Fatmammycat.com

Hello there!

2009-05-18T09:52:00.001+01:00

Fatmammycat can now be found here - http://fatmammycat.wordpress.com

Real Work Shocks Blogger.

2009-03-10T10:52:00.003Z

I'll be off line for a few days on work related mumbo jumbo.
Ciao.

Pontius Pilot Parenting.

2009-03-09T13:26:00.002Z

You have to wonder what chance a kid has of making anything of their life if her own parents can't even be bothered their holes to turn up to a police station upon learning of the child's arrest.
Imagine being 14 and in trouble and knowing that there is no one who cares enough about you to come to your aid. Poor kid. I don't like thieves, but fuck, kids make mistakes and if they're lucky they learn from them. Maybe this child is a little brat, maybe she's a handful, it doesn't really matter. Whatever the circumstances, parental care should not be conditional.

Saturday Repair.

2009-03-07T11:08:00.004Z

New running inspiration, Speedy von Hairalot/Binkley-->

Back at it, lets go.
AIMS.
A dead lift at 100k ( that's kilos none of your sissy pounds malarky)
A bench press at 50 k
To squat 70k
To Push Press 40k
To Military press 30k
to perform one set of over head squats carrying 30k with falling over backward or forward.
To perform 10 ( count 'em) Dead hang pull ups, no kipping, no swinging of any sort.
To row 5k in 20 mins.
To run 10k in 50 minutes.

This Week.
Bench- 30k
Push press- 32 k

Military-Press- 22k.

Ran 5k- 27:40

Deadlift, a personal best of 92 kilos. My goal of reaching 100k might have been a tad conservative.

No pull ups were done, and I rowed a 4.08 k on Monday which was fast for me.

Yesterday was kickboxing, after a 5k warm up Non Memnoch ran us ragged for an hour. My biceps hurt, which is odd.

Today, when my rather unpleasant headache clears, I intend to go to run 10k. I've hitched my wagon with Gimmie to run a ten kilometre race in the park, he means run it, not poodle along at a comfortable pace. I feel an eeep deep inside.

Rape of a child brings out the wrong, but expected, Condemnation.

2009-03-06T10:26:00.010Z

I'm sure at this stage everyone has read of the poor nine year old child in Brazil who not only endured sexual abuse, but rape, allegedly at the hands of her step father. This poor little girl was also impregnated with twins.
If this is new to you, the story can be read here.
Of course people are up in arms over the reaction of the Catholic Church.
"The Archbishop of Olinda and Recife, Jose Cardoso Sobrinho, told Brazil's TV Globo that the law of God was above any human law.

He said the excommunication would not apply to the child because of her age, but would affect all those who ensured the abortion was carried out. "
Many people are outraged that he would take this line, wondering aloud why those who showed realistic compassion to a child victim should be threatened with ex-communication, but nothing was said about the rapist or those who would rape children.
Well, I'd like to say I am surprised but I am not. This is my church we're talking about here, born Catholic and raised until early teen Catholic, I understand their squawks, this is their line, and pretending it isn't ain't going to cut it.
Here's how it breaks down,
Sex= for procreation. Only.
Man= sacred sperm carrier.
Woman= vessel,
baybee = of greater value than woman, 'gift' from god' person of more rights than vessel.
impregnantion= act of god, 'gift'.
Age= Irrelevant.
Consent= irrelevant once baybee is on board.
Personal sovereignty= utterly irrelevant once baybee on board.
Compassion= irrelevant.
This is it, this is what it boils down to. Celibate men can hold the party line because they will never have to think about anything other than the party line. It matters not that this child was physically attacked and forcibly impregnated against her will, or that physically she is too immature to carry safely to term twins in her tiny body, it matter only about the baybees see? God's gift to us all.
Naturally I reject this notion, even as I reject the church I was baptised into against my will. I reject its teachings and condemn them for their backward views and disregard for a child's true wellbeing. But I also recognise there there is no moral ambiguity at play here, people should not be shocked or outraged by what they have said. This is it, this is what they do. This is what they think. No smoke, no mirrors, no holy hosannas.
The CC is an outdated male centric bastion of dogma and hierarchy. If it's your club so be it, but be aware of your club rules. They are written for all to see.

World Book Day!

2009-03-05T07:55:00.003Z

It's world book day today, I've no idea what this means but there was an enjoyable article in the Guardian about it and the books we claim we read but don't.

However it was this that caught my attention.

The days of embossed leather bookmarks are of course long gone and 62% of people in the poll admitted they turn the corner of the page to keep their place. "I consider that mutilation," said Simon. "I would never do that, what's wrong with using bookmarks - tickets, pieces of paper?"

The other week a few of us were discussing this very thing. The Paramour puts books down flat and open. My other chum WRITES on her books, and folds the pages. I nearly had to get the smelling slats out. I place a bookmark in my books when I close them, no matter how tired.

Anyway, who would I read that I might consider a guilty pleasure? No one actually, I read what I like, no guilt involved, but I tell you what, I am currently struggling to finish In the Name of The Rose, and since this is my second attempt I will finish the damned thing.
Do you have a touch of the guilts over books? Hide your Cecila Aherne's behind your Flann O'Brien's? Own up now.

Women and Weight Training.

2009-03-04T09:20:00.006Z

Why don't more women weight train? I'm not talking about using pink/purple dumbbells that weigh less than 4k either. I mean why don't more women actually get down and dirty in the gym?
Every day in my gym I see plenty of women on the machines, firing off rep after rep with little or no resistance, but hardly any in the weights sections. I don't understand it. Is is fear? Nervousness? Worrying about how they'll look? Shit everyone looks pink faced and sweaty in the gym.
My friend is getting married soon, and she wants to look fantastic for her wedding day- she will of course. She is concerned about her arms and shoulders.
'I want to tone up my arms' she said.
'Weights', I said.
'I don't want to get bulky.'
'You haven't a snow balls chance in hell in getting bulky.'
'I just want to tone.'
'What do you think 'toning' is only building some muscle and reducing fat?'

And so on.

Seriously, I know woman read this blog and I'm asking, do you go to the gym? Do you ever venture into the free weight area when you do attend? If not, why not? What do you do when you're there? What are your goals? Is it just over all fitness or do you go with something specific in mind?

This enquiring mind would like to know.

No! Not Snoop Dogg too!!

2009-03-03T15:54:00.005Z

Snoop Dogg, real name Calvin Broadus, talked about his reasons for joining the religious group in relatively loose terms. “I’m an advocate for peace. I’ve been in the peace movement ever since I’ve been making music,” he told followers. “My whole thing is not about really trying to push my thing on you. It’s just about the way I live, and I live how I’m supposed to live as far as doing what’s right and representing what’s right. That’s why I was here today.”

The Nation of Islam was founded in 1930 with the aim of promoting the conditions of black Americans. The group’s most famous convert is activist Malcolm X.

Discussing his religious beliefs at this weekend’s Nation of Islam event, the Doggystyle rapper referred to himself as the “leader of the hip-hop community” and hinted that his affiliation with the group is not new. “It’s about seeing yourself and what you can do to better the situation,” Broadus said. “We’re doing a lot of wrongs among ourselves that need correcting.”
God Damn! First Prince goes from being a Raspberry Beret Wearing Sexy Muthafucka to a non drinking non chaps wearing god warrior, now the fucking shizzle loses his sizzle? The D O double G? The Dog Father? What the hell? Say it ain't so Snoop? Will you be putting the blunt down too? I feel tears. This day now officially squicks. Turning my dial way down while I wallow in the days when dogs like Snoop hung with hogs like Dre and made summer time music. Fo' reals.

Caught Red Handed? So What?

2009-03-03T07:51:00.004Z

David Keegan arrived and found his house ransacked and the property missing. He told gardai, who searched the accused's car.

Their son Aaron "protested" and most of the property was found under a rug under his seat. One of the two cameras was in a pocket on the driver's door. The accused initially claimed the camera was theirs, but pictures of Mr Keegan's girlfriend's cat were found on it.

I hate thieves, I really do. Burglars are the scum of the Earth. I honestly don't know what I'd do if I caught someone breaking into my home, but I suspect there would be skin and teeth flying, even if I came off the worst of it.
The problem with most burglaries is you never catch the fuckers. You come home and bam, your home has been ransacked or someone has been in snooping around your property and long gone. Horrible, frightening upsetting feeling.
It's therefore really amazing to read that when caught RED BLOODY HANDED, a judge would let an entire family of thieves off scott free. Even with the evidence on them, even though their lies were so obvious. What kind of message does it send out? Why carry on of course. The law is an ass.

Observe

ROCK STAR IN COCAINE SHOCKER!

2009-03-02T14:23:00.007Z

Irish version of Rock God-->

Stop the presses! Get the smelling salts out! Irish rock God, lead singer of Boyzone, husband, father, and leather pant wearer, Ronan Keating, has shockingly revealed he has NEVER been offered cocaine in almost 15 years of being an Irish Rawk Star. The 'Life is a RollerCoaster' singer expressed bemusement. This reader expressed bemusement. Puddy expressed bemusement.
Next week, Shane McGowen SHOCKINGLY reveals he doesn't like go to the dentist much and Enya, will she or won't she wear white on her next albumn cover? Who can say, all I know is I can hardly STAND waiting to find out.

The young atheist has a reluctant champion.

2009-03-02T09:12:00.007Z

Despite my oft out spoken wittering here, I make it my business not to go around in real life demanding public reiki blunderbussing or giving long tedious talks on the joys of lifting weights (except for a ten minute monologue over a few drinks the other week, but that was at a chap who gets it, so I don't feel as guilty, sorry G).
Anyhoo, blog = talk about whatever I like- yes monkeys, whatever I LIKE. Real world = Far more reigned in and considerate of others and their various opinions. That's the way it ought to be no?
But yesterday I was forced out of my shell of mild mannerisms to address what I saw as a rather pitch fork wielding moment.
A dear friend phoned, and as I am wont to do I just let the phone ring. But the paramour was here and he answered and after a moment of pleasantries dropped the phone into my office where I was forced to accept it.
This dear friend- let us call her R- calls me about once every two months. We went to the same college and have remained casual friends over the years. We meet up for lunch every few months or so. I like her, I do. She likes horses, me too. She likes dogs, me too, she likes books and films, HUZZAH, me too. She likes god a lot. Er, okay then.
Now see, this was never a problem for me, mostly because I didn't know anything about it. God talk is not something I would specifically engage in, anywhere. I don't wear an atheist cap or badge, so unless someone asked me, 'Say Fatcat, are you an atheist?' I would have no reason to divulge it.
Certainly R and I have never discussed religion over the years, so it was with a furrow dropping sigh I listened to her complain about her nephew and his atheism yesterday, how his disbelief was 'making her father sick' and his refusal to attend mass was 'making a holy show of the family.'
'What age is the lad?' I asked.
'Sixteen.' said she.
'Ah.' I said.
'Ah what.'
'Well a natural age to question beliefs.'
'We don't mind him questioning, but this lad refuses to accept a word anyone says. My mother even had the parish priest have a chat and nothing.'
'Your mother called the priest in?' I admit I was astounded.
'Just for a talk.'
Anyway in heel of the hunt, it turns out the lad- being like most teenagers, is chaffing under the yoke of parental control and also like most teenagers, is a little know it all, quoting Dawkins and Russell's teapot at ever attempt to corral him back into the Catholic/God fold. I admit I laughed, imagining a lanky youth, sneering gently at the parish priest as the god talk drifted right over his head. I attended a Catholic Boarding school you see, I was that youth.
I said so to my friend.
'What do you mean?' She said.
'Well, I'm an atheist, but less militant than I imagine your average teenager would be ho ho ho.'
A long silence followed. Then.
'You don't believe in God either?'
'Well no, I don't believe in any deity.'
'At all?"
I detected an incredulous note.
'Well, no.'
'What do you believe in then?'
Then I had a short, but slightly tense conversation about why I did not believe in an all powerful creator god who makes women from ribs, dudes from dust and could be called upon to help pass driving tests or find missing house keys while letting millions starve elsewhere. It seemed illogical to me, I said. I believed in nothing supernatural, I said.
We said our good byes shortly thereafter. But I admit, I was glum. I found the paramour changing into football gear and explained that I thought I'd been scratched off another Christmas card list.
'Is she the girl that sent you that book on angels' The paramour asked.
'No, that's the other one.' I said, growing ever glummer.
'Oh well,' Said he, 'Another one praying for your soul.'
'I'm going to start carrying a card. 'Good day to you, Fatmammycat, Next of kin. 0 Neg, please use organs, Atheist.'
Sigh, I wish I had a scrap of sneering teenage vigour in this quagmire of life. Oh wait, I have this place. That will have to do.

Saturday's radioactive offerings.

2009-02-28T11:27:00.006Z

I have been sorely remiss this week in my gym attendance, an unusual state for someone like me who generally likes going to the gym*. But remiss or not yesterday was kickboxing and there was no way in hell I was missing that. So I took myself to the barn, ran 5k as a warm up, and...nothing actually, I was banjaxed after getting off the 'mill. Stupid fitness levels not magically sustaining themselves while I sit at my desk and eat mini snickers* for days on end.
Some days I think Non Memnoch gets a kick out of torture, perhaps it is an instructor thing. Certainly he can sniff when you're low on energy and punish you accordingly.
He had us sparring in three minute rounds yesterday, adding points for good strikes or good combinations, deducting points for dropping hands or leaving a hand out, anything in fact he deemed a false punch.
Three minutes can seem awfully long when you're going at it hell for leather.
Then to make sure he finished us off good and proper he made us sprint, round house, sprint, double round house, sprint, and so on until we were at ten. My legs were like jelly after.
This morning finds me ouchy, but at least I'm not skiing, like Finn, who has lost her will to live as well as the skin from her elbows.
Today I will take CG's dog for a hike. He will chase squirrels and get soaked, I will poodle along behind him, waiting to see if he ever feels tired* and hoping I don't run into a radioactive paedophile.
Oh yes, there is a radioactive paedophile loose in the country. Thomas Leopold absconded a few days before his child porn trail in the UK and police believe he hotfooted it here. Why do child touchers always think Ireland is a good place to hide out? Who knows, but he's thought to be here and like I say, radioactive from a bout of cancer treatment. I immediately thought 'watch out fall out boy' but I am sad that way.
Now breakfast I think, bacon and eggs sounds about right. I mean I've put on a kilo this week alone, I might as well. Who knew eating mini snickers, drinking all the beer you like and not going to the gym would make a body gain weight? Oh right, I did. Pfft.

