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)

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.

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.

“How long will it take to get to the airport from here?”
“Forty-five minutes usually but as you don’t know the road I’d give it an hour.”

With this in mind I was content in the knowledge that if we left at 10:45pm we’d get to the airport in plenty of time. You can imagine the state I was in when at 11pm Brad was still munching away at steak/chop/kebab (delete as appropriate) from the barbecue and telling me not to worry and that we had plenty of time.

We did, but not because he said so, but because the flight was delayed. It seems every Ryanair flight anyone goes on, other than us, is delayed. Ours is always early or on time but never late.

I love meeting people at the airport. Seeing all the human interaction and knowing I’m going to be part of it soon. Seeing people smile as they step out of arrivals into the arms of a loved on. Seeing people nod as they see a sign with their name on and know they car must be for them.

Mostly I love it because it means people are coming to visit and I love it when then happens. Even when its people you haven’t seen for a while, years in fact, friends who you really care for but for one reason or another you don’t see as often as you should, if at all in some cases!

I’ve often found it remarkable how friendships built on one common interest can grow.

I joined blog many moons ago (when the “made by you” was “beta” and I was a founder member not a pro!) and began adding people to my friends list. They were only online friends though, not real people, so if I never blogged again it didn’t matter. Then we got that step closer in AIM or MSN or GoogleChat and these people became semi-real. They were still only virtual friends and although I was growing quite fond of some of them they were still strangers to me who I only knew through blog.

Then I exchanged contact details with one of these virtual people! He gave me his phone number so I gave him mine. As nervous as I was it still didn’t matter as he was still only a virtual person. Someone who was never going to ring as in the real world he didn’t exist.

This changed when I looked at the screen and saw “I’m calling” in the chat window. I held my phone in my hand and suddenly got all nervous. “Brad, you know that scouser from blog, the one from the Wirral, writes for the metro or some other free rag up there?”
“Yeah,” came his reply.
“He’s about to call me!”

Before the conversation could continue the phone was ringing. I was half tempted to hang up and then type a chat massage to him saying something like “sorry, foster kids need me!” or something like that but instead I actually answered. What’s the worse that could happen? We could actually become friends (lovers in the future x) and call each other again? We might meet? He was still going to be a virtual friend, he was still going to be that scally from blog!

A while later I made the mistake decision of doing an open blog invitation to my final birthday celebrations while living the UK. A few bloggers actually took me up on the invite. My real friends, those not virtual as the bloggers were/are, thought we were all swingers from some internet porn site but in reality we were a group of people with that one common interest.

These people, the scally included (who had an incredibly beautiful woman with him and I’ve still no idea how he managed that one!), suddenly became real. I’d read all about them, spoken to them on the phone, exchanged emails but now they were sat in front of me.

Things on blog really changed then. The people I was reading about became actual people. There were real, they had substance and I was beginning to feel ever closer to them. They, and others, became real friends.

“But how do you know them?” she’d ask.
“Through blog mother, we all blog together!” I reply.
“Well that just sounds mucky!”
“It’s a diary mother, an online diary and people read it.”
“Could I read it?”
“You could but you might not want to.”
“And you all know each other from there?”
“Yes.”
“Do you swap pictures and stuff?”
“No, I post a picture and people can look at it.”
“Not naughty I hope!”
“No mother!”
“I don’t get it!”

And she doesn’t and probably never will but she does read now and then.

“Who is Nici and K?” she asked.
“Friends,” I replied.
“Well I gathered that but who are they, you’ve not talked about them before.”
“I’ve talked about Nici mother. Abi. The american.”
“The one with the whip?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t you do something with her on that site once?”
“I changed her blog design mother, that’s as far as it goes!”
“And they’re coming over?”
“Yes.”
“Well that’ll be lovely for you.”

She’s trying to be nice but she still doesn’t understand and never will and when father asks how I am she’ll say “don’t ask Roger, you won’t like it.”

We got to the airport in just as the plane was due to land but it was late so we actually had time to grab a drink. Unfortunately all the shops had shut and the machines didn’t take notes! Damn it!

We didn’t have to wait long before Nici & K arrived as as we hugged not only was a warming and heartfelt it was also like it had only been a couple of weeks since we last saw each and not a few years. I felt the same when giving K a hug and this was the first time I’d ever met her!

Once home we cracked open a bottle of wine and it was gone 4am before we finally went to bed after much catching up, getting-to-know-yous, and just general fun and chat.

