It's Blooming Freezing

I agreed to mind CG's lovely doggie for him today. This will involve me and mr poochie going on a hike. It is blooming freezing! My entire garden is frosted over, very lovely it looks too. The bigger of the cats was trying to cross the glass roof of my office and kept sliding down it, eventually he gave up and is now is a sulk in the sitting room.
My week was good. But I accidently deleted the exercise text I normally have to keep track of what I'm doing. I ran 15 K on Tuesday and found it good. I have still NOT mastered a 32.5k push press. I have however mastered as side step jumping kick that would take your head clean off your shoulders- should you ever want that.
I had wheat once this week in the form of crusty pastry. The Paramour made ale and steak pie and I'm sorry I just COULD NOT resist that. Funnily enough it made me feel bloated and jittery, almost slightly speedy. How odd.
According to my weighing scales I am exactly the same weight as I was last week. Which is dandy as I have been 'at' the wine ( and cheese). But get this, I have moved in a hole on my leather belt that I wear almost everyday. Weird! I'm telling you this not eating wheat malarky is weird but in a good way. Although I miss beer and toast a bit.
Right bacon and eggs time. Then to collect that adorable pooch for a FREEZING outing. Eek.

Fuelled by unshakeable idealism

When hawtness collides-->




(Hopefully Mark has one of these--->)



Top of a frosty Gingerday to you and yours. Cold ain't it? It must be, The Marklar has forgone his usual morning gadding about the garden and is now buried under the Paramour's bear at the end of the bed. Most unlike him- I'm never fully convinced he feels things like cold and heat. Especially now as he seems to have added a lot of poundage. He's rather like a one-eyed tabby seal.
Money, or the lack of it seem to be one everybody's mind at the moment as those ghastly words 'Credit Crunch' do the rounds. So when I learned that tomorrow is 'buy nothing day' I genuinely thought, 'my, that's not the worst idea I've ever heard.'
Observe, from the Times.
'IN TODAY'S BRACING economic climate, there's a renewed interest in the austere pleasures of frugality. Buy Nothing Day is tomorrow, and we are all encouraged to take a "global holiday from consumerism" and have a 24-hour break from any kind of shopping. It certainly has an added resonance this year."
Well quite.
But of course no sooner does someone come up with a relatively good idea, some other person has to take it and evangelize it to death.
Here's the rest of the article, take a gander see what you think.
I've never understood the 'glory' of living a hand to mouth existence/back to basics. Let's face it, it's only well off educated Westerners who seek it out. Everyone else already KNOWS the hardship of eking out living and most other folk would kill for a warm home and access to education and running water and what not. I sometimes imagine what a genuinely poor person would make of a genuinely well off person rejecting their privileged lifestyle on a principle. 'Nutters' they must think.
It's easy to be self sufficient to the point of nuttiness when deep down you know if you run into real trouble you can place a reverse call to your parents and they'll bail you out.
If watching that annoying whiny man child film, Into The Wild, has taught me anything- and it hasn't- burning embers and book reading gets a bit dull after a while. You might suddenly find yourself hankering after a McDonalds Big Mac and a long hot shower with real shower gel. Not going out, not socializing, not going to movies, eating out of bins and so on will probably get very wearing after a month or two.
Anyhoo, I'll be sort of interested to see how this all pans out for master Mark Boyle.Introverted folk think they can go it alone, but solitude by choice and enforced solitude are not the same thing. What will he take away from his year of scavenging? Will he learn to appreciate the luck he already has for being born where he was? Will he crack?
Who can say? Now I must go stock up on some goose fat ( for roast potatoes) wine and duck for tomorrow's 'no buying of stuff'.
It really should not be a hardship at all.

High heels for babies.

Remember that time I got all cross and judgy about some woman offering high heel aerobic classes? remember I was all, 'bah, this shit is stupid, high heels are a terrible idea but we wear them, but let's face it, they throw all your weight to the front and are probably damaging to spines and let's not forget bunions and blah blah chee-di-rah...'
Remember? No?
Well smack my lady patch Babs, as bad as all that I was super super astounded by THIS!

Yes folks, just what every parent has been waiting for, high heels designed for babies. Yes babies, those little biological loopers that have trouble staying upright the best of times.

"The makers describe the shoes, which are for infants aged up to six months, as "sassy heels" for babies.

The designers say they had 'fun, hilarity and glamour' in mind when they created the shoes.

They are marketing as a first high heel for baby girls.

Priced at £19.99 they are designed to look exactly like a pair of shoes worn by adult women.

The US makers - Heelarious - have produced designs in pink, black and even leopard or zebra-skin prints."


Sweet jebus.

Irish people are getting fatter/obese.

I was dragging my heels over whether or not to go to the gym when this caught my eye.
It appears as a nation we are eating a lot of the wrong foods and a lot of food period. We jumped from 18% of us being obese in 1999 to 23% in 2007 and if we don't do something to counteract our bad eating habits that figure will rise.
None of this really surprises me, a quick look around any board will find countless Lipotrim/Celebrityslim/Slimfast users desperately trying to fix quickly what takes a lifetime to create. Junk food is cheap and tasty and a lot of people haven't the faintest idea what constitutes portion control.
It interesting to me that the Department for health is warbling on about salt and fat intakes as though fat and salt are the defining factors in our national fattening. I'd be more concerned by our intakes of carbs and junk calories. But I suppose we must address one thing at a time.
If the government REALLY wants to address eating habits they might consider a campaign aimed at children, the next generation. The food pyramid is all good and well but it doesn't really address anything about how much to eat or why some foods are better for us than others. If we target our children we may have a chance of halting a life time of bad eating habits, and not by telling them they 'can't have' but by convincing them the 'don't want' certain foods. Tricky I know, but better on the psyche.
Anyway, it's all a big gloomy to me, so I'm going to the gym to lift weights until my veins are disgusting and my eyes get very bulgy.

Dog Fight

( Trouble? Moi? Mais non! I am 'ow you say outrage-ed at the suggestion)---->



"A MAN has been accused of punching his next-door neighbour and giving him a black eye after a row erupted over the neighbour's dog."