*I keep telling myself that.
*I don't know what this is about, I don't really like chocolate.
* As far as I know he doesn't get tired, not really. His tail might dip slightly.

The calming power of Ginger

2009-02-27T10:11:00.001Z

This man is a true Ginger god and I would marry him in a heart beat if it wasn't for the whole paramour and his wife and I"m sure various other bit and bobs.

In Death, the Vultures have no Shame.

2009-02-27T07:56:00.006Z

And lo, on this most Gingerest of days, the bubbling cauldron of Reiki hatred is once more stirred with the ladle of earthly contempt. For verily it is with the greatest of stink eye that I read the following story.
Observe how the pilot fish bottom-feeding scum-sucking leechy mumbojumbo fraudulent quackular charlatan CUNTBUTLERS that are Reiki Practitioners have slithered their way forth and into the mainstream media. Quelle Surprise, SHOCK horror. Pass me my fainting couch Doris.
Oh Reiki- spit spit- How I hate you so. I hate that no one can be angry about you without immediately being accused of being negative. I hate how you lie, I hate how you convince sick people you are helping. I hate that you take their money. If you just said, 'Look, I can't heal you but you might feel better about talking to someone.' I would let you slide by like the stinkiest of runny shit you are. But no, you must use 'energies' 'blockages' I hate you, I hate you with every fibre of my being, with all of my liver, every part, even the bad bits.
And it is not negativity, it is scorn, it is unbridled passionate derision. You fraudulent abuser of the sick. You deathbed viper. If I could blunderbuss Reiki and all the silly 1/2/3/ master idiots who dabble in its clinging slime I would. Were you corporeal I would rip your head off and piss on your spine, you worthless piece of sceptic pus filled junk. I would hack you into a thousand pieces, pour rock salt on you and then douse you in petrol and light a match.
This kind of shit, I am against it.

Barking Dog.

2009-02-26T09:48:00.003Z

"It's a ferocious, continuous, high-pitched noise, it's been going on for nearly three years," she said. "I don't dispute that there are plenty of dogs in the area, but he has a very prominent bark and I have seen him. It's very disturbing. I am a dog lover; I had a dog for 12 years. This dog is just on his own most of the time and is obviously in distress."

I admit I felt a bit sorry for the man who has been ordered by the courts to hand over his dog to the warden. It appears he tried to do something about his animal's noise. Short of him quitting his job I doubt there would be a whole lot he could do in this particular case. (Although maybe a second dog might have kept the animal company, or a whole lot of exercise. I don't know, sometimes animals have such separation anxiety they never stop barking, but tired dogs are frequently quiet dogs)
Also, as this dog is a hand over and not a found animal, the most likely outcome will be the animal being put to sleep.
But honestly, taking everything into account, I can fully sympathise with the neighbours. I have lived beside a bored barking dog before, they bark in a repetitive high pitch and after a while it can drive a person stone raving mad.
German Shepherds are beautiful dogs, but like all dogs they are social creatures and don't do well spending upwards of eight hours alone everyday. Plus they're a working breed, intelligent and energetic. Intelligent energetic dogs like things to do.
I do wish though folk would put a bit more thought into their situations before they get a pup. I hate hearing about dogs being sent to the pound. At the dinner thing I went to with CG last Friday the couple beside me told me they were thinking of getting rid of their collie ( 18 months) because the dog was constantly nipping and chasing children, and- quoth the husband- 'it was doing their head in.'
I pondered this while studiously, ignoring my over-cooked lamb. Collies, working breed, likes to nip the heels of cattle to keep them in line/moving. Energetic, likes herding.
Yep, I see the problem there.
The owners.
Seriously, they were both working long hours and instead of walking the dog in the morning and evening they were letting the animal run its energy off on a communal green where kids played. The kids, who were afraid of the dog since it nipped, all ran when it came out and the collie, being a herding dog, corralled them all into one play area nipping cheerfully as it went along.
Apparently the parents of the children were none to happy about this, which seemed to irk the collie's owners who said the dog 'wouldn't hurt a fly'.
'But he bites their children' I said.
'Oh but he's not vicious, he's just playing.'
'But...they're all terrified of him?'
'I've told them not to run when he's out.'
'But surely it is your job to control your own dog when it is in public?'
'But he's friendly. Honestly, he wouldn't hurt a fly.'
I stopped trying to understand their excuses after a short while and concentrated on my undercooked veggies instead. Truth is, having been confronted by a large and aggressive dog before while running, I can only imagine how frightening it is for kids to see a speeding black and white bullet heading in their direction as they played. Truth is, you might find your Fido or Rover friendly and funny, but not every person will, and as a dog owner your job is to understand that and have your dog behave accordingly. Truth is, some dog owners are idiots.
I doubt these people will address the problem, like the German Shepherd owner could not, this means there will be another beautiful dog sitting behind wire mesh, waiting to become someone else's problem or dead.
Dogs are wonderful creatures and can be exceptional companions, but they're not people and they have a doggish way of looking at things. It's not their fault if they act like dogs, but it is OUR fault if we don't take the time to correct and train our animals so that they slot comfortably into a social and civic life. Well trained well exercised dogs are usually happy creatures and a pleasure for all. Sad, lonely barking high energy untrained animals usually end up in the scrap heap. Poor things, they deserve much better.

Happy Birthday Beloved Stud Muffin.

2009-02-25T13:53:00.004Z

44 years of sheer hawtness! Someday I will stumble across the holy grail photo of this lovegod. And THEN will we have a feast for the eyes.

Smoking in Cars.

2009-02-24T08:51:00.003Z

Ash, the anti smoking folk, are trying to bring about legislation that would make it illegal for anyone to smoke in their car while transporting children under the age of 16.
Now, I don't smoke and forcing your children to breathe in second hand smoke is clearly a very poor idea, But smoking is not illegal. And your car is your car, it's yours. What might be next down the line? No smoking in your home? Where does it end?
If you keep chipping away at what people can and can't do eventually you're left with a police state. It should not be up to the government to tell people whether or not to smoke around their kids. Most parents will be aware of the dangers of second hand smoke and even though they smoke themselves they won't smoke around their children. Dandy. But to make it illegal to do so smacks of Big Brother. Also who is going to enforce this law? The Gardai? Sheeeeee-eet, they have enough to be going on with.
You cannot legislate for personal choices. Or rather you should not be able to do so. As long as smoking is legal the actions of the smoking parent should be none of the government's business.

Awards 'n stuff

2009-02-23T11:30:00.004Z

Top of a hungover Monday to you and a hearty congratulations to all the winners from the blog awards, with a smoochy Mickey Rourke styled kiss to Sweary in particular. Much deserved.
In non blogging related whimsy, Meryl Streep was robbed.

Policing.

2009-02-20T07:35:00.006Z

Gardai! Ur doin it wrong. You only need to go up to criminals and ask them if they are who you hope they are. Like this.
See? See how easy that is?
'Are you the shooter of the latest gangland shooting?'
'Yes.'
'You better come with me so.'
'Are you on the board of FAS? With all those lovely unlimited credit cards and trips and lovely lovely money?'
'Why yes!'
'You're under arrest for fraud you cheeky fuck, if it's good enough for Martha Stewert it's good enough for you.'
Oh it would be just so twinkly and delightful if they adopted the FBI route of just asking.
Anyway, happy Gingerday you. I'm going to some black tie gig with CG later this evening. This apparently requires me to take ANOTHER trip to the hairdresser to have my frankly wiggy wiggy wild wild west hair tamed into some sort of updo. I hold no confidence, specially since the lass who is doing it seemed rather appalled too. Oh it should be fun.

Metaphorically Yours.

2009-02-19T10:16:00.006Z

"Asked by the judge whether he himself had executed the deed of sale in relation to the house, Mr Byrne said he could not answer such questions “on the basis of legal advice that I might incriminate myself”. When asked by counsel for Ms Byrne whether he derived anything personally from the sale, he again said he could not answer on legal advice. Asked who was the rightful owner of the home, he began to cry and said: “My mother, Philomena Byrne.”"

When everything you own is built on sand your foundations are at risk. If you then play with fire you're likely to get burned, a bit like Icarus. The grass is not always greener and all that glitters is not gold and it has to be said that fools and their money are easily parted.
It's a steep learning curve, but when you think outside the box it might suddenly dawn on you that there's no fire like the home fire, bearing that in mind, folk should understand that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. If you don't, you'll soon have the devil on your back, and there's no use crying over spilt milk AFTER you lie down with dogs and get up with fleas.
Hopefully lessons will be learned, be they the hard way or not. Life is a game of two halves, and though the goalposts are often moved the occasional spoonful of honey helps the medicine go down. It's a hard knock life, but some one has got to pay the piper. Maybe blood will be thicker than water, and although sorry is the hardest word, the night is darkest before the dawn and tomorrow is a new day. Step up to the plate, take it like a man, hold your head up high and keep on trucking.

'God Help Us All'

2009-02-18T14:48:00.001Z

Oh I CANNOT wait to see this film!

Jade Goody's Reality Death.

2009-02-18T09:49:00.008Z

'I feel sorry for that girl.' The Paramour said in a compassionate bout the other night, during the adverts.
'Who?'
'Jade Goody.'
'Why?' I said, picking through the popcorn. 'She's not a particularly nice person and if she wasn't dying you wouldn't give a toss about her.'
'But she is dying, I'd be surprised if she doesn't die within the next few months.'
'Everybody dies Paramour.' I replied, 'Just not quite so publicly.'
'Still, I just feel a bit sorry for her.'

And then we went back to watching Let The Right One In.

But truthfully I do find myself thinking about reality television überstar Jade Goody this morning. How can I not think about her, she's everywhere. I see her swollen tearful face staring out from every magazine cover on the supermarket shelves. The wenches in the shop were all yapping about her when I went to get the milk. Someone was waffling about her in the gym yesterday, actually wondering ALOUD if she'd lost a lot of weight due to her cancer and what size dress she'd wear now ( oh women, we are quite hard nosed when we want to be, perhaps someone can market this? Cancerslim! The new weight loss product, yours for 65.99 per week, CancerSLIM!)
She's all over the press, I know more about her cancer- its retractions, its spread, its development- than I do about ANYTHING on my own body. People talk of her dignity, how she's doing right by her boys, her upcoming marriage to 'Jack' the lovable jailbird scamp currently wheeling her about. ( GET A PRE-NUP). She's all over our tellies, crying, being brave, crying, being brave, crying. I mean, it's all Jade, all tears, all the time!
Reality television is a weird planet. It takes a hodge podge of folk and shovels them into 'realityville' before our eyes for our perusal. It's almost like pantomine in a way.
Of course reality television is not reality, we are shown heavily edited snippets, our approval and disapproval hinges on our being shown the good and the bad and the down right ugly. Boo hiss, we might think when a loud mouth gobber calls a beautiful Bollywood star Shilpa Poppudom, yay hurrah, when tearfully remorseful the teary gobber says 'sorry, I'm an ignorant half wit, but my mum is a one-armed lesbian.' Getting Lipo? Live on air? Hmm, boo, no wait, hurrah, cry first though would you dear? Oh PLASTIC SURGERY? Yay, I mean boo, cry for me would you dear? That's it, mmmsalty. Wot? You woz abused? YAYY! Here, my heart string, pluck it for me.
It's a mendacious manipulation of emotions and subjects. And surely the apogee of reality television is about to be scaled. The death of its überstar. I mean publicist Max Clifford will milk this one for every tearful cent there is to be squeezed from the teat of viewerdom. The golden goose is dying of a protracted disease after all, excellently for him it appears to be fatal, long enough to require our commitment to viewing Jade's tragedy, short enough that we won't tire of her death rattle. I mean it's the fucking holy grail of reality death.
So roll up rollup, get your viewing cards ready, unfurl the tissues of weepingdom. Brave Jade will marry her sprat Jack, she will kiss her two boys, there will be tears, tenderness, a spread in OK Magazine! We will share her joy of wifelyness even as we admire the bony shoudlers of her cancerliness. We will talk and witter and ponder. We will be entertained. Jade will entertain us. Right up until she draws her last camera ready breath.

Tears for the rapist.

2009-02-17T08:42:00.004Z

Power put his two hands around her neck and she managed to scrape his face before he pulled down her clothes and raped her. She said her head was down between the toilet and cubicle and she felt pain as he raped her again.

The victim told Mr Justice Carney the rape had affected her as "a woman, girlfriend, daughter, sister, friend, work colleague and human being".

I was standing in the kitchen this morning with a cup of coffee listening in amazed disbelief to the mother of convicted rapist David Power as she wept over the lack of help her son received before he raped his last victim.
Power, who savagely attacked two other women before, was abused as a child she said, his sentence was too severe, she said, 'he had been failed by the system', she said.
Poor thing, my heart bleeds for him. I mean it's so obvious that he's a victim here, his pain drove him to hunt down, beat, choke and terrify women before raping them. His inner agony caused him to brutalise and rip apart lives.
Naturally he is now appealing the severity of his sentence, for nothing says remorse more than looking for a lighter sentence.
"He pleaded guilty to the rape, which took place on January 28, 2007. He had consumed 15 pints of stout, six shots of Aftershock and a "cocktail of ecstasy and speed"."
A few minutes after his mother was dribbling snot down the phone line a friend of his last victim texted the show, critical of Newstalk for giving her the interview.
If that was my daughter attacked in a bathroom of a fast food outlet I'd be pretty fucking angry too, as a woman it angers me to hear another woman pleading for understanding for a serial rapist. Everyone has a mother, being a mother does not allow you to excuse abhorrent behaviour nor seek excuses for it. Being abused does not excuse savage monstrous behaviour, being male or female does not excuse it. Being a risk to the public- that would be me and you- should mean you need to be locked away. He's been jailed twice, he raped again. Why should the public take the chance that he won't do it again? All evidence points to the contrary.
Tears are wasted on this man, but sympathy for his victims is not. This man does not deserve a fourth chance to rape again.