Saturday saw us have a very lazy morning around the house and after a massive lunch of st

uff and salad we headed into Galway.

We forced the girls to kick the wall but they had to watch others do it before they did just in case they thought we were conning them into something and then we headed into town for drinkies. Galway Pride was on and all six people people turn up for it. Drinks in the Quays, where Nick tried her first ever Guinness which wasn’t up to standard, then a walk back to the car and off to the Duggans.
After coffee and cooing over Ruaidhrí we headed back home.

Brad cooked us all steak. Well, he didn’t cook mine but then again you don’t need to. With my steak you just wave it over the pan a little and then throw it on the plate.

More drinking and conversation and bedtime at some ungodly hour but all very much worth it.

Heading back to the airport on Sunday I think I was the only one who didn’t have a hangover but I wasn’t the only one who didn’t think we’d make it in time! Damn weather, funerals and traffic!

All in all the weekend was fantastic. It was wonderful seeing Nici again and meeting K. They are both lovely people. I’m a little annoyed that they didn’t take either of the cats as promised but there is a box in the hall, miaowing, that I really must post at some point!

The day started well but given the hangover I’d had the day before unless I’d suddenly come down with the plague I was bound to feel better. Unfortunately the day wouldn’t remain so good.

Bert actually got up when I ask him to and before long we were downstairs having breakfast. We’d worked out how much we’d got left in sterling so the decision was made to fill up on breakfast so the next meal we’d need to eat would be just before we got to the airport.

Back in the room we packed up as quickly as we could and decided we’d walk to the local station and get the train to take us one stop down the line to Hull’s main station. Plans changed when we found a bus station on the same commercial complex as the hotel! This took us straight to the station in Hull.

As with our outbound journey our train tickets weren’t for the train we were about to catch but it didn’t matter. We’d paid full fair so it’s not as though we were travelling illegally and Laura had never had her tickets checked and neither did we on the way into Hull. The train pulled out the station and within seconds we heard the guard shout “tickets please!”

The guard pointed out that our tickets weren’t for travel on this train and Brad, doing all the talking as ordered by me, explained that we didn’t think it matter as we’d paid a fare anyway. We had two options. No.1. Pay a small fortune for two single tickets at full price into Manchester or No.2. get off at the next station, Brough.

An hour later, after I’d walked the length of the platform a few times, then the other platform, watched five trains come through the station, taken pictures and listened to camp classics we decided to take a walk into the town. Well actually I decided to go for a walk to small cafe/shop I could see just across from the station to go and get come drinks for us and Brad decided he’d come with. The cafe turned out to be a chinese take-away called the Station Supper Bar, worse still it was closed. This meant a walk into town which wasn’t too daunting as we were at a train station. Surely if you’re at a train station there has to be a small village or town centre nearby. Wrong! Fifteen minutes and four pubs later there was still no sign of a village centre and I was starting to think we’d been walking out of town rather than in. All we wanted was a newsagent we could get a bottle of coke, a chocolate bar and a newspaper.

Another fifteen minutes and finally we could see some shops on the horizon! Okay that’s not strictly true! First of all we couldn’t see the shops we could see the edge of a car park and secondly it wasn’t on the horizon. My pace increased slightly, if that was possible, as my excitement grew at the though of finally getting a coke and maybe a Mars bar! I was also excited about seeing civilisation which was just as well as that was all we got!

A florist, a bookies, a post office, a couple of estates, an architects and some nice benches and flower beds! No fucking newsagent! A Spar would have done. I’d even have paid the exorbitant prices in a Co-op by this point. Thankfully in the distance we spotted a bigger car park which could have been another set of shops and surely there must have been a newsagents there!

For once success was ours! There was more than a newsagent! There was a Morrisons! My distaste for Morrisons is on par with that of Kwik Save, Aldi, Lidl’s and buses but by this point I’d have drank the piss from a sweaty dog I was that thirsty! Two two-litre bottles of shite and a twix later we were heading back to the train station happy in the knowledge that I’d had a drink and some chocolate and a toy and the next train to come in would be ours! No eye candy on this trip just a guy being too loud on his phone and then coughing beer all of the seat but thankfully we soon pulled into Manchester Piccadilly.

Thanks to the delay at Brough we’d have to get the train straight to the airport to make sure we got there on time. Sitting upstairs in the departure lounge we bought coffees that we could refill as many times as wanted just in case we were delayed. As luck would have it we weren’t. Of course our luck wouldn’t hold out.

