Microsoft excel for morons

Bemused would be putting it mildly…

Mrs Raheny with her default expression for the last four days.
Trying to decide whether the book is wrong, or the laptop is wrong, or the teacher didn’t cover that particular point.

She is pretty adamant that there is no Sort Ascending or Sort Descending options in Excel.

She excels at faulting the fucking laptop. Or the shagging book. Or that teacher bollix, the one who snorts really loudly and doesn’t give a crap.

There’s been quite a bit of swearing in the house lately.

My years of teaching and my legendary patience are put to the test. “And what the f*&**” do you call that?! Isn’t it f**** obvious?! A button with a shaggin funnel and an A and a Z! That’s for sorting and filtering, obvious-fucken-ly. What else would you use a funnel for?! To bottle A and Z letters?!”

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xls wtf?!



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The very rare smile

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Christi natali horribilis


Today I discovered that there truly isn’t any speed limit on the extra mile.
This year is going to be the last End of Year report to Wall Street for the Mistake Factory.
Some big private equity fund with shitloads of money, and possibly a sprinkle of business acumen (the jury is still out on that one) decided that buying the Mistake Factory could be a sound investment.

So, this December, for the last time, I decided to pull all the stops to delight the shareholders and decided to wait until the first night of my Christmas vacation to get sick. Very sick.

On the penultimate day of Christmas, my Mimi gave to me, a strep throat under the tree-ee…
Not just to me. She was rather liberal. We are all sick. Except Finnzy, the jammy little bollix. But I would not hold my breath.

It’s been a truly difficult day. I managed to cook a couscous while struggling not to faint.
There were tears. Mrs Raheny’s, as she struggled with the shakes in a blanket that brought little comfort.
I did for a second entertain the notion of reaching for the camera but I was a) too weak to lift the DSLR and the poxy Windows Phone is banjaxed b) only too aware that her state of extreme debilitation would not last for ever, and I would eventually have to pay for my callousness. With interests.

With Nana having opted to keep 200 miles between her and the Place of Pestilence (smart move!), there was little else to do but try not to puke while cooking the couscous (that Pepe won’t eat anyway, any food stuff invented or prepared more than 30 miles from his place of birth is tapas non gratas), and listen to Luca occasionally croak a feeble “this is the worse Christmas ever”.

It possibly is. It definitely is one to remember. I’m sure we will laugh back on it with the passage of time.

But right now it is true and utter agony.

I haven’t eaten anything all day. Ok, a sirloin steak may have passed my lips around 1 pm, and I may have eaten a clementine or eight to help the Germentin go down. I have lost so much body mass that I am getting worried.
Mrs Raheny, who is a classy bird, is on Klacid. I wonder if our GP goes on weekends to the Algarve with different pharmaceutical companies every year, and prefers to hedge his bets.
He wasn’t all that surprised to see all five of us in the surgery at opening time today (we brought Finnzy along, as a benchmark for health and vitality).

Today truly is a poxy Christmas Eve.

And to make matters worse, Mimi has just decided that she will still struggle through Through the Woods.

I’m through with Christmas.





Kids tolerated. When on leash. Please pick up after them.




























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Doggy Christmas in Farmleigh



Luca was busy ketching up with his homework tonight.

The fun times, they truly are over.

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Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet? Can I retire yet?

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Can I retire yet?

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The curse of 51


Poor lads.
It was heartbreaking to see them in tears, yet again.
While Dublin were holding the Sam McGuire aloft. Again.
The Mayo team regularly reaches the all-Ireland football final (the real football, not that soccer thingy practiced by sissies).

I’d be shitting myself if I were Pádraig Carney or Paddy Prendergast. Some football fanatics may be tempted to hasten their demise with a hurley stick.

If you want to find out more about the curse of 51, do read this highly entertaining Wikipedia article on Sports-related curses:

Mayo GAA
The Curse of ’51 allegedly prevents Mayo from winning the Sam Maguire Cup ever again, or at least until the death has occurred of every member of the last winning team from 1951. It remains unbroken—despite the team reaching the final on eight[32] occasions since then, they have either completely collapsed on the day or been undone by a series of other unfortunate events.[33]
The legend tells us that while the boisterous Mayo team were passing through Foxford on the victorious journey home, the team failed to respect a funeral ceremony. The residing priest consequently put a curse on Mayo football to never win a subsequent All-Ireland Final.[34]
In 1989, Mayo reached their first All-Ireland Senior Football Championship Final since their last victory in 1951 only to lose to Cork. In 1996, a freak point by Meath at the end of the final forced a replay, which saw Mayo concede another late score that would deny them victory. Kerry bridged an 11-year title gap against them in 1997with a three-point win, before torturing them by eight points in 2004 and thirteen points in 2006.[35]
Mayo returned to the All-Ireland Senior Football Championship Final in 2012. Even with Taoiseach Enda Kenny in Rome seeking divine intervention through Pope Benedict XVI the day before,[36] the “Kafkaesque black farce”[35] continued from where it had left off—with Donegal allowed bridge a 20-year gap between titles, helped in no small part by a nightmare opening quarter for Mayo as Michael Murphy—whose father is from Mayo—launched a rocket of a shot into the goal after three minutes. Then, in the eleventh minute, Colm McFadden seized the ball from the grasp of Kevin Keane and slid it into the net for a second Donegal goal. Mayo only got on the scoresheet after sixteen minutes and never led at any point during the match. They eventually lost with thirteen points to Donegal’s two goals and eleven. [35][37][38]
They lost again in 2013, this time by a single point to Dublin.[32]
They qualified for the 2016 Final on 18th September 2016 where they faced Dublin the curse seemingly struck again when they scored two own goals in the opening half before drawing with Dublin in the last few minutes of the game. They faced Dublin again in a rematch on the 1st October 2016 but lost by a point.
Following the death of Fr Peter Quinn in January 2016, there now only remains 2 living members of the 1951 All Ireland winning team, Pádraig Carney and Paddy Prendergast.