Memories of Empire

It was 30 years ago. I was eleven years old. My Mother took me to the Ambassador cinema in the old Rotunda hospital building at the bottom of Parnell Square and we lined up to see Empire Strikes Back. I don't recall much about what went before. I do remember two young chancers sidling up to the middle of the queue of people and trying to casually weasel their way into the line, counting on their fellow Dubliners to demonstrate their traditional conflict aversion and look the other way, so they could cut to the front. No such luck, my Mom confronted them, let them know that she could see very well what they were up to the young pups and sent them packing, much to my utter mortification.

The Empire Strikes Back left an indelible mark on me (Safe to say it was a different experience than when I tried to see Star Wars (Ep IV) on my eighth birthday and ended up seeing The Deep starring Jacqueline Bisset instead, which left a different kind of mark, but that's another story). I recall thinking, as the final act started to unfold and tragedy piled upon tragedy;  "wow, things are bad, Han is captured and frozen in carbonite, Luke is mutilated and defeated and just found out his most bitter enemy is his Dad.. How the hell are they going to sort all this out before the end"....."hold on a second, they're not seriously going to end it here, that wouldn't be..they couldn't..holy shit they did".. 

I still remember how heavily the ending weighed on me, I felt cheated and thrilled, depressed and exhilarated, sad and deliriously happy all at the same time. Still the no-contest best moviegoing experience of my life and I believe it always will be. Thanks Mom.    

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Race Report

Its the morning after the Wicklow Adventure Race. I am here minding the 3 kids as my good wife is away and I am a tired boy. I think I could probably sleep inside a cement mixer today.

What a magnificent sunny day yesterday was. The scenery around the wicklow hills was as good as you would see anywhere in the world.

There were 800 entries to this race. I got down there around 7 and it was pretty cold with ground frost in the car park. My wave was starting at 8:15 so I got the bike racked and thawed out for a while till we started. I had little idea what to expect for this race. I had an idea it would be hilly and I was very correct about that. Immediately we had to run up "The Spink" mountain and around the upper lake in Glendalough. You probably have been up here before, its got sleepers all the way up and across. I would have loved to get some pics up here but I would have been in the way. By the timeI got to the top of this the sweat was pouring off me and I had some slight concerns about how tired I was with so much left to do! 8K later and we were back to the bikes. Beautiful views of the lake in hazy morning sunshine.

The next section was a cycle to Lough Dan so we could kayak around the lake. It became really obvious that i am very slow on my bike. I would be fairly fit but people were streaming by me on the bikes and especially on uphill sections. Is it the bike I have or is it me? I wonder. There were times I was in the easiest gear and still struggling up some of those hills. My legs were burning. At the Kayak section I actually got paired up with a guy who knew how to kayak and steer the boat so we motored along nicely here passing many others. Again it was very scenic on the lake and I didn't care that I was getting soaked.

Back to the bikes for another cycle to the next mountain run section on the Djouce Mountain. Bloody hell it was all uphill. There were hills here where I had no hope of cycling up so I had to walk up. My legs, my feckin legs! Took me ages to evetually get up to the next run stage. It was the guts of an hour running and hiking here. Again, not a cloud in the sky with amazing views of the valleys and lakes an.d we were on forest tracks with nice bits of shade every now and then. Fair play to the lads that can run up this mountain. I hiked up and my right leg started to cramp. Something you notice at this stage is the really fit women out there. This girl literally skipped past me. Kudos to her. What an amazing view she left behind too. Up on top of this, its got sleepers again so I was able to trot along them for the most part.

And so the final stage. The last cycle over the sally gap back to Glendalough. 28k. I was too sore to enjoy the views at this stage. there were some massive downhill sections here that had me bricking it. I had no shades on so the bike was hopping on the road surface and my eyes were watering from the wind so I was afraid of hitting a patch of gravel or a pothole and killing myself. Other lads were pegging it past me. By the time I got to the finish line my legs, shoulders, back and arse were in tatters.

So there you have it. A very cool race indeed. Next big one is GaelForce west in August.

I love Ireland

I am having a great week. Its been sunny and warm all week so far and there are times when I think there is no better place than Ireland on a sunny day, provided of course you are in the right location.

Today I visited my home county. The wonderful county of Mayo. I love Mayo. All Mayo people love Mayo and I have a strong feeling I got my last job because I was from Mayo (So was the interviewer). You city folk would not get the appeal of the place really until you visit for a weekend session. With the Sun shining and time to kill I made a break for Louisburg for a surfing lesson. (Same place as the first time there Marc). The waves were a little smaller this time but the water wasn't as cold as I expected April Atlantic to be.