As we boarded the plane and grabbed the emergency exit seats I saw a familiar flash of black and green. The same fucking basketball team that was on the flight out was on our flight back. A million under-15′s trying to get into a plane made for four! I don’t so much mind the kids, although these ones were quite noisy, but it’s the useless parents and guardians who don’t keep them under control that’s more annoying. They seem to encourage it! I’m sure I heard one of the mothers say “yes darling, you run up and down the aisle as we take off and here’s €100, go get yourself a vodka and coke!”

Every five minutes or so the cabin crew would ask people to move down the plane and find a vacant seat so ignoring all the signs the kids took up the spare seats in the emergency exit rows. There are signs clearly stating that you have to be over eighteen to sit in these seats, which is an added bonus as far as I’m concerned, but the parents were ignoring this and telling kids to sit in the seats. And yes, there were ignoring them. How do I I? How can I be so sure that they’d seen the signs? Because Bert and I pointed it out to them! I desperately wanted to shout “told you so!” when the cabin crew moved them on!

This left two empty seats behind us which soon filled by a very snobby old bitch (very much like myself) who wasn’t at all happy that she was travelling with Ryanair. My consolation, and yes I am that bitter was that her husband had no choice but to put their bags in the only available locker space, one at the front and one at the back, which meant they’d be last off. To make matters worse she put her jacket on the back of Bert’s chair. This usually wouldn’t be a problem but she was very snooty and made no attempt to ask if he minded, which he did! So he put his back constantly wiping his dandruff on her collar and any creatures living in his hair. To be honest I think he came off worse with the bugs off her collar now in his hair.

Now, as most of you know I have a small passion for planes which has lead to me knowing a little bit about the process of landing. Not only that but coming into Shannon so many times gives you an idea of where you should be at what point. As the pilot announced “seats for landing” I knew we were too high and going too fast. What made things worse was that Bert knew it as well.

Once we’d bounced down the runaway the pilot finally managed to stop just short of the end, something that never happens at Shannon (well not to us!) and had to do a u-turn to head back to the taxi-way. This is the second time we’d bounced down the runway (the first time he managed to turn into the taxi way miles away from the end of the runway thankfully!) and just like then as we got off the landing gear was surround by official looking people all rubbing their head or holding their chin in their hands and going “hmmmm!”

A short walk to the car, an hours drive to Claregalway and we were soon in bed at the Dugggans who’d offered us a bed rather than go home and go back the next day to collect the animals. I slept well that night. Thankful to be home but filled with some great memories.

All in all I’d say we had a very successful trip. Of course I’m ignoring all the hiccups as in the grand scheme of things they just made the trip an adventure. Many thanks to Row for a wonderful Friday night, Laura and to everyone else for a wonderful Saturday night and Brad for a wonderful Sunday. I met some great people on the trip. I also ate too much, drank too much, was filmed too much, smoked too much, walked too much but all of it was very very much worth it.

Hopefully I’ll see you soon!

If I go to bed at 11pm I wake up at 6am. If I go to bed at 1am I wake up at 6am. If I go to be at 4am I wake up at 6am. You get the idea.

I couldn’t tell you what time I actually got into bed after getting pissed but as per usual I woke up at 6am. The hangover hadn’t kicked in by that point, as I found when I got out of bed to go to the toilet. Getting there wasn’t the usual bleary eyed journey as though I was partially sighted but instead I used the wall and dresser as walking aids and then stood hanging on to the wardrobe until door came past so I could hope in and use the toilet.

Ablutions over with, another glass of water drank and one on the bedside table I went back to sleep. I woke again about 7.30am, took a look out the window and went back to bed again. At 9am I woke up again and that was it, I was wide awake. Thank God for the in-room comfort cooling system as the sun was shining through our window and heating the room up. Suddenly there was strange noise coming from outside. My first thought was that someone was dangling a cat out of a window or possibly it was stuck in the lift but after a long look out the window I discovered it was piper playing the bagpipes!

I could have quite easily killed him but instead I put the telly on, lay on the bed and drank my water.

I felt like death. No, I felt worse than death. If I moved I could feel my brain lolling as through my eyes were about to fall out. My mouth tasted like the pissed bride from the night before had broke into our room and puked in to my mouth and then invited all her friends to shit in to it and then empty the hotel ashtrays down my throat!

