Happy Halloween!

NIMBYs (Not In My Back Yard)s

It had to happen, the furious backlash. Years of rising house prices everywhere but particularly here in the capital have forced even moderately well paid folk to scout surrounding satellite towns and villages for cheaper and -lets face it- larger homes. But now the locals -born and bred types, are furious and up in arms. I half expect pitchforks and burning bushes to be approaching Hamilton Osbourne King estate agents as we speak, led no doubt by the village elders of poor terrified rural Ireland.
Last week some dude from Monaghan Council was bleating on about the country side being destroyed by people from 'Santry and Rathgar' (why he picked these two areas is somewhat of a mystery). He railed against the idea that people might come from the city(spit spit) and have the audacity to settle in his area. He spoke eloquently of the destruction of the community, the sliding standards of village life.
He was a classic NIMBY.
Last might my own mother joined the swelling ranks of that much maligned band of sweethearts who just want to preserve their lives at all costs.
'They're building eighteen more houses in Oakwood!' She spluttered in between biting the heads off jellybabies.
'Eighteen, oh my.' I said, patting my cheesecake stuffed belly.
'And you can be sure it will be for blow ins.'
'Will that be a stipulation in the sales? Only blow-ins need apply.'
'Oh you're so sharp it's a wonder you don't cut yourself.' She sniffed loudly and pressed on, 'Locals won't be able to afford those houses.'and that other crowd have bought fifteen acres of road fronted land down in Ashfield, I bet you they won't be turned down by the planning board!'
I should point out that my mother is incensed by the board's decision to refuse her PP on a site she wanted to flog at a very high price to an retired English couple two years ago. If you ask her she will claim the Board did it out of spite and not-as was the reason given- because the entrance to the site was on a blind corner. She will also claim that said retired Engish couple were locals because the man-who had lived in England for fifty five years- had lived in our village for a brief preiod in his youth, ergo local and his wife local by proxy.
'It's disgusting, what's happening down here. They come here, but work there. They're driving up the house prices.'
'People have to live somewhere. Folk from the country live in the city all the time, you don't see us crying about it.'
'Us? Oh do you hear her, us.'
'Yeah, us, us folk that live up here.'
'That's different.'
'How?'
'They don't even try to blend in.'
'Blend in? Like camouflage? Is there a dress code?'
'Very unfriendly too, they'd hardly look up or down at you either.'
'Golly I can't imagine why that would be...perhaps they don't like being called blow- ins and being blamed for the death of the Irish Countryside, maybe that's it? Whatcha reckon?'
'I knew you'd take that side.'
'What side?'
'Any side that disagreed with me!'
'Ma, I have to go, Medium is about to start.'
'Are you still coming to Dundrum with me on Wednesday?'
'Sure, make sure you bring your passport.'
'My passport?'
'You know, for coming up here to the city. You need a passport for crossing into foreign lands. They might not let you back into the countryside without it.'
She hung up on me.
I watched Medium.

Bank Holiday Monday.

I have two options, work, or head to Howth.
Guess which one I'm going to go with...

Stop sexualising children!

Man I'm as angry as I can get this windy Dublin morning.
The little Goth kid was here earlier faffing about and looking to borrow a pair of boots. Great, I love having her here, and she likes being here. All was rosy right up until the part she told me about the latest fitness craze to hit her school.
Pole dancing.
That's right, fucking pole dancing. You know, what strippers and hookers do to earn a buck. Well now apparently some fucking dim witted skank has started a class and the little Goth kid and all her friends are thinking of signing up.
She is fifteen!
I am outraged. I really bloody am. Seriously, outraged.
I railed against it, I compained loudly, I gave out with gusto. I said it was a vile way to get fit and what sort of goddamn asshole thought teaching a group of teenagers how to slide up and down a fucking pole in a sexually suggestive manner was a 'cool way to get fit'?
After a while she said she had to go, she still took the boots, but I could see she thought I reeked of old fogeyism.
In a fit of anger I hit google and sheeeeeeeet even fucking Tesco-a family supermarket- is promoting a pole dancing toy.
Observe...

"Tesco Direct site advertises the kit with the words, "Unleash the sex kitten inside...simply extend the Peekaboo pole inside the tube, slip on the sexy tunes and away you go!

"Soon you'll be flaunting it to the world and earning a fortune in Peekaboo Dance Dollars".

The £49.97 kit comprises a chrome pole extendible to 8ft 6ins, a 'sexy dance garter' and a DVD demonstrating suggestive dance moves. "

Well colour me gobsmacked!
What the fuck is up with that? It's bad enough that kids -little kids and teenagers alike- wear clothes with the playboy bunny logo on it. HELLO? Filthy old Hugh Hefner, porn king is dressing our daughters and no one has a problem with that?
'It's cute.'
It fucking isn't.
God damn it, let kids be kids. I know times have changed and all that crap, but we must stop sexualizing children. We must stop them thinking Paris Hilton is a role model. We must stop letting them watch'GIRLS OF THE PLAYBOY MANSION'
What you don't see on screen is those girls sucking Hugh Hefner's wrinkly old dick. Still thinks it's fucking cute? No? Course not.
Do you see the stippers bending over in private dances while some drunk hairy old goat feels her arse with his hands? NO, not so empowering then is it?
Carmen Electra, yeah, you. Shove your 'fitness' video up your lipo sucked over banged ass. Stop glamourising a fucking life that only the desperate do. For every Dita Von Teese and Pussy Cat Doll there are thousands of used up women whose only commodity is their body.
Fuck off the lot of you, and keep yer filthy mitts off children. Can we at least let them grow up first before we pollute their minds?
GOD DAMN IT! I'm going shopping.

UPDATE: Blogger would not let me post this earlier... I'm still mad as hell but now I have Dior perfume and new foundation.

Kitchen Confidential.

Having spent much of the morning looking at tiles and kitchen presses the idea of getting moles removed doesn't seem nearly as painful.
In fact root canal doesn't seem as bad.
Epidural for that childbirth madam?
No no, sir I'm fine. If it gets too painful trying to push something the size of a rugy ball out through my vagina I'll just close my eyes and remember the time we looked at kitchens, that should dull the pain.
Two hours and counting, thanks to everyone for the kind words. It's all very nice of you indeed.

UPDATE: I am back and quite unmolested.
Having geared myself up for the cutting and the digging I got out there only to be told the moles my doctor wants removed are completely harmless, but that a mole on my OTHER shoulder that no one even sniffed at before now must be removed instead, and that I have to go into surgery on 14th of November for this.
After some yelling about 'why one fucking hand doesn't know what the other hand is doing' I calmed down and paid my sodding 170 Euros for nothing and took a prescription for some other fucking ailment I didn't know I had.
Naturally I am very vexed about all this and I am going out for a pint now.
I wish you all a very happy weekend.

Mole-y mole-y mole-y.

Tomorrow is my mole removal day. Everyone keeds saying things like, 'oh it wont be so bad.' and 'you'll probably be a bit sore.'
How sore might I be and will I be able to drive and what not? Anyone know?

