Monday, December 31, 2007

Redeemed! Reborn! Re-diculous!

Oh I knew he could do it! I blearily bobbled through the blogs, head pounding, gin soaked and ravaged and then WOT! LO?
Carrot Top!
Then I said, 'EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!' Then I drank some coffee, then I pondered if I was still drunk, then I decided I was and then I hugged myself and whispered, 'eeeeeeeeee', for I am giving up the hooch for two whole monthlies in the New Year so that gives me license to be as drunk as I want at 9 something in the am, as drunk as I wanna ever be. Also I appear to have lost my slippers.
So, to my beloved. Well I was shaken after the housekeeper shirt incident, MOST shaken in fact, so shaken I almost gave him up. But HUZZAH! Oh fattycatty of so little faith, why didst thou forsooked... and I personally believe and such in eye-rak and you know... him for e'n a moment. Bring on the crazy for another year my ginger prince, my newbie doobie, my eyeliner wearing nipple flashing right angled armed begingered freckled bot-bot, bring it and I will worship at the alter of gingerosity without fail or reason.
Happy New year chumlies. Happy New year indeed.

(Cheers Michael. I hope somebody lets you stick the tip in real soon)


Friday, December 28, 2007

Happy Naked Gingerday everyone!

Oooo, I've just got to get me one of these. That way I could entreat upon him to go into town, go into that Adidas selling fucking shop and MAKE them exchange the sneakers before the 29th.
I mean have you ever heard the like?
'We don't do exchange policies before the 29th'. some fat faced harpy informed me yesterday after I had WALKED (damn you extra Christmas kilos) into town to exchange the Paramour's Christmas runners for a larger size.
'You what?' I said, dripping all over her counter. 'Look I don't want any money, I just need the exact same shoe but in a larger size.'
'Not before Saturday.' Said she sniffily. 'It's on your receipt.'
And by the Devil's smegma so it was.
What a stupid fucking policy. I"m not even sure it's legal to refuse to exchange and item like that.
If I had a naked ginger at my disposal She would SURELY have changed them.

Anyhoo, I hope every one's hanging in there, enjoying the holidays and what not. My liver and I are so looking forward to January 1st, pity it didn't fall on a Monday, that would have been ace, but no matter.


Sunday, December 23, 2007

Happy Christmas!

I think Amanda is going to be my muse for the new year. You don't even WANT to think about the photo of a naked ginger I was going to post, but feeling warm and fuzzy towards everyone I decided to keep that one for a darker day in the new year.

Right ho, I'm off out again, into town for a Christmas lunch with chumlies. I most likely won't be doing much blogging for the next few days so I just want to wish all of you a very happy Christmas and I hope you all have a wonderful New Year.
I am much tickled to have such a terrific bunch of fellow bloggers I can visit with and who visit here. Although working from home is a real delight, it can be a bit isolating at times, but I must say I really enjoy being a member of our little blogging community here.
Muchio Kissios to all.


Saturday, December 22, 2007

motivation for fatcats and possibly for chumlies of Fatcats!

(This is a cautionary tale of why 'why not?' are the most dangerous words of all.)

Well well well, here we are again another Satdee, 'nother hungover to pieces Satdee.

