Apathy

Maybe that's the word I want and maybe it isn't.

There a member of the mildly immediate family that isn't in the best of ways presently. Used to play a greater part in my life and in the family life of mine. It was all when I saw smaller of course. A good bit smaller.

So now, there's not much input at all and there hasn't been for a while. Not anyone's fault. I can blame distance for a nanosecond but even those that are close to us (in terms in metres) can also seem to not give a rat's bollix.

At some level, I would imagine that it would effect (or is it affect?) me. I mean the health/ well-being of this relative. Apparently not. I have things of my own to worry of course that can pile up, but surely I'd have that niggling worry about it when I think about it. Nope.

Things that haven't got a direct influence or something our lives- do they really matter? That seems and is a stupid thing to type. Well, it's just the phrasing that's shite.

People (mammys have a tendency to do this) can really get into stories and shock events in the news that are tragic. Example: The McCann Saga. Oh, it must be desperate for the family. Yes. it's terrible but it doesn't affect me so I don't "feel" it. Strangely enough a story about a tidal wave killing seventy-four people off Cuba won't get that response but news of a cancer victim in Fairview will. Anyway...

I'm sure most people are of the "if it doesn't involve me or the ones I love I don't care" type. Well, maybe that's going a bit far. But, most people won't get hung up on a story that has no relevance to them. No sleep lost. Sure, these things are terrible but they won't linger in the conscience. Know what I mean?

So, I don't know. For me, there's other things that fill my head daily than the relative. I also don't know if it's a good thing. Surely I should have some concern...

Working in the home.

These recent fucked up dreams I've been having really put a new spin on the idea of working from home or whatever these new people say these days with their phrases and all their talk. Anyway...

In work, I've been in the tills. You know, blipping things and taking people's money in exchange for the shit the shop sells. This is fine, I don't mind doing it. There's an odd bit of banter to be had with the customers. Also working directly with the aul' money is grand, gives the job a bit of respectability. God love us all.

But, the last few nights I've had dreams that I'm still at work at the counter blipping away and dealing with customers. A few times I've propped myself up on my elbow in bed to make it look like I'm awake. Bizarre. One night I was getting up at about five in the morning to nip to the toilet but for some reason I felt that I had to wait for someone to enter their laser card PIN before I could get up. Last night was the worst. I kept turning to face these "customers" and then looking at the clock and thinking NO, THIS ISN'T REAL and turn to face the wall only to find myself facing out again a few minutes later. Also, everyone kept buying pillows. Or in real terms I kept clutching MY pillow. Fucked up.

It's scary how concerned I am during these experiences. I don't want the customers to think I'm asleep. But, then I look at the clock and decide they're not there. I'm in bed, amn't I?

I'm probably be in the till again this evening and I'll be haunted by bar codes and laser cards again tonight. Should I be calling Doctor Phil? Ha.

Oh, obsessions.

I'm now obsessed with The Beatles yet again. Bought the aul' album that's affectionately known as the "white album". Fair play to them. Things had gone a bit funny with the relations within the band and in respect to the band, but whopper music still. I don't think there's any songwriting collaborations on the album, just each to their own. Well done to all the compositions, even the Starkey one. Ha.

Also a bit obsessed with Muse these days. From having none of their albums, I now only need "Origins of Symmetry" or whatever it's called. I'm liking "Apocalypse Please" from "Absolution". Ledge.

The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles The Beatles

Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse Muse

Well done.

This is not important.

This blog is quite shite.
There's not much on it.
It doesn't serve much of a purpose.
Virtually nobody reads it.
I'm not completely open when posting.
I hold back.
I write vague opinions on it and then take them back.
I don't write posts very often.
I complain a lot here.
It isn't even that well written.
The idea of blogging confuses me.
I like my new shoes.

Little update

Waay, here I am to do what I said I'd do. That is to say how things went in Berlin. But first...

I never mentioned anything about our planned trip to Glendalough. I said that I was looking forward to it. I was right to feel that way. It was a raging success (not without the initial perceived failure that is). The hostel booking in Glendalough was utterly fucked up and after much option hunting we ended up in Rathdrum which (as you can see from the fabulous map that I've taken from somewhere) is south of Glendalough. It was grand craic altogether and fair play to all involved.



Berlin is a grand city. With the aid of a book that was also used by my uncle when he was in Berlin and a small, not very detailed map that we got from a bus tour we made our way around the place. I was particularly taken (even beforehand) with the street between the Brandenburg Gate and the Victory column. It's called 17th July Street or something like that. Again, particularly impressed by the Vicory Column itself. Monuments to territorial and/or national wars is something Ireland just doesn't have, for reasons that are obvious. So, well done to Germans and well done to Berliners and a world without walls. In all fairness that'd be shit though. Maybe without particular walls but that wouldn't sell stuff like posters and general souvenirs. But I'm not head of marketing for dicoverberlin.de or anything. Nice one.

Rory is the MAN!

I'm just paying tribute to a legend, Rory Gallagher.



And while I'm at it, isn't she (Rachel Weisz) mad hot?!

Strange feeling

Today for the first time in a while I used the phrase "it'll be great". It was in reference to going to Glendalough on Monday. I think... I'm .....looking forward to it! Oh, wow. What a world!

I'm off work now for two weeks too and I'm going to ask to go back to just two late nights (preferably no Wednesdays), Saturdays and Sundays (the four hour gig). So, that would make things fit very well for several different reasons. Well done.

I was described as "coming out of my shell" in work today. I was saying "gee" in various different contexts. The manager of department six (men's) didn't think that I would use such language. Shock! So, fair play. So glad to get out of the place this evening.

Actually not feeling that bad tonight. All the things that were in the way have a way to get out if the way. Just have to get them to move. MICKEY. Doesn't seem too bad. It's probably the time off work that I'm fucking delighted about. I've been in four full days now. It's GEE. Of course, this feeling good could just be temporary. We'll see. But Glendalough!

So, fair play to all. may you have something to look forward to.

(I ended that in the style of Angelaboration, ending with a wish/prayer sorta thing. Link in the left column to her blog.)

They really do get in the way...

It's a load of gee. Many are the things that get in the way. Time, space, effort, sense, sanity, sobriety, fear, lack of initiative etc. etc. If I was adventurous, that would be handy.

There's things that I tell myself I could if I was ____ (fill in the blank with the appropriate adjective). As I'm pissing or doing some other activity that gives one the chance to whistle and/or let one's mind drift to other pressing or not so pressing things, I think about these amazing possibilities. I think I'm too sensible sometimes. But, I'm also too much of a short-sighted eejit. Or do I look too far ahead?

