Antichrist Obama.

I've got to admit I really do find American Politics fascinating. It's just so much more eye popping than Irish politics.
Big fears this week? Is Obama the antichrist. Yep, we just don't get this kind of entertainment in the Dail.
Observe.
"Fort Mill Mayor Danny Funderburk says he was “just curious” when he forwarded a chain e-mail suggesting Democratic Presidential Candidate Barack Obama is the biblical antichrist. “I was just curious if there was any validity to it,” Funderburk said in a telephone interview. “I was trying to get documentation if there was any scripture to back it up.”

Funderburk apparently sent the e-mail from his business account at Gastonia Sheet Metal where he works as a business agent.

The e-mail, which has circulated in the last six months since Obama secured the Democratic nomination, claims the biblical book of Revelation says the antichrist will be in his 40s and of Muslim ancestry.

There is no such scripture. And Obama is not a Muslim. But that hasn’t stopped the e-mail.

The urban legend Web site Snopes.com first exploded the myth in March. Funderburk forwarded the e-mail this month.

When asked if he believed Obama was the antichrist, Funderburk replied, “I’ve got absolutely no way of knowing that.”

Funderburk said it “probably does give that impression” that he believed the e-mail was true “but that was not my intent.”

The mayor said it was a mistake not to include a subject line when he forwarded the chain e-mail.

“I am curious about current events and their connection to the Bible,” he said."


I want someone to send an email around questioning whether Enda Kenny is actually a stick of rock.
In the meanwhile I'll start sending emails around 'questioning' whether people who use the scribbling of an old book to suit whatever purpose bobbles about in their heads are actually filthy fraudwanks and bigots. When pulled on it I'll just say 'I am curious about current events' and leave it at that.

Age, Lies and Downright Nonsense.

Top of the...oh who am I kidding? Bleaurgh, Monday. Tired, me, hungover me, ( yes I know, but I was away) I am fucked off to find I have a meeting today too. Bah, I hate meetings. Meetings shmeetings.
Becranked, fuzzy headed and feeling my age it was with mucho guffawing that I discovered this article in the daily wail this morning. I thought I was just getting older, turns out I'm just suffering from a disease. Quick, get up, run into a nearby bathroom and take a gawk in the mirror. Do you have this terrible disease too?
Huzzah!
Oh blessed diseases, where would we be without you? Obesity= disease, alcoholism= disease, boinking people who are not your significant other on a regular basis = disease, anorexia= disease, gambling= disease, and now aging= disease.
Oh thank marmalade. I thought getting older was a natural thing, rather like breathing and hating meetings. But clearly I was wrong. We can CURE it. Because obviously it's truly awful getting older. It's repugnant, shameful, a thing to be hidden and lied about. We must secret it away, blanket over it. Lie about it. What of our worth? It goes down with each sag and line. I mean it must, right? There's a whole fucking industry out there telling you so. 'Reduce the signs of aging!!' You too can look VISIBLY younger!!'
I don't know how I caught this wretched disease. But now that it has been identified I can address the issue. I'll drink the kool aid, buy the potions and lotions. I'll battle on and attend meetings with like minded sufferers.
'Hi, I'm Fatmammycat and I'm, I'm...35.'
'Whoo hoo, sing it sister.'
I can beam, relieved to be with other age sufferers. We can help each other overcome it. If Cher can turn back time I can too. So can you. So can everybody.
Aging, so shocking, so sinful, so contagious.
So what?
More bollocksology.

Update: I've just noticed Gimmie is back, this has brightened a pretty gloomy sort of morning some what. Now if only some one would magic me up some breakfast I might even crack out a smile.

Motivational Scottification with a hint of ginger.

