Snow.

- 8 outside. WTF?

Looking at the photos of all the people sleeping in Heathrow is enough to make a person shudder. Medbh is stuck in Haarlem and might be there until the 23rd.  It’s chaos. Total chaos.

Here we’re down to our last few thousand tons of salt, not that we saw any of it the last time. Already our public transport is groaning and creaking like a listing wooden ship. I feel mildly churlish whinging about minor things. I have no water half the day, I  can’t get to Crossfit as my car is buried under a foot of snow and the roads are in bits. My brother missed out on a dinner of roast duck and orange sauce last night and had to abandon his car at his work. The paramour has had his football cancelled. I have not bought a single present, so I will HAVE to get to town or Dundrum either today or tomorrow. How I don’t know, but somehow.

Still, very minor in the grand scheme of things. I have a warm house, food in my fridge and wine in my rack. It’s an inconvenience. That’s all, and good to remember that.

Two people died under Suir Bridge a fdw days ago, out in this, alone, frozen.  It a sharp reminded that snow is pretty, it’s a pain in the arse, but for some it is a death sentence. Stay safe people, stay safe. And if you feel like doing something nice, donate whatever you can spare to the Simon Community.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it”

You have to wonder what’s going on in the mind of Gareth O’Callaghan at the moment with all his warbling to the press. Certainly you would to imagine he has effectively finished any chance he had at a career in media. I wonder who he is going to throw under the bus next with his stool pigeon act?

Who could it be? Derek Davis mainlines heroin? He and Thelma were meth swingers? Ivan Yates smokes opium? Who can say, well Gareth can I suppose, assuming he survives into the new year.

Off to Ikea, if I don’t return, feed Puddy.

The ginger day sounds of silence.

 

( What the paramour dreams of)

YAWN!

Happy ginger day to you all. This week’s photo is brought to you courtesy of Gimmie. You may wish to thank him when you see him.

Once again is it brass monkeys out there, if you could see me you would wonder why I am wearing a yak-  and I wouldn’t blame you at all, but yaks are surprisingly warm, so fashion be damned. Anyway, I am too sleepy to be anything other than toasty- oh why am I so sleepy nobody asked. Fear not, I will tell you. I am sleepy because I long ago I hitched my wagon to a man who when not snoring like long-lost bull moose, is kicking footballs in his sleep.

All of last week, and some of this, the paramour has woken me around 4am with sounds so loud I am surprised glass didn’t break down the street. Being the kind sort of softie he is, he bought nasal strips to reduce the warbling snargle so that we, and I do mean WE might both sleep soundly. Naturally this reduction in sound is very welcome, the nocturnal theatrics less so.

‘I think we ought to get twin beds, like Ernie and Bert,’ I informed him over my eggs this morning.

He laughed.

He has the AGM with the manliest of his chums tonight. I have already warned him that I have CF early tomorrow and if he wakes me my retribution will be swift and possibly painful.

He can’t say I didn’t warn him.

1-2-3, is this thing on?

That’s what this is – you can ignore or it or you can leave a comment.

Rubberbandits talk to Joe.

Unless you’ve been asleep in a cave in Laois, you are probably au fait with the Rubberbandits and their video/song Horse Outside. It’s a fairly amusing piss take at boy racers and muppets and head the balls that populate this country.  Now- thanks to a bezillion votes, it might just pip whatever muck the X-factor stirred up, and become a Christmas number one.

Naturally the morally outraged too to the airwaves, dribbling forth on Headmuppet of the universe Joooooooooooooooeeeee  Duffy’s craptastic show.

‘It’s a disgrace!’

‘Won’t somebody think of the children!”

( my personal favourite) ‘I don’t care what 60 Cent sings about!’

‘What’s a bag of yokes?’

Then uber fucktard Willie O Dea came over all Pappy O Daniel and weasled his way on looking for the cool vote, displaying his sense of humour and sense of bottom feeding on one foul FF swoop.

Oh t’awas fierce entertaining all together. Especially when on of the lad from the band came on air and made an absolute monkey’s left testicle of the outraged.

You can listen to the podcast here.

Where on Earth do these muppets get off? Do they think they can go through life without being offended? Where did they get their special status from I wonder?  Ridiculous people. I particularly like the ‘oh my gosh, drugs????’ attitude by Mr RTE himself. Yeah Joe, there are drugs in the country- your good pal Gerry Ryan, ‘member him? Drugs.

Gerry Ryan, a burden of his own making.

Ryan Tubridy has taken to the airwaves to waffle on about Gerry Ryan, calling for people to let him ‘rest in peace’ which is fair enough I suppose. But then he compounds his plea with this little nugget of stupidity.

“Gerry’s family now have an unsolicited burden to contend with; we can’t lose sight of that.

“There are children, family, friends who are very upset about what they have been reading and hearing.

“Without going on about it, there is an expression used when someone dies and that expression is ‘rest in peace’, and these are the words that have been echoing in my mind this weekend.

“And with that I would urge all of you listening this morning to let Gerry quite simply rest in peace,” he said in conclusion.

Now this irks the crap out of me, what, we can’t talk about some body because they’re dead?  What poppycock is this? The burden his family is under is not due to ANYBODY except Gerry Ryan. He and he alone is the cause of their distress. The fact that the highly paid presenter had 5 children and did not even secure the roof over their heads makes me think not too highly of him.