Bad idea.

It is always a bad idea to lose the run of one's self mid week.
Always.
Here I sit, hungover like a goat, hands trembling, eyebrows very low, drinking coffee and wondering about what to have for breakfast, wheetabix or toast? Who can say, who can not say, who feels worse than me right this second, nobody probably.
T'was my own fault. I went to kickboxing, got flung arund for a while, headed for home and on one of those strange quirks of fate I met a gal I haven't seen for a while just down the road from the house.
'Hey, what are you doing here?'
'I just called to your house, you really ought to get a mobile.'
'Hah, no fear. What's up?'
'I"ve got a week off work.' She said most miserably.
This girl works in fashion, when most prople have a week off work they are happy about it, fashion people are bereft.
'Do you want to go to lunch?'
'Cracking idea.' I replied,'Lemmie grab a quick shower and check my emails. I can't stay out ages though, I've a mountain of work on.'
'God, lucky you.' She said, and she meant it.
SO we went to 66 on Georges Street. Over priced, half empty and not velly good sea food, but some excellent wine, we had some more of that. Gossip gossip blather blather, have another bottle, why, don't mind if I do.'
Then we went for coctails, Raspberry Teas, VELLY GUD indeed, then somehow- I actually don't know how this part happened- another friend of mine arrived and more cocktails were ordered. Then we went to that friend's apartment, tried on fur coats and, drank wine, then somehow it was dinner time and we ended up somewhere off The Quays eating Italian sea-food and pasta and drinking more wine, then there were shoots of sambuca, then some other guy arrived,a little gay who said 'he wasn't a queen, he was a printhess', that little lisping queen was mocked mercilessly. He responded by telling us salacious stories 'bout celebrities whose hair he glues on and cuts. We all listened agog as we stumbled back up the road in straight into the loving arms of The Porterhouse.
HEY HO! Look who's here, The Norweigan. Looking glum but feeling dandy. What are we drinking HEY HO!
Suffice to say the rest of the evening is a bit hazy.
But I do know this, I didn't get a bloody thing done and I am suffering mightily today for my troubles. I hope my lunch companion is suffering too. I hope the barman who served us is suffering, I hope everybody is suffering, including anyone that might read this, actually, especially you lot.
Wednesday lunches, I'm against it!

Teenagers are stupid.

Not all of the time, but some of the time their little brains just ...I don't know what, they just clearly don't work.
I was coming back from the shop earlier this morning when who do I spy but the Little Goth Kid and one of her equally gothy friends bippity bopping down the road on thier way to school. Well they weren't really bippity bopping, they were shivering as they scuttled along because today is somewhat gloomy and a bit cold.
'Where's your jacket?" I asked her when we stopped for a meet and greet.
'Back home.' She said, trembling.
'Why don't you wear it then? It's cold today.'
'It's huge.'
'Er...right. all the better to warm you then.'
'NO no,' she said shaking her newly blonde hair, 'it's massive.'
'Yes, but your lips are going blue.' I look at her friend, same attire, school uniform, socks pulled up to thier knees, no coat. She too is shivering.
'Okily dokily,' I said and wished them good day.
It was like last week when I was heading into town with the paramour and we spied another teenager, standing at the bus stop wearing track suit botttoms, ballet pumps, tiny vest with little tiny cardi over it. She had her arms folded across her chest and she was rattling away too.
She made me cold just looking at her.
Wait util Winter really kicks in.
Idiots.

300.

OH, I can't tell you the last time I waited this feverishly for a film.
Frank Miller's graphic novel 300 has been made into a film, and the trailer looks bloomin' AWESOME! And as I am not American I do not use that word lightly.
Linkity link coming up. OH the little Goth Kid is gonna shit.

Trailer

Shall I polish your knob sir?

Yikes.


HOW much do you pay your cleaning lady? Probably nowhere near the stg£200 (€298) an hour Michael Lee paid a prostitute to do his dirty work.

Lee, a former magistrate, faces jail after spending £250,000 (€373,000), much of it stolen, to have his Manchester home kept clean.

However, no known sexual encounter was involved in the arrangement with Lee and the prostitute-cum-house cleaner: he simply liked to watch his home being dusted, and his washing up done by a woman naked save for a pair of rubber gloves.

The combination of sexpot and Hoover driver nearly bankrupted his employer, Bolton Crown Court was told yesterday.

Lee (59) spent €29,000 of his savings, ran up €119,000 on his credit card, and then turned to Alec's Three-Piece Suite Warehouse in Manchester, where he worked and siphoned off €250,000 of company cash, driving the furniture shop to the verge of ruin.

Madonna adoption doubts.

I love it, he hands the child over to an orphanage, signs him away to Madonna and now -due no doubt to the hand wringing of others he says he thought Madonna would just raise, feed, clothe, educate and generally act as a mother to his son...before handing back a healthy, mature, well educated teenager-used to riches beyond most of our imaginations- to his father so that he might live in an impoverished village scratching out a living selling onions and tomatoes. Yep, litte David Banda is gonna love his pappy for sure if this one goes awry.

"Yohame Banda, father of one-year-old David Banda, said he thought his son would remain familiar with his roots and would come back when he's older. “Our understanding was that they would educate and take care of our son just as they were doing at the orphanage. If we were told that she wants to take the baby as her own, we could not have consented because I see no reason why I should give away my son,” the 32-year-old farmer said, adding that he thought 'when David grows up he will return back home to his village'.

Earlier, when child and human rights groups sought an injunction on the adoption of the baby, Yohame had defended his decision and Madonna, in spite of his family expressing doubts. His comments then are a far cry from his latest remarks. “It would have been better for him to continue staying at the orphanage because I see no reason why my child should be given away forever when I can feed him,” he said. One of the groups protesting the speedy manner in which Madonna was given an interim custody of David is Human Rights Consultative Committee (HRCC), a group of 67 human rights bodies, which argues that the Malawian government bent the rules for the Vogue singer. Under Malawian laws, non-resident foreigners are not allowed to adopt local children unless they stay in the country for more than a year. The injunction petition by HRCC will be heard in the Lilongwe high court this week.

Yohame blamed the government officials and his illiteracy for his earlier stand and consent. “I cannot read and write so I relied on what the officials told me that the papers said Madonna would look after the child the way the orphanage planned to educate him and then he comes back to me. What we agreed with Madonna was that she looks after my child until he finishes school, becomes independent and comes back home to us,” he said. David's mother died of complications arising from childbirth and Yohame left him at the Home of Hope Orphan Care Center.

Defending his decision to leave his son at the orphanage, the farmer said it was only because he could not provide the medical care and nutrition the child needed. “We sent this child to an orphanage because at one month we could not look after him, we did not have a health center nearby and the orphanage was the ideal place for him,” Yohame added."

