K8 the GR8

I’m the tiredest person in the world.  From being unemployed (or a ‘Home Engineer’ as I like to put it) to a full-time cabby in less than 60 seconds has taken it’s toll a bit!  Me poor blog has taken to the backburner, but I’ll try to keep her ticking over - at least until I’ve finished programming photos into me Celtclanink.com, which is a task that hangs over me like a box of Acme TNT.  Pardon me if I’m a bit quiet.

I love being a cabby, me.  Bray is full of diversity… it’s only been a week and I’ve already met the village idiot and the new Messiah!  Seriously though, taxiing is a rich farm of interesting conversations.  Everyone wants to talk to a stranger, as Pedro rightly pointed out during a game of Colin McRae after work today. 

I made my first taxi-punter regular!  A girl and her fella took a shine to me last week and by coincidence, got me again today.  When her boyfriend hopped out, she got me to drive her to the top of the town, then back down to the bottom again in rush hour traffic.  She was in the car for almost an hour but we spent it happily burning our each other’s ears off (with matches!-it’s so nice to meet a fellow sado-masochist) and comparing tattoos.  She gave me a small fortune of a tip and asked me to stick around!  Sweet.

A little old lady likened me to James Bond for my driving skills, and a younger Austrian lady informed me that it costs €55 (FIFTY FIVE SQUIDS?!?!?) to have one’s nails varnished at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Enniskerry.  My, but isn’t that one posh spa.  I hope she buffs first!

-o-

Jefferson has me tagged with one of his own nifty inventions-

“Bring to your consciousness those memoriesof the things you’ve seen and the places you’ve been over the last twenty-four hours. Good. Now select a one-minute sequence of events and try to replay it over and over again in your mind.��?

From “The Three Bears“, by Derec Jones. 

Whoa… which minute?!  How to choose?!?!  Ok here goes:

I’m sitting on the Putland Road with the door open and the sun shining strong, having a smoke (shhhh!).  The CB radio has been quiet, and the lads out on the streets are getting bored. 

- *cchhh* 21, Tommy?

- *cchhh* Yeah go ahead Pa’.

- *cchhh* Do you have a number for this fella? What does he look like?

- *cchhh* 28, K8 - have you got details for this lad?

- *cchhh* Umm, no.  He’s in his sixties, long scruffyish hair. (I release the button and curse loudly - bad rookie!)

- *cchhh* Heh.. sounds like you, Pa’!

- *cchhh* Rrrrrodge.

- *cchhh* Car 11 is clear.

- *cchhh* Yeah clear.  Ehhh… 28, uh.. ehhh.  Whatsit ehhhhhh.. K… uuuuhhhh.. um.. (etc for 12 seconds of forgetful torture while I scream RELEASE THE BUTTON SO I CAN TELL YA!!! at the radio.) uhhhh… Kate!

- I pause to quash a bad dose of giggles… *cchhh* snif - Yeah, go ahead *ahem*

- *cchhh* Sorry there.  Brain blocked. Could you go up to Dunnes there and pick up a Missuz Whotsit with her shopping for 14 Backageegee street? 

-*cchhh* Sure thing.  And Tommy?

-*cchhh* Yeah go ahead

-*cchhh* Keep your ‘uuuhhs’ to yourself next time, ok?

-*cchhh* Wha?

-*cchhh* tee hee hee!

I couldn’t believe that someone actually pressed their mike button just to giggle.  How great this job is!

I like this one.  Fair play Jeffo :)

Passing the pencil to: The Benster, Resident Alien, Doc (The Accidental Terrorist may or may not be on to you… he’s being very furtive about penguins lately), Sam Problemchildbride, and Thriftcriminal.

Head. Pillow. Hit. Zzzzzzzz.

My, but aren’t Irish men horny on Sundays?!  I made €32 on tips alone, just by flirting behind the wheel today, as opposed to €8 yesterday and €12 on Thursday.  What’s so special about Sundays?

KA-CHINGGG!!!

I heard a snippet of news on the radio that made me giggle:  Apparently when Bertie told his co-workers he was going to throw in the towel, they “wept openly”.  Grown men?  Politicians?  I don’t think so.  I think Bertie pre-empted it.  I think he ate an extra-hot vindaloo and washed it down with five pints of Guinness the night before, then stuffed his pockets with onions the next morning before work.  It was the gas that made them cry… the gas.  Either that, or politicians are damn good actors!  Oh wait… right, never mind.

I heard a most excellent song on the radio today… several times, in fact.  It’s a version of House of Pain’s ‘Jump!’, which is a song that sparks the dancing flames into almost everybody when they hear it.  It is possibly the no.1 best song that one could hear in a nightclub and I love it.  This version is in flagrante as Gaeilge.

