Happy New Year.

(Planned idol for tonight)---->



Oh thank marmalde, another one nearly finished. I am fond of a new year I must say, clean slate and all that. I hope everyone has plans later that involve enjoyable things. I plan to drink rum and carry on with loved ones. That seems a fitting end to the year.
Happy New year Chumlies. May next year bring you money, lots and lots of money. Oh and peace and good will and all that jazz. Blee, jazz.
XXX
FMC

Happy Christmas!

Well gosh darn it! I'm feeling festive.
Happy Christmas everyone, and I MEAN everyone. I'll be on and off over the next few days but either way I hope you all have a great time and enjoy a few days of peace, family and affection.
XXX
FMC

Kittens and Goths. There should always be an 'and.'

You just have to marvel at the sheer level of stupid some people manage to climb down to. I mean think about it, what kind of brain do you require to get up in the morning look at a bunch of kittens your cat had and then 'bingo' a dim bulb flickers on over head and you think, 'I know, I'll pierce their ears and tails and whatever and call them 'gothkittens' and that will be a very good idea.'
Seriously. And yet I can't own a gun.

Saturday started with a big Sleep.

Morning, it is morning right?

Late to the gym Tuesday,
ran 5k, rowed 5k,
shoulder press 18k x8 x3
Dumb-bell curls, 10k each arm-8x4
Some full body weight hanging And a hell of a lot of stretching.
Walked home eating a crunchie. Nom nom.

Wednesday- Work was all encompassing, so I was left with no option but to attempt some yoga, but to be honest heart wasn't in it. After half an hour I headed for a shower.

Thursday, walky walky, into town. There was a kerb/curb/kurb/motherfucking drop and an ouch.

Friday -with the power of painkillers I went first to kickboxing, ( mostly legs this week – gah) then to the weights room.
17.5k dumbbell swings, broken into 9/12/15 repeat thrice. This really works the core and shoulders and back. V hard on tired legs too.
Cable cross, 7.5k x 10 x 2, then 10k x 10. This doesn't seem overly heavy but it is such an awkward blasted move that it is tough. My shoulders are really feeling it today. REALLY feeling it.
Side arm extensions, same weight as above forty in total twenty each arm.
Body weight hanging, three of those, a minute each. Got angry finger pads today because of it. But it's worth it as it stretches the back out and it's good for grip and building up stamina. Harder than you might think, seriously, grab something hang off it, time yourself. after about twenty seconds, you'll notice your shoulders start to complain.

Going for a run in an hour or two, an easy five mile in the park. Nothing too hectic. IN fact nothing this week was too hectic. I think I'm on a slow down.

I am debating on whether or not to do the marathon again next year. I'm also debating on whether or not to join up with a proper MA school and see about getting graded. But graded in what and is 36 too old to start looking for belts and grades? And really, what is the point of it all anyway? I think it's only because I'd like the opportunity to spar against someone properly, but the problem is points. Everything I've ever done is MMA ( mixed martial arts) I don't know that I could be arsed sticking to one form and everything I've read over the last few weeks suggests I'd actually have points docked for some of the moves I would use if faced with a sparing partner I was supposed to try beat. Riddle me that Barman. It's not that I would fight dirty, but I would want to win and not get hurt, so my natural instinct would be to in as hard and heavy as possible not stand back and think about stratgic point scoring.
Also if I do do the marathon this year again I will want to run it properly and at a decent time, no faffing about. But I'm so bloody slow and it takes up so much time to train for it and while I'm lucky in that I work for myself and can MAKE time to do stuff it's still a big commitment.
Anyway, I will ponder on, a gal needs little goals and challenges lest the call of the Jelly babies grows too loud.
Anyone else trying something new or upping the ante next year? perhaps this kind of talk ought to wait for january.

What do I want for christmas? Why, peace and wellbeing to all.

"Fatmammycat is injured? Tell her I'll be right over!"-->
( oh if only)




I took painkillers last night going to bed because my back is quite sore from STEPPING OFF A KERB! I am outraged at this of course, outraged. How, I keep asking randomly, can a person hurt themselves stepping off a kerb? It's just so....stupid. I mean it's one thing to go, 'Oh yeah, I'm sore from, you know, taking down my instructer today, oh no, it was a axe kick..blah blah blah.' Or, 'Well I decided to rack up the Dead lift weight to 75k and after eleventy-hundred reps I sorta felt pain...' But, 'I stepped of a kerb and it really hurt' just sucks the bitterest of lemons. Naturally painkillers meant I slept like a dead sea scroll and am now two hours behind on just about everything today. BAH, and humbug.