It's a pity that I can only imagine myself saying something meaningful when drunk. Or managing to see what I really think. Or letting go a bit. In many ways. Or maybe just one.

So, summer is still in existence. Feckage. I have two weeks off work starting from Sunday. I dunno if it's a blessing or a curse. Of course I would rather be at home than be in my place of employment. I want this that and the other, but at this time and not at that time. Just a moany, picky geebag. It would seem that way anyway. From my perspective right now. I hate looking at things like this and seeing it differently every three seconds.

[just a memory: that story I had back in first year. I made a presentation in powerpoint. Dave added to it. I thought it went shit so I deleted the whole thing. I thought it was a bit deal at the time. Clearly, it wasn't.]

I never had a Playstation. Rob had a PS2 and we used to every now and again. I vaguely remember playing Tekken Tag. I used be going to Mass on Sunday morning and Rob would be up watching some deadly film or playing some deadly game on the Playstation. I sort of resented it. But I went anyway like a good little Catholic boy. Mickey.

Just imagine working full-time... It'd be cock. Talking about health insurance and why you don't get tax back because you started working the first week of the new tax year. These would be the daily topics of conversation that one would engage in over lunch. Talking about bills and that sort of thing is bearable because it makes sense.

But, I'm being an arsehole and not talking in the presence of others. Talk about gee. Just a silly post for nothing really. Anyway, I'm gong home. I'll finish The Diary of a Nobody. What will I read next? Most interesting choice of the week? Possibly. Well done. Thanks for the compliments. Goodnight.

Things get in the way, don't they just?!

I could complain for a while now about things getting in the way, as the title suggests, but I'll put that somewhere else (a personal journal). I find it easier to write as I think than to type as I think. Maybe it's because I have a thing that whatever I put in a Word document or on this thing here has to be "good". I can always use the back-space. There's no such thing on a pen. Unless you scribble something out. I don't like doing that. Unless it's complete and utter shite that proves that one is a total mickey-fiddler, a fiddler of the mickey. Plus, I like the way I write and I would probably be destroying some fine-looking "y"s or maybe a lovely "r". (Sometimes I do my "r"s like my aunt, especially if it's at the end of a word. Which is interesting because she took a great interesting in my learning to read and write was I was but a youngfla.)

I was in London from Monday last through to Thursday. Having a web of family living there, my parents have been going to London for years. My Da's uncle and his wife lived in Catford. They were both wonderful people but, God rest them, they've both since died. Their children are still in London and we still go to visit. London is a strange place for me. I'm sure I'm not the only one. Since I've been going there since I was a child, you'd think I'd know the city a bit. NOPE. I didn't need to; I just followed my Mammy & Daddy. I suppose if I was now to try to learn the way around the place, I'd just start at the river banks and follow it along, marking what's where. If I was daring, had a sense of sport, I'd go live there for a while. Or if I had an alternative motive, something to bring me there...

I managed (somehow) not to purchase any CDs or books while in London. I made the point in an earlier post that I buy a number of items while in the area of the pound Sterling. I had £60. I bought food, drink and transport. Fair enough. What else does one need I suppose?

At the moment I'm reading a short book entitled "The Diary of a Nobody". If by chance you come across it read it. Well done.

Haven't really been posting at all these days. Nothing really to be saying or willing to be saying, perhaps. I sense a detective novel arising. Just a quick note of congratulations to Incubus. I put Morning View on my mp3 before I went to London and rediscovered that it's legend. Nice one lads. So, that's it for now. I'll be going to Berlin soon enough. [Actually on another little rant about things: Isn't is shit realising how far away some things are? I don't just mean in terms of space, but of time too. Like, ah shite, that's a month away! Gee. Y'kno the way.] I'll report back on the ways things go in Berlin. Nice one.

Lord, it's July! Second Edition, 2008.

Well, well, ask me for a half a peanut and a cup of warm freshly squeezed grapefruit juice. It's July again. The 2007 edition of "Lord, It's July!" talked about the weather, the Irish Independent, Chris Rea and music in general.

So, I'll start with the weather this time. It's fuck. The sun's splitting the stones in other parts of the world and here it rains. Accuse me of (just singing 'bout places) giving out for the sake of it, but that's what I'm doing. Having the chance to sit in the sun and read isn't asking much. But, it seems it is.

I don't read the Irish Independent anymore. It's a load of mickey. I'll now look at the headlines on The Irish Times as I pass through Dunnes or wherever the hell I am just to have a gawk. The weekend edition is legend too. €2 for enough paper to wipe your arse 1,748 times. That's value. It makes me look posh in work on Saturdays when I do buy it. I'm sure they think I'm posh anyway. But reading the Weekend Review section of The Irish Times in the canteen when the other tables are covered by The Mirror and The Star sure puts the icing on the posh black forest gateau cake. Actually, would that be good- putting icing on a black forest gateau? It'd probably ruin it. But that's slightly irrelevant. Well, it would make my little deviation from the standard idiom make little or no sense, ach ní cuma liom!

Chris Rea is next on the list. We went to the concert in the National Stadium on the ninth of April. It was great. Played a two-hour set firstly as The Delmonts and secondly as The Fabulous Hofner Bluenotes. It's great to just create a fifties band and "reunite" them. Stroke of genius. They released a three CD & two LP set in one of those Earbooks. It's amazing. More new material. Just an update on how I'm getting on with regard to Blue Guitars. I've listened to eight of them at this stage. I love CD 7, Blues Ballads. "If I Ever Get Over You," great song.

Music in general. I'm listening to more Rufus Wainwright (like right now "Go Or Go Ahead" from Want One) and Rory Gallagher (what a surprise!). I bought the BBC Session Rory albums there the other day in HMV in the Blancherstown Centre along with Blueprint ('twas a two for €15 thing). I'm liking the debut album from Rufus ('twas a birthday present from Dave).

A.O.B.

I'm still reading John Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath". Steinbeck won't let anything happen without telling you about it, how it happens and its details. Each character isn't just given a face, but well-described features are in turn assigned to them. That preacher is an interesting fellow and Tom too. It'll probably take me another two weeks to finish it, knowing how I read.

