Sunday, November 27, 2005

Do you need booze for a good night out?

I'm not going to bemoan the impending dullness of getting older, nay, I will use it as grounds for research. For example last night I had the joy of experimenting with being both non and boozed up.

First part of the night I spent guzzling an array of drinks - beer, wine, rum - whilst chomping overpriced tasteless grub in Eliza Blues, although in credit to them, the presentation was purdy and the Hen party suitably tacky.

Conclusion: My arguments and entertaining quotes were widely enjoyed and when the waitress accidentally flung a knife at me, I didn't mind, just joked that I daren't say the wine was off as she might throw another one. Also, I was less irked by the nearby vocal Hen party than the non-drinking chums - apparently the Hens were shouting, but I just heard gentle clucking.

Second part of the night we listened to pseudo jazz in the Westin (Mint Bar - not my stylie, but the chums I was with were into it) and as my fellow boozer had departed for her leaba, I was left alone with two drivers, so I began guzzling diet 7ups.

Conclusion: I still danced to the jazz version of 'Love Cats' (it is kind of possible to sing a Cure song in jazz mode, not so sure it worked with Radiohead though) despite sobriety, and was less annoyed by enthusiastic dancing people than chums. But I did get a little bored about two hours before we left, although that may have been due to the fact that the bar was predominated by men in suits (hello - on a Saturday night?) and that overall it was boring.

Blah, where's me bottle of Ameretto, mmm.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Freedom is never free

Haven't met or voted for him, but now the big flea, freudian slip, I mean fella, wants to protect my freedom so much that he would consider bombing a TV station, and then wave the Official Secrets Act about if someone wanted to tell me about it.

Did the other, more linguistically proficient George (Bernard Shaw), have the spectre of politics future whisper persuasively in ear when he said:

'England and America are two countries separated by a common language'

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Joy to the world - Xmas #1

Can't remember how I was directed to JCB Song a while ago, but apparently it is touted to be the Christmas Number One tune - well worth the download, and the animation is a corker.

Aw, listening to it now, so sad...

Bray on a frosty morning

Following a slow, slow commute across the M50 this morning, arriving as Bray woke up for another day, the beauty of the area sang to me.

In the shop buying a paper, I was too early for my meeting, the woman was really warm and friendly.

'Oh love, you look cold'

'Fierce cold, isn't it?'


'Start of the winter, I reckon'.

'It's lovely out here though this morning'

'Ay you're right, it is lovely today'.

I wish I had got a chance to walk down the Prom at lunch. Maybe tomorrow.

On the way home, listened to practically all of 5-7 live. It isn't good to expose your ears to that volume of disdain and unhappiness with society in one bout. Plus the AA girls kept saying 'traffic is quite heavy on the M50 northbound' (duh) and Philip Boucher-Hayes was all a fluster about hypothetical €70 child care payments, and after an hour of guff, he decided these payments are terribly hypothetical and that Brian Cowen has probably made up his mind already anyway seeing as the budget is due in two weeks.

I wanted to butt in with a helpful opinion, listening to them prattling whilst sitting in dense traffic wasn't pleasure, but then me and bright lights (the bum of the car I became friendly with over the two hour journey) inched around a corner and the whole of Dublin was twinkling yellow light, and between all red brake lights around, I was reminded of Christmas, which is soon. Sigh.

And time goes by, so slowly (on the M50). So on with 98FM and the music wasn't great, but what the hey, I sang along anyway.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Advertising Bah.

Despite attempts to be a Guardian reading, organic buying, literature reading, closed minded to I'm a Celebrity Culture type of person, sometimes the sucky advertising works.

Take cars, which I really have little interest in (except for Betsy who is almost part of nature at her advanced age - almost ten - and her moss growing windows and teeny engine so that doesn't count...)... I want a new Mini Cooper (yup dreadfully four years ago, but Matt Damon in the Bourne Identity, sigh), a Citroen C5 (yup, car = transformer, fulfilling so many childhood fantasies),

And beyond this, I would love to waltz into work in a sleeveless 1950s glamorous dress, with matching make-up and jewellery (yup, Mars Delight ad).