Poor bloody horses in Waterford. Fuckers. I really hate people who are cruel to animals and to leave those poor creatures in agony like that makes me sick to my stomach. Seriously, how can anyone do something like that to three pure dumb animals. It's beyond my understanding.

Anyway, it is finally Gingerday, I can kick off my comfortable boots later and slip into something ridiculously high as the first of the Christmas get togethers begins. The paramour and I are out every night this weekend and though we are making all the usual blithering squeaks of 'Well... we'll just take it handy, we don't need to drink ALL the rum,' part of me is laughing and rolling its devilish eyes. I will probably need to take more painkillers at some point, at least to get me through kickboxing. Le fucking sigh, it there anything more tedious than being sore? Of course there is; bleating on about it. Mea fucking culpa.


Mood music as follows.

Debunking myths

As a child various pronouncements used to get on my wick, curtailing as it were, my longing to get free of the house and sit where ever the hell I wanted and nibble in peace.
For example.
'Don't go outside with wet hair you'll catch your death.'- hmm, wet hair equals death catching, okay.
'Get up off the ground; you'll get a cold in your kidneys.' ( ?)
'Don't stare at the sun; you'll go blind.' (?)
'Eat your carrots if you want good eyesight. ( lies, as a carrot lover and blind as bat I can pour real frothy vitriol on this one)
'Eat the crusts on your bread it will put hairs on your chest.' (This one came from Gamma's husband. Why any eight year old girl would want hair on their chest remains a mystery.)
'Don't be mauling those dogs! You'll get worms' ( oh for the love of...)
'Don't wash your hair everyday; you'll strip all the oils out of it' (oily hair=dirty hair, oh hooray, at least you won't catch death)
'Don't make faces; if the wind changes you'll be stuck with that face.' (gamma, after a few gins, and while her own face was making any number of weird contortions)
'If you want to get rid of warts, tie a couple of knots in some string and bury it, the warts will fall off over night) ( ?)
'Don't let cats sleep in your bed at night, they will steal your breath.' ( I can think of MANY reasons not to share a bed with cats, that they might be in league with death isn't one of them)
'Don't skip, you'll damage your spine.' ( ?, Gamma)
'Always tuck your vest in or you'll get a cold in your spine.' ( hmm, Gamma worried a great deal about cold and spines)
'Hot whiskey with five cloves will cure a flu/cold/Ebola virus' (vile)
'Eating an orange every day will stop you from catching the flu.' ( and yet I did catch flu once when I was young, and curiously enough I gaVe it to Gamma: we were both confined to bed for days and puked like puking champions- on the forth day of shivering and moaning I managed to get as far as the chair in the kitchen where I sat alternatively rattling or sweating. Gamma's husband discovered me and insisted I drink a 'cure' which I promptly brought back up on me, the chair, the fireplace, him, and just about anything else with a three metre radius.)
'Always keep a window open in your bedroom at night or you'll smother.' ( no wonder we got colds)
And lastly but by NO means leastly, 'If you hear a banshee scream on the night of the full moon she's going to take one of your family before the next new moon.' ( God Damn it Gamma! If you live in an area SURROUNDED by foxes that one can keep a girl going for years. But oh no, every morning full moon or not my mother was still around)


Any way, that was my childhood, and I'm sure you were burdened down with even more pearls of wisdom from your betters and elders. But the reason I'm caught on this today is because I read a pretty bloomin' interesting article in the Guardian this morning which made me sit up and take notice. For dammit if I didn't think half of them were true. Which means I am more like Gamma than any thirty-six year old needs to be. Eeek.


Today's eighties nostalgia is for Andraste.

Let the Christmas games begin.