The drive out to Louisburg from Westport is fantastic on a sunny day. Passing by Croagh Patrick I always get the urge to park the car and head on up there if I can see the church on the top. (Last time I went up there, it was clear blue skies with fantastic views over clew bay. Then a German wanker hikes up and tried to be my friend AND a crusty hippie fella took out a tin whistle and aurally assulted everyone up there, thats another story).

So I got out to Carrowniski beach and took my 3rd lesson and despite getting a belt of the surfboard across the knackers almost immediately I had a ball. I was using a 10ft board so it was handy enough to stand up on it after a while. I'm still crap and a little nervous about currents and tides and such and such. CJ Parker was nowhere around to rescue me if I got into trouble but at this beach you only need to wade out to chest level and then wait for a decent wave to brew. The hardest part is turning the board around to point toward the shore and jump up on it in the right spot before the feckin wave knocks you off. The salt water was stinging my eyeballs after a while too.

So thats it. A Long drive home and a late dinner. I think I'll have no problem sleeping tonight!

A Waking Fear

I awoke suddenly. My body remained stationary, I didn't want to break the residual sleep spell. My eyes remained closed for the same reason.

But my mind was fully alert.

A feeling of total and utter fear remained with me from my dream. My skin prickled as the sweat cooled against it.

I lay there, immobile, eyes shut, making sense of what I was feeling. It was not from a dream. Something was in the room. In the corner. Watching me. A darkness. I could not see but could sense the malice. Had this invaded my dream or was my dream still dictating my feelings now.

I did not move. To move was to validate its existence. To move was to confront it. My breathing slowed, my ears searching for anything to calm or inflame my fears.

Concentration was hard to find, but if I could just get back to sleep then the threat, the fear, the evil would be gone, banished maybe back to a dream but gone from reality.

It lingered. I wanted to speak. The wind in the eaves outside the window whistled gently, unaware of the lurker in my room. In my head.

Nothing moved except my chest as it rose and fell in time with my breathing. Slowly sleep began to re-assert its dominance. But it was still there, in the dark corner of the room and as I drifted back off it crept back towards me, ready to re infest my sleep.


I fucking hate dreams about the quare fella.

This Means WAR!

Hello Ladies!,

check it out, the Wicklow Adventure Race will be attempted by my good self next saturday. I predict searing pain in my legs, lung busting runs and agonising bike rides.

Here's the route:

1. Spink Mountain run. 8.6 KM 575m climb

2. cycle glendalough to Lough Dan 15km, 165m climb

3. Kayak Lough Dan 2 Km

4. cycle to Djouce 8Km, 284 m climb

5. Run Djouce Mountain 9.5km, 450m climb

6. cycle back to Glendalough, 29Km, 114m climb, 438m decent.

Some thoughts:

I think I will find this very tough. It is starting to dawn on me that there is a lot of climbing yo! I can handle the runs and the walking and hacking coughs during such but the cycling is hard going. I am russibh in the bike and I am also trialing my 3rd saddle. 15K into any cycle I get a sore back and my wang starts to go numb. The bleedin pain of it! As with most things I ignore it and hope it goes away. To make matters more miserable you must carry stuff in a back pack, like food, drink, water proof stuff, first aid kit and Survival bag and a whistle. Party On!

I might even bring my iphone and take a few pics along the way. Wish me luck.

Your hero

Paul

Reporting the Facts.

I don't wish to make light of a serious matter - and in fact, what I'm writing about has nothing to do with it - but while reading about the murder of that poor young guy in Tyrellstown at the weekend, I saw this description of the accused -

The older brother wore a green T-shirt and his left arm was in a sling. Michael Barry wore a cream-coloured hooded top.

What in the name of Jaysus has this got to do with anything? Are we supposed to infer something from they were wearing? Are we to think that as they weren't wearing suits, they're n'er do wells or something? Unfortunately, I don't think that there's even anything like such an agenda in play here - its just lazy, unprofessional, sub-standard journalism. Can we expect reports like this from now on?

Justice Phuqnob wore a smart red judicial gown, while chief prosecution counsel, Farquhar McCock sported a natty two-piece wig and gown combo.

This isn't the first time I've seen this sort of shite in the Irish Times lately - I have a feeling I may have read something about it on another blog recently as well. I've also noticed an insidious, tabloid trend creeping in too - crap puns in headlines, celebrity gossip shite and the like - and if it continues, I'm moving to The Examiner. Loike.

