Susan Hated Literature

What’s this, what’s this? A post from me that’s more than a review?
What’s this, what’s this? More than just an excuse?

Honestly, I don’t know what it is, but you can blame JP for it. Him and his complimentary comment. I guess flattery really will get you every where^[1] Part of the reason I haven’t been blogging as much recently is that I’ve been going out more often. Consorting with people in real life and getting all my insane inanities out that way. Sharing the pointless with real life people as opposed to you good online souls.

But it is also because I just don’t seem to be as chirpy as I used to. Not that I’m unhappy or moany or anything like that. It’s just I’m not as chirpy^[2]

Maybe it is just that I’m getting tired of other people and their stupidities. They really do make me wonder^[3] Nothing major, don’t get me wrong, just the little things that make me raise my eyebrow in a quizzical manner^[4] Like, at the World Street Performance Championships^[5] there a while back we were all gathered around, sitting on the grass, eating ice-creams, bumping into strangers, crowded in to watch the wierdo^[6] as he swallowed swords. But next to me is a woman, fair enough, nothing wrong so far, but she has a bike. And instead of realising that having this great hunk of metal in the middle of a crowd of people is a little silly she decides that it’d be a good idea to keep it next to her. It was a foldy up one, so things coulda been worse. But at the same time, come on! Made it very difficult to sit comfortably with a bloody pedal pressing into your ankle.

Is it just me or is that rude?

And another thing, scooters. Not the motorbike type, the other version, you know, skateboards with handlebars. You know them right? Anyways hands up who among you think that it is a good idea to hurtle along through morning rush-hour pedestrians? yeah, didn’t think so.

I’m sure you all got the title’s reference? Right, Nightmare before Christmas peoples.

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If you could see me now you’d see a furrowed little brow^[1] as I try to figure out people. I mean, they are just generally weird aren’t they?

Yesterday Eircom cut off a whole heap of Smart customers. See eircom rent out their lines to Smart^[2] only Smart haven’t paid their bill. I don’t know the exact figures, but I think it is a fair few million that they owe. And eircom did what any normal business would do. They stopped providing the service that wasn’t being paid for.

Only instead of blaming Smart, people seem to be blaming Eircom. Is this just excellent spin by Smart? Or can someone explain why Eircom should continue to subsidise a rival company by allowing its customers to continue to use a service that hasn’t been paid for?

In other news, I’ve gone ahead and changed the software behind Cunning Quotes so it should be fairly straight forward for anyone and everyone to register and submit their own favourites. If you spot any problems let me know.

And yes, I’m aware that there are a few quotes missing. I have backed up the database so everything should be recoverable, eventually. Well, every thing bar the most recent quote submitted^[3]

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I’m bemused^[1] My eyebrows are raised in a very “wtf are you on” sort of way.

The thing is, I’m well aware that some people don’t know that Ireland isn’t part of Britain. And no offence to my American bloggers, but often those some people come from the US, so they have an excuse. Not like it actually matters to them when they come over on holiday, apart from the fact that we don’t share a currency. But you don’t need a passport to travel^[2] between Britain and Ireland, so you might think things that are wrong.

But when British people think it? I mean. WTF!^[3] But maybe it is just the listeners of Chris Moyle’s radio show? I dunno. But seriously, WTF?

One [learned listener] called in to say he always thought Ireland was in Britain and this was backed up with more texts from listeners who also felt the same.

Moyles hit back by saying: “It’s like saying the French are German if you say the Irish are British.�

*please insert your own version of my^[4] mini-rant about 800^[5] years of bloody struggle etc, violence, etc, blah blah blah. mention 1920’s. Not forgetting Treaties. Oh yeah, and actual independence. And the fact that we’re a republic*

So, people of Britain, let me assure you, Bob Geldof is not British. He is, in fact, Irish. You can be Irish and British.^[6] but only if you live in Northern Ireland. Which isn’t where Bob is from. He’s from Dublin. Which is in Ireland, aka Éire^[7] often refered to as the Republic of Ireland. Now concentrate, and then think again about whether Bob Geldof is British.

Maybe they’ve all been down the local library and been browsing through their Dewey Decimal system manuals, and discovered that Britain & Ireland are covered under the term The British Isles? And that is where the mistake comes from?

Story spotted over at Blogorrah

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Well after bringing up the depressing headlines and news stories concerning the middle east, I left work this evening and just as I left the building it started to rain. First time I’ve had to walk in the rain for well over a month. And I actually missed. Didn’t even wait under cover at the bus stop, but walked home, in the rain. In fine fettle

I also discovered this story about an Irish Sumo Wrestler while surfing about the place. Though when I say sumo wrestler I don’t actually mean that. No this fella just delights in doing random sports-related stuff. Including competing at the world elephant polo championships. Genius.