'What are you going to do about our mother?'
'Do? What do you mean?'
'Well, what are you going to do about her?'
'I'm gong to do exactly what do the rest of the year, I'm going to pretend I was found under a cabbage patch by a kind but penniless local woman who deposited me into the loving arms of my father not realising he had been tricked into marrying the purpliest piranha to ever walk upright.'
'It's Christmas.'
'Piranhas don't celebrate Christmas.'
'She says she's coming to our house this year.'
'Well then.'
'She says she's not coming if you're going to be there. She says she'll have a bite to eat in a local hotel.'
'Hahah, aw, the stench of burning martyr. Did she use my actual name or call me 'that one'?'
My sister sighs.
'Tell her not to worry her enormous hole about it. I'm going to the Paramour's Pappy's house, at least he makes Yorkshire Puds.'
'I told you they're not traditional.'
'Traditional? Come off it, anyway you could always start a new tradition, it's not like we even go to mass.'
'Are you going to talk to her at all?'
'No.'
'I see. Well I think you're both being very stupid.'
'Quite.'
'What?'
'Oh sorry I thought I was typing.'
'You know someday she'll be gone.'
'Every body keeps saying that and yet I have seen no evidence to back up that assertion.'
'There really is a pair of you in it.'
'You know darling, you're quite right. I'm wrong, she's wrong and two wrongs don't make comfortable silence.'
'Have you heard what that Kevin bought Etheline?'
'No. What?'
'A day in a spa.'
'Hawhawhawwwwhaw.'
'Seriously. Can you imagine Etheline in a spa?'
'I can imagine Etheline being a spa.'
'Hhahahaha.'
And so we got off the thorny subject of the Lilac Couch and landed arse first in the pyracantha bush that is Etheline with the greatest of slithery ease.
I will be at Pappy's this year, there will be Yorkshire Puddings. He doesn't normally make them either, but he's not bound by faux traditions and willful women.
I dedicate today's eighties video to all that is good about pudding and sticky and gooey about families.

Live and on fire.

I GOT A MATCH!!

My Black Heart Just melted.

Begrouched and under pressure as I am this morning, a brief scout through the papers has produced a story that makes me sad, disgusted and strangely touched.
It's only a short few lines but sometimes that's all it takes.

"A man has been arrested after a nine-year-old girl wrote to Santa asking that a relative stop touching her and her sister.

A man from the town of Pharr, Texas, was arrested and is being held in custody, The Monitor of McAllen reported today.

A criminal complaint says the girl sent the letter at Cesar Chavez primary school. Authorities interviewed the girl after a school counsellor reported the letter.

The complaint says investigators believe the molestation occurred over a period of four years.

The man is charged with continuous sexual abuse of a young child and could face as many as 99 years in prison if convicted."


People who sexually abuse children, and I mean this with all my heart, ought to be strung up and beaten to death.

Big Dreams, Big Ambitions, Big Country.

Monday rolls around again, like it does most weeks. Well all right, every week. I am here at my desk, cup of coffee at my elbow, no sign of the cats. I have a busy day ahead, work, work, but enjoyable work. That's right, enjoyable work. 90% of the time I rather like my job. It suits me and I don't have to worry about things like getting out of my PJs or dealing with, you know, actual people.
I'm pretty content with my lot. Mostly.
I say mostly because I'm sure like everybody else I do get days when I think, 'if only I had done things differently...'
Stupid and pointless pondering really. But here's the thing. I think I would have made a really good vet. I do. I am good with animals, not squeamish, I like money and if you're a small animal practitioner your hours are rather good. Of course becoming a vet would have meant various commitments on my part, such as not being a complete jackass in school and not being a complete jackass in college. But such was my lot. It took me many years to mature enough to stop being a complete jackass, and in that time I had whirligiged my way through many different professions before landing squarely- and quite happily- in the one I'm in now.
But some mornings I cannot help but think, 'I ought to be donning a white coat and weighing a Pekingese'.
Then that moment passes as I remember how much I hate dealing with people and pets have owners. And it's against the law to throtte people even if they could do with a good throttling.
Was there anything you wanted to do but feel it passed you by? Or are you happy as a clam with where you are in life.

Saturday is super nice, super seriously.

( moi --->)


Avast! Top of the morning to you. More importantly, top of a hangover free morning to you all. Oh smugness, how many ways do I totally heart thee.
After last weekend's shocking carry on I have been most careful with all things hooch. I have been avoiding it like the delicious plague it is, but yesterday -being gingerday- some wine was drunk, but only some. Also some cheesecake was eaten, but enough about that.
I had a piss poor week in terms of working out. Utterly terrible and with no one to blame other than myself. And I hate to blame myself, I'm much happier blaming other folk.

