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Mar 29

The savoury stage

Posted on Tuesday, March 29, 2016 in Family, Humourarse, munchies, Strange and Unusual

“no milk or sugar in your coffee? ARE YOU SURE?”

I’m not really sure I like coffee any more. It’s a morning ritual, sure, and I love it when Puppychild or the Accidental Terrorist lands me a cup of clean pure diluted granules on my bedside table every morning but usually I wind up enjoying the zephyr from it, then I go back to sleep. Microwaved re-heated coffee is nice though eventually. Is that old age setting in?

Easter though. All the chocolate.

The Terrorist brought me and a few friends out last week for dinner here in our local finer establishment. I did not wear silly shoes for it was an upstairs thing and decided to be sensible in my forethought. I ordered the cheeses for dessert much to the horror of my peers but they were good cheeses and it seemed fitting because everybody seems to concentrate on chocolate at this time of year and forget about the cheeses. I had wine too, because that’s what cheeses liked apparently.

There is a lot of chocolate here now, and wonderment as to why I don’t eat it. Because I’m a girl and that’s what girls are supposed to do, so they say. I just tell them all to shut up and make me a Tayto sandwich.

We didn’t do Mass this year. I fear that we’re entirely missing the point. Sigh.


Nov 18


Posted on Wednesday, November 18, 2015 in Family, Humourarse, Philosophy, Strange and Unusual

I have a new theory that I have been testing out for 18 days now. It is a prophylactic spider:


It is not a real spider.

But people sometimes think it is, and tend to stamp on it violently forgetting that this is not a country where large spiders tend to exist, hence its lack of legs. Poor inanimate thing.

Since Hallowe’en, I’ve noticed that laying large fake tarantulae around the place has led to a lack of spiders who would generally otherwise invite themselves into my home AND NOT PAY ANY RENT so I left them there presuming that spiders are innately carnivorous and would probably be terrified of large counterparts who might eat them. I’ve googled this theory intensely but have not come up with any answers other than anecdotal evidence so I am conducting this experiment alone, and will keep you updated.

There is one by the front door, one by the back door, one on our bedroom windowsill and one at the back of the house for extra measure. Since Hallowe’en I have not had one single spider enter my home. This is quite impressive considering the grand soft Irish weather we’ve been having lately. Not one single spider.

I’m not mucking about here, by the way. I’m very serious about this. I have regular dreams where cute little animals suddenly develop eight scuttly little legs…


… and given that I’m the only coal-fetcher in our house I can assure you that monster spiders are lurking for I have seen them. They are there.

In the dark.

Waiting to come in to my nice warm house.

And this is why my fake spider sentinels will remain in place, ready to not pounce, ready to not eat them.

Aug 27

‘The eight year old’

Posted on Tuesday, August 27, 2013 in Family, Humourarse, Jobs, Strange and Unusual

Normally in my line of work, they would refer to a missing child by its name which is in my opinion a very stupid idea because there could be journalists listening, but that’s beside the point.

I was bored. I was staring at a monkey and wondering if I could induce it into yawning (which I couldn’t… only wolves are susceptible to this from my experience) so when a rather distressed lady approached me, she found me wearing a really stupid expression but I suppose in hindsight, that doesn’t really matter to anybody.

She had lost her child.

I have children. I have three of them. I lost one of them once, so I appreciate the panic. If you have children, maybe you can close your eyes now and bring yourself back (or forward) to a time when losing them could probably be the most catastrophic thing you can ever experience. You’re responsible for that child. You’re most likely failing them, your imagination goes wild and you’re thinking of the worst possible thing that could happen… the imagination can be a horrible thing sometimes, especially where wolves and monkeys are involved.

She had a wild look in her eyes, wilder than those of a lion. I recognised it immediately.

“Do you work here?” she asked.

“Yyyyyyesss.” I replied. I sort of did, and I sort of didn’t.