Bon freaking dia to you all. Ginger day is upon up at last and I though I'd Scottify your morning. Didn't this week seem very long? Or maybe it's just me. Every day seemed to last for two, every minute stretched into an hour. Bleaurgh. But huzzah! In some short hours the paramour and I will be heading off for the weekend, leaving a very befuddled Etheline in charge of some very demanding cats. Huzzah thrice!
Of course I have been bugging the ever loving shit out of her.
'Don't over feed them, the one-eyed on is not unlike a dog, it WILL follow you about. He's a butter licker too, so watch that. And beware the Bigger of the Cats and his wailing hostilities. He will test your ever last nerve. Puddy's lovely, but we all know that.'
'They're cats, they will be fine.'
'Don't forget you have to lock them in at night.'
'I know.'
'Otherwise they'll get knocked down or something. Maybe even attacked by roving gangs of fire cracking youths, you saw what happened to that poor swan right?'
'I'll lock them in.'
'They like to let out by seven am.'
'Okay.'
'The number for the vets is-'
'On the phone I know you told me.'
'You can give Puddy one of the small tins of fancy cat food, but only if the others aren't around, they'll bully her if they find out.'
'Right.'
'They like to snooze in my office during the day. They have baskets in there. Puddy's is the one with the purple tartan Avoca blanket in it.'
'The what?'
'Avoca-'
'I gave you that!'
'Oh, er. Well Puddy you see...'
'It cost a fucking fortune.'
'I see. It's a bit scratchy.'
'Pffft.'
I wanted to tell her the Bigger of the Cats will attempt to secure that particular basket for himself but Etheline has THAT puss on her so there was no point.
'Our numbers are on the fridge.'
'Which numbers would those be?"
'Well, the paramour's number.'
'Right.'
'So if there's-'
'Will you just stop! You're coming back on Sunday aren't you? For God's sake, what could possible happen between now and Sunday?'

If this was a movie or an episode of Scrubs the outlines would blur as one apocalyptic vision after another flashed before your eyes. Culminating with all three cats being skinned alive by Fur Farmers and then roasted on a spit by hunters wearing nothing but white face paint and ginger wigs. But I say nothing as I fear she will Chinese Burn me to death.

Anyway, since I won't be about to put up a Satdee post, here's what I did. I ran the legs off myself, a 10, a 12 and a 16. I would run today but for the flying and all, plus I'm missing kickboxing, which I feel weird about. Will this mean I'll go a whole week without bruises? Maybe I can run myself into some brick walls or something. Anyway with only one month to go before the DCM I'll be concentrating more and more on the running before tapering. If I can knock even twenty minutes of last year's time I'll be happy enough, any more than that and I'll be over the moon. But we'll see.
Have a very nice weekend everyone, especially Eva.


Packing music!-

Purity Rings.

Dear Europe,
not everything born in America ought to be imported lock stock and barrel. Creationism, stetsons, Paris Hilton, purity rings and obsessive interest in young girls' hymens are just some of those things that ought to be avoided. Equating self worth with virginity is beyond fucking stupid.
Peanut butter, The wire, The shield, Fringe, good stuff.
Religious Mumbo Jumbo and queer notions of possession= not good stuff.

Yours,
Fatmammycat, unwilling citizen and grouch.

Hitting the Wall!

As the marathon is only a scant month away my mind has turned to all things terrifyingly painful. So it was with abject horror I watched the following ( yes I know, hardly comparable, but still, it scared the pants off me).

Anonymous Posters Are Tedious Poo Flinging Farting Monkeys

Oh GAWD, those fucking poo monkeys bore me so. Here's the thing about anonymous monkey posters, they almost NEVER have anything interesting to say, just the usual drive by shitty dribbling farts that fog up a good conversation or debate for a few seconds until the air clears once more. Worse still are the cowardly poo monkeys that populate ancient posts, dribbling their shit smeared tedium over long dead debates, stinking up the place, tee-heeing no doubt that their oh so INTERESTING bon mots are up for all the world to not read.
What attracts the Farting Poo Monkeys most are posts about woo, oh nothing makes the monkeys howl and gibber and fling poo faster than woo. Woo poo is passive aggressive shit of course, dull yellow with a streak of blood in it where the Monkeys had to squat hard and FORCE it out into the open.

"wow you are one hateful person!
whatever, believe what you want to believe. but jesus learn to settle down over shit that has nothing to do with you."

That iddy-biddy-shiddy Monkey Poo was for my post on animal telepaths. Classic, I can believe what I want to believe, but also no, no I can't.

"The relivance of my feelings for Reiki don't matter at this point. What bothers me is your extreme sense of anger, rage. The fact that something can make you that angry should tell you that one way or another, you need some help.

Good luck with that.

Peace & Namaste'

Har and indeed SNARF! That dribbling oozing slice of passive stinky monkey poo was after some sniping on my part about the fraudulent wankfest that is 'Reiki' spit-spit. I particularly like the 'Namaste' at the end, oh nothing tickles the Fatcat heart more than some Farting Poo Monkey squeezing out a belch of 'woo talk' along with Poo. 'Good Luck with THAT!' Har too much.



Next up, the quacking Monkeys of Christine Gallagher, stigmata riddled fraud pot who likes seeing imaginary things and taking VAST sums of money off the gullible to fund her terrific mansion living lifestyle.