I like his line where he says he wants his son to stay at the orphanage so he can see him 'whenever he wants'. King Solomon would have a field day with this guy. Hey, put your own needs first, leave the kid in the orphanage. I'm sure he'll thank you for it in the long run and all the hand wringers will stand by and provide for his medical and educational needs, won't they? Hello? Hey, where did everybody go?

Sunday Lunch with Family.

'What is it?' I ask, puckering my face up in alarm and staring into the bowl.
'A sauce.' Etheline snaps, irked beyond belief with me.
'I can see that but what's it made from.'
'Just try it.'
'It smells fishy.' I say, dragging my plate back towards me.
'Just try it at least.' She's got the 'we are teenagers and I've been caught wearing her favourite plastic earrings, the ones that makes all our ears crusty' expression on her puss.
'I don't want to.'
'Girls,' my mother says, but she's not really interested because she's busy pumping the paramour for information about the house and he's too polite to tell her to turn the lamp off and stop with the needle and pliars.
'You always do this!' Etheline glowers at me and slaps her hand rather dramatically against the table top for emphasis.
'Do what?'
'Turn your nose up when I've been slaving away.'
That Kevin sniggers suddenly. Etheline whirls on him. 'What are you laughing at?'
'Nothing, but come on Etheline, you've hardly been-'
'Tsk!'
'If she doesn't want-'
'She the cat's mother?' My eldest sister says, having clearly gone mad from talking to children non stop for a number of years.
'Kevin stop defending her!'
'I'm not-'
'Her the cat's mother?' I say, deliberately winding my sister up.
'-defending anyone-'
'Whatever.' Etheline says and he stops talking and goes back to trying to watch Liverpool lose over everyone's heads, even though the tv is in a different room.
'So,' my mother says, breathless with cuntiness, 'are you putting gravel in? I hope you don't plan on getting plants -hoo hooo ho, Cat would kill a cactus, hoo hoo ho.'
'Just try it.'
'Etheline it smells fishy. I don't want a fishy sauce on my salad.'
'It is supposed to be fishy, it has anchovies in it.'
'Anchovies! Are you trying to fucking kill me?'
'Cat!' My eldest sister and my mother yell simultaneously. My brother rolls his eyes, Grace, his wife, pretends she is back in the outback killing black widow spiders. My niece and nephew snigger, the other one is asleep, my brother in law is MIA, clever bugger.
'Sorry.' I mutter, but I grip my plate fiercly.
'Too hungover to bloody eat probably.' Etheline sneers, throwing me to the wolf.
'Oh yeah, it's got nothing to do with the fact I hate anchovies, bravo Etheline, well sussed, aren't you clever?'
'Were you out last night?' my mother the wolf asks.
'We were at a wedding anniversary.' The paramour says. 'Family.'
'Oh, it's good to be with family.' my mother says.
'What about the salmon?' Etheline asks, waving her fork at me, 'you going to turn your nose up at that too?'
'Do I like salmon?'
'How should I know? Maybe you don't this week.'
'Hey sport, be a good boy and just turn that tv up a bit.' Kevin asks the nephew, gaining a glare from my eldest sister who does not like her son to be called 'sport.'
My brother leans to one side and farts loudly.
'That's disgusting!' the women all yell. Grace slaps him on the arm. My nephew collapses in a fit of giggles.
'Better out than in.' My brother says mildly and shrugs.''nother beer Kev?'
'Sure, they're in the freezer.'
'What aboout yourself?'He asks the paramour.
'Oh I could definitely use another.'
Etheline sips her wine. 'You know that Healy one across the street. Her husband has been knocking about with that bank clerk-
'Not the blonde one?' My mother says
'Yep, well she found out.'
'What did she do?' My eldest sister asks.
'Drove her car into the front of his car when he was in it. He's wearing a neck brace and everything.'
'Was he actually hurt or is he faking it?' I ask.
'Dunno, but Mary from the clinic was saying...'
Family, better with farts.

The emperor's new clothes.

I was gonna write something witty and possibly mildly sarcastic about the fact that...
FASHION designers have revealed their latest marketing innovation for the world's skinny women - a size smaller than zero.

This summer, British clothes stores began stocking the waif size 4, following the rise of the equivalent size in the US, size 0. Now America is once again leading the way with a new size - 00 - for waists the circumference of a child's football.

Banana Republic, which is owned by Gap, is already advertising 00 clothes on its website.

Another company, Nicole Miller, is planning to introduce "sub-zero". It said customers were complaining they had to take in the existing size 0 clothes.

Alison Hodge, a spokeswoman for Nicole Miller, said: "We've introduced this new size for naturally petite women, not for models who have dieted themselves down to a dangerously low height-to-weight ratio."

But then I thought, really, why bother? Can you imagine..
'I'm a size zero.'
'I'm less than zero, I'm double zero.'
'Yeah, well I'm fucking invisible.'
'Oh my god, that's totally cool.'
Who are the dumb people who buy into this kind of shit? No really, who are they and how can they exist. I mean who tells 'em to breathe and blink and stuff?
I"m going out for a drink now.
Tomorrow, the paramour has informed me we are to attend some 'family' do. I am bereft. Isn't it bad enough I have my own family? Now I'm expected to mingle with his too. I tried the 'but they're your family.' And he used, 'yes and you're my finaceé' on me. Damn it.
I really am going out for a velly long drink. Have a good weekend y'all.

Tired? moi? Sure.

Sorry, late, exhausted, filthy mud splattered and THANK GOD IT"S FRIDAY!
Remember when I made Country and French Gay help with the 'garden?' Well I've been called up. Come in Fatmammy cat your number's up.
A 'you scratch my back I'll rake my nails down yours sorta moment has transpired'.
I've been minding Country Gay's spaniel/collie cross since yesterday. It's not so bad, I don't have to do anything except go down to CG"s gaff, take said dog out, feed him, put him back in his run, repeat until Sunday. I can't have him here because he would kill the cats.
I rather like this dog, he is silly and charming, a beta dog, but oh so energetic. He's clever too, I've taught him to heel in under an hour, no more pulling my arm off or criss crossing in front of me when we walk, bugger that. He's very willing to please and eager to elarn and he responds well to a high pitched 'GOOD BOY!"
He never grows tired-as far as I can see. Yesterday I took him for 2 laps of Bushy park, by the time we had made our way back to the rental car his tail had dipped slightly and his tongue lolled a bit, that was the only way I knew he wasn't as sprightly as when we started. Then I threw a tennis ball on the rugy pitch until I almost dislocated my bloody shoulder. Frankly I could still be lapping the park and throwing the ball and he wouldn't be any the worse for wear.
Today I upped the ante, I brought him to Phoenix park, the biggest enclosed part in all of Europe. We walked from Castleknock gate to the gallops, around them to Pope's cross, back through the copse and back to Castleknock. It's a long way by anyone's standards. The spaniel chased some squirrels, a magpie, was chased by some dear and did approx eight K for ever one that I did in between running ahead of me and then circling back to see why I wasn't keeping up. He has been in every puddle/stream/lake/River Dodder he comes across and is impervious to cold. He likes to shake his coat on me and roll in the back of the rental car as I drive him back to CG'S house.
I have met all manner of weirdos over the last few days, other folk with dogs who insist on chatting as CG's dogs prances about them. I knew their names, where they live, how many kids/grandkids/kidneys they have and dogs they have ever owned. I know a lot of their illnesses. If I was a serial killer I'd be taking notes. Who knew dog owning was a secret society?
Tomorrow I plan to take the mutt to Dollymount Strand for a combination of sea and sand, if galloping up and down the dunes and splashing through the waves that doesn't tire the bugger out I don't know what will.
He seems very happy about all this trecking about and I hope he gives CG lots of gip when he comes back.
I on the other hand need a drink and am the very wreak of the Hespa.