Monday -I did not get out of jammies, such was my hungover woe. I couldn't work or type or eat or do anything except lie in my chair and wait for death to come claim his bounty.
Tuesday- I was almost recovered but still in no shape to do anything.
Wednesday I did an hour of body weight work here, air squats, push ups, lunges, weighted lunges, that sort of thing. I probably should have gone to the gym, but seriously, it was wet and I was too lazy.
Thursday I walked into town to meet Eolaí and collect my pictures, very beautiful they are too, I will frame them today. Then I walked around town for a bit and walked home, so all in all about eight/nine miles. of trundling along, listening to music.
Friday- Feeling dandy and also super guilty. I dragged my arse off to kickboxing. I ran 5k as a warm up and then had class. Which by the way was excellent, lots of new combos and power work which I prefer a million times over to speed work which kills me dead. I kicked Non Memnoch's pads off his hands plenty of times using crescent kicks and this makes me very very happy, him too, because a flying pad is not the same as being kicked. Also my crescent kicks used to have the strength of no kittens, and now they are at least ten kittens deep, so huzzah! I noted for this week when we worked on round house/front/side kicks we did so on the heavy bag and not on anything Non Memnoch was holding. Heh.

Still no wheat-apart from a tiny bit of cheesecake base- my trusty bathroom scales tells me another pound has gone by the wayside. This is an unexpected surprise, I thought I had bottomed out. I will keep this no wheat business up for another two weeks and then see. It is really rather easy now to not eat it, I don't miss bread or pasta any longer.
And so here we are, Saturday, sunny, cold and bright. Not hungover. Having lunch with friends later. What is even better is that the paramour IS hungover, hungover like a goat. You see, he went out last night while I stayed in beside a roaring coal fire and watched hours of crime nonsense and had cheesecake. I will be kind to him, kind and mildly patronizing.
Sigh, I wish every morning could be thus. Let us celebrate my disgusting smugness with some excellent eighties music.

Boyfriends can be problematic.

Top of ginger day to you!

( patio foundation--->)





Whenever I think that I'm a pretty liberal sort- you know, with the exception of woo, but by and large- every now and then something crops up which makes me rethink my weakly held opinion and also makes me take the polishing rag to the blunderbuss.
My eldest sister was here last night, telling us about her friend who has a daughter who is about to turn eighteen. Naturally this means said child spends a considerable amount of her weekend in some place called Eamon Dorans, some rock pup where the average age is-from what I gather- about nineteen and everyone wear black. The girl, a nice sensible young 'un who looks like she comes from a home where her clothes are washed regularly, has begun to 'date' another fellow. The photo I have thoughtfully provided is not him, but from what I can gather is a close approximation of said chap.
Let's be totally honest here. If this arrived at your house to take your daughter to the debs/prom/cinema/anywhere, wouldn't you just start subscribing to the Daily Mail? Even if you knew deep down somewhere that he was probably a nice chap and all that? I mean, what is the correct response to that type of mental assault?
My sister thought moving country seemed appropriate. The Paramour thought digging a very large hole in the back garden and planting said crusty as a patio base might be the way to go.
My response, apart from laughing, is to swaddle myself in eighties music, safe in the knowledge that I wore MORE makeup then Siouxsie and had higher hair. Teenagers will be teenagers and I already read the Mail.

One law to bind them all.

"A GARDA who claimed he was victimised because he stopped the then minister for justice's State car for speeding eight years ago has secured High Court orders overturning a direction he resign from the force following disciplinary proceedings against him."



Hmm, I missed this yesterday, but my chum and all round good egg Monster Pants sent it to me and I must say, its sets off all manner of jingling.
This line in particular really stands out. "During yesterday's proceedings, Garda Noonan said he was the garda "who stopped John O'Donoghue for speeding and I was asked by the commissioner to state he [O'Donoghue] was not in the car and I refused to do so"."
This one could be a hell of a politicial kaboom. Garda Noonan sounds like a man of principle, it will be interesting to see where this leads. Of course Guards can be a dodgy as the next Joe, but doesn't this smell really off to you?

Dance Monkey Dance.

You know, unlike Country Gay, I never really dug The Smiths back in the day. But damn if this doesn't just make you do funny arm wavey skippity hoppity crap all over the kitchen while you wait for your eggs to cook.

Bush and the Bible: A Simple President.