You Oirish readers out there know exactly what I’m talking about.  It’s Des Bishop, fair play to him… he’s learned the language in 4.2 minutes and has now taken on the coolest song known to mankind.  Here’s a link to the song on Donncha O’Caoimh’s site, Holy Shmoly.  (Don’t listen to this video if you are over the age of 50.  You will hate it.  Especially you.)  I can’t find the radio version, but I’ll buy the single if it’s released because it’s a pretty darn excellent version.

Thing is though, everything the Irish try to coolify ends up being naff in some way.  I’m eternally proud of their efforts and of the language itself, but somehow there is nothing that will entice us to relinquish that final little bit of British rule… the English language.  This song might just be enough to entice our schoolkids into pricking up their ears regarding the old Gaeilge, but that’s because they’re Irish.

As for the rest of the world… they don’t know that ‘Léim’ means ‘jump’!  All they hear is: ‘LAME, LAME, LAME, LAME, LAME!’  *sigh*  Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the definition of irony.

On a different note, a good blogger buddy of mine has been censored.  Yes!  Censored!  Read all about it here: Brianf; the hate monger blog  (Oh my lord!  Somebody else is on to us!  Kill it!  Kill it!)  Seems as though Bush -the big bad rookie himself- has found some more bitches.

Propaghandi?

On another different but equally irking note,  I read this on Going Like Sixty’s site: Bloggers are being sued out there… read all about it!  I’m pretty sure that this sueing pillock is only after a domain name, but like I say… I’m naive.  The offending site is at Neurodiversity.  It makes for interesting reading.

Bloody hell… I only came on here to write about my extra tips!  Wine is excellent blog lubrication I find.

To finish up, I would like to quote a rather insightful spam I received today;

Humph. Someone has to force me to read this post. It’s too big and boring. Brevity is the sister of talent, remember that.

Thank you, Adriana Naked Lombard xxx, I shall remember this to the end of my…

 post.

I’m officially a big fat hypocrite.  I used to love whingeing about taxi drivers, saying what wankers they were to push me out of a lane or cut me off.  I joked when people told me I’d be the same… I swore I’d remain considerate, but no, today I fell over the edge. 

Drivers dithering at the lip of a slip lane are asking for me to overtake them.  People sitting at filter arrows across from me seem to want me to cut them off, it’s not my fault.  Taxi drivers are just on auto-pilot most of the time… I am, even after only three days.  I’m too busy concentrating on the radio, my destination and other car’s bumpers for me to remember to be nice. 

So on behalf of all the taxi drivers in Ireland, we’re sorry, but if you’re dozy, we’ll just keep right on trucking.  We have to.  Feel free to bully back, it makes a nice break from the routine!

I found a video for you.  I hope it works.  It’s a rather inspiring story about an adopted African boy:

Thanks Kelly :)

Today was full of Bray.  I learned many shortcuts thanks to daring passenger’s advice, and now know that it is not a good idea to stop - for any reason - in Fassaroe.  I am tired. 

I’m especially tired of Coastcare blogging.  I wrote a very in-depth post last night which was researched and politically correct and linked to the extreme.  It took me an hour.  I then went off to look for a photo and when I returned, the God of Irony decided to delete it.  Gone.  Forever.  Even the draft copy.

I just wrote a half-assed version of it tonight, and am saddened by its lack of traffic.  It reminds me of the old days! 

Here it is: The Brittas Bay Coastcare Blog

*sigh*

I would be extremely grateful if you could all pop over there for a sec and leave some sort of mark…  Animals are welcome (I’m lookin’ at you, sheeplady) as well as pirates and adventurers searching for treasure.  You know what I mean.

*sigh*

On a different note, I got memed by Hairyfish for the memoir in 6 words thing, the object is to… ah sure you know the craic by now. 

“Soul’s full of pins and needles”

…would be mine.  My photo is:

This picture is of a quiet man who lives near Parnell’s house in Avondale Woods, here in Rathdrum (not in Rathnew as I stupidly blurted involuntarily over the CB today. D’OH.  Stupid.  Bad rookie!)  This place is the most amazing place in the world, especially if you’re a dog who loves sticks and rivers and picnics and lots and lots of walking. 

I’m listening to a most excellent CD what I got in the post this morning from Tenacious T (consider yourself memed!!).  Guy seriously picks good material.  I’ll let you know what’s on it later, but I’m too monged out from all the blogging to do anything but listen to it right now.

Also I noticed I really need to update my blogroll from my favourites and google reader lists but TAT is nagging me to get off the computer so I have to go…. I’ll meme some more people one everything’s all fresh and pretty tomorrow if you don’t mind. 

You’re Goddamn right, it’s a beautiful day, uh huh.

Addendum: Oh yes, I have some serious memeing to do, don’t I!?  You thought you’d get away with it, didn’t you?  Eeny… Meeny… Miny… Mo.

I worked my first day as a taxi-driver today.

My first customer was a really sound one armed-bloke from Los Angeles.  He is thinking about opening a Mexican restaraunt in Bray which I very verbally fully supported, as there aren’t many places you can find good chili around Wicklow.