Energy efficent my ass.

There's an ad on TV at the moment, one of those twee hand wringing jobbies from the government, where ink drips from walls and lights and radiators into a family home. This-naturally- is the government's way of imploring us to spend less on heating and save energy. To further fuck with the good people of Ireland, our gas bills now have a 33% hike since the beginning of October.
Yesterday I went to visit a good friend of mine I have not seen for a while (she lives down the country). She has been asking me to come for ages and see her new house, so after kickboxing I rented a car and took off.
Her home is beautiful, three bedrooms and a lovely garden-an actual garden with a patio and everything. She had painted it in nice warm mellow yellows and her daughter's room is a pink fantasy that I would have given my mother's heart for at four. Gorgeous. Her sitting room is lovely, modern and stylish, with a large gaping hole where her natural flame gas fire used to be.
'Where is your fire gone, toots?'
'Oh,' she groaned, 'He (her partner) took it out. We're putting a real fire back in. It cost too much to heat and even though we've a full tank upstairs there's never enough hot water.'
We peered at the hole.
'Let's go back inot the kitchen.' She suggested.
We had tea, gossiped, ate turkey and chutney sambos, delish, gossiped, had biscuits, gossiped, laughed about some really scary old photos she had found of us in her mother's house (i'd forgotten about the perm from Hades) and generally had a swell time.
Then I toodled upstairs to use her bathroom. I was washing my hands when I heard the toilet flush for a second time. Startled I turned around, but there was nothing there. Perplexed I tippy-toed over to the loo. Then I heard a man clear his throat and start singing.
Haunted! Aiiieeeee.
Except it wasn't. When I told my friend she rolled her eyes and said, 'I know, it's next door, we can even hear what they're watching on telly. And they can here it when I put my washing machine on.'
'But.' I said helpfully, 'that's terrible.'
'What can you do?' She shrugged.
We had more jaffa cakes.
What can she do indeed? It's a bloomin' scam, cheaply built government approved homes that cost an absolute fortune to buy. How very bloody typical of the 'boom'.
This week on Primetime a whole section of the show was dedicated to the construction industry. Over a five-year period from 1998 to 2003, when new energy performance regulations were introduced, 250,000 houses "were built to a standard of energy efficiency that was 35pc below what it should have been," according to Gerry McCaughey of Centuary homes.
These homes are quick to build, difficult to heat and-like my friend's home- you can hear if next door farts.
Naturally the government are going wee wee wee all the way home on this one as the Construction Industry is a major organ donor in the 'Ireland is rich aren't we great,' aspect of our leaders.
McCaughey said new homeowners of hollow point bricks were paying an additional €15,000 in heating bills over the lifetime of the mortgage.
"This Government and the Department of the Environment are protecting vested interests in the construction industry by delaying the introduction of energy efficient building regulations which would affect the way houses are constructed in Ireland," Mr McCaughey told the Oireachtas committee on the Environment.
So the truth is people, like my friend, who own new homes and are on tight budgets are the ones who are getting stung.
Mr McCaughey said that around 20,000 houses a year were being built using hollow blocks, but that it would be "impossible to find a builder prepared to live in one."
Naturally. He doesn't want people listening in while he counts his money.
Deputy Ciaran Cuffe of the Green Party called for the Competition Authority to look at the issue and called for department officials to come before the committee.
Environment Minister Dick Roche said insulation standards were amongst the highest in the EU.
"This belies the allegations that Ireland is somehow failing in our efforts to improve energy efficiency in our housing stock," he said.
Minister Roche said he would continue to meet with the timber frame sector with regard to the development of building standards.
"I am not prepared to favour any particular sector in my dealings with the construction industry and I think my record in this regard speaks for itself," he said.
It does indeed speak for itself, and if he said it next door to my friend's house I could hear every word while sitting in her kitchen.

For no other reason...

other than I think it's funny.

Mike Tyson.

Iron Mike is on the road again. The road crash that is Mike Tyson is now working for charity. Naturally in the spirit of things he's offering to beat women up too.

"The the 40-year-old former heavyweight champ promised an entertaining show Friday night when he launches the "Mike Tyson's World Tour" in Youngstown.

At a news conference at an Italian restaurant, Tyson said he would likely go just four rounds and that future stops on the tour might include bouts with women, possibly professional boxer Ann Wolfe.

Wolfe, from Waco, Texas, is 21-1 with 15 knockouts.

"She's such a prominent, dominant woman in the boxing field," Tyson said.

When asked if he was joking about fighting women, Tyson said, "I'm very serious."

Russ Young, a promoter for Wolfe, said such a bout will never happen.

"That's the first we've heard of it," Young said. "No state would sanction that. She would be outweighed by 60 to 70 pounds. Ann would never entertain the idea."

Of course she wouldn't, she is a serious professional not a circus sideshow freak. Any woman who knows anything about real fighting -I"m not talking Buffy wannabeeesss here- would never set foot in a ring with Tyson- or any other professional male fighter.
So there you have it folks. Not content with raping, threatening to eat babies and chewing the ear off boxers, warm hearted Mike would also like to fight women...in the name of charidee. I wonder what's next? What about kangeroos? I hear them Joeys can really pack a punch. Wouldn't that be just so darn cute, the Joey in his red satin shorts, Iron Mike in his, duking it out? For charidee?
Say it with me now, ahhhhh.
I'm off to kickboxing, where I will naturally be doing a spot of head bashing myself. It won't be against a behemoth twice my size and it won't be for charidee, but hey, I'm selfish like that.

Late and grouchy.

I'm late for yoga. Also I am tired and ferociously grouchy. The paramour has a cold, ergo the paramour snores, even when he is lying on his face.
Imagine, if you will, the most annoying sound in the world that starts at the lower end of the scale but gradually builds up so that nearby car alarms start going off and dogs howls in distress, oh yea, if you can imagine that you can imagine what sleeping-or not as the case might be- next to might do to a person who is not the heaviest sleeper at the best of non drugged times.
Does anyone one have a rememdy -apart from murder/sleeping in a different room- to snoring? Do those strip things work? Has anyone ever used them? Is there ANYTHING that might help?

PETA has a new ad. Why it's not insulting at all!

