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

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!

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!

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.

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.

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

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.

We arrived to view the venue at 10.30am as booked and we’re greeted by the duty manager. I knew the events manager wasn’t available as she’d already told me the night before that she wouldn’t be about but I only wanted to look at the rooms and maybe get a price so it didn’t matter too much.

The events manager, Niamh, had told me that the dates I wanted had already been pre-booked by two other couples but they were only pencilled in so she’d call them to see if they’d made their mind up. I explained to her that I’d rather have my party on the actual date of my birthday what with it being a Saturday and all that but I’d be happy to change it if need be. I’d happily have it the week before or even week after if it meant I could have the venue I wanted.

I’ve been to the Galway Bay Hotel quite a few times now. The Duggan’s wedding, meetings, nights out for drinks and such like and I’ve always been impressed by everything. Quite literally everything. The place always looks stunning, the staff are always nice and friendly.

It’s all that which makes me want my birthday there.

It’s all that which makes it so much worse when the treatment we got today was so awful.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more unwanted! If I didn’t know better I’d swear she was trying to stop us from booking the place. I came home with a couple of brochures on a different hotel, miles away in County Westmeath, rather than gorgeous Galway.

I didn’t get a price but I did get a brochure on booking a conference. Interestingly enough Niamh told me that if I wanted a seated dinner the room she had in mind will hold 250. I told her there would just be a buffet and she said that it would hold many more then. This was great as it was the room I wanted.
Today the duty manager tells me it will only just hold 200 and not really many more for a buffet. The website gives a third figure.

She also told me that they try to save Friday, Saturday and Sundays for wedding so could I possible have my birthday midweek? Well no, not really, I want it at the weekend so my friends can come!

So now I have a dilemma. I really want my 40th at the hotel but I don’t think I want the shite (look I said shite and not shit!) service or weekday party.

Do I compromise or do I find a different venue?

I think I’ll end up finding a different venue given that I’ve still y

et to hear off Niamh or anyone else. All I really wanted was a price but overtime I ask I get fobbed off with another question.

What makes it worse is that the course I’m attending today is the same hotel and I’m heaven. I’m sat in the lounge looking out over Galway Bay and the Atlantic Ocean and it’s lovely. I want the bloody party here but I will not have it midweek. As if she’d even suggest such a thing!

I’ve sat here for the last ten minutes trying to work out what to blog about.

I did have a clear idea in my head but then I started reading a few blogs and realised that if I wrote what I wanted to write I’d upset a few people and I didn’t want to do that. I know it sometimes looks like I’m out to offend everyone possible but that’s just not true. There are some people, some bloggers in fact, I’m quite happy to offend – anything that moves them further away from this blogging site is good for me – but I don’t want to write something that may annoy friends or people I think a lot of. Especially when intonation can often be difficult to show in a block of text. I suppose I could tell you what I’ve been up to this week? Well, since I last blogged anyway.

Monday, our two year “living in Ireland” anniversary I did nothing but play World of Warcraft. I could have dome something more constructive but I didn’t.

Tuesday I was in work all day. It was the 40th birthday of one of the residents in another unit and he was having a party in a local pub. Although all our lads were invited they weren’t all going. Only one of them went in fact and I took him down there, walking instead of getting the bus. He had a good time, seemed to enjoy the music and the atmosphere and was golden on the walk back. More staff should interact with him like this but they don’t and I really couldn’t tell you why.

Wednesday I started my course that work have sent me on. It was interesting enough and I knew a few people there but a lot of the content is stuff I’ve done before in one life or another. Still, I’ll come out of it with a nice qualification at the end.

Thursday I was off so I spent the day working on my web site and getting very frustrated with technology. One minute everything works fine, then next it decides to get up and walk out the room leaving me wondering what the fuck is going on! Technology can be like that. I’m still not sure who’s fault the failures are but I know it’s not mine or Brad. This is all down to the hosting company and ex-hosting company of our web domains. One is great but can’t do much until the other, which is shit, gets doing as they promised.