In my defense I do want to plead I started yesterday with the very best of intentions. I did the Dundrum thing, I ate sushi and drank still water. Healthy healthy.
I came back here, and then I raced off again. I met the Spaniard and she was glum, because she had to 'make the luggage' I nodded sagely and off we went to La Cave, but misfortune struck, La Cave was too busy, so off we went to a new place on Georges Street. I cannot for the life of me remember the names, but it's on the corner of Georges and Exchequer Street and it used to be an Indian for a while. It's not an Indian any longer, now it's a grill and a rather trendy one at that. But the food was good and the wine was terrific. They serve beer too, so we had one of those.
So far so good, right?
Right, then the paramour rang her phone and said his chumlie was running late, so did we want a drink. So naturally we said 'why not?'
So we went to a new bar 'Crush' opposite the old George (Jurassic park).
That was a bit odd, it took FOREVER for our first drink, so much so that poor old Paramour had to toss back his whiskey sour, and gallop off to Mulligans, leaving me and the Spaniard with our rums and gins and a cocktail list.
'Do you want we have a coptail?" Said the Spaniard who was far less glum at this stage.
So naturally I said, 'why not.'
Three 'sloths' (delicious but deadly, one of the seven deadly sins on the list) later, two that we bought, the last bought for us by some gentlemen seated at the bar, to wish us a merry Christmas, ( one of them actually used the line 'merry Christmas to the two most beautiful women in the bar' I mean snarf to the max, Gorgonzola isn't that cheesy, but no matter we were still gracious about it) and we were both starting to giddy up. We left there and wandered back up the road so that I could show her where that VEELLY good but totally secret restaurant is. I would tell you about it but then it will be even busier and that might effect my getting a table some day, so no, I wont.
(Conan knows, but that's about it)
Anyhoo, oh yes. We went up there and then her phone rang again, it was paramour. 'You really ought to get a mobile.' he said,
Why? I thought, when you're doing such a stellar job of getting hold of me without one.
"We changed bar' he said, 'Mulligans is packed, we'll be in the Long Stone. Why don't you come for a drink.'
So naturally I said, 'why not.'
Me and the Spaniard did kissy kissy and she wandered off to 'make the luggage.' I went to River Island and another shop to buy something and then I wobbled off down to Trinity and beyond.
I found the paramour and two of his chumlies in there, whay hey! Would I like a rum and coke?
Why not?
One of his chumlies told me a SCANDALOUS story that made me guffaw. Then there was more rum, and after that there may have been some more rums. Then I said, 'I've got to go, I've got to meet a chumlie.'
The paramour insisted on hailing and putting me into a cab to travel the five minutes it would have taken me to walk to where I was going, which rather unfortunately was a wine bar, no rum to be had, so I had a glass of red, but I do remember thinking, 'really fatcat, mixing drink like this will surely send you three feet high and rising'
But no matter, there was some chitty chat, then kiss kiss and off out into the night I went again while she headed really quite drunkenly off to some dreadful dinner she couldn't avoid.
I hailed myself a cab, clambered in, told my cabbie my address in a reasonably clear voice and whay hey, off I went again.
Then I sat down to watch CSI with a glass of wine and some cheese and rather zesty tomatoes...and that's all she wrote.
I know have the foulest headache and quite dickiest stomach known to mankind. I would hazard a guess that poor old Paramour isn't any better seeing as he came home at half one, totally in the bag too. He's lying in bed right now groaning with the Marklar in the crook of his arm.

Why am I telling you all this? Because I have been shockingly lazy all week. There have been parties and drinks and going out things to do. I did a lot of walking, but that won't cut the mustard with you seeing as you've probably been doing a lot of walking too. I walked to town twice, that's about 9k each times, but again, walking.
So, because I was mortified by my idle week, I decided to let you know how much I was suffering today.
The new year chumlies- I told Finn about it during the week, so now I might as well share it with you- I am going on a two month detox, and so help me marmalade, I am almost looking forward to it. I won't have a cocktail until Medbh gets here. Pinkie swear. Until then of course I imagine will be my usual poorly behaved self. How many days are left in 2008, eeek, that many eh?
So, this week.

Wednesday- ran 15k

erm, that's it.

But well done Eva for running when she could have lounged. Brava!

Right bacon and eggs, that will cure me, won't it?


Friday, December 21, 2007

Men are flappy and bossy.

