Susan Hated Literature

So, instead of rugby this blog will know turn its attention to… cricket! Nah, not really, though I have watched some of our winning ways. Who knew that failed^[1] furrin^[2] crickteers could play so well? Or, if I’m being honest, who really cared. Still, now that they are out there winning, and fans are singing olé olé olé^[3] the rest of us will be happy to see them do well.

In case you all didn’t know, the Six Nations finished up on Saturday. We were playing first, on account of the BBC organising things. Bloody English! And the match was one of the most entertaining, plus we scored over 50 points. All good. You know, apart from that last minute try from Italy after we really should have put the ball out of play, but no point in moaning. As B#5 said, sure, no matter what we scored those french fuckers’d^[4] probably go one better. But we had such high hopes ^[5] as it looked like Scotland might just do enough. But no, bloody crappy refs asking stoooopud questions when everyone and their dog could see that there was no grounding visible, therefore the benefit of the doubt must go to the defending team, and therefore you may NOT award the try should have been Mr. TMO’s call.

But, what can you do? Pray for payback come the Autumn, that’s what. So you’d better watch out then.

I would have loads and loads of photos of the terribly exciting and thrilling St. Patrick’s Day Parade from Sligo, only as B#3 was invest-igamating the new camera he hit the delete all button. I saved some, but not all. Mainly the attention grabbing parade consisted of bands. Marching pipe bands. In rain gear.

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Luna Nina says:

1. Taxes ::
2. Hooray ::
3. Justification ::
4. Shocking ::
5. Bureaucracy ::
6. Porn ::
7. Silly ::
8. DJ ::
9. Swing ::
10. Anti- ::

Mine will be under the cut. but first…

Was home at the weekend, and my tickets have arrived, which is all to the good. This despite the fact that on the website where you go to check the status of your tickets it says they are in the process of being printed.

The weekend was not a good one on the pet front, as the puppy-dog bashed his tail against something on Friday and his usual every-day-mood is one of “oooh, look stuff. Great.” while wagging his tail. By Friday evening he’d learned that wasn’t such a good idea as it hurt. And because he is a big baby all you’d hear was this clatter of nails on the wooden floor as he got up, all happy to see someone, and then a sudden whine.
Still, by Sat he seemed to have learned and there was no more whining. Although that may just have been because his tail wasn’t quite so damaged anymore.

The other major incidence was the loss of one of the fish. Yes, one of the sister’s poor goldfish died on Sat. We’re blaming the other one for its murder, but as of yet Sharkey and George are otherwise engaged and can’t come to bust this crime of the fish-tank.

Brother #4 took possession of the expired fish as he was going to bring it down the pub and drop in someone’s pint. A decision which then prompted much discussion between himself and Brother #3 over whether it would be better to put it in a pint of cider, or light coloured beer and so have the drinker spot it. Or would it be better to place the fish that was no more into the end of a pint of Guinness in the hopes that someone might actually take a swig of dead-fish-pint.

But all this discussion came to naught as in the end he stayed in on sat., so the fish ended up taking the more traditional journey to the next world, yup, down the loo.

However, the family have managed to steal two cats. Well, one is a stray and while it turns up almost every day for feeding, it won’t let you get too close. While the other loves being petted, but we still think it started out life as a stray. Just a friendlier type. But the neighbours are also trying to steal it by the cunning and tricksy use of … food!

Continue Reading »

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So, how did we all get over the christmas and the new year then?
I’ll give you a very brief recap. Went home on christmas eve’s eve, loaded down with presents. Dumped them under the tree and then dumped myself in front of the telly

Went to midnight mass on Christmas eve, only it wasn’t midnight it was at seven, but for some reason it is still called midnight mass. Reasons anyone? Twas very boring, our priest is like that priest on Father Ted with the world’s most boring voice. Only occasionally his Sligo accent will be erased by his Italian accent (He lived there for many years before returning to Ireland). I also got to see the new crib. It came all the way from Italy, and I think may have been designed to bling up the church.

You know the way a normal crib has Mary, Joeseph, some kid in a manger, maybe a few shepherds and a couple of farm animals? Well, this one already had the three kings kneeling in the straw, they are still on their way! Plus maybe five billion shepards^[1] a couple of hooker-looking goose-girls, a whole flock of sheep, a camel in the middle of the stable^[2] and bright and shining angels thrown around for good luck. Plus Mary was blonde. Whats up with that?

Ah well, enough with the boringness of religious ceremony, and on to the pressies. Have to say my gift of the shocking tanks went down a treat with the boys. Not only did brothers #4 & #5 give each other electric shocks, they also crept in on sleeping brothers^[3] #2 & #3 and shocked them awake. Or at least semi-conscious. See you get two remote control tanks, and you fire at each other with laser-type thingies, and when your tank gets shot you get an electric shock through the handset. Fun times! Just like when you used to touch electric fences as a kid for the little kick^[4] And when you lose by getting shot five times you get an extra long shock. Brother #4 was hi-larious, every time he got shocked he’d do this little kick out with his left foot. Every home should have a set of shocking tanks I tell you.

