Tuesday, March 31, 2009
2.. Google has robbed me of the ability to read a fucking road map.
3.. With hindsight it's probably best not to deliver visiting members of the clergy to Oxford, so they spill out of the car like Cheech and Chong have just given them a ride.
AND I tried not to smoke in the car.
4.. Anglicans are surprized when you refer to them as Protestants.
5.. When I look at this picture I see myself, sister and my cousins sat along that wall.
Bottle of coke and a bag of crisps each while our Grandparents and Parents got pissed inside.
Nobody tried to lure us away with promises of sweeties or puppies and nobody who worked outside Psychiatry knew the word Paedophile.
Weirdly, that is a really comforting memory.
Today we would all be taken in to care!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
It is becoming ethnically diverse!
Sure, you’d see all sorts in Dublin and Galway but never in the Wilds of Tipperary, Sligo or Mayo.
It’s really cool!
Give it a couple of generations and there will be Irish people who can get a tan!
The Nutty Daddy is ‘solid gone’!
In to the realms of Father Jack in terms of his vocabulary.
“No!” “Feck Off” “Piss Off” and “Fuck Off”!
All appear frequently.
I’ve had my hair interfered with and told, “Ah, yer hair’s a nice size today”.
I think he was trying to say he liked my haircut.
He also patted me on the back, beamed a huge smile and said,
“You’re ok. You’re nothing!”
I dread to think what that was about!
But I was completely won over when he blew his nose on the tablecloth and tried to hide the food he didn’t want under the edge of the plate.
Poor old fucker.
I went for a couple of early morning walks in the woods near Cashel with one of the Uncles and Molly the Mad Springer Spaniel.
He told me stories about the Polish poachers netting trout and reacting violently to objections; the mental farmers who owned guns and were ever so slightly pro IRA and the piss poor shots that made up the local gun club.
On the second walk he stopped and said,
“Right. Take the dog and go down there 200 metres. Turn right and go another hundred. Turn left and walk to you reach the road, turn right and I’ll meet you at the gate.”
He turned and fucked off.
The dog and I looked at him in utter confusion.
He hadn’t just abandoned me in the middle of a deserted forest in Tipperary at 8am had he?
Yes he fucking had.
With a soppy Springer and a fucking English accent for protection.
I was at that bastard gate before he was.
An elderly, well dressed man at Knock Airport was muttering that the security check was a pain in the hole and did he ‘look fecking Muslim’.
I started chuckling and turned to look at him.
He looked like my Grandfather; so much so my stomach did that lurch thing and my breath caught in my throat.
My heart was racing for a little while after.
Weird thing was we kept catching each other’s eye and I’m sure he ‘recognised’ me.
We even nodded to each other as he went for his flight.
It was the strangest feeling.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Check this out.
I trundled along to Mass; it is a Holy day of Obligation after all.
It’s a crappy photo because I had to use my phone and I WAS in church!
Cracking isn’t it? She has a green feathery ‘fascinator’ on.
Not a Halo as the picture would suggest.
She also had some dead grass hanging off her jacket but that must be optional.
Tomorrow I head off to Ireland for a few days.
I hate packing for flying; there is so much crap to remember. That see through bag thing for toiletries.
Remembering to pack sensibly, Laptop, camera stuff and all that shit on top.
Ucking it all out of the bottom because they think I’m some sort of loon who will hijack the plane and crash it into Our Lady’s Shrine at Knock, is a pain in the hole.
I’d go for flying the fucker straight into the Vatican but I think the bastard is in Africa or somewhere.
Catch you later, unless unless I manage to ponce some wi-fi while away in the 'Wesht'.
Friday, March 13, 2009
I’ll leave you with this.
I found it while having a trawl through youtube to see what we can still get.
The answer being, fuck all.
It’s a real blast from the past for me.
Memories of an amazing summer and a girl called J who could literally tie things in knots with her tongue.
I'm travelling by car this time so the passengers of First Great Western are safe.
Until the return.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
One of those things that means I can press buttons and record shit, pause shit and generally fuck about with the shit that’s on TV.
We’ve also got faster broadband.
How to get all this?
Phone Virgin, tell them you’ve had enough of their bollocks service and want to leave, ignore everything they say and agree to pay any charges.
This person will, in all likelihood, be a ‘Wanker’.
My conversation went like this;
Wanker.. (sneeringly) Well. Do you watch football on Setanta Sports?
Me.. Yes. Yes I do.
Wanker.. (Ha Ha) You won’t have that anymore then!
Me.. Neither will they for much longer.
Me.. I read this morning Setanta owe the FA £80 million for the rights and will be lucky to be showing football at all.
Wanker.. (sneeringly) Ms Sleepy, do you believe EVERYTHING you read. Ha ha ha!
Me.. No. Not generally.
Wanker.. Where did you read that?
Me.. Your website.
Wanker.. (Long, long, long silence)
Me.. So… Shall we get on with cutting me off?
We did and an appointment was made for a couple of week’s time.
Within 24 hours somebody will phone you and offer all manner of inducements to get you to stay.
Hence the V Box, quicker Broadband and some other stuff I’ve forgotten now.
It’s good to bitch!
Sitemeter informs me someone from The Pentagon (Military) popped by and watched both of Frankie Boyle’s you tube clips!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Late last night I got a terrible bout of the munchies combined with extreme ‘Couch Lock’.
The only edible thing within reach was a packet of Lockets.
I ate them. All of them.
I’m disgusted with myself and I resolve never to do it again.
While an absolute lifesaver when drowning in snot, they are potential killer when mucous free.