Zounds and confound it! I am being harassed.
A free day at last, I am officially finished work today. So, thought I, sweet! I'll sleep in, get up whenever, read through the morning paper at my leisure, find something to chortle over, do a post, await the arrival of morning chumlies to the water cooler/coffee stand, see how they are doing this fine and frosty morning. Maybe go into town for lunch with the Spaniard. And then play it by ear there after.
The paramour, that great big chunk of all things male, is also off this morning and wants to 'do' stuff. And what he seems to want to 'do' most is boss me about and tell me to hurry up and get ready so that we might go to Dundrum and pick up some 'bits and pieces'
'Bit and pieces?' I squawked from under the duvet where I was hiding out this velly morning.
'Yes, come on, shake a leg, let's go, come on.'
'Okay.' I lied.
And promptly fell back into the deep coma he had woken me from. Puddy, who had fought the Bigger of the cats for top of the bed supreme snoozing place, settled back and began to huffy snore gently. She is used to second sleep going on for quite some time, but today both of us were in for a rude awakening.
'Come on! I know you're stalling.'
And then chumlies, then he did something so...utterly unspeakable I am still in shock.
He pulled the cover off me!
'Aieeeee.' I said as cold air flooded over my jammied corpse.
'Reaccck.' said Puddy as she rolled over onto her back.
'I know you're just going to fall back asleep again.' The paramour said. 'Come on, there's coffee down stairs, we want to get going and out there and get parking.'
That's a whole lot of getting.
Well, I am aghast at this treatment. Aghast I tell you. And now he's flapping about all over the place and demanding I 'get dressed' and 'get ready' and stuff. And I'm all, 'but I need to check my emails and stuff.' And he's all, 'How long will THAT take you?'
And I'm all, 'Well, if you leave me alone for a few minutes not as long as if you stand there making that trapped wind face.'
And THEN Chumlies, he looked at his watch and THEN he tapped it and said, 'I want to be leaving here before ten-thirty.'
I'm telling you, it's like being in the military or something. I don't even have time to read the Daily Mail or anything, which means my blood pressure will be too low to go looking for 'bits and pieces.' Plus he want us to go to Mark&Sparks and I haven't had breakfast yet, which means I'll buy all manner of delicious looking crap because I will be HUNGRY.
Argh! I barely have time to post this. He's just said, 'come on love' in this really disappointed voice. He's trying to use guilt on me chumlies.
Argh. And it's working.
Argh I say. Dundrum, don't you know it will be packed.
Men are bossy and sneakily good at it.


Thursday, December 20, 2007

How to cook Brussels Sprouts.

Ah, the 20th of December, soon we will be swilling wine, licking turkey off our collars and trying to loosen the waistbands on whatever garment we wore, thinking there was some room in it. Some of us have already started on the eggnog. So with all the festive good will I can muster this last day of work I would like to provide readers with the yearly Fatcat recipe detailing how to cook Brussels Sprouts.

The correct way to cook Brussels Sprouts. Pay attention now, this is very important...

Heat large pan of water, copper bottom is always best, no matter what anyone tells you
add salt.
Add brussel sprouts when water is boiling.
Cook for ten minutes until sprouts soften slightly.
Mutter the words 'al dente' under your breath.
Turn off water.
Open bottle of chilled white wine, drink bottle of chilled white wine, watch film, have sex, whatever tickles your fancy.
Continue to ignore sprouts.
Drain water and throw sprouts away following day.

Absolutely foolproof.


Manchester United rape allegation.

And so another bout of footballing sleaze hit out newspapers. From The Sun to The Times, pages are filled with the goings on of the Manchester United hedonistic christmas party and the alleged rape of one of the woman who attended.
Let me see if I can break it all down.

Manchester United defender Jonny Evans, 19 went on an all day bender with most of his team-mates

According to the Mail the day started with lunch " £19.50-a-head set meal of salmon followed by roast turkey with apricot and pistachio stuffing and completed with a dessert of baked white cheesecake, washed down with vodka and champagne.
So far, so restrained. But the atmosphere became markedly more giddy with the arrival of the post-prandial entertainment - two transvestite cabaret artistes and five burlesque dancers clad in little more than feather boas."


Anyway, after lunch the roving lads hit The Old Grapes pub and continued to drink heavily until 9:30pm.

Then the team headed off -briefly- to a lap dancing club and then on to the next venue, I'll let the Sun take it away here.

"They turned up at the hotel [The Great John Street hotel] where the champagne was flowing.

Each United player had been allowed to take a set number of guests.

The swanky venue, where rooms cost between £235 and £395, was hired exclusively for the party by the Premier League soccer giants.

Nearly 100 girls were there, some of whom had travelled hundreds of miles to attend.

One male guest said: “I spoke to one stunner who had come up from London and another who had travelled from Newcastle.

“They were gorgeous — it was wall-to-wall babes. Most were aged between 18 and 30 and some were throwing themselves at the players.
“The booze was really flowing. Waitresses were handing out pink champagne to whoever wanted it. And the players seemed to be knocking back beer, vodka and whisky.” The guest described the do as a “great party”

Right, sounds terrific.
Let's see what The Times can add.

"One guest, who asked not to be named, described the scene as a “pulling joint”. “It was a bit of a rough crowd. A lot of the guests were not the type you would normally associate with a United party. It seemed a lot of guys were looking for women, looking for sex. They were trying it on with different women — there was a lot of sexual banter going on. The girls were scantily dressed, not in their normal jeans, but in short skirts.