Apart from popping out for a few ciggies here and there and getting a drinks from the bar we basically spent most of the morning and early afternoon in the room. During my trips out, taken very slowly, I saw loads of men in kilts which is obviously why the piper was there.

Around 3pm we went down to use the hotel spa and I thoroughly enjoyed forty seconds in the sauna, a minute in the steam room, a couple of minutes in the Jacuzzi and then five minutes in the pool. I’d have loved to have stayed more but my head wasn’t really up to. As I got dressed I saw a text on my phone from Laura and Vicki saying that they were on their way so I went outside to wait for them. Once they’d arrived the three of us sat in the bar and enjoyed cokes all round which was fine by me as I couldn’t have taken anything stronger!

One thing I’ve always thought should be exceeded and not just met are my own personal customer service standards. I’m not one of those that believes the customer is always right but the customers opinions should always be valued and listened to. Now although the customer service hadn’t been bad during our stay the fact that the bed hadn’t been made properly and the awkwardness over the evening meal made me wonder just what would happen when I took my drink back because there was bright red lipstick (not my shade) on the glass.

The girl that had initially served me, as nice as she was, didn’t have the kindest face. She looked the type that worked her staff to the bone, hated the customers and hated the job even more. Thankfully a guy behind the bar saw me before she did and offered his services. I explained about the glass and he instantly apologised and began pouring another drink. He gave me a story about how it had been happening a lot recently and he’d got concerns that the glass washer was faulty. He also pointed out that I didn’t need to hear any of this and apologised again for the dirty glass. Brad had joined us by this point so I order his drink and when I offered to pay the barman winked and said it was on the house as compensation for the dirty glass.

All in all I was very impressed with the service but it was made all the better by the fact that the barman was gorgeous with the cutest smile! At 9.5 he was probably the second highest scoring piece of eye-candy I’d seen all weekend.

We had something to eat, which was lovely, and as Laura and Vicki left we headed back to our room for a lie down before our meal.

In the restaurant everything was laid out in a self-service buffet but was absolutely fantastic. I don’t have a lot of confidence in self-service hotel food but I think this stems from European holidays where there food was always vile and congealed. This was totally different. There was so much to choose from and all of it was stunning. Once done with we headed back to the room with drinks and enjoyed the night out there.

I know this a short entry compared to the other entries about the trip but this was literally all we did on Sunday.

Waking up in one the most comfortable beds in the world is not something I like to do when I have plans. This is what happened on the Saturday morning after our Friday night in Manchester with the lovely RowTheBoat. Because we had plans it meant we had no choice but to get up and I really could have just lay there for hours. I hate our bed at home now. Mind you I did before but now my hatred has fuel!

Once awake and polished Row passed the coffees round and then offered to take us to the train station. Rather than suffer the indignity of a bus we I jumped at the chance, stopping in Didsbury first to get some personal items from Boots The Chemist (are they still called that or is it just Boots these days?) and activate our new Halifax Visa Electron cards at the nearest Branch.

I hate Ryanair with a passion but lets face it with Bert out of work and me having a demanding social life sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and fly cattle class. Ryanair know that no matter how many add-ons to the pricing structure they make you’ll still fork out the thruppence-halfpenny to fly with them as it’s better than paying the £200 per person per journey with British Airways or the three camels and your first-born to fly with Ethiad or Emirates. So everyone, including us, does all they can to bring the already Lidl value Ryanair fare down to a figure even a pikey would pay. To this end we got UK registered Electron cards as it’s the only credit/debit card you can use on the Ryanair website where they don’t charge you a million pound fee for using it. Electron cards are not available in Ireland so we got one from a UK Halifax and had them sent to my parents address, lying on the form that we were living there.

“Just complete the form, photocopy your passport, send it all in and your account will be opened and you’ll get your card!” said the application form! Seven to ten working days later our cards arrived at my parents and my mother forwarded them on to us. Brad rang the ‘activation line’ on a sticker stuck to the front of the card only to be told that we have to go into a branch with our I.D. Great! So we get the cards and can’t use them! Bastards!

“But we’re living travelling around the Ireland at the moment!” cries Bert, hoping his tears will convince the guy to activate the cards.
“Oh well,” he says, not really caring, “see you in a branch!”

So after a few more calls back and forth to the Halifax we’re assured that when we got into any branch with just our passports we can activate the cards and the accounts and have access to the £160 that is currently sitting in there doing nothing.

The girl in the Didsbury branch was lovely and had the kindest way of telling us there wasn’t a hope in hell of these cards being activated without a utility bill.