I'm always astounded that there are so many people in this day and age that think the bible is a literal document. That it is the real word of a deity we can neither see nor touch, but we ought to all abide by.
But it's even more interesting and terrifying to read George Bush's mangling of science and belief in print.
""I think you can have both," Mr Bush, who leaves office January 20, told ABC television, adding "You're getting me way out of my lane here. I'm just a simple president."

But "evolution is an interesting subject. I happen to believe that evolution doesn't fully explain the mystery of life," said the president, an outspoken Christian who often invokes God in his speeches.

"I think that God created the Earth, created the world; I think the creation of the world is so mysterious it requires something as large as an almighty and I don't think it's incompatible with the scientific proof that there is evolution," he told ABC television.

Asked whether the Bible was literally true, Mr Bush replied: "Probably not. No, I'm not a literalist, but I think you can learn a lot from it."

"The important lesson is 'God sent a son,'" he said."

Logic is pretty scarce on the ground. Evolution doesn't explain the 'mystery' of life, but 'God done it' does. Okay then I'm going to fold up my Occam's razor here and go have breakfast.

Christmas Shopping.

Gone Christmas shopping. I may be some time. If I don't come back Puddy likes sliced ham and room temperature milk. The other two like anything you give them.

Another shooting, more 'outrage', fear remains the same.

A MAN shot dead while chasing teenagers away from his home on Sunday night had been the victim of a sustained campaign of anti-social behaviour from local children in recent weeks.

Gardaí believe Aidan O'Kane (50), Shelmalier Road, East Wall, Dublin 3, was targeted and ultimately shot dead by teenagers he had befriended.


It was horrible to read about Aidan O'Kane being gunned down like a dog on the street. Horrible that his son now faces a Chistmas with his father for no good reason. Horrible that his life was taken so cheaply. Horrible but but strangely predictable.
Was it not only a few months ago folk were busy being outraged when a teenage gang attacked and killed two young Polish men in Drimnagh? Will there be whimpers of 'outrage' when the next victim of feral youth breathes their last?
Violence can escalate very rapidly. Name calling to fists, fist to weapons. And in today's culture of 'frontin' and dissin' respect is often a just another word for assault. You'd have to be blind deaf and dumb not to notice the evidence of 'machismo' in some of our youth today. Everything from the baleful eye contact to the aggressive body language. It's not just boys either, as some of our bloggers can attest to, gangs of girls can be just as vicious and just as deadly.
Outrage is all very good and well, but what does it mean and what do we as a society do to combat anti-social behaviour? What could Aidan O'Kane's neighbours have done? Jesus they wouldn't even speak on camera yesterday through fear, and who could really blame them? It's easy to express outrage in private, quite another to put your neck over the parapet and declare yourself an open and vocal enemy.
Fear and violence and intimidation, it's a potent mix but one that allows the gang culture to flourish. When you know you won't be challenged you become bold, when you know you instill fear you become brave. Our uncertainty is their safeguard.
Outrage is a wasted emotion. What is needed is bravery. Bravery to tell a brat to get his god damned feet off the seat, to NOT smoke on the bus, to shut the hell up in the cinema, to stop pelting a neighbour's house with eggs, to put a face forwards and say 'yes, I SAW what happened.'
But bravery can be costly and who really wants to turn the gaze of trouble in their direction. Well he who dares wins, or, he who dares gets the shit kicked out of him and his tyres slashed. But them's the breaks, as a society we either stand as one and be counted because if not we can expect more killings, more shootings, more stabbings and more folk who are outraged but cannot speak on camera.

Hungover like a goat.

Ouch, just ouch. Self inflicted too, which only makes me feel worse. The Spaniard says she's joining AA. Seems reasonable to me. I am Jack's weeping liver. Thankfully I am not Courtney Love. Not yet any way. Also I wear pants in public. When I stop doing that then I will have to rethink things.

Saturday is frosty.

Ah brrrrrrrrrrrrrr. It is bloomin' cold and I 'ave something of a 'angover. Fie. A pox upon hangovers. All this not drinking malarky has reduced my ability to consume hooch in previously consumable loads, bah!
Anyhoo, my terrible terrible pain aside I have had a most excellent week which I will top off with a 15k run a little later. So hurrah for cures and double hurrah for excellent weeks. I hope everyone else is having an excellent week because that's just the sort of person I am.

Sunday- ran for 40 mins of treadmill. Did 120 dips in set of 30, one armed rows of 15k x2 x10 and then 17.5k x10. walked home in winter sunshine with a 'ain't it good to be alive' buzz.