A Beer For Our Times.

There's not much to talk about these days that isn't rage-inducing or crashingly depressing so how about some light That's Life-esque relief?

I came across this article today - a German brewery has won the right from the European Trademarks Office to register a new beer under the name "Fucking Hell".

Apparently, "hell" is the German for a "light beer" and Fucking is a little village near Salzburg. The Trademarks Office originally rejected their application on the grounds that it “used sexuality in order to express contempt and violent anger” but the Appeals Board overturned the decision as although

"Hell is in Christian terms, the place of highest torment . . . can it be considered as reprehensible to use existing place names in a targeted manner (as a reference to the place), merely because this may have an ambiguous meaning in other languages.

“The word combination contains no semantic indication that could refer to a certain person or group of persons... [ ] Nor does it incite a particular act. It cannot even be understood as an instruction that the reader should go to hell. The meaning assumed by the examiner is, overall, an interjection used to express a deprecation, but it does not indicate against whom the deprecation is directed.”

 Whatever of our tax that's left over from paying for the Anglo-Irish actually goes to fund shite like this...

Anyway, the residents of Fucking are going (fucking?) mental as tour buses full of fools - who really must have fuck all to do on their holidays - already plague them all summer long and they feel that this beer nonsense is only going to bring more unwanted visitors. Also

So many signs have been stolen over the years that the village held a vote in 2004 on whether to change its ancient name. But the residents voted against the motion. "Twelve or 13 town signs have been stolen. We've taken to fixing them with concrete, welding and rivets," said the mayor of Fucking, Franz Meindl.

And now over to Doc Cox who's going to show you some bollock-shaped vegetables....

Horrible Little Cunt!

I'm the first one to admit that I know fuck all about soccer-ball and from what I hear, he's apparently a pretty decent player but can anyone deny that Wayne Rooney is a horrible little cunt? I saw this picture and was moved to words. It's probably stating the obvious but I think it needed to be said nonetheless. It really bothers me that he's only twenty-five and he's already written - well, had published let's say - an autobiography which was actually released when he was fucking twenty-one! What the fuck, besides a few matches, does he or any twenty-one year old for that matter, have to write about?

Horrible little cunt......

just testing

Gentlemen.
I got one of those new fangled iphones today. So far I am unable to use internet on it, all of my previous text messages have dissapeared and typing in text requires the delicate hand of louis XIV. There is a compass on it however.

The Deadliest Warrior

I decided that I wanted to start blogging again after reading about the fucking shambles that is Anglo-Irish/Mary Harney continuing as Minister for Health/Ireland. Then I decided that there are already lots of people posting and writing about these topics and that it's only bollox anyway. At this stage, nothing short of an armed uprising is going to save the country.

Anyway, enough of that. What I'm going to write about instead, is my new all-time favourite TV show (Marc's jury is still out but I bet Paul loves it too) - The Deadliest Warrior! It's utterly, utterly ridiculous but one of the most entertaining things I've seen in years. All those drunken pub arguments are finally laid to rest. The basic idea is that two historical warrior types are pitted agin each other in a hypothetical battle to the death. Each "side" has it's own experts who put forward the case as to why their warrior would knock the bollox out of the other and then the resident boffins crunch the numbers in some made-up computer program (it looks like a spreadsheet actually) to see who'd win.

The best parts are when the experts demonstrate the different weapons on these mannequins made from ballistics gel, bones and gunk representing brains, blood, guts etc. and then slag off the opposing side. Last night's episode was A Pirate vs. A Knight. One of the guys SMASHED a morning-star into the dummy's head completely obliterating it's skull.......


Knight Expert - Awwwww dude, you are GOIN' DOWN! Your brains are gonna be stuck in your beard n'shit. You ain't gettin up from this man. Like, no way.

Pirate Expert - Yeah? I'm just gonna step aside when you swing that thing then shoot you in the balls with my blunderbuss!

It's fucking hilarious. One of the things I really love about it is the unadulterated joy they exhibit when something particulary nasty and violent happens. Again, last night's episode showed the effects of the Pirate's Granada (a bit like an 18th century nail bomb) on a pile of pig carcasses. It exploded and tore fucking lumps out of the pork. The lads could barely contain themselves with the whooping and hollering. I just know that I'd be the same....