“A utility bill for a house we don’t live at in a country we don’t live in?” I nearly shouted. Instead I just seethed a little showing her how upset and gay I’d become if she didn’t activate them there and then and Bert whimpered a little knowing that once I’d finished telling her how fucking shite the Halifax is he’d suffer the mood and shouting and swearing for the rest of the day.

Either the smoke beginning to come from my ears or the look of utter horrow from Bert took effect on her and seconds later she handed our cards back and smilingly told us they were activated. In my head I knew that the second we got to the ATM they would be swallowed and we’d be arrested for falsifying our address details. That didn’t happen. Instead we took out the money peacefully and went for breakfast with Row into a cafe I could have sat in all day. Of course that couldn’t really happen as we had a train to catch.

Row delivered us to the train station in plenty of time for our train. Four hours early in fact, but this was at our choice not hers. We could check into the hotel in Hull from 2pm onwards but the train we’d booked on wouldn’t get into to Hull until around 5ish. Bert suggested we get an early train and Laura had said her ticket never got checked whenever she used it so to hell with it we’d just use a earlier one and enjoy the benefits of the hotel spa before meeting the other misfits in town.

We’d pre-booked our tickets about four years earlier to get them nice and cheap but all the damn machines that actually gave you the tickets had decided they didn’t like my credit card we’d booked with.

“Is it an Egg card because the machines don’t like them?” shouted a Virgin customer services guy. He worked for Virgin, he might not have actually been a virgin. Well he was at one point. Enough!
“No, it’s a Halifax card,” I replied.
“Is it Egg?”
“No it’s a Halifax Ireland Visa!”
“They don’t like Egg cards.”

Eventually the man that was actually trying to help and not the one shouting about farm produce took to his desk and printed our tickets out manually.

“Now, you must travel on the train you’re booked on, don’t go earlier ones as you’ll pay a fortune if you’re stopped.”
“Yes sir, thank you sir, of course sir, we’re good boys sir,” we said as we backed away and headed for the train sat at the platform. The train we weren’t supposed to be getting on. As we stepped on to platform 1 the whistle blew and we missed it anyway.

We sat in the station cafe for an hour until the next train, again not our scheduled service, arrived and we jumped on. Sure enough no one checked out tickets and while Bert read his Memoirs of a Geisha, I listened to various camp classics, took pictures and stared at the eye candy sat a few seats away. I’m sure he was quite concerned by my drooling but he never moved or said anything and stayed with us all the way to Hull.

Hull train station is like a mixture of something from Miss Marple and Grand Central station. It’s respectfully old and looked after but also tiled with echoey high ceilings. Laura and Vicki came to meet us and once the group hugs had finished and the passers by had stopped trying to figure out who was with who we grabbed a burger from McDogfoods and then went our separate ways. The girls to drink booze with the reprobates we were meeting later and us to our hotel.

Ever the one for forward planning (if you believe that you’ll believe anything) Brad had booked and paid for an evening meal in the hotel but part of the package stated we had to use on the first night. Well that was pointless as on our first night we were heading into Hull to get trollied so before we left Ireland he rang the hotel group and asked if we could change it for the Sunday. The agent said yes and just to talk to reception about it when we arrived.

“Orrr nurrr, we can’t do that!” said the Hitler-esque (fablous party-planner!) receptionist.
“But I was told on the phone I could!” said Brad.
“Nurr, we’re not allowed.”
“Well I don’t want it tonight, we have plans.”
“But she turld you on the fern that you could change it?”
“Yes.”
“Well as she turld you on the fern that you can change it I’ll change it.”

So, it was that easy! Why she couldn’t have just done it straight off is beyond me!

We were given our room cards and off we went. I hate ‘room cards,’ I’d much rather go back to the days of keys and key-rings the size and weight of a doorstop with the name of the hotel on so that you could wave it about and let people know which hotel you were in. Of course this kind of thing was only worth doing if you were staying in the Hilton or suchlike but even than some random skank would get a gander at your room number and while you were waving your key about talking about how wonderful the mini-bar is he’d be stealing your jewellery and mini-soaps and showercap!

The room was not like the picture, but they never are. We didn’t have a jacuzzi bath that we’d hoped for, or an iPod dock that the website hinted at. In fact, our bed hadn’t even been made properly but to be fair it was a nice enough room and clean. The brochure said our room came with ‘in-room comfort cooling’ which turned to be an opened window and a fan. We did have a big flat-screen TV through which made me annoyed that we’d only bought rucksacks! How the hell was I going to get that into it!

