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Live cam from the nightwear aisle, Penney’s Dun Laoghaire

When the invitation from Brenda landed in her WhatsApp, Jacqueline was thrilled and panicked in equal measures.
A pyjama party! She loved pyjama parties. She adored pyjama parties.
But then, with just a nanosecond delay, she realised that she had nothing to wear!!!
At the crack of dawn (1.30 p.m.), she quickly slipped into her shopping pyjamas (Cervidae series) and rushed to Penney’s to look for a Pyjama Party pair of pyjamas.

She adored pyjama parties!

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Sartorial dilemma

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Saucy Christmas

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Agatha was wondering what was the point of wearing secret sexy Christmas underwear if Diarmuid was going to stand beside her all the time while she was selecting it.
One thing was sure, she would not repeat last year’s mistake. She was definitely going for virginal white this year. Last Christmas’ flesh colour number failed to bring Diarmuid to that point of no return when the animal instinct takes over and caution is thrown to the wind and one no longer cares about the prospect of pine needles or shards from broken baubles stuck in one’s arse.

She would this year manage to reignite the throes of passions.

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Finnzy-Bob is eight years old today.
And how much he has grown in the last year. Undoubtedly due to his big appetite. For food. And for life.

He is seen here sporting his brand new Equipe de France track suit.
He has forgiven them for the distress they caused him last summer. I remember vividly how he broke into tears when Portugal scored during extra time.
The rest of us were a lot more philosophical about it.

He is big into his football this year. Trying to help Cabinteely Park Celtic lose less convincingly week after week.

As a supporter, he is not fanatical about a specific club, and pragmatic in his willingness to embrace any club with have a chance of winning something. Anything. This means an eclectic mix of jerseys in the washing machine on any given Monday.

The art of sitting on the fence is a useful one Finn. And one is never too young to master it.

You are a fine little chap, with the blond mane that flies in the wind as you run around the place.

Singing your smelly kangaroo song.

And we love you very much.

Except when you play that YouYoube video of the eedjit with the three bananas chasing his sausage dog while singing Tequila.

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Huit

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On my way to the Mistake Factory this morning, I couldn’t help but marvel at the total cloudlessness of the big big blue sky above me.

A quick look at flightradar24 informed me that the metal bird above me was a Boeing 787 (renamed Dreamliner by some corporate marketeers in Mount Everet trying to re-inject a sense of resemblance of a hint of glamour in air travel)  from Thomson holidays taking a batch of eager holiday- makers to Montego Bay, Jamaica.

Ah… the warm Caribbean sea, the loungers, the pool, the pool bar, the dining room, the rooms, the less frequented back garden, the fence, the razor wire and the unknown beyond it.

Dreamlining on a discovery holiday to Jamaica.

The known part of it.

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Dreamlining

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“Our Father, who art in Heaven. Let not this modest abode run out of toilet paper. Ever. Blessed be thy name. Amen”

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Bog scroll

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Some cardinally challenged knackers had a bit of a party on the toposcope last night and lost their bearings.

They never found their way to the bin.

It’s only 13 yards away, in a south-south-west direction.

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Disorientation table

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