I'm irked beyond belief. I had one of those bars - disgusting - a hybrid of a marshmallow and a sweet, both individually good ideas but leaving a icky sugar glaze on my teeth in reality, not good.

And who are Mars to advocate that I choose a 'new' way to go to work, as they do on a big billboard which is strategically placed just as I pass the point of no return on my lovely morning stroll into my hamster cage.

Also, I think that Nutri-grain bars should be banned - they promise a delightful mouth watering treat which is almost home made. Yeah right, they are just cardboard mixed with saw-dust with nail-polish squidged inside.

And in particular I object to the cinnamon-y mid morning snack, it looks squelchy and moreish, but it is just outright lies, the cinnamon is only a scent callously added afterwards.

I don't even normally buy these bars, but today I had to due to hunger, and even looking at the selection brought back grim memories of breakfasts past.

On the plus side, it was utter bliss to walk into town this morning through chilly fog - reminded me of that Prague Vista in the INXS video 'Never Tear Us Apart', minus the architecture, snow and pretty permed man. Sigh.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Kung Fu ~ distant relative of Fianna? Discuss

Watching Kung Fu Hustle (which was in the words of Peter Cook's character I don't know who, that guy who sat in a pub with Dudley Moore, 'funny') and Faraday posited that there are great similarities between the action of the 'masters' in kung fu movies and those of the Fianna (Fionn, Oisín, all those dudes).

Well, I know I've had a glass or more of red wine, but 'yup' I agree. And suddenly all these matrixesque moves and Jackie Chan movies seem more realistic or failing that relevant.... So why doesn't someone make a kick-ass Fianna story - surely there's one in all the throwing of boulders to make a path to Scotland and bounding across counties in one move and murdering rabied dogs with a sliotar.

Or does Lord of the Rings count? Faraday has suggested that Tolkien was on some Celtic Buzz when he wrote that.

In the meantime I'm going to watch Die Hard 1-3 again - it's at least a year since John McClane ruled my small screen, plus its nearly xmas - Ho Ho Ho, now I have a gun too, etc.

Sunday Mourning

I was woken this morning by the Sunday Miscellany on Radio One spurting all tweedley deedely thoughts about Ireland, many of which could have been penned by De Valera himself and yet again I am lead to believe that we'll will never move on from this claptrap nonsense involving dancing and praying and yawning out of boredom.

Anyway, everyone knows that this city would grind a tall man down, make a clever man drink, ruin a pretty hairstyle, you get the picture.

This afternoon I was reminded of Pavee Lackeen which I went to see in IFI last Saturday night with a friend.

To give you context, today was beautiful - avoided exhaust fumes and skangers by spending the morning running from Squirrels in the Botanics and looking at leaves falling off trees. This afternoon, I followed the bound of enthusiasm to the gym, and I drove home through the strange and wonderful country roads that zig zag north county Dublin, admiring the sun beginning to set while singing like a benign lunatic to REM's 'End of the World'

And, as you do, thoughts went from aw, remember singing along at the disco to wasn't the video for this funny, and then a few years later everyone was discussing if 2000 would be the end of the world - all very cosy thinking.

But then my cheerful thinking was interrupted by my looking outside the window, which is useful whilst driving at unknown speeds, and thinking, it is pretty ming and dirty and squalorish here.

And I remembered that this is where many travellers live. And to be honest, if you take the time to look, which I often do not, well it really sucks. The basic living requirements are not met. So I started thinking a bit about the film, and it was very moving.

But the thing is, I was able to go back to my happy sappy life after seeing it, and at the end of the film you are left watching the traveller girl walking back to her life, so that the message is clear - Ireland doesn't care about you unless you can pay the bill.

Friday, November 18, 2005


The guilt is wriggling wormlike through my veins and I can't bear it, but I'm happy.

