Mary McAleese, the current President of Ireland, signed the Civil Partnership bill today and the queers of this green isle let out a collective sigh of relief in approval as they clapped quietly and sipped a Cosmo in a Sex in and the City commemorative cocktail glass. Well, not all of them!

“This is a great day for Ireland. Lesbian and gay people, (are lesbians not gay then Mary?) their parents, families, friends, neighbours, colleagues can now look forward to celebrating their civil partnerships in the near future,” she said.

She’s right. It is a great day for Ireland and it’ll be called a first step and some people will turn and say “Hey, it’s first step and the next time we discuss we’ll go a bit further!”

Well I’m sorry but I want that next step now! Countless people have been involved in this bill being introduced just like they were in other countries and many of them have explained what’s wrong with their respective bills but fags worldwide decided that a small step is better than nothing. Sorry but to me and many others who ride on my bus it’s not.

There are many things wrong with this bill but now it’s law all the faults will be ignored as politicians shout “you got what you wanted didn’t you?!”

Lets look at the terminology. News channels, politicians and the parents of homos will be turning to their gay viewers, constituents and children and saying “you two can get married now!” No we can’t! We can sign a civil partnership agreement. To get married we’d need be different sexes. Same sex couples cannot get married so let’s not call it “gay marriage.” Anyone can have a civil partnership, but only certain people can get married – those in relationships where one of them is a girl and the other is a boy!

My partner will forever be just that. He’ll never be my husband (or wife – as he should be!) he’ll only ever be my partner. Thank you but I already have a partner.

According to certain news channels my partner can now be my next of kin. Well, he was before, the bill has changed nothing. Sadly I mean that quite literally. It’s claimed that it makes provision for partners to be acknowledged as a next of kin but in reality it changes very little. My partner already is my next of kin. I give his name whenever I’m asked that question and the person completing the form duly fills in the details. What s/he doesn’t tell you, probably because they don’t know, is that if you get taken into hospital and your next of kin has to be called it’s up to the nurse who s/he calls. There is no law stating who the nurse has to call. On this one I speak with experience! A nurse can ignore your listed next of kin and call the person s/he thinks should be called. Know who that is? Your natural mother. It’s claimed that your mother is the only person who can truly be a blood relative and therefore a next of kin as she gave birth to you.

Simon’s natural mother gets a call to say he’s in hospital and she rushes to his side. When she gets there she finds his same-sex partner, Dave, stood outside the ward as the nurse won’t let him into the private room Simon has been given due to his homosexuality (yes, that does happen!). He asks her to tell the nurses to acknowledge him as Simon’s partner, his civil partner, and he has the paper to prove it! She doesn’t like him and has never liked the fact that her son is gay so she does nothing about it. But, he has that super bit of paper that give him insane power and control of Simon’s well-being! Nope, it’s still up to the nurses. Simon is dying and his mother calls a priest to give him the last rites. Simon, since coming out, turned his back on God as ‘God hates fags’ and the idea of a priest coming to his side is awful to him and to Dave who weren’t allowed a wedding as they’re both male shit-stabbers. She still goes ahead with it and Simon gets the last rites.

Dave cannot claim the body because she gets there first, cannot organise the funeral and more than likely won’t be able to attend as the family won’t tell him where and when it is.

Some readers might think that this is an extreme case but it’s not, this happens quite often it just doesn’t get reported as news agencies don’t want to publish too many non-celebrity gay stories for fear of losing ‘normal’ readers – and yes, again, I’ve heard that phrase used.

The civil partnership bill does nothing to change this and the only time it’s actually useful as a next of kin statement is when the partner is the one registering the death.

Lets say Brad and I decide to adopt. We’ve been trying to have kids for years but I think us both being guys and doing it ‘up-the-wrongun’ has something to do with neither of us being pregnant yet. So, we adopt. Wrong. “We” don’t. One of us does. Same-sex couples can foster but not adopt. So, we talk it over and decided that I’ll adopt and give Brad parental rights by registering a letter of intent with a solicitor. Huzzah, the child has two parents and can grow up in stable environment. Tragedy strikes and I die. Brad becomes a single parent. Actually he doesn’t, he just becomes single. The letter I’ve written and the civil partnership agreement he’s waving in the face of the judge at the hearing mean fuck all and the child is taken into care and placed up for adoption. Sure Brad could adopt him or her once he’s completed the paperwork and applied but as the social worker reads the form and find he’s suddenly single due to bereavement (not a widower as you have to be a husband to be legally a widower) he’ll be deemed unable to care for a child until he’s finished grieving which, by social services standards, will take two years – once again I speak from experience!

The civil partnership bill does nothing about adoption. Nothing at all. It’s not even mentioned.

I don’t give a flying handbag that this bill has gone through and to anyone about to say “it’s a step in the right direction” well don’t bother. It’s not. It’s not because this is the beginning of the end. Politicians won’t discuss it further as they think they’ve given the queers all they want. Oh it’ll be looked at, and someone will say “should we add…” and “maybe we should change…” but then someone, probably a straight person (no offence) will say “but they can get married so lets just leave it!”

Sorry but it’s not enough. Queens have been fighting for equality and are exploding in glitter now that this bill has been signed but how does it make us equal? It doesn’t, it keeps us different! I don’t want to be different.

I’m gay and I’m also 37.
I’m gay and I’m also white.
I’m gay and I’m also deaf.
I’m gay and I have size 12 feet.
I’m gay and I have a goatee.
I’m gay and I have a bad back.
I’m gay and I have a no living grandparents.

Do you see where I’m going? Do you see how many minority groups I belong to? None of these minority groups cause me any problems so why should being gay? If you saw me at work or on the street, saw me playing rugby or drinking a coffee you wouldn’t instantly know I was a poofter and it wouldn’t make any difference yet as soon as I want to express my everlasting love for my partner who I’ve been with for eight years so far, suddenly I’m different and not equal!

When you belong to a minority, you have to be better in order to have the right to be equal.

See you in August.

Love you x

I neither know nor care who said ‘I may not agree with what you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it!’ but it’s a statement I’ve long believed in.*

Although I know I’m not alone in the sentiment it’s a shame there aren’t more people who follow it.

Twitter, to some the bane of the Internet, is home to many people who think that because they have an outlet to vent they can do so by belittling the opinions and feelings of others without fear of anything other than cyber retaliation. The web often likes to call them trolls but I think the term “arrogant cunts” (AC’s from now on) is rather more apt.

Over the last few months here have been some of my opinions I’ve had challenged on Twitter.

1. The flotilla boarded by Israelis en route to Gaza.

2. Virtually all Apple products.

3. Hashtags

4. HTC

5. The film Avatar

6. Graham Norton & Brian Dowling

7. The existence of God (or Jeff as I’m now calling him)

8. Glee

9. Terry Pratchett adaptations on Sky1

(Explanations to each are below but do not form part of the purpose of the blog entry really)

I have an opinion on each of those topics and I’m entitled to air my opinion with the understanding that it may be rightfully challenged. If I’m not prepared to have it challenged then I shouldn’t really express it.

Now when I say ‘challenged’ what I actually mean is maybe tell me why you think it’s wrong and present your argument clearly. This, of course, would be the right way to do it.

There aren’t many people on Twitter who seem to grasp this concept. The challenges (and I use that word quite loosely here) have included phrases such as “you’re a twat” and “asshole” and the ever popular “no, you are wrong!”

Okay so I’m twat sometimes and often an asshole but I admit it (unlike most of you) but rarely, when it comes to my opinion, am I wrong. This is because it is my opinion. Yes, to you it might be wrong, but to me it’s not and by telling me I’m wrong without actually explaining your reason why is an incredibly childish and stupid thing to do.

Challenge my opinion by all means, I actually welcome it, and even try to get me to change it, but telling me that it’s flat-out wrong and then insulting me about it isn’t going to get you anywhere. In fact, if you knew me at all you’d know that’s it’s very much the wrong thing to do as I’m just going to dig my heels in even more and possibly start snapping back on everything you say no matter how big or small.

If you don’t agree with what I’ve said then say “I disagree, I think [insert your opinion]” and we can discuss it. Doing anything else just makes you a cunt. An arrogant cunt. An AC!

Now, in saying all that, I freely admit to being a cunt. If you look at my Twitter profile it actually says it in there. As such, until people start being a bit nicer when expressing their disagreement with one of my opinions I’m afraid you will get told you are wrong… in everything.

I’d like to say something inspirational along the lines of “be the change” but I know damn well it won’t happen. Most of you will still be cunts, just like me.

*I’ve since googled it and know who it as now.

Now, as I said above, here’s my opinion on the subjects mentioned above. Please feel free to challenge me on it in comments here but do so politely.

1. The flotilla boarded by Israelis en route to Gaza.

Didn’t enjoy Hogfather, that was all! Love the Discworld books, very much in fact, just wasn’t a fan of the Hogfather

As some of you know my birthday present this year was this lovely camera.

Not a good image but it was taken on an iPhone 3G and not the camera pictured!

Well I just thought I’d share some of the first few piccies take with it. Future pictures will be available by clicking on the big red ball to the right (the one with iSee written on it!) and there are images up there now. If you can’t see a ball then the link you need is isee.iamlanders.co.uk

Anyway, here ya go..

[View with PicLens]

Picture Key: (Left to right)
Row 1 – View from the front door – Eddie (front) & Hillie (back) – Driveway – House
Row 2 – Our house – Loughrea – Loughrea – Loughrea
Row 3 – Loughrea – Huw – Max – Eddie
Row 4 – Kitchen (& shirtless Brad!) – Work at night – Work at night – Work at Dawn (same as 2nd pic)

I saw this a while ago but didn’t watch all of it as I wasn’t in the mood then yesterday I found it on a friends blog!

Such a good short film. I wish I did shorts of this quality. Very moving – you have been warned!

Airports have always been filled with enjoyment for me. This is mainly due to my love of planes but todays airport experience has been like no other. I am, of course, ignoring my last two cancelled flights which were not enjoyable experiences! Especially given that I’d been at the airport for an hour and half the first time and thirty bleedin’ seconds the second time! One extreme to the other!