Nothing, and I mean nothing, is more annoying than a loud or high pitched repetitive sound. And I can absolutely and completely understand how a person might be driven totally demented by a dog barking all day long.
But surely there are better ways to solve a dispute than brawling like a pair of eegits.
I know I've said this before, but people don't always think about what getting a dog means. Dogs are social animals, happiest when they are with the family. If you get a dog then you've got to understand his or her needs, and a bored dog is a destructive and frequently loud dog. And with so many homes these day practically built on top of each other this can and does lead to extreme confrontations between neighbours.
Certainly there are measures a dog owner can take, one of the biggest is company for the dog, perhaps another dog. Of course there's not guarantee both dogs won't bark, but they might entertain each other. Exercise helps tremendously, a tired dog is usually a well behaved dog.
Irish pounds are FILLED to capacity with beautiful dogs who through no fault of their own are abandoned by their owners and one of the major reasons are because the dog is deemed'unmanageable'. This catch-all bollocks is usually used to describe an energetic dog who like to run/dig/bark/tear washing off the line/knock people over coming into the home. In other words for acting like a dog.
If you take an animal and don't train him, you have an untrained animal, pretty obvious right? If you have a young energetic dog and you're not prepared to walk him daily to burn off that energy, you're going to be faced with an animal with no other recourse but to find his own way to entertain himself ( usually destructive)
Christmas is coming and it is really fucking sad to see some websites have adverts up calling on potential owners to 'order their Christmas puppies early'. Talk about folly at its best. Get a pup, right in the middle of the busiest time of the year, when people are coming and going and nobody has the time to begin calmly house training and introducing a young pup to a new home.
It's a sad fact of life that come the end of January/start of February, plenty of 'Christmas pups' are going to end up being handed over to Ashtown pound and Rathfarnham, victims of a busy and ill prepared home. Condemned to death and unwanted.
And so the cycle will continue.
Until Irish people start understanding WHY neutering and spaying is vital, our pounds will continue to overflow with vibrant healthy beautiful loyal dogs. Until people understand WHAT owning a dog entails we'll have more eegits brawling on the streets over barking and unsocial animals.
Will I be able to copy and paste this exact post next November or December? Probably.

Being hateful is not illegal.

"THE head chef of the retail and restaurant company Avoca has said he sacked a member of his kitchen staff after she declared: "I hate the gays."

John Dunne told an employment tribunal yesterday that he was shocked by the "prehistoric" attitude of former chef de partie Ewa Leks and terminated her employment after a series of run-ins with staff."



I was reading the following story this morning and it has me flummoxed.
There is no doubt that I find Ewa Leks views ridiculous, but is she not entitled to them? Now, if she was sacked for being a poor employee then so be it, but because she holds personal views that don't tally with mine? Hmm, can't be sure about that. If she refused to work with or hire gay or black people I'd be comfortable with her being booted out on her bigoted racist arse, but simply for being one?
Of course an employer must be able to have staff that work well together, and if someone is effecting the work of everyone he or she should be able to remove the problem. Hmm, yes, I'm okay with that.

Gordon Ramsay has been having an affair.

I swear to marmalade, you could have knocked me down with a glazed ham when I read this yesterday. I thought, 'surely not', then I thought, 'poppers?" And 'what on earth is a professional mistress? How do you go from amateur to professional?'
Then I thought of Max Clifford, then I thought of money and book deals and suddenly everything made some kind of sense again. I had another glass of wine and shook my head sadly.
'Paramour, Gordon Ramsay has been having an affair for SEVEN YEARS!' I said.
'You're surprised?'
'Well yes, he's always banging on about his wife and how much he loves her and what not.'
'Pfft.' the Paramour said, 'What can you expect from a Rangers/Chelsea Supporter.'
Black and white in my beloved's head. Black and White.



UPDATE:-Gordon Ramsay is reportedly considering legal action after it was alleged he had been conducting a seven-year affair with a ‘professional mistress’. Britain’s Daily Telegraph quoted a source close to Ramsay and his wife of 12 years Tana, as saying they were considering suing tabloid News of the World, which ran the front page allegations.

Saturday again, where does the time go?

Morning. It's a cloudy mild day here in good old Ireland and I've got extremely curly hair because I fell asleep with a damp top knot in it. It looks like a distressed poodle camped out on on my head.
A middling week with regards to exercise. I am concentrating on weights and anything that might improve my kickboxing, but all is not going my way and that annoys me.
So.


Tuesday.
Gym
I went at it hard, push press at 30k, eight reps twice. I was doing dandy right up until I tried to push press at 32.5 kilos. Bah. I managed two reps unassisted then three with some help and one more without. The last one I attempted my arms failed entirely. Let that be a lesson to me. Damn it.
Everything else was alright, 15k rows x10 x3,
22k barbell curls 10 x 3
A very nifty 52.5 K dead lift x6 x3 and some air squats thrown in for good measure to strengthen my legs. 30 in total
Finished off with a 5 k run and a decent enough stretching session. Bummed about the push press but I'll nail it next time. If I need to spend another two weeks jammin up the 30k so be it.
(fingers crossed)

Wednesday- running, evening 10k.
Thursday, nada.

Friday. I walked to the gym, I ran 5k before kickboxing as a warm up. I had one hour of kickboxing SOLO as I was the only one there. And then Non Memnoch and I worked on clean and jerks.
It's a peculiar thing. I am not a competitive woman. Put me in a race with 10,000 people and I don't really give a rat's ass who passes me by. Tell me someone from my field of work is doing better than me and I'm delighted for them.
But put me in a weights room and I'm a bloody blithering idiot.
I could not for the life of me get the clean and jerk right last night. It just wasn't happening, if I got the swing correct I wasn't dropping into a fucking squat. It was INFURIATING!! Each time I brought the bloody 14 kilo bar ( I mean for gawd's sake) up in a swing my elbows came in and the last one third was a push and not part of the swing. I could have cried.
After attempting it countless times Not-Memnoch said 'I think your muscles are tired.'
'They're fine' I whined. 'Lemmie try again.'
So I did, I tried and I tried and I still didn't get it right.
But of course my muscles were tired. I had DOMS from the heavy session until Wednesday and I had just spent almost two hours knocking the shit out of my body, Of COURSE I was tired. Tired and stubborn.
'Lemmie just have ONE more shot at it.
So I did and this time my arms just failed me.
FUCK. I walked home seething.
I can't cope with my body not doing what I demand of it., I just can't I want everything to work immediately and at once and right away. I want my form to be perfect and my weights to be hard but manageable and I want it RIGHT NOW.
BAH.
Anyway, the paramour is making bacon and eggs, so at least today is getting better, and when I wash the poodle down the drain nearly all will be right with the world again.
Dietary observation, weight remains the same, despite my assault on Ben and Jerry's icecream and some wine imbibing. No wheat. Getting easier.