We relaxed on the bed for a while and then the usual “going out” routine took place. Bert had a shower and I ironed all the clothes. We rang reception to books us a taxi to the restaurant and our night out was about to begin.

Coming soon – The night out… the video of me pissed and my own little musical tribute to the night.

Friday was a day that went ahead with military planning and precision. Can you hear the sarcasm already?

I’d planned it all the night before and it would end with us having at least two hours at the airport given that there was no traffic. I had forgotten it was Friday which meant that the traffic would be heavier than normal. I only remembered this at around 11am on the Friday, thirty minutes before we were due to head off.

We left five minutes after I’d planned.

So the plan…

1130 – Leave home.
1215 – Arrive Knock Airport. Drop off brother & (future) sister-in-law.
1220 – Leave Knock Airport.
1305 – Arrive home to collect dogs, cats and luggage.
1310 – Leave home for the Duggans
1340 – Arrive at the Duggans. Drop off animals.
1345 – Leave for Shannon Airport.
1445 – Arrive Shannon Airport, leave car in the long stay car park.
1500 – Head through security.
1515 – Settle down for two hours until flight at 1730.

So, as I said, we left at 1135, five minutes after I’d planned. Traffic wasn’t too bad although just before Ballydine we got stuck behind the hundreds of people heading for the funeral of a person they’d probably never met but would still happily accept drinks from the family. Finally we got to Knock, dropped off the family, said our goodbyes and then headed home to collect the dogs and cats. By the time we left Knock Airport it was 1245, so we were already twenty-five minutes behind “the plan” and to make matters worse as we came into Ballydine we hit everyone leaving the fucking funeral!

We finally got home at around 1345, now forty minutes behind behind schedule. Running around the house, grabbing everything and throwing it in the car, we left home around 1415, over an hour later than planned. Anyone who has stayed with me for more than two days will know how I get when things don’t go to plan. Actually, anyone who has read my blog will know how I get when things don’t go to plan, so you should be able to imagine the state I was in by now.

At 1450 we arrived at the Duggans, ran in, dropped off the dogs and cats, explained that we were sorry but we were in a rush and then ran out the door. I’m quite sure Bert was just humouring me and would have happily stayed for a coffee. As it was he could see the sense of urgency in my eyes so forewent any beverage.

At around 1500 we left the Duggans. Now an hour and twenty minutes behind schedule. It didn’t matter too much though as Shannon was only an hour away so we’d get the for 4pm and all would be well!

Ten minutes from leaving Claregalway we hit the traffic from the roadwork’s for the bypass. There are quite a few differences between the traffic lights in the UK and those here in Ireland. For a start there is no amber light when going from red to green, it’s just straight to green. This is fine apart

from when you’re not paying attention and as soon as the person behind hits the horn to tell you the lights are on green they turn to red! The main difference though is the red light. It doesn’t actually mean as much over here as it does in the UK, it’s just a pretty colour. It was this difference that caused us all the trouble.

Sat in the driving seat I could see the road ahead and could see that everything was moving so slowly. Bert had a quick look on his phone for a short cut but given his recent track record on short cuts I decided that ignoring him was better and sitting in the traffic would be just fine.

We arrived at the airport at 1700. If we’d had to check in we’d have been fucked! As we ran down the stairs to where our plane usually goes from people had just started queuing and a few minutes later they called the flight.

An hour later we’d be in Manchester!

Huzzah!

It’s amazing how much know you’ve got some time off from work can really improve your mood.

Knowing that I won’t get beaten up or covered in shit unless I’m paying for it is a great help to the whole concept of relaxation.

To be fair work wasn’t that bad over the last two days. Tuesday I was working with a guy I can actually trust and Wednesday I was in the day centre so the day passed quickly and I only had to work 9 to 5.30. Can’t really complain too much about that can I? I’m sure if I tried hard enough I could.

Well I’m in the mood to go actually do something active. As this doesn’t happen often I’m going to grab with both hands and probably throw it away.

Here’s some pictures!

I wanted a title that said something about Christmas being over and the new year coming but the new year is still days away and Christmas isn’t really over yet. I won’t put things like “Happy Holidays!” as I’m not American* and I despise people who use American phrases or sayings just because they think it’s makes them cool! It doesn’t. Frankly I’m sick of kids saying “zee” when they mean “zed”. Speak fucking English child!