My feelings lurch between utter distempt (is this another made up word of mine? why spell check assures me that it is - distempt - a blend of distemper and contempt) and glee.

The distempt is due to:

1. the anticipated arrival of next months ever increasing visa bill
2. the fact that I fancy myself above such crud as being a darned consumer
3. Dorothy aint never getting to Berlin if she keeps buying sparkly things

and the glee is due to the fact that:

1. bags and boxes are covering swathes of my sitting room all filled with NEW things
2. I own a pair of Doc Boots (and they are funky modern ones so nah)
3. I have two pairs of fancy glasses and the optician said my eyesight has improved which leads me to posit that I am in fact getting younger and will be the only person who lives forever, a bit like Dorian Gray
4. Sparkly lovely things are mine, all mine, you are mine my precious....

So, seeing as I'm in the mood of doing lists, I'm going to continue:

nice things that happened this week:

1. boychildmanthing thought I was twenty one! Twenty one! Twenty one! I am therefore great and beautiful and wonderful. Sh*t. There I go again selling out my ideals and buying into the prefeminist convention of judging my relative success by my appearance.

not nice things that happened this week:

1. Sh*t. If it is a shock that I am so old, then that means I'm past it. I'm old.
2. If I'm past it, why am I gadding around in acting classes, I'm like that ancient woman in Sunset Boulevard, except I can't act as good as she does.
3. And yoga was quite tiring this week. I swear we took an especially big break after I nearly landslid from the Mountain into the Cobra.
4. Old ladies began to want to hang out with me. Yesterday that woman on the traffic island. Today I got on very well with the optician, we talked as though we were mates, not like last time I went which was as though I was some kid.
5. And maybe my Doc Boots are only superhotflycool in my head. Maybe everyone else looks at me and thinks, 'bless, look at that mad woman who thinks it is 1988'

This is cr*p. I've totally ruined my own buzz. I'm going to drink myself drunk.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

not all strangers are ass*oles

You get to a certain age and stage in your life when you stop bounding up to strangers and imagining that they are sound, quirky, interesting individuals and you begin to suffer people fatigue.

And then, on days like today, you realise that not all strangers are ass*oles.

Well maybe you didn't, and maybe you've never suffered people fatigue, but this has been my experience today.

I was standing on a traffic island cussing inwardly about the endless cars, the thoughtlessness of the SUV driver and the general pain of life in Dublin. Then I hear a voice.

'Didn't they do a great job love?'

I look around, and then down.

Aw I think. A mini old mad lady who is a stranger, and therefore probably a loopy loo.

'Isn't it great though love, the work that they be doing, and doesn't it make you take pride?'

I look at the traffic island upon which we are both stranded and indeed she is right, it is the Bahamas of northside traffic islands. There are cobblestones and careful planting arrangements.

Still. I don't really know what to say. Possibly I say 'phfneeeeeelch'. Or maybe just 'yes'. I'm not sure.

Anyway, I'm on my way to yoga class, and the mini lady who turns out not to be too mad, just a little bit and really quite friendly and nice, decides to accompany me in my walk up the road. This involves her doing a little old lady speed walk whilst I attempt to do a not so tall lady slow walk (I imagine I looked rather stupid).

I learnt all about her life, her husband, the local doctor's daily walking routine through the Botanic Gardens.

And most importantly folks, I learnt that not all strangers are ass*oles. They may be mad, or odd, but they may also make you look just that little bit more closely at your traffic island.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Spiritual Void

When I was in college Spiritualised were rather voguey, and I only mention that to seg gently into saying that I am spiritually void and it doesn't bother me. Mostly.

But sometimes, particularly those odd times, I mean really odd times, when I end up tapping into a spiritual conversation or moment with someone who is, I do feel a bit of a party pooper.

I'll entertain all sorts of ideas such as Aliens and have been known to experiment with the other side (ok, last time was when I was in school with a ouiji board, but still). And I'm not an ass*ole, I do wish happy thoughts such as that my Grandfather and my cat (both deceased within adult memory) are in a nice place, possibly together, although my Grandfather wasn't particularly interested in the cat, but who knows. I go so far as to wish my Grandfather and cat are living it up jolly old style, possibly in a Wallace and Gromit type setting.