Jean Claude Van Damme makes me wince....

in a really toe curling way. The 'muscles from Brussels' has been dong the rounds of late PRing the blue jaysus out of his latest movie, imaginatively entitled JCVD. Below is the transcript of a chat with a young and most likely attractive reportera reporter. Read on in awe as the Brussels hard man as he flexes his love muscles and mangles his pulp and produces his head seed. Those with a gag reflex disposition read no further.

Q-There's a monologue in the film about being a washed-up action star. Did you improvise that?


JCVD- I like structure--like driving: go past the school on the street, stay on the right side, no hitting the car, go in right, you'll see a big church, stop and take a left, and you'll have it. By doing this I'm giving a structure of life, a path of light, and showing what happens between me and me, which is something very beautiful.

Q-Beautiful? Why?

JCVD- I really opened myself up in "JCVD." I peeled back the skin of the fruit, cut the pulp and then took that very hard seed. In this film I cut that hard seed, and inside that seed was a kind of liquid cream substance of the man I am, or the woman you are.

Q-OK -
JCVD-It was like being naked-I would love to be naked in front of you.

Q-Well, I -
JCVD-Not being naked being naked. I say such things in Hong Kong and they thought I was being a crazy Frenchman. Being naked of protection.

Q-So you've no regrets at all?
JCVD- Believe me-I've done very good stuff and very crazy stuff, and I don't regret the crazy stuff. So are you in New York?

Q-Yes, I am.
JCVD- And are you 27, or 32?

Q-I'm 22.
JCDV- Oh, fuck. That is very young. Will you come to the premiere?

Q-I don't know. When is it?
JCVD-I don't know. You will wear all black, a black dress and high heels?

Q-Uh-
JCDV-You can come find me, I will be the one with the very broad shoulders, dark hair and a simple suit. We can have some champagne, you and me.

Hehehehe, oh thank you CB, thank you for sending me this and making me laugh and worry about pulpy fruits for a while. Lordy, I wonder what Missus JCDV thought of it all? Maybe she's delighted to not be the centre of his pulpular world for a while.
Squeeee.

My mother's an idiot and a Hoffy Ginger day to you all.

Though it is only 21 days into November, houses, shops and entire streets are lit up like a Christmas tree. Exhausting I think, and doesn't it rather kill the anticipation of the holidays?
Anyhoo, what is NOT exhausting is discovering that my mother, the Lilac Couch, the biological incubator, Medusa, Gorgon, wearer of 3/4 length pants, has raised her warfare game.
Allioop!
My oldest friend on the planet is getting hitched in the year that follows. Her mammy and the Lilac Couch have been friend for nigh on forty years. Naturally she has been invited to the ceremony, an invitation she has declined as 'that one' (me) will be there. She then went on to make some rather spectacular slurs against my friend all culminating with a ' she's lost the run of herself that one' ( not me, friend).
Now upon hearing this I guffawed. I will be there indeed, wearing a bridesmaid dress no less and trying hard not to cry. My friend's wedding means a very great deal to me and I wouldn't miss it for all the world. Not for all the rum in Jamaica.
'What does she think I'm going to do anyway?" I asked my friend, after I had apologised for my mother's terrible cuntiness. 'Rugby tackle her on sight?'
'I don't know what she thinks,' my friend said, 'but she can go to hell now, this wedding isn't about her.'
Quite.
'And I'll be telling her that and a few other things when I run into her, the bloody cheek of her.'
Oh it's on! Whatever about crossing me, that's one thing, crossing my friend? I wouldn't do that for all the rum in Jamaica neither. If you can imagine a small perfectly fiery bomb in heels that would be a fitting description.
Parents eh? Will they never learn? Snarf and Eeep.

Getting Old

You know you're getting old when you are inexplicably pleased about 'good drying weather'. Yep, I'm turning into my mother. Cancel the weekend! Pass the rum AND the xanex.

Ear worms.

That's what Finn calls blasted songs that get hooked in your head and you end up singing/humming/whistling them all day. I am riddled with this.
It's torture. The paramour was infected first, now I've got it. I've listened to Muse, Radiohead, Johnny Cash, Wham, Vide Cor Meum and Iron and Wine this morning already, but what do I catch myself singing the moment I switch off the music? Girls bloody Aloud. I feel like John Hurt in Alien. Any second now something's going to burst out of my chest and I'll topple over onto my desk. And you know what, it will be a bloody relief.
I've got a VERY busy day today. I can't be infested this way. It's just not...CRICKET!

Child Cruelty

During the four-week trial the jury heard the child suffered abuse that the prosecution said amounted to torture — she was slapped, punched and kicked; flung against a wall; and held high in the air and then dropped onto the floor. The child was placed in a clothes dryer and spun at high heat, whirled rapidly on a rotary clothesline until flung off, and was subjected to wrestling moves copied from a computer game. At one point, she was left lying unconscious for 36 hours without medical attention.

Between this , the baby P case, the santiago case I am sickened beyond belief. I cannot understand how ANYONE can attack and be cruel to a defenseless baby or toddler. I just cannot get my head around it in any way shape or form. I could weep for what those babies went through. The idea of them lying injured, crying, alone just makes tear well up in my eyes. I am filled with a vicious longing to inflict serious and slow damage on the people who hurt them so.
My oldest friend- who just had a baby a few weeks ago- actually cried when she read what baby P went through, how he lay in a filthy cot sobbing with a broken back. She actually thought she was going to be sick. I completely understand.
How can these people do such things? How can a mother let her children be subjected to such horror? Why would she not fight tooth and nail to protect them? What can a man get from brutalising such a tiny and defenseless being?
I don't understand it. I can't understand it. Those people need to be put down, got rid of, shot, something. They have no value. They're not even scum. They're worse than that. I don't even have a word in my vocabulary to describe them.