Roll that Spliff and burn that Dosh.

2009-02-16T10:41:00.005Z

"Cannabis is a destructive drug. What can start as a few giggles and being part of the crowd can have serious and long-term health problems," she said. "Young people need to know cannabis isn't a soft drug."

Interesting to see out neighbours are spending 2.2 million on a new advertising campaign warning teenager on the 'dangers' of smoking cannabis. And by interesting I mean completely not interesting at all. They might as well collect that money and burn it for all the good it's going to do.
Since I am a non smoker I'm probably not overly qualified to make pronouncements on weed puffers, but my experience of folk who smoke- and that is legion- suggests to me that your average smoker is no nuttier, more violent, less functional, more insular or indeed any different than me and thee. Most smokers I know, roll the odd joint and relax, much like I'd pour a glass of Bordeaux.
Furthermore, I doubt adverts make any difference. Certainly ads like Diageo's 'drink sensibly' don't make the slightest bit of difference to me. I'll drink how I like thanks, sensibly sometimes, rather stupidly on other occasions. I can't imagine smokers are going to feel any differently.
I wonder how much money is spent on the 'war on drugs'. I wonder how better used that money could be? It's all seems rather pointless to me. But then it's Monday and I am a grump and frankly a bit down in the dumps.

Cats and carpets.

2009-02-15T11:19:00.003Z

I like cats, I do, I have three of them so I must. But every so often this responsible pet owner feels like throttling her charges.
The Marklar, for no apparent reason, decided to pee on the large deep pile rug in the living room. said rug is now outside while I work out the best way to clean it and ensure the fragrant stench of cat wee is removed. For if not removed fully it's like an open invitation to reuse it as a bathroom.
Where is the Marklar now?
Sunning himself down the bottom of the garden, without a care in his one eyed bonce. Bah, a fine start to my Sunday.

Happy Valentine's day to you.

2009-02-14T10:15:00.005Z

14th innit? You're all fighting your way free from roses and chocolates and cards and teddy bears clutching sateen hearts. I know, I know, of course you are.
And how am I going to romantify my Satdee? Why I'm going into town with the paramour to buy football boots. Ah yes, nothing signifies deep and abiding love more than shopping for football boots, why it's enough make a gal weak at the knees.
I've been dithering about this year on what challenge to set myself. I know I can run a marathon, I'm in the process of learning another lanuage. Oui, une autre langue, la langue de l'amour. My accent is pure Pepe le Pew, my hands do most of the talking for me. Bon, it is how it should be, just like my street Spanish-everything in the present tense, much snorting and looking offended. (The Catalans treat me as one of their own such is my gruff haughty delivery in Spanish, yes they hates it and love to hear it mangled. Bon dia!)
But in terms of goals, well I needz them. I am too old and too lazy not to need competition. Fortunately I am quite happy to compete against myself in my own head. Ah yes, a gift no doubt inherited from The Lilac One. Once we decide something, it is so. It's like clapping our hand and wriggling our noses at it.
So this year I have decided to devote myself- as I said to Finn- to the art of getting really bloody strong, and running slightly faster, possibly by cursing in French too.
To wit.

I FatMammyCat, gym goer and high heel wearer, do somewhat solemnly swear to attempt to master the following over the course of this year. 2009.

A dead lift at 100k ( that's kilos none of your sissy pounds malarky)
A bench press at 50 k
To squat 70k
To Push Press 40k
To Military press 30k
to perform one set of over head squats carrying 30k with falling over backward or forward.
To perform 10 ( count 'em) Dead hang pull ups, no kipping, no swinging of any sort.
To row 5k in 20 mins.
To run 10k in 50 minutes.

And that is this year's goal. Probably does not look like much, but it is plenty for me to be getting on with. For example, I currently cannot do ONE dead hang pull up. Not even one. Neither can I run 5k in under 25 minutes, let alone 10 in 50. I came in at 27:20 the other day and thought I was going to vomit getting off the blasted treadmill. No really. But I'll give it a bash. I can row 1k in 4:20, so that needs ample work too. The rest is pure graft and good form. I have good form-I am loath to get any kind of injury and you can minimise that by getting form right. The only one I'm really looking forward to is hitting the 100k on the deadlift. I can already lift 82.5k see, so 100k doesn't really REALLY seem that daunting.I don't need these hands, right?
Hurrah for challenges! It makes getting dressed and leaving your desk more entertaining.
Bring on the DOMS!

Children having children

2009-02-13T14:04:00.002Z

I believe I am very much against it.
The rest of the article is here, but basically this 13 year old boy and his 15 year old girfriend have welcomed their new baby into the world. The next big problem facing them is how to raise the child on Dad's 10 pound a week pocket money.
Seriously.

Bleeeeeee!

2009-02-13T13:16:00.003Z

Lee Redmond's nails hadn't been cut since 1979. But she lost them Tuesday in a SUV crash, she survived with out serious injury

"The Salt Lake City, Utah resident was listed in the Guinness Book of World Records, which claimed her nails measured a total of more than 28 feet long in 2008."

The longest nail - on her right thumb - was a sickening 2 feet, 11 inches.

In an interview in 1995, Redmond, 68, said she once turned down $10,000 to trim her nails on Japanese TV.

Salt Lake County Sheriff's Lt. Don Hutson says Redmond was ejected from an SUV in the crash and taken to the hospital in serious condition.

Redmond has been featured on TV in episodes of 'Guinness Book of World Records' and 'Ripley's Believe It or Not.'"

( daily wail)

Seriously, bleee, how did she cook? How did she eat? How did she wipe her bum? Zip up her pants, take her make up off. How How WHY? WHY?
After the sad and tragic loss of Ted earlier in the week, articles like this certainly put things into perspective. I must go now and do the dance of yackiness.

Ginger Day Dancing.

2009-02-13T10:08:00.003Z

Top of Ginger Day to you. I am delighted to discover on the interweb, 'angry dancing'.
I love the idea of having a dance to express how you feel, although not interpretive dance or any of that bollocks- 'Quick Charmaine, you are a tree, a tree on a moor, and there's lightening, and fog, and howling wee beasties! Now Dance it. DANCE IT LIKE YOU"VE NEVER DANCED IT BEFORE!" ( I was in drama school, I know this sort of thing, I did mime for chrissake. MIME!)
I already have a 'spoiled brat' dance, where I do skippity hops in a tight circle when ever I don't get my own way. This is a left over move from my much ignrored younger self, where twirling twirling always twirling was the only way a cat could stop herself from poisoning her assembled female family members. Verily there is a lot to be said for twirling.
I also have a very fine dance for when the phone rings too often in the house, sometimes that dance ends with the phone sailing in a magical arc to the bottom of the garden. True story- the phone has been chucked out the back door so many times now it doesn't really work any longer, leaving the paramour to frown and say things like, 'These portable phones are really rubbish, how many is this we've had?'
'Dunno lovely person' I will say, twirling from the room. ( Avoidance dancing)
Phones! Highly over rated tools. Dances for emotions, highly thumbed up this fine SPRING like morning.

Mobile minivan of bee-bees!

2009-02-12T14:34:00.003Z

No really, I know, I know, I'm a woman, I get it, I do I swear, life, birth, beautiful, mystery of life, beautiful, natural, yep yep, all of that...
And yet when I looked at the photo of Nadya Suleman, taken a scant 8 days before she popped out 8 babies, I'm convinced I could actually feel my hymen re-growing. Either that or it was my womb pulling down its shutters and loading the double guage.
I'm going to the gym.

Murder, how shocking.

2009-02-12T10:31:00.005Z

"McGovern told gardai that he was shocked that he had pulled a knife on somebody and had only taken out the knife to scare Michael Doherty and didn't mean to make contact."
Yep, shocked. That's the line that struck me the most in this case.

Forethought and malice are factors to murder and murder is often defined as "to kill intentionally and with premeditation"
So, bearing that in mind, how is it even possible that John McGovern was able to skate on a manslaughter charge? Because he says he was 'shocked' to find a knife in his hand? 'Shocked' he swung it and stabbed his victim? 'Shocked' he gloated over his victim's death later? Lucky he wasn't carrying a samurai sword eh? Then he'd be super shocked, and probably in big trouble to boot.
John McGovern insulted his victim, goaded him into fight, then when bested in the fight by Michael Doherty, a young man no stranger to boxing, he pulled a knife on him and despite being held back he managed to land a fatal blow, killing the 14 year old.
Must have been the most shocking night of his life.
How is that not murder? No really, what did he think might happen when he struck the boy with a dangerous weapon?
'He was a knacker, he deserved it.'
Wow, I wonder was he in 'shock' when he said that?
"Mr Gageby said that there was no intent by McGovern to kill or even cause serious harm when he swung out with the knife."

Hard to prove intent- I get it. So what was the intention of this youth? He starts a fight with a 'knacker', is furious to shown up by a younger boy and then -despite being held back- manages to kill him using an offensive weapon. What was his intention I wonder?
I'm guessing it the outcome wasn't too far off what he had in mind, but then I'm not the law and I obviously don't understand 'shock' as well as some. See, in my stupid head I reckon any hot head pulling a knife has to factor in the likelihood of fatality, but there you go. I'm silly like that.

I Hate PETA, part...erm, one hundred and eleventy-three?

2009-02-11T14:11:00.004Z

I hate PETA. I hate them with the strength of at least eight kittens. They are disgusting a manipulative sexist pet-killing bunch of assholes of the highest order.
They equate feeding your child meat with child abuse. Wearing fur/leather/ suede with barbaric cruelty, owning a pet with slavery, buying a puppy with killing a shelter dog, and not being a naked slender photoshopped woman with...well something or other.
So bearing this in mind even I was mildly surprised to see them equating The American Kennel Club with the KKK, you know, that band of merry god fearing Christians who liked to oppress African Americans, women, gays, liberals, jews, and oh you know, everyone who wasn't an Oppressive White Christian Male (OWCM)>
See, dog breeders are = or > than OWCM or KKK.
Got that? Good.
Now excuse me while I carry on hating them for being a thoughtless bunch of pet killing jerks.

Disgusting things on a pefectly mild Wednesday.

2009-02-11T10:15:00.003Z

Morning Pork Chops. I slept it in and have yet to peruse the papers. Frankly I'm not sure I want to read the papers today, I'm sure they will be filled with annoyances and irritations and sad things and since my day has started with maximum snorage I really don't want to feck it up. Ignorance is bliss and all that.
Plus I have my own worries.
Last night tragedy befell me. Tragedy that was LAUGHED at. I'm perplexed by it all.
I ran a marathon last October, same as the year before. And same as the year before I bruised my second toe-even though I very carefully clipped my nails short as hell the night before.
Last night I had a shower and was about to get into bed when I noticed second toe, or Ted* as I now call him, looked funny. Upon investigation I was horrified to discover my toe nail lifts up like the door of a DeLorean!
Bleeeugh! Four months? I thought I had gotten away with it, but NO! Four bloody months later it decides to squick me out.
I panicked, and in gibbering horror grabbed a plaster and wound it tightly around Ted, I know it's not going to magically fix it, but at least I can't see it. Although I know it's there, being disgusting and lifty.
'Boo hoo.' I said, flappingly.
The paramour laughed and said REALLY useful things like,'Honey it's just a nail, why are you getting so upset over it, ha ha ha.'
To which I could only reply, 'Stop laughing at me. I have a trauma.'
And this for some readon struck him as very funny, and he tittered some more, leading me to plot how best to have my revenge. So far I have come up with pushing him down a flight of stairs. Yes, that's how I roll in my head.
I have a thing about this sort of thing, double things. Teeth and nails, I don't like them. Well I don't mind them, but only as long as they work perfectly and I don't have to think about them. Now I have to think about this. How will I shower in the gym? I can feel it moving. It knows I'm thinking about it. It's going to have to come off isn't it? But how? Will I have to pull it? I'll squeee myself to death if I do. And then waht? What lies beneath? Oh yack, YACK! This is right up there with things I never want to think about EVER.
Stupid bits hanging off that should be not hanging off, I am against them.

* swings both ways.

Eluana Englaro has died.

2009-02-10T09:47:00.005Z

I've been following the story of this poor woman, and her father's struggle to let his daughter die in peace for a while now. My interest in her was ratcheted up to the nth degree by that disgusting base foul Silvio Berlusconi's comments earlier in the week.
The Italian prime minister- after consultation with the Vatican- issued an emergency decree stating that food and water couldn't be suspended for any patient depending upon them, reversing an earlier court ruling. On issuing the emergency decree, Berlusconi declared: "This is murder. I would be failing to rescue her. I'm not a Pontius Pilate."

"Justifying his campaign to save Englaro's life, the prime minister added that, physically at least, she was "in the condition to have babies", a remark described by La Stampa newspaper as "shocking"."

Honestly, what a fucking cruel joke, 'in the condition to have babies.' How? How? By raping her? By impregnating her body when her mind is no longer available to give or refuse consent. What a disgusting clown that man is. Women are just baby making vessels to him. Alive or not, cognisant or not.
How can anyone look at this poor woman and her family and not see it as anything but a mercy to let her die. How can it be turned into a political circus?

The Vatican's "health minister", Cardinal Javier Lozano Barragán, expressed the hope that "The Lord would receive her and pardon whoever has brought her to this point." The Roman Catholic hierarchy has vigorously backed the Berlusconi government's efforts to thwart what it claimed was an attempt to introduce euthanasia into Italy by the backdoor.

Revive her? If such a deity existed he had 17 years to revive her and didn't bother to do so. The woman was dead. She died in a car crash in 1992. Poor Beppino, her father, I hope he is allowed to grieve in peace.
And as for that cretin Berlusconi, may his balls wither and die on the vine long before his brain.

When A Man Hits a Woman.

2009-02-09T14:57:00.003Z

Ain't it funny, singer Chris Brown has a fight and hits his girlfriend, singer Rihanna-hard enough to leave her bruised according to reports- and one of the first comments I got to read was 'I wonder what she did to make him hit her?' Yep, chumlies, oh yep.

The Children Question.

2009-02-09T10:19:00.002Z

A comment in the Guardian had me laughing up a gale.

