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.

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.

I did it!  Tea and coffee was supplied for 40 people last night, the chairs were arranged in an enormous semi-circle and the lighting was suitably dimmed.  A hush fell over the room.  I got up first and gave my speech.  I was magnetic, incandescent, riveting even.  I only said ‘bollocks’ once, but it was with reference to a politican so was received well.

When I finished and took an emotionally laden breath before saying ‘Thank you and good night…’  the room erupted with the applause of the only five people that turned up.

Oh well…

I did learn in all seriousness that the intense nervousness felt before an event is in direct inverse proportion to the ‘Thank Jaysus that’s over’ relief felt afterwards, which, in my case, was as powerful as a dose of heroin.  So that was nice.

It really isn’t a good idea to abandon the blogging world for too long, is it?  I really really need to use this google reader thing everyone keeps telling me about, for it would make catching up so much easier!  Anyway, all my poster and tattoo site work is complete!  I’m just waiting for Ron to pull his finger out and upload the files onto the interweb so I can link it for you.  I’m proud of my poster endeavours, so I’m bloggerizing them.  Also this proves that I haven’t been sitting around on my thóin all week.

-:-

 Also I’d like to show you this photo I took last autumn: 

As it turns out, this photograph is cursed.  The black cat you see (for whom I admittedly had a death-wish), was run over a few weeks back, and the dog… well, I found his body in my garden yesterday while sorting my junk pile.  Funnily enough, his name was Twenty Major.  I’ll be framing this photo for my neighbour who owned both of these unfortunate animals. 

Indeed and if it is not the photo itself but the camera that is cursed, I can take pictures of your enemy for €1,000 a piece, and they should expire soon after of natural causes. 

Oh yes, and since I last posted on here, I got my first tattoo!  I now have a giant anchor on my back.  I’m well-ard, me.  (Nahhh, just kidding.  I’m now marked with the symbol of the ying-yang.  What else?!)

Ok… now for some serious catch-up.  Can I borrow some broadband?

-:-

Looky look!  My virgin attempt at a website!

celtclanink.com

Laugh all you want, I don’t care.  I just gave myself a lollypop.

Thanks Ron!

Things might be quiet around here for a while.

I’m a community volunteer, see, and there really aren’t enough of us around, surprisingly enough.  So, It’s been put upon me to create posters, mail-shots, invitations and press releases to advertise an upcoming beach-clean.  Seriously, how on earth does one rally enthusiasm for picking up old nappies and hypodermic needles?

You know what else?  A local tattoo artist has noticed my blog and has got it into his head that I might design a website for him in return for certain… umm… ‘favours’.  There are certain members of my family that are particularily skilled in the technological department, but unfortunately, I’m not one of them.  I tried to learn HTML, I really did, but my efforts always end up swamped by apathy.  This means my web-site building is on a par with your average 10-year old’s.  Seriously though - have you ever tried to decypher a page of html script?  It’s like trying to read Chinese writing, unless you happen to be Chinese, of course. 

Still, I’ll give it a go, then post up a link so you can all have a good laugh.

I know I have a few memes to catch up on… Terence McDanger in his evil ways has suckered me with that damn ‘Seven things about you’ meme again.  I feel that if I don’t continue the chain I won’t go to heaven, so it’ll find it’s way from the dark corners of my brain and onto this here blog soon enough.

The other meme is from Jefferson Davis and his lovely cotton (poo-soaked) socks.  It’s not really a meme, but instead an award which tickles my insides like Guinness drunk out of a bottle with a straw:

 But why?:

Art Prize and Award
“This prize has arisen from the daily visits that I dedicate to many blogs which nourish me and enrich me with creativity. In them I see dedication, creativity, care, comradeship, but mainly, ART, much art. I want to share this prize with all those bloggers that entertain me day to day and to share this prize with those who enrich me every day. Doubtlessly, there are many and it will be hard to pick just a few, the people I will name today deserve this prize, as do the very long serious list of bloggers I also enjoy to read, but I will name the first 10 and will leave the rest of the work to all the bloggers that visit other’s blogs and are nourished by them.”

Awww!  Thanks Jeffo!

I spread this appreciation to: The humblest of housewives, the craftiest of knitters, a cabbie most solid, a photographer most universal, and the most talented of scribblers.  People, your arts inspire me and scratch my proverbial itch.

Seeing as I have the opportunity and we’re sort of on the subject, I would also like to publish a rare MySpace link.  Clare Hartigan’s art is truly awe-inspiring, and well worth a visit.

I’ll be back soon, if my brain doesn’t overheat first.

My life is freaking me out, man.  This taxi lark?  It just keeps sticking it in and breaking it off.  Remember when I was harping on about my disabled vehicle taxi license falling through?  Well, the new application form arrived yesterday, and instead of them charging €270 for a hackney license, guess what?!  They’ve hiked the price up to just over a thousand quid since February 1st.  400% increase!!!  Apparently they weren’t ‘obliged’ to tell us when we were on the phone inquiring about it.  Is this a bad sign?

So what do we now?!  I’m sick of sitting on potential resources and not having a clue what to do with them.  There must be something out there we could be good at, and I’m not talking about buying lottery tickets.  The blue-collar job is looming, but we are two reasonably educated people stuck in council housing due to bad circumstances and can’t think of any other way out.  How tough those baldheads make it for people like us to dig ourselves out of this dependancy hole!

That’s how the bummed-out side of me is talking.