Watchmen

The new trailer is out. I have watched it many times, as I'm sure by now has Country Gay. We will be front and centre for this one. OH YES!
http://watchmenmovie.warnerbros.com/

Painful decisions in the a.m regarding Tom Dunne.

Like the waitress who stood her ground unafraid to skirt the issue of fairness and productivity and notions of genderfied outfitular nonsense, I have reached a terrible but necessary conclusion. I must break up with Newstalk.
It's been a fine few years, but it's over now, my heart's just not in it any longer. It's not me it's you.
Oh I know Brenda Power used to make me gibber with incandescent rage, I know Orla Barry used to twee the ring off me. I know 'Ger 'n Claire' are dull as dish water and Claire pronounces 'issue' as 'iss- ue. I know Emo Keane is a sneaky troll with overground passes, delusions of Kilroy Silk and a fetish for Mary O Rourke, I know George Hook is really Churchill the insurance dog. I know I know, there was some good stuff there. But it does not matter. What no man could tear asunder has been torn asunder by one man.
Tom Dunne take a motherfucking bow.
I almost forgave you the long and protracted talks about your winter coat and how fond you were of it even though some people thought you ought to get a new one and anyway wasn't there a tear in the pocket. ALMOST. I forgave your proud refusal to put on central heating even though you said the temperature egg in your children's room went bright blue from near freezing conditions. Hey they are your kids, if you want to freeze them that's your business.
I might have forgiven you a lot of things, but then you regaled me with a 7 minute discussion on your breakfast, organic wheatabix and non organic wheatbix, THAT YOU MIXED!! You daredevil you. Then you had Bosco on. Bosco. The only ginger I've never loved. BOSCO! That whiney puppet who deserves a starring role in The Wickerman. That muppety puppety drug taking magic door seeing prude with its high pitched arse scalding whine, on radio, live on radio. Where real people can hear it??
Oh no Tom Dunne, it's over, O.V.E.R. I've listened to Gerry Ryan humming along to Snow Patrol this morning and it still hasn't rankled as much as your Doctor Hibbard like tittering. Admittedly I haven't heard him talk about 'lurries' nor have I heard anything about the state of his mickey yet, but STILL!
Hello second coming? I think not, but I feeeeeel much better.

Being a man, being a priest, missing the point.

I read this article with one raised eyebrow and tried to consider his viewpoint without the usual reaching for the pitchfork rabid foaming at the mouth carry on I'm inclined to succumb to whenever any form of religiosity raises its head.
And yet I cannot understand anyone who suggests not being affectionate with children is nearly as bad as sexually abusing them, for that is what this article boils down to. That and the suggestion that his very maleness makes him suspect in other's eyes.
Well maybe it does. But when it comes to children and their welfare people ought to be slightly more wary than less. And when it comes to a catholic priest people have a very recent history to study on whether their suspicious worries have grounds or not.
Yes it must be hard to feel suspected, to sense hostility or doubt merely because of your gender or ethos, but in this case it's understandable. The catholic church has a lot to answer for and a lot of grief on its hands. Decrying people as practically hysterical because they are wary is not good enough.

"This imbalance in our reaction is brought about by a naivete in modern Irish life, and particularly the media presentation of it,"
When in doubt blame the media. Doubtless there was a lot of amping in certain quarters when the sex scandal began to surface, but that does not lessen the enormity of what occurred. And his use of the word 'naivete' perplexes me. It was naivete that allowed priests to have so much power in the first place, and naivete that allowed so much to go on for so long behind closed doors.
Recalling things through a haze of rose is not going to alter entrenched views, and things that are done cannot be undone, no matter how much Fr Tony Flannery might wish it.

Motivation for Fatcats dragging their heels and a dietary observation to boot.

Top of the something to you curlies. Later on today it will be my great pleasure to meet up with Grimsbaby, from this very blog, for a spot international lunch. Huzzah for the interweb!
This weeks sees a minor effort increased.
Monday!
Weights- oh yes. Rows, 15k x10 x4
Push press,- 22k x10 x2 and then just because I was feeling pretty darned invincible I racked that baby up to 30k and did a further 8. Heaviest weight on that yet, STRIKE!
52k dead lifts 3 sets of six, I wanted to go up to the sixty but common sense prevailed. I did 120 off the bench dips interspaced with the weight and finished with a 2k run, the last k of which was 5:54, but I know I could have gone faster, so I'm happy enough.

Tuesday- ? Dunno, lazy I guess.


Wednesday-
I walked about 12 miles.


Thursday-
Bitchin' workout.
60 squats using the 6 kilo bar to keep me straight, broken into sets of twenty. Four lengths of the gym doing weighted lunges carrying 10 kilo dumb-bells in each arm, this was interspaced with the squats. ( Hate this)
Weights, cross overs 7.5k x10x 3. Upper back rows on the machine 35kx 10x2, 40k x10
Bicep pull down, 35 kilo x 10x2, 40 kilo x 10.
Full body weight hang, one minute each time, did it four times. This REALLY stretches out those pesky back muscles. Finished off with a 1 k run coming in a 5:15.
20 minutes serious stretching and held the plank for as long as humanely possible 3 times. ( I hate that too)



Gingerday.- a particularly tough session, lots of conditioning. New not Memnoch calls this 'putting us through our paces'. My pace was -2. But afterwards I was surprised to notice I felt dandy. Lower legs are bruised to shit form the heavybag. I don't know why but this always makes me smile.

Dietary observation. Still off wheat, although I DID have two glasses of wine last night. That was it for the hooch, so I'm not overly cross about it. According to my bathroom scales a further 2 pounds slithered from my frame over the last week, this cannot not be due to ANYTHING other than the non eating of wheat. Also it was easier this week not to want any. Again I'm not saying anything good bad or indifferent about it, but I am finding the drop interesting-especially as I am still eating oat and rice and so on.

Unsuitable partners.