“A lot of women were falling over after a couple of drinks. By 3am to 4am you could sense a lot of sexual situations were going to take place.”

There were also several scuffles on the dancefloor but these were dismissed as drunken males simply being “loud and mouthy”. There have been suggestions that the girls were handpicked by a small number of trusted women close to the players. Most appeared to have been recruited from the Manchester club scene.

“A lot of girls appeared to have been picked because they knew somebody who knew somebody,” one guest said. “A lot of the girls I have seen around the Sugar Lounge or Living Room, basically in the scene.”

I wonder what scene that is?
And then, the inevitable happens, too much drink, too much everything, The Mail reports..
At 2am Danny Simpson was reportedly involved in a fight on the dance floor with another male guest and had to be dragged away by security staff.

Some of the men present were also said to be getting more aggressive in their approaches to female guests. Witnesses claimed one tearful woman said that she had been repeatedly harassed for sex by a player.

"It was horrible," she said. "The guy had been pestering me and my friends for ages trying to get us up to a bedroom. I kept telling him No but he just wouldn't take it.

"He was really drunk as were the rest of them. Then he just grabbed me and started to drag me away from the main area towards the toilets." A security guard again intervened and released the girl, who said: "I was so relieved. I was in tears. The players were treating girls like pieces of meat."

Another girl concurred: "It was like a horrendous cattle market," she said. "I like the United players but they were out of control.

"They were treating girls like pieces of meat. We got special invites but if we ever get asked again there is no way we would go."

Another woman was seen sobbing: "I can't believe it. Someone forced themselves on me. I want him chucked out."

The following day Johnny Evans (19) is arrested having presented himself to police. He had just flown into Manchester Airport following a day-trip to Monaco. He is charged with the rape of-depending on which paper you read- a barmaid or a glamour model.

So there you have it, a complete and utter recipe for disaster, fame, money, sense of entitlement, drinks, star-struck girls, testosterone, stupidity, aggression, more drink, one-upmanship, stir together and you get lives and reputations ruined.
I deplore this kind of macho swaggering and posturing, but likewise I deplore it when women allow themselves to be used as the entertainment at these sorts of functions. What the hell possesses them to go and be pawed over, judged and 'treated as cattle'. Why do they attend? Why the hell do young men have to act like a pack of thugs when they're together?
Honestly the whole sordid thing made my nose wrinkle this morning. Disgusting behaviour all round. The players acted like little demi-gods, and I don't understand how any of them can seriously hold their heads up after their shenanigans.
Women need to stop selling themselves short too. What the hell makes them go to these things, drunk young men, no wives or girlfriends, it can only mean one thing. And I know fine well pulling a player a chance at selling a bedding story to the New of The World is on the cards. But Jesus, is this what women aspire to?
Ugh, the whole thing is a nasty big ulcer that has been well and truly lanced all over the media this week. But you can bet your last Euro it won't be long before it scabs over and is forgotten about again.


Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Children having children.

So Britney's baby sister Jamie Lynne is 12 weeks pregnant with her first child and her mother, parent extraordinaire Lynne Spears, expresses surprise.
A fat cat has to ask, how surprised can you really be when you allow your 16 YEAR OLD child to have a 19 YEAR OLD live in boyfriend.
What the fuck is it with that? And didn't Lynne Spears write a book on parenting a while back? Jesus, that would be like me writing a book on spiritulism.

Cheers Michael


Hot Damn Tina kicked it live.

Morning Chumlies, it's a cold frosty wednesday. I'm about to go to the supermarket to do the Christmas grocery shopping. This is making me feel exhausted. I didn't finish work last night until nearly nine, I'm cross-eyed with the tiredness and the thoughts of traipsing around a packed supermarket filled with trolley after laden down trolley and toddlers is bringing me out in the heebie jeebies.
But then I saw this and it made my feet tap, so I'm sharing it- in case any of you feel grumpy and tired and anti-shopping too.
'I'm just gettin' started.'
Ah yeah. I only wish I had such an outfit in which to do the shopping.


Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Amy Winehouse has been arrested.

Before Footie comes along and says she been released or something, let me tell you that crooner and tattooed hussy Any Winehouse has been arrested.


Fairy tale of New York gets censored!