Today has shown me though that even the trip from the long stay car park (red for those of you interested) to the airport itself can also be a source of great amusement.



As I step on the bus I can hear footsteps racing along the gravel and a woman shouting “wait for us!” Which the driver, as is his want, duly ignores, closes the doors and heads off. There’s a general sigh of disappointment from some of the passengers, a titter from the man to my left and a small evil smile across my face. I might have actually joined in the sighing if it wasn’t for the fact that there was another bus parked right behind us just waiting for passengers.



Thanks to an accident right outside the main terminal entrance the bus has to stop for longer than normal while the Gardai debate who is going to move the vehicles and how. This gives the young mother next to me time to invite a conversation.



“Where you off to?” she asks.
“Birmingham,” I reply.
“I thought so,” she said, “I could tell from the accent.”



I can’t help but be amused by this as firstly I have no accent to speak of* and secondly my reply of ‘Birmingham’ was the very first time I’d spoke since getting on the bus. In fact, it’s the first thing I’ve said out loud since 7am when I said goodbye to Brad who grunted, rolled over and went back to sleep! I got more response saying goodbye to the dogs!



She appears to sense my confusion and amusement but decides to carry on talking.



“We’re off to Gatwick,” she continues thinking that I actually care.
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“Do you know they won’t carry buggies into Heathrow?”
“What?”
“Baby buggies. No airline flying into Heathrow will carry them!”
“That can’t be right.”
“No it is. I tried to book. Heathrow would be better for me so I rang the airport and they told me no airline, absolutely none, will carry a baby buggy.”
“But it’ll go in the hold.”
“Well they said no.”
“Did you ask about it going in the hold or actually on the plane with you?”
“Both.”



It’s at this point I realise I’m actually involved in this conversation and really don’t want to be. People may think I’m travelling with her! To make matters worse she then shuffles to the edge of her seat and hangs half on the chair and half into the aisle and hollers to the driver ‘are we gonna be much longer?’ to which he shouts back something about him not being able to help it and she should be sat properly. As she sits back we start moving again which start her baby off so it gets the attention rather thank me! Thank you Jeff!



Departing the bus I make my way into the terminal but get stuck behind a old lady trying to get on the travelling walkway. “Oh mom I wish you’d just taken the lift,” says her daughter.
“I can manage Janice,” she replies, “I can manage.”



The queue behind me proves she may be able to manage but the time taken would probably be better used by taking the lift.



Finally I get into the terminal and head for the shorter queue for security. Thankfully my choice is the right one – for once – and we speed through.



The hive of people around security is amazing and I purposely take my time putting my coat back on and repacking the guns and drugs so I can hear what’s going on.



One woman is having a miniature fit because she’s being told by security that they’d like to look at her umbrella in her bag.



“It’s only a brolly!” she sputters.
“Can you just take it out please madam,” says the security woman quite politely.
“If you want to look at it you take it out!”
“Do I have you permission?”
“Of course!” slams the woman.



At this point another security members joins her and just stands there saying nothing. She has the look of fire in her eyes and I can already see her reaching into her pocket for her black leather rapist gloves.



Behind me there is more commotion, again from a woman who is questioning the parentage of one of the security team as he young son stands by her slowly pushing Skittles into his pants.



Finally my things are packed away and I have a quick pokey around the shops.



I get accosted by a woman who should have retired thirty years ago as she asks me if I’d like to try the new Hugo Boss fragrance. I see the bottle she’s holding and point out that the particular fragrance she’s holding is at least ten years old so hardly new.



“You know fragrances?” she asks.
“It’s a gay thing!” I say as I wink and walk off.



Why the fuck did I wink? What was that all about? Suddenly it’s 1982 and I’m Tom Selleck!



Not able to find a suitable watch shop I head to the gate to get a coffee and write this blog entry.



As I sit here with my headphones in I’ve come to realise that the volume may be a little too loud as there is a child stood next to my table joining me in a small dance to Whitney Houston and Million Dollar Bill. I think I can be forgiven though being a big gay deaf. What I can’t be forgiven for is what came next which I’ll explain in a later.



Anyway, enough typing. My flight leaves in an hour so it’s time to go and stand at the very front of the queue and demand to be privately escorted to the plane and given my special seat at the front usually only reserved for the pilot and his mate.



*I do not sound like Frank Skinner and Julian Carey’s bastard child as was once described.

I was six when I first met him. He was five. It almost sounds like Nancy Sinatra should be singing about that and something to do with horses and sticks.

I’m not really too sure what to write. I feel as though I should be writing some long essay dedicated to him and all that he was but I just don’t think I can. I think the most I can say is that throughout the thirty years I knew him we clashed, we cried, we hugged, we laughed, we lost contact and we reconnected. Above all else we were friends and I loved him.

One year on and just looking at pictures of him still brings me to tears.

Such an incredible and terrible loss. So young, too young!

Sleep well Ash.  I miss you.  I love you x

To hear your voice and see you smile,
To sit and talk to you a while,
To be together in the same old way.
Would be my dearest wish today.

Ashley
4th July 1974 – 20th May 2009

Trying to explain to my father how I know some people is often a struggle. Even more so when it’s people I’ve met off of the internet.

My friend Sam and I trained together at university but you can guarantee if I say to my dad “I’m seeing Sam tomorrow,” he’ll say “who’s Sam and where did you meet him?” When I point out who Sam is or if dad see’s her he remembers her instantly. Sadly he remember her by saying “Oh yeah, the blonde with the big moggies!” Moggies was my nan’s word for boobies!

If I say to him “I spoke to Dave last night,” he replies with “Which one is Dave again?” and the conversation continues along the lines of meeting Dave while working for a radio station but this itself brings more questions as he tries to work out which station it was and which Dave I’m talking about.

So I try to be very careful when explaining to him who I’ve been speaking to so as to try and limit the questions I’ll get asked so that I can actually get to the point of the conversation. If he asks too many questions I forget why I’m telling him I spoke to them in the first place!

You can imagine then the problems I have when trying to explain about the friends I’ve met off of the internet.

Trying to explain that I’m meeting up with people from a social networking site or a forum is incredibly difficult as he wants to know exactly how I got to know these people.

This though is the nature of friendships now. With the world getting smaller via the internet and friendships being made on an international level, having friends we’ve never met is something we’re going to have to get used to.

There are people I’ve met up with after meeting them through blogging or social forums that I’d now consider some of my closest friends. I’d go so far as to say I love them. In the same light there are some I haven’t met for real, only online, but I feel just as strongly for them as well.

My first real experience of this was using an AOL chat room. I got chatting to a girl called Adele. Adele Clee or ASClee as her screenname said. We would chat in the room or in an IM for hours about all sorts of rubbish. She told me all about the guy she was marrying and I told her all about my current beau and we compared notes and exchanged pictures. Strangely enough we never exchanged pictures of each other, just of our partners!

One Thursday night she told me she wouldn’t be about for a month or so but would email me. This was because she was getting married on Saturday and then off on her honey moon. She told me where she was getting married and I said I only lived round the corner. A small lie as it was at least a thirty minute drive away but I knew the area she was on about.

Then, totally out of the blue, she invited me and my other had to her wedding! A person I’d never met was now inviting me to her wedding! This was all very strange given that I didn’t know what she looked like. I didn’t accept outright but said I’d chat with Nick and see what we were doing. She understood.

So that night I explained to Nick about the wedding. He already knew who Adele was and had spoken to her a couple of times online himself. We talked about the idea of it and in the end decided to go.

As fate would have it traffic conspired against us and we arrived at the church more than halfway through the ceremony with a rapidly purchased gift in hand. The whole issue of a gift had bought more questions! How much do you spend on someone you’ve never met?

We decided not to go in and instead waited for them to come out. When they did we just stood in the corner of the church yard and waited until most people had said their congratulations.

Walking up to the bride I suddenly realised that I could actually be at the wrong church. Keep in mind I had no idea what she looked like, or her new husband or any of the guest and she didn’t know me either. It was the summer and most churches would have a wedding on the Saturday. This could be anybody!

Hesitantly I approached with a smile, caught her eye and just said “Adele?” She nodded and replied “Landers?” (and yes, she actually did as my screenname was my nickname which is the same as it is now!).

We hugged, chatted and explained, in truth, how we couldn’t actually stay long as Nick had been called in to work that afternoon.

After some pictures and champagne and strawberries on the village green we said our goodbyes and left.

I never spoke to her again in any form of communication and I couldn’t tell you why.

That same year I went to my first “meet” in a hotel in Blackpool where I ended up being the entertainment (a whole other blog entry) and meeting people I still chat with and care for very much. People who up until six months before the meet I couldn’t tell you anything about.

With the introduction of Facebook, Twitter, linkedin, Last.fm, blip and all the other micro-blogging or social networking sites my circle of friends has grown bigger and bigger and I’d say I was lucky if I’d met 10% of the people I chat to on a regular basis. People I call friends.

I wonder how long it will be before people are only making friends with those they’ve never met? Although it makes for an incredible international community I also think it’s quite sad future, if that’s how it’s going to pan out. I hope it’s not something I’m a part of but I know, as I sit here and write a blog entry I’m going to tweet about, that I’m helping to make the world smaller and friendship that little bit more impersonal.

There at times, believe it or not, when I’m away from my laptop. Such as during my course yesterday, if I’m on days at work or when I’m asleep. Taking that into account you can see that more often than not my laptop is either on my lap or in front of me somehow, or at the very least accessible by a walk through the mansion into another room.



Why then, with this being the case, is it that I think of so many things to blog about when I do not have the laptop? Also, why do I not make a note of these things I want to to blog about?! I’ve always got my iPhone with me, I can make notes on that but I don’t! Man, I’ve ever written blog entries on it!



With this in my I’m going to endeavour to be a better blogger. I used to love blogging, still do actually, I’ve just fallen out of the habit of writing things.