Two of Elizabeth Bishop's poems came to mind in the last twenty-four hours. Last night I was thinking about "Questions of Travel". With all the talk of travel/going places/going somewhere to see things, it came to mind. As I was reading "The Grapes of Wrath" on the bus home this evening, the line "His jeans and shirt were thick and shiny with old grease..." made me think of... I'm sure you can guess by now... or can you? "Filling Station" of course. I just thought of her standing there in front of the character and exclaiming that he was "dirty". But Lizzy, eh, SO? SO? SO?

Tetris is terrible if you get addicted to it and play it before you go to bed. It'll fill your head and you'll visualize a game of it in your head and make up scenarios and try to get out of them to the best of your ability. They're dangerous things those little blocks. Be careful.

I was kindly given a lend of eight DVDs recently, essential film viewing as it were. "The Departed," "Donnie Darko," "Momento," "The Prestige," "Fight Club," "Brick," "American History X" and "Catch Me If You Can". Fair play to all them, they're grand.

So...? Well, that's it for year of "lord, It's July". And it's goodnight from him and it's goodnight from me. Well? Goodnight then. Shove off, you cokface git.

Workin'

I've never mentioned my current employment on this blog. I wrote about my last job in Swords & District Credit Union. I worked there from August 2007 until September 2007. I was on the books until April this year when I asked for the P45 and all that sort of business.

I did this because I got a new job. I work in a Penny's (operated by Primark) outlet in Dublin. A family acquaintance is a manager in the shop and it was suggested that I leave in a C.V., which I did and soon enough I had an interview and a job (in that order, obviously, that's how it works as I'm sure you're all aware).

The tasks involved in the job include recovery (the great euphemism translating to cleaning up after messy customers), filling out the shelves/rails/other stock-holding apparatus, helping with deliveries marking-down the price of stock, generally helping customers with sizes etc. and moving stuff around.

I started on the eighteenth of April, 2008. It was my Ma's birthday and we were out in the Cock Tavern beforehand for dinner. So, that was grand. I was to be in by half-six, but I got the time wrong! Watta mistaka ta make! (Saying of a character in 'Allo, 'Allo for those that aren't familiar with it.) So, a great start, an hour late. What makes this amazing is the reaction of the manager when I arrived: "Y'eejit!" Grand.

There's no radio in the shop, so the only thing to listen to is the conversations of the customers. It usually consists of mothers telling their children to shut the fuck up or not to be running away. There's the odd couple of auld fella that comes in and give out about young people. Nothing outstanding, but you get a laugh every now and again. So, for immediate entertainment, it's up to yourself. I sing quietly away to myself. At one stage I was singing that same verse of "One Man Guy" for about an hour. So, that happens. Singing unfortunately doesn't always fill the gap of discontented, unoccupied mind. Pretend conversations fill some time too. That sounds desperate sad but I've always done that and I doubt that I'm the only person that does it either.

It can seem to be a lonely job at times. You're tidying a table of a set of rails and there's nobody in the direct vicinity to chat to so you have an internal chat. There are other staff around and sometimes I wish that I could be put somewhere else in the shop where I could at least talk to someone. But then I think, even if I was near enough to someone else to speak to them, would I speak to them? Answer/Freagra: Probably not. So there's a paradox or a contradiction or a geebag situation for you. It's probably closest to a geebag situation, then second closest to a paradox and not really close to a contradiction at all.

I have a bit of a what-am-I-going-to-talk-to-this-person-about attitude. Which is sort of shit. I can remember walking across to my friend's house years ago (maybe six or seven years ago) and trying to think of things to talk about. I've never really thought about this sort of thing until reasonably recently, so I don't know if this is a common frame of mind or not. It seems that it would impede one's conversational skills, anyway.

So, as I work, I talk and sing to myself. I must seem like a slightly posh, introverted weirdo. Which, I suppose, is fine by me, if that is the case. There's worse things that you could portray yourself as. A complete wankbag, drug-dealer would be one.

That's it for tonight. I'd like to thank my production team, my researchers and Colin. Goodnight.

The Story of the Master of Sellotape

At the moment he's unemployed. He's looking for work at offices around the country. He'll refill all empty sellotape-holder things when they're empty. When the price of sellotape fell during the recession of office goods in the '90s, the Master of Sellotape bought sellotape, a hell of a lot of sellotape and single-handedly saved several plcs on the stock exchange. Unfortunately for our hero, after all this buying up of cheap sellotape, stocks and shares he now has no money. He lives in an alleyway in Tulsa with 1,200 boxes of Sellotape (TM) and other imitation sticky-tape.

He still feels that there is a gap in the market for his service after ten years into this enterprise project. At one stage he even hired a marketeer, not realising that they're actually demons in disguise. Could you imagine a world with sellotape? If not, call the Master of Sellotape! is the slogan the prick created. The Master still had to give him $100 worth of sellotape for it. The Master is still currently living in the Tulsa area with some fat guy with a green shirt. Who'd have thought it?

But why, of all things, would a man have an obsession with sellotape and work so hard for the global markets?

Originally from Kinnegad, the Master of Sellotape had it rough growing up. The patriarchal society put pressure on the boys to be tough and dominant. Their genetic make-up would make them do this anyway but societal pressures also existed and didn't help either. Our hero was no good at sports and had a stammer. Clearly, he was going nowhere in the hierarchy of boys in Kinnegad.

Sellotape hadn't been long invented when Master of Sellotape was in fifth class. The sellotape-ball was all the rage that particular year (similar to other fads like yo-yos or pogs) and the boys would have spent their pocket-money on rolls of sellotape in the local family shop.

Sellotape-balls were highly entertaining for the hard, high-ranking boys. For the runts of the boys, they were devastating in all respects. They met barrage after barrage of sellotape-balls each morning and afternoon. They didn't hurt very much but it was a kind of social torture. In Master of Sellotape's class, only one boy got it worse than he did. This boy's name was Georgie Porgie. Nobody ever seemed to like Georgie. By most accounts, he's now in Russia campaigning relentlessly for a Russian nuclear assault against the United States of America and The Kinnegad GAA club.

For Georgie, the sellotape-ball treatment was only one of the many ways that he was shunned by the town. And then there's those other things which, for several reasons, we won't mention.

In the case of Master of Sellotape, the sellotape-ball incidents had a deep affect in his mind. He still respected the other boys for their clear hunting ability. Therefore, he placed the blame on their weapon of choice. He blamed the sellotape-ball for his misfortune in social circumstances. This may sound bizarre, but within the confines of the world of fiction, it's one-hundred percent true.

The Master of Sellotape spent his teenage years researching sellotape (know your enemy), quietly saving money from working in O'Neills public house and building up his strength and stamina on the town racetrack.