I am gobsmacked. They fucked with the ONLY Christmas song that doesn't make me want to kill someone.
Bastards. I am Utterly against that.



I went to bed just after nine last night, I would say I was asleep by twenty-five past. I woke up about ten minutes ago say quarter to ten. This means I was out for over twelve hours, no need to get up for the loo, nothing, just out cold.
Now I've had a heavy weekend so clearly I needed it. The only time I ever slept longer than this was in my early twenties, when I pretty much slept twenty hours straight through after working three night shifts in a row in my shitty job, WHILE attempting to make it to some classes in college during the day. On the friday of that week I went to one double class in the morning, came home, went to bed around midday and woke up the following morning around eight.
Those are extreme circumstances, but still I am impressed with the body's ability to put manners on us from time to time.
So-while I ply myself with coffee- I have a question.
What's the longest you have ever slept in one singular go?


Monday, December 17, 2007

Pamela Anderson leaves husband-again.

Oh Pammie Pammie Pammie, wither the love? Tommy, Kid Rock, and now Ricky boy Video tape hilton Solomon? What is it oh blood barbie that you seek? Was it not true love? How can this be? Didn't you date each other for at least 10 minutes first? How can it not have worked out?


Murdered Children are chatty.

Charles J SIbley is a scouse 'psychic' who has got his nethers in a twist over 'honest mediums' like himself getting a bum rap.
To combat this he has released the above garbled tripe. If you have ten minutes to spare this morning, have a listen. See if you can listen to it without your blood pressure rising. See if you can look at the faces of the murdered children with speech bubbles coming from them without wanting to go find Charlie and strangle him with your bare hands.

So called psychics who use murdered children to further their agenda. I am AGAINST them.


Sunday, December 16, 2007

The artist formerly known as FMC

Yes, it was a very good night indeed.


Saturday, December 15, 2007

motivation for fatcats and possibly for chumlies of Fatcats!

Another groggy eyed Satdee rolls around. Lemmie see how I am.
Hungover, check.
Voice going from extended jibbar jabbing- check.
Arms exhausted form extensive use of spirit fingers- check.
Slight burpies from scary yet deeeeeelicious MoMo kebab- check.
Ankle strain from tottering in too high heels- check.
Going to go to a wedding in a few hours- damn and blast! Check!

Cry cry.
But never mind that, never mind my sufferings, let's hear about YOUR sufferings. Did you hit the light fandango this week? Swim like dolphins? Cycle like...erm... cyclists. How did your week go? Are you all rippling with good health or winding down to a festivus for the restofus styled crash?
I'm striving to hold off the christmas belly this year, but I can feel myself growing ever more lazy by the day. I know January will soon be bitch slapping me senseless and all I seem to want to do is eat cheese and drink wine and loll about watching movies until then.
Last weekend I did a 12k lap of Barcelona. Sweet.
Monday- nowt.
Tuesday- 10k run in the evening. Not great, but I was tired from traveling so that's my excuse.
Wednesday- 8K hilly loop.
Thursday- 10k, which was my best run of the week, coming in under the hour mark and feeling good in the legs.
Yesterday, no running but I walked 9k into town instead of taking the bus or car.

No gym at all this week, but I'm going to go tomorrow, assuming I don't slither out of bed more banjaxed than Courtney Love,
Right, there will be dancing today and the Paramour has a new tie, what this has to do with exercise I cannot say, but I'm off now to demolish bacon and eggs.
Have a great weekend y'all.


Friday, December 14, 2007

Happy Ginger day Chumlies!

Oooh, I nearly forgot, happy ginger day chumlies. (Amanda here was originally ginger, I can just tell) I must away to an office type party type thingie type in a scant two to three hours. How utterly ghastly, lots of standing around going 'and what do YOU do?' sort of thing. It has been two solid years since I went to this crowd's bash, and then I was pinned in the corner by an 'AC-TOR' who proceeded to tell me every single play and advert he had ever been in. It was shocking, not even Aries himself has such a battle to extract himself from a monologue war.


Right to Body Autonomy

First things first, Friday ! Yeah!
And if you haven't already, do head on over here and have a gander. It would be most amusing to see if the power of the blogs compels you, I mean works in mysterious ways. Also it would mean a lot to Gimmie.