As usual the sister got covered in presents, but her main one from Santa was one that everyone else enjoyed. A keyboard which lit up as the keys were played, but which would also light up the keys so you could play various tunes and so learn them. Everyone had a go.

I got my printer, which we later tried out and yes, it does work, but was too much hassle to try and fit into my bag so the parentals should be visiting various peoples in Dublin in a short while, and I’ll get it from them then.

I didn’t bother getting up to see the Stephen’s Day Hunt this year. Once in a while I’ll pop up to the crossroads to take a look, but wasn’t in the mood this year. I did hear that numbers were very high, so I’m thinking that maybe a few relatives from the UK were over this year?

Which leads me on to Stephen’s Night out. And horror of horrors, the Garavogue^[5] has been renamed, now it is called The Left Bank, which I don’t like. Still went there though. Arrived at 7.30, and got home some time around 5. Thats all I’m saying, oh, that and vodka!

I also managed to take the dog (Can you spot him in the pic over on the right?) out every day I was home. Which was great as he really is getting too fat. The ickle puppy must be 5 at this stage, getting auld so he is. And that leads me neatly on to the latest pointless quiz I’ve taken:

DOG - Your daemon may be a dog if you are loyal and
caring, and like to know what is expected of
you. You probably are very family oriented, and
have a small group of friends that you are very
close to, rather than a large group of
acquaintances. You dislike confrontation, but
you will stand up and fight for the people and
issues that you really care about. You may
prefer someone else to take the lead in a
situation, although you would rather take the
lead yourself than have the situation fall
apart. You probably enjoy routine and order,
but that doesn’t mean you don’t like to have
fun. If anything, your friends probably know
you for getting intense, child-like pleasure in
the small things in life.

What Is Your Daemon?
brought to you by Quizilla Found Via Diamond’s LJ

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EDIT - jeez, people. Don’t you notice nuffink? I never mentioned what brother #3’s new nickname is. So I’m just going to leave you in suspense.

As I’ve mentioned I was home for a few days (almost a whole week), and have a new nickname for brother #3 (the head-in-gate-one). He is all grown up now (legally, not actually) and was recently in Poland. I think playing football with his work, but not too sure. After his return he developed a bit of a rash, so went to see the doc. Turns out he was bitten by a Black Forest Fly (I may have gotten the name wrong, but it is a black forest something.)

Another brother, this is the one who had two broken hands at the same time, has developed a chipped tooth. How I hear you ask (with my great hearing). Well, he was coming out of a fast food shop, heading for the car, at 4 in the morning when some fella bumped into him. And thumped him, as did a group of anywhere between 4 and 10 other fellas (drunk? my brother, I doubt it!). Luckily enough the brother wasn’t actually alone, and a few of his friends came to his rescue before they all headed to the car. A case of happy slapping or just general minkish behaviour?

In case you are wondering a minker (mink), in sligo slang is roughly equivalent to a chav, or a Scally. Now, go away and put this new term to good use.

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While over at Anne’s I got involved in a discussion on bunk beds and the harm that may, possibly, befall bunkees, which leads to this story, which you may think is totally unrelated, and you may be correct, but I don’t care.

Back when I was nothing but a childer, living in Clondalkin I had a little brother ^1]. I can’t remember what age he was, but three sounds good doesn’t it? That means I would’ve been around 9. Hmm, I think he may only have been 2 so. Anyway, the age of brother #3 is irrelevant, once you know he was quite young.

So picture this little toddler wandering.. Driving his A-Team van here there and everywhere. Now picture him with his head stuck through a gate. Got that? Okay, now realise that he can’t free himself, he really is stuck.

So the mother makes an appearance, tries to free this child, with his head stuck between two white metal bars. No luck. A few neighbours gather, we lived in an estate, all offering advice^[2] but to avail. The poor toddler trapped by his own head

Eventually some one offers a solution. Well, they offered a hacksaw. And the bar in the gate was cut through, freeing the brother. Yipee!

The question of how exactly his head had gone through the bars to end up stuck so firmly was resolved: It hadn’t!

Brother #3 had squeezed his body through, an attempt to escape no doubt, but his giant head had prevented him from making it outside the garden.

And no, of course we never teased him about it when he was older. Would a family ever stoop to reliving such trauma!!! *wounded innocence*

_{[1] - Yes this brother still exists. I used to be the only girl in a family of 5 boys, but around 9 years ago another female arrived. (back)}

[2] - I always have to pause and figure out which is the verb and which the noun, advice or advise. (back)

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