"Do not let anger and hatred eat away at you, a phyiscal realisation of it like this blog will not solve what really torments you in your soul."

It wont? Weeeaaallly? Oh dear, okay then, I'll try not let non existent anger eat at my non existent soul. I might have toast instead.

And.
'What the hell is going on here? Here is the truth: none of you know FOR SURE if this woman and her visions are fraud or not. Doesn't anybody have anything better to do?'

Ah, the classic, 'stop looking at me, stop looking at me!' cry of the underdeveloped poo flinger.

Wanna talk Lipotrim bollocks?
Observe,
"I think you do talk some real shite on occasion. I know the shower of yes men and women who write here will not say so, vbut hey...if you write shite on the www, be prepared to be told so."

Oh the sneaky monkey, nothing of substance to say but manages to insult EVERYONE else too for having the temerity to agree with something this monkey doesn't. This particular poo flinger is the most cowardly of all. It flings poo from the very highest branches and scampers off lest it be called upon to offer up an actual opinion.

Of course I get the usual anonymous bunch of farting poo monkeys who feel I ought to nearly apologise every time I have an opinion they don't happen to agree with. Yeah, I call these Teletubbymonkeys. They just want the world to be full of La La, sunshine and fully edible custard flavoured poo.

So here it is. This is my blog, there are many like it but this one is mine(good bye Bane, you will be missed). The opinions expressed here are my own, the opinions expressed by the comment makers are their own. See how that works? If you want to make an actual useful pertinent comment-even if you disagree with something, feel free. If you want to be a farting poo monkey (FPM) flinging anonymous plop thither and yon then expect to be treated as the cowardly poo flinger you are, which in your case will mean being not fed and ignored. You don't like bad language? Tough shit. Get over it. This isn't school.
Namaste fuckers.

Breaking the Law Daily.

I was stuck in traffic an while ago and forced to listen to Gerry Ryan. Terrible I know, I've only just recovered. He's not a bad lad, just the sound of his voice is like jazz to my ears, intolerable.
Anyway, he made reference to the twenty law that most of us regular folk break everyday.
And they are...
1. Speeding

2. Talking on a mobile/texting while driving

3. Dropping litter

4. Illegally downloading music

5. Cycling on pavements

6. Eating or drinking while driving

7. Having sex in a public place

8. Parking partly on a pavement

9. Taking drugs

10. Not wearing a seatbelt

11. Having sex under the age of 16

12. Parking on double yellow lines

13. Cycling with lights after dark

14. Not cleaning up dog poo

15. Smoking in a public place

16. Driving through a red light

17. Not having a TV license

18. Not informing the DVLA of a change of address/name

19. Taking a child out of school for a holiday without the head's permission

20. Carry an offensive weapon

Well ark me. That is rather a lot of breakage. Funnily enough I am a MOST considerate driver and I don't break lights or the speed limits. I don't know how this happened as I used to drive like a bloody fool in my youth. Perhaps maturing reins in idiocy, that and a sense of mortality.
I have TV license. I don't carry offensive weapons-only my sharp tongue, hur- and I don't park on double yellows (fear of clampers more than worry about law breakage). I don't drop litter, I don't cycle, I'm over 16, I don't down load music or films and I don't own a mobile phone. I don't take 'drugs' I assume they mean the illegal kind. And I don't smoke. I don't eat or drink while driving, and I don't go around taking children out of school. I pick up poo when I walk CG's darling dog-yes, even in the Phoenix bloody Park where the nearest bin is ALWAYS miles away.
In fact, I'm pretty much ferociously law abiding. I wasn't always thus so it's quite amusing to see it.
The paramour- who downloads everything- conflates red lights with speeding up, and he would cycle over a roof top, wearing a sleepmask and downloading football results at the same time if need be and munches mints constantly while driving and yelling at folk who don't hurry through red lights. He, it seem, is much guiltier than me- by a long shot!
Huzzah. I must send this to him immediately. Oh superior Tuesday how are ye? Who knew being stuck in a car listening to Gerry Ryan could offer such ammunition.
How about you? Can you run down the list and HONESTLY say you're not guilty of doing much of things listed?

Demanding unemployed.