"In general, if, at a party someone asks me whether we have kids I say
"we can't have kids"
If they press further I tell them that it is because
"we both hate kids"

I do like a well thought out argument.

The lilac one says, 'I like children, but I couldn't eat a whole one.' She's lying of course, twice.

Homeopathy, how to charge people for water and smile.

2009-02-07T10:38:00.003Z

Wow, just wow. I'm nicking this from PZ because it froze the damn smile on my face this morning and now I have to go shopping for a dress with CG and I won't be able to smile while doing it. Imagine being a poor sick person waiting for help and having a fucking quack turn up and peddle woo at you. What's next, magicians without borders? Psychics without borders?
As they say on southpark, YOU BASTARDS!.

Shirley Manson is expertly cast AND a ginger.

2009-02-06T13:44:00.003Z

Whilst devouring a ginger fruit pastille last night mid Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, it occurred to me that Shirley Manson is not a truly appalling actress with about as much flare as my nostril and as much range as an anvil, no no, I was looking at it all wrong. She is in fact rather brilliantly cast as an emotionless stiff robot wth a Scottish accent send from the future. Fair play to ya Shirley, I thought, selecting a green fruit pastille next, you have restored my faith in ginger. Just goes to show there's a place for all of us out there if you just look at shit the right way.

Knife Wars and government powers.

2009-02-06T09:58:00.006Z

Statistics released yesterday also show possession-of-knife offences jumped by a third between 2006 and 2008. Other startling figures included:

A third of knife crimes happen in public areas and over a quarter happen in the home.

More than one in six knife crimes occur in shops.

Nine out of 10 knife crime offenders are male and seven out of 10 knife victims are male.

Three out of 10 knife crime offenders are under 20 and one in seven victims are under 20.

Launching the campaign, How Big Do You Feel?, Garda Commissioner Fachtna Murphy said it was particularly aimed at young people.

That was from the Examiner.

It was with rolled eyes and a sneery tilt I see Dermot Ahern has decided to ban Samurai swords from being bought or imported into the country. Coz you know how folk are always getting attacked with swords, right?
This is not unlike the restricted dog act, knee jerk policy acted on with disturbing haste, mild mannered Germans shepherds, Staffies and Dobermans and Akitas all tarred with the one ignorant brush and now Samurai Swords. Dangerous you see.
Frankly- as I look out across my frozen garden this morning- I'm surprised the government hasn't considered banning ice. Dangerous you see. Or cars, dangerous you see. Or large televisions, I believe more than one child has been killed by them falling this year, dangerous you see. Are they next? Oh say it ain;'t so, the Paramour will be heartbroken.
Year after year after year after year more stupid things are being banned in this country and more iffy powers introduced. The Gardai can search you without a warrant now? Will they be able to come into your home next without one? How about schools? How about we just commit ourselves fully to a government run island where we can told what to wear, what to think, what to do and what to feel. Anyone objecting can be chased by a large white ball down a hill.
The bill will also ban the sale and importation of swords, particularly samurai swords, which have been used in a number of attacks. Mr Ahern said while homicides involving knives doubled from 18 in 2006 to 37 in 2007, they fell to 15 in 2008.
Yes fucking samurai swords are dangerous, but only in the wrong hands. Most Samurai swords I know of are gathering dust criss-crossed on people's living room walls. Why shouldn't they have them? Why not ban Stanley blades while we're at it. I know they're normally used as tools for cutting shit, but hey, they've been used in attacks- probably in way more attacks than swords, I'd like to see the figures on that. Ornaments, bad, tools good? You can be killed by both so where is the logic?
This is claptrap of the highest order. Most stabbings in THIS country are carried out by very ordinary kitchen knives in the hands of very ordinary idiots, usually with too much drink on board ( hey! Lets ban that too dangerous you see). Are we going to ban kitchen knives? There are several knives in my kitchen that could take your bloomin' head off, will I expect the gardai to come a knocking some time soon?
Of course with congestion charges coming and the government cracking down on 'non essential traffic'( who gets to decide what is essential and non essential, why the government) we the plebs will not be concerned with swords and searches, oh no, but we should be, because once again one more pointless rule has been forced upon us and we're just supposed to sit there and be grateful that our betters know what's good for us.
Bollocks.
Enforced stupidity, I am against it.

Stupid Weather.

2009-02-05T18:13:00.003Z

I walked to the gym, it was snowing up a storm and I didn't want to take the car in case of more snow and drifts and the need for huskies.
Went in, worked out, decided arms are done for. Raced a 4:28 k on the rower after a 2k warm up. Did I mention I pulled a set of deadlifts at 82.5k yesterday? No? How unusually unboastful of me. ANYHOO after some rather pathetic push presses I gave up trying to kill myself and headed to the changing rooms, the weather forecast on the radio was snow and more snow. I beamed.
Feeling hot feeling good how are you?
After a long shower I dressed pulled my hat real low, do I look like a mind-reader sir? I don't know, put on my music, Threats, The Black Album, har de har.
Went outside and...
Where's the farking snow gone?
Sludged home, defeated and soggy.
This country gives me smegma rot.

Let's get Physical, And Pray, Not Weigh!

2009-02-05T11:28:00.005Z

God bless Kim Ayers for opening mine filthy eyes up to new and wondrous possibilities! I mean a gal can go through life just blinkered yanno?
I thought I had the woo down. I thought my natural eyebrow arching was done diddly done. Pfft to reiki ( spit spit) point accusingly, nay mockingly, at psychics, snorteth with gay abandon at starvation diets like Lipotrim and assorted mumbo jumbo that people like to spend money on.
But what if there's a way to dance with the woo and keep a firm hold on your wallet AND lose weight at the same time? What then?
Pray away the fat or as Kim nicely titled it, Love God More Than your Stomach!

"You can live within normal and healthy weight limits if only you love God more than you love your stomach. Right now you use food to numb your emotional distress, and you fear that without using food as a psychological defense your life will be nothing but empty pain.

Therefore, to overcome the habit of constantly reaching for something to fill your stomach, endeavor to teach yourself to act in new ways. Recognize the urge to use food as a way to numb emotional pain, and then return food to its proper place in your life: not as a psychological defense but as a holy gift of nutrition. This takes considerable conscious effort—still, it is all possible through graceful trust in God’s help and protection."

Well blow me, the holy gift of nutrition is being abused. And if I'm reading it all correctly-and I hope that I am- lying fat women with daddy issues need only to turn to an invisible sky Daddy and admit to being sinful BEFORE a big meal and lo, their self worth will magically appear and a gentle and guiding hand will make her put down the cookie of Satan and lift the rice cake of Christ! Huzzah, we's saved. SAVED!

Get thee into the bathroom wretches! Stand upon the judgement dais of the lord. Pray wishfully as the poundage of salvation climbs ever higher. Repent, repent if thy BMI be high, or your fat doth jiggle, know ye that ye have cocked a snoop at the judgey sky lord and despite your best efforts he is frowning at you and talking about you behind your back to skinny minny Jesus.
For it is written, Invisible sky gods are really mean like that.

Cats and Dogs, Men and Woman.

2009-02-04T10:18:00.011Z

Being a woman and a feminist ( ow, paws on mouth, she said what now?) it is assumed I like cats. Actually being a cat owner it is assumed I like cats, (I do). But did you know a person can like cats AND dogs!! I know, it's CLEARLY a fiercesome lie.
Oh yes I do. It's a right strange one is it not. Some feminists actually like cats and dogs, and think that liking both is rather easy and not a terrible chore, and they can even cheerfully recognise that cats and dogs have subtle and unsubtle differences. Raised right, cats and dogs often get along really really well with each other. No I SWEAR, it's totally true!
But first, let me roll out some cliches for you.
Cats- aloof, unfriendly, only in it for the food, aloof, they'd eat you if you died, aloof.
Dogs- loyal, friendly, don't care if you feed them or not, friendly, won't eat you if you die, friendly.
Got that? Dogs, friendly, loyal (and men like them).
Cats, aloof, will eat you the moment your dead back is turned, (women like them).
Now I know readers to MY blog are too smart to fall for this blatant fuckwittery, but over the rest of the blogosphere the peoples, well dey be less than enlightened.
Do we really need to attribute human personalities and quirks and sexist overtones to the animal world in order to disparage each other. Can't a dog be aloof and a bit of a bollocks? What the hell does the Dog Whisperer do all the time if not try to unbollox dogs who are vicious and mean and actually 'misunderstood.' Are all dogs affable fools who'll just love you if you just feed them and rub their bellies and let them play with balls every so often. Er, no. So are all men affable fools who....well you see where I"m going with this.
I can't remember ever being chased by a pack of territorial cats.
Are cats aloof? They can be, they're small animals so need to be on the look out for trouble. Are ALL cats aloof? Nope. Are they really plotting your demise while shedding hair all over the couch you worked so fucking hard to pay for? Will they be out on the tiles the moment you're back is turned? Maybe. So will all women eat you the moment you turn your back? Er, nope.
Know why?
Because we're not fucking cats and dogs, and cats and dogs are not folk.
We are all individuals! YES! WE ARE ALL INDIVIDUALS. (He's not the Messiah, he's a very naughty boy.)
Anyone who wants to take the time to read between the lines on this one should open a Twix first.
In the mean time I'm off to gym where I will arch my back pleasingly and scratch some one's eyes out if they so much as wag their tail at me. Cause oh yeah, that's what mean aloof cats do to affable loyal kind hearted dogs.

Smugglers coos.

2009-02-03T15:59:00.003Z

Now, there are some people who panic when faced with flappy boids like pigeons. I'm not one of them. I like boids. But some people are REALLY fond of them it seems.

This hairy lumox was caught smuggling two pigeons into Australia.

"The 23-year-old man ( australian), who had come off a ten-hour flight from Dubai, was also allegedly carrying plant seeds in a money belt, two bird eggs in a vitamin container in his pocket, and eggplant samples in his bag when he was stopped at Sydney airport."
( Mirror)

Seriously. Some folk.

People are stupid when they drive.

2009-02-03T09:20:00.005Z

Holy crap some people ought not to be let behind the wheel of a car. I had to drop Puddy at the vets for her ear cleaning earlier, a journey of less than five miles. And as I returned home it occurred to me that there are a few things which should be pretty obvious to most drivers.
If weather conditions are poor, fog, swirling snow/sleet, that sort of thing, put your bloody lights on.
If the ENTIRE windscreen of your car is covered in snow take it off before you drive. Do not put your hazards on and do it just before you enter a round about, you absolute idiot.
Slush can be slippy, drive slower.
Slush can spray small school kids if you drive through it quickly, don't be a prick.
Your journey is probably going to take longer in bad weather, leave earlier and be prepared to drive slower.
Don't fucking text while driving. Especially -ESPECIALLY -while driving on a busy road in poor weather conditions.
No, you don't have x-ray vision, clear the snow from your mirrors and windows.
DRIVE SLOWER.

Idiots.

Michael Phelps and the Bong.

2009-02-02T13:30:00.002Z

Having 8 gold Olympic medals is no protection from cameras. I don't know, he's apologised, he's 23, who amongst us hasn't done something stupid at 23. Indeed 33, and I suspect many other 3 variables. Can't imagine it's good for a swimmer though.

Snow and Ray La Montagne? Squeee!

2009-02-02T08:33:00.004Z

Hurrah, we have snow! The cats are befuddled, especially the Marklar, the little one eyed dweeb.
Saw Ray La Montagne last night, how can such a teeny tiny man have such a voice? The paramour sold his extra ticket at face value to two delighted charming girls, after poo pooing a tout's ridiculous offer to buy it for less than half its worth, then the tout tried to flog tickets to the girls. Pah, foolish touts! Then more touts came and we fled before they touted us to smithereens. The concert was magical, then we had kebabs, which were utterly disgusting and utterly delicious at the same time and now we have snow.
Gee, some days are just too freaking excellent for words.

Mena Bean Ui Chribin comes out swinging.

2009-01-31T10:03:00.004Z

The elderly post mistress named int the Roscommon abuse case has come from her cornor swinging.
Observe, from the Indo.
"Yesterday, in a statement issued to the Irish Independent, Mena Bean Ui Chribin (81) said the State should not seek "to scapegoat" a private citizen to "deflect blame" in the case. "I did not provide any financial assistance whatsoever to pursue or maintain any legal action in this case.

"Any help I provided at the time to the family involved was given in good faith. I am since shocked to learn of the revelations that have unfolded," she added.

The postmistress also criticised the authorities in her statement.

"I believe that the State authorities must address their shortcomings in this matter and not seek to scapegoat a private citizen in order to deflect blame. In this regard, I am seeking legal advice and I will consider pursuing any or all legal avenues open to me. I will not be making any further statements on this matter."

Ms Bean Ui Chribin, who is involved with religious group Ograchas Naomh Papain in Santry in Dublin, had told health officials that the Roscommon mother needed support and not intrusive action."

Now I don't like the whiff of this old Biddy nor her organisation, but she has a point to a certain degree. This being Ireland, any conflation with the words Catholic and child abuse immediately gets our backs up. Mena, sticking her oar in where it shouldn't have been makes her a convenient pole for our angry lightening strikes.
The real culprit here is the health board who left those children in a morally bankrupt home, where they suffered year after year after year until finally one child, driven to God knows what kind of despair, made another serious claim that could not be ignored, and then the wheels of 'support' began to slowly grind again.
No, it would be very easy to lay the blame on a dislikable woman, but that would be wrong, a distraction, a smoke screen. Like the wizard of Oz the Witch is easy to deal with, the real monster is still behind the screens.

How Many Eggs is too Many eggs?

2009-01-30T10:08:00.006Z

I've just had button mushrooms and a three egg/one yoke omelette. Side by side of course, not mixed. Etheline informs me that I eat too many eggs, ( roughly about 12 a week, but usually sans yoke) but I think that's hooey. Yesterday I had 30 grammes of porridge and skimmed milk ( yes, I weigh it, I am that sad), so it's not like I eat them every day.
Really, food should not be a complicated business.
But how many eggs is too many eggs and is that annoying harpy correct?

Dear Gene Simmons, or Dude from KISS.

