Once again, the nightmarish scenes predicted by Met Eireann materialised, and this is the sorry spectacle that awaited in the driveway this morning: the car was well and truly stuck in snow drifts.
Thankfully I was able to cram 4 sliced pans under each wheel and gained traction. That panic buying with the rest of the Dublin population yesterday was well worth it!
Braving the 0 °C temperature to proceed to the wedging of the bread under the pneumatic implements was no small feat. Imagine that, zero degrees, in February?!?!
I had to wear gloves, for fuck sake. And a scarf!
As I type hundreds of school principals around the country have the right index finger on the panic button, ready to press it as soon as three snowflakes coalesce in the school yard, to immediately (and indefinitely) shut the schools down. For health and safety reasons. Obviously.
I guess that we have the mass media, and the mass hysteria, that we deserve.
We make it easy for them. We love nothing better than to click on links of promised doom, or the latest Orange Man imbecilic quote, or hilarious videos of farting pandas.
We are happy to allow them broadcast their alarmist crap in our living rooms, on our radios in our car, in our few surviving daily newspapers.
They feed us the shite we thrive on.
It takes two to tango.
I sometimes see her in the morning. The Dog Whisperer.
Who actually manages to get all four of them to walk together, at the same pace, with no excessive pulling, bickering, impetuous urine sprinkling or tangles in the leashes.
I have absolutely no idea how she does it.
Rarely will a colonoscopy be more heralded, advertised, discussed, trumpeted, feared, debated or planned down to the most minute details.
Carlos still has 7 days to psyche himself up.
He asked me to keep this to myself. But I have overheard him discussing it at length with the receptionist. And B from Accounts. And S from Sales. And half of the mesmerised engineering department. And the cleaning lady from the 3rd floor. And his sister on Skype. And more importantly her GP husband on the phone.
I thought I’d discreetly add a reminder on our corporate wall calendar. The one used for the only thing that truly matters in the Mistake Factory: the holidays.
Andrew would have loved his lunch breaks to be full of surprises.
It was therefore a pity that nothing ever happened.
He sat, ate his sandwiches, drank his coffee. And eventually left, returned to the office and his ledgers.
With a faint but deeply-rooted sense of growing void at the very chore of his being.
But it was unfair to say that nothing ever happened.
He once witnessed a particularly vicious fight between two magpies.
In August 2002.
Colette and Diarmuid always insisted on looking their best at a wedding.
Today’s union in matrimony of young Dervla and Declan would be an extra special event, as it happened to coincide with Coco and Didi’s own plastic wedding anniversary.