I was eating pancakes and maple syrup in the kitchen not fifteen minutes ago and thinking about getting out of my pyjamas and wondering about whether or not marigold is a real colour when a woman on the Orla Barry show caught my attention by uttering this line...'feeding your child meat is tantamount to child abuse.'
'Pgtgtg totottt!' I said.
Then I swallowed.
'BLoody PETA!' I said instead.
For it was true, Peta have released a new ad, basically it shows the image of a fat boy about to tuck into a big greasy burger with 'FEEDING KIDS MEAT IS CHILD ABUSE!' under the photo. It is true too, the woman on the radio said it!
I sat astounded while this woman repeated her claims. Children should not be fed meat, it is the same as giving them cigarettes or alcohol. It is curel, it is child abuse.
Orla Barry, sounding as irked as Orla has ever sounded, made her say this twice. Alcohol and cigarettes people.
Then a nutritionist came on and said that meat is a very good source of protein and iron and that lean meat is a very staple part of a balanced diet.
Miss Peta went, 'pfft, I consider that to be a head in the sand type of thought.'
Then Barnados came on, being a charity that deal with real abused children and all, and they were terribly offended that Peta was making light of the word abuse. Do Peta care? Do they ...
'Drastic times call for drastic measures.' Miss Peta snapped. Oh she's right up there on the moral springboard, and with delightful soundbites too.
Here are some of the snippets to accompany the ad...
"As a parent, you love your children. You want them to live full, productive and happy lives. So isn’t it about time you stopped feeding them a diet which leads them down the path of misery, morbid obesity and playground mockery? Feeding children meat is child abuse. Stuffing your kids full of burgers and bangers will not only make them fat and lethargic – it may also set them up for a host of health problems, including heart disease, diabetes and several types of cancer. In fact, kids as young as 3 have shown signs of clogging in their arteries!"
There you have it folks, if you feed your kid a chicken salad you might as well put your cigarette out his or her arm, you're a bad parent. Sausages and mashed potato? Hope you do it behind closed doors. Chilli con carne? Swear the kid to keep it just between you, okay.
Stupid feckless parents, don't y'all feel bad now?
I really really hate Peta, but I love when they do campaigns like this one because it shows them up to be the bigoted extremist shower of nutjobs that I know them to be. Huzzah, here is a gun, now go shoot yourself in the other foot with it and be done.

Pain.

Is there anything more painful than stubbing your toe on the corner of a book case on your way back to bed at five thirty in the morning? I don't want to hear anything about childbirth either. Nobody can ever win against you lot.

Nanny State!

Twenty Major had a velly good rant this mornng about beer, or the lack of being able to buy beer when ever he sees fit. And he is bloody right.
But this takes the god damned biscuit! I was in SuperQuinn getting my weekend shopping (Wine, wine, veggies, eggs, oranges, yoghurt, chicken, cous cous, cat food) and of course two packets of disprin paracetemol. I carried said groceries to the checkout, stood bored rigid listening to Doreen cashier and her friend Imelda packer rattling on about Doreen's husband's back problems and the fact that Imelda won't go to the doctor blah chee di rah... when suddenly Doreen lights on my tablets and says...
'Sorry love, you can't buy two packs.'
'Hahhaha' I said, thinking she was joking.
'I can put this one back for ya.'
'Wait, you're serious?'
'Yes, we're not allowed sell two packets at a time.'
'Why not?'
'It's against the law?'
'It's against the law?' I spluttered. 'Why? Why would it be against the law?'
'It's the kids,' Imelda packer says, 'it's to stop them getting too many tablets at one time.'
'But I"m not a kid!' I said in a childish high pitched tone.
'You can buy another pack in the chemists around the corner.' Doreen says helpfully, 'or come back in and buy a second pack.'
'But this is ridiculous.'
'Remember,' Imelda says to Doreen with a wink, the kids used to be dropping them into the can of coke and drinking it.hahah.'
'I bet's it's a long timme sisce you did anyting like that!' Doreen cackles 'theeheheh.'
Well, ignored and flabbergasted I paid for my goods -the ones I was legally allowed take!- and made my way home. So here I sit, down a packet of disprin and raging, oh yes, fuming at the stupidity of this fucking country!
And now I have a headache!

When self defense is not quite self defense.

Padraig Nally 62 was a rural farmer, a law abiding man who lived and farmed alone in Country mayo in the west of Ireland.
John 'Frog' Ward was a traveller, a 42 year old father of 11 children with a criminal record as long as my arm, most of it for larceny. There were 4 bench warrants out for his arrest on the day in question. John Wards's son claims his father was there that day looking to buy scrap metal.

On October 14th 2002, John Ward entered Padraig Nally property. John Ward was-acccording to Padraig Nally-crouching down and had entered the back door of his home when he was confronted by the farmer.
The resulting fight and subsequent shootings caused uproar. People took very definite sides and old rifts and prejudices were re-examined.

Nally said during his trial that he had been living in fear for the five months before the fatal shooting, and that he often sat in his shed with a loaded shotgun for up to five hours at a time. The gun belonged to his father and had been in the house for 65 years.
He said a chain saw had been stolen from the house some months previously and that he was afraid of being broken into and killed in his bed. He often only slept a few hours at night and the pressure was almost unbearable.

On the day Mr Ward came into his farmhouse Mr Nally got the gun from the shed and as he confronted him at the back door, he claims it went off accidentally. He said he did not aim at Mr Ward and his hand was shivering as the trigger went off.
The defendant said Mr Ward took the gun off him and tried to hit him with it but he got it back. And in an ensuing scuffle he hit Mr Ward at least ten blows with a stick.
He then reloaded the gun and followed Mr Ward down the road and fired a second shot at him. Mr Nally said he meant to frighten the Traveller and the shot accidentally hit him. He then pulled John Ward's body over a ditch and into a field.

I'm a country girl, and despite it being non PC I can attest to the fact that certain travellers-not all- have a very bad reputation for stealing anything that is not nailed down. My own father was once offered a six bar gate he recognised as one of his own by group who swore blind he was mistaken- and even when he showed them the letters he had soldered into the base they still insisted he was wrong. In a rural community you would be hard pressed to find anyone that was at ease with discovering a man crouched by your back door. Nor in the city either I should add, but at least in the city you can run next door for help, what do you feel when your nearest neighbours might be miles away?
Padraig Nally has generated a lot of sympathy. He was a decent soft spoken man and this terrible event would never have happened at all if Ward had not been on his property that day, and if Padraig Nally had just shot him in a struggle I would back him to the very hilt.
But Padraig Nally did not just shoot him in a struggle, Pardaig Nally shot him once, beat him with a stick and then reloaded his gun. He followed Ward out onto the road. He re-aimed and shot him again in the back as Ward was fleeing for his life. And that-in my view- is not self defense. That is murder. And while of course I know that it 'wouldn't have happened if yer man hadn't been there' that does not alter any of Nally actions. I have a huge amount of symapthy for Nally, but you cannot go about shooting people in the back and then claiming self defense.
But I am not a court and yesterday Nally was freed after the Court of Criminal Appeal ruled that Judge Paul Carney, a High Court judge who presided over the murder trial, had erred in law by failing to allow the jury the opportunity to return a verdict of not guilty.
And so there is to be a re-trial, emotions are running high. Certain idiot factions are bringing race into it -which is ridiculous as travellers and non travellers are all bloody white Irish. ( one complete tool in this morning's Independent referenced the Rodney King case-I mean for Gawd's sake!) The travelling community are venting their anger very publicly on every radio and paper available to them. Equally a lot of people feel this is just, that Nally does not deserve to be punished for 'protecting his home and person'.
Watch and see, this case and retrial will become one of the most socially devisive cases we've had in Ireland for a long time.