Monday- late to the gym. ran 1k bursts of 50/50 speed, 10kmp for 50 and 12.5kmh for 50 did 5 of those. Fallumped off treadmill, hung from the bars for a few minutes and then proceeded to do some serious solid stretching for 20 minutes. Walked home. V.Good and v pleased with self. I know once it goes past 6 in the evening it's much harder to convince myself to go anywhere, so when I do go I get the added bonus of self smugment.

OKAY! I rested Tuesday so that I could ace Wednesday. Oh Wednesday, let me tell you about Wednesday.
Filled with trepidation I wandered lonely as a gigantic telly owner to the gym. After a brief warm up of a 1k run I set my jaw in a manly fashion and entered the weights zone
I managed to get my hands on the 12.5 bar ( for once) and collected various weights. While I was assembling said weights, one of the ladies I know wandered over to make small talk.
'What are you planning?' She asked eyeing the collection of metal around me.
'Dead lift, push jerk, dumb-bell swing. All heavy.'
Oh.
And lo it all went like this.
Deadlift 52.5k x8 x2 , 60k x6x2 and 65k x 6x 2. oh fucking yes.

Push jerk. 25k x8 x2, 30k x8x 2, 32x 8x 1, oh fucking yes.

Dumb-bell swings, 15k x 15 x 12 x 10 twice. 17.5 kilos x 15 x 12 x 10 twice, oh fucking yes.

I put all my weights away- because I'm not an inconsiderate ass, set my jaw once more and sat down into the lat/tri/bi pull down machine.
40k bicep pull down x 8, 45x 8 and then 50k x 8, this is the heaviest I've ever EVER managed, so oh fucking yes.
I then went to the chin up bar where I hung for over a minute waiting for my back to hurt less than my blistered hands, when it did, I dropped down and stretched like my life depended on it.
I walked home after my shower and I felt younger and better than I have in years. I know it's fleeting but I don't give a shit.

Thursday well yes, ouch. Lifting my arms higher than elbow height was interesting. And by interesting I mean really very painful.

Friday! Gingerday! Kickboxing! Exclamation points!
Oh how I love kicking the crap out of things. I kicked Non Memnoch very hard indeed because he made us run circuits and then towards the end of one said something really silly like 'come on, put some welly in it' which is like red rag to a bull. So indeed I did, leading to him hobbling off cursing. Margo, my partner said, 'hah, he felt that.' Indeed HAH, take that wellymeister.

The weight training is of course helping a great deal in my over all strength which I am joyously using to pummel stuff. Hand in hand they go.

Dietary observations, no wheat still, no weight change. No bloating, no loss of energy and no heartburn neither. So all good then.

Gingerday! Blogging can be dangerous to your job and don't cut your hair unless you're opting out of sexy time.

( Though not a ginger, Amanda here is the verra essence of Gingerday-->)



Holy Moly, I thought getting the occasional outraged comment or email from friends of fraudsters and god botherers was mildly irritating/amusing, but at least no one was threatening to rip my livelihood away for saying what I think.
Not so for one poor barmaid and blogger.
Oh those bawdy Belgium politicians, who knew governmental types were the sort who'd use their powers like that, oh wait...
Anyway, busy sort of day here, I am appalled to discover that even a couple of glasses of white wine gives me a ferocious headache and delighted to learn that I am interested in sex. What's that you say? Well I have long hair you see, so naturally that means I am interested in sex, if I cut it that will mean I am NOT interested in sex.

"The realisation started to dawn on me that long hair advertises a desire to attract, even to be dominated.

Long hair on a woman shouts: 'Pull me, please!' Newly-cut hair represents a different relationship to her sexuality and her sexual life."

See? Hairstyles are verra Verra important to understand the 'workings' -such as they are -of women.
Christmas shopping is proving to be fraught with anxieties, and so I must venture forth once more today to buy gifts for people who are impossible to shop for. I'd better wear a hat, I don't want to go around advertising my sexual desires by letting my flowing locks loose on the unsuspecting public. Obviously I'm just looking for trouble that way. Oh If ONLY there was some way I could exist with attracting attention. Hey wait, those all encompassing black thingies some Muslim ladies wear, that ought to do it. That way I don't HAVE to worry about a thing. Gadzooks. Why didn't I think of it before.

Shannon Matthews' mother is found guilty.