In the year of the sellotape market recession, he had enough resources to go to Wall Street. Economics classes came in handy at this point, although he couldn't really remember any particular class that he hadn't fallen asleep in within twenty minutes.

The story continued from ther euntil he hitched a ride from a trucker to Tulsa after a dard night's drinking.

So, that's the early life of the purely fictional man that they call the Master of Sellotape. Coincidentally enough a young, Irish adult has named a blog "Master of Sellotape". It's unknown if the blog is named after our hero. There's no mention of sellotape . "It's just a silly name," according to the blog. http://cheapsellotape.blogspot.com/.

Roll Call

-ÓMhaoldomhnaigh, L.
-Anseo.

So, what have you been up to these days? Loada mickey, really. I fucked up the college thing and, in general, can't do it. Well, that's if you look at one way. In a different way, you could say I have suppressed emotions until they've found other outlets, from which to pour. These outlets would involve bad concentration, low self-esteem among others. Depending on what sort of person you are and your way of viewing things, you'll follow either, not both, of the preceding explanations.

Either way, I didn't complete/do any given assignments or exams and therefore didn't do semester two of year one. I now have an extenuating circumstances form and all that. Still not out of the dark yet though.

So, apart from that, what's been going on? Not very much, I have to say. But, maybe there has and I'm just too blind or cynical to see it. We had Simone over from Tortona for just over a week. 'Twas grand time we had. Highlight of the visit: getting chips in Burdock's up opposite Christchurch, trying to get to St. Pat's Cathedral, getting lost in Dublin 8 and ending up in a pub on Patrick's street with Simone talking to the Italian barmaid. Maybe watching the snooker in the Millennium (Peacock's Steakhouse) that first Sunday he was here could be a contender too. That night we went out to Donabate was good too. I mentioned that in a previous post, I'm almost sure. So, good times had in all fairness.

Any good nights out anywhere? Few. It was Tim's birthday recently and he had a bash in Whelan's. I presumably had nothing else to do so I fecked over that far. Had few scoops as you do. Unfortunately the big-ass speakers were a little much for me. Not quite the fave thing in an establishment. Oh well, live and let live. Always someone to talk to on the Nitelink (mickey spelling, bleedin' DB). Two young ones. I mentioned to one of them that we'd seen Dr. Garret Fitzgerald on Grafton Street eating ice-cream (an amazing image!) and it turned out that her family is a big Fine Gael hub with great respect for Fitzie and all former FG Taoisigh. True story.

We were up Cock there on Saturday for a drink. Grand craic. Dropped into Lamb for a bit too. There was a group of people in the corner and a few of them were having Erdinger. So, I thought I'd try one. Something I won't be repeating. Apart from being a bit expensive, it's a bit like Carlsberg and quite fizzy. Oh well. These things must be tried once.

I was up in Eamon Doran's on Monday night. The Groove were playing (fair dues to the lads). Bit of support, you know the way. A whole €3.50 in for the night. Rip-off Ireland they say. Anyway, speaking of tasting different beers, Monday was another such night. Firstly, I had a Fosters which was okay. It was cheaper and tasted cheaper. For some reason it had the mild taste of popcorn. Next, I had a bad pint of Miller. On an earlier occasion (another previous night in Cock) I found that Miller tastes like M&Ms and whiskey. Finally, I tried a Becks. This, we agreed, tasted like Green and Blacks milk chocolate. What is it with beers tasting like chocolate?! Good times, good times.

This evening we (myself and my parents) were up in The Helix. For my Da's birthday we bought him three (hmmm, who will you bring?) tickets to Sebastian Barry's "The Pride of Parnell Street". An amazing idea for a present, tickets to a play that I was probably going to go to anyway. I've read Barry's novels "The Whereabouts of Eneas McNulty" (1998), "Annie Dunne" (2002) and "A Long Long Way" (2005). Haven't gone near his poetry, though. Not my sphere I think. The play was, at one stage, being staged in The Tivoli on Francis Street (the street I went down, instead of Patrick Street, which led to us getting lost that day) but I missed it that time. So, when I saw that it was going to be in a The Helix I thought nice one. Janet and Joe tell their side of their broken marriage and their own experiences in interwoven monologues that are both hilarious and heart-breaking in their simplicity and also in their complexity. Enjoyable evening of theatre, an hour and a half of unbroken Dubliners telling their story. Nice one, I will say again.

The hell-hound adventure that is the Leaving Certificate will painfully inflict itself upon sixth-year students across the Republic of Ireland (and that other weird place that does it too, wherever it is) very soon. I'll have a little memory time now. Nothing about the actual exams obviously; mainly because I can't really remember much about them. But I can remember the morning of the results. Finn, Dave and I had been drinking in Finn's house the night before which was good fun. Got home about three in the morning or something. In the morning, myself and Dave went down to the school at a ridiculous hour. We weren't first there, but we were maybe third and fourth. After receiving a handshake from the principal and a good gawk at our nice bit of paper, we headed up for Miller's of Main Street! We bought the day's papers (The Irish Times and Irish Independent) to look at all the nice statistics and all that while we had a lovely bit of breakfast in Miller's. So, that was a grand time. I didn't feel too amazing about my own results but it was grand that morning. We went back up to my house then and probably had more coffee and a chat and the like. Then of course all the bloody text messages from people started to flow... So, good luck to all you unfortunate people that have to pass temporarily though the fourth layer of hell and endure the exams. Nothing will make you feel any better about it. Unless you actually feel confident in yourself. If you are like this, you're either a complete prick or the child of the top dog in the Examinations Commission.

Now that I have time on my hands for recreational purposes, I've been reading. Wow. Sweeping statement. Over the last while I've read "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time" and "Annie Dunne". At the moment, I'm almost finished "Falling Sideways" by Tom Holt. A bit confusing, but I suppose these comic fantasy novels are meant to be so. I bought in Hodges Figgis for €4.50 just because the blurb sounded about bonkers. It's not something that I'd usually read but there's nothing wrong with a bit of a change. I bought Flann O'Brien's "At Swim-Two-Birds" in Eason on O'Connell Street there two weeks ago because they had 25% off Penguin Classics. So, I might read that next. Well done to books. I also have a Patrick Kavanagh book that I may read too. If I like "Swim-Two-Birds", I'll try some more Flann O'Brien, maybe "The Third Policeman".