2009-01-30T08:40:00.002Z

Unless you want me to come over there rip that weird lizardy toungue clean out by the roots and ram it up your jacksy, you'd better stop FLIRTING WITH MY CARROT TOP!
Love and peculiar rock signs
FMC
XX

Ted Haggard, Not Totally gay, but Totally in Denial.

2009-01-29T09:10:00.009Z

Oh Ted, Teddy, Teddington, the more you skippity hop the more your Flatley like flailing amuses me.
Ted Haggard, as many of you may remember was the fire and brimstone preacher that once told Richard Dawkins to get thee behind me Satan, or words perhaps not quite as close to that effect.
Ted was a preacher, a fire and brimstone preacher, a family man, a god fearing man, with a phone line to the president of the united States and a mystical line linking him direct to the Lawd-ah!
Ted was popular, oh Lawdy yes he was! He could sell out large arenas with his stage shows, pacing the stages like a heavenly hyena. Ted was magical, he was God's Showman. He lifted his congregations to dizzying heights, feeding the religious fervour with raging sermons, condemning the SINFUL behaviour of people, casting dow-win those who rejected the lawd and his teachings. Ol' Ted was a preacher of the old skool, a man's man, rightful leader, head of his household by gum, a spiritual maverick with one hand on the bible the other...well actually the other playing reach around with a male hustler and a meth vial.
Now I know-ah what you're thinking. Wait, wait, where does the meth vile and the hustler come into the lawd's mighty works. Search me, but then I never did claim to understand the workings of the truly devout.
Old Teddington when caught out, did his godly best to explain himself-ah, first he lied. Then he lied some more ( it appears to be the way to go about this kind of stuff) Then he admitted he had 'fallen' (presumably onto the chap's winkle) and then before you can say 'repent' he was whisked away by some other preacherly dudes with dollar signs fading from the eyes and Christian forgiveness clogging up their sinuses.
They were gonna fix Ted, Lawd willin'. Fix him up and get that money making machine back on the road again.
But there are somethings that just can't be fixed. A love of cock seems to be one of those things outside the remit of most fixers ( I completely understand, Teddy).
Old Ted, feeling a bit miffed by the sudden parting of the sea of allies, tried various way to secure forgiveness understanding and funds from his clique, but holy cliques are god fearing righteous types and they won't turn the other cheek if they think you're admiring it.
Behold then, for what is the fallen arc-preacher to do?
Old Ted wandered into the wilderness of non public appearances. Lo he did cast about, battling invisible foes and Son of the Morning like urges and people who didn't really want to buy insurance from him. Ted struggled, LAWD did he struggle. Was he a sodomite? True he liked get jiggy with other men, but surely that does not a sodomite make?
Ted donned sack cloth and ashes, albeit well cut Italian sack cloth and the ash blended fantastically with his newly styled hair cut Andre the hairdresser convinced him to try out, the bouffant was so aging.
He tried to get jiggy with only his wife, he tried to council other dudes to avoid feelings of lust and unbridled sweaty oily rampant sex- if he could avoid it with his wife he could avoid it anywhere, right? And if he could avoid it so could they. And if they couldn't avoid it they ought to see him after and try some cuddle therapy, oh yes, that ought to be the next port of call.
And so it came to pass, Ted, the Lawd's number one spokesman did see the error of his ways. It was a road to demascus type bitch slap that forced his hand. Ted saw the light, he saw that the light was good, he saw that he had been worshiping the wrong lawd all along. Why of course he was going through rough times, of course he was misunderstood, of course he liked Will and Grace. He was...he was...
HE WAS HETROSEXUAL WITH HOMOSEXUAL ATTACHMENTS!!
Suddenly the gilded gates opened and a choir of heavenly European drag queens did sing.
He had purpose again, fire in his belly and balls of steel. Fie upon his folly, a pox upon false gods. He did see the light! He did see it glow. What a fool he had been, why had knowledge forsaken him so long, why had be been so forsooked? There could be only one, for was it not written, 'I am the lord thy god, let there be no god before me.'
And lo Teddy did rent his ash cloth and turn his u-haul round. He put the pedal to the metal and as each mile passed beneath his fiery wheels, his heart, once so heavy and drab, sparkled and shone with love and serenity.
"Oh Lawd, I was lost, but now I am found.' Ted shrieked, tearing into the television studio car park on two wheels, the light of life keeping the uhaul on the road behind him. 'Your prodigal son has returned, the sheep has found his way back to the flock! Rejoice, Rejoice!'
And the mighty studio doors did swing open and a chorus of make up artists and sound people did bow as the one true god stepped forth from the shadows.
'My son, happy is the day you made this choice.'
'God, forgive me, I should have seen it sooner, but I was blind, too blind to see.'
A hush fell over the assembled mortals.
'Ted Teddington,' The god said, 'Yay though you have wondered far in valley of the shadows of Utah, no evil have you felt, for with your rod and my staff we are one again.'
And Teddy did weep, and Chrissy the sound engineer fell backwards in a dead faint.
God clapped. 'Now, slaughter the fattened calf!'
There was an awkward silence.
Bowing and scraping, a minion crept forwards. 'And for everyone else, your Godliness?
'Oh right, they gotta eat too, finger food and teeny tiny sammichs.'
And so the minions did scatter and Ted Teddington, with his homosexual attachments and new haircut did rise once more to sit at the right hand side of Her most highest of Hosts,
Oprah

Fat, Fit, BMI, Folly, Guesswork, Smoking, Weightloss.

2009-01-28T10:27:00.003Z

Better than BMI, not nearly as good as not smoking-->

I have long poo pooed BMI ( Body Mass Index) readings as anything more than guesswork. It's a 'guideline' I suppose, but hardly a good one. Most of the bigger dudes in my gym would be classified as having a high BMI, yet none of them are carrying any excess unhealthy weight. A pound of muscle weighs exactly the same as a pound of fat, so you cannot rely on scales to work out fat in a body.
Healthy and weight don't always go hand in hand. Some of the runners I know would be told to eat more if judged on BMI alone, yet their streamlined shapes are exactly what is required for their sport and none of them strike me as unhealthy either.
I know some folk that work in fashion and have delightfully low BMIs, hurrah! Of crouse they only eat cigarettes and only drink coffee and nibble on sushi if they feel faint headed. Healthy, nope, but look look, their BMI is so rosy!
BMI takes nothing into account other than height to weight ratio, and the margins are pretty vague too, there can be as much as twenty pounds or as little as one pound difference between 'frowned upon BMI' or 'Thumbs up BMI'. What a load of hooey.
Short of getting immersed in water and callipered to within an inch of your life, the average person can quite clearly see if they're carrying too much weight by stripping off their clothes and standing in front of a full length mirror in good natural light- I do however like the shape chart as a guide. This looks to me to be far more accurate than BMI, even though it's hardly completely sound either.
I'm wittering on about this because I had to waste twenty minutes this morning talking about BMI with someone obsessed with it( due in no small part to their doctor's rather outdated views)
This person has given up smoking of late and has put on a few pounds ( it's not Gimmie, he's svelte as a greyhound) This has led the doc to witter on about BMI and unhealthiness. I suggested the fact that they no longer smoke thirty fags a day surely had added IMMENSELY to their health, and that pounds gained can be removed as he gets fitter and fitter. I said one can get fitter much easier when one is not fucking up one's lungs with the millions of poisonous chemicals.
But no, all of this fell on deaf ears, it was the sodding BMI that was all important.
BMI, I find I am against it this morning.

The Father Question. Roscommon Abuse Case.

2009-01-27T10:10:00.005Z

I wondered what was the situation with the father (or fathers) of those poor children so horribly abused in Roscommon. I knew there had to be more to it than had been released. Twenty Major has a link and a post up that pretty much confirms my suspicions that what we know so far is only the very tip of the iceberg.
My god, what the hell were the HSC or WHB doing that they allowed this to go on for so long?

One thing. As Conan pointed out in Twenty's comments, this case is ongoing. Please be sensible if you feel the need to comment. Most of us don't know anything more except what is already in the public domain. That is upsetting enough, let us not add arms and legs to it.

Screw you Four Star Pizza!

2009-01-27T09:14:00.006Z

Damn you Four Star Pizza! You have made me agree with Tom Dunne, he of the nervous titter and torn coat.
Your spokesperson is a wally. Staying in is NOT the new going out, any more than standing up is the new sitting down. Saying so just makes you sound like a tool.
Stupid soundbits that make women agree with Doctor Hibbard like Radio presenters. I am AGAINST them.

Fear.

2009-01-27T07:53:00.004Z

Generally speaking I fear no man or woman. But this morning, as the grey clouds unleash one wave of rain after another on my office roof I find I am nervous, nervous as The Marklar when faced with a shoe he may or may not have walked past one million times before.
Why my anxiety? Because it is not yet gone eight am and already my friend has been on the phone, and YES she's running behind. I try to not panic. She's panicing, I'm going to avoid fight or flight. I can do this Melvin.
Yes, I know what shop she is talking about, yes I know the make up person, yes I WILL be finished my work in time to meet her, yes, I'm happy to trail about shops looking for the perfect dress to wear ( and I will be wearing it as will four others) No, I don't know where that shop is. No I've never head of such a thing. Er...no, I did not know that. Is peacock a colour? Who can say? I'm sorry I don't know the difference between those two materials? In a sash? Wait! There are sashs?? I haven't cut my hair, I swear! Ring who? Your sister? MY sister? Why would I ring her? Oh, which sister? Oh that sister. No I don't know where that is? Yes I live here. No yes, no, yes, no yes....argh.
The Tasmanian Dust Devil will be married this year and one way or another I refuse be the one who has the stroke. Refuse I'm telling you. I have until midday to ingest whatever it is that stops strokes and melt downs before the occur. Whatever that might be.

Dear Jessica Simpson

2009-01-26T13:47:00.002Z

Unless you are applying for the role of Dog The Bounty Hunter's next wife, this is probably not a good look to be sporting.
Yours, with namaste styled affections,
FMC

Guilty by Association.

2009-01-26T09:21:00.002Z

Up until a few weeks ago the only thing I knew about Tony Quinn was that he ran those expensive Educo Gyms and sold lots of powders in cans that have pictures of muscle folk on them.
But as woo would have it, he seems to have been popping up all over the place of late- even to the degree of having his very own an anti cult protest(!).
Anti cult eh? This of course sparked the eyebrow of cynical raising, the Fatcat sonar if you will.
It appears the dude or Guru Tony if you will, has been hosting extremely expensive seminars in exotic locations where clients can go along and work out how to unlock the secrets of their minds. For a not inconsiderable fee el Tone will 'splain to you why and how you need his guidance to make the most of your life. Once your inner something has been released or 'splained to you, you can then return home and use his teachings to guide you through the pitfalls of life the rest of us mere mortal must navigate Tonyless.

Quoth model mum and stylist and somebody I'd actually never heard of Lisa Fitzpatrick.
""I think it's a case of whatever works for you. Some people go to fortune tellers and if that works for them, I'm all for it.

"If someone wants to read into angels then let them on and if someone else gets help from Tony Quinn's seminars then it can only be doing good for them.

"I would never put down anything whether it's Reiki, massages, acupuncture or Tony Quinn's methods," she added.

And given that Lisa is about to launch her own Style and Body academy, she's all about building confidence from an early age."

Quite. Angels. Reiki. Fortune tellers. Oh my.

You can read the rest of Lisa's path to spiritual enlightenment here.

(I particularly liked how model mum Lisa can now talk freely to those pesky college educated weirdos, thank to Tony's motivational stewardship. Nothing says self help success more than being able to tolerate college folk.)

Anyhoo, never one to pass up a story, the venerable Sunday world did a look see on El Tone's unlocking ways. The story with photos can be read here.
You can read it yourself, it's quite entertaining.
Now it's hard to know what to say about this kind of thing. I'm am always reminded of Gamma's line about fools and their money whenever I run across the woo laden. And yes, my personal view is we're dealing with a sophisticated form of woo here. Energies? Auras? Hypnotism? Expensive retreats? But there again if people are willing and indeed eager to part with their hard earned cash and get a tan in the process, who am I to get sneery with it?
I remain HIGHLY sceptical though, normally when it walks like a duck, looks like a duck and quacks like a duck it's a god damned duck. And you can find ducks on any old pond, not just expensive sandy sun kissed lakes.
I will slot this one under 'Questionable Duck hunting.'

Leaving My Lover over a Slap Chop.

2009-01-25T13:31:00.005Z

"You're gonna love my nuts" Yep, oh yep indeedy.

When the paramour asks, 'But Cat, why? Why would you even consider leaving someone like me, for god's sake woman, I make you breakfast on the weekends!' I'm going to grab him by his locks and scream, 'SLAP CHOP! THAT'S THE WHY!!"
I'm telling you, it's not normal to be so fascinated by something like he is fascinated by Slap Chop. He sent me a link to this contraption last week ( think of how much chopping of things we could do), on Saturday when we went to buy soup spoons in Stock he let out a squeak when he discovered a Master Chop in store. But when I suggested he buy it-since he's so fucking gobsessed ( yes, gobsessed) with all things slappy choppy- he guffawed and said- I shit you not- 'Hu-ho, no way Cat, you see only the Slap Chop can be taken apart and cleaned. Nope, it's got to be the authentic Slap Chop.'
This morning he admitted to dreaming about the Slap Chop, where upon I promtly started eyeing up the the rental section in the weekend addition, over bacon and eggs and coffee that he had made.
If I hear one more word about the Slap Chop I will scream.

Babies and Nursery Staff killed in Belgium Attack.

2009-01-23T15:22:00.004Z

Jesus, this story is horrendous. Why babies? Why on earth would anyone do this? They're saying he is from a psychiatric hospital, but if so how was he out and about is he was that dangerous? Poor defenceless little things. My heart goes out to their parents. Imagine getting that call? I can't even begin to imagine their agony. It's so cruel and heartbreaking.
I need a dandelion break very badly today.

Human Engineering.

2009-01-23T10:49:00.003Z

Oh how I wish he was on display!-->

I am going to try attend this over the weekend. Looks fascinating no? Anyone else going along?

The Roscommon Response.

2009-01-23T09:25:00.007Z

"How could this not be noticed or seen?" Judge Reynolds asked. "Why did nobody do something? These children were failed by everybody around them. No right-thinking person could or should stand idly by and watch without doing anything."