Part of me blames my lack of blogging on my old blog site. I used to use a generic blogging site, not as well known as Blogger or WordPress but still quite good. Sadly the site went downhill when certain trolls joined and when certain people I considered to be friends (some I’d met in real life and got close to) became cunts I couldn’t trust. That was the main reason for sorting out my own hosted site on my own space. At least this way I can block users, IP addresses etc. I can also post ANYTHING I like whereas the other site blocked certain things. Fuck ‘em, this is better.



So in conclusion (how very official of me!) I hereby promise to become a better blogger! So much so that I may just go and post the original blog entry on the other site, telling some of the other users what I think of them! Of course, then again, I may not.

In approximately ten hours a doctor is going to look at my head and – hopefully – book me in for lumpectomy.

I’ve had this lump for around six years now and have tried to get it seen to before but to no avail.

When we lived in Wales I went to see my doctor and he said “well I don’t know what it is so we’ll refer you to a consultant.”

‘Excellent’ I thought until three weeks later when a letter arrived.

Dear Mr. Landers,

Re: Referral from Dr. Will. C. Younow.

Having read Dr. Will. C. Younow’s referral I have decided that any work I carry out on the growth on your head will be purely cosmetic. With this in mind no consultation will take place and I’m not even going to look at it and give you an official diagnosis that it’s not a tumour or anything like that.

Please continue to worry about it growing and let me know if it causes you any pain or explodes.

Kind regards,

Mr. Misternotdoctor.

I told the doctor about the letter and he said he’d fight my corner. He rang me a week later to say he’d hand his wrists slapped for interfering and daring to question a man who is now so powerful and clever that he no longer has to use the title doctor! He said just to keep an eye on it – difficult unless I was a reptile but if I was a reptile the lump would be where one of my eyes should be! – and get in touch if it grew or caused me concern.

Well it grew. It went from the size a small pea stuck under my skin to a golf ball trying to break out the golf bag and enjoy eighteen holes. It didn’t concern me, wasn’t painful, was solid and even when stabbed with a needle it didn’t give anything out so I ignored it.

Last year I noticed it had got even bigger. So much so that I started to call it Brian and introduce it as my second head or congenital twin that I’d partially absorbed during my time in the womb. I was tempted to stick false eye lashes to it and tell people it was my third eye, it was just closed.

Doing some research about the Irish medical system – as we’d moved to Galway by this point – I found out it was going to cost in the region of €2500 to have it removed as they would probably consider it cosmetic as well. My research involved asking various people at work – nurses, doctors and clinical psychologist, house-keepers – none of whom would or could tell me what it was.

I was head-butted by one of the service users at work and saw this as the ideal opportunity to ask what it was while in the emergency department.

“It’s abnormal muscle growth,” said an american doctor who I’d seen before and had spent most of that time comparing our Jewish backgrounds with.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Well it won’t hurt but it doesn’t look nice. You should have it removed though.”

Again I was back to the €2500 and there was no way we could afford that – or that I’d be willing to pay it!

So the plan was hatched to create a lie and get some of grossly overpaid UK National Insurance back by registering with the doctor my parents use.

I registered my interest to join the practice in December 2009 and in the following March I went to see Dr. Cutebutfrenchandold.

“Well I’m not sure what it iz but it should come off oui?” he said
“I’ve been told it’s abnormal muscle growth.”
“Oui, it could be but it iz safer to get it removed oui?”
“Oui. I mean yes!”

He explained how the bigger it got the quicker it would grow basically insinuating that it would double in size every year or so. At it’s current rate of growth I’d be tilting my head to the right in six months due to the extra weight.

Dr Cutebutfrenchandold gave me a referral to a consultant who has graciously agreed to see me.

This is happening in approximately ten hours.

In my head I’m convinced he’s going to freeze it there and then and just slice it off. Brian is convinced of his demise as well and as such is growing even quicker and causing me a wondrous headache!

So I’m sat at Dublin Airport with a coffee that tastes like road scrapers mixed with urinal cake, waiting to board my flight to the UK where on arrival I will be arrested for defrauding the national health system and end up in prison. In prison they’ll be concerned about my welfare and will remove Brian for me. Either than or my cell mate Crusher Jones will do it with his makeshift knife while ass-raping me nightly.

I always look on the bright side don’t you think?

EDIT: As some of you may know the appointment never went ahead thanks to the volcanic ash from Iceland cancelling all UK outbound flights from Dublin – and eventually the whole of Ireland and then all of the UK!

Flights and hospital appointments have been rebooked and I’ll keep you informed.

Sorry for the delay in giving you the answer but I forgot!

So, remember this post? When asked you what you thought of this man?

Well personally I think he’s rather attractive. I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed other than to make coffee and/or fetch sandwiches.

Well his secret is that he used to be a she! I’ve seen quite a few post-op female-to-male transexuals but personally I think this is the most successful!

He used be an German olympian!

For more info on the lovely Balian Buschbaum (or Yvonne Buschbaum as she used to be!) take a peeky at his Wiki page or just google him!

I’d still do him!

Every year in the US the makers of Duck Tape offer a scholarship to the winner of their “Stuck at Prom” competition.

The rules are pretty simple: As couple make your prom outfit out of Duck Tape. Loads of kids take part and some of the outfits are fantastic and so well made!

The work that has gone into some of these is incredible. Below are some of the ones I like, more pictures are available on the site.

Below is my favourite. I’m very tempted to go out and buy lots and lots of duck tape and make one myself. Now, what shall I make?

DWBKHE8EWRTX

Read the story below and when told to please put yourself into Mark’s shoes. As you read think about how you’d feel, the kind of emotions you’d be going through and how you’d react. Also think about what you’d do!

Mark is in his thirties. He’s married to Caroline and has two children, a boy aged twelve and a girl aged nine. He loves his family very much. He holds down a full-time job delivering fishtanks and other such aquarium products and at the weekends (and some evenings) he helps his father-in-law on the farm.

In 2001 Mark and Caroline are given a piece of land by her father and they apply for planning permission to build a beautiful four-bedroom, two-storey house on half an acre of land. Planning permission in granted and by 2002 they have their family home. In 2005, during a conversation with Caroline’s father, they are given another piece of land with instructions to build two homes. One for them and one for Caroline’s parents. They agree and begin work on their next house with the plan being to build theirs first, move in, then begin construction of her parents home.

By early 2006 the new house is built and their old home goes on the market. Initially the house is up for sale at €399’995 and after a year it still hasn’t sold.

[Okay start putting yourself in Mark's shoes now!]

In the july of 2007, now reduced, the house still hasn’t sold and the price is reduced again to €335’000. Caroline speaks to the estate agent, behind Mark’s back, and tells them to put it on the rental market as well. There is no interest.

Come the November a young couple show an interest in the property with a view to renting and possibly buying in the future. Caroline has to tell Mark what she’s done.

Mark agrees to the rental, essentially realising that at least it’s some money coming in and the young couple might actually buy the place.

Mark and Caroline go round to meet the couple on the afternoon they move in. They explain how the couple are not to go through the estate agent for anything but come direct to them and hand over their mobile number. Caroline asks them to keep the dogs off the stairs.

Come the February of 2010 the couple inform Mark and Caroline that they intend to move out, not buying their house after all.

In the March Mark finds out that not only have the couple been letting the dogs upstairs but they’ve left marks all over the walls where pictures have been, broken a washing machine (which was replaced), left an empty oil tank and to make matters worse there is two and half years of household rubbish left in the barn out the back.

The couple had already contacted Mark and told him about the rubbish but due to the recession and unemployment they’d not be able to afford a skip for at least a month.

So what would you do? How would you react if you were Mark?

I’ll tell you how I’d react.

No.1. I’d be a bit upset about Caroline going behind my back and would probably have refused the couple the option to rent.

No.2. I’d be a bit angry about the marks left by the pictures.

No.3. I’d not really care about the dogs on the stairs.

No.4. I don’t think I’d notice the washing machine.

No.5. I’d be a bit pissed off about the lack of oil.

No.6. I’d be fucking furious at the rubbish.

Mark reacted very differently.

Mark let the rent go ahead. Never mentioned the pictures or washing machine or lack of oil. Ripped out the old carpet and laid down new.

And the rubbish? He arranged and paid for the skip and helped us move the rubbish (not by carrying bags but by getting a fuck-off hay bale and pushing the rubbish down with the tractor so we could get more rubbish in) and then stood chatting with us for a while.

Yes, we are “the couple” and Mark was our landlord. Yes, we left all the rubbish but it’s not as bad as it’s sounds. Okay so it could be but in my mind it’s not.

We had always intended to get rid of the rubbish but just never got round to it. When we first moved in Brad was working and I wasn’t and we could afford the bin service. There’s no council bin service in Ireland, you arrange and pay for it yourself. By the time I was working as well there wasn’t that much rubbish there and we started looking in to skips and a bin service. Before we could sort anything out Brad was out of work and we couldn’t afford it again. Brad has been out of work since then and we still never got round to it although we never forgot about it and if the move hadn’t have happened so quickly we’d probably have sorted it ourselves without him ever knowing.

We notice, at the back of the garage, an old fish tank. It had been there since we moved in. Today we asked him if we could buy it off him.

“Do you want a fish tank?” he said.
“Yeah,” I replied, “how much for that one?”
“Do you want a fish tank?”
“Erm… yes!”
“I’ll get you a fish tank. What size do you want?”
“As big as we can get!”
“Okay, give me a week. I’ll drop it out to your new place.”
“How much?”
“Nothing. I’ll give you a text when I’ve got it sorted. Be about a week.”

How nice is he?! For that reason alone I’m going to miss living in the old house but I LOVE our new one – and it’s going to have a fish tank in it soon!

This one is strange but interesting and makes me giggle a little.

This one makes me giggle a lot!

So ladies, gay men and straight men who can appreciate the male form tell me, what do you think of this man?

If you know who he is then say nothing. Don’t try Googling him. Just take a look and tell me what you think in a comment.

Personally I think he’s rather attractive. Very much so in fact! But he has a secret. I’ll let you know what it is in a couple of days. If you know already don’t let on, I’d rather see what people think.