“Maybe you can help me?” She implored; “I’ve lost my son! I don’t know what to do! I was looking at this map here and I was wondering where the elephants were and next thing I knew he was gone and I told him before not to wander off but he wouldn’t listen and now he’s gone and I told him but he wouldn’t listen but I told him and now I don’t know….” this line of thought trailed off.

“Don’t worry!” I says. “This is what I do.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “If I can’t find your son in fifteen minutes I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” She relaxed, and smiled, but still bit her nails nonetheless.

I sat her down. And I sat beside her and I took my radio into my hand and I pressed the big red button.

“First aid to control? Over.” I hate cellular band radios.

(no answer)

“FIRST AID TO CONTROL, OVER!” I said. I felt silly now.

(no answer)

“FIRST AID TO CONT.. ” fuck this.

“FIRST AID TO STEVE, DO YOU READ ME? OVER!” Did I mention that I hate cellular band radios?

Steve read me. He picked me up and he heard my voice and I loved him right there and then on the spot for that.

“Steve I have reports of a missing child. He’s eight years old, he’s wearing a blue t-shirt, yellow shorts and black trainers. He has brown hair and is carrying a black back-pack. Can you watch out for him and alert security please? Over!”

“Will do, first aider. Have you got a name for this kid? Over.”

Now… the mother had already given me a description and a name, but this is where it got complicated.

“First Aid to Steve… yes, the name is Penis. Over.”

“Penniz!” The kid’s mother shouted at me. Jesus. Fuck. She had told me, too. I had heard her pronouncing the kid’s name and something in my dirty mind had deliberately instructed me to mispronounce it. How unprofessional am I?


Fuck. I forgot to give my call sign and forgot to sign out with ‘over’. My world was falling apart. Firstly because I’d forgotten to say ‘over’ at the end of the message, secondly because I’d said the word ‘Penis’ over CB radio which at least twenty people were listening to. Thirdly because the mother of a child named ‘Penis’ was standing beside me glowering because I’d undoubtedly cemented an error that countless people had already errored before and she was entrusting me to find same. Semantics can be cruel sometimes.

(Let that be a lesson to all ye parents naming your children odd names in the future!)

But this is not for me to judge.

I didn’t care, to be honest. I saw the panic in her eyes and it reflected in my own and I understood. The kid could have been called Vagina for all I cared, I wouldn’t have cared what word was blasted over the radio as long as the child was found.

“Security to first aid? Over.” Came the call after an eternity (thankfully only three minutes, they’re THAT good here).

“First aid receiving, go ahead! Over.”

“Security to first aid, I have an eight year old here matching that description… blue t-shirt, yellow shorts and black trainers. He has brown hair and is carrying a black back-pack. Over.”

Normally, security wouldn’t have that good a memory. They would normally use the kid’s name, but they didn’t now.

Funny, that.

It reminded me of a song that I love…

Sometimes a long day can be relieved by a good deed and a funny name. Y’know?

Over and out.

Feb 12

Warped humour

Posted on Tuesday, February 12, 2013 in Humourarse, Quickie, Strange and Unusual

Jun 28

Photographs and things for your perusal…

Posted on Thursday, June 28, 2012 in Humourarse, Quickie, Strange and Unusual

…just because I’m in that sort of mood…


…and because it tickles me…

Flying Camel

…and because it reminds me that it could always be worse…


…and because some things are just too confusing for words.


(Whoever can caption this photograph first gets the ‘Most Obscurely Orientated Brain’ award.)

And finally I leave you with this. Because it made me make that sound.


Stolen from the enhanced buzz phenomenon via Buzzfeed

Nov 6

Snacking between meals

Posted on Sunday, November 6, 2011 in Family, Humourarse, Strange and Unusual

A public health nurse dropped by recently, it wasn’t an official appointment, just an old friend. Just as well, in hindsight. She admired Sir Fartsalot’s struts as he toddled with his funky nappy walk (you know the way they do) around the porch as we chatted on the doorstep, and commented that he had something in his mouth. I leaned down to him, gave the innards of his little mouth a sweep with my pinky finger and evicted a well chewed cigarette butt. Impressed with my mothering skills I think this lady was not, but she didn’t show it. She laughed it off, fair play to her.