It's interesting to read the fallout- or the start of the fall out- from the Roscommon case I blogged about yesterday. Interesting and a bit shattering. Judge Miriam Reynold's questions are good ones, indeed the most apt. Why did no one do anything?
This forty year old woman had family, the children went to school, the HSE were involved from very early on, the patrons of the pub she drank in most nights would have known her mothering skills were lax.
Yet no one did anything about it.

"Yesterday locals in the Roscommon village where the mother (40) subjected the children to six years of depravity admitted that "everyone knew" the children needed help but nothing was ever done to help.
" ( Irish Independent)

If that is true, and I can see no reason to believe it is not, then I hope a lot of people stand before a mirror today and look themselves in the eye.
I've said before on this blog that it's hard to step out of the herd, it's hard to kick up a fuss. Most of us just want to live and let live, make sure we don't rock the boat too much as we make our journey through life.
But there comes a time when as decent human beings we must be prepared to speak out when we know in our heart of hearts someone is doing wrong. Especially if the wrong doing involves children.
Of course nobody wants to point an accusing finger at an innocent person, nobody like to be the lone voice in the twilight, but fortitude and valour are not flaws. Being compassionate and brave enough to put other's suffering before your own fear of mistake is not an ill judged cause.
If only one other person had stepped forward earlier, maybe those children could have had some years shaved from their torture. If only one person had reared up and said they would not cease until that dreadful woman was fully investigated. If only the school where the children attended- cold, riddled with lice, in ill fitting clothes, with all the behavioural signs of breakdown- had intervened. If only the WHB had challenged the High Court Order. If only Mena Bean Ui Chribin had stayed her hand and kept her nose out of the WHB business.
A lot of 'if only'.
And none of it makes the slightest difference to the lives of six vulnerable children who were so badly let down.
They say it takes a village to raise a child. Well, if that's the case this particular village is guilty of neglect.
I hope those children find some peace in their futures. I hope for their sake the can move beyond this terrible start to life. They deserve a chance. I hope lessons have been learned from the whole sorry saga. But I can't help feeling we'll be all sipping our coffees and shaking our head at some other travesty in the near future. Unless as people we are unafraid to speak up before the fact and not after, that possibility is always likely.

There's Nothing Brave About Being a Bad Mother

2009-01-22T07:46:00.008Z

When a man sexually abuses his own child it's abhorrent and despicable to us, we recoil at the idea that a parent could harm their own flesh and blood in such a manner, but when a mother does it -for me- that's even worse. I don't know why I feel that way, I just do. I feel if you've carried a child within you and given birth to it you ought to love it and protect it with every fibre of your being. I'm not saying fathers feel less love or protectiveness for their own children either, but just that mothers, well mothers should be mothers.
The case of the woman who abused her six children in Roscommon is awful, what those poor kids when through is horrific. The statement made by the son she sexually abused almost had me in tears.
That poor little fellow, he'll never be the same again.
The news emerging that a right wing Catholic organisation delayed the removal of those children is alarming to say the least and I expect over the coming days there will be a lot of anger directed towards them and question asked about their role in this mess.
But being a bad mother is not just about physical or sexual abuse and as usual the Daily Mail has managed to do what two cups of strong coffee could not and jar my sleepy self into a wakefulness. Cross wakefulness.
Reading about this sort of shit in a way is just as upsetting as reading about the Roscommon case. Not because this woman Shelley Price has physically abused her child, but because she is emotionally abusing her and because the stupid bitch can't keep her big mouth shut about it.

Shelley is about to admit to one of the great taboos of motherhood. No matter how hard she has tried, she says she can't bring herself to love her elder daughter, Catherine.

'I know what people will think. Everyone will hate me. I'm the woman who doesn't like her own child. But I'm speaking out because I'm convinced I'm not alone,' says the 33-year-old.

My heart goes out to the poor little girl in question. How horrendous must it be for her to know that her mother has to force herself to be nice or interested in her, how painful must it be for a little girl to seek affection knowing it is conditional. What about this girl's development, her self worth, her confidence, Jesus, her happiness?

"When she wasn't well with teething and tummy aches - all the normal things babies go through - I took her straight round to my mum. I couldn't get rid of her fast enough.

'I would never have let her come to any harm, but I didn't want to deal with her myself."

I'm sure Shelley Price would be horrified at what went on in Roscommon, she might read it and ask 'how could she?' Well I'll tell you something, I don't feel any less disgusted by Shelley Price and her 'brave admission' than a woman who forced her teenage boy to have sex with her. They're both guilty of damage, both guilty of putting their own fucked up wants and needs before that of their children. They are both guilty of abuse. The only difference I can see is that one woman has admitted to her monstrous behaviour and the other is still dressing it up.

UPDATE) On the Roscommon case. Oh the hateful hands of interference.
"Senior childcare workers with HSE West told the judge that on September 30, 2000, a voluntary agreement was reached between the health board and the mother, to have the children cared for by an aunt and uncle.

But the mother had become involved with "a right-wing Catholic organisation" to finance and support her going to the High Court to get an injunction restraining the Health Board from acting.

The mother personally moved the injunction at the High Court three days later, Judge Reynolds heard.

HSE West childcare manager Paddy Gannon said that after she obtained the ex-parte injunction restraining the Health Board for carrying out the care arrangement, she personally presented it to childcare officials in Co Roscommon.

"It was a bolt from the blue," said Mr Gannon.

"The Health Board was prevented from moving the children from the home as part of a care plan."

Mr Gannon said that around the time of the High Court application, he received correspondence from Mina Bean Ui Chroibin, stating that it was support the family needed and not intrusive action by the health board.

Mr Gannon intimated that he believed Bean Ui Chroibin's organisation was behind the application to the court, but he had no evidence to that effect."

LIke I said over on Twenty's site, if this is true and this woman stalled the removal of those children I hope Mina Bean Ui Chroibin is feeling proud of her involvement today.

SECOND UPDATE:
"A Co Roscommon mother-of-six has been to sentenced seven years in prison after pleading guilty to incest, sexual assault and neglect of her children.

At Roscommon Circuit Court today, Judge Miriam Reynolds said she would have given the 40-year-old woman, who cannot be named for legal reasons, a life sentence had she been a man.

However, Judge Reynolds said she was restricted by the terms of 1908 legal act, which carries a maximum seven-year sentence for incest cases involving women.

The woman had pleaded guilty to two counts of incest committed in June 2004 and on a date unknown between July and October 2004.

She had also pleaded guilty to two charges of sexual abuse against a son on the same dates and to neglecting and ill treating each of her six children from 1998 to 2004." ( Irish Times)

Wow, seven years for a lifetime of misery. That's a messed up ruling right there- albeit the only one the judge could hand down.The 1908 act clearly needs to be reviwed.

Arrest me Officer, I'm guilty of twee in the first degree.

2009-01-21T10:21:00.004Z

The 25-year-old genetics student from Aberdeen University can play the fantasy fireman, serve as a "buff" butler, sexy soldier or even a revealing James Bond. But it is his portrayal of a peeling policeman, Sergeant Eros, which has placed him unwillingly at the centre of an extraordinary spat between the real-life boys in blue and their political overlords.

This made me laugh out loud, frightening myself as I was rather grumpy before hand.

"It was the 22nd time Mr Kennedy had appeared before the bench since his first arrest in March 2007 and he has spent 123 hours in police custody. Since his first brush with the law he has faced charges including possession of an offensive weapon – his truncheon and a fake CS spray – and allegedly fitting a flashing light to his car.

But so far none of the cases brought against him have yielded a successful prosecution and with two further court dates pending, there is mounting anger over claims that the legal actions have cost some £170,000 of public money and have risked turning the police in and around his native Aberdeen into a laughing stock.

The latest followed his arrest while driving home from Aberdeen's Tiger Tiger club dressed in full uniform. He said he had been forced to flee the nightspot fully clothed after being threatened by an angry boyfriend."

Oh Sergeant Eros, what a big truncheon you have! Oh honestly, you'd have to imagine in this day and age, what with crime being rife and all, that police might have more to do with their time than arresting a 25 year old stripper, preventing him from warming the cockles of his audience.
Seriously. No seriously.

Motivation...somewhat lacking.

2009-01-20T09:34:00.004Z

I was telling Kim the other day that folk in my gym looked decidedly glum and much put upon at the moment. Chumley Finn wants to do nothing more than curl up around a good book and pretend the outside world has fallen off a cliff, and I have insomnia.
I can't decide what gives exactly and find myself asking whence the energy vortex? It's got to be a January thing, no? A natural lull in energy levels, a post Christmas crash of sorts. I noticed it out and about this morning, folk looked not grumpy per se, but tired, deflated, we all seem that bit jaded.
As another day stretches out before me, and my egg white omelette settles boringly in my stomach I find I am swaddled in ennui. I must work for a few hours, I must attend the gym around 11:30 to make my 'can't really be arsed' legs run for 10k, I must return home and have lunch, then kick a cat out of my chair and work some more. Then I've got to go to bloody shops. Then dinner, then work, meh, same old same old.
Anyway, I was being all 'meh' and 'oh woe is me' and 'wah I'm tired' when the Paramour sent me an email about a friend of ours. Without going into a huge amount of detail, the email was sent to him from the wife of a friend of ours who is in hospital in a foreign country. Her husband, our friend, had a particularly nasty accident just before Christmas, resulting in a serious head injury. In her email, this lady expressed delight that our friend could come home for a few hours from hospital, and that he could read long sentences again, that he was learning to cook again. That although confused he was starting to remember things said to him five minutes beforehand.
I read it, feeling relieved, feeling ashamed, feeling like a bit of a divvy.
Yes January can be a bit of a chore; yes watching what you eat can be tedious; yes, working can be arduous; yes going to the gym can be a pain in the arse sometimes. But I can do these things without thinking. There is nothing wrong with me. Apart from being a bit tired I am robustly healthy. I can decide whether or not to mope or metaphorically kick myself in the arse.
Today, I believe I will kick my self in the arse. Because, really, it occurs to me that it's not such a bad day after all.

Sex Education and the Curious Young Adult.

2009-01-19T09:29:00.007Z

Apropos a rather toe curling and terrifying talk with Gothy about sex over the weekend, I can reliably inform you I am riddled with insomnia and questioning the wisdom of not drinking hooch when I clearly need a stiff drink every now and then.
How horrible to be young, how horrible and how marvelous. How exciting and fearful and dramatic and foolhardy.
It's hard to impart information onto the young about matters sexual- or indeed any other matter. On the one hand you want to wrap them in cotton until they are about thirty, ignoring their cries for freedom and independence by sticking your fingers in your own ear going 'la la la laaaa la' or offering up useful claptrap ala the Lilac One. 'You needn't think you'll be staying here when you're older'( sum total of the Lilac One's residential help to a fifteen year old Fatcat) and 'You better not come back here pregnant' ( sum total of Lilac One's sex talk)
On the other hand the adult must accept that an informed youth might take better care of themselves and not be afraid to talk to said adult should the need arise. But of course you also don't want to be too condoning lest they get the wrong notion, while simultaneously constructing a bridge so that they feel they can come to you.
It's like walking a tightrope, a terrifying scary tightrope where one false move could result in an STD, an eating disorder or an unwanted pregnancy or...I don't know, a whole other plethora of things that keep people awake at night.
'Honestly Gothy, you should really wait until you're absolutely sure you are with the right person.' I finished my talk on birth-control, dribbling weakly, pathetically sound biting my way to la la land.
Oh what crap. Teenagers, rampant with hormones, are incapable of hearing the underlying message which is to an adult no one is the right person unless you're over twenty-five and serious about shit and have had your heart broken by a fucking idiot and you've learned from it and anyway you're NEVER going down that path again....
I suppose it helps that my relationship with Gothy is such that she feels she can ask me all manner of questions about S.E.X. She thinks nothing of springing eyebrow twitching lines on the unsuspecting Fatcat. And it is good. Too long have teenagers waddled about in the mire thinking that 'pulling out' = birth control or that STDs are things that happen to other people. It's invaluable to be able to speak to a calm cool headed adult who will tell them what's what, even if that calm cool headed adult lays awake all night twitching and worrying about STDS and unwanted pregnancy and how to make a time machines that might send youthful young women back to a time when their biggest concern was whether or not Buffy would make it back from the dead. ( wot weeping).
Thinking back over my own sex education I was alarmed to find I didn't really have any, well none other than 'don't come back pregnant.' I knew the mechanics sure, but that was it. Nobody explained anything else, there was no talk of emotions or orgasms, the clitoris,( what a surprise find that was, like being in the Bond car and asking 'Say Sport, what does this red button do?) STDS, Chlamydia, cervical cancer, thrush, curved penis' hymens or any of the other things a young woman ought to know about. There was no chats about how not having sex might be AOK, how having sex ONLY when you're mentally ready and not because all your friends are doing it is AOK. Nothing about sex was AOK. And as a result it was deemed dirty, sinful, and topic non gratis with anyone who might set you on the straight.
I can't have that with Gothy. As much as foot cramp pains me, and as much as sleep eludes me, I do solemnly swear I will be that fountain of good information. I will attempt to guide, steer and chart courses through the murky waters of the fledgling sexually curious woman. I will not harangue and use stupid expressions. I will try to be realistic and forthright without being overly permissive.
I will sleep again, some day.

Crime Pays Rather Well.

2009-01-17T15:29:00.003Z

I do not understand the judges in this country at all, they seem to be very lenient on thieves rapists and all round fuckers, and harsh as hell on people who come before them on minor misdemeanors or crimes that harm no one.
Observe from yesterday's Evening Herald.

"A HANDBAG thief who specifically targeted women out enjoying themselves in pubs has said she turned to shop-lifting so she could feed her serious drug addiction.

Kathleen Joyce (24) went "on a rampage", said a District Court judge, and took "bags, money, everything" from innocent female customers in numerous pubs and restaurants.

Joyce's behaviour was "absolutely frenetic" over a short period of time, agreed her lawyer Fiona Brennan.

Joyce, with an address at Annaly Close, Ongar, Dublin 15, admitted before Blanchardstown District Court to 19 separate charges, most were theft, handling stolen property and failing to appear in court.

