I was at one stage pretty convinced that there was nothing worse in this lifetime than Ikea on a Saturday afternoon.
That was before I spotted their “Christmas shop now open” sign.
Dropped Slender Boy to school this morning.
It was an instant success.
There was a lot of laughter and cries of “oh, Slender Man!” and “hi Luca!”
Too successful in fact.
Luca caught sight of himself on Wednesday when we did a trial run with a tight over his face… Not a good idea.
He was shit scared of his own reflection… Cue two nights of not sleeping well and an interesting bout of eczema.
The poor little guy. Had I not come up with the last minute compromise of kitchen paper wrapped around his face to achieve the Slender Man look, he would have had to go to school dressed as Eczema Boy.
With his peeling eye lids and itchy neck and elbow creases…
- Jayzis, Brenda, I can’t believe it. Here’s another of them snappers trying to take my photo.
– Snappers? Aren’t we out of them Helen? It’s not often the local boats catch a red snapper. Only the ones with a really banjaxed GPS…
– No Brenda, not a fish. A bloke. With a camera. A big yoke with loads of buttons. And a camera around his neck.
– Slap him with a mackerel Helen!
– No way, I’m not wasting any fresh fish on that gobshite. I’ll let him take a few snaps and send him on his merry way. We need a “no photography” sign beside the “no fishing” sign…
I buy fresh fish from Helen every Thursday.
Up until yesterday, I had no idea that her name was Helen.
To me, she was the fresh-fish-lady-from-the-Ice-Box.
Today I walked in and said “Hi Helen, two pounds of whiting please”.
She did flinch. A bit. We talked about whiting, as we do every Thursday, and then I asked her if she did not wonder how I knew her name. She did. A bit.
She was quite sure that she had not told me her name. Quite sure, but not sure sure.
So I told her with a smile that I got her name from the Internet the day before.
And proceeded to show her Skyroad’s photo on my phone.
And we had a laugh.
And we talked whiting for another while. There is surprisingly loads to talk about on the topic of whiting. We still haven’t quite exhausted the subject.
Which is good. Because I like going to the Ice Box. Every week.
Helen let’s me poke the mackerel in the eye balls, and sniff the plaice’s gills for freshness and caress the whiting fillets to check their texture.
They are always invariably fresh. Like fresh fish should be.
Eat your heart out Tesco, and your 13 middle men between the trawler and my frying pan.
Crow! Crow! CROW!!!
Lads, lads, it’s quarter past six. Crow! Crow! CROWWWWWW!
Jayzus, what are we going to do?!? Oh – My- God!!! Where will we sleep?!
Crow! Crow! CROW!!!
I suppose we could all sleep in the same trees as last night. But….crow!…. crow!… CROWWWWWW!
First let’s fly all around the place like mad eedjits and crow like lunatics.
Crow! Crow! CROWWWWWW!
Jeez, I’m so tired, I think it’s time to hit the sack…
Ok, another 3 minutes of ear-splitting acrobatics and I’m definitely going to bed.
Crow! Crow! Crow! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW! CROWWWWWW!
A fast, comfortable, reliable, good value, modern and comprehensive railway network?
Don’t just dream it.
Oops shite. Sorry guys, wrong product. Go back to sleep all of you and dream harder. We’ll give you some extra time for that. We are expecting some delays (those of more than 10 minutes, the others we don’t even bother our arses mentioning them).
Yep, another four leaves have landed on the tracks.
And the weather conditions could be described in meteorological terms as “blowy as fuck”.
This being Ireland, we are understandably unprepared to deal with blowy-as-fuck weather conditions.
Thanks for choosing Iarnrod Eireann.
You what? You don’t have a choice? Be-jeezus, but that’s true! Another 29% hike on your ticket next December, dude. Your Christmas bonus from all of us at Irish Rail.
Keep your options open.
Warn the public, but do not become too specific.
Someone cuts their toe on a broken bottle?
Ha! We told you so!
A swimmer stung by a jelly-fish?
Ha! You can’t say you haven’t been warned!
A toddler in an inflatable duck ring swallowed by an Adequate Beige shark*?
Ha! Can’t you read the sign?!
The Dun Laoghaire County Council Accounts Department Subaquatic Christmas Party decimated by a giant squid?
Ha! Divine justice!
* no Great Whites in these waters, too cold…
Oh, that dreadfully hard to pronounce
He felt compelled to ponder its use or withdrawal.
A monosyllabic word that he learned to master from such an early age.
That he used so naturally for so many years, with its-siamese-twin- seperated-at-birth
I am seriously contemplating using Finn’s linguistic seminar tactics in the work place (“Has anyone seen mememe2U? There are dozens of idiotic queries waiting for an instantaneous reply lest VPs become CCed” “Too bad mate, he has booked the Sulk Room for the whole morning, someone sent him an email ending in BR – which he abhors so much, as it is the very opposite of someone’s best regards…)