And breathe!

Anyhoo…

So our Christmas break started at the Duggans. We stopped there before driving to Dublin to drop off the myriad of animals, the Duggans Christmas gifts and to have a coffee and nice chat before heading to Dublin.

After all that we drove to Dublin at silly o’clock, arriving at bastard o’clock and then trying to sleep in the car but waking at goddamnit o’clock, thatlightistoofuckingbright o’clock, fuckit o’clock, iamcold o’clock finally cunt o’clock. Eventually we were waved through to the car check-in point and as we’d paid the extra to use the executive club we got board first. Considering it supposed to be the biggest car ferry (for car capacity) in the world it didn’t actually look all that big. Then I saw it next to one of the other ships and realised that the MV Ulysses was actually quite big!

The Executive Lounge was not as I’d expected. A few months ago we travelled back to the UK and booked the lounge then. This was with StenaLine and not Irish Ferries and was worth every penny. We had great food and drink and MASSIVE comfortable seats. Well this time, with Irish Ferries it was shit. The food was great but when it comes to a full English breakfast neither Brad or I like tomatoes and Brad likes beans but I don’t and I like black-pudding but he doesn’t so usually, when faced with a menu that states we’re getting things we don’t like we ask them if we can swap a couple of items and usually they’re quite happy to do so. With this menu they wouldn’t change it. We could remove items but not replace them. Bastards. So we had our breakfast and a coffee and watched the sun come up through this view…

While trying to relax in the worst seats possible. They were far too close together, the tables were stuck to the floor, the staff weren’t the worst but their English made them difficult to understand. I found it VERY difficult to relax, which annoyed me as I’d paid for this and had three or four hours driving to do once we’d got off.

So once docked, we were first off, and roaring along the motorway, trying to stay awake, until we got to Bert’s parental home. It was lovely to see them but I was shattered so we didn’t stay long so we could get to my parents home and get some sleep, so after tormenting the freakish cat we headed off.

This cat has thumbs. It can text and aim a ranged weapon! So once at my mothers we found she was infested with rats. Okay so it wasn’t a infestation, there was only one, and it wasn’t a rat…. but it could well have been.

Mother was looking after my aunt and uncles dog while they were spending Christmas in Tunisia. As loveable as the rat is it is still rat and too small to be considered a dog. Even if you cut our cats in half they’d still be bigger than “Amy”. Fucking runt!

So we did the rounds, visiting relatives and such like. On christmas eve we popped to see beautiful Cal. Becca, Cal’s daughter, turned up with her husband and son so out came the camera. The camera on which Cal had asked me to fix the date. And I did. I swear I did. It was fine. I went through it and made sure it was fine. I have no idea why the date appears as it does. Bugger!

Alfie loves his uncle but can’t abide his strange aunty who has a beard!

After the pictures we all headed to church. It was a Christingle Service delivered by the local explorer and climber scouts. Bert and Cal give it their all while Becca, Lee and I spend most of the time in silence… or giggling. At one point an explorer stands up, dressed as an angel and says “We’re now going to have a reading from the Gospel according to Barry**. Chapter 17, verse 1 to 20,” then she sits down. Anoter one stands up, reads one verse and sits down. This goes on through-out all twenty verses. What made this entirely enjoyable was that every time one of the explorers sits down Aflie said “Thank you!” Loudly. By verse twenty the whole church was roaring and he got his own little round of applause.

Christmas morning arrived.

After opening all our lovely gifts from my parents, one of which I was extremely bloody impressed with even if I may have to up the house insurance, we headed off to Berts home to see all his family before heading back to mine to for Christmas dinner.

After dinner father took up his usual position.

The rest of christmas day was uneventful. Bert was in bed by 10pm as he was full and pissed.

Boxing Day – or St. Stephens Day as it’s known here in Ireland – saw us head over to Berts mom*** and dads.

So as Bert beggered about on Elliot’s laptop, Elliot and Lucy looked out the window while Alan entertained Louis and Ann took delivery of the baby jesus, the kids played on an X-box 360 sadly Casey had been given a make-up set for Christmas and the only one willing to let her play was me! Bah humbug you miserable lot!

The next morning we were up stupidly earlier and heading off to Wales to grab some more stuff from the bungalow and the off to Pembroke Dock for the ferry to Rosslare. A cabin sleep and four hour drive later we arrived in Gallimh around 11pm-ish only to fall straight into bed as during the drive I’d been called into work.