We’ve been in the new house nearly a month now and we’re still unpacking. Given our past record of moving it’s hardly surprising. At least this time we were a little more organised. Of course the problem with being a bit more organised at the beginning is that everything is neatly stacked in boxes still at the end. There has been no need to move things or put stuff away as it’s not causing a mess, in fact it’s almost as though it’s already away.

Obviously this won’t do but I’d rather do it slowly and put stuff in the right place than run around a for a few months afterwards moving stuff around for a second time.

After month of living here I can say we definitely made the right choice in moving. I’ll be honest and I say I wasn’t sure to start with as I did say I didn’t want to rent anymore and don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t buy a place. In the short-term we’ve made the right decision as we’re saving over €100 a month on the rent for a bigger place in a nicer area with a fantastic view.

In other news I have an appointment with a consultant on the 15th to have my lump looked at and removed. I’m affectionately calling it “the tumour” or “my second head” as no doctor (up until last week) has ever given me a definitive answer as to what it is. When the last doctor did finally tell me what it was he added “but I could be wrong” to the end of his diagnosis! How very useful! It would be removed on the 15th but at least he’ll look at it and decide when and how.

Thankfully it’s a private appointment with the consultant so it should get seen to quicker although not necessarily better.

Well that’s my news. There is other stuff but I can’t be arsed tell you about it at the moment.

I have posted this entry on an old blog but only the first sentence or two and then a “read more” link just to see how people will follow the link to here and comment. I don’t think many will which is great shame but may at least give me even more reason to close the other blog down or stop writing in it completely.

Well look at that! I’ve been away quite a while haven’t I?

Sorry. Not sure why I haven’t been around. What’s worse is that I’m not sure I care.

I guess other things in my life have taken over, maybe become more important.

As those of you who read Brad’s blog will know we’ve had some sad times recently with the loss of Jesse, Helen & MJ’s gorgeous black lab. She was only two years old and it was quite difficult to deal with. There really was no point me trying to put on a brave face because when it comes to death, especially the death of beloved animal, my brave face involves lots of crying, snot and a conversation that makes no sense in structure or sound.

I was apart from the man on Valentines day but he did me a lovely video and I’d hidden a card for him by the Love Actually DVD in our collection. We don’t buy for each other. We did the first year but haven’t since then. It was horrible being away from him on that day. I know essentially it’s just another day but I’ve always liked the fact that we’ve been together for all of them. Now that record is a little tarnished. I didn’t really have much choice though as I had to go to the UK to collect a car. A Vauxhall Vectra. It’s nice enough but I’ll only be keeping it for a few months. I really can’t be bothered going in to the why’s etc.

In other news we move house one week tomorrow. We decided that our three bedroom house really was too big for just the two of us, even if it was extremely useful when the in-laws all come over. So we decided to down-size… to a MASSIVE five bedroom mansion! My dad told me we should go for a small three up-two down place. Well we have. There are three bedrooms upstairs and two downstairs. We have four damn toilets! Only three of the toilets actually work, as I found out to my horror after I’d taken a dump in the faulty one!

Once we’re in there properly, with all our furniture, I’ll post a little video of the house, MTV Cribs-esque, so you can see it. For those of you that haven’t seen the house we’re in now you have seven days before the furniture is gone but you have until the 28th March before we give the keys back.

I’m sure I have other news but right now I need to go and get a coffee. I’ve been awake since 5.30am which is my own fault as I got drunk yesterday afternoon and was in bed by…. erm… actually I don’t know what time I was in bed. I remember Brad talking about going to bed to watch a film but I don’t actually remember getting into bed or even watching anything on the television, let alone a film. So, although the head isn’t as bad as it should be, I do desperately want a coffee.

P.S. While we move I’m off the diet but in four weeks I lost 2st 3lb. Go me!

Arriving at Mrs Dietwoman’s house this afternoon I was a little worried about what she was going to tell me.

“So how was this week?” she asked, as she does every week.
“Not good,” I said, “I’ve kind of cheated twice.”
“How do mean cheated?”
“Well I had two meals out.”

She frowned a little but more so because she’d already told me that I’m allowed to break the diet if I want to as I’d still have lost weight if I’ve stuck to it the rest of week.

I explained to her about my parents coming to Dublin on Wednesday and we’d have a meal out. I told her about the half of a baguette I had while waiting for them at the airport. I then told her about the sunday dinner I had yesterday. I didn’t tell her about the fruit salad and ice-cream I had after dinner or about the one rich tea biscuit I stole last night while every one was having tea or coffee.

“Well, as I said to you at the first appointment, life goes on. Now lets weigh you and see what’s happened,” she said.
“Don’t be surprised if I’ve only lost 2lb or even put 2lb back on!” I replied.

So onto the scales I stepped, all worried and nervous about what she’d say. So much so that I couldn’t actually look down.

She looked at the scales, looked at me, looked back at the scales and then she looked at me again and smiled.

“You’ve lost 7lb.”
“What?” I said, astounded.
“You’ve lost 7lb. So lets see, in total so far you’ve lost,” she paused to work it out, “2st 1lb.”

I sat down, amazed I’d lost anything and even more amazed I’d lost that much!

So I’m not 2st 1lb lighter than I was this time three weeks ago. Holy fuck! I’m still in shock and still over the fucking moon!

I’m nearly halfway to my goal weight!

Shit!

Apologies for the lack of updates recently.

I’ve been incredibly snowed under with stuff at home and at work. I’m on this course (as most of you know) through work and the workload for me is a lot so I’d hate to think what it’s like for those people on the course who have kids to look after as well!

Mind you, I shouldn’t complain. I’ve had two sets of results so far, both distinctions, and have been told I’m on my way for another distinction in the current module I’m doing. I don’t expect to get a distinction in two of the modules as I hate the lecturer, as do we all, and it would appear she’s lost one of my assignments which I now have to reprint and hand in again!

So on the weight front things are going FANTASTICALLY well!

Week one I lost 12lb and then in week two I lost 6lb. I think I’ll have lost 3lb on week three and not because I’m having it again but because I had a night off yesterday. When I saw Mrs Dietwoman I asked her about what I should do if I was invited out for a meal and she said (and I quote) “for God’s sake! Life goes on! If you want to go out for a meal then go out! Just try to eat sensibly and how I told you. You’ll still have lost weight as you’ll have stuck to the diet for the rest of the week, just not as much as you would have! Go out. Enjoy yourself!”

Well my parents came to Dublin yesterday to watch a football match, bringing with them my aunt and uncle who live in Australia. It was there grandson playing in the football match. I haven’t seen them in eighteen years and as much as my father protested at us travelling all that way to see them I had to really. They’d come halfway round the world so it wasn’t going to take much effect for me to drive 200km to see them!

Anyway it was because of this trip that I broke my diet. We all went out for a meal to an excellent restaurant called Le Bon Crubeen in Dublin. The menu actually had a low-calorie option which I chose but not just because it was low in calories but because it sounded gorgeous. Lemon & Thyme grilled chicken on a bed of spinach and red onion salad with chick peas and olives. I don’t actually remember seeing any olives which was fine as I hate them. When I started the diet Mrs Dietwoman told me that as my stomach got smaller I’d want smaller portions. Well I actually ended up leaving half of it! This is like me at all. I was also the last to finish whereas usually I’d have wolfed the whole lot down and then asked for a pud!

At the airport while waiting for them to arrive we treated ourselves to a baguette and coffee. Rather than a baguette each, which would be normal for me, we had one and split it. Again I was still eating long after Brad had finished and by the end of it I was full! Me! Full on on half a baguette! Will wonders never cease?

I’ve also found I need a belt! I’m starting to pull my jeans up more and yesterday I even got into a pair of jeans I’ve never been able to get in to. They were given as a gift before you think I randomly go out and buy jeans in smaller sizes!

So all in all the last few weeks have been tremendous. 18lb’s in weight lost, fitting in new jeans, seeing my aunt & uncle and parents, getting fit and two distinctions!

I told you 2010 was my year!

On Monday when I say Mrs. Dietwoman she told me that the first and second day would be the hardest. If that’s true then tomorrow should be dead easy!

Today has been harder than yesterday but then again I wasn’t at work yesterday I was on my course. Today I made breakfast for the lads and the temptation to have some toast was damn strong! The smell of the bread toasting, the butter melting on it and the crunch as I cut the slice in half all made the idea of one piece of toast seem perfectly naturally. ‘No one is ever going to know’ I thought. Of course, I would. I’d have known. It was only the fact that I managed yesterday that actually stopped me from eating it.

Those thoughts also stopped me eating curry at lunchtime, crepe’s and fresh cream from the fridge, Tayto’s in the cupboard and spring rolls in the evening.

I don’t actually have a lot in my life to be proud of, and that’s not a call for comments of encouragement telling me what you think I should be proud of, it’s just the way I feel, but I am proud of this. I’m proud that even though it’s for two days (so far) I’ve stuck with it when I could have just had one chocolate chip cookie that was staring at me from the press. As I said before, no one would know – apart from me! The only way I’ll prove to myself and others that I didn’t actually eat the biscuit, or anything else I had access to, is when I start to show that I’ve lost weight. Maybe I’ll gain a bit of self-respect as well as I have very very little of that left anymore!

I’m hungry now but then again I haven’t finished my two litres yet but there is just over a mouthful left so that’ll be gone before this post appears in the feed.

I’m hungry now but then again I’m on a liquid diet.

I’m hungry now but then again my body is used to a lot more calories than the 610 I’m getting.

I’m hungry now but then again I’m always hungry!

P.S. Forgive spelling and/or grammar tonight please. I’m so incredibly tired.

Gorgeous Subbers won.

I’m 20st 6lbs!

Well not for much longer.

Day one of my diet is going well. I’m hungry but not starving, although I was earlier. Thankfully I managed to stave off the hunger but keeping in my mind that I’d be enjoying my soup later. I still have one meal owing to me so that’s not bad. I was told the first 4-5 days would be like this and if this is as bad as it gets then it’s going to be a piece of piss! Talking of piss… I’m pissing like a fucking racehorse! I’m also incredibly tired but I’m blaming that on the dogs barking all night rather than lack of food!