Last week was very busy and this weeks shows signs of being much the same. But no matter, that's what us grown ups must contend with now and then. Work is work and even the self-employed must boogie to the monkey see/monkey do dance on occasion.
I'm glad I have a job, I'm glad I have a job I actually like. I-like probably everyone else- have had some REMARKABLY shit jobs in the past and so am never one to take my current employment lightly. There is great satisfaction in being employed, and more so in being self employed.
It was with real interest that on Friday I saw a young man sitting on Westmorland street with a sign saying, nay, demanding someone employ him. It said 'EMPLOY ME". And that's all it said.
It stuck with me. I want to go back and find him and tap on on the shoulder and say, 'Are you for real?"
A young, white, relatively attractive bored looking man sitting on a duffel bag with a sign saying 'EMPLOY ME' in Dublin? Who does he think is going to stop? Who are his targets? What employer is he attempting to snag?
I must be turning into a Daily Mail reader or something, but all I could think when I saw him was 'Go out and get a bloody job like the rest of us!' Plus some channeling of my mother 'Nobody's going to drop anything on your lap, go look for it.'
I need to read the Guardian more. My liberal lefty pinkie commie spine is crumbling.

Motivation for fatcats and possibly fatcat chumlies.

Top of satdee to you. It's sunny here, sunny and warm and I believe I will head into town with the paramour shortly. Unfortunately I am toastless as the toaster has died. A sorry state of affairs indeed. Nobody should be without toast on a Satdee, it's just plain wrong. I had rhubarb and ginger jam to spread on it and everything.
Anyhoo, its been a mixed bag of a week. I've been shaking off a cold/virus/whatever and working a lot, you see where this is leading right? yes, I've been a lazy trogmallian.

Monday- nowt, work.

Tuesday- something of a miraculous 10k run in 58:21 I don't know how but I suspect it was the shepherds pie I had for dinner. The paramour made it with extra potato and some grated cheese too. nom-nom. Clearly running fuel.

Wednesday- working all day, there were meetings AND a lunch. I don't know which was worse.

Thursday- 12k- slow and steady, checking for the lungs, everything seems clear.

Friday- kick boxing. New nonMemnoch had this to say, 'as your fitness increases the class is going to get harder, we're going to rise to it. Everyone is going to rise to it.'
He said this just after he made us perform twenty roundhouse kicks and twenty jab & crosses all into moving pads, AFTER skipping for three minutes at speed. Myself and one of the chaps The Count were heaving up a storm. Somehow this translated to 'gaining fitness'. Er yes.

Today- nada, I'm black and blue and sore. And toastless.

Tomorrow!- A twenty k up the coast. Huzzah! My first in weeks and I'm actually looking forward to it.

For Sheepie!

Off to kickboxing. Have a good weekend everyone.

Men.

Men, can't live with them, can't bury them in the bottom of the garden without the blasted neighbours asking nosy questions.
Nah, I kid, I kid. Men are people too.
Interesting to read this article in the Times this morning.
Interesting and yet hardly news. I've never understood the peculiar notion that just because a couple split up in this country the man is automatically relegated to non-parent. Or at the very least second in command. Children by and large do better when both parents are actively involved in their lives and if both parents are willing and able they should be encouraged to do so. And legally free to do so. Splits ups are awful enough without denying children access to the people they love.
The other curious thing-for me anyway- was this line...
"On the issue of raising children, 56 per cent believe a woman should accept that her children are more important that her career."
Aw bless, the unmistakable whiff of the 1950s.
Why should this be? Who says women don't already consider their children more important than their careers? Who says they/we must accept our children are more important? More important that what? Career, self worth, happiness? If-according to the same article- men feel there ought to be more flexi time for them to enjoy their children as they grow would it not then follow on that more flexi time = more shared parental duties? Thus freeing up women and allowing them to enjoy a career AND children- should she so wish to do so? To suggest women MUST accept that their children are more important that their careers implies women don't regard them as such now, and that women ought to know better and be prepared to take a back seat employment wise when their offspring are born. That women already do this is not acknowledged of course, just glossed over.
On the subject of childcare and child raising it seems blatantly obvious to me that these issues ought to be discussed well in advance of actually procreating ( if at all possible). Not every woman wants to leave her job and stay home with the baby. Not every man wants to work all the hours in the day to support a partner and child, not every woman wants to return to work after her children are born, not every man and woman WANT children. Sometimes it makes economic sense for a woman to retain her job while her partner cuts back his hours. It's not a one size fits all situation.
But it is a decision couples must deal with, or at least it should be. Certainly in this day and age where mortgages are ridiculously expensive and commuting puts strain on personal time, having children can seem like an uphill battle and one that is delayed longer and longer. But is that not also a curious quirk of our times? Putting off having children until much later is now considered the right option for many, and indeed it probably is for them. I wonder though do the same problem still crop up? WHo will stay home, who will sacrifice their time and work?
Personally I would hate to feel I had no option but to remain with a child all the live long day. It would drive me bonkers. But neither do I like the idea of popping them into a creche from morning to night either. That would upset me and make me question why I bothered having them in the first place- cue the guilt! I'm sure there is a middle ground. Flexi-time might just be that middle ground for a lot of parents. Certainly working together to raise a family seems to me to be a more admirable route than assigning definite roles.