I had a listen to Robben Ford & the Blue Line earlier. I bought the album, "Handful Of Blues", in London a few years ago in Virgin, I think. For a while I didn't want to listen to it because I had listened to it when I was sick at one stage. So, it was connected to sickness. It's a good album though. Must put it somewhere that I'll notice it a bit more often. I've always managed to buy several CDs whenever I'm somewhere that uses the pound sterling. Most times that I've been in Northern Ireland, I've bought CDs. The same goes for being in London staying with Mary or being on holiday in Scotland. When we were in Edinburgh I bought six CDs, as far as I remember. Whatever it is about bits of paper with Lizzy on them and my desire to trade them for compact discs containing music.

"I ofen looked up at the sky an' assed meself the question - what is the moon, what is the stars?"

And with those words of wisdom I shall feck off for now. Ah, a darlin' night, a daaaarlin' night.

Oh, Mickey!

Oh, why do you kayp all your stars in from your studio on Mick Collins' Avenue. You'll pass Aidan's secondary school and DCU on your left. You'll also pass two auld ones with the Evening Herald on Thursdays. Wouldn't that have to be the way? Murphy's Law in motion and that other law about those fuckin' electrons getting onto buses. Then there's six by ten to the twenty-three. Or, as they might say on the other side of the Atlantic, to the root twenty-three. I'm not even sure if that's what they say, but it's slightly different. I'm just trying to increase the readability of this thing. More universal, more accepting, more open, more understanding, more considerate, more MICKEY.

News just in: old civil servants are dying by the minute. For an update, here's some boring snob who has a Trinners degree in law, or something, and seems to know what's going on.
-Yes, thank you, Anne. I actually studied in UCD but at this moment that's hardly relevant. Although, speaking of my degree days, if Maria is watching I wonder if she'd give me a call. I haven't seen you in ages, darling...
-Oh, I'm sorry, we're out of time for that report. It's a pity that he fucked up his debut here at RTÉ, but maybe he's lucky and Maria is watching. Maria, if you are indeed watching, that guy's mobile number will be displayed at the end of this bulletin.

Cigarettes and chocolate milk. Coffee and sitting around listening to Chris Rea. I seem pretty happy sitting around on me arse doing fuck all. Exercising little or no brain bits. Perfectly happy being a nothing really. Somehow I'm not drawn to do anything. I'm not reading anything because I didn't want to get into some fiction or other that would distract attention from academic writings- that I'm also not reading. Yay. Lose all around.

Next we'll have news from around the country from our regional reporters.
Mary (North-West Cavan Correspondant)
-Nothing really to report today. It's all been rather quiet. I hear Mrs. Kavanagh is pregnant, though. Apart from that, it's all mickey.

Joe (South-East Tipperary)
-There was great craic agus spraoi to be had last night in John Johnston's bar in the annual floor-stomping barnyard dancing competition. The judges are still trying to decide on the winner. They've been in the back-room of the bar for thirteen straight hours. We're all here waiting anxiously on the judgement. (Ye havin' a pint, Joe?!) As you can see, it's tense here. Ay, I will. Joe, RTÉ News, Johnston's Bar.

-We've now realised that absolutely nobody is watching this news broadcast anymore. By our figures, everybody is now watching the Papal episode of Ten Years Younger on TV3. I hope your pancreas gets exploded by the devil.

-And...Cut. Good job, Anne. You really told those viewers what you thought. I know we're the national broadcaster thing and all, but something needed to be said.

-Yeah, thanks, Jerry. You going down pub?

-No, I'm an alcoholic. I thought I told you before. Obviously not. Oh well. There's some scandal for you. I haven't had a drink in eight months. I'm doing it for the kids. They're smart for their age. The little bollixes used to hide me Jemmie bottles when I really needed them. But, then I found their secret hiding place. This will give you a laugh. They used hide it under the dog!

-Okay, Jerry. Very good. You're not coming then. I'll have to ask Ryan. Shit.

And so, the individual battles (battle coke) raged on within the walls of RTÉ, Donnybrock, Dublin Four. Eventually through Americanisation (or Americanization as it would be when the process was complete), national public broadcasting came straight in to Irish homes from California. Howth Road would be renamed Sunset Boulevard. The North Circular Road would be renamed CBS Avenue. The army barracks around the city of Dublin would be renamed George Clooney Barracks (formerly McKee Barracks), Mary-Kate & Ashley Barracks (formerly Cathal Brugha Barracks) and Ronald McDonald Barracks (formerly Collins Barracks). Ronald McDonald Barracks would later house artefacts connected with an amazing archaeological find on the site of the McDonalds outlet on Hollywood Row (formerly Phisboro Road).

At that moment, if it is reached, it is believed that the spirit of deValera will rise from the Ronald Reagan Memorial Cemetery (formerly Glasnevin Cemetery) and unleash a reign of terror not unlike that of Robespierre. For it is written, in the Book of Sorrow, "Not Een May Rhepablic".

This belief is widely critiqued by, pretty much, everybody apart from a few auld Fianna Fáil fellas in west Clare. They occasionally get the train up to Dublin (which would soon be renamed New Tulsa) and rally outside Leinster House. Nobody takes any notice. There's only four of them. The Gardaí don't even bother that they don't have a permit to do what they're doing. It was believed that they'd die there, at the gates. They would eventually die in Stoneybatter after getting lost coming out of Ronald McDonald Barracks to see the displays.

So, alas, the City Borough of New Tulsa suffered the same fate that other European cities did. Paris was no more by 2024. Dusseldorf was Mississippi by 2053. The list goes on and on. The slow erosion of Europe by US influence would be complete by 2075. Then the wars began. But that's for another night, kids. Off to bed with you. Sleep well.

Micko Goes Wine-Shopping

Micko and Janet had been married five years. Micko thought that it would be nice to have Maria, their two-year-old daughter, spend the night in the babysitter's house and have a dinner party with their friends. For the duration of the week preceding the day, the seventeenth of August, Micko was making the preparations such as asking Philo & Bridie, Baz & Liz and his brother, Jimmy, over for the dinner. He did some secret shopping and bought a lovely piece of lamb with helpful instruction from the butcher.

The morning of their anniversary, Micko woke up before Janet and made her toast and tea and brought in to her in bed.
"Happy anniversary," said Micko.
"Ah, Jay! Tanks, Micko. Happy anniversary."
Janet was delighted as Micko told her of the evening that he had planned.

They cleaned up the dining-room and the living-room for their guests and put on the lamb. Remembering the tips from the butcher, Micko put the meat in on a low heat early in the afternoon. They both had a nice afternoon together as they prepared the vegetables and tidied the house.