Do you know someone who-without fail- always dates the wrong type of person? I do. Although she is more a pal of Etheline than of me, but still.
This girl seems to have a built in radar for tracking down the biggest asshole in any group or room. It's uncanny. I mean we've all dated our fair share of unsuitable people I'm sure. Certainly I went out with an asshole for some time, and WORSE, I was an asshole when I went out with him. It was like alchemy, we brought out the asshole in each other.
But then you grow up and with a bit of luck you learn. You say to yourself, 'hmm, I was dating an asshole, I won't do that again.'
Right?
But not this girl. This girl doesn't seem to have that shield, or buffer, or what ever the hell you call it. According to a rather exasperated Etheline, her current beau is an even bigger asshole than the last one, and he was a black hole of assholes, such an asshole he had his own gravitational pull.
He would play 'mind games' with her, calling her one minute, then not calling her or answering her calls at all for a week to ten days at a time, claiming he needed 'space'. Then he took her away for a romantic weekend but wouldn't have sex with her. Then he refused to let her call him her boyfriend, insisting that they were not and that they had an open relationship, all fine and dandy if that's what she wanted, but it wasn't. The real killer is that the worse he treated her, the worse he behaved, the more desperate she was to hang on to him, I'd have given the dumb fuck all the space he needed, and that space would have involved him never coming within a kilometre of me again.
When he broke it off with her, she was gutted and cried for months over him.
So it was with extreme caution Etheline greeted the news she had landed herself another prize and with dubious heels on Etheline went to have a drink to meet this new beau last night.
'Well?'
'I don't know how she does it.'
'Oh God, what's wrong with this one?'
'You mean apart from the fact that he's married?"
'Oh dear.'
And you can be sure this one will be ugly.
But why? WHY? She's not stupid, she's good looking, she's got a great job, her own home, her own car, why WHY does she always pick these losers? What gene does she have that makes her hone in so perfectly on the one jerk in a room full of perfectly nice men, that causes her legs quiver at the mere whiff of an asshole? ( yes I know how that sounds)
I don't get it.
Anyone?

A small cold fear.

I was outside Pia Bang yesterday trying to suck the green wine gum out of the roll (why must they be packed so tightly?) when I heard,
'Fatmammycat?"
'Yes?' I said, barking it not unlike Father Jack. I am easily surprised.
'It's me!'
I turned and was confronted by an enormous person with a baby strapped to their chest in some sort of sling.
'Er...'
'Me, old school chum, from school.'- she didn't, by the way, actually say that, she gave her name, rank and serial number but you can't have them, you might be her for all I know.
'Oooooooooah' I said, usefully.
'How the hell are you!?'
'Oh, I'm fine and you?'
Well we exchanged pleasantries as you do and after a few moments I ran out of things to talk about and I said, 'Well it's been great to see you but I-'
'Do you want to go get a drink?'
'Oh I can't- I've got to get to Fallon & Byrne before they close and-'
'I'll come with you.'
'Oh, okay then.'
So we went to Fallon & Byrne where I bought cooking chorizo and black pudding for the lentil stew the paramour promised to make. She talked and talked and blocked out the light. After that we went for coffee in Starbucks as this apparently is what the lady in question likes to do most when she is in Dublin. The whole time we were out and about the baby strapped to the front of her chest neither moved nor made a sound, and disturbingly she made no reference to it other than to say she had four of them in total.
By the time I had finished my luke warm mocha I was getting antsy.
'That is a very quiet baby you have.'
'Yes,'said she and off she went telling me about the various marriages girls from my year had made and so on.
We left Starbucks and it was getting dark and cold. She buttoned up her great coat and leaned in to crush me in her mighty arms.
'It was great to see you again, I can't wait to tell the girls.' She said.' You must come visit.'
'Muuffghh.' I said. But underneath the yards of scratchy wool in which I was engulfed I was trying to not to crush the non moving baby. I did manage to place my hand on its tiny fingers, they were cold.
By the time I had walked home I was doubly perplexed.
'What's eating you?' The paramour said, as I took of my coat.
'Do you think it would be rude to interrupt a person talking and ask them if their baby is real?'
'Probably.'
'What about dead?'
'Yes, I think that's probably rude too.'
'I feel very old.'
'Why?'
'I don't know.'
'Do you want dinner?'
'Do you want babies?'
'What?'
'Nothing. Sure, dinner would be fine.'
Then he made steak and chips and although they were delicious I could not get the small unmoving blueish baby hand out of my head.

Pointless things to spend money on.

I'm sure everyone right about now is tightening their belts accordingly. I was amazed to see the Christmas lights have been switched on already in Dundrum. Amazed. Wasn't it Halloween not two weeks ago? I seem to remember a time when Halloween and Christmas used to be some time apart.
The reason behind the lights is a gee up to the buying public, a sort of 'fear not, just shop' reminder. Well yes, but sticking our heads in the sand and pretending we're not facing a few rapids in the economic river is stupid.
But it occurred to me yesterday as I switched off yet another light in an unoccupied room, that wasting money is ridiculously easy, and when coming out of a decade of unprecedented wealth, a bit of a challenge to wake up and smell the instant not French Vanilla coffee.

Gym membership. Unless you actually go to the gym regularly what on earth is the point in paying gym membership. I'm looking at you Paramour and Country Gay, French gay.

Leaving light/radios/computers/lamps/ all thing electrical on standby all over the house- Paramour, paramour paramour. He's a sink hole of electricity.

Driving everywhere and using city carparks- Yes, it's more convenient, but it's also ridiculously expensive. Just walk or catch a bus- Paramour, Etheline, Yoga friends, French Gay.

Buying clothes you never wear, ever- I'm looking at you Etheline, Oldest Friend, Yoga Pal, Self.
Not doing shopping for house hold products in ALDI or LIDL- I'm looking at you Oldest Friend and Lunch friend. I mean seriously. You have the room, buy in bulk and store your washing powders and kitchen towels.

Not moving your accounts if your bank is slow on passing on interest rate cuts- Everyone.

Eating out- self. Self for sure. I've had to curtail my eating out in a big way. I LIKE eating out but for fuck's sake, I'm not willing to pay through the nose for mediocre food regularly.

No hooch drinking like you're the last person on the Titanic and the bar man has fled leaving you the keys- Me, my current no hochiness is probably- if I"m totally honest- saving me about 60 -80 Euros a week, and trust me, that adds up over a month.

Anyone else got some ideas on how to save some money over the next few months? All suggestions will be mulled over while I wait for the 'chimney expert' to call me back.

Rape as punishment.