Testing Times for the shaggy of head.

I planned to go for my bi-annual haircut tomorrow-indeed I even deigned to use the telephone! But alas, I am alarmed and put out to discover my hairdresser- Spanish and practically mute- no longer works at the hairdressers I frequent. No amount of pleading with the frosty receptionist could make her reveal where she might have gone neither.
Bah and damnation. The curse of the seven snotty dwarves on it.
This means I will now have no other option but to run the gauntlet of hairdressers in an attempt to replace her with another efficient and practically mute one who doesn't DO head massages.
BAH!
I suppose I could cut it myself, but I recall doing just that a number of years ago and THEN having to suffer through the indignity of another hairdresser sorting out the mess I made of it.
This has made me most grouchy, and I had already reached my grouch quota of the day by 8:45 in the am. I am now overly grouched. I'm spilling grouch.
Anyone know of a hairdresser who doesn't like talking and who also doesn't offer head massages? ANYONE??

A drinker ponders.

Another Monkey see/Monkey do sort of day. Oh WHEN can I get back to lollygagging about at my leisure and not need spending time interacting and -worse- listening to real live breathing people? It's ghastly I tell you, I don't know how anyone else does it. I mean confound it, I have an office now, and I'm hardly ever in the blasted thing it seems.

I did however take time to peruse the papers this morning and guffawed over the demise of the PDs. So long suckers, take Harney with you.
However I'm bored to tears of politics at the moment, it's all a bit samey is it not? And as for the doom and gloom merchants, sweet cheeks of a ginger, too much.
So lets talk drink instead. Yes, lets.
Because I'm honest to marmalade still planning to run the marathon next month, I have been practically sans drink. This is a lie, I have been imbibing grape milk in limited quantities, but ixnay on the rum, and practically nada on the beer front as well. This is quite okay by me, I'm off the sleeping tablets too and sleeping soundly. If I can stay without sodding colds and sore throats for a few more weeks I might just pull this off.
But drink! Let's see.
An interesting article in the Telegraph caught what passes for my attention.
The british Department of Health has apparently identified 9 types of drinker.
Observe.

'- “De-stress drinkers” use alcohol to regain control of life and calm down. They include middle-class women and men.

- “Conformist drinkers” are driven by the need to belong and seek a structure to their lives. They are typically men aged 45 to 59 in clerical or manual jobs.

- “Boredom drinkers” consume alcohol to pass the time, seeking stimulation to relieve the monotony of life. Alcohol helps them to feel comforted and secure.

- “Depressed drinkers” may be of any age, gender or socioeconomic group. They crave comfort, safety and security.

- “Re-bonding drinkers” are driven by a need to keep in touch with people who are close to them.

- “Community drinkers” are motivated by the need to belong. They are usually lower middle class men and women who drink in large friendship groups.

- “Hedonistic drinkers” crave stimulation and want to abandon control. They are often divorced people with grown-up children, who want to stand out from the crowd.

- “Macho drinkers” spend most of their spare time in pubs. They are mostly men of all ages who want to stand out from the crowd.

- “Border dependents” regard the pub as a home from home. They visit it during the day and the evening, on weekdays and at weekends, drinking fast and often.


I'm not sure where I fit into that particular grouping. I am currently a 2 glasses of red in the evening sort of drinker. Does that make me a habit drinker? De stress? Not sure exactly. I DO find it relaxing to have a glass of wine at around nine, a second one forty minutes later and then bed. I find it lowers my usual twitchiness to an acceptable level, at least for me to go to bed and actually sleep.
Of course if I was on the other side of the marathon I would a different drinking pattern, namely a fair smattering of beer/rum on ginger day and possibly cocktails the day after, maybe bucket loads of wine on a sunday and nothing at all during the week.
Perhaps people are people and cannot be quantified or corralled into groups. Or perhaps you can see yourself in the above groups? I'll plonk myself into the de-stress group for the moment.
How 'bout you? Perhaps you're not in it at all. Maybe you're a whole other category!