Quality tv it's not but it's still a fantastic concept. It's just so unbelievably tacky. This is the ad for the current second season. Any ideas? Yes - you've guessed it! A Viet Cong vs. A Nazi SS Officer! What a fucking brilliant idea! Some of the upcoming battles are between types - Saxons vs Trojans, Persian Immortals vs. Aztecs - and then actual historical figures - Robert E. Lee vs. Pancho Villa, Genghis Khan vs. Attila the Hun (I'm actually laughing here). anyone any ideas of who they'd like to see? Me, I'd go for Charlie Haughey vs. Galileo. I just fucking bet that Charlie would be an eye-gouging, ear-biting, cheek-hooking King of the Travellers type fighter and he'd have that telescope up that guinea fucker's arse before you could say Moriarty!

Re-start

After much drunken discussion at the recent Horslips gig (which was fucking deadly, review to follow from someone else) I am kick starting the blog. As I have nothing, or more correctly can't choose, what to give out about, I am going to link to a good video.

Dropping a Nipper

I have since heard they are thinking about banning this ritual so I am off to India for the next one before they stop it. I wonder does anyone open a book on high they bounce?

The defenition of oleaginous...

Shows a picture of Gerry Ryan. The fat unctuous prick annoys me no end and for a long time I have said (ranted and raged really) that one reason I really hate having to pay a license fee is because some of that money goes into that foetid fucks pocket.

Now it appears RTE agree with me.

Sack the Fucker

I sincerely hope he doesn't take a pay cut because then they will be forced to sack him. If they don't I am not paying my license next time and I will see them all in court.

Also that skinny, no talent fucker Tubridy. Oh I have a special type of hatred for him. When I start feeling good about the world or catch myself whistling a happy tune, I just turn the radio or TV to his show and I can just feel the vitriol coursing through my body, just like Christophe Lambert in "Highlander". The smarmy little shit (Tubridy not Lambert, there can be only one) said initially he couldn't take a pay cut because of "legal reasons" but suddenly the other day these legal reasons disappeared. Gerry Ryan probably ate them.

Interesting Times

I came across a few interesting stories in the Irish Times this week. The first is about banks, but not how fucked they are financially. No it is about how they are fucked up in ways they might (or might not) give out mortgages.

Watch what you do online

This is a load of bollocks. If someone has some spare cash they are entitled to do what they want with it once they have enough to cover their mortgage. What not ask if someone has an expensive hobby, drinks a lot at the weekend or likes to snort back street cocaine. My spare cash is my spare cash so fuck off and don't tell me what I can spend it on. I remember when I was applying for my mortgage, my broker asked me if I smoked. When I said I did he tsked. I asked him would it affect my life insurance and he said no, that it was more a case of the cost and what effect it would have on my disposable income. Fuck right off you chancing fuckers. If you had been as circumspect about who you gave out billion euro loans to then maybe you wouldn't be crawling to the government now looking for handouts from them. Remember they get they money to bail you out from the taxes paid by the poor saps who enjoy themselves by logging on for a few hands of Texas Hold 'Em (as I am doing now as I write this).

The next story is a similar case of a financial institution against the little (or not so in this case) person. In this instance I am firmly in the camp of the Insurance Company.

Fat Bint Crys Foul

Now if you go for Life Assurance you have to be medically certified. Your policy would be loaded if you had diabetes, if you smoked, if you had some genetic disease or even if you had a family history of certain illnesses (heart problems and so on). Now obesity is not hereditary, nor is it a disease. You just can't stop stuffing your face with pies. "Oh no I have a glandular problem". No you fucking don't, unless the glands in question are baked in a far too rich and fatty sauce (mmmm sweetmeats). If you are obese your life expectancy is reduced and you are also prone to other ailments such as adult onset diabetes, heart disease and chronic whining that it is all someone else's fault.

I smoke and I know it is not good for me and I know it impacts on me in such instances as above. So if you fancy your cakes and coke (diet of course) then be prepared to cough up when paying your assurance premium and stop acting like a fucking victim.

The Powers of Observation

I have just read this in today's Irish Times. I don't know whether to laugh or cry at the sheer stupidity and incompetence it shows. You would think someone would have copped onto it a lot sooner.

Paddywhackery

Hmmmm..

How come my post appeared below Paul's even though I posted it after his? Must have been a negative reality inversion. A prize for anyone who knows the reference without being a cheating fucker and googling it.

try - athlon

check it out lads. I signed up for this sprint triathlon thing this year.
http://www.fingalsprint.3dtri.com/

750m swim, 20k bike, 5k run. Looking forward to it now but I cant swim for shit. Lessons start wed night.