So, in apparently 12 weeks I’ll be 17st 6lb… or there abouts. I’m not overly thrilled about that as I still think it’s too heavy for my own personal liking but after a short break I can carry on and by the summer I’ll be 14st something or other as long as everything goes to plan, and there’s no reason it shouldn’t.

So I went off to see my new fitness instructor and nutritionist today.

I knew I was in for an eye opening experience but didn’t realise just how much! For €80 a time she is well worth it. Actually, I think she is. Lets just say that right now she appears it, we’ll see if she’s earned her money when I go back next week and find out how much I’ve lost.

Because I wasn’t always this size my weight has never really bothered me but I’ve known for a long time I should be doing something about it. I once weighed twenty-five stone! A diet club helped me lose most of that but it was closed down when we found out the leader was on the fiddle.

Lovely Anita (and she really is lovely) has given me a strict diet of stuff and recommended little exercise for the first two weeks as if I do too much I’ll get angry at not being able to do it and that will lead me to not do any at all. Makes sense really but it’s not something I’ve ever really thought of.

So people, I have a little game for you.

Take a look at the two pictures below and tell me how much I weigh now. I won’t be offended with any guess. I was quite shocked. The person who gets closest gets a little prize of some sort, I don’t know what yet, maybe a cake I’m not allowed to eat! I’ll give you a clue… it’s more than 15st and less that 25st.

For a price I’ll post the nude ones!

P.S. I’m not smiling for a reason, not because I’m unhappy at being a tubby lump of lard.

P.P.S. Any one who wishes to shout abuse (and yes, there is a certain someone) feel free. Keep in mind that all you’re doing is pointing out the obvious. That’s hardly insulting is it? Oh and at least I’m losing weight, you’ll always be pig fucking ugly.

Before you comment make sure you’ve read the ENTIRE entry!

It’s my opinion and it may not necessarily match yours but it’s still mine so to me it’s right, to you it might not be but to me it is.

Florence + The Machine.

In my opinion she’s not “all that.” Mediocre unoriginal voice with old format songs. Nothing new, nothing special, not even very good.

I am sick to death mildly annoyed by people telling me she’s great and that I know nothing about music! I may not be some big record producer but I’m entitled to a fucking opinion and I know what I like and don’t like. I do not like her. You might, good for you, I’m pleased that our tastes differ as it would be a very boring fucking world if we all thought the same.

In my opinion the only reason I can see her doing so well is because she has a wacky* name and people think because she’s “a bit different” she must be followed. It happens quite often with new artists until they get a bit too popular and people stop following and use the excuse that they sold out or something similar.

Very recently people have been telling me that she’s good. Not that they think she’s good but that she IS and there must be something mentally wrong with me for not liking her! What is that all about? Why can’t people be entitled to their own opinions, why must mine be wrong?

I know some people having been joking about it and that’s fine, I know when it’s joke, but sadly some people have been quite serious about it.

I could quite easily point out that NME called Flo’s album “just okay” and that the the reviews of her appearance on the Live Lounge say that she was abysmal but I haven’t because it’s irrelevant when talking about my opinion and/or your opinion.

It’s not just Florence + The Machine though! What the fuck is there to like about Lady Gaga? Now, as hypocritical as it might sound I quite like some of his tracks, but he’s not the break-away artist of the fucking century, as I was told a few weeks ago. He’s a Gwen Stefani Wannabee and a failing one at that.

There are many other artists I could list that I don’t like and I’m sure some of you would suck through your teeth and be bitter at the fact that I don’t like that artist but tough shit! It’s my opinion, if you don’t like it it’s your problem not mine… but stop making it my problem!

Now, before you leave a comment, should you want to, if it’s a comment telling me how good Flo or Lady Gaga are then don’t bother. I’m only going to tell you that you’re talking crap and I may even delete the comment. If you want to tell me why my opinion is wrong then feel free to do that but give me some actual evidence, not your opinion. If your evidence includes phrases such as “you have to like her” or “she’s just brilliant” or even “you must be retarded to not like her” then I may belittle you. It’s my blog and I’m allowed to do that.

*She doesn’t, it’s just old fashioned – or was!

I’m often amazed at how the mind works when it comes to memory recall. I couldn’t tell you what I had for lunch yesterday but a simple comment on the radio has me instantly remembering something from over twenty-five years ago that I hadn’t thought about for probably the same amount of time.

On the radio today they were talking about the snow (every other news item seems irrelevant at the moment) when a caller said “and I could only go at about thirty miles per hour!” Instantly in my head it’s 1984!

I’m eleven years old and it’s my first year at secondary school. Earlier that year I’d bought a clipboard from WHSmiths with some vouchers I’d had from my Auntie Winnie for my birthday. What an eleven year old needs with a clipboad is beyond me but I know I wanted it! It was yellow and had “Speed Limit: 30mph when leaving class!” written on the front. I found it hilarious! The shame!

So there I am in a biology lesson with Miss Kelly and I’m taking notes with my notepad fastened to my clipboard. I was so proud and it obviously made me the most itelligent person in the class.

Without warning Spencer Glanville, a fellow pupil, grabs it out of my hands and “autographs” the back!

“That’ll be worth a fortune when I’m famous!” he says.

I was furious but could do little about it as I was already on report for telling an English teacher to fuck off so snapping at Glanville would have got me in more trouble!

I got my revenge by unscrewing the leg of his tripod while he fetched a beaker of water. As soon as he put the beaker on the tripod it gave way and 300mls of water soaked him and his workbook – the intended target.

Miss Kelly took one look at the tripod and knew it had been tampered with and muttered “bloody sixformers!” under her breath as she cleaned up broken glass and told us to settle down.

I still have the clipbaord somewhere at mothers and although it’s faded a litle you can still make out the feint nearly twenty-six year old signature of an eleven year old Spencer Glanville on the back.

Spencer left our school at the end of the first year and I’ve never heard of him since. If anyone knows if he ever became famous, other than his mention on the worlds most popular blog, let me know. I could be sitting on a small fortune!

I’ve been sat going though my blog entries of 2009 to try and boost my memory so I can write a review of my year but 2009 was so full of death and sadness that I don’t think it would make a good review.

Of course there were some good times like our trip to Berlin and then to Hull and the various visit here by our friends. Ruaidhrí’s 1st birthday, the birth of Saroise and the various birthday parties we attended through-out the year.

I can only hope that 2010 is better. It hasn’t started out too well to be honest but they news officially came in on New Years Eve so I’m filing it under 2009 news so at least the first five days of 2010 have been pleasant.

New Years Eve was lovely. Very civilised at the Duggans with canapes and nibbles and champagne to toast in the new year. Mother rang, wankered, at 12.30 to wish us happy new year even though when I spoke to her earlier that evening she said she’d not be calling.

New Years Day was quiet. I was at work all day, as I was the day after, and all trips out and walks have been cancelled due to the icy roads. It’s a bit of shit as one of the service users doesn’t cope well with being stuck in all day and sadly wouldn’t understand why he couldn’t go out. He got a bit tetchy in the morning after having spent the previous day inside, but seemed to calm down when I gave him some attention.

Well what was going to be a review of 2009 has turned into something else so I’ll go now and write something else later.

I went to the doctor yesterday and have it semi-confirmed that I have Swine Flu.

Joy!

She examined me and listening to my chest and then said that given all the symptoms it was quite obviously swine flu. “Without swabs and tests I can’t confirm it but I assure it’s swine flu!” she said.

I have a antibiotics to fight the infection and stop it turning into pneumonia but she wouldn’t give me anything to fight the virus as she says it’s too late. She’s also given me steroids to help with my breathing as on occasion I don’t seem to do it so well.

I’ve had colds before and when I was little I actually had proper real influenza (spent a week or so in hospital in a big plastic tent with no contact from anyone!) but I don’t ever remember feeling as ill as I do now.

Occasionally it feels like the inside of my head is spinning and then I get a buzzing sound in my ears. My eyes get a bit bugged out and my nose is totally blocked. I feel so incredibly weak, to the point that even typing this takes more energy than I currently have available. It takes me an age to get warm and when I finally do I’m too hot and it takes just as long to cool down. My throat feels itchy and it hurts to cough.

I’ve had man-flu and gay flu but nothing compares to this.

On a more positive note I have discovered a new colour. When you look at it you think it’s green but the more you look the more it becomes brown and then on closer inspection it appears red before returning to green. It’s am amazing effect and I’ve yet to think of a name for it. It’s best I not tell you how I found it.

There was a time, back in the day, when I used to make short films. I’d advertise for actors and extras, find locations, and turn a short script or joke into a five or ten minute film.

I actually have a feature length film in the planning but after having the funding refused a couple of times I decided to put it on the back-burner, as they say, and reapply at some other time.

I think now is that time, but I also think it’s been that long since I’ve actually done anything along these lines that I need to get back in to the swing of things.

So, with that in mind I’ve decided to make a couple of short films and enter them into a couple of film festivals. I’ve entered some of my other works into festivals before and won a couple of awards at times, a fact I’m quite proud of and will happily display (brag about) on any curriculum vitae I attach to any future projects.

I’ve already got the story for my first short film sorted. It’s a short story by someone most of my viewers will know quite well. I’m not going to mention names, that’s up the author but I’ve spoken to them and have their full permission to use the story and they’ve even offered to help out here and there. I’m quite glad they’ve offered as it saves me begging in a couple of weeks when things don’t seem to sound as good as they should and it’ll all be because I’ve made some stupid mistake somewhere. Many of you won’t believe this but there are times I’m wrong you know.

All I have to do now is turn it into a script, organise a shooting schedule, find the locations and get the actors! Editing will be easy, music will be okay-ish and I even have a gimmick to ensure it’s entry into festivals! I’m not revealing the gimmick just yet as it’s something I want to be revealed at the very end of the short film, in the credits or such like.

I’ll keep you updated on here and on the soon-to-be-redeveloped-website and may even give some of you a preview. There is a small eighty seater cinema in Galway I can hire and I’m very tempted to have a “premiere” just for the hell of it!

So, anyone fancy acting? I’m looking for young woman, she is the only speaking part (this may and probably will change as the time goes), and loads of extras. The only requirements are that you can get to Galway and own something black! Let me know.