As the arranged time for the guests to arrive approached, Micko remembered the last thing that he had to do. He needed to nip down to the off-license for some wine.
"The veggies are almost done now. Baz and Liz'll be here in 'bout ten minutes. I'm goin' down offo to get some wine. Back in ten," said Micko as he kissed Janet.

Micko was feeling in top form. He was having a pleasant day. He was happily married for five years to his darling wife. The dinner party was going to be great and Janet would be happy to see their friends and would be over the moon about it all. Yes, the day was good.

"Hmmm, what about this wine?" said Micko aloud as he drove to the local off-license in Finglas. He held the door open for an auld fella coming out with a six-pack of Bulmers under his arm. As he walked over to the vast wall of the wine section, he stared at the tapestry of bottles with their colourful labels and foreign words.
"Can I help you, sir?" came a voice from behind.
"Eh, yeah... I'm havin' a bi' of a do an' I'm lookin' for some wine," replied Micko.
"Well, this wine is on special this week. It comes from the smallest vineyard in all of Bordeaux and is made by the Montesemont family who have been producing well-respected wines since the early twentieth century. It is full-bodied, smooth at first with an mild aftertaste of elderberries."
Micko's head hurt. What was this young one on about?
"Eh, righ'. How much is it?"
"This week it's €14.99 which is amazing value for such a wine."
A perplexed look appeared across Micko's face.
"That's a bit much innit?"
Suddenly the off license staff member realised what she was dealing with and sighed.
"Well, on the other hand, on your left is a cheap muck that we import from Slovakia. It's made by child slave labour and that's why it's only €3.99. It's complete piss but comes with a complimentary roll of Polo mints,"she sorrowfully continued.
"Hmmm, yeah alright'. I'll have four bottles of tha'. Tanks."
"I'm here to help," she said as she hung her head.

Micko bought the wine and a six pack of Dutch Gold and drove home. Baz & Liz had arrived and were in the living-room saying how deadly everything looked. Philo & Bridie arrived ten minutes later and Jimmie, and usual, was a little late. The dinner went perfectly and the conversation was overflowing. They all got locked on the cheap piss and thought it was wonderful.

Baz & Liz fell asleep on the couch at half-two. Jimmie went home because he only lived on the next road. Philo & Bridie ended up under the kitchen table while Micko and Janet went to bed sloshed and happily five years married.

Bits Agus Bobs Agus Mickí

Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Maps: How We're Different and What to Do About It (Paperback). Paperback form it was and I thought that it was important to mention that it is. Read it there last night and the night before. Interesting read. Fair play to the sexes for being different and bollix to political correctness.

PR-STV is great craic, isn't it? I haven't really used it yet but for the laugh it'll be grand.

Off goes Bertie today telling everybody he's going for real in May. First Tony across the water, then the "Rev." "Dr." Ian across the border and now Mr. Tee-shock down here sa phoblacht. Is there no political stability in the place? Everyone is either too bored, too old or too weighed down to continue yielding supreme executive power. The office in the State with the most prestige will be filled by bluh-blah-blah-blah. Sorry Taoiseach, what was that about pensions?

Moonlight and love songs in ragtime! Step into that small confessional.

There's the lads as they kick it back in Bruges (Brew-guh or Brew-je [as in Je in French], whatever your having yourself) after killing people.

Fuckin' ledge auld film for the laugh and the Dubs factor. Rufus makes a guest appearance as a midget dancing on Abbey Street while doing cocaine. Colin Farrell then karate chops him and gets sang at about the impending race-war. "Who's next?" as Ton Lehrer might say.

Coffee may now be on the cards. Maxwell House, of course, is shit and should be avoided at all costs unless you're a fire(wo)man or in the Defense Forces. The Red is MUCK and the blue one isn't much better. Nescafé is good most of the time, depending on the jar that's bought. There's the chunky granules and they're nice (with water, obviously). That other Nescafé stuff, smooth and silky or some such shite, is nice too. Mmmm, instant coffee.

Goodnight, ladies etc.

Go on, indulge a little

My, my, it's almost three weeks since I put even a word on this dreadful thing. I must rectify the situation. This is me currently rectifying the situation. As usual, I have nothing to say and it doesn't feel too good.

But I can say that passion fruit is great. Even the smell is divine. Have one as soon as you can. Sit in the sun, smell it and then eat it. It'll give you an oddly summer feeling and it'll be nice for a second. Which is a hard thing to do these days, I'd imagine. With all the fuss, anxiety, stress and bother of general living, nobody gets to have a simple pleasure. Although, it's very easy to just buy some nice chocolate and go for a stroll to ease up. Nothing beats the Cock (Tavern) of a Thursday or Sunday night either for a wind-down. Buy the paper and a Zumo smoothie or juice and sit in a park somewhere (St. Stephen's Green for example) and have a read at one's leisure. Have a nice big cup of coffee at home with a favourite CD playing. I don't know what this is; is it a list of ways to relax from me? Just came out.



Tonight I watched many videos on youtube (videos with music not of some 14-year-old from Wisconsin jumping from a moving truck or similarly stupid videos that one so easily finds) of Rory, EC, Leadbelly and others. It was grand craic altogether.

I was in college today for the first time in about two weeks. There's an essay due next Tuesday for CM135 Analysing Media Content. It's about image analysis, both semiotic and ideological. Sounds mickey and, to me, it is. It's not what I''m about at all. But, in all fairness, is any of the stuff I'm doing "me"?

Last semester I enjoyed most things, especially the Language, Culture and International Communication lectures. Identity and Belonging threw some values up in the air for me, fine, that needed doing. This semester, I picked some modules I don't like and/or are making little sense. Introduction to Intercultural Studies is an example of the latter. I don't particularly like the aforementioned Analysing Media Content. Looking for implied value systems within a picture/image/photograph/digital representation? That's not the sort of thing that I like!

Introduction to Modern Ireland is a module about Irish politics. When I picked that module, I didn't even look at the bloody outline or the code. If I did, I would've seen LG (Law and Government) on it and thought, euh! Maybe. It's full of Erasmus students that are from far-flung places and not so far-flung (towns mythologies) places. The essay for this will be very hard.