And another thing. Why cant you get a comfy saddle on a bike these days? I've only been out on mine about 3 times and any distance longer than 15k means I have to stand up on the bike to let the blood flow back towards my nuggets!

A Few Truths.

Over the course of a few days, I made a few observations along the lines of 'everyone remembers a day when a dog wandered into your school' and I've decided to share.

1) The War Against the Skulls is an international affair and applies to public transport workers the world over. They are among the world's fucking rudest and most unhelpful people and should all be sacked oweh their jobs. Robot buses and trains are the future - long live Skynet!


Oooooh I 'ate you everybody!

2) The condensation that forms on crowded train windows is made of breath and filth and under no circumstances should you get it on white shirts.

3) People who deliberately drive their cars through puddles to splash innocent pedestrians, are UTTER cunts and should be shot with balls of their own shite. I particularly hate looking like a wanker while trying to scramble out of the way in time.

4) People with short legs should never sit down on public transport - anywhere, for that matter - as you look really fucking stupid if your legs don't touch the ground. Especially if you insist on swinging them back and forth.


Load of bollox, short legs are.

5) Coffee always tastes better outside and tabs rock - I'm holding out for a cure. That's two points in one but as tabs and coffee go together, I'm making it one.

6) Marc was probably right - mark those words mate - and Radiohead may be one of the greatest bands of the modern era. Fake Plastic Trees is a classic.

7) These annoying lists are usually written by smart-arsed, smug, uppity little fuckers of cub reporters in weekend supplement magazines out to make a name for themselves with their oh-so-fucking-cleverness. So I'll stop.

A Happy Birthday to Colum!

Congratulations mate! The first of us to reach forty!



Feel old? I know I fucking do! One step closer, the grave.............

The Unending Battle versus Cats

As I might have mentioned before I have a problem with neighbourhood cats seemingly congregating in my flowerbeds for the purposes of defecation. Why in fucks name the cannot shit in their own gardens I do not know, but I am forever having to dig crap out of mine.

So I have for a while been trying various methods of dissuading them (I was persuaded not to use a pellet gun) with differing degrees of success. Coffee grounds and orange peel seemed to work alright, although both have to be refreshed regularly to keep the pungency that the buggers don't like to the max. Also jeyes fluid around the borders seemed to work well for a while. But any remedy only seemed to work for a short period of time. Cats seem to be like bacteria in that regard. They build up immunity.

Watching Braveheart I got me an idea which so far seems to be the best of all. Spears, lots of them. I bought a load of bamboo canes, cut them into six inch lengths and staked out the beds like some bronze age earthen defence works. And it seems to be working. With little room between each stake I reckon the cats find it hard to get a comfortable spot and move on. The can;t bury the shit like they want to and if they shit at all they just leave it on the surface which means no nasty surprises when gardening and also I can remove it quickly so the spot doesn't become their regular (which they seem to do).

Plus the idea of getting one up on the feline fucks makes me feel happy inside. I am a crazy man.

No TV

I came home from work last night and while I was having my food, I sat down to watch an episode of "House". The screen kept jumping, freezing and the soundtrack kept skipping, just like a pirated or dirty (as in smudged) DVD. I tried a few other channels and things seemed ok. I though nothing of it, must have been the recent weather, although the worst of the wind was last weekend and it was fine after that. I then left TV for a bit to piss about on the computer, playing some online poker (took some bad beats but still up overall) and checking out Twenty's revitalised blog. Before I went to bed I switched off the TV which still seemed ok.

This morning I came downstairs, made some coffee and toast and switched on the box. No satellite signal. Bit strange but ties in with last night. Tried a few things, changed and reset factory settings, switched it off and on again (always first port of call) checked all scart, phone and dish connections. No joy. Then I rang the folks at Sky and then he went through a few other technical checks and resets and still nothing. So now I have to wait for one of their engineers to come out to check the dish. I could get a ladder and have a look myself but I don't want to end up like Rod Hull. So now I am left with no TV until I don't know when.

The thing is this does not upset me like I thought it would. The only thing I might miss that would in anyway piss me off is the rugby at the weekend and I could always go out for that. I have a box set of the The Wire (Season 4) to make my way through plus the aforementioned online gambling. I have a pile of books by my bed and an itunes menu of songs that I need to revisit.

Do I really need the TV. Should I cancel my Sky subscription. This is something I think is well worth considering over the coming days.