Madonna and orphan.

So how do we feel about Madonna possibly adopting a one year old little boy, David, an orphan, from Africa? Well orphan is a stretch as his father is still very much alive.
Round this way it has caused much debate. Etheline and I think she might as well, kid gets a good life, she gets...what ever it is madonna wants and she has ploughed the guts of 3 million into buildling an orphanage. The singer has launched her own charity 'Raising Malawi' to raise aid and support for villages in the impoverished African country.
My eldest sister think it's disgusting as does my mother, that she is buying a baby and that the boy would be better with his natural father. (who placed him in the orphanage becasue he could no longer affford to raise him).
WEll? Any opinions?

Best excuse ever.

This man is hilarious, or rather he would be if he wasn't such a total lunatic. Check out the reason he gave for wearing the latex gloves. Just hilarious.

"MAN accused of trying to kill his sado-masochistic wife told a court yesterday he was not allowed to under their “punishment contract”.

Charles Henson, 39, said Allison Phelps, 40, was a “self-proclaimed pain slut” who loved being “flogged and birched”.
But he also said killing was barred under the terms of their “master-slave” agreement. He said: “If I break bones, cut her, leave scarring or wounds without consent — that’s not allowed.”
Henson is accused of trying to kill Allison in a jealous rage by triggering a fatal allergy with a latex glove.
Henson returned from the US after they had split up and broke into Allison’s home in Coalway, Gloucs, Bristol Crown Court heard.

Henson is accused of stuffing his glove into her mouth. But he claimed he was only wearing latex gloves because he was cold.

He said he had turned the gas on in the house to kill himself. Allison’s new partner Michael Phelps was stabbed four times.

But Henson said that was accidental and in self-defence. Henson, of Wisconsin, USA, denies attempted murder.

The trial continues.'

Something tell me he might not get away with this one.

Annie Leibovitz.

MY newest Vanity Fair is here, huzzah! and after feverish flicking through it at speed a photo of Annie Leibovitz stopped me dead in my tracks. I love Annie's pictures and she can even make Tom Cruise look like a nice misunderstood family man and not the raving loony I really think he is.
But she's always on the other side of the lens, so I was astounded to see Annie photographed -naked, defiant, pregnant, pendulous veiny breasts and stretch marked backside- in my most favourite magazine.
I know Demi Moore did it, I know Britney did it. But those pictures were photo-shopped and backlit and altered to show nothing but perfection. This photo of Annie is in black and white, it's simple it's stark, it's real and glorious.
Oh how my eldest sister would have loved this photo back in the days of her first pregnancy instead of glossily lit Demi Moore to remind her of how unhollywood her own body was.
Sontag wrote-according to the article that accompanies the photo- 'To photograph people is to violate them...'
Well all I can say is, not in ths case. Annie looks magnificent.

Ding ding ding!

Okay, only one hour left until kick boxing class. Am I nervous to return to the scene of my arse kicking. Moi? Nervous, never!
I have phoned Claire. She informs me that Memnoch is just as evil as he ever was. A bead of sweat dribbles into my ear. I'm warming up. Will my first class back be some kind of test? Will he be harder, softer? Will he treat me differently? Will I always be 'the girl who sort of got knocked out and then spoke in tongue for a few days?'
Eeeeep... only fifty-eight minutes left. Will he over compensate by putting me up against the Canadian? Will he put me up against Claire? What might the evil one do?
I'm not nervous, I'm not nervous at all.
Fifty-seven minutes...

Newsflash!

"A SIEGE gunman was fighting for his life in hospital early today after a tense 22-hour stand-off ended in gunfire.

The 40-year-old was hit in the shoulder with a live-rifle round discharged by a garda marksman after he emerged from a barricaded house firing at gardai.

Members of the Emergency Response Unit opened fire on the man as the siege in a cul-de-sac in Gort, Co Galway, reached a dramatic end shortly after 8pm.

Anthony Burke (40) was undergoing emergency surgery at University College Hospital in Galway after being rushed there by ambulance after the shootout.

While gardai said they understood his condition to be stable and his injuries not to be life-threatening, a hospital spokesperson said he was "critical".

The siege at the two-storey house in Crowe Street had earlier appeared to be nearing a peaceful conclusion when Mr Burke finally responded to repeated garda invitations to talk at 5.50pm.

He began to speak with a trained negotiator. The conversation continued to the point where he surrendered one of his shotguns at 7.30pm.

But without warning, he emerged from his home at around 8.20pm and fired a number of shots.

It is understood he fired two shots at street lighting before taking cover behind a car, where he reloaded his weapon.

He was challenged by gardai but ignored their requests to put down his shotgun. He then fired at least one round towards members of the Emergency Response Unit.

Gardai then shot a number of non-lethal "beanbag" rounds - which are designed to disable - hitting him at least three times.

But the rounds did not deter him. When he continued to act in what gardai described as a "threatening manner", a garda marksman discharged a live round from a .308 rifle.

The shot struck Mr Burke in the chest/shoulder area and he fell onto the road.

Gardai attended to him quickly and an ambulance which had been on stand-by throughout the day rushed to the scene."

If you come out of a house shooting at Gardai chances are they might shoot you. And to all the fuck-wits bleating on about 'they should have shot him in the leg' I would say 'maybe they should have sent him a bunch of flowers and a fucking note asking him to stop shooting at them too!' Idiots.
Right, just enough time to grab a shower after yoga and head for late lunch/early dinner of lobster.
Ciao.

Pink patrol, why not go the whole hog and cock your wrist?

From yesterday's Independent on Sunday.

'PINK PATROL' is the unofficial name being given to a squad of undercover gardai in Dublin set up to counter the rising number of attacks on the gay community.

The special unit was set up earlier this year in response to a dramatic increase in the number of attacks on men leaving a number of known gay bars in Dublin, but particularly the George, on the city's south side. During the summer the undercover team supported existing uniformed Gardai primarily in the George's St area on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights to monitor attacks against members of the gay community.

In the space of three months gardai arrested and charged at least 14 individuals for their involvement in such attacks in inner city Dublin. Gardai said that most of the attackers were known to them and belonged to one gang.