Favourite Children.

Hah, I'm not even slightly surprised to read/hear that during a survey on Netmums it was discovered that 20% of mothers admit to having a favourite child.
My mother favours my brother over every girl that ever had the misfortune to be expelled screaming from that harpy.
And she's not the only one, my oldest friend is a favourite of her father, perhaps because she was the baby of the family and CG will often say his baby sister-and youngest- is the true recipient of his parents' affections.
I suppose parents in general love all their children, but it strikes me as quite normal that they might favour one over the other. People have VERY different personalities, and siblings are not exempt. My brother is mild mannered and avoids conflict, ergo he is the Biological Incubator's plum pudding. I am her least favourite child as I get on her wick and refuse to talk to her for great swathes of time. Oddly though I am the one she is MOST interested in- the nosy old cow.
'What did she say?' being her opening line whenever my name is mentioned. 'Did she say anything about me?' Being the second.
No Lilac Couch, I didn't. I wouldn't give you the satisfaction.
It's a remarkably taboo notion that parents aren't perfect. That they might have quirks and likes and foibles even AFTER they spawn another generation, but they do.

Quoth Larkin.

'They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself."


Quite.

Motivation for Fatcats and possibly for Fatcat chumlies.

Bah!
You know how normally I'd put up a detailed daily report as to my hard work and exercise commitment and I can then sit back a read it content in the knowledge that no matter what ever else was falling down about my ears, at least I knew I'd been pulling my weight in the 'I'm training for a marathon' process.
Normally.
But the last few weeks have been so unrelenting hectic and filled with bunged noses and blocked ears and quirky fevers that left me weak, shivering, sensitive to light and dribbling with snot, that somehow, the training to do a bloody marathon that is really only 6 weeks away(!!!!) has trickled to nought.
From a training high of an almost 30k run a few weeks ago, this week's LONGEST run was 10k, and there was only one of them. That's right, one sodding 10 kilometre run. A 10k run that left me feeling tired and a little breathless. And down in the dumps. Blue, even. Deflated. I was the meringue that you shouldn't have checked.
Then I went traveling and working and talking to folk and had to have meeting, and I hate meetings. I kept saying, 'Just put your bloody runners on and get out there.' But the flesh was weaker than a soggy kitchen towel and so, filled with self loathing and inexplicable exhaustion, I found one reason after another to NOT do what I KNOW I should if I have any hope of running this year's marathon in the style I had originally hoped.
I have no excuses, yes I've been sick, yes I've been disgustingly busy, but don't I ALWAYS pontificate that folk should find time to train, to look after themselves? Don't I?
I do, but I've had to stable my high horse this week and use the shetland pony of self assessment.
Bah. The week was grimly dribbling to a halt when somehow yesterday I found the fortitude to alight from my ladder, put down my paint brush, shake out my aching limbs and drag my husk off to kickboxing.
And lo! Though I sense a new Memnoch in the making, I came out of class almost rejuvenated. I felt keen, mean, lean, and er...full of bean..s. There was pep in my step, groove in my moves, my head was held higher, I had twiddled my gazebo and unfurled the banner of health.
'Huzzah' I cried as I traipsed across the car park. Then I waved and said hello to a chap in such a demented cheery manner he looked afraid.
'Huzzah.'I thought, you SHOULD look afraid. I have six weeks. I can pull it off. I know I can.
Back to the field with you Shetland. Hakuna Matata!

Smoking, not smoking, let's call the whole thing off.

I was away most of yesterday, driving and listening to the radio for company. I had been listening to Newstalk-as I am wont to do- but for some reason (Tom Dunne) I decided to listen to some music instead so I changed channel and put on Spin.
Within seconds I was busily frothing at the mouth, shaking my head furiously and using expletives that would have made a sailor blanch.
What caused such apoplexy?
Why this...
"My dream is that one day we could eventually put all tobacco products on 'prescription only' and have all nicotine replacement therapies (NRTs) free of charge (cf. prescriptions for methadone replacement therapy for heroin addicts).Why not? It would also prevent a new generation becoming hooked while we do everything to help today's tobacco addicts," said Avril Doyle

Avril Doyle for anyone interested is a Fine Gael MEP, and as you can probably guess an anti- tobacco lobbyist. She was waffling on about this some time back in July when she had revealed her dream of making Europe pretty much smoke free by 2025, you can read that little wish upon a dream here.