As seen here.

1. Have you ever taken part in a demonstration?
Yes.  It was fun.

2. Is there an issue you’d protest against no
When isn’t there an issue I’d protest again?  I love soup in a polystyrene cup and standing round a burning oil drum!

3. Through-out history there has been an event that has lead to every day at one point or another being called “Bloody.” What’s the worst day of the week for you?
I don’t really have one as my work is seven days a week.  I don’t work seven days a week though!  Does any of that make sense?

4. There have actually been eleven Bloody Sunday events around the world, the last one (1972) leading to a song by U2. Which world wide event would you like to see a song written for?
I wouldn’t.  I can’t abide tribute songs and shit like that.

5. The one person I’d like to see in prison is …………………… for the crime of … ?
I have a real issue answering this as there are so many people I’d like to see in prison for various crimes

Stitches out today.

Relax in the bath they said.

Want to see the results? It’s not pretty. You’ve been warned.

Click here – Picture 1 Picture 2

Now I have a splitting headache.

So today we headed off to Enniskillen in Northern Ireland. For those of you that don’t know (and yes there are some surprisingly) Northern Ireland is part of the United Kingdom but Southern Ireland (the Republic of Ireland) is not, it’s a whole separate country. Bert and I live in the Republic.

On the radio last week they talked about how people are travelling “up north” to do their shopping, christmas and general grocery. I decided this sounded like a good idea so thought we should give it a try.

Enniskillen is only a couple of hours away from where we live and interestingly enough my maternal grandmother and all her family are from there so it was an extra special trip for me.

We set off around 7.30am and got to Tesco for 10am. We didn’t even realise we’d gone across the border until we saw the PSNI station in Belcoo. The PSNI is the Police Service for Northern Ireland. They didn’t want to be known as the Northern Ireland Police Service. The PSNI station is incredible. It’s like a small prison! It certainly makes you feel unwelcome as you enter the UK but it’s a left over from the troubles and as a border station has blast walls and bullet proof glass.

The Tesco store was laid the same as any Tesco store I’ve been in so we, thankfully, knew which aisles to head for.

Our purpose was to buy birthday, christmas and anniversary gifts and once we’d done that we’d do a bit of grocery shopping.

We had a nice slow walk round Tesco and then over to Asda and then into the Erneside Shopping Centre and by the time we’d finished we’d got a car full of goodies and sore feet.

The trip home took longer than the trip there as we missed two turns and really had no idea where we were going.

We unloaded the car in the rain and then loaded up with the stuff we need for tonight and tomorrow as we’re staying with Mr & Mrs Duggan tonight and tomorrow Helen and I are having a baking day.

So there you have my day and I bet you’re wondering why we travelled north to do our shopping given that we live in a very beautiful part of Ireland with every shop you could imagine. Well the cost was the issue.

I’ve already been told how I’m not supporting the Irish economy by doing this and I agree that I’m not but I have my reasons. I’m currently paying a pension levy on my pension contributions in my wages on a pension I will never get. This started in April of this year. In January we got hit with a 1% income charge to try and stabilise the economy and, as we all knew and expected, this failed hence the pension levy. Sadly the pension levy is only for those of is in the public service and in December we’re going to get hit by more taxes. In one year my income has gone down by 12% and even though the government tell me that the cost of living has gone down and I can assure them it’s not.

Fuel (petrol, diesel and heating oil) has all gone up, milk and butter has all gone up and alcohol has gone up. This list is not exhaustive. The only things I know that have down are house prices (we not buying yet), rental house prices (ours hasn’t!) and clothing prices.

Great, so the cost of clothing has gone down but the cost of food has gone up! It’s just as well it’s that was round so I can afford to buy new clothes as I get thin from not being to afford to eat.

Cowen and his fucking cronies can tell me as much as they want that the cost of living has come down but the people they really need to tell are the shops! Maybe they’ll reduce their prices then and prove him right! Until then my taxes think he’s a lying cunt, just like the lying leader before him (I’m stating opinion there – mine, no one else’s! I’m allowed to state my opinion!)

So once we’d bought all our christmas (and etc) gifts we bought some things from ourselves.

I’d now like to share five items from our shopping trolley.

1 x 250g Kenco Really Smooth Instant coffee.
20 x Tubes of Pringles*.
6 x 900g Tin of Cadbury’s Heroes
1 x 1ltr Smirnoff Red Label Vodka
1 x 1ltr Teachers Whiskey.

The coffee cost £2.49, the Pringles were £1 per tube, the Heroes were £5 per tin and the alcohol was £20 for the two (on offer).

In total (just those items) cost us £72.49.

In Tesco Ireland same items have a very different cost! The coffee is €4.50, the Pringles are €2.49, the Heroes are €12.49, the Vodka is €29.99 and the whisky is €22.49. There is no offer on the alcohol in Tesco Ireland.

That total would have been €181.72.

In sterling that’s £162.40. That’s a saving of £89.91 which is over €100!

Should we really shop in Tesco Ireland? I think not! This trip will now become a once-a-month spin. Not just for the shopping but so I can find my relatives!

* We bought 20 because they were so cheap!

I have been watching the series Band of Brothers recently. A friend lent me the box-set after telling me how good he’d found it. I’m half way through and I’m throughly enjoying it but it’s had an interesting but welcoming effect.

My grandfather was an engineer in the Royal Air Force, stationed in Burma during the second world war. My mother has all his medals and somewhere, I don’t know where (yet), she has all the letters he sent his wife, my nan, during his time away. Sadly he died before I was born so I never got the chance to ask him about his war effort but I don’t think I’d have got much information anyway as mom always said that he wouldn’t talk about even when she asked. She’s read the letters he sent home and from what she’s told me Band of Brothers (although about the U.S. army and not the RAF) has it about right with regard to the friendships that grew and the hardships people went through.

Apparently in one of the letters my grandfather sent home he talks about a busy day maintaining aircraft. He recognised one of the aircraft as that flown by a pilot he’d become very friendly with. The engineers watched as the planes took off and hours later watched as they returned. Of course not all of them did, one of those was that of my grandfathers friend. In the letter he talks about how he can’t afford to mourn his loss or take time to grieve as to do so would cause more problems. They prayed at a Sunday service and they remembered their lost friends but still couldn’t mourn. He wasn’t alone in this apparently. No one mourned for fear of breakdowns and becoming unstable and unable to carry out duties. In the letter he talked about how his squadron will mourn as a group when they return.

During the last ten months my family and I have suffered so much loss (thankfully none for at least eight/nine weeks now!) but I cannot imagine being surrounded by it on a daily basis, even more so when I can’t mourn or grieve.

I once tried to join the RAF. I wanted to be a pilot. Not a fighter pilot, those kind of planes never interested me. I wanted to fly troop/tank carriers, the big buggers basically! I did an aptitude test, a medical and had an interview and at the end I got told my eyesight wasn’t good enough to be a pilot but looking at my results someone had decided I was perfectly suited to be an engineer! You can imagine how excited my mother was and how disappointed I was. I didn’t join up in the end, as I’m sure you’ve already worked out.

Having watched Band of Brothers, a series based on real events and real people (some of whom are interview at the beginning or each episode) I have a new found respect for the armed forces, then and now!

A friend I went to school with joined the Navy at sixteen and went out to the Gulf. He was on board the Ark Royal during the first Gulf War. He’ll never know the respect I have for him. Mainly because we don’t talk about more for reason I’m not going into but even though there is that wall between us my respect for him is higher now than it ever was. Another friend is currently (as far as I know) in Afghanistan. A place where 223 soldiers have died since 2001. He’s lost friends, people he cares for. He could be next. That thought scares me a lot!

I always buy a poppy and occasionally my nan (dad’s mom not mom’s mom) and I would attend the Remembrance Day service at the Garden of Remembrance where all our families ashes are scattered but I think this year, having watched Band of Brothers and talked more to my mom about my grandfather, I think it’ll mean more than it has in previous years. I know that’s wrong, I know I should have always had this respect and I think I have in someway, just not the right way and absolutely not enough.

These people fight for our freedom. They fight so I can enjoy my life. I may not agree with why we went to war in the Gulf, I may agree with Thatcher sinking the General Belgrano but no matter what I think these people, these members of the armed forces go into this career of their own free will. They make the choice to enlist and face the possibility of dying for their country.

To them, those from the past and those willing to serve in the future I say thank you. Thanks is all I can offer but if you’re passing I’ll pop the kettle on and I’m sure I could spare a biscuit or two.

And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon
Saint Crispin’s day.

William Shakespeare’s Henry V; Act IV, Scene 3

Bert and I have been getting in to Nurse Jackie recently. If you’ll pardon the expression.

It’s a half hour American comedy from Showcase, the same people who bought you Dexter. I’ll be honest and say it’s not as enjoyable as the adverts made it out as there are certain parts that are quite sad but when it’s funny it’s fucking hilarious!

And here for your viewing pleasure is one of the funniest scenes I’ve seen on TV in a long while. Even though you know what’s coming it’s still fucking hysterical!

Enjoy!

Reading Rampages post about being run over, other than making me worry about the little lambeen, it made me remember the times I ran over two people (separate incidents) and aimed at a third. You’d think I made a habit of it wouldn’t you?! I assure you I don’t!

Incident Number One
So there I am trundling along in my little 1963 Land Rover that didn’t go very fast. If you got above forty the whole thing shook until it felt like your eyes were melting.

Up ahead a bus had stopped to let it’s passengers off and as the road was clear I thought I’d over take. As I did a girl stepped out from the front of the bus, not looking where she was going, and I hit her. If you don’t included the bruising or damage to her pride she wasn’t really injured but there was a spectacular tyre mark up her tights.

She soon got up and appeared fine but the police had been called by this point so I was starting to panic. Thankfully she admitted it was all her fault and a couple of witnesses had backed me up. I was breathalysed, as per procedure, and given instructions to produce my driving license and insurance at the police station within fourteen days. The officer explained that there was nothing to worry about as she’d admitted fault and that the producer, like the breathalyser, was purely procedure.