Gardai have also initiated a process of crime mapping which has enabled them to identify hot spots involving homophobic attacks where they can focus their resources.

The George, Dublin's highest profile gay pub said there has been a stark rise in attacks, with the pub's high profile making it a target.

A spokesman for the George told the Sunday Independent : "Unfortunately, the number of attacks has increased and we are always urging our customers to report incidents, although sometimes they are hesitant to do so. For our part we have door staff every night of the week making sure those who are intent on causing trouble are not able to. The gardai have been and continue to be great in dealing with such matters and are always very good at helping us."

Okay, so this isn't news to me, I"ve heard about this from my gay chums. This is a situation where peole are being attacked while going about their law abiding business. Out for a couple of drinks, meet up with friends, have a dance head home. Get set upon and beaten up for existing.
Frightening and I'm glad it is finally making the news.
BUT.
Why then the opening sneer 'pink patrol? Is it really the unoffical name or is this just another of the Sindos pathetic attempts at humour and shit-stirring. I've never heard anyone call it that. And even if it is the unoffical name why print it? I don't think being so blithely self amused is the way to go, if there was a spate of old ladies attacked would they call it blue rinse patrol? No they would not they would be most reverent about it, but it's the gays innit, pink yeah, pink coz they're pansies see, that's what make it funny, right.
I can see the features editor now, 'Sure we'll report about it, but we'll tagline it with this funny phrase, look at what our tax Euros are being spent on. The gays. The pink patrol, geddit? Oh my, we were slapping and high-fiving each other for hours when we thought up this one.'

Grow up Independent on Sunday, you're a hugely read paper and you have a responsibility to report the news. And if you think sniggering at a man lying on the street getting his ribs broken and his teeth kicked in is worth a cheap dig then you're just the loathsome rag I think you are.

Our first fight!

It had to happen. DIY and two mildly mannered folk might work, DIY and one tired hungry crank and one tired premenstrual crank was bound to result in bloodshed, or at least pouting, snapping and the odd furrowed brow.
I bought a tripod clothes drying thingy. After lugging the blasted thing back to the house I took it outside to the wilderness and proceeded to read the instructions- that's right, instructions, and the instructions clearly state we need a concrete base for the stupid pole.
I curse a bit and presently the paramour joins me to see what I"m cursing about.
'We can just dig into the soil.' he says after I tell him we're short on concrete.
'It won't work.'
'It will, get me the hammer.'
'Where is it?'
'In the house.'
'I know it's in the house, where in the house?'
'How should I know, go look for it.'
We glare at each other. Neither of us go for the hammer. Who fucking digs with a hammer anyway?
'Can we bring this thing back?' he says toeing the tripod line with his foot. The price is clearly visible on the side.
'I dunno.'
'You don't know? WE just spent 60 Euros on this piece of crap!'
'Why don't we just string a line between that pole and that tree.'
'It will cut off half the garden.'
'So?'
'I'd need a ladder to do it.'
'So go get one.'
'Mine's back at the house, do you want me to shit one out?'
'If you could that would be most useful.'
More glaring. The birds are silent and a stupid wasp buzzes slowly between us, wondering why we're not trying to bat it away. I hope secretly it stings the paramour, but not badly.
'I'm hungry.'
'Me too.'
'Let's go home.'
So know we're back here, eating mexican chicken wraps smothered in sweet chilli sauce. I"m on the computer and he's watching men talk about football.
The line can bloody wait, either that or we're getting a tumble dryer.

Tiresome Friends.

I have a friend who everytime he drinks turns into a completely different person. And he drinks a lot. I like person one, funny, enigmatic, charming, and I dislike very much person two, whingy, maudlin, self-obsessed. It's as close to a real life Jekyll and Hyde situation as I've ever seen.
This guy drives me nuts. I like him hugely but he really knows how to poke the tiger with a stick. He was a pivotal part of a group of us from years back. As is the fatmammycat way, I of course fell out with this group and in a burst of tears and 'fuck yous!' I went abroad and lived a very good life for a time.
I stayed in touch with this friend and we hashed out our differences. I did no such thing with the other lot and to this day they can still go fuck themselves with razor wire, although naturally I wish them well.
So far so dandy right? I mean we're not kids, we don't have to 'make friends' right?
Well apparently not. Because here I am sitting scowlingly at my desk -hungover- with my ears ringing from another evening's bout of 'But why can't we all just get along?'
This kind of thing wears a person down after a while. I know there are some people in the world who hate not talking to people and despair over bad feelings, I'm not one of them. I think if you don't like a person or their actions then there is no earthly reason to have anything to do with them again.
Is this wrong?
I don't care if it is or not. Life is not a bloody school yard.
That is all.
Where the jiggery balls are the painkillers.

Prince Muthaf*kcin' Charming!

Oh my, the man who sang 'You Sexy motherfucker' '52 positions in a one night stand' has gone from 'get on top' to 'Put on your top.'
Pint sized lothario, Prince, squiggle highheeled wearing slave multinamed Prince again, singer dancer showman and now Jehovah's Witness, offered scantily-clad club dancers double their wages to STOP gyrating on stage.

The pint-sized star — who used to use girls in his own sexy stage act — told the dancers they should be “ashamed” of themselves.

And according to an onlooker at top Hollywood nightspot Xenii he added: “What would your parents think if they could see you now? It’s wrong to dance like that.

“You’re too good for this. You shouldn’t be selling yourself so cheap.”

But instead of stopping, the girls told the star: “We need the money.”
When he was told he offered them twice as much to stop.

But the girls turned him down, saying they needed to work EVERY night. The witness added: “He seemed seized by religious fervour. He lectured the girls as soon as he saw them on the podiums.”

Prince, 48 — who also now shuns alcohol — gave up pleading, sat at a table and turned his head away from the girls.

He is a regular at the celebrity haunt, but always asks DJs not to play songs containing swearing during his visits.

A regular said: “No one knows why he comes here. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t like the music and now doesn’t like the dancers.”

I hate to read things like this. It makes my morning chillier than I like it, as the cold hand of ageing tickles my earlobes and says 'See see that'll be you any day 'ere, do you like the taste of Complan yet? What 'bout comfortable shoes?'
Aieeeeee! Back fiend.
I like my rockers to rock until they overdose, choke on their own vomit, fall out of palm trees or crash their inappropriate cars into very large trees or hang themselves from doorknobs while engaging in risky sex.
It's torture watching previously cool badass muthafuckers swap the chain mailmask for the beige cardie of righteousness (BCR)
What's next, Fiddy Cent stops holding his crotch and offering to smack people upside the head?
I'm so sick of it all, I blame Bowie myself, Parump a bum bum indeed.
I going to put on 'When Doves cry' and do some sniffling all of my own.