Understanding Social Change is a good module. Dr. O'Brien missed two classes and not many people seem to like him. I think he's grand, but that an elephant (pardon the poor use of Groucho Marx quote thing). Like all the essays for all modules, picking something to research and write about is the difficult things. Do about Nordyland? Sunningdale and Good Friday? Dunno. The lectures that I liked was the Nordyland one because it was just like a history lesson and I liked that. Another lecture in Introduction to Modern Ireland was like a history lesson too and I also liked that. Is there something in that? Should I be somewhere studying history instead of all this Contemporary Culture and Society business? Ah, questions galore it is.

Study of Language 2 is good like last semester. There's going to be a test in class though, which I don't like the sound of. Most of all these worries stem from one thing. Obviously that one thing is the fact that I've done fuck all this semester. Waay. Intercultural Studies might make a little more sense if I read the suggested readings. Although, I did give it a bash and it went terribly. I was on the bus though.

This college bollix seems so mickey. And that made me sound like a sobbing little Yank wank. I'm not prepared to do any work so therefore it's someone else's fault. I presume that's a textbook case of not bothering one's bollix. It's great that the number of people going to third-level has tripled (I think that's right, it was in an The Irish Times article on Tuesday) and that fees are no more. But is college for everyone? Is DCU or UCD or TCD or NUI the right place for a slightly intelligent, slightly middle-class 18-year-old who can get over 300 points in the Leaving Certificate? Is there some pressure for sixth year students to go to college? (EDW.) I don't think academic life is for all even though it is accessible by all (supposedly).

I am sceptical of my own place in DCU sometimes. (Again, I'm probably a textbook example of some unsure, whiny teenager.) The essays due, the exams to be sat and other assignments to be done will take some doing on my part. It's even difficult to know to do them on, with no module exempt. If I was a really bad worrier, I'd be fucked because it can look impossible. I don't know if I'll pass these modules. Then get reading you say! Good idea. "Am I bovvered though?"

To leave on a nicer note than that I hope you all enjoyed St. Patrick's Day whatever you were up to. Isn't great to be born on the island of Ireland!?

Draft Messages

There's a few messages in the drafts folder of my phone. If I think of something that's either funny or memorable, or just notable, I save it there for future reference. Well, that's the background information on this and now the real post will begin and the like. Please take your seats.

"In the total song of life, the dissonant, cacophonous elements have to be accepted, transcended and absorbed into the dominant melody."
This particular quote/sentence was brought to my attention by a nun, of all people. The ex-head nun at the home in New Jersey of my great-aunt (a nun) had it in her head that I was somewhat intelligent when we were NJ in 2004. She printed this out on a green page for me. It's of interest and a nice little thing to be able to recite during the hardships of tedious conversations.

Ooh! Sorry, I thought I had something musical there but it was only a headache.
I have little idea where that came from or anything. Silly.

Zip, zip, mick up yer cocky. Self-explanatory.

Don't mess with me. I'm a Jew.
I don't know if this would sound funnier if it read "I'm a Catholic." Or maybe Baptist...

"Tall women surround me now and a gentleman passing us by. Who did we meet? A pretty young Communist of all people! She wore red and cleaned tables with efficiency and 'y'alright?'"
Dave and I were in the Cock one evening. Obviously some young one stood up from the next table and looked reasonably tall. I had only listened to Black Velvet Band earlier that day, hence the next bit. Well done.

Memo to self: auld ones must like the Evening Herald in the early afternoon. Isn't revamp a stupid word?
I was on my way into a lecture recently (it was probably last Thursday) and I passed two auld ones coming onto Shanowen Avenue, each with a copy of (presumably) that day's Evening Herald. It was only about half one in the day. It was as if it was a microcosm of society. The sight just made an impression on me. Or was it that I wanted something to do as I waited for the little green man to tell me it was safe to cross the road?

John B. Keane You're on for Next Sunday.
Somehow a short story that we read during the junior cycle of education came into my mind today. Some fella was wandering about a graveyard and the spirits asked him to play a game of hurling with them. At the end they said he was on for the following week too. Was he dead? Oh, oh! I think it was written by Mr. Keane. I could be wrong. It's a guess at the title too. Something like that. All my classmates will probably remember this short story on prompting the memory. The dreaded Scano classes. Lord bless us and save us.

Saving things as text messages is a great way to record things on the go. Things to do or write about or read or look up. I have a list of books, films and songs there too. Life: A User's Guide is one one the list. Unfortunately, I haven't came across it of yet, even in Hodges Figgis. Shock!

The other day I was knocking around the DCU library after lectures and stumbled across the fiction fiction. Before that point in time, I was unaware of its existence. Non-academic books that I would actually want to read. I saw a few names and I thought, oooh, I want to read that. I took out my phone and saved a few authors' names, which includes Roddy Doyle (I want to read something written by him, possible The Snapper) and Flann O'Brien (there's a brand new edition of The Third Policeman there that cried out READ ME).


The daily functions of the mobile telephone extends further until it's part and parcel and mickey of all people, not that it's not a neccesary piece of equipment to survive already. Giz yer foe-win.

Dublin

"Fort of the Dane,
Garrison of the Saxon,
Augustan capital
Of a Gaelic nation"

-Louis MacNeice

I had a lovely day knocking around town the other day, Monday 11th February. Ma decided that she wanted to go up to the War Memorial Gardens , so off we went. It was a fine day with a warm sun that would remind any sober soul of a Summer's day. We got the bus into town and walked up the quays and into the gardens. They're great. Grand for a walk. There was a few people walking about in the good weather. And why not?



So, after a gander about the War Memorial Gardens, we went in the direction of the Wellington Monument up the Phoenix Park. I hadn't been at it since I was a young fella. We had a seat upon the steps of the 62m obelisk. The Spire is almost twice the height of it at 120m. I'd have never thought that by looking at it.



I had another sight worth seeing in mind. The Patrick Kavangh statue sits quietly and proudly on the bank of Dublin's Grand Canal. I was meant to pay a visit to Paddy last Summer but I never got around to it. So, fair play ot Kavanagh for sitting there perpetually, watching the ducks drift by (in twos and threes) and having to sit beside Antoinette Quinn's daughter as she waits for her boyfriend coming out of one of the nearby offices for lunch.



I hope you like my amazing photos. I took them with my phone. I'll put up another few tomorrow too from the Sony digital camera we have. Maybe I'll have another installment of photos of other places in Dublin that I've meant to go to for ages and never have. That might be nice. Anyway, must dash, I have a lecture in the morning at ten o'clock. Good luck to all involved.

