular bang, so anyone who has been looking forward to a nice fireworks display will be disappointed. In fact The End starts on a very low-key note, and the only thing that will happen is for all the graves to open, and the dead shall arise as the un-dead. They will all be given new bodies [which is just as well, because most of ‘em are just little piles of dust at the moment] and then shipped off to Heaven. I would advise everyone to buy gas-masks for this, as I would imagine the stench will be pretty horrific. All this is to happen at six in the evening [local time], so if you happen to be near a graveyard at that time and see some strange goings on, then don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Once all the Zombies have been shipped skywards, then it is the turn of the Faithful. Those of us who have led good lives will be plucked from whatever we are doing and will also be bundled onto the nearest Ryanair flight to heaven. So if any of you are watching a favourite television programme, I would advise you to record it as you may be plucked before the programme ends and it would be a shame to spend eternity wondering how the episode ended.
Once the last flight for that bunch has departed, the fun and games really begin.
The next 153 days are going to be an endless succession of earthquakes, volcanoes, Jedward concerts and other horrific tortures for the unfaithful, all leading up to the Grand Finale on October the 21st when the Universe will cease to exist. Fortunately I have booked our French holiday for September so there should be no disruption there.
So that’s it. That’s the timetable so you can make plans accordingly.
In case I don’t talk to you tomorrow, I hope you have a nice trip skywards, or that you enjoy the horrors of the aftermath.
I’ll see you on the other side.
Grandad March 6th, 2011
I sat down today with several ideas in mind.
I thought about doing a wee piece about Betty, the Queer of England who is going to drop by sometime this year.
Then I thought about doing a wee piece about our new gubmint, and how it looks like we have just elected a replica of the last shower of wankers.
Then I decided that there was nothing interesting there, and that I would do a little article about the time I was a travelling minstrel, when I used to travel Ireland [and overseas] singing for my supper and pints.
I started to write, but I didn’t like the first sentence so I erased it. I wrote it again, but I didn’t like that either. In fact I tried numerous times but each time I typed, I ended up with a garbled string of words that made even less sense than my usual garbled string of words. Then it struck me what was wrong – my Muse has fucked off somewhere, leaving me in the lurch.
I have taken to giving my Muse a day off on Saturday, in case she wants to go shopping or something, but it looks like she hasn’t come back. I have looked everywhere but there isn’t a sign of her. As result I am unable to write.
It is a bit of a pain. Once again, I have the subject matters but the words just refuse to come. Some would call it writer’s block, but it isn’t that. Writers block means you can’t think what to write next. Lack of Muse means you know what to write next but the fucking words refuse to fall into place.
Seeing as I have nothing for you to read today, I will do something a little different. I will give you a little puzzle to solve while I wait for my Muse to return.
All you have to do is print the image and cut the pieces out. It is worth it. It is a fine photograph of Headrambles Manor.
Subscribe to audio