Two days later I arrive at the police station with my documents and handed them over.

“You’re in trouble!” said the desk officer laughing.
“No I’m not!” I insisted.
“Oh yes you are!” he said chuckling.
“No I’m not, she admitted it was her fault!”
“Yeah you’re still in trouble.”
“Why?”
“The girl you hit was the sergeants daughter!”

Trying to be all brave and righteous I muttered something about it still being her fault but inside not only was I bawling my eyes out I was also preparing to spend the rest of my life getting ass-raped daily by Slasher Joyce my cell mate!

Thankfully a few weeks later I received a letter telling me the incident had been closed.

Incident Number Two
It was 1am and I’d just finished a radio show which had gone well and was giving my guest, who was a good friend, a lift home. We headed through the one-way road system of the town and chatted generally about how the show had gone and what feedback she could expect, as she was hoping to get a slot on the station.

Without warning a man ran out from a side street on the right and I swerved to avoid him, veering (over-compensating) to the left.

We both spouted out some kind of expletive and once we’d calmed down Emma asked “are you not going to stop?”
“What for?”
“That man!” she said.
“What man?”
“The man you just ran over!”
“I missed him!”
“No you didn’t! He was in the road! You went over him!”

I looked in my rear mirror and sure enough a different man was lying in the road. I think I shouted fuck or words to that effect but I couldn’t actually get out the car. I was quite sure he was dead.

I rang for an ambulance and explained what I’d done and asked them to send the police as well and it was the police who turned up first. I got out the car and headed over to them but kept my gaze away from ‘the body.’

“It’s me, I did it!” I said with my hands up as though they were going to shoot me.
“You did what?” the female officer asked.
“I ran over him!”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I hit him.”
“You hit him?”
“Yeah, with my car!”
“Hang on!” she said putting her hand up.

She called her partner over and explained to him what I’d said and he came over to talk to me.

“Sir, you say you hit him?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Just?”
“Yes!”
“Actually you just drove over his legs,” said Emma who was now out the car and at my side.
“Did I?”
“Oh yes, just his legs. He was already lying in the road!”
“And you didn’t see him?” asked the officer.
“No I didn’t! I’d swerved to miss a guy running out of Edington Street!”
“Right, miss,” he said talking to Emma, “can you drive his car round to the station please?”
“I suppose,” she said, “but I’m not too sure where it is.”
“You can follow us,” he turned to me, “sir can you get into this police car and go back to the station to answer some questions.”

As we pulled off I saw the ambulance turn up but I still couldn’t look at the body of the guy I’d just killed. At the station I was arrested and read my rights and then taken to an interview room, Emma was asked to wait in reception.

A few minutes later the female officer came in and started to ask me questions. She explained how everything was really a formality as, even though they hadn’t heard much of it, they fully believed my story and Emma had already given them a quick rundown (excuse the pun!) as well.

She breathalyser me, which was clear, and then wrote my statement out. It’s been too long to get anyone in trouble (because Staffordshire Police read my blog! – ha!) but she kind of lead me along, making sure there was no way I could get into trouble about it. In another room Emma was giving her statement but she didn’t mention the guy coming out from the right as she hadn’t seen him. This didn’t seem to matter.

Everything was going well. Too well. One thing confused me!

“Excuse me,” I said, “if you didn’t know what I was talking about when you turned up why were you there?”
“What do you mean?” asked the officer.
“I called you. I called the police to say I’d hit the man with my car but when you turned up you knew nothing about it!”
“Oh, we’d been called in for a riot in the chip shop!”

She continued telling me how they, two other cars and a van, had turned up to sort out a big drunken fight going on in the chip shop. The guy in the road had already had the crap beaten out of him and was lying half-in half-out the road with a dislocated shoulder. I just bounced over his legs!

I was relieved he wasn’t dead but now felt really guilty for breaking both his legs.

“Is he seriously hurt?” I asked.
“Who?”
“The man I hit!”
“Oh no! As soon as the ambulance turned up he got up and ran off!”

I never heard anything further from this one.

Incident Number Three
Dale, a best mate (and still so even after this!) was living with me on and off and I had to go away for the weekend.

I was in the process of sorting lots of things out and the house was a mess. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the only carpet visible in the dining room was a thin path from the kitchen to the lounge.

Dale was under strict instructions not to let Rachel in while I was away for the weekend. No matter what! There were two reasons behind this. One I won’t be going to and the other is just that I didn’t want her seeing the mess.

Back from my weekend away Dale, Rach and I were in the pub having a drink when one of them (I forget which) let it slip that Rach had been in the house that weekend as she needed to use the toilet. Rather than shout in the pub I got up, walked out and got into my car.

Dale came out and stood in front of the car, wanting to talk and explain. I was in no mood to listen so I started the engine and aimed for him.

Thankfully he moved out the way! I drove home, furious, but him and Rach followed me. While Rach sat in the car Dale and I sorted things out over a coffee on the back patio. I’m trying to make it sound posh but really it was just a little back yard. But it was nice!

I’m quite glad he jumped out the way really as he and Rach are the Heroes I talked about in Ma’s post months ago as they’re both paramedics, and very good ones at that!

I think he ended up with the right one!

You know, I really thought the top two would be bigger.

Take the Seven Deadly Sins Quiz

It’s good when actors can laugh at themselves. I’ve been in a number amateur and professional theatre groups and I’ve loved every minute of it. Sadly in any amateur group there is always a couple prima donnas who think they not only deserve the leading roles but should have also have a dressing room of their own, often with a star attached. These are the ones, male and female, who get angry if someone cocks up during a rehearsal. If someone makes a mistake, forgets a line or laughs at an inopportune moment they are tutting and mumbling about who should have got the part. Of course when they forget a line or make a mistake it’s the pressure of the role darling!

During a rehearsal for a performance of ‘An Inspector Calls’ in which I was playing Gerald Croft my on-stage fiancée, Shelia Birling, had the following line “He knows you know! And I hate to think what else he knows that we don’t know he knows yet!” She found this hysterical and would begin to giggle every time she said it. Nothing could stop her! Janet, the lady playing the Birlings maid, a role she didn’t want but took anyway, was furious! At one point, as the line approached, backstage we all heard her mutter in a stage whisper louder than her own stage voice “Do you think she’ll fuck it up this time!” Well we never actually got to the line at that point because Ann (Mrs Bilring), Terry (Mr. Birling), Jayne (Shelia Birling), Simon (Eric Birling) and myself fell about laughing. Of course this didn’t go down well so we took a break and came back to it later.

Thankfully most of the gags, gaffs, goofs and corpsing took place during rehearsals and once it was out of our system then the actual performances usually went on without a hitch. Unfortunately An Inspector Calls must have been cursed.

The set had been built to resemble a typical wealthy family dining room in 1912 and our set builders we’re fantastic at designing and building sets so it look extremely realistic. Leading from backstage into the dining room were a pair of huge doors which the director had insisted were both opened when we entered the room. This was fine other than once we’d let go of the doors they slammed shut and made the whole set wobble. Mr. Director wasn’t happy about this so David was ordered to find a successful way of making the doors shut quickly, without banging, without using anything that wouldn’t have been available in 1912. In the end it was decided that as we stepped through the door we should turn, grab the door handles, and close the door firmly but gently.

Cue opening night. Ann, as Mrs Birling, flings open the doors and storms in to give her line. As she turns and grabs the door handles they both come off in her hand! I’m stood getting a drink at the time (flat ginger ale as whisky) so I turn my back to audience and try not to piss myself. Jayne pretends to wipe her mouth with a serviette. The others look around wondering what she’s going to do. She calmly and strongly walks across the stages, slams the handles on the dining table and says “Arthur I’m sick of telling you to sort these bloody door handles out!” turning to me she continues, “Gerald maybe you could do it at some point as I can’t trust that drunk of a son of mine!” She then gave the line she’d actually come in to for.

Only certain members of the audience actually realised what had happened and there was a small titter racing from the front to the back and that would have been the end of it. If it wasn’t for Jayne! A very few short minutes later she picked up one of the door handles, thinking it was a salt shaker. Not knowing what to do she just shook it over her dinner, tutted and exclaimed it to be empty, slammed it on the table and carried on as normal.

During the interval Janet reprimanded us all for our on-stage conduct even though we all thought we’d done quite well. Ann got a round of applause and lots of “well done’s” and the director appeared pleased with how things had gone so far although we could see him chomping at the bit with David on stage behind the curtain trying to reattach the door handles.

Now with theatre the sad thing is that these bloopers often don’t get caught on tape. You only have the image I’ve created to get an idea of the mistakes made and how funny they are (well I think they are). Although you can still make your own mind up you can’t see it or see how funny I think it is. You can’t rewind to the funniest bits or skip the rubbish.

Thankfully, with film, you can capture those moments that make you giggle. In celebration of that (and the main reason for this post in the first place) here is something I was sent this morning that I find quite funny.

On Wednesday we we’re back in Wales for the wedding of some close friends of ours. The friends are the dirty lesbians so it wasn’t a proper wedding it was one of them there civil partnerships those disgusting queer people go through! Personally I don’t think it should be allowed and I totally agree with what someone once said to me which was “all gays should be stuck on an island and left to bum themselves to death!” Well I’m in!

So the wedding was lovely. Both Vicky and Denise looked radiant and so happy! The registrar made the event go with ease and was very accommodating and as it was only a small family affair once the ceremony were over with we all went back to the girls to enjoy drinks and enough food to feed the five thousand.

Of course with these being our friends that breed labradors, bassets and Rottweilers then the obligatory moment with a puppy came later on in the evening.

Here’s a few snapshots of the day and a puppy video to coo over.

I sometimes wonder if my life would be massively different if I made choices other than those I’d actually opted for.

It’s not that I’m unhappy with who I am now, far from it in fact, but through-out the years I’ve had many and various opportunities that I’ve turned down. I’ve been a part of things that I either got bored with or decided were’t going very far or I’ve stopped being part of something because something else came up that attracted me more.

