Sinead O'Connor.

Troubled singer Sinead O'connor opened up the the Indo about her love for her 'Devil' mother.' How nice. Her mother is dead now. It's easy to love them when they're not hanging over you like a fucking rotting albatross.

In other news I am to be an Auntie again, my brother and his good lady are having a child. To normal people this is a most joyous occasion, to miserable fucks that ought to just pack their bags and shuffle off from this mortal coil, it is news akin to discovering you've just destroyed the winning lottery ticket in the white wash.

International Women's day is today.

I'm not sure what this means or signifies, but there you have it. Go be nice to a woman somewhere. I'll ring the lilac one and-in the spirit of the day- end our current spat. ( which she started) (by being stupid) (and really...I don't see why I should be the one to, oh never mind, International woman's day, right right, I'll apologise).

A later update.
It strikes me as something very vile that while today is supposed to be a day of international recognition of womenhood, that across the water in golly old london town Slavery is right there under our very modern noses. From to day's Independent.

"Women are being sold into prostitution in modern day "slave auctions" at Britain's airports, it emerged yesterday.
The illegal immigrants are sold to the highest bidder for up to £8,000 a time. They are then forced to work in brothels where they can earn up to £800 a day for their "owner".
The chilling reality of human trafficking was spelled out yesterday by senior police officers at Scotland Yard.
Detective Superintendent Mark Ponting, of the Metropolitan Police, said young women from all over the world are trafficked into Britain after being promised well-paid work in bars or cafes.
But within hours of their arrival, they are sold to pimps. The youngest known girl victim was just 14.
In one notorious case, women were openly sold outside a coffee shop at Gatwick Airport.
Officers believe women are frequently raped, locked in flats and given no money to prevent them from running away from their captors.
Mr Ponting said: "There is some intelligence to suggest that individuals are sold at locations close to airports. One woman could fetch between £6,000 and £8,000. She could then earn her buyer £800 a day. It is appalling.
"These traffickers are making huge amounts of money from it and that is what we are trying to break. It has become a market."

Farkwad. In this day and age that is simply stunning, we're nothing more than cattle to some people.

Saturday Morning Trickery!

My sister and my mother have just this very moment departed to Kilkenny. But what's this? Skullduggery is afoot, or was a foot..or, ah fuck it, we was duped and I only discovered it when my mother went to the bathroom.
My sister- 'Thanks a bloody heap.'
Me- 'Ow! Why are you pinching me?'
'Because of you I have to spend the day with her in Kilkenny.' My sister jerks her thumb at the ceiling.
'I thought you wanted to go!' I squeak, afronted and moving out of reach.
'What the hell would make you think that?'
'She told me you did, only you were short a baby sitter.'
'Short! I told her my mother-in-law couldn't mind them because she was in Naas today.'
'And isn't she?'
'Of course she's not. She's at home.'
'Shit.'
'Shit.'
We hear a flush and a moment later my mother appears in the doorway 'Are we all set? We'd better be on our way.'
She turns heel, pats the boy on the head and glides on a cloud of lilac towards the door, ignoring our glowers as only she can.
'Shit.' My sister repeats, picking up her car keys.
'Shit' I say.
'The baby's teething, so she's got a touch of diarrhea. There's Calpol in the nappy bag. Don't bother with the teething ring, she hates it.'
'Shit.'

So that's than then, I've got a full house-complete with teething angry pooing baby (sleeping red faced, fists clenched in her cat seat for the moment). I've got to go actually, I can hear from the outraged screech upstairs that the boy has managed to stuff the bigger of the cats into the linen basket.

My mother. May a Jellybaby explode in her mouth.

How I have never taken an axe to the back of my mother's head before now is a mystery to me. She annoys the ever living shite out of me and always has done and I suspect I do the same to her.
The rest of my family don't seem to have the same level of aggro with her so it must be just me. Right?
Maybe I'm not as tolerant as them, maybe she doesn't rub them up the wrong way like she does me, maybe we just have a personality clash.
Or then again maybe not.
Maybe she's just a miserable old bitch who takes great delight in ruining what was otherwise a very fucking pleasant -if mildly painful -evening.
Last night I was sipping on a Baileys, ice packing my knee and waiting for 'Dead like Me' to start when the phone rang. I picked it up becaue it was on the arm of my chair.
'Lo?'
'There you are,'my mother said in a voice that made me twitch. 'You didn't tell me your (very best friend) was buying a site.'
'No?'
'You know you didn't!'
I shrugged, but then remembered she couldn't see that, so I grunted instead and moved the icepack higher on my knee.
'I saw her there last week, up there, her and that other fella.'
'And?'
'So there's a site notice gone up on the gate yesterday.'
'How do you know it's her?'
'Her name's on it! Hers and his.'
'So what, they're building a house.'
'Well you should see what type of house they're planning!'
'How do you-'
'I was in Wicklow town planning office today.'
'And you looked at their plans?'
'Well sure aren't they there to be looked at! And it's up the road from me... it better not effect my line.'
'Jesus, how the hell could it effect you? It's three miles away!'
'So you DID know about it!'
'She said they were THINKING about building up there.'
'I can't believe you didn't think to mention this to me.'
'Can't you?'
'What's wrong with you anyway? You're so cranky this evening.'
'I've a swollen knee.'
'From what?'
'Kick boxing.' I glace down at my leg, 'Or it could be from running on concrete actually.'
'Tut.'
I stiffen. 'Excuse me?'
'Don't you think it's time you gave up all that ould nonsense?'
'Which nonsense woud this be now?'
'All that ould fighting and stuff. It can't be good for you, you're always getting bangs and scrapes.'
'I'm planning to do the Dublin marathon in October.
'So I hear.'
'Who told you? Etheline?'
'She mentioned it. I think you're mad.'
'Why?'
'Ah, at your age, starting that now... you'd need to be running the whole time.'
'Night and day?'
'What?'
'I have nearly eight months to train, that's plenty of time.'
'Pffft.'
'Excuse me?'
'You'll do yourself an injury, that's what you'll do.'
I grip the phone so tightly my knuckles go white. I resist saying anything that might be deemed as cursing, imflammatory or down right rude.
'Was there anything else? There's something I want to watch about to come on.'
'I asked your sister to come down to Kilkenny with me on Saturday.'
'Right.'
'Only she can't can she, not with the children.'
'Um.'
'It wouldn't hurt you to take them off her once in a while.'
'I do take them.'
'Well.'
'She didn't ask me to mind them on saturday, if she had asked I might have taken them.'
'You should offer.'
'I'm not a mind reader. If she asks me I'll mind them.'
'Sure I'm asking you now.'
'Fine, I'll mind them.'
'Oh you needn't bother if it's putting you out.'
'I just said I would, didn't I?' And now my voice is starting to rise.
'It's the way you said it.'
'It's the way you asked.'
'Well I'll call her back and tell her you were kind enough to take them for a couple of hours.'
'Do that.'
There is silence. I don't break it and neither does she. After a second or two I hang up.
Then I fucked the phone as hard as I could across the room, breaking it in the process and wrenching my knee.
ARRRRRRGHHHHHHHHH!
And Dead Like Me didn't didn't come on! Some show called Heroes came on instead.
And this morning I must go into town for a meeting, and I don't like meetings. No, I do not.