Also while walking home I spotted a ship down by the keys, one of them posh yacht types. But it had the coolest name, The Battered Bull! Isn’t that great?

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Personal opinions are strange things. The way I view something can differ wildly from another perspective. I’m all about the seeing both sides, but sometimes you just want to shout at people to stop being such fucktards and tools. Sometimes.

Today, in the Times there are two letters bemoaning the fact that Amhrán na bhFiann wasn’t played in Twickenham. That the IRFU are sullying our national anthem by playing Ireland’s Call at away matches.

But the IRFU is one of the few all-Ireland bodies on this island. Cross-community initiatives and all that malarky. Why should unionists and loyalists be represented by the anthem of another country? Because whatever you may want, the fact of the matter is that the Republic of Ireland (Éire) and Northern Ireland are two separate entities^[1]

Of course, this does then raise the point, well why don’t NI have their own rugby team, and how can we unite two states together to form one national team. But thats the problem with real life. It isn’t all straight lines and easy answers.

“Madam, - Will the IRFU have the decency to play our national anthem in Croke Park?
[subs req'd]

Amhrán na bhFiann will be played in Croke Park, because, if the rugby team do play there next year it will be their home stadium, and they always play both Amhrán na bhFiann and Ireland’s Call at home matches.

In a few days of great celebration here in the UK for Ireland, I had to suffer the indignity once again of hearing an announcement on Friday evening at Kingsholm at the A rugby international and on Saturday at Twickenham that a cheerleaders’ song called Ireland’s Call is my national anthem.
[sub req'd]

Is it really an indignity? and an insult? Really?
Ireland’s Call is not the Irish national anthem, I’ll agree with you there. But it is the anthem the Irish rugby team use. I would prefer is both the anthem and Ireland’s Call were played, but then again I’m not a Northern Irish unionist who wants no part of the republic, am I?

I doubt the Scots complain when we refer to Flower of Scotland as their anthem, when it isn’t, not officially.

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Last week, on Monday I think, I had just got in from work when the doorbell went. I live in apartments where you have to buzz people in. So I answered the phone thing^[1] , it was some fella asking for my flatmate.

Normally she gets in a little after me, so I said he could wait for her, thinking of course that because he knew where she lived and what her name was that he knew her.

He arrives at the door, chatting away like a mad yoke, and almost at once that little lightbulb goes off. He doesn’t know her. Doh!

And at that moment I remember that flatmate won’t be home for ages, she has this work-related thingy on. So I say this, he keeps chatting as he tries to write down his address. Telling me that he met her on Sat night as she was walking home and was, well, a little on the tipsy side. And in their walk back they got on really well. He goes on to say that she obviously really liked his sense of humour because she was laughing at everything he said.

I couldn’t resist, I had to bring up the fact that she was drunk, and in that state anything is Hi-larious^[2] That shut him for a moment. And he focused on the writing down his address. Only the pen ran out. So I gave him another. Which fell apart. Eventually I think it took him four pens, but he managed to leave his address, he has a mobile but didn’t leave his number because he doesn’t really like talking on it.

Don’t know why, he seemed to like talking to me, couldn’t shut him up.

He was only in the apt. for like five minutes, but I swear I learned his entire life story. What his job was. Where his parents are from. What he does for a living. All this and more.

Anyways, he left. So all was right in the world. Only for him to turn up the following day. I answered the door again. This time not inviting him up, but lying and saying that no, flatmate was not in, all the time trying not to laugh as she stared at me in horror.

And that was not the last we heard from him.

He came by a few times last week, including fairly early on a Sunday! And fairly late one Thursday. But a few days went by. No calling. So we figure he got the hint. I mean how many times can you call by and get a “no. she’s not here” response?

We were just chatting about how he finally understood when the door goes. Yup. He was back… Only this time instead of asking if he wanted to leave a message I say “if she wants to see you she’ll be in contact” Do you think that was obvious enough?

Two minutes after that ring at the doorbell we hear a knock on the door. Shit! is that stalker-boy^[3] Flatmate legs it into her room and shuts the door; whispering intensly at me, “I’m not here”.

I open the door….

Fucking trick’r'treaters!

Kids in Hallowe’en masks singing a song at me. Well I was a little confused. Isn’t Hallowe’en at the end of the month?

Turns out these cheeky buggers were going to be away on holiday, so wanted to do the rounds before they left. I told them that we didn’t have anything, which is the truth. I mean, who keeps a stash of mini-bars and whatnot in case mad kids come calling? And cheeky bugger #1 insists we should have known. That they sent notes round. They put letters in all the boxes.

Cheeky fucks.

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Some people take their sport far too seriously:

"A Welsh rugby fan cut off his own
testicles to celebrate Wales beating England at rugby,
the Daily Mirror has reported."

- from Reuters

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