I then had an airport run, so got to spazz around on the M50 for a while listening to my choons in the early springtime sunshine, so that was pretty nice. 

I’ll tell you what though, it’s nifty having a CB radio.  There was a quiet spell at 6 o’clock when I got to sit on my thumb and read the paper for a whole hour, and I got bored.  There was no chatter at all on the radio, Bray was dead.  Everyone must have decided to walk home I suppose.  I had to resist some serious temptation to press the button and tell a really dirty joke. 

Somebody dare me to do it.  Give me something really short but pee-inducingly funny to say on the CB and I’ll do it.  Go on, I know you have material.  Cough it up.

A week later…

There’s that personality dysfunction I was telling you about!  I’m not very good at announcing or celebrating things for some reason.

Yes, kind people, thank you for asking - I did indeed pass my Public Service Vehicle test last Tuesday!

Luckily the garda in charge was too busy listening to Joe Duffy and chatting to his collegue to correct the test paper properly, for yours truly was not entirely awake at the time of the exam.  It had taken me two hours to slide all the way to Wexford on the black ice, with this rolling around my confused little head.  Then of course, being as unprepared as I tend to be, I had 30 minutes to revise Irish Road signs.  For some reason I didn’t expect there to be many more than 20, but no, there are plenty of odd and superfluous road signs and markings out there to confuse the Irish driver.  As for directions around Wicklow Town… why are you asking me this?!?!  They have… like… satellite maps these days y’know.  Duuuhhh…

So, I entered the exam feeling unprepared, tired and nervous, but came out happily sucking diesel!!!  I even treated myself to some windscreen wiper fluid to celebrate.

I am especially happy seeing as the powers that be have decided to make this whole testing thing a lot more detailed in the future.  Had I not passed this test, I would’ve had to suffer a whole training course should I have chosen to re-apply!  Sod all this training lark.  I have full confidence in my own ability to wing it.

I’m going to go now and draw a fake moustache and glasses on my photo I.D., then I think I’ll ice my Christmas cake and then perhaps poison the neighbour’s cat with all the leftover marzipan.

Happy Humpday everybody!

It’s a dangerous world out there, but of course I don’t need to tell you that. Violence is horrifying, so we all do our best to prepare ourselves and our loved ones for the likelihood of personal attacks. Self-defence is by far the most under-advertised health product.

In my little head, I am a fearsome bitch. I’ve lain in bed awake on a few occasions imaging scenarios. A shadow would slowly creep up the walls of my bedroom, and a dark figure with a knife would suddenly appear at the threshold. I’d leap up, grab my highly flammable bodyspray can and lighter, stand defiantly on the mattress and say ‘Not. This. Family.’ in my best dry emotionless tone (as defined by Kevin Spacey in the Usual Suspects). I would then give a brief demonstration of my home-made flamethrower just to seal the deal. Said robber would then pee his pants and either grovel or turn tail.

I’ve walked a dark street and imagined that four brothers from the gutter have crept up behind me. My imaginary acting skills would guide me to safety by denying the assailants of my fear. I would shout gibberish into mid air, then proceed to stick my fingers down my throat. Once I had managed to regurgitate, I would then sit on the pavement and start to play with the diced carrots. That would be enough hopefully to freak out even the toughest of bastards.

If there were one man instead of four, of course I would try out some Uma Therman moves as learned from Kill Bill. I would karate chop their windpipe with the tips of my fingers, then kick the assailant in the gonads. As he doubles over, I would then deliver a knee to the forehead. Perfect, but unlikely. Happily though, there is no such thing as ‘unlikely’ in my imagination. Who really knows what our bodies will do against our better judgement in a fight or flight situation unless we’ve been tested before?

I’m taking my Public Service Vehicle license test on the 11th. I want to be a taxi-driver, and do my bit for the country by motoring both disabled and fully functional people around Wicklow. My car’s already adapted, so it makes sense. The Accidental Terrorist has already passed his test so is now a bonafide Taxi driver. He will be working at night, but is more than capable of defending himself against drunken attacks.

If I pass this test, I’ll be doing the day-shifts. These are infinately safer than night-shifts, but still not totally devoid of risky situations. You never know when you’ll come across a belligerent old bitch with a can of mace who’ll do anything for a discount, or some weirdo dressed up as an accountant who thinks you need to see his ’special purpose’.

The thing is, though, it’s quite difficult to defend oneself from a driver’s seat. There’s no room to build up enough momentum for a good punch, and the handbrake might get in the way of a half-nelson attempt. I’m not allowed to use weapons of course, so I’m kind of stumped.

My questions are… Have you ever been involved in a car-seat fight? Have you seen any films which involve this sort of scenario? What are the most effective intimidating props you can think of, that can be used to ward off the madmen?

I would also be very interested to hear about key-ring attatchments. Do they make taiser guns small enough?