sun and fair weather, over Dublin, you've got to be kidding, right?

Weird meteorological phenomenon observed over Dublin Bay.

Proceed with caution.
A weird, and rather huge, and definitely unexplained source of very bright light has produced a strange optical phenomenon.
The public is advised to take extreme care while venturing outdoors as it can be very painful for the eyes.
The National Committee for the Creation of Head-Scratching Consultancy Groups is currently recruiting consultants with expertise in unexplained bright lights. Or a first cousin sitting on the NCCHSCG.
Met Eireann predicts that the protective cover made of thick grey clouds should soon be back where it belongs, and we will soon be able to ditch the welder’s helmets and other daytime Bono-shades.

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Easy now!

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Mimiteen is ten

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Jayzus… 10 years already since that little fist punched the air, out of the C section, prompting the obstetrician to ask you to take it easy.

How incredibly aware of your environment you’ve been from an early age.
You looked so serious for the first couple of months, taking in the world around you with your big saucer eyes, and that little frown that said that you were reserving your judgment until later, after you had gathered more information.

You’ve grown a lot since. I know what you are thinking, but don’t worry about the height. It’s just centimeters. Your growth is measured in other units, and it is tremendous.

You are so in tune with the world around you that it is I, big bozo, who learns from you.
You show tremendous maturity when it comes to relationship intelligence.
Especially if we use your brothers for bench-marking purposes…

I am so delighted your enjoyed your birthday.

Enjoy your first watch. And your first real writer’s pen (no, it doesn’t run out, you just pop in a new cartridge!) And your Game of Life and Monopoly with credit cards (sort of annihilates what was truly fun about Monopoly, the dipping in the bank while the others were not watching…)

Mum and Dad, and Pepe and Nana, and the bros love you very much.

There is only one Mimi.
And you are she.

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Standard

An altar to MDF

The Big Blue and Yellow shed


Last Thursday, once again, for the sake of fun and surprising parenting, I bit the bullet.
I bit a whole AK47 charger full of them actually.
I offered, unprompted, to take Mimi and Finn for a Swedish hotdog after our fun-filled swim in Ballymun.
They very happily took me up on the offer.

The usual sense of aggressive tension was permeating the car park and entrance to the Church of the Holy MDF.
Having no intention of buying any colourful trinkets or flat-packed modern living, I steered them straight to the customer returns area (who in their right mind could be unhappy with their colourful trinkets or shiny flatpacked Billy bookcases?!) where the hotdogs can be found. And stressed, aggressive, short-tempered shoppers who have just been spat out of the checkout area €350 poorer than they had intended to be (cheap colourful trinkets have a nasty habit of combining into a surprisingly high total it seems…)
With barely three dozens angry Neanderthals in the queue ahead of us, we considered ourselves lucky.

The kids loved it. The nasty hotdogs, the chips, the doughnuts, but most of all the free refill cups.
I was tempted to try and explain to them that nothing is free in life, that the “free” refill is actually very much incorporated in the sales price.
But that would mean being boring old daddy, on a rare day when I had actually volunteered to take them to the big blue and yellow shed…

They loved all of it.
They loved the pool.
They loved the waterslide.
They loved the long hot shower after the cold water.
They loved their hotdog meals.
They loved the sugar rush from their refilled cups.

Unsurprisingly, they were like possessed beings for the drive back.
(But I did find it hard not to smile when they were wondering why there are so many words for a penis. “Penis! And Willy. And zizi” “And balls” “Not balls, Finn, they are the testicles, it’s not part of the penis, it’s the goolies, and the dangly bit is called the sack” “Santa’s sack!!!” Giggle giggle giggle giggle giggle giggle giggle)

A good day.

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In a trance

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poor horse

Horsy horsy do not stop

Bah, sure, Stephanie told herself, working in the RHA for a couple of weeks would be a bit of craic. She’d interact with some of those zany arty folks, and there would be much banter and bohemian good humour.

Three hours into her first shift between the dead horse and the hanging lamb and she was no longer so sure.

hanging lamb

It’s behind you!

The unnerving sounds coming from the installation next door were beginning to make her feel decidedly uncomfortable.

She was afraid to take another glance at the black and white photograph of the dead nun.

dead nun

Nun too sure about this…

She tried to lose herself in her book but she couldn’t block out the sounds emanating from the Victorian plaster room.
Another “coucou” she was running the fuck out of there…

Let's get plastered in there

Plastering job

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Horsing around

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crime in Dun Laoghaire

Vandals target disused Dun Laoghaire shop

Shite, I think my finger prints are clearly visible between Clinton and Bryson…

This gag is as old as the Pet Shop Boys and as revolutionary as a Che Guevara t-shirt but it still makes me laugh.

And god knows laughs were in short supply in the Mistake Factory today…

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Bill-advised attempt at anarchic humour

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