Negligence

Poor blog, I haven't posted here for quite a while. It's been over two weeks now. Well, I haven't been doing much. I had things for college on the tenth and the eleventh of this month. The LG116 Introduction to Politics assignment was available from the ninth and had to be submitted the next day. The 3,000 word essay for LC110 Language, Culture and International Communication was due on the eleventh. I did shit on that one (not to mention LG116). I think I can expect about 20%. (For the chemistry LC mock exam I tried to predicted my result by using the spare time I had at the end, which was about an hour, to count up the things I got right. I predicted high forties. I got mid forties. Well done me. No worries though, chemistry was my best result for the real thing!) So, hopefully I'll pass these modules and all that.

After that, not much has been going on. I've been getting up late, eating breakfast, watching episodes of either Fawlty Towers or 'Allo 'Allo. I've then been doing a selection of things, many of which start with nothing and end with being in the pub.

Last Saturday night/Sunday morning (19th-20th Jan.) was of considerable interest. Clark (mah man) had dropped me a text asking if I'd fancy a drink that evening. Sure, no harm sez I. We met at about nine outside the Cock Tavern as usual. Unfortunately, it was rather full inside with nowhere to sit down. So, for a change, we tried the Lamb across the road. Clark had no ID and Mr. Doorman was having none of it. So, back to the Cock we went. Still no seats or anything. Out again. Somehow, I had a moment of inspiration and asked Clark had he ever been to the Lord Mayor's. From that decision came a good night. We had a few pints (Heineken) in the Mayor's until about twelve. Then, as arranged earlier, we went to get a 3-in-1 down the street. Oh, it was delish and utterly amazing. Chinese of that sort is made for the slightly drunk.

Again, on an impulse, we decide to head back to Clark's house. What a walk, what a 3-in-1! In the time spent there, we discovered the new combo drink of Jameson Irish whiskey and orange juice from Dunnes Stores (or wherever). Credit goes to Clark, but I did wholeheartedly agree on its lovely taste. I also found out that Eddie Vedder wrote the soundtrack for that film about the guy who went off and died after giving all his money away.

I started for home at about half four, maybe. I met some people along the way and had a chat. I did my good deed for the day (so early too) and made it home tired and satisfied (sounds a bit filthy). I fell asleep without bothering to take off my shirt. Oh what a rain that would be (have you realised that I use lots of brackets?).

Recently, don't ask me when, I saw the film I Am Legend in Movies @ Swords. What a shit name for a cinema. Bloody Dundrum heads too. Anyway, I went along with Lorna because she fancies William of the Smiths. I liked it. Nice and odd. If I was bothered (which I doubt I'll ever be) I should rent the other two films made about the book. I can't see that happening but I saw that film, one down two to go. Last night we watched Saw. It, again, was nice and odd. Recommended watching film. As I mentioned above, I've been watching the DVDs of TV comedy classics. I was given the Fawlty Towers box-set for Christmas. Nothing else needs to be said. Everyone just knows how deadly it is. "I speeka Eengalish. I lern eet from a buuck." 'Allo 'Allo is great too. Technically it was my Da that received the present of the first and second series on DVD but myself and my Ma have been indulging, working our way through the episodes.

I'm currently reading "Jude: Level 1" by Julian Gough. It's a comic novel about the poor orphan Jude and the messes he gets into trying find his true love. I'm enjoying it so far (page seventy-nine in brackets no comma required). There's capital letters everywhere and I can't help thinking that it's a code or I'm missing some great acronym, pun or something along those lines. Oh well, even if I am, it's very good.

I have lots of music to listen to too. I bought Look Alive, the DVD and CD thing that Incubus released recently. It's got live concert footage of songs from Light Grenades along with the odd oldies too, including Aqueous Transmission which I'm looking forward to looking at. The CD has lots of new songs which I believe are mostly written by Mike. La La La Zoom Zoom Zoom is interesting, I had a listen earlier. But, I'll listen to more tomorrow.

I suppose the greatest thing since sliced bread or the greatest thing of the month is the turmoil seen today on the stock markets. Sorry, wrong thing. I will soon be in Tromso, Norway. My Ma recently became mildly obsessed with the idea of seeing the aurora with her own two eyes. I, immediately, wasn't too pushed with the idea. I had this idea in my head that I'd like to see the phenomenon later in my own life. I had been saying that I'd like to see it for a year or two before all of this and I presume that was the idea I had, the later in life experience. But, nonetheless, I'll be going to Tromso, to see the city with the hope of witnessing the sight. It's not guaranteed, so I'm not building any hopes. I'm saying that we're going to Tromso instead of saying we're going to see the Northern Lights. We're (we being myself, my parents, Lorna and Catherine) off for three days and will be cold. We'll see how it goes.

It's almost two o'clock in the morning of Wednesday, the twenty-third of January 2008. Wow. For now, I'm glad I've put something here to fill some space. It's all worthwhile. Recently, I've been posting stuff on Bramblog for the laugh. I started off writing the Story of Ben meaning for it to be for Bramblog but it just got too long and didn't fit the criteria for the blog. It ended up on my other blog (Notebook) which is linked to in the left column.

I'm leaving you with the words of Einstein.

The hardest thing in the world to understand is the income tax.

Apparently I've to put Copyright: Kevin Harris 1995 so that I can put it here. S'all good. Fair play to all. Nighty now.

Wake up & smell the cold coffee

It's a terrible thing. Last night I was in Dave's until about four, if I can recall events in even a mildly accurate manner. I got in, locked up and read for a while. I was reading The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar. It's one of his short stories that I enjoyed when I was younger and I wanted to read it again. It's aimed for the younger folk, but it's a grand story. It was about half five when I got under the covers for some kip. So off I dazed into that annoying thoughtland that prohibits me from actually sleeping. I was tired so I don't think it took that long to get through passport control from Thoughtland into Nodland.

My parents were going somewhere this morning and they came into my room, waking me up, and told me they were going out. They must have been going to the Pavloovians because they took some of my vouchers. I have no idea what time this happened at. Nevertheless, it didn't make me get up and about. The next thing I realise is my phone vibrating on the other side of my pillow. It was Dave calling me. The time? Twenty minutes past two.

Two and a half hours later it was dark. How crap. My day begins and soon it's dark. Not much of a day, you might say. I agree. What's equally as bad is that tomorrow will probably be no better. Well, unless I go to bed reasonably early tonight, which would be difficult. I doubt I'll be tired until at least three o'clock.

While I'm on this subject, have a look at the Yahoo image search for yawn. See if you notice anything.

Good luck now.