And I do like to try things out - I'm doing yoga (interesting note I discovered from the radio today: youknow that song 'do you like Pina Colada, making love after midnight, getting caught in the rain'? - actually says, 'if you have no time for yoga, have half a brain'... considering I have a full brain I would never get caught in a pub waiting for my man having filled in a singles column, more likely you'll catch me stretching into a Mountain Pose whilst dreaming of a glass of Penfolds' Riesling).

But yesterday, after some friends had persuaded me to go with them to hug Amma (see folks, I am open minded), who did give me a lovely hug but not much else, I just felt empty as the conversation rattled from Aura reading to Angel Cards (I really dislike these in particular), and I had to go home to eat a big sandwich and crisps and watch trash TV just to stop feeling so sad.

My sadness was due to the void I felt growing between me and my friends.

Then tonight, I rang my mother and mentioned this. She suggested I pray. I said that was nice but as I don't believe in God it wasn't strictly necessary or appropriate, so then just to freak me out goodo and make me feel closer to Camus' Outsider than I have since I was sixteen, she suggested Angel Cards and she said that she has a pack.

Is this my future? Am I eventually going to have babies who I send to Educate Together schools only to have them turn around and say my mother understands them more than I ever could and then ask me to go to a witches coven with them or something?

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Here comes the fear

A few years ago I think I took a growth spurt and then more recently the same happened in reverse.

In other words, some of my friends seem to have growed up faster than me over the past year.

Last night I went to a dinner party which was really nice and relaxed and interesting. The buzz was chilled and the conversation was comfortable yet thought provoking and included a decent amount of giggling, the prerequisite for a good dinner party.

Yet, on my way to said dinner party, I suffered from a blinding sense of deja vu which brought me back to the dinner parties we used to have with A&M, a couple we were really good mates with about six years ago.

Now, I have gone to and hosted a good few dinner parties since we all lost touch, yet, there has been a break of about four months since the last one.

What was it about last night that reminded me of those ones years ago? Was it the fact that our friends have just bought a house and are at that cusp of settling down? All those years ago, when we would get blindingly stocious in the wee hours with A&M, and when we used to go away on drunken coupley weekends, it seemed as though the four of us were in this bubble of adulthood, which our other friends were terrified of.

It just seemed so normal to us, to settle down and worry about bills, our careers and cars. Over the past two years all those grown-up things I really enjoyed have become pretty meaningless to me, and I've moved into some other phase - sure I work and all that, but I get more of a kick out of my hobbies - doing my radio show, travelling and visiting mates abroad, doing the classes and meeting new people...

I almost don't like to say it, but I think back then as couples we might have been nesting. It was purely subconcious, all that setting up home and playing house. Now I suppose looking back on it, maybe we lost touch with A&M because we just were playing where as it was reality for them.

It's hard losing touch with nice people who you had great times with. I might have been a bit worried yesterday before our dinner party that it would happen to us again. And it was strange when my friend asked, 'but who did you talk to when you bought your house, I mean we've got loads of people to ask about it, but you were pretty much the first of all of us to do it'.

We had a lovely time, and I'm sure the deja vu was misplaced, but I just get this sneaky sensation that there are ghosts of friendships past lurking in the shadows.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Inventing new words

I invented a new word today, and I think it was my first one ever.

Although previously I have believed that I invented one only to discover that someone else got there first (one such word is puzzical, which means to look at someone in a puzzled fashion, not to be confused with quizzical. I was assured that puzzical exists heretofore and was also told it is a crap word).

But today's word? I even googled it and no results came up, which I take as a positive sign.

The word:


A perfect synthesis of bling and dosh.

I'm not sure why my word had to be so low-fi on the intellectual front, or why it had to contain the word bling which is very passé, but hey, I still am happy with my literary endeavours today none the less.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Irish Bloggers