The mother of one stole her first handbag from a lady in The Living Room, Findlater Place on August 17, and her last handbag theft was from a woman enjoying a meal in Pizza Hut on September 27.

On September 14, Joyce stole handbags and their contents from three different women who were socialising in The Bell pub in Blanchardstown.

That same day, she took a bag from a woman in The Paddocks pub in Littlepace and another handbag from a woman in Cumiskey's Pub on Blackhorse Avenue, Dublin 7.

All in all, Joyce stole more than €2,000 worth of handbags and their contents from women while they were out socialising.

The court heard that Joyce has 40 previous convictions, mostly for public order and theft matters. Her convictions only date back to 2006.

Defence solicitor Fiona Brennan said Joyce has a "multiplicity of problems", including a serious drug addiction.

The court heard that Joyce has been in custody since early December on these charges.

Ms Brennan said Joyce has suffered severe difficulties in custody, including psychiatric problems which led to her being isolated, and this caused further distress to her.

The judge sentenced Joyce to a total of two years in prison suspended for two years. Judge McMahon urged Joyce to "do her best" and said that if she appears before him again she will go to prison."

So, we've got an out and out thief with a drug problem and 40 previous convictions who is still causing mayhem in prison out on a suspended charge and the judge who released here urges her to 'do her best.'
Do her best what I wonder. Her best thievery? Her best public displays of disorder? You can be sure what they know this woman stole is only the tip of the iceberg.
It's sickening to read that her thievery 'only' goes back to 2006. Wow, she's 'only' been causing misery for three years. I've been at the other end of theft and it's VERY fucking annoying and upsetting and getting thieves to pinky swear they will be good is bollocks. Last thing anybody wants to hear is that thieves are getting sympathetic judges cooing at them. So she has a drug problem, so what? Lock her bloody up. Make her understand the consequences of her actions. Maybe that way she might spend rest of her life not 'only' robbing hard working folk trying to grab a pizza or have a drink in peace.
Man, sometimes being a liberal is an impossible task.

One more thing.

2009-01-16T16:11:00.002Z

Tome Dunne is the Bunny Carr of Radio.
That is all.

Retribution in a Can.

2009-01-16T10:26:00.004Z

Row row row my buns, gently towards your stream, verily verily verily verily, naked I'm a DREAM.––≥

Gadzooks, what a busy morning, first I slept it in, then I had to have coffee, then I was bothered by work related stuff, don't folk realise it's Gingerday? Any hoo, having had a spare two minutes to myself to gaze sleepily and crankily over the papers, a story-only one-made me laugh out loud. So hell's bells, let's share it.

MONTERREY, Mexico – Four teenagers say police in a northern Mexican town spray-painted their hair, shoes and buttocks to teach them not to paint graffiti on public property.

Emilio Alfaro of Nuevo Leon state's Human Rights Commission said Thursday the youths have filed a complaint alleging that police in Guadalupe slapped, kicked and painted them with spray cans after detaining them for vandalism.

The youths are aged between 14 and 16. They presented paint-stained shoes and photos of their painted heads as evidence.

Guadelupe's police department says several officers have been suspended while the matter is being investigated.

The youths were fined more than $200 before being released on Tuesday.

Guadalupe is outside the city of Monterrey.

I'm all for it! Eye for an eye punishments. I would like to borrow a large cow or wildebeest and have it plop in a certain some one's garden in retaliation for his blasted dog pooing in my front garden the other day. Yack. If people keep insisting on delivering junk mail to my home I want their addresses so that I can wheel my green bin to THEIR home and deliver unto them all my junk. I want to find the filthy oik who put a scratch in my car and introduce him to a carpet cutter I won, I won't kill him, oh no, just leave a big long scratch down his cheek. Seems fair.
Don't it?

An Atheist Rung too High.

2009-01-15T09:46:00.007Z

“I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the office of president of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

I don't believe in a god, gods, spirits, angels, chatty dead folk, or the healing hands of the wooful. However, lots of folk do and that's just a fact of life. (In fact it is staggering to this agnostic/atheist fatcat that so many people are prepared to over look a god or two while dribbling on about mystical powers. 'I don't believe in God, per se,' the gobsmackers will witter, 'but I do believe in a higher power.'
A higher power huh? Whose higher power? Where? Higher than what? Whither the evidence. Aw forget about it.)
Anyhoo, by and large a lot of religious folk are good folk and it would be shameful for anyone to be mean or cunty to good folk because they hold a belief and live their lives as close to their beliefs as humanely possible. I reserve the right to be supremely cunty to folk who use religion to steal, or who think everyone else ought to abide by their rules just BECAUSE they happen to believe in a supernatural deity or two, but that's a whole other set of circumstances.
This shit ought to cut both ways, so it was with a mildly raised eye brow that I spooned granola into my maw and read the following article in the Examiner.
Now far be it from me to stick my beak into the American political business, but ain't Obama a self reclaimed Christian? Is he not a a god fearing dude? Does he not have Rick bloody Warren praying over his signing in? Why wouldn't he say 'so help me god'? Whose underwear gets into a bunch over such an expression. My pappy in law says 'God bless' whenever we leave his home, I don't stop in my tracks and berate him for his expression.
This kind of thing is what gets the back up of even the most moderate believer. If Obama self identifies as a Christian then let him say what has been said by so many presidents before him. Pick your battles wisely. Keep creationism out of schools, but allow people their faith, even if you think it is a wasted one.
There is a need for vocal atheists, too long have the religious held sway over laws, rights and communities, but to that end there must be a measure of accomadation followed. Atheists should understand that stamping your foot and demanding your way or the high way does nothing more than fuel the anger of those who might, with a bit of leeway, stand by your side some day.

If you'll excuse me, I have to go poxy swimming now. 20 lengths. Bah.

Anthropological Studies. Bizarre sexual behaviour of people

2009-01-14T09:54:00.007Z

Many thanks to XXXX for sending me an amused link to the following. Let me see if I can shorten this little quirky quirk for y'all.
Girl goes on dating site, chit-chats with dude from dating site for number of weeks, girl meets dude, dude and girl don't hit it off, girl comes home, gets tipsy, dude calls, she goes to his gaff, drinks more, has sex, is sent home in cab and is angry because dude does not issue second date, complains on dating site that dude is jerk. ( personal responsibility, what on earth could that be)

"When the meal ended he only offered to pay for his half, and then bails. Doesn't offer me a ride or anything. What did I do wrong? It was so depressing since I really liked him online.

Naturally, I go home and drink almost a full bottle of wine when I get a text message from him. He asks if I want to come over his place and hang out, maybe watch a movie. I thought "This is great, he's going to make it up to me and maybe he was just nervous before". Well I get there and drink some more with him, and next thing you know we're having sex. At the end of the night he calls me a cab and I go home, THINKING that this is just the first of many dates."

What the holy mother of marmalade? It gets better, Dude then offers his 'side' of the date and subsequent belly slapping here.

But this comment by said 'dude' nearly made me spit up my granola.

Okay, so I'll give a little input on my side. I'm going to have to end up deleting this page anyway. Before we met I asked why she had no full body pics. She said it was because she takes all her pics and can't get her whole frame that way, but said she was average sized. I took that to be maybe 140, 150 at the most. Not ideally healthy, but she seemed pretty cool and I gave her props for messaging me. But when we met for our date, this girl was very VERY large and that is not something I am comfortable with. I reacted by acting a little rude because I felt deceived and it was unexpected.

One detail you forgot in your drunken stupor is that you texted me first, and asked to get together. I was in the mood and watching a lot of porn so I agreed. And I never invited you to any concert, I just told you about the concert. I never responded because I thought the best way to get rid of you was by ignoring you in hopes that you'll get the hint. Get it? Peace.

I'm still laughing at 'peace'.

It then gets even weirder when it turns out the lady in question had been on the site using and passing off photos of another girl as herself, then claiming she loves some chap she has never actually met.
I mean. It's like an interwebular episode of Knots Landing. I never even KNEW this kind of entertainment existed. Oh I'll never get a lick of work done today.
I think the moral of the story is don't go have sex with people who don't seem even remotely interested in you and then complain about it later.

Alcohol, Stopping, Restarting, Rethinking.

2009-01-13T09:15:00.005Z

There was an interesting article in the UK Indo today, about hooch and taking a break from hooch. I read it and smiled, feeling a preaching to the choir moment.
Although a devoted drinker, I regularly take breaks from hooch, mostly to give my liver a break, but mostly to remind myself that I can. I know it sounds obvious, but if you're a 'good' drinker like I am ( an oxymoron if ever there was one) a week here, a month or two there of not imbibing can be most beneficial.
Alcohol is a drug, and like any drug it can be easily abused. I am a dab hand at abusing it with gusto. It's terrifically easy to get into the habit of having a glass or two of wine every evening( home measure, none of your 4 fluid ounces nonsense, i.e two John Rocha glasses= half bottle); to give yourself permission to down an entire bottle of French red on a Friday because you deserve it after a long week; to drink like a sailor on Saturday because you're out and about with pals and Yo* ho ho and a bottle of rum, it's right crack; to spend Sunday in your leather chair watching Come Dine with Me, wine by your elbow, papers on your lap. It is, it's a pleasure. And naturally as it is a pleasure you don't want to think about any ill effects. 'Shuush' you will tell that weird little voice, you know the one, the questioning voice that always seems to poke you when you're feeling most like something the cat dragged in.
Even if you can quiet the voice, nothing reminds the devoted drinker more about their alcohol consummation than the trip to the bottle bank to recycle. As you squeeze bottle after bottle into the green or brown bin you can see quite clearly your harmless pleasure is quite a full on habit. Oh yes. Unless you are adept at kidding yourself into oblivion a weekly recycling trip is quite the eye opener. No, you think, I didn't have a party of five over, that shit is all mine. EEK!
My father used to say a person should never drink at home. But back then there wasn't the proliferation of off licences, supermarket hooch stores and wine shops. We didn't really drink wine at all. A person might go for 'a few scoops' on a Saturday night, maybe for a pint of two on Sunday and that was really it. Of course there were those who came into the pub bright and breezy at 12 noon on a Sunday, went home for lunch and returned back at the dot of four and remained there until closing- upright normally and still coherent, but they were a select few and to be sure very few of them ever hit seventy years of age.
My point was it wasn't the done thing to be imbibing during the week or of an evening at home. It just wasn't ( apart for Gamma and her gin, but that's a whole other story).
Nowadays, with increasing pub prices, drink driving laws, family commitments and two income stresses and strains, people need a way to unwind, to metaphorically pat themselves on the back after a tough day and hooch is the cheap and ready to roll pal when in need. If it is there, chances are you'll drink it. And it will be there because you'll have bought it.
Next weekend will be my third successive weekend sans hooch. And as always whenever I give it up I feel terrific. I really do, and productive. I have worked an extra two hours every day, I have been busy, I have taken up disgusting swimming, I have slept through the night every night without even once having to get up to wee, I don't wake up on turning over. My mornings are bright and breezy. In effect I am operating at full capacity.
I know all this. I don't really have any trouble at all not drinking. I'll stay not drinking probably until March. But once March rolls around I will be hightailing it out the door to the nearest Smurfs. Yes, I will.
I will attempt however to start taking my father's advice. I think I will stop drinking at home. I think I might finally understand that making the effort to get dressed up and go out and then have a drink is what folk call 'social drinking'. Certainly I will try stick to only drinking on the weekends. And if I try to trick myself out of my good intentions-and no doubt I probably will- well there's always the walk of shame to the bottle bank.

* No Santas were harmed in the making of this statement.

More Psychic Side Stepping.

2009-01-12T10:50:00.006Z

Man, the woo merchants are so full of shit. A short while ago 'psychic' Anna Brennan was waffling away arguing her case ( why so negative, the number one outcry of the woo merchant)on a radio show. She was real, she was absolutely real, she 'helped' people, she even helped the police she was so real, she was afaid of nothing she was so real, she was really real, the realiest real of realington.
When challenged to back up her realness by Bad Psychics Richard Sutherland, Really Real Anna was snottily feisty enough to declare she would be happy to take the Million Dollar Challenge James Randi offers- bear in mind she was live on air at the time.
Huzzah I thought, some gumption. Finally a really real psychic prepared to put its really real money where its mouth is.
Except...
Well slap my thigh and call my lady patch Babs, it now turns out that really real Anna has in fact pooped her proverbial pants and decided that subjecting her awesome really real powers to a challenge is kinda not what really real Anna is all about.
Observe the woo ridden one as she explains in an email to Richard why her radio claims and her reality claims are so far removed from each other.

"Psychic Anna‏ 2/12/08
Good morning Richard,

I have passed the challenge to my solicitor to read over and will get back to you with his opinion. My opinion is that there is no way that challenge could be passed, and there is no way would I be held responsible for all my expenses. Why has John Edwards or Colin Fry not taken this test?

If I do go ahead with it I will not be dealing with Shannonside radio or yourself, I would rather deal with the American side of things - no offense.

One question however, do you believe in the resurrection of Christ and that he appeared to his apostles after the Crucifixion?

When I die and I am wrong about this I have lost nothing but if you die and you are wrong you will have lost everything.

I wish you and your family a Happy Christmas and peaceful 2009.

Regards

Anna"

Weeeeell now, what to make of this. In her opinion the challenge cannot be passed. But why is this? Surely if Really Real psychic Anna Brennan is as really real as she claims she would have nary a scrap of trouble passing a test as easy as Randi's? All she has to be is...psychic.
Observe the 'Christ' waffle thrown into the mix. What has a man being nailed to a cross many many years ago got to do with proving psychic abilities? Your guess is as good as mine.
Here is the thing. if people want to go about claiming they are psychic so be it. But let them back up their assertions, let them prove themselves not liars, exceptional claims require exceptional evidence, the onus is not on us to buy woo, the onus is on them to prove it. I don't go around claiming I can fly, but if I did, I would accept people might need to see proof. And chattering to dead people is just as unlikely as me sprouting my invisible wings and soaring over the rooftops.
So far miss really real has been avoiding Richard's follow on emails, but it will be interesting to see what the outcome will be. 10-1 odds on 'I don't need to prove anything to be really real you know, I'm really real so there, na na ni na na.'
Psychic Anna, really? Your number has been called, now either step up or slither off the pot.