Linky linky and a rather large huzzah. Horrible wench to put her child through such an ordeal, and her family and all those poor people out canvassing and searching, not to mention the police and man-hours wasted. Vile wench. Hope the poor little kid is doing okay.

Art!

Fellow blogger and excellent fellow, the artist Eolaí is having a sale. I have one of Eolaí's gorgeous pictures already and I'm hoping to get another. Please if you have the time drop over and take a gander at his latest work. Congratulation Eolaí. I cant wait to see the new pieces.

Freaking cool!

(Hat tip PZ Myers, fellow atheist and spectacle wearer.)

Oh my, I almost feel bad about eating them, they're so blooming clever (which reminds me of the time I went to see the amazing aquarium in Valencia with the Spaniard, and upon watching schools of brightly coloured fish swim overhead she remarked, 'Jesus, de make me have hoongry'). Same with pigs, so clever but oh so tasty. And deer, so cute, but nom nom. Thank god I don't like lamb.

Busy busy day, I must do some work and then I must do some Christmas shopping and buy a Christmas tree. We're going with a real one this year. Great, endless hours of dragging the cats out of the branches and pine needles everywhere. Plus we'll probably have to put it in the hall now that most of our sitting room is taken up with a telly.

It's official.

We are chavs.
A 40 inch television screen has arrived in chez fatmammycat & paramour, plus an enormous table stand thingie that turn out-niftily enough- to be the speakers for this behemoth.
'What does it say about us Paramour that the biggest piece of furniture in our home in now the telly?
'Pfft' said he, looking through the Medusa like set cables.
'We'll be like those idiots from 'Cribs', you know the ones that say, 'En dis is mah entertainment cennnre' but they don't know where the kitchen in.
'Okay,' he grins, 'in fairness I didn't realise the stand was so big, I thought you'd just get separate speakers.'
'It's got its own gravitational pull.'
He plugs it in and dickies around with the base and suddenly my hair is blown back and Puddy- who had been sitting on one of the empty boxes, let loose an anguished squawk, leaped off the box and hid under the table.
'What is that?" I holler.
'Music from my computer upstairs! Queen Bitch! I've rigged it up to this baby.'
I want to tell him to turn it down, that the chimbley might collapse from the vibrations, but then I notice the sheen across his face, the beaming smile, the glazed eyes and it hits me, the man is a gadget freak, and this is the equivalent of me finding those Gucci boots I want so badly out in the shed.
'If you buy a fish tank I'm leaving you.' I say.
'Okay!' he says, cheerily. 'I'm just going to hook the playstation up...holy crap, look at the reception!'
I gather up Puddy and make my way to my office. Surrounded by books and rugs and plants I can only marvel at the technology that makes a grown man so happy. And then I sat down to my 17 inch screen iMac and shook my head.
Chavs. I'd better start talking in Irish in Superquinn to counter balance it.

Spanx- for Men.

I know control panel underwear and padded bras and girdles and christ knows what else have been employed by ladies for MANY years to enhance the figure, but how do we feel about Spanx for the more dudular in your life? Fellas? Would you wear one, knowing you might take three inches off your waist? Well? ladies, would you be delir-ed and excir-ed watching your other half or even a first date-er strip off revealing Spanx.
In the interest of fairness I rang the Paramour in work.
'Hello?'
'Hi, would you wear Spanx?'
'What?!'
'Spanx, you know that thing that was in the Times.'
'Not a chance.'
'Why?'
'You said it was uncomfortable and he couldn't breath. that's stupid, if he's worried about his waist he should just wear a loose t-shirt.'
'Even if it pulled your waist in by 3 inches?'
'I don't give a shit about that.'
'Okay dokey, see you later.'
'Er... bye.'
Spanx 0 /Confused man- 1

Britney -singer, dancer, lip syncher?

Though I'm not a big fan of her music, I am glad to see Miss Spears appears have stopped shaving her head and waving her bare coochie around town. It's always kinda sad to see a mother of two small chidren go completely off the rails.
But while it's good that she is on the mend and all that, can anyone explain to me the point of her-or anyone else- going on television and lip synching? I mean really? Why bother? If you can sing why not sing? Especially on a show about people trying to make it singing.
By the way I don't watch X Factor but it was on in the gym yesterday and my battery had died in the pod. This or Ne-yo were my options. And you try running to Ne-Yo. Actually try running to 'womanizer' either, not pretty.