I was once part of a stand-up comedy duo. A friend and I wrote our own routines, made our own props and became our own managers. I was the stooge and she was the straight-man, well straight-woman. We had a few gigs in various comedy clubs and actually did quite well even if I do say so myself. In the end my priorities changed and we called it a day. How far would we have got if we’d stayed together? Would we be on the big comedy circuit right now? I doubt it. There are too many good comedy acts out there, as good as we may have been I don’t think we’d have been one of them.

I met Jo through a radio station I used to work for. Jo used to do the mid-morning show on a Monday to Friday and I would do evenings from 8pm to 12am. Sometimes I’d engineer for Jo as she wasn’t fantastic at working the desk and couldn’t cue up an advert for love or money. In the end we got offered our own show on Saturday and Sunday mornings. We had a lot of fun and in part it was this that lead to our stand-up stuff but the radio station was changing and neither of us liked where it was going. Jo had her daytime show taken off her when the station was sold to one of the major media companies and her slot was given over to the new station manager. My slot was changed from 7-10pm and Jo & I lost our Sunday. Jo was the best interviewer the station had and taking her away from the mid-morning show, our 3rd most popular show, was stupid. Jo left soon after and no one could blame her. I haven’t spoken to her in fourteen years. I wonder what she’s up to now.

I used to play rugby for the school. If I’d have carried it on would I be some hulking great rugby player now or would I be sat next to Martin Johnson as a pundit talking about the game we’d just watched. At my mothers house, tucked away at the back of a cupboard I have a medal for playing for playing for the school. I wonder if it’s worth wearing it when Brad and I get married, you know how service men wear their uniform and medals. Maybe I should turn up in rugby gear.

There are many other things I’ve done that I could have done differently and many other opportunities that maybe shouldn’t have been ignored but I am quite happy where I am thank you. Look at what I’ve got! How could I not be happy?

As some of you will know I’m a course through work. This course has eight modules to it and yesterday and today we began Module Two. Intellectual Disability Studies.

What we have learnt over two days could have been taught in half a day. We were basically taught how to fill in a work book. A work book that comes with a second book. The second book teaches you how to fill in the work book.

This is why I’ve had to suffer a tax increase and pension levy! A pension levy that only health workers, teachers and the guards are having by the way! Why only us? Because we’re public servants and our job is secure! No it fucking isn’t! My job is just as at risk as those in the private sector! Wankers!

Anyway, aside from spending the 1st morning filling a page with stars we did actually learn a few things. Nothing eligible for work or the course but still learning is learning.

I have learnt that some people who work in our industry are judgemental bastards who may not harm a client or service user but given one story I’ve heard I have to wonder what psychological damage they are doing! Thankfully this is no one in our service!

I have learnt that he who shouts loudest wins. Wrong but true.

I have learnt that my manager, even with his faults, is far superior to others and I’m damn lucky!

All the names have been changed in the following stories.

Story One

Patrick works in a different county for a similar organisation. Every day he deals with young adults who need support due to a learning difficult or physical disability. A few weeks ago he headed off on a train to visit some friends. He told us this story:

“While waiting for the train two guys went passed me in wheelchairs. A train came in, not mine by the way, people got off and some got on and then it left. The two guys in the wheelchairs didn’t get on. They head off the platform and as they passed me I said about how disgusting it is that they couldn’t get on the train. They said they didn’t want to they just waiting for someone and I said sorry as they head off. The next train comes in, again not mine, and a girl in a wheelchair gets off. She looks around as though lost and confused and I assume she’s looking for the two guys. I head over to her and say “Your friends have just gone down there,” and I point off the platform.
“What?” she asks.
“Your friends. The two guys. They head off the platform. I think they’re over there,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry I don’t understand.”
“Are you looking for two men in wheelchairs?”
“No!”
“Then why do you look so lost and confused?”
“I’ve got off at the wrong fucking stop!”
As I sat back down I saw the two guys on the other platform talking with a man who just got off the train.”

When Patrick told his story the people sat around him in the lecture room actually laughed but talking to one of the other girls we were both amazed at his attitude. He’d made two incorrect assumptions that if he’d made at work he’d be reprimanded for. First off why assume that the guys couldn’t get on the train just because they didn’t? He didn’t get on two trains! Should we assume he was stuck to his seat? Secondly how dare he assume that because she was in wheelchair she must be meeting the other guys!

Now, for someone who has never worked with anyone with any form of disability or had any connection with anyone with that background I can kind of understand how that assumption might be made and I’d be forgiving but this guy works with people who need support due to a disability! He should know better! How does he still have a job?

Story Two
Janet, like Patrick, works in a similar field with a similar client base in a residential house in a different county for a different organisation. There they have someone who goes home one weekend a year. The family have applied for a grant for an extension to their house so they are better equipped to cope with this resident when he goes home. He goes home without support! I don’t mean that they kick him out the door and say “Seeya Monday!” but I mean that no staff stay with him. He has a sufficient level of independence and enough family support to cope without staff. So, one weekend a month a year he goes and home and the family are applying for a grant to deal with that weekend better. A grant of €35’000 has been approved.

Questions:
1. Have assessments been done of the family home to see if it’s already suitable?
2. Have the family been assessed to see how good the family support is?
3. Has the awarding body seen the plans of the current home?
4. Has the awarding body seen the plans of the proposed extension?
5. Will the family take the client, their son, for more weekends once extension is built?
6. Has the client been asked if he wants to go home more than one weekend a year?
7. Has the client been asked if he wants to stay in a purpose built extension?
8. Has the client been consulted at all with regard to any of this.

The answer to all of these questions is the same. No.

Why is Janet not speaking up? If this family are getting the extension they should be able to care for the relatives themselves. From the way she spoke it sounds like he is independent enough to look after his own hygiene needs and can even make himself meals and drinks he just needs support in certain areas that even the most basic family could cope with – especially with a €35k extension!

Yet another reason why my wage packet has gone down by over 10% since April and will go down again as of October!

Story Three

Tommy used to work on the docks works in a similar environment to Janet and Patrick. His manager insisted that one of their clients be given a mobile phone and taught how to use it. Tommy argued there was no need but the manager forced his hand. Given how many times the client uses the house phone it was deemed that €10 credit a week would be plenty and the client was taught how to use it and how to top it up. Everything went swimmingly. The client knew how to use the phone and how to top up and knew that €10 a week was plenty. Six months later a review takes place, as it does with our service users as well.
“And how is he getting on with the mobile phone?” asks the manager.
“Oh fine. He puts his €10 credit on every Friday and that lasts him the week,” replies Tommy.
“Can I see the phone?” asks the manager.
Tommy goes and collects it and hands it to the manager.
“How do I get the balance up?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” replies Tommy, “why?” “It’s mid week, I just want to see if he uses it all by the weekend and has nothing for the week.”
Eventually they work out how to get a credit balance. The balance is €236 euros. It would appear the client never uses it. There are only four calls in the call log, all to the house phone, all dated six months ago when Tommy was teaching the client how to use the phone. The client thinks that whether the phone is used or not he has to put €10 on it.

Whether you are dealing with someone with learning difficulties or not there is a simple thing you can do to make the person feel respected. Ask!

It doesn’t matter if the person has a diagnosis of Autism, Asperger Syndrome, Fragile X, ABI or self-diagnosed fake bi-polar! You still ask, you don’t decide for them! Even when you know they can’t make the decision themselves you still go through the motions of asking because this could be the one time they know what they want and are capable of deciding! If I asked one of our service users if he wanted to get on the bus with another service user he’d say no! He’d flatly refuse! He knows his mind. He knows if he wants tea or coffee, cheese or ham and he knows what clothes he wants to wear. I don’t make these choices for him. He makes them. He makes them because I ask him to!

Now the client Tommy was dealing with was even more capable of making his own choices than the lads I deal with. Our lads couldn’t have a mobile phone. Three of them can’t verbally communicate well enough and the other wouldn’t be able to learn how to use it. The manager was at fault in Tommy’s story and he should have been reprimanded for it. I agree that Tommy is partially to blame for this as he obviously didn’t teach the client correctly but did anyone ask him if he wanted a mobile phone? No they didn’t! The manager just decided to do it one day and no one could argue about it. With that in mind why did Tommy have to pay the client back €230? Just tell the client to start using the phone to use up the credit and stop paying €10 a week! Tommy argued but was told either pay it back or they’ll take out his wages.

Fucking managers!

With what I’ve heard over the last two days I can honestly say the place I work in is fantastic. No, I’m not saying that’s because of me, but yes I am going to take a small bit of that credit. The staff (99% of them!) are damn good at their jobs and they need telling that! Maybe it’s the training we’ve had, maybe it’s the support we get, either way I could happily assure all our families that their loved ones get the best care. Christ, we put up with beatings and go back for more! We get covered in shit and don’t quit! We spend our own money on the lads and give up our own time to go out with them and not get paid for it.

We rule!

Sometimes I get bored.

Right now I’m on a course through work and during some group work, when we’d actually finished doing the work, me and another guy on the course got to talk about lunch and what we were planning on eating. One thing lead to another and we started talking about the things we had eaten in the past.

So as I’m as bored as hell here are some facts about semen.

Semen Facts:

- It can stain. Always wash in COLD water.

- A black light will show semen.

- A single ejaculation has an average of 200-500 million sperm in it.

- Semen is okay if you are on the Atkins diet.

- The average speed of a shooting ejaculation is 23 mph.

- A woman’s mood can be elevated to ‘happy’ by frequent exposure to semen.

- Pineapple, watermelon, cranberries, and sweet fruit can improve the taste of semen.

- Semen is usually a cloudy white fluid that within 30 minutes becomes runny and clear.

- A chlorine type smell in semen is normal.

- The taste is slightly sweet due to fructose.

- The taste of semen tends to change slightly from person to person.

- A study conducted by American scientists in Newscientists.com among 30,000 men over eight years found those that ejaculated most frequently have had significantly less chances of getting prostate cancer.

- Semen contains small amounts of more than thirty elements, including fructose, ascorbic acid, cholesterol, creatine, citric acid, lactic acid, nitrogen, vitamin B12, and various salts and enzymes.

- Blue whales produce four hundred gallons of semen with each ejaculation.