Twenty major has a post up yesterday about a Jehovah's Witness who has taken an action against the Coombe Women's Hospital. She has brought them to court for giving her a blood transfusion against her will. The woman a 24-year-old French-speaking woman, known as Ms K said she believed a blood transfusion was a transgression of "an order from God'' and she was "prepared to die'' for her faith.

It's a messy case to begin with, the woman, an asylum seeker, initially lied to the hospital about her husband's whereabouts, leading the hospital to conclude she was the only biological parent to her newly born child.
But either way, one thing seems to be clear, she was-despite losing 80 percent of her blood- adamant she did not want a transfusion and the Coombe rode roughshod over her wishes.

Now I understand the befuddlement and consternation involved here. She was probably going to die and she didn't probably as a result of her treatment. It might seem totally off the charts for us to comprehend a woman who will willingly die because some religious book has a rather broad anti-blood message, but surely this has got nothing to do with the actual case at hand.
This woman was 24 years old, an adult. It must surely be up to her to accept or refuse medical assistance.
What if I went into hospital and was told I had breast cancer, and the only hope of my survival was the removal of my breasts. What if, after I declined for some reason they went ahead, drugged me and removed both breasts. Would I have a case against the hospital? Of course I would, it's my body I have the right to refuse treatment.
As far as I can see this case is no different, as unpalatable as it might seem to watch a young mother die because of a religious belief, we must accept that it is her belief and her right to follow it.
She might seem ungrateful, and I don't really understand any woman prepared to die and choose a religion over watching her child grow up, but there you go. I'm not her. But I could be. And as such I want my rights to decide what to do with my own body respected.
The Coombe-in my opinion- completely overstepped its boundaries in this case.
What do you think?


Thursday, December 13, 2007

Children, not just for christmas.

I often wonder aloud (and here) why people bother having children at all if they are not going to raise them properly, and by properly I mean provide shelter, food, stability, love, rules, mental well being and total commitment to their upbringing. I mean, when you look back over that list it's not exactly rocket science. Nothing above and beyond the call of duty all parents take on board.
But then every now and then a story comes along that leaves me astounded at the callous attitude some people take towards their children, the lack of empathy and love is staggering. Last night I watched a disturbing documentary about China where traffickers bought and sold children as though they were nothing more than livestock. There was no compassion and no other underlining process to their decision making only what they could get for a child of a certain age. One of the traffickers had even sold his own youngest son, reasoning that the older boy he'd had would 'find his way back'. It was a heartbreaking piece of television I can tell you. I watched that man talk about the best 'type' of child to traffic and how he was just an 'agent' and I wondered how a person such as he could even be created. To have not even a shred of humanity or heart, never even to consider the human misery he inflicts. It was unbelievable.
Then I got up this morning and-coffee in hand- scanned through the morning papers. And lo and behold there in the guardian comes another story of parental ball dropping.

"A Dutch couple living in Hong Kong yesterday found themselves at the centre of an international controversy after they gave up their daughter for adoption seven years after they adopted her themselves.
Raymond Poeteray, 55, who has worked as a Dutch diplomat for more than 20 years, and his wife, Meta, adopted Jade, an ethnic Korean girl, when she was four months old.

Poeteray told the South China Morning Post that the adoption had gone wrong. He said that his family was "trying hard to deal with it".
He added that his wife was receiving counselling following the decision to give up Jade. "It's just a very terrible trauma that everyone's experiencing," he told the newspaper. "I don't have anything to say to the public. It is something we have to live with. My foreign ministry knows about my situation. I have also been in touch with the Hong Kong government and they have been very helpful to me and so has my own employer." The couple have been heavily criticised in the Dutch press and by the South Korean community in Hong Kong who are trying to find a new permanent home for Jade.
A spokesman for the South Korean consulate in Hong Kong said the couple had found it difficult to raise the little girl because of "culture shock".

"[The Poeterays] now have their own children," the spokesman said. "They decided it was difficult to raise [Jade] because of cultural shock. They said she's not willing to eat their food. That's one of the reasons. It's a strange reason. She was raised from a very early age. It's a very uncommon case. It's a difficult situation for us to understand."

The Korean community in Hong Kong has been asked to find a family to adopt Jade, who has been in foster care in Hong Kong since leaving the Poeterays. The case is complicated as her residency status is uncertain; she is neither a naturalised Dutch citizen nor a resident of Hong Kong. She goes to school in Hong Kong and speaks Cantonese and English but not Korean.

