A day of back to back meetings.
Mostly to provide progress reports on extremely urgent stuff.
That I will get done when I am done with the back to back meetings to provide progress reports.

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That Thursday feeling…


Nothing like a lunchtime walk to lift the spirits…










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Damp Leary



Surprise birthday presents to myself don’t come much more surprising than this.
Not to Mimi anyway.

The fact that it contained a watch was sort of a downer for them.

As is often the case, they were much more enthralled by the packaging…

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Prise de tête au bouleau


– Hi Mum, I want to came back on the farm, I can’t hack it any longer here
– What’s wrong me boy, you were so excited about landing that big job in the Big Smoke?
– I’ve lost touch with the land. I’ve lost touch with nature. I want to return to the farm. Escape the Cubicle Farm
– Aw Jayzus. Why didn’t you say earlier? We sold the John Deer in the Buy and Sell last week. And we got Sky Sport with the money…

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Small / faraway


That perspective thing…

The morning felt like I was drowning in a tsunami of corporate headaches.
Swept away by a gale of cross-departmental miscommunication and finger pointing.

And then I realised that the Coast Guards’ rescue helicopter was perhaps not taking part in a drill after all, not in that mad wind we had this morning and that the pedantic meteorologists qualify of “blowy as fuck”.

The windsurfers who launch from the little slip in Salthill seem to have a predilection for “blowy as fuck” weather conditions.

Guaranteed to provide a greater kick. Get the adrenaline pumping.

Twice a rescuer from the chopper over choppy waters was winched down, twice he came back up empty-handed.

I hope it wasn’t one of the windsurfers.

Sure they’re mad eedjits.
Sure they’re only asking for it.
Sure they are just selfish brats wasting valuable time for the rescue services.

Sure they totally remind me of me at their age.

In their twenties. Uncontrollable. Unaccountable. Invincible.
In search of the next buzz. The next rush of adrenaline.
Trying ever harder to feel even more alive.

Never contemplating feeding the Dublin Bay prawn…

These days I long for the rush of slowly slipping into my charentaises, fastening my paisley dressing gown, carefully embedding myself into therecliner… to watch base-jumping videos on Youtube while sipping Redbull.

That perspective thing.

Hope it wasn’t one of those windsurfing eedjits.  

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Neun and neunzig champagne balloons


If you were ever so inclined to check the number of delicate champagne bubbles breaking on the surface, you’d count 71 of them.

Which is not a happy coincidence. Since the birthday boy is merely 67.

(Pepe has been lying about his age for 21 years, ever since he turned 50…)