We have this queer notion in Ireland that death absolves people of the most heinous behaviour. It doesn’t. We  don’t need to gloat over the dead, nor be unkind to be unkind, but for fuck’s sake, we can call a spade a spade. Death does not automatically beatify a person, nor should it mean removing any mention of them from public discourse. Gerry Ryan was a drug abusing hypocrite who died before his time and left his family in a perilous financial position. That’s not speaking ill of the dead, it is what it is.

Gerry Adams denies Wikileaks report.

The Wikileaks are interesting are they not? Vatican feelings hurty, and now Gerry Adams doing his usual look over there line of defence.

Standing over the kitchen sink this morning I listened to the very glib goalpost moving spin master deliver his rebuttal to Newstalk over wikileaked reports that he ( Gerry Adams) and Martin McGuinness knew that The Northern Bank was going to be robbed back in ’04.

Gerry, sounding like he could barely contain his mocking laugh, pretty much laid the blame of such a report on the cloven feet of Bertie Ahern, citing electoral jealousy as the route cause of hostility.

‘Pffft’ I said, as Gerry then spoke winningly of how the shinners only want to help the people of Ireland to get out of the mess cloven footed Yellow Mac wearers like Bertie caused. It was * quite* the performance and if I didn’t think Gerry Adams was a total psychopath I’d be mildly impressed by the pary he shows for our lots.

Also assuming I wiped by memory bank clean of what and who the Shinners associated with for, oh, the bulk of my upbringing. You know, in their capacity as political wing for that merry band of bombers, kidnappers and slaughterers of their fellow-man, the IRA.

If Gerry Adams told me today was Monday, I’d nod and check my calender just the same. And I’m glad this kind of stuff is coming out now while he’s on the election trail.

‘Does you have any skeletons in the closet?’ The Newstalk guy asked.

Normally that would be a euphemism, but in Adams case, it could be taken literally.

‘

Findings at Gerry Ryan Inquest.

“The inquest in the death of RTÉ broadcaster Gerry Ryan has heard that traces of cocaine found in his system were the likely trigger to a cardiac arrhythmia that resulted in his death.
A coroner said that Mr Ryan’s heart was normal, but he said traces of cocaine were found in his system during toxicology tests carried out at Beaumont Hospital and at the State Laboratory.
He said that alcohol levels in Mr Ryan’s system were nowhere near the level that would cause complications.

Mr Ryan, 53, was found dead at his apartment at Upper Leeson Street in Dublin on 30 April.
Earlier, the partner of TV and radio presenter Gerry Ryan denied that he used cocaine in the hours before his death.
Melanie Verwoerd was speaking at the inquest for the RTÉ broadcaster at the Dublin City Coroner’s Court.
Asked by Coroner Brian Farrell if ‘cocaine was ever an issue’, Ms Verwoerd said ‘absolutely not’.
Ms Verwoerd said one of the ground rules of their relationship was that drugs were not acceptable. She said in the two years they were together nothing had been used.
Ms Verwoerd said that the pressures of finalising his separation from his wife Morah, as well as enormous pressure from RTÉ and his work, had begun to take a toll on Mr Ryan.
She said that he was constantly waking in the middle of the night, sweating and feeling very unwell.”

 

I have just emailed my pal, who is France, the news. She will be shocked beyond belief. I can’t say that I am.

Throw the fucker in Jail, it’s ginger day.

I woke up furious, and am still in that nervous state. Everything and I mean EVERYTHING is making me angry, to the siren like ‘warrrgh’ of the bigger of the cats, to the no water in my taps, to the lethal ice on the fucking road outside my house.

Reading the papers has not helped any.

This story in particular has annoyed me further.

Molester attacks women, blames urges.

Have you ever read anything as pathetic in all your born days? He gets urges. Well fuck him and his urges. We all get urges for things from time to time. I have an urge right now to go out kick something from one end of the street to the other, howl loudly and set fire to the world. But I won’t.

It’s  a bloody joke that this ass hole think he can go around attacking women and then utter a namby pamby flimsy brain fart like urges. But then I don’t expect much from men who think it is okay to sexually assault women. Like that dirt bird on the  Subway in New York and the brave woman who called him out on it, men for ALL fucking time see nothing wrong with acting on their urges to the detriment of people around them.

And what is this shit?

“Judge Desmond Hogan said he was greatly concerned about Bannon’s likelihood to reoffend and ordered a probation report be prepared before sentencing.

He remanded Bannon on bail until next February.”

If you think this sick fuck is going to reoffend why is he back out on the street where he can grope and assault to his heart’s contentment? LOCK HIM AWAY if you’re concerned, Judge. Simple, no?

For all that is wrong with Europe…

at least we haven’t thrown in the towel on reason. I mention this because, Grinch like, tis the season of nativity plays and midnight masses. A time where despite not a scrap of evidence a dead holy man’s birthday is celebrated. Where virgin mothers and magical stars are pondered over blithely and like those muppets sitting beside me in Wexford Street talking about how a person was pushed in the water in Lourdes via wheelchair and WOOOO walked out, not too many bother going ‘Hey, wait a minute, that does not make sense’.

And yet I like Christmas, it’s also a time for family, for friends, for a little good will in the world. And Grinch or not I cannot find fault with that. I hope everyone enjoys themselves and is merry.