Since adopting her the Poeterays have had two children of their own."

Honestly, having raised a child for seven years as your own, how on Earth could you turn her over to strangers? How could you walk away from her, knowing her future is so uncertain, to deprive her of her family, her home, her siblings, her sense of self? Just what makes a person place so little value on a child like that?
The Poeterays are not peasant farmers trying to eke out a living in a backwards rural place, they are educated, wealthy Europeans. And yet instill a far greater nose wrinkling disapproval in me that the scummy trafficker who tells it as it is and doesn't try to disguise his avarice.
These people don't deserve to have children, certainly the poor children don't deserve to have them as parents.


Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Spitting, shooting and rejection.

From the excellent Boing-Boing.

"A man has been arrested in Japan for carrying out 5 drive-by coffee spitting attacks on schoolgirl pedestrians. In all of the attacks, he spit coffee out his car window and into the faces of the girls before quickly driving away."
The spitter, who was nicknamed “Coffee Bukake Man” [コーヒーぶっかけ男] by locals, had carried out 5 attacks since the end of October. All of his victims were junior high school or high school girls wearing their uniforms, and all of the attacks involved spitting coffee onto their faces from his car window. His final attack took place on December 7th, when a 16-year-old schoolgirl he spit on was able to come to her senses quickly enough to spot his license plate number and memorize it. This led to the arrest of 26 year-old Yoshiro Sumiyama, who admitted attacking the girls. Sumiyama told police that he was irritated after having been dumped by a woman and carried out the spitting attacks to relieve some stress.'

Stress? Seriously what a dumb shit. I'm glad it was 'only' coffee he was hitting them with, it could just have easily been far more serious.
Why is it that when people feel rejected or are rejected by one person, they feel obliged to take it out on everyone else? It's like those losers who shoot up schools over some imagined slight. Or shoot up churches and kill innocent people who have done them no harm. Or shoot up shoppers in a mall a few weeks before christmas because your girlfriend left you. What is it with making other people suffer because you suffered a rejection? Why oh why can't these assholes just deal with rejection like the rest of us and move bloody on?
Spitting I'm against it.
Attacking innocent folk because you are a loser, I'm against that too.


Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Return of the Jedi.

'splain me this! It took almost as long to fly from Barcelona as it did to come across the M50 from the airport.


Friday, December 07, 2007


Son of a bitch, Etheline has just arrived with her 'luggage' . Honestly, Elizabeth Taylor probably travels with less.
Anyhoo, I didn't put up an exercise post this week because- frankly Mr Shankley- I didn't really do any. I was sick, so I don't feel too guilty about it, although guilty enough to pack my running gear in my ONE bag.
Like Gimmie, the idea of running about Barcelona fills me with glee. As does the idea of rum and seafood and rum and meeting up with old friends and rum and maybe even some shoe shopping. Followed by some rum.
I'll be back next Tuesday. Have a good weekend y'all.
Kissy kissy,

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Katy French has died.

Katy French, the 24 year old Irish model died earlier this evening in Navan Hospital. Gardai have just today launched an investigation into the cause of her death. She had collapsed at a house party on Sunday night and hadn't regained consciousness
Let the Independent commence with the hand wringing and blaming. Who will they blame first? What twaddle and spin can they release?
What a horrible start to the Christmas holiday. Her poor parents. I may not have thought much of their daughter, but I feel nothing but sympathy for them and the rest of her family.
RIP Katy.


But is it art?

I've got to say I'm no expert when it comes to art. I like Egon schiele, Ramon Casas, Degas, and Lautrec, probably a few more that my cough medicine addled brain cannot reach for this fine morning.
I know art is subjective but I have NEVER understood modern art and cannot fathom how a Pollock is superior to a Francis Bacon. I just don't get it at all. Why cubes on a blank canvas, what is it supposed to represent? What do all those splatters of pain mean? Is that emotion? How are we supposed to know?
I was unimpressed by Tracy Emin's messy 'bed' a few years back, and though mildly tickled by Damien Hirst's glittering bejeweled skull, I find a lot of his stuff goes right over my head too. Finally it dawned on me that maybe I'm just not their target audience and I should just accept that and go on enjoying what I liked.
I had almost stopped wondering about it and would cheerfully have not given it another thought when I read the times culture this morning. My eyes widened when I read...