The unbelievably happy side of me is bubbling over at the idea that a lot of you people out there like my blog!  I forgot to breathe for those few seconds after I saw my name on the newcomer shortlist, I was so humbled that I made it through, out of so many excellent writers out there.  Delighted too that Hails is with me!  She’s one of my mostest clicked links.

Thank you so much to my nominators and sponsors (buys cocktail for Deborah), and to the judging readers too.  So much material to read and so little time to do it, with such enormous diversity of reading matter- this cannot make for an easy job.  Thanks most of all to the one dude organising all of this… you’ve given so many bloggers great kicks just to see their names up in lights, just to know their ramblings make a difference - the bloggosphere is electric thanks to you.

There’s a constant internal nagging stuck on loop in my head.  Every mother feels it in her own way, each worries needlessly if they’re caring enough, providing a good enough start for their kids, knowing deep down that to hug and to keep safe is all that really matters.

With Laughingboy, this feeling has more pronounced lows and highs.  The kid is six years old and completely dependant, meaning that he can’t ward off boredom by kicking a football against a wall, twiddling on a transformer, or even holding a blinking toy.  He just lies there, stuck in the position he was last left in, sometimes for hours on end.

I feel pangs for him when I’m pooching on the net, or fighting virtual baddies on the xbox - I think of how I could be using this time to sit with him and talk or read with him… anything, just to have him aware that I love him and haven’t forgotten him.  It’s stupid, I mean if I didn’t rest sometimes on the long path of motherhood, I’d go crazy, and I know that.

It’s just that when I see him stare into space as he usually does when there’s nothing visual to focus on, I wonder… if he doesn’t know frenzied exercise, doesn’t it stand to reason that he doesn’t know boredom?  I pray that my imagination is so limited that I have no idea of the wonderful stuff spinning through his mind as the hours crawl by, for it’s more than I could stand to think he lives his whole life in prepetual emptiness.

This would have been the case a hundred years ago.  Laughingboy would have been forced into a home or locked in a basement with no-one to hear his giggles, nothing to do all day but stare.

This isn’t a hundred years ago, though, it’s today.  The day of respite, the day of St. Catherine’s.  St. Catherines school, and others like her, are where you want to go if you ever want to meet an angel.

St. Catherine’s fills Laughingboy’s school days with activity; stuff like physiotherapy, swimming and singing.  If you thought Barney was on drugs, these people would Blow. Your. Mind.

This is an era where bad news rules the media.  If you look closely, though, you’ll find that bad news is just the scum on the surface of life’s pond.  There are amazing fish underneath who will bravely land a seized-up Boeing 777 against all odds and save all the lives on board, and fish who will ignore someone’s disabilities and squeeze their untapped happiness out with only the purest of motivations.

I got this photo sent home in Laughingboy’s schoolbag yesterday:

It soothes the crazy like a warm fleece blanket.

My new bloggybuddy Camron at Plenipotentiary left a comment on my last post:

I need to have my chimney swept, and don’t want to fork over the $75. Is this something you could teach me? (Online learning is all the rage now…) You could do a “How To� post.

HOW TO CLEAN A CHIMNEY THE LAZY WAY

Difficulty: None, really.

What you need:

1 monkey
1 chimney cleaning brush and about 8 screw-on poles (depending on the height of your gaff), bought from DIY shop.
1 large sheet
1 empty coal sack or tarp/plastic sheeting
1 bucket
1 small shovel
Roll of Duck tape and scissors or knife
1 apron
Dust mask and goggles if you want to be extra cautious.
1 torch

Got everything?  Then we’ll begin.

- Send the monkey out to the kitchen to cook up an Irish fry, which should be ready by the time you’re finished.

- Clear the fireplace of ash and debris, remove the grate and fire guard.

- Clear the area around the fireplace, and lay the sheet so that it covers as much of the hearth and surrounding floor as possible.  Use duck tape to stick the edge of the sheet to the front of the fireplace.  This ensures that sheet won’t slip and that soot won’t get underneath.

- Cover the front of the fireplace with the empty coal sack, leaving a loose gap underneath.  Use duck-tape to keep the bag in place, but give yourself enough slack to be able to lift the sack to investigate the chimney flue.

- Use your torch to find the damper (if you have one), it’s usually just inside the chimney as you look up,  and open it to allow air to flow freely through the flue.

- Connect the brush head to a pole, and shove it up the chimney.  Jimmy it around to get the immediate soot out.

- The next bit is tricky.  You need to connect another length of pole (twist her tight, you don’t want it to come undone halfway up…), then manoever the brush through the narrow part at the top of the firebox.  You might need a torch to check for progress. 

- From here on in, all you’re doing is connecting each pole length by length as you push the brush further up the chimney.  When you run out of poles, or hit serious resistance, you can probably bet you’re near the top.  Depending on the type of chimney stack you have, you might not want to push the brush all the way to the outside, either way I don’t think it really matters as most of the creosote should be brushed away by now.  There’s nothing wrong with half-assed, anyway.

- Reverse the process, pulling the poles out and disconnecting them as you go.  Do this carefully as you’ll be pulling an avalanche of soot into the grate, especially when the brush arrives back.  Wrap the brush and poles and put them out of your way, then scoop the soot into a bucket.  Brush any remaining blackness onto your sheet, unstick it, and bring it outside for a good shake.

- Done!

- Go and eat your fry-up, pet your monkey, and go have a shower.