I was supposed to be working today but unfortunately I have the shits so will not not moving anymore than twenty yards from a toilet.

So there you have our Christmas. I’m sure I’ve missed out some details but so be it. Some I’ve missed out on purpose, others I’ve forgotten. Right, time to do poo again… or rather time to go and piss brown water out of my ass!

P.S. Sorry to anyone who commented before I deleted the original entry.

*I’m also not on “holiday.” A holiday to me denotes time away from home either relaxing in the sun, or skiing or… well you get the idea!

**I forget which actual gospel it was

***Yes Juzzy, it’s MOM!

I know we’ve been back for a long while but various things have got on top of me and now I’m getting back on top of them (said the actress to the bishop) I decided it was time for an update. I can’t tell you about Saturday until I’ve told you about Berlin, it wouldn’t be fair. So here is a quick photo showdown of the last few days of our Berlin trip. If you wish to see the days before then look at here

Some of these may have been blogged before and as ever click to the picture to enlarge it.

So off we went to meet Kelly at the airport. Of course as soon as we’d got her and dumped the stuff back at Stephen’s then a trip to a bar followed along with a meal at an Ethiopian restaurant. From there it was off to a gothic styled bar for many many many drinks where I did my infamous “condom-up-the-nose-and-out-the-mouth” trick and then tried to stop the burning by snorting the cloud on top of my beer. Everyone had a good laugh and after much drinking it was time for bed. If you wish to see those pictures you’ll need to go to www.rampageinberlinnights.com and sign up to my porn site. It’s a amazing how literal that web address is!

In the morning Stephen had to work so Kelly, Brad and I headed off to the touristy stuff around Berlin, taking in a lovely breakfast firstwe then did the sights and saw thisand thisand found thisand then met up with Stephen and headed off for something eat herewhere I had one of these. From there we went here(BCUK HQ)and saw people work and saw Stephen hard at it. We took a walk along hereto drop Kelly at the station and after saying our goodbyeswe headed herewhere Stephen became nervous about catching gay (it might have been the looks I was giving him) so calledVasco for back up. After a while we moved to a little beach bar – in Berlin! – on the coast of the river Spree – where Stephen became braver – or my advances were beginning to work but in reality I think it was possibly just the massive magnets in my pockets because Vascosoon came swooping in to join us. Sadly the weather (in Stephen’s world) took a turn for the worst and we all headed off to our respective beds. In the morning once Brad was up (ooo err) we did the touristy things again and went up hereto look at thisand this and this as well as looking down on the place where we had breakfast the morning before with Kelly (where my favourite photo was taken). Once down we saw this and this and then went off to see this , which is the Holocaust Memorial and very very awe inspiring from all angles and massive yet for some reason has been built right by where the entrance to Hitler’s Bunker was and to add insult to injury the blocks are coated in an anti-graffiti coating which was made by the same company that made the gas that killed the Jews! So after that we took a ride in one of these to take us down here so we could go up this driven by him with me and him in the back! Imagine the weight! Once at the top of this we had this view and saw this and then came down these (349 of them!) I collapsed and after a quick smoke and drink recovery we went and looked at and and then sitting here waiting for Stephen to take us here
so we could drink some more then go to bed so in the morning we could go here to get here to come home.

All in all we had an absolutely fantastic time. Stephen is a wonderful host and marvellous tour guide. Kelly is amazing, just as she always has been and the people at BCUK HQ were so very warm and welcoming! Vasco was incredibly generous, Grit was stunningly beautiful, Alex was amazingly charming and the whole experience of Berlin was wondrous.

So the space I want to turn into a studio needed testing without any stuff it in… obviously!

And I thought I’d be brave enough to share… I can’t promise this entry will stay up long!

Mama and I took an omnibus to the sea front with the hounds in tow.

A good day was had by all.

What what!

So last night we went out for Helen’s Hen Night.

A good time was had by all… and here’s some piccies to prove it…

The mothers chat.

Balloon modelling

Lee looking pretty – we all had ties and hats to wear!

My salmon – it was beautiful!

My desert – see the writing in choccy around the plate….

…well with a little creative eating…

L-R: Maureen (Aunt), Rach (Sister), Helen (Hen!)

Helen knew her… no one else did!

Helen had a dare to get ONE sock from a strange man… she did!

Helen and Lee share a moment!

We had to do a Mexican Wave anytime some one said “wedding”

And the continued…