"One youth told the victim, now 16: 'I can't help you now, I'm with my boys.'"

How utterly depressing is it to read something like that?
The Daily Mail are running a particularly disturbing story today of a young girl who was attacked and gang raped by a group of young boys, some as young as 13. This vicious and repugnant attack was a 'punishment' because the girl in question is supposed have insulted the girlfriend of the gang leader. A supposed bitchy remark led nine boys to attack, kidnap and systematically abuse this girl in the most heinous way possible.
You have to wonder what kind of fucked up mentality exists in the minds of these youths that makes their sense of entitlement gallop headlong down the path of sexual violence. That a supposed slur could lead them to think violating another human being so disgustingly is the fitting response. Is human dignity so cheap? How is it even possible that rape, the ultimate degrading experience for anyone, was the first course of action these boys took. Where did they learn that? How could they do such a thing?
I really really hope their parents are proud of the young people they have raised. I hope their mothers and fathers look their sons in the eyes and ask them what they thought they were doing? Fuck them and their gang culture, fuck 'frontin' and disrespectin'. These little shits acted like a pack of feral dogs and they need to be made an example of. No woman needs to be 'put in her place' this way. No real man would even think of acting this way. Where do these brats learn how to behave? It's disgusting and it's depressing and the more I read about our 'civilised Western world' the more depressed I become.

Stop smoking.

I can't explain how genuinely overjoyed I am to hear that another person is kicking that vile habit, smoking. But huzzah to Manuel for joining the ranks of the free. Medbh too has freed herself from the grips of the evil weed and if anyone is reading this and puffing a fag at the same time, but are thinking of giving up, well, there's really no time like the present.
It seems a daunting prospect to not smoke, but it is and it isn't. Nicotine as a drug is actually pretty mild. Nothing terrible happens to your body when you don't smoke. You won't fall down, your heart will not stop, you won't have night terrors, you will be perfectly capable of functioning in any physical capacity. In fact, your body will be fighting hard to rid itself of all the muck and filth smoking has introduced it to. Bodies are great that way, given a bit of encouragement they are the little engines that could.
No, the real battle with not smoking is mental, and here you can help yourself along most brilliantly.
I've posted this before but I'll do it again, if there seems an element of 'woo' to what I'm saying I can assure you there is not. Nothing mystical about it, just simple visualisation and a smidge of determination. No will power required. Will power suggests you are denying yourself something and that can be very difficult when stopping smoking or any habit- the idea that you are suffering for your cause when in fact you are not, you are freeing yourself. With a little bit of rewiring the hardrive that is your brain, you can stop smoking pretty painlessly and stay off them forever.
A particular image helped me immensely when I stopped smoking almost 6 years ago. I read the Allen Carr book, The Easy Way to Stop Smoking and found almost everything he had to say on the subject relevant and head smackingly obvious. Two days after reading his book I quit, there were eve seven or eight cigarettes left in the box when I did so, I threw those out a few weeks later.
Anyway, in the book Carr describes the longing for a cigarette most smokers feel within an hour of giving up as a dragon living within your body. This little dragon- and I could imagine it perfectly, all green and red scales but with the stompy grouchiness of a teenager-is loud and vocal because it is strong and well fed. It lives on nicotine and you've been feeding it well and regularly over the years so that now it's quite strong and full of itself. A smoky brat of tantrums and demands.
When you give up smoking you deprive this little shit of a few square meals and in retaliation it will kick up blue bloody murder. It does this by attacking you in the only way it knows how, mentally.
It will kick up in the morning 'But you ALWAYS HAVE ONE with coffee.' Throughout the day, 'You've been working so hard, you DESERVE one!!' or "That person was so RUDE to you, have a smoke to calm down.' In the evening, 'Phew you must be tired, have a drink and a smoke to relax' In traffic jams, 'This is annoying isn't it? have a smoke to take your mind off it.'
And so on...this little Iago is a liar and a fraud and in the earliest days will be hungry and increasingly desperate. But I know something that it doesn't want you to know. And that is that the little shit is not nearly as strong as it likes to think it is.
The moment you stop smoking you take away the food supply of that dragon and it becomes weaker and weaker until finally it has no control over you and your smoking desires. This might take four days it might take eight, but it will not take more than two weeks. You can slaughter this longing with your own bare hands, kick its bloody head in, but you've got think of it as living and breathing, a little grouchy monster, and the moment you feed it, even if it's 'just one' cigarette, you give it a bit of energy again, and who wants to do that?
The simplest and most easiest way of never smoking again and -and I'm not trying to be trite- is to NOT light up a cigarette ever. Even if you catch yourself tearing open a fresh packet of cigarettes with Steve Dallas madness in your heart, stop, stop for a second and look at what you're doing. You don't want them, it does, take a deep breath, put them down and listen to the other voice the dragon doesn't want you to hear. You're nearly free, you're kicking it's arse, they are not your reward for anything, they are your vice. Take another deep breath. Are you still here? You are? Then you've made it, you're okay. You can do this.
It's okay if you're a smoker and you want to smoke, I don't necessarily understand it, but hey, each to their own. However if you WANT to give up then you're going to have to rethink what those little stick represent to you.
There isn't a single redeeming factor to smoking. We can tell ourselves we love smoking all we like, we can convince ourselves of the pleasure an after dinner smoke can bring, but it's all hogwash. You've been brainwashed into believing something expensive, stinking and packed full of chemicals is an enjoyment. That's okay, I bought into that for years too. Then I stopped smoking and my views changed. I cannot look at an old photo of me with a fag in my hand and NOT shake my head in wonderment.
It is doable, you can be a non smoker. It's not like giving up heroin. It's not easy-peasy, but it is not nearly as difficult as people would have you believe. If patches work for you use them, if gum helps use it. Personally I think it's better to do without these things as you're only feeding the dragon using different methods. But everyone is different and some people need a crutch if only for a short while.
Manuel, you're doing the greatest thing for your body by giving up. In a few months your lungs will be almost clear and you'll be feeling better probably than you have in years. You will be a free man. I know you're worried about putting on a few pounds, but that's a very small price to pay for a lifetime of freedom from the evil weed. Pounds can be taken off. And with clean lungs and stronger arteries you and Little Miss can find something you both enjoy to do so, maybe take up squash or start playing football or something. I'm waffling here a little. I must be honest and say I've never known anyone give up smoking and not put on a few pounds here and there- myself included, but like I say, that shouldn't be a consideration right this second.
Kill the dragon first. Or at the very least maim him into silence. And well done, well bloody done indeed.