"Mark Wallinger, 48, from Chigwell in Essex, has been intriguing visitors to the Turner exhibition at Tate Liverpool with Sleeper, in which, dressed in synthetic fur, he wanders aimlessly around a gallery long after closing time, looking out at passers-by and occasionally disappearing from sight."

For this he was awarded £25,000.
I am scratching my head in complete confusion again.

I mean, can someone explain that to me? How is dressing up in a pretty worn bear suit and wandering around art? I genuinely would like even the slightest hint of enlightenment on the subject. What am I not getting? Are you getting it?
Is there a getting it?


Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Katy French.

From today's indo.

"Model Katy French was still in a critical condition in hospital last night after collapsing at a house party.

A health service spokesperson said she was "in a seriously ill condition" after being admitted in the early hours of Sunday.

It is three days since the popular model was rushed to hospital from an estate in Asbourne, Co Meath.

The well known socialite is believed to have suffered multiple heart attacks and has since been on life support at Our Lady's Hospital in Navan.

Last night, family friends said there was a "slim chance" she would pull through.


Distraught relatives have maintained a vigil at the bedside of the model, just days after joining her to celebrate her birthday at a glamorous party in Dublin.

A small cluster of journalists and photographers gathered in the car park of Our Lady's hospital in Navan from early morning yesterday.

Katy's father John emerged from the intensive care unit shortly before 8am for a cigarette but declined to comment on her condition.

Along with her mother Janet and sister Jill, he had spent the night at her bedside.

Any visitor to Katy in the ICU yesterday kept a very low profile, possibly to avoid the waiting media, but it was mainly relatives who gathered at her bedside.

It is understood that Katy had brought a number of friends from Dublin to the party in Ashbourne at the home of her friends. They are not believed to be connected to the modelling business.

The party took place just three days after Katy, wearing Gucci, had welcomed dozens of guests to her 24th birthday party in Krystle nightclub in Dublin."

Pure speculation I know, but I doubt this girl is in a coma due to a 'kidney infection' as some of her friends have been spouting. I would be surprised if her collapse and subsequent coma were not drug related. Like I said barely a fortnight ago, there is a very human face and cost to drug taking in this country.
I feel very very sorry for her family right now. I wouldn't wish what they are going through right now on my worst enemy.


Monday, December 03, 2007

Unclean unclean.

I am sick. Poorly. Blib dribbled. Snot filled, ears bunged up, cough cough woosh kind of sick. A weekend spent in town has rendered me unclean. Personally I blame people who just won't cover their fucking mouths or use a hanky when they cough and sneeze. Filthy germ ridden skanks.
I wonder what happened to Katy French?


Saturday, December 01, 2007

motivation for fatcats and possibly for chumlies of Fatcats!

First and foremost, the swans at Portobello are the most vicious shower of thugs and hooligans I have ever had the misfortune to run near. There's too many of them now and they think they own the joint. The next time one that hisses at me, or flaps at me or GIVES CHASE I will turn and axe kick it into an early grave. Fuckers! We hates them, oh yes.

So, how are we doing this week? I've had a relatively lazy one and I admit I'm feeling sluggish, but I went out every night bar thursday and last night for a spin around the block covering a 7k loop, I bopped 12 k earlier, running the swan gauntlet to do so. And tomorrow I am taking Country Gay's dog on a hike, so I'm hoping that goes some way to combating the lazy arsed way I been handling this week.
However, I did hit the gym hard on Tuesday.

Tuesday- . Walked to gym and back 8k,

Bench press 10x 4 x27 K.

Push press 10 x4 x 25 k. Last few reps weren't quite so hot. But I muddled through, really when I take a few weeks off I seem to lose it very easily.

10x4 sets pull ups, on grav at 30k, then 10 more at 25, arms were WRECKED after that.

But then, 10x 2x 15k tricep extensions, bleaugh, small movement but painful.

Over to bike, 25 minutes at level 5, hate the bikes at my gym, they're those awful ones you sit into and watch tv, boring as hell. I was yawning like a loon on mine, and that's not the way I want to feel while in the exercising.

Shower, home for baked potato steamed broccoli and pork chop, yeah!

Another thing, I've altered my diet slightly this week. I don't eat enough fruit, mostly because I just don't like it a whole lot. But I am now making a concerted effort to improve. So plums, bananas, and oranges have all been added. God they're boring though.