Photographer savaged by dangerous dog outside Tesco

small, hairy, barky dog

That’s not really the question, is it?
Oh, no. Yappy Yappy Hairy dog made up his mind a nanosecond after seeing me reach for the camera in my bag.
That’s him filling his tiny lungs, ready to let out a mother-of-all-extra-long-ululating-yappy-owl (director’s cut, very extended version).

I’ve made a friend!

You can, if you wish, send friendship requests to yappy-yappy-ululating-hairy-barky-dog.
His mobile number is around his neck.

Yap! Yap! Yap! Ahoooooooooooo-Yap-Yap-Yap! Ahooooooooooooooooooo!!!

art, disgruntled, dublin, dun laoghaire, funny, humour, ireland, photography, street photography, this is a swear-free zone, for fuck sake

To yap or not to yap

Image
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?!”

art, bambi is not happy, disgruntled, dublin, ireland, life lesson, monochrome, patience, photography, portrait, seeing is believing

xls wtf?!

Image
art, bambi is not happy, disgruntled, dublin, dun laoghaire, funny, humour, ireland, patience

Christi natali horribilis

img_1669

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.

img_1670

img_1661

img_1677

Standard

wp_20161026_16_56_20_pro__highresa

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?

art, bambi is not happy, disgruntled, dublin, hysterically happy, ireland, life lesson, not funny, not humour, portrait

Can I retire yet?

Image
art, disgruntled, dublin, dun laoghaire, essential parenting implements, funny, humour, ireland, life lesson, parenting

Mast/urbanisation – stop the erection!

IMG_3068

Vodafone are planning to install a mast less than 100 meters away from the school attended by 66% of my kids.

Now, just like 98.3% of the population, I couldn’t give a rat’s arse until this happened in my backyard (#notinmybackyard).

For the simple reason that like 102.7% of the population, I am addicted to streaming Youtube videos of funny pandas on the go.

I want 4G, 5G, 9G, 125G everywhere and at all times. I want G spots everywhere.

The proposed proximity of that mast however, has highlighted to me the value of a principle scorned by surfers, king crab fishermen and nightclub bouncers the world around: the precautionary principle.

Can I prove that it is harmful? Nope.
Can Vodafone prove that spending long periods of time in the beam of greatest intensity of a mast is safe? Nope.

It’s a bummer than that my kids are the guinea pigs in an everyday life experiment to show who is o so right and who is o so wrong.

Am I worried about a mast going up next to my kids’ school? Yes. As much as I am worried about not being able to stream an Epic Fails 2016 compilation while waiting for the bus.

Am I ridiculous for being worried? According to the dozens of fellow mobile telephony addicts out there who ridicule our protest as middle-aged middle-class hippy hogwash, yes, definitely.  I surely hope that the bollixes are right.

For I know for sure that ridicule doesn’t kill.

I should know.

vodafone

IMG_3074

IMG_3079

IMG_3105

IMG_3122

IMG_3123

IMG_3126

 

Standard
art, bambi is not happy, belmullet, dejection, disgruntled, funny, humour, ireland, miserable, shameless call for help, shite weather

Wet pissed off cat

WP_20160326_11_30_53_Pro

Fuck sake, mememe2U, this is not funny.
Open the shaggin’ door.
This is no weather to leave a cat out.

Nana?
Nana?!
Na-NAAAAAAA!

Your son won’t open the sliding-door-that-doesn’t-slide-too-well.

NA-NAAAAAAAA!

He’s laughing at me, that big eedjit.

This is is NOT funny. I wanna get in. I wanna get in.

WP_20160326_11_31_09_Pro

NA-NAAAAAAAA!
I’m going to meow until one of you let’s me in.

NA-NAAAAAAAA!
NA-NAAAAAAAA!

I’ll keep it up until you can no longer stand it.

NA-NAAAAAAAA!
NA-NAAAAAAAA!

I’ll be louder than the cow that was calfing last night 15 yards from Mrs mememe2U’s bedroom window.

NA-NAAAAAAAA!
NA-NAAAAAAAA!
NA-NAAAAAAAA!
NA-NAAAAAAAA!
NA-NAAAAAAAA!
NA-NAAAAAAAA!
NA-NAAAAAAAA!
NA-NAAAAAAAA!

Standard
abandon, bambi is not happy, bric a crap, dejection, disgruntled, dublin, essential parenting implements, funny, humour, ireland, kilbarrack

Just for Christmas

IMG_0927

An over-sized cuddly St Bernard toy is just for Christmas. Not for life.

By 5 January the kids rarely play with it. By 10 February they hardly give it a side glance. By 18 March they have forgotten it even exists.

It takes the parents a good deal longer to summon the energy to round  up all the useless shite around the house and dump it outside the door of the charity shop.

Standard