There may be....

trouble ahead. Have a look at http://www.unison.ie/irish_independent/stories.php3?ca=9&si=1699559&issue_id=14722 and tell me what you think? And before anyone asks I don't know what to think about it. On the one hand as a self-employed woman I feel I don't have to worry about these issues, on the other hand what happens to families-not just women- when wages are cut and doesn't it effect us all in the long run? Will this cause people to put off having children all together? What then?
Very troubling.
UPDATE -Becasue I'm so la-di-da chumly warner for ya all.

WOMEN'S groups have slammed as "blatantly sexist" a European court ruling which says employers can pay women less than their male colleagues if they have taken time off to look after their children.

The National Women's Council of Ireland (NWCI) warned last night that the decision by the European Court of Justice would undo 50 years of struggle for equal pay and rights.

The ruling cannot be appealed and is now part of Irish law, although it has yet to be tested.

Joanna McMinn, director of the NWCI, described the ruling as legalising discrimination against women.

"It's very interesting to see that even equal pay legislation can be picked away like this. It means the gains women have made over the last 30 to 50 years are being undone.

"It shows that we should not be complacent when it comes to women's rights and that they need to be protected. There is a backlash against women's equality and this is being seen worldwide."

But the ruling will not be a blow only to women. Men will also be discouraged from taking paternity leave as they fear a loss of earnings, warned Dr McMinn.

Yesterday's landmark ruling, which has taken five years to reach, said employers do not have to justify, on a case-by-case basis, pay structures based on length of service unless a worker can show evidence of explicit unfairness"

See, trouble.

Sad but just, nature versus nurture.

I've been following this case for a while and now it seems, just as it was being resolved, the student couple at the centre of the case where a judge ruled that their baby should remain with its would-be adoptive parents are going to the Supreme Court today in a bid to overturn the decision.

"Two-year old baby-girl Ann should remain in the care of her intended adoptive family as returning her back to her natural parents would damage her psychologically, the High Court ruled in the case last month.

In the landmark judgment, Mr Justice John MacMenamin held that the mental harm done by placing Ann with her natural parents, who have since married, displaced the presumption in the Constitution that the ideal place for the upbringing of a child was within the biological family unit.

He said the constitutional right of the child to the protection of her health and welfare should be the deciding factor.

It is understood that five judges as well as the presding Chief Justice John Murray will hear the Supreme Court appeal against the High Court's decision.

The Supreme Court has set aside two days for the hearing.

It will be held in camera with the public and media being excluded from the case.

Mr Justice MacMenamin last month described the High Court case as "most difficult and distressing".

He ruled that baby Ann - not her real name - should stay with the couple who wished to adopt her and with whom she has formed an emotional bond.

She was born in 2004. Her birth parents placed her in adoption in November of that year when they were unmarried students.

Ann has since remained with the carer family.

The natural parents married in January 2006, which constituted them as a family unit under the Constitution. They started legal action to regain custody of their baby a month later.

Mr Justice MacMenamin said there were compelling reasons why the child's custody should not be altered and that there had been what was termed a "failure of duty" displacing the normal constitutional presumption in favour of the family unit.

Thus, the child should remain with the would-be adoptive family. The judge referred to the case as complex, tragic and distressing, and expressed much regret that the court did not have the power to make any other decision in the circumstances which would have the effect of allowing some "middle ground".

He also ordered that the identities of those involved be protected.

"At the heart of this case there are two couples, who through no fault of their own have been placed in a position which can only attract sympathy and compassion. They are legally entitled to their privacy. More fundamentally, so too is Ann," Mr Justice MacMenamin added."

I have no doubt that the young couple feel terrible about the loss of their natural child, but if they really cared anything for her at all they should leave her with her family. For that is what her adoptive parents are.
This child is two, she has bonded with and loves her adoptive parents. To wrench her from them and place them with two people she does not know would be cruel. Further more her natural mother could have challanged the adoption process much earlier than January 06, she did not, she waited until she was married. Why? In this day and age if she wanted to raise the child alone or unmarried she could have done. She did not.
Sometimes the decisions we make in life can haunt us, and I'm sure this young couple regret placing their child into the adoptive loop. But again, if they truly have the best interests of the child at heart they will not further compound their sorrow by destroying a little girl's sense of family, security and trust by wrenching her from the only people she knows purely for selfish-if understandable- reasons.
This is a sad and heart breaking case for all involved, the natural parents and the adoptive parents, who must be in terror of losing their little girl.
I hope the Supreme Court upholds Judge MacMenamin's astute and compassionate ruling.

My cat's bigger than your cat.

I have just had the most ridiculous conversation.
My friend has two cats, they are -by her account- very clever cats indeed. They do not eat food they do not like. They speak good English, they are above licking their cat holes, oh and if they are itchy they do not scratch because they know not to. And they are allowed on the work tops because if you make them get down they get upset and sulk. They only drink water from a glass.
I listened to this for a while and snorted.
'Why are you snorting?' She asked.
'Because I have cats, they are cats, they do cat things. And if they don't like the food I buy them tough shit, they either eat it or starve.'
'Yes but your cats are moggies.'
'Right, so?'
'So they're not as sensitive as mine. Burmese cats are very clever. Much more clever than other breeds of cat.'
I stewed on this for a while. It is true that my lot aren't Burmese. But not as clever?
'You know, maybe they're not the brightest animals in the world, maybe they have learned being on the counter tops mean a flicking with a damp t-towel. Maybe they know to eat what they're given and be happy about it, maybe they do drink out of the toilet bowl every so often, the dumb happy bastards, but you know what?'
'What?'
'My cats are bigger than yours.'

Deeply unsexy.

Okay, Because I really am feeling poorly
here is my list of mingers who no matter how close the human race came to extinction I would not touch with a velly long pole.
1-Paul Daniels
2-Johnny Vegas
3-The Hoff
4-Peter Stringfellow
5-Michael Douglas- blee. He looks like he would be a 'wet' kisser.

Naked...

as a jaybird, yet still wearing a full face of makeup? Jesus wept, I look like a startled tranny. And ooooohhh the pain.
Ho not very hum, ouch and yow and eek. What a filthy way to wake up. But at least I woke up in my own bed. Poor old George Michael woke up in his car, having fallen asleep at a set of traffic lights and guess what he had on him? Yep, cannabis. Stoned off his mickey again. Hey George, you're velly velly rich right? if you want to smoke a few doobies here's an idea, hire a bloody driver.
And I have just seen a photo of Paul Daniels playing tonsil hockey with a student.
Now I am going to be very sick indeed.

A glum morning.

Early morning and it's raining again. I am hungover, not miserably so, but hungover none the less. I am not sure how or why I find myself in this position. I started out yesterday full of good intentions. I only brought one bottle of wine to lunch. I only had one cocktail after, then I met up with some friends and only had one or maybe two rum and cokes with them, then I went to have my dinner at a bar, only to find the food yocky and inedible. So to that end I managed some more drinks. Came home had another two drinks whilst waffling at the Paramour-who appear to be growing some sort of beard. Went to bed.
And yet...ouch.
I am to attend a birthday party later today.
And it's raining.
Sigh.