I'm no smoker, I used to smoke and gave up almost 6 years ago. I don't like smoking, I don't miss it. These days I think it's pretty disgusting and a complete waste of anyone's money. But I also think it's none of my goddamned business if a person wants to smoke themselves into a cloud of grey. It's none of Avril Doyle's business either. Smoking is not illegal. Expensive, unhealthy and a great tax creator sure, but not illegal. People smoke, making it more difficult for them to do so does not make people NOT smoke.
This chaps my bloody hide completely. I used the 'bloody nanny state' line on Twenty's the other day when it was decreed that alcohol ought to have warnings that is isn't the greatest idea ever to drink while pregnant. Diagio are forever warning us to 'drink sensibly'. I'm still fuming that off licenses now close at 10 pm to save the hard drinking children- won't somebody think of the children!!!??
This might seem churlish, but I really don't get it. How can anyone not react to things like this, where is the line drawn? Everyone already knows tobacco is bad for you. Everyone knows drinking to excess is bad for you. Everyone knows driving without a seat belt might end badly should you and your car suddenly meet an immovable force. Everyone already knows kids prefer junk over cabbage, everybody knows large engines use more fuel, everybody knows eating crisps and white bread is not brilliant ( this is in reference to something I heard the other day where one secondary school has actually BANNED crisps and white bread from the school- oh the humanity!) Everyone knows some doggies might bite, lets restrict them! Quick, let's make a law that everyone on bikes MUST wear helmets, make it mandatory!!!!!!!!!! Quick, QUICK. Write a law. Fine them, corral them, rubber stamp them.
No, let's not. Let's just bloody well stop for a second, let's assume adults are people too and can decide for themselves how to behave with regards to their own personage, let's go WAYYY out on a limb here and afford people some fucking liberties. Even if those liberties lead them to do silly things. Let's keep our big beak out of people's private lives as much as possible. Let people live for god's sake. You can't sanitize life- as much as you might like too. If people want to smoke let them puff themselves senseless, let them drink insensibly, let them be merry, let them alone.

More cock-a-mammie rules 'for our own good' -I"m against them.

Cancer, when guessing just won't do.

Imagine you're in work, you get a phone call telling you your house is on fire. You phone the fire brigade and they go a douse the fire. They call you back and tell you they have saved your home, that everything you owned was safe. Then you get home that day and find your home has been burned to the ground. Your home is destroyed. Everything gone. You ring the fire brigade and ask them what the hell? They shrug and say 'well we thought it was out, it looked out'.
Wouldn't you be angry? Wouldn't you have questions?
But in the back of your mind you know possessions can be replaced. You're angry and upset, but it's not like your family was in the fire. Was it?
I've written before about the shocking state of our health system. We're supposed to be a wealthy country, we've had ten years of unbelievable wealth and progress, but our health care system is crumbling about our ears and it appears nothing and no one knows how to shore it up.
It was with growing disbelief that I listened to Karl Henry talk on Newstalk this morning about how Ann Moriarty, his beloved wife and mother to his child, was twice misdiagnosed and subsequently died from a particularly aggressive form of cancer that had spread through her body. Ann was twice given the all clear and had two x-rays misread in two separate hospitals. The poor woman was sick and dying and indeed died in April, a number of months after she had been sent home from hospital with a prescription for an upset stomach.
It beggars belief that in this day and age such unprofessional and frankly disgraceful practices are allowed to exist. Having lost loved ones to cancer, it upsets me to think how that woman must have suffered. It upsets me to think how her son and husband must be feeling, how let down and devastated they must be. To be given another chance and a hope that your family might pull through a terrible illness like cancer only to have that hope ripped to shreds by incompetent medical professionals. To put your faith in the hands of others only to see them blunder about with what is most precious to you.
I don't know Karl Henry remained so measured today. It's probably a lot more than I would have managed. He and his family have my deepest sympathies.
But this effects us all. This kind of stupid, incompetent, blasé mishandling of people at their most vulnerable, when LITERALLY it is a matter of life and death, must surely shake all of us to the core. That could have been me, that could have been you, that could have been your son, your daughter, your husband, your mother.
It's not fucking good enough.

I'll let you read it here


Too depressing for words.

A Sarah Palin Question.

I've just climbed out of a cab and have spent part of my journey listening to the Tubirdy Radio Show as he discusses this women and her beliefs. I sat and cringed as Obama made a terrible slip up and went slithering off the high ground. Does anyone else find it really frightening that this woman is very likely going to be the next leader of America?

No Shit Sherlock.

From the Indo.