A dietary observation.

I'm not back in any kind of training just yet. I ran twice this week, a pitiful 2k as a warm up for a weights session and a better 10k later in the week. I also went to kickboxing, which was incredibly good fun as most of the class was missing for one reason or another and that meant the hour consisted of sparring and practicing new punch kick combos on the heavy bag, all of which I much prefer to patterns and conditioning. Not that I'm against conditioning per se, but as a long distance runner it bores the ring off me.
Anyway, like I say not doing a whole lot, but I have abstained from all wheat and wheat based products, ditto alcohol. I was pleasantly surprised then this morning to discover I have lost 3 pound in weight over the course of 6 days. This confirms slightly what I suspected, that gargantuan amounts of toast are the devil's delicious smegma. It must be said that in the week before the marathon I piled on almost 4 pound in a carb loading free for all, but I had already taken 3 of those off in the first few days post marathon, so this is quite a shock. I imagine of course the hoochlessness makes a difference too, but still.
I've not being starving myself either, I had a portion of shepherd's pie the other night that could fell a horse. And porridge or bacon and eggs most days for breakfast. I haven't felt hungry once either, although I did look on with sheer longing as the paramour devoured white pudding on toast this morning- but it passed.
It might just be an anomaly, but I'll be interested to see what next Saturday's scales show when I up the training this week.
Not saying anything at the moment really-next week might be entirely different- but like I wrote at the top of the post, merely an observation.

A question of voting.

( Not a natural ginger, but still)



Top of ginger day to you. Tired and weary though I am, I am also happy to report my friend has purchased a wedding dress and when she tried it on and came out of the changing room I was shocked and perturbed to discover strange water leaking from my eyes. Then I looked at her mammy only to see she was leaking too. Egad! Leading my friend to describe us as 'A pair of nellies' but she looked a bit leaky too if you ask me, so there you ahve it, everyone was leaky and happy.
I had an interesting convo with Etheline last night, about celebrity endorsements of presidential candidates. It is Etheline's view that celebrities should shut the hell up as no one gives a shit who they're voting for.
I parried with, 'Yeah right, people are more stupid then you give them credit for' which she grudgingly agreed with. Well it's true, all you have to do is look around. 'Omigood Bruce Springsteen is totally for Obama!' 'Oprah says...'and so on.
But somehow this led us to ponder -if someone held a gun to your head- what celebrity would you vote for if you absolutely had to hand over the reins of power. No seriously. If they can endorse politicians, let's flip flop it a bit. Given all we know about those narcissistic overpaid entertaining blowhards, which one would you trust to run a country.

Me- President- Steven Fry. Magisterial, magniloquent, magnificent, loquacious, trampampoline! I believe his all round teddy-bearness would translate wonderfully, and if he did fuck up spectacularly he could do that mea-culpa bashful 'I am so dreadfully sorry' thing he does so well- people would forgive him. Wars would be averted by him simply saying, 'Oh now chaps come on..' Right wingers would be wooed, 'Well he's a big 'ol gay but he's just so lovable and earnest' Speech writers would have blue diamonds and squishy pants thinking about how wonderfully delicious all their words were going to sound.
Vice president- Kevin Spacey- imagine the scandals, the Machiavellian shenanigans, the late night dog walking, the erudite excuses, the plots the schemes. Yep, Kevin.

Etheline-President- Joan Collins/Alex Carrington- Reasons- experience running Carrington/Dexter/Colby big business, fabulous wardrobe, maniacal laugh, ability to gloat and look stunning at the same time. Reasonably counted upon to destroy her enemies while drinking champagne fora crystal goblet. (Don't ask)

Vice president- Billy Bob Thornton. Why? Why God why? But she said if I can have Spacey she wants a man who is afraid of antiques and the colour orange. Plus she liked the idea of Thornton and Collins pitching ideas of fiscal importance back and forth in the Oval office.

Well? Celebrity Presidents? Who might you pick?

Gay Marriage

Prop 8 has been passed in California and for those of you who don't know what that's about it's a ban on Gay Marriages. And as the world turns, shit like that had an effect everywhere. WE're only beginning to tackle the subject in our own oh so progressive country, so this needs to be addressed.
I did a quick scout around some of the sites today to gather the reactions and apart from the many who are disgusted, there's the usual mishmash of.
'Marriage is sacred, it's between a man and a woman under God.'
'They have civil unions already, why do they need marriage?'
'Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve.'
Something to do with people not standing up to Hitler in time- It was too convoluted for me to follow.
'I have gay friends/cousins but....'
'I love everyone like the bible tells me, but...'
'I am a Christian, but...
'It's confusing for the children...'
'50 cents ( sic) said he was confused about his mom kissing a girl'
'It's JUST my opinion, but...'
'...attacking the sanctity of marriage.'
'What's next, will we allow people to marry animals?"
'MARRIAGE IS ONE MAN ONE WOMAN UNDER GOD!! TIME YOU HOMOS ACCEPT YOUR SICKNESS IS NOT THE NORM!!!!"

Naturally there were a few other more offensive ones but I'm not giving them the oxygen to breathe.
It is STAGGERING to me that people in this day an age still consider their fellow humans somehow lesser and not deserving of the same rights based entirely on their sexual orientation. That they can gloat over their legal superiority with such stupid rhetoric.
Marriage was in the 'olden' days a contract between two families ( it still is in many parts of the world) There was never anything sacred about it. And sacred? What the fuck is that about? There is NO evidence for a god of any description, but plenty for gays, so why should he/it get precedent?
The idea that two people of same sex getting married is an 'attack' on traditional marriages is one of the most stupid and easily refuted claim to dribbled out of a scalded arse. You know what attacks traditional marriage? Divorce. But do we condemn divorced people in the same way as a gay person? Of course not ( not that we should).
Divorce, adultery, getting married for all the wrong reasons, being a shit spouse, all these things 'attack' traditional marriage. Being gay does not. How could it? Why would two gay people getting married stop 'you' getting married- if that is what you wished to do?
It's all just hate speech, in various forms and to be honest it's nearly better to hear a straight out 'I don't like queers' than the odious 'I have gay friends but...' line trotted out by so many weak willed cowards. You have gay friend and you love then huh? Then why the fuck would you be SO comfortable treating them as second class citizens? What kind of love is that?
Because that's what it boils down to at the end of the day.
Not every gay person wants to get married, not every straight does either, but god damn it, who gives anyone the fucking right to tell someone their love is suspect, their emotions not as important, their fucking rights second place to 'tradition.'
Fuck tradition, and fuck cowards, and equally fuck bigots. Because if you're so much of a fucking pussy that the very idea of two people getting married shakes the foundation of your beliefs and your own marriage to the core then you're in a sorry state already and ought to go get help for your spineless condition.
Anti-gay bollocks, I am EXTREMELY against it.