My pipes were so clear every breath was painful, 30 below zero painful.
Most definitely not worth it for the miniscule amount of honey offered.
Mea Culpa. Mea Maxima Culpa.
This morning I woke up with a hideous headache which has lasted pretty much all day.
I’m not one of those ‘headachy’ people so am never quite sure how to deal with it.
My fucked up knees mean I get given some shit kicking painkillers; morphine based ones; so my tolerance for analgesics is frightening.
I don’t know what to take for a headache.
Aspirin and Paracetamol haven’t worked on me since early childhood.
(ATM had a serious Codeine habit while pregnant with me. Set me up for life!)
As an extra pisser I had an appointment for a haircut.
Squinting because of the bright light and then squinting because I had to take my glasses off gave the overall impression of, ‘someone on the edge’.
He flew through the cut with the minimum of interaction with me.
Just how I like it.
Gourds and Aubergines.
Although I will not be calling them Aubergines anymore.
Not sure of the language but I love the word.
I love Lidl and its multi-lingual labelling, broadens my horizon so it does!
Monday, March 09, 2009
As long as the paedophile rapist can still go and hear Mass said by another paedophile rapist, all’s right with the world.
Praise the Lord his immortal soul is fine because he didn’t ‘kill’ anyone; fucking a nine year old and possibly a handicapped 14 year old is fine.
Then again, the church has never really had a problem with that now have they?
I’m so angry I can barely type.
This morning I had something deep in my ear, itching.
Cotton buds and all ‘legitimate’ attempts to ease it failed so I got a hairgrip in there.
Within seconds I had the cause.
A fecking cat whisker. Not a normal hair but a whisker.
What are these creatures doing to me while I’m asleep?
Today Lidl’s offers presented me with Celeriac.
I’ve never cooked this ugly shit before, so at 49p and as big as my head, I thought I’d give it a go.
It tastes like a Celery Parsnip, if you like that sort of thing.
I made soup.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
I’ll go to one of the geriatric Masses during the week and stave off a vengeful G-d that way.
Also, as it’s Lent, I’ll try not to make Father P look worried while he’s saying it.
Unless he is a complete twat of course, then my normal service will resume and he can wear the pained looked until Easter.
Fingers crossed. It’s a violent area so, fingers crossed. That’s all I’m saying!
This was today’s random ipod offering.
No ‘Being Human’ this evening and I’ve felt quite bereft.
It’s like the last Sunday of the summer holidays, nothing to look forward to until Christmas.
I don’t know what goes on with Housemate Pat but I have discovered the more she speaks to me, the less I understand her.
There is also the chance I'm going deaf and that's why I spend most of the conversation saying pardon.
I've never found the Chinese accent an easy one to get on with.
Non chocolate Hobnobs are the nastiest biscuit on earth.
There is nothing whatsoever redeeming about them.
Then again, I have the munchies.
Yesterday I ate a packet of Jaffa Cakes, box of Cadbury’s chocolate fingers and half a pack of Bourbon Creams.
Basically all the chocolate in the house.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Friday, March 06, 2009
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Hideous things. They make me feel so unclean.
I have ATM to thank for that lifelong gift to go along with the mental scars.
After the horror that was the Carling Cup Final, something I still cannot bring myself to talk about, my Beloved Spurs won tonight.
Middlesbrough were beaten like Rihanna!
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Schnee was correct in her assumption that G-d would use this opportunity to realign my Karma.
As you know I have the cover of an old Gideon bible that I wrap around my book and find it an effective way to keep people away from me.
UNLESS you get spotted by a religious nutter; then you are ‘Manna from heaven’.
He got into his spiel about how wonderful it was to find another believer, one who wasn’t afraid to publicly show it blah blah blah.
Having been trained so well by my Grandmother, I find it almost impossible to be rude to older people.
Almost. I’ll come to that later.
So I just smiled and nodded.
The Supreme Being hadn’t quite finished with me.
“What passage are you reading?”
Oh for fuck’s sake! Enough already!
Never before have I been grateful for having to memorize huge tracts of Deuteronomy.
Wiltshire was gorgeous.
Covered in Snow Drops, Daffodils and all the best signs of Spring.
The Hounds are great and Jessie had her 14th birthday on Sunday, which for a Greyhound is a grand old age.
She is showing it now. Her back legs are gone and she fell out of the car a couple of times.
She is still my ‘best girl’ though.
The Boy is as ever, The Boy!
I caught the evening train back from Salisbury, hoping that it would be relatively empty.
It wasn’t too bad.
The only seat was opposite and older lady reading The Telegraph.
I got myself settled and she started picking her nose.
I swear to Christ she was second knuckle deep up it.
Horrified, I looked at the man sitting next to me who tried to pretend he hadn’t seen anything.
Then the sniffing started.
It was so loud I could hear it over the ipod.
I increased the volume and could still hear her.
After ten minutes I couldn’t stand it anymore and got out a packet of tissues and offered her one.
She went mental.
Apparently, she had never been treated so rudely in all her life and how dare I.
So I gave her the full on Sleepy rudeness.
“Really? Never treated so fucking rudely? I haven’t sat in a carriage full of fucking strangers picking my fucking nose! I haven’t sat sniffing back snot like a fucking navvy!”
The look on her face was priceless, so I continued.
“Why don’t you take the tissue, fuck off to the toilet and see if you can mine any sense of fucking decorum out of there?”
She got up and informed me she was going to find a guard.
“See if HE has a fucking tissue!” I shouted after her.
The man next to me was in hysterics by now as were a few others.