Monthly Archives: July 2010
Tolls on national roads
They can fuck right off with that. All that’s left is a tax tax. I wouldn’t put it past the cunts either.
Juve got to be joking
The phone rings, it is before 7am. Probably bad news. No. It is my Italian friend. The one who lives in Italy. He works for Juventus. I ignore it. It rings again. I answer and hang up. He’ll get the … Continue reading
Tourism suggestions
So fewer people are coming to Ireland. Numbers are 25% down apparently and tourism bosses want the €10 tourist tax scrapped. Which kind of misses the point. That tax is no expensive, it’s everything else. What would you suggest? Get … Continue reading
Interest rates and mortgages
So this morning the lovely people from the bank we mostly own whose subsidiary gave me my mortgage sent me a letter outlining my various options. A number of fixed length terms are on offer which would, in the short … Continue reading
Fryin’ lorry
Some years ago Dirty Dave and Stinking Pete decided they would do stand-up comedy. They were all ready for their first open mic session at the International when they realised they didn’t have a name for their act. Against all … Continue reading
Happy Gilmore
Speaking to the Irish Times Labour leader Eamon Gilmore says: I want to be absolutely clear. I don’t want there to be any ambiguity about this. Fianna Fail must be put out of government at the next election. Yes, yes, … Continue reading
Book launch. Relax, not mine.
Bloggers and books, a winning combination, just ask anyone in the Sunday Times. They can’t get enough of that bloggy book goodness. Ireland’s only Welsh blogger who takes half her name from a Fleetwood Mac song, Annie Rhiannon, has done … Continue reading
Sweet ones
I woke this morning extremely tired because I had one of those really real dreams. In this dream I was out until 5am drinking like a fish. Even in my dream I was giving out to myself saying ‘You stupid … Continue reading
Casa Fear
A wise man once said “Once a man is in your home anything you do to him is nice and legal”. Time to invite your own Flanders in.
It used to be much bigger/longer/scarier
The forest was dark, immense and never ending. The trees huddled together with gnarled scary limbs ready to grab, snatch and scrape. If the football went in there it took all the bravery you had to go in and fetch … Continue reading
The forest was dark, immense and never ending. The trees huddled together with gnarled scary limbs ready to grab, snatch and scrape. If the football went in there it took all the bravery you had to go in and fetch it. Who knew what lurked behind the giant oak? The rustle was never the wind, it was the imminent arrival of a hunchbacked ghoul, drooling, chuckling ready to clutch an ankle and drag you back to a lair with a secret door that nobody would ever find.
Now, it’s no forest. Just a small patch of trees.
The path to the giant horse chesnut was long and winding. You could see it the distance, the conkers hundreds of feet from the ground, only the very best throw of a stick might dislodge one. In the summer it was hazy, the long hot days drying out the dirt, stones and dust flying from heels and bike wheels. It was an expedition.
Now, it’s a short stroll.
The hallway was vast, the stairs wound upwards as far as the eye could see. A hushed word would echo, bouncing off the walls so far apart on either side. The great bannisters wound their way around the staircase. A young man might clamber onto them, sliding down at breakneck speed, the skill and balance required to stay on worthy of an Olypmic sport.
Now, it’s not even close to vast.
Things remembered smaller, closer, thinner, shorter, less dangerous. Except the lions. The lions remain the same.