Barack Obama is the 44th President of America.

Congratulations 'merican chumleys! May the next four years bring you peace and prosperity.

Murder, Mayhem, Misguided Mercy.

The Lying Eyes case is the weirdest case I've ever followed. I mean I just can't wrap my head around PJ Howard's pleas for leniency. This woman Sharon Collins hired what she thought was a legitimate hit man/contract killer and took out a contract on Mr Howard's life and the LIVES of his two adult sons Robert and Niall Howard. And yet he's up there before the court yesterday pleading for her release.

"The case, however, did not lose its capacity to surprise. Collins's intended victim, Mr Howard and her former husband Noel Collins, took the stand to give their wholehearted support for a caring, supportive, loving woman, backed by a letter from Bishop Willie Walsh questioning the usefulness of a custodial sentence."
"With a rapt court hanging on every syllable, he (Pj Howard) kept reading, mainly to say that Sharon was simply wonderful: "straightforward and honest. . . very loving and giving . . . a decent lady . . . one of the nicest people you could ever have been fortunate to know . . . I will not give up on Sharon and will have no hesitation in living with her again".

Questioning the...? WTF?? This woman, had she succeeded in her cold hearted plan she would have slaughtered three members of one family. She set out and hired a man to eliminate them, and only the greed of her intended hit man- ballsed the plot up. What business does a Bishop have trumpeting her cause. So what if she was 'nice' to people.

'Meanwhile, Tom O'Connell SC for the prosecution read out a statement on behalf of Robert and Niall Howard, in which they said that the "incident" had affected them socially and emotionally. "We believe it has weakened the quality of our relationship with our father."


I'll bet it has, these two men could have been murdered for no other reason other than being the biological sons of a weak deluded man. They stood in the way of Sharon Collins inheriting ALL of Mr Howard's money should he meet an untimely demise. They must be staggered to think that after all her plotting and scheming their father would chose her over them.

At the end of the day this woman has only been sentenced to 6 years, and she's even appealing that. She has admitted nothing and her facade has not cracked. She's sanguine and confident, and I believe Mr Howard has put his life in his hands by being her champion.

Solidarity

Wow, Irish people are really interested in the American Elections. Every radio station seems to be covering it. Even I, normally so relentlessly lazy about world politics, feel a flutter of trepidation. Who can win? Will it go to that wire? What does any of it mean? Where the hell is Bush hiding out?

Anyhoo, apropos of nothing, I am going on a hooch free wheat free break for a few weeks. Every year at Christmas we, the Paramour and me, go about meeting folk for drinks and catching up and by the 1st of January we are bloated pink-hued sots. So bearing this in mind I've decided to give Melvin, my liver, a break before hand.
I'll let you know if it's worth it or not. Can life without buttery toast really be called life? We shall see.

Sarah Palin gets pranked

Oh dear.

Quantum of Solace?

If there is a plot to the new Bond film Quantum of Solace I couldn't find it. Nearly two hours of watching Duck Face Potato Head kill maim and generally shooboogie his way around the world on the Queen's dime and nary a plot. What happened to the dude from the boot of the car in the opening sequence? What happened to the general? The other one I mean not the cardboard cut out nasty from boo-leev-eee-a. Why did that dude who was in Hanibbal go to Boo-leev-eee-a? Why did he die? Who trussed him up and stuck him in Bond's car? It was ludicrous. And dull. Even the action scenes. They're over edited, Bourne wannabes. But where I believe Jason Bourne could crack my skull open in a Krav Magna minute, Duck Face Potato Head renders me mirthful. And also where are all the cool villains? An environmentalist? really? REALLY? Surely that's like being attacked by a houseplant. Bah.
Look, Bond is Bond, he's supposed to be a secret agent, yet everyone knows him, he's a sot and an randy Roger, but he's also supposed to be debonaire and fucking likable. This Bourne light Duck Face Potato Head is NOT likable, nor is he debonair. He's just a Duck Face Potato Head in a suit with a bigger budget and none of the class.

Also, because the night was black tie we were dolled up and went to an after party. It was fine, but for fuck's sake, when did young people get so entitled? I might be showing my age a little here, but it struck me last night how many fake nailed fake haired fake smiled people were rude, more than a little obnoxious and absolutely miserable.
I looked over the balcony of my black tie do at the 'norms' dancing below at one point. Country Gay joined me.
'At least they look like they're having fun' He said somewhat wistfully. Then we went off with ourselves and drank more free champagne (yeah, our lives are so hard).
The highlight though was the girl who tried to get the Paramour tossed out on his ear because he had the temerity to say 'Oi! There's a queue here, and I'm in it' when she skipped past him with a friend to enter a toilet cubicle that had just become available.
'I'm getting the manager you can't talk to me like that.' She said, demanding the bouncer who was in the hall go get the manager.
'Are you all just going to stand here?' The paramour asked of the shuffling line.
One Hooray Henry said,'Man it's not worth it, it's her gig.'
'I don't give a shit what it is.' My beloved informed the line. 'She can queue up like the rest of us.'
Faced with a glowering man beast who wasn't backing down the girl grabbed her friend and flounced off.'I'm getting the manager and having you thrown out!' She yelled.
'Grow the fuck up.' The paramour replied.
Fortunately I managed to calm him down with a bottle of free champagne. In fact it appears free champagne can quell most ills.
It does however give you a frightful hangover the next day. Coffee anyone?