He’s down to seven butts a day now, thank God.



Jul 11

Crocs my arse.

‘Would you not put some aul’ shoes on the poor child’s feet?’

  they say to me, eyeing me up and exchanging worried glances with onlookers as Sir Fartsalot wombles barefoot, only two weeks qualified as a provisional walker. It’s adorable.

He jaunts around on hot tarmac and stony patio and squishy grassy patches, on sharp pebbles and fluffy carpet, the more textured the better. Touch is so important for learning and what better way than through your feet? I’ve no idea why they make shoes for babies. Welly boots are pretty much all they need. Shoes are often too tempting for babies to remove anyway… have a look at the floor of your local toy shop or supermarket, littered with socks and sandles they are, in a little oddsock parade of wasted money.

And ANYWAY, runners are a hazard to your health!

I’ve always thought it funny that sports brands advertise shoe support so well and get away with it. They put cushioning in every available crevice of the sole of your foot and tell you that you’ve just parted fairly serious money for something that’s great for your feet when it’s entirely the opposite case! They have us all suckered!!!

Think about it, if you support something, you make it weaker don’t you? If you try to correct something that’s already perfect, say by walking around on just your left leg and a pair of crutches for a year… chances are you right leg won’t thank you for it. It’s why marathon runners usually end up with dodgy knees, apparently.

Imagine running barefoot through a forest on a warm summers day after a rainshower to absorb it of all its squelchy nourishment, and tell me it doesn’t sound tempting. And how good for your body would it be if you actually went and did it every now and then?

I read Born to Run by Christopher McDougall and loved every word of it, it all made so much sense.

Doesn’t it?

Which reminds me…

Here’s a video showing you how to put your cat in standby mode:

Maybe this trick will distract the neighbours from the baby’s feet for a feckin’ change.

Jul 5

Don’t be racist

Posted on Tuesday, July 5, 2011 in Humourarse, Quickie


… and drives like an Irishman!!!

Stolen from Blame it on the Voices

Jun 18

Days like this

Posted on Saturday, June 18, 2011 in Humourarse

The general gist of what’s happening in K8land today:

Found here

Jun 15

Current Affairs

Posted on Wednesday, June 15, 2011 in Family, Humourarse, Strange and Unusual

By the time we’d hit the vegetable isle, I decided I’d had enough. Sir Fartsalot was perched in the in-built trolley seat and was also looking pretty pissed off, and not knowing the laws of physics, he seemed pretty confused, too.

Every time I touched him… ZAP. Every time I touched the trolley chassis… POP. Static electriciteh on mah trolleh. Pain in the arse.


I could either:

a) Ditch the trolley and just stuff the groceries into various crevices and pockets I had hanging around, but I’dve gotten into trouble doing that.

b) Take off my shoes and socks and declare myself strange.

c) Earth the trolley somehow, some other way.

So that’s what I did. I wedged my keyring into the metal arch of the trolley wheel and arranged everything so that the keys dragged on the ground, then tested my idea by hyper-accelerating to the butcher’s department. Dubiously I touched the baby’s nose and…

…nothing. Score!

I got strange looks. Very strange looks.

“Your keys are on the ground, love” – I got. Or…

“Don’t leave them behind ya! Haha!”

I nodded, and thanked, and I felt like the biggest weirdo on the planet, but at least the electroshock therapy wasn’t getting in the way of the retail therapy any more.

Why don’t supermarket trolleys have earthing-strips?

(I realise this is an increadibly boring conversational topic, but I don’t care. I’m bored.)

Image stolen from Slavenka and Obi
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