"The Dublin Transportation Office has announced new plans to encourage people to help solve the traffic problem by leaving the car at home more often.

The message is if those who live and work in the greater Dublin area were to use alternative means to travel to work at least once a week, it would go a long way.

As part of the One Small Step Pedometer Challenge over 1,000 employees from 17 firms will be walking some of the world's highest peaks without leaving their offices."

Great! So what are the new plans? Let hear 'em. Does it involve transporter beams? Hover boards??
I walked to the gym to day. My jeans are still soaked. If I was walking to work I wouldn't want to sit around in soggy clothes all day long. And public transport is dandy, except when it's raining, then it gets later and busier and hit and miss. I remember standing at a bus stop and watching buses go by without stopping. Some routes are better than others, but it can be painful to rely on public transport in Dublin's fair city.
DId I mention the rain? It rains in Ireland, A LOT. Velly wet it is. Would you walk to work in the rain? Would you be willing to walk BACK from work, after a long day, in the rain.
Wonder what these new plans are? What 'alternative means' are they referring to?

Large Hadron Collider.

Good morning. On the off chance that the world ends tomorow, or that we are all sucked directly into a black hole I just want to say it's been a pleasure.
Of course there's always the possibility that nowt will happen, I mean can a particle accelerator really mimic the beginnings of life? Dunno, science dunnos niether, but it will be interesting to see what they discover.

"The Large Hadron Collider (LHC) will fire particles around its 17-mile tunnel. It will then smash protons — one of the building blocks of matter — into each other at energies up to seven times greater than any achieved before.

Scientists hope to recapture conditions not seen since near the birth of the universe almost 14 billion years ago. They could find answers to some of the biggest questions in physics, such as why the universe looks the way it does, and how to explain mass, gravity and mysterious "dark matter".

They could also find the first evidence of extra spatial dimensions, and even create mini-black holes that blink in and out of existence in a fraction of a second.

Some sceptics remain unconvinced about its safety. Prof Otto Rossler, a German chemist who is one of a group of scientists attempting a last-minute court challenge to the project, is especially worried about the creation of black holes.

He believes it is possible that the black holes will grow uncontrollably and "eat the planet from the inside".

Other scientists say this is complete nonsense. They point to the fact that cosmic rays hitting the Earth's atmosphere should also be creating mini-black holes. Yet to date none of them has swallowed up the planet."

Yep, I most surely do hope we don't get 'eaten up'. You would have to question the safety of experiments like this. I'm no scientist, but I do have a vested interest in remaining upright and breathing and entirely uneaten.

Builders

Top of the morning to you. It's not raining. I am deeply suspicious. Is this not the film Seven? Where are the clouds? The relentless pounding of the water on my roof? What's all this blue business??
Anyway. Enough about that. I have builders in. I might have just as easily typed I have cockroaches in. Not because I find my builders to be disgusting insects, but because -confound them- they are scuttley and turn up in weird places and then disappear again for hours.
They tell lies though, and I'm pretty sure cockroaches don't. Lies like, 'Sure, I'll be there first thing in the mornin' and I'll have that plastered and skimmed for ya before noon.'
This I have discovered means, 'I'll turn up around eleven, tell you I've to go get something or other, leave the actual hardworking exhausted looking Polish lad here and bugger off with the other lads for a couple of mysterious hours.'
Here, allow me, lest any of you might be fool hardy enough to require these men in your near or not so near future.
'That won't be any trouble' = 'that will be next to impossible and we will spend many many paid hours struggling with it before giving up and demanding tea.'
'No problem'= Velly many problems.
Crack of Dawn= some time before noon.
Back Shortly = see you tomorrow.
Quality= cheap stuff bought in bulk load, eager to off load.
Sturdy/Solid= Puddy's arse could knock it over.
No mark up = three times its original price.
Matter of days= any number of weeks
Electrics= power outage
Cups of tea= life force or builder's 'chi'
Measurements= the ability to decide complex distances using eyes.
Plans= see above.
Rain= no work to day
Few bob= vast sums of money.
Cash= crack cocaine.

Well, you see what I mean. It has been quite the experience...it still is. Naturally in the midst of all this I find I have to work. And ghastly as that is, it's actually quite a relief to take refuge in my work space and hide out from the relentless hammering and banging. ALso I have had the dreaded lurgy and have been quite sick. Naturally. I'll skip around the blogs this morning and try catch up. From the sound of it, the Polish lad has just finished his fourth can of Redbull and has taken up the slack again.