Oh, I should point out that the baby whisperer, Derek Ogilvie did attempt the challenge. Y'all remember how well that went.

I Detest Swimming

2009-01-11T16:51:00.002Z

I know it's good for you, I know it helps keep you fit, I know it's low impact, I know it's an all body encompassing sport.
But god damn it, I detest swimming.
That is all.*

* shakes head trying to unblock water from left ear.

I really do hate PETA.

2009-01-10T09:38:00.004Z

I have always disliked PETA ever since I discovered Ingrid Newkirk would rather destroy a perfectly healthy animal than have it as a 'slave' or pet as we call them. Such fucked up fundamentalist thinking has always made me super wary of people and organisations like PETA. My ire for them was further increased when they released ads that equated owning animals to people slavery, feeding a child meat = child cruelty, and the fact that they are willing to plaster naked women all over the place to highlight the exploitation of animals without irony, all of this seals the deal in terms of utter fucking stupidity in my book.
But no! I was wrong diddly wrong wrong. They have other levels of sheer stupidity.
Observe the emergence of 'sea kittens.'
What are sea kittens? Why they are fish. Fish. FISH!
Peta, being the idiots that they are, have decided to all fish sea kittens under the misguided notion that it will stop people eating them due to their big eyed fluffy cuteness.
Except fish aren't big eyed fluffy mini cats of cuteness, they're fish. Or food as I like to call them.
This is evidence-if ever more was needed- to the twisted mindset of the PETA drone. Can't you just imagine the high jinks and hysterics when they came up with this one. 'I know! Let's call the sea kittens and draw super cute pictures of them.'
Dear PETA, Finding Nemo is a cartoon. Pelicans kill and eat ducks regularly, my real honest to god cats kill birds/mice/Napoleons regularly, dogs kill squirrels/other dogs/rats/cats and I like to eat fish. Not because they are 'slimy and not cute' but because if you wrap them in tin foil and add rock salt they taste delicious.
PETA, what a bunch of absolute gobshites.

Unrelated Note.
There's no real exercise to report this week as I didn't keep a diary, I ran some, I did some weights, I attended kickboxing. However, I hit two PBs this week and I'm feeling chufed about them. One was the Deadlift (DL) where I jumped from lifting 65kilos before christmas to 72.5 Kilos, I did a set of five at this weight and it was comfortable, if wearing on my wrists. Sorted by a hook grip. I could have gone heavier I feel but my form might have suffered and anyway this is not a race.
The second involced one armed rows. I went from a 15k to 17.5 k. I did two sets of eight either arm after a warm up of 15kx10. Again it was fairly comfortable and I'm happy with the increase.
Next week I will be working hard on squats as I plan to kick Non Memnoch to death in class.

You Can Never Too Thin, Too Rich, Too Busy.

2009-01-09T10:07:00.003Z

Mmmmbop,fashion---->

Top of Gingerday to you. Another Friday, another start to my second hoochless weekend. What in the name of marmalade am I going to do to fill in the time normally spent slinging back glasses of red wine and rum. I admit I have replaced Friday's winefest with eating a chili burger so hot it makes my eyebrow twitch, but what of Satdee and Sunday ( these are the legitimate concerns of the new non drinker, it's not the non-drinking, it's the what to do with yourself while non-drinking)
Oh right, that's where the spare room come in.
I don't know how it is in other people's homes-I'm sure you're all near spartan- but in this home every unopened cardboard box, every piece of spare crap, every unworn jacket from eight seasons ago, every unused tool, every vitally important supermarket receipt from 2001, every piece of furniture that doesn't quite fit, well, it's all in the spare room, a room so packed with clutter and assorted crap it's impossible to open the blasted door now without something collapsing Jenga like somewhere inside.
So, to this end we- yes we- have decided to do something about it. We've decided to tackle it, sort it out, turn it from Stig's Dump into a spare room again. We are moving a lot of the crap into the attic. Oh yes. This will probably take care of another weekend sometimes in the future when we decide to clear out the attic. Eventually we might just move some of the crap to where it actually belongs, a dump far far away from the house.
Eventually.

Huzzah! An Exceptional Excuse.

2009-01-08T09:40:00.003Z

I wrote here before about my quite shockingly bad memory for names. It's beyond ridiculous, bordering on rude. I've met heaps of people out at various functions and shows and hand on my heart I cannot remember the name of 98% of them. I mask this faux pas with the use of 'Darling'. 'Darling, how delightful to see you again, have you met Darling, Darling?' So skilled am I at Darling-ing my way about town I have almost but not quite managed to acquit myself in these horrific instances. Unless I am forced to introduce more than one Darling to a group of Darling, then I usually hit the rum and pretend I can't see people ( remarkably easy given my terrible eyesight).
But NOW! Huzzah Telegraph. An excuse has been gifted to me. A scientific excuse no less. It's not my fault I can't remember blasted names. I'm not rude, I'm not a feather head, they are not bland melting puddles of confusingly similar features. It is because I am clearly lacking in Oxytocin.
Oh science, isn't there anything you can't shift the blame onto? I heart you.

Goes? Goes bloody where or whatever.

2009-01-07T09:35:00.007Z

'And then she goes-'
'Said.'
'And then I go, "well you should say that or whatever". You know?'
'And then she comes back and goes. "Did you see her?" And I goes,-'
'Said.'
'Yeah, whatever, anyway, I go she's a stupid Bitch. She's owes us a tenner. So we go upstairs and
Ish goes'-
'Said'
'Yeah, whatever anyway, Ish SAID, 'there she is!".'

And on it went. I listened, not on purpose you understand, but with anxiety and a mild thought to throw myself from my own moving car. The previous snippet was only part of an incredibly long winded account of a key ring of all things, told to me by Gothy of all people in my car yesterday, of all days.
After every 'goes' I automatically corrected her with 'said', every time I did this she replied, 'yeah, whatever, anyway' and thus the story took almost the entire car journey, and believe me, it wasn't that interesting a story to begin with. Dragged out with, 'Goes' 'said', yeah whatever, anyway' it went on for an almost unprecedented twenty-five minutes.
The moral of the story? Do not give teenagers lifts unless they are mute or listening to ipods.

Get dressed before you go outside.

2009-01-06T09:48:00.004Z

Oh sweet marmalade, please please please, it's 2009. I can't spend 2009 'tisking' under my breath.
Yesterday I had to go to various supermarkets to stock up on items we had eaten our way through. Schools are obviously still out, leading to a remarkable sludge of teenagers wandering aimlessly about. But wandering aimlessly about in PAJAMAS!
I'm telling you, it's beyond ridiculous. One girl stood at the magazine stand in pink stripped jammies, stuffed into fake Uggs that naturally had been worn to the point where the sole had slipped sideways and she was walking on the ankle part oh and a navy hoodie that was several sizes too large for her. This wouldn't really bother me if not for the fact that practically every other woman I saw was dressed the same way. Whatever about teenagers, everybody already knows they're daft, but grown women? In saggy PJ's and Ugg-esque boots?
I mean, I know I'm showing my age here, but is it that hard to put on a pair of jeans? I know I've probably said this before, but I hate the sloppiness. I do. I'm all for comfort at home and I was once caught in rabbit jammies back when I lived in town, but I didn't intend to wear them out, I needed milk and it was v. late and I've never done it since...well I just don't get it. Why do so many people- women- wear jammies and slippers around town? Is it a backlash against something? Does this happen in other parts of the country? Other countries? I never saw this kind of thing in Barcelona. It's so...unkempt!
I mean how difficult is it to get dressed? To throw on a pair of jeans and actual boots or shoes? That's not asking too much surely? Or maybe this is an age thing. Maybe that's it.
Call me old fashioned, but I'm still of the opinion that when you leave the house you should at least try to look as pulled together as possible. I don't know, maybe brush your hair, wear a coat, clean clothes. Change out of your PJs.
And yes I HAVE a meeting in town to day and YES the cold sore is painful and I'm cranky, and yes, I'll still wear actual clothes.
Grumble grumble,

Man Flu

2009-01-05T09:12:00.005Z

Man Flu, what is this? It keeps popping up all over the place. It was mentioned in the Times today in some wishy washy article that I read while dribbling snot into yet another limp hanky. ( i have a filthy cold)
The article in question is a weird one, mildly condescending and twee in equal measure. Are men really so wimpy and selfish? Are women really pramagatic warriors who battle on no matter what the ache and pain?
Not this woman.
It is one of life's great irks to hear people say 'I've got a touch of flu' or 'I had flu last week and couldn't come to work for a day or two.' Or whatever. Having a touch of flu is like having a touch of pregnancy. You can't, you either have flu or you have not.
If you HAVE flu then you'll know all about it. I have had flu exactly once in my life and believe you me, there is no mistaking its 'symptoms' for they will include not being physically able to lift your wracked/shivering/vomiting/shitting/too hot/too cold/semi-blind/semi-deaf/hallucinating and more vomiting body out of bed for the best part of 7-10 days. It is NOTHING like a cold- and you can get some really nasty colds, I know. But flu? Flu is serious business, flu can kill you, and no amount of Lemsip Max Strength ( it sorts the men from the boys?? really?) is going to save you.
If flu is kind enough to not kill you it will most definitely incapacitate you for a while. My abiding memory of flu is being eight or nine year old and managing to crawl from the toilet to the kitchen where I lay in a chair, alternatively rattling hard enough to hurt my teeth, sweating through my second set of jammies. I was unfortunately found by Gamma's husband who declared he could 'fix me' with some concoction of stew.
I told him, through gritted teeth, that I could not keep any such mixture down, but he poo-pooed that notion and went about creating his 'cure all'
Upon being presented with a cup of some filmy orange gloop I again made my feeble protests, but he was not to be told.
'Get it down you.' he said, 'it will do you good.'
So I drank it.
It slithered down my fevered throat, sloshed into my empty churning hissing stomach where heated by gases and bacteria it became molten lava and then it did what I predicted it would. It came back up on me, him, the chair, the fire place, the blanket, the kitchen table and quite frankly anything within a six metre radius.
It took almost four days for that fever to break and another four before I was approaching anything remotely like well. Poor Gamma had it worse, she was truly walloped with it, almost two weeks worth, after which she had lost almost one third of her body weight.
So what I'm saying is should anyone tell you they've had a touch of flu or flu over the weekend you are to wap them one upside the head. I still don't know what man flu is, but I'm guessing it's not dissimilar to road rage or PMS, you know, a learned behaviour accepted by the masses, tolerated and mocked in sneering contempt. But real flu it most definitely ain't.

New year, same old bollocks, but with rhymes.

2009-01-01T11:36:00.003Z

Resolutions are coming, another bright year
of running and fighting and playing by ear,
of eating no wheat and avoiding all jellies
lest purple attracts me, ugh, that is velly-
disturbing.
Another few months of curling my lip
at psychic woo merchants who give me the pip.
'Don't be so negative!' They'll wail with great blather.
'Fuck off woo merchants, your head on a platter-
is what I want.'
And to that end, mumbos, I promise you this
I will not shirk from taking the piss
of gobshites and loonies and people most horrid
reiki healers and psychics and stigmata clad horrors
I'll load up my blunderbuss, gleeful and gay,
and aim where I want to, fuck you namaste.
Lipotrim and fad diets are also on there,
starving and fainting and losing your hair
paying a fortune to not eat some food
you bloody great eegits, oops, sorry, so rude,
Of reading the Wail, disgusted, but daily,
then cursing and snarling exhaling, inhaling.
'Gadzooks' I will cry, 'Confound it!' I'll holler!
'This rag is the shits, so why do I bother-
to read it.
But read it I will, and unclean I will wallow
in anti woman bias and rhetoric most hollow,
I'll furrow my brow and tighten my belt,
and threaten to go on an almighty vent-
about stuff.
But clearly my rage is mostly quite tame
I putter and fume but behind a fake name,
fear not gentle reader, my fangs are my own,
My ire is relentless much like my phone,
the annoying blasted thing.
And while I'm at it I'll peer at myself
with those honest goggles I keep on my shelf
I'll demand I do better and try to stay focused
about working and running and, well
all the usual bollocks.
I'll worship the ginger and squee over puppies
and play 'see the cat jump'- but never with Puddy,
She's too old.
I'll visit museums and stack up on culture,
hoovering up info like a bloody great vulture,
the flappy fuckers.
I'll learn French and Italian and practice them daily
'Bonjour! Ca va? Ciao Bello Von Tutti Frutti!'
I'll mix it with Spanish and end up quite loopy.
('Donde es la tienda de los Zapatos?' )
pfft.
I'll stay off the hooch for these first eight weeks
my liver ( Melvin) will thank me, the bloody great geek,
No rum nor beer or yummy red wine,
no Baileys nor cocktails, sweet Jebus...
I'm fine.
You can join me if you like.
Plink.
So I guess what I'm saying Is really quite clear,
It's all systems go and happy sodding new year.

(I am throughly ashamed. Next I'll be playing a sax solo or some frightful shit. In my defense I am quite hungover)

Happy New Year.

2008-12-31T15:14:00.004Z

(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!

2008-12-23T09:53:00.002Z

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.'

2008-12-22T11:32:00.004Z

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.

2008-12-20T10:56:00.003Z

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.

2008-12-19T10:18:00.007Z

"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

2008-12-18T08:42:00.005Z

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.

2008-12-17T09:25:00.005Z

'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.

2008-12-16T09:30:00.000Z

I GOT A MATCH!!

My Black Heart Just melted.

2008-12-16T09:20:00.002Z

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.

2008-12-15T09:12:00.004Z

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.

2008-12-13T10:23:00.005Z

( 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.

2008-12-12T10:00:00.004Z

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.

2008-12-12T09:35:00.003Z

"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.

2008-12-11T10:06:00.002Z

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.

2008-12-11T07:50:00.004Z

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.

2008-12-10T09:24:00.003Z

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.

2008-12-09T07:37:00.004Z

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.

2008-12-08T09:12:00.003Z

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.

2008-12-06T11:03:00.003Z

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.

2008-12-05T10:41:00.006Z

( 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.

2008-12-04T17:44:00.003Z

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.