Friday, today, I’ve had to call in sick to work I woke up with a pounding head. I woke up the first time at 4am and then again 6.30am and stayed wake then. I’m doing that a lot recently. Not sleeping and waking early that is. I did think that I wasn’t sleeping because of the attack at work playing on my mind but since the meeting I’ve felt a lot better about all that so I really don’t think it’s that. I’m sure it’ll come out eventually whatever it is. The last thing I want to do is start worrying about what is worrying me!

I’m off work tomorrow and Sunday but I have a project to work on for this course. I have to give a five minute presentation on anything I like as long as I can connect it to work. I’ve chosen sign language as I know enough about it and I can easily relate it to work. One of the ideas I’ve had is to actually sign the first two minutes or so of the presentation and use powerpoint to project subtitles and images etc. What do you think?

Well Bert is cooking a nommy nommy chilli for our evening meal so I’m going to go now and see how far he’s got and what time it’ll be ready.

TTFN

In the last two years I have:

- Not been offered jobs I was suitable for.
- Been offered jobs I didn’t want.
- Seen Brad lose his job.
- Had a car breakdown on my three times within a month.
- Been attacked at work around twelve times.
- Been injured at work causing a hospital or doctor visit three times.
- Been disappointed by the ideal (or so we thought) house falling through.
- Sold a car and bought a car.
- Swapped a car.
- Had suspected viral meningitis which turned out to be two different things which together show all the symptoms.
- Made some great friends online and off.
- Been to Berlin twice.
- Travelled back and forth to the UK for one reason or another.
- Got to Level 80 in World of Warcraft.
- Seen my friends and family have babies.
- Seen my friends and family get married.
- Seen my friends and family die.
- Eaten just under a tonne of food.
- Slept approximately for 3650 hours.
- Watched every episode of Buffy, House, Supernatural, Fringe, Harpers Island, Prison Break, Heroes, Dexter and Ugly Betty.
- Got two years older.
- Lived in three different houses.

The most important thing I did in the last two years actually happened on this very day two years. At 9.30am Brad and I set off in two cars packed with animals, plants and valuables to start our new life in Galway.

It’s been fantastic.

Happy Anniversary to us

In the March of 1994 I hosted my first Oscar’s party. I’d seen the idea on an american television show at some point during the previous year and decided I’d like to do it. My partner was going to be away so I’d have the house to myself so I invited all my friends round. It meant most of them taking a day off work or college or uni but this would be a party fit for a queen, and they knew it, so most of them didn’t mind missing a day. It actually turned into two days as they needed the day to sleep as the Oscars weren’t going to be starting until midnight!

It was to be a theme party. One of many I attended or hosted during my twenties, in fact the last theme party I attended was my own thirtieth when the theme was dead celebrities. The theme of this night was “Hollywood!” – a typical Oscar theme really. Quite a few came as Marilyn Monroe and even more turned up as Clarke Gable but there was only one Errol Flynn.

In he walked, smooth and suave, really playing and looking the part. So much so that it took me a few seconds to realise who it really was. Ashley had dyed his hair darker, away from his natural blonde, and grown a real mustache rather than painting one on and in his suit he looked stunning as Flynn. He smoked once a month, if that, but that night he’d gone the whole hog and bought filterless cigarettes but spent the night coughing while trying to keep in character.

I hadn’t told people they had to keep in character but Ashley had decided that if he was Errol Flynn for the night then he really would be Errol Flynn. His partner at the time, Ian, had come as Alfred Hitchcook with cushions stuffed up his shirt to fatten his very skinny figure out. He wasn’t too thrilled to find out Ash was playing the part fully because that meant he go no “attention” all night. Well, not in front of the guests anyway.

Derek, the guy I was seeing behind my partners back (naughty me!), and myself had decided to come as failed actors so dressed as waiters. Derek’s idea of wearing roller-boots didn’t go down too well when he flew across the kitchen and threw lager all over Rita Hayworth (it’s not often you can say that!). An hour later she was paralytic and taken home by her date anyway. Nicola her name was and no one liked her. She hadn’t actually been invited but had invited herself and it was kind of hard to say no to her. It wasn’t really that hard to say no, many people said it to her all the time, she just didn’t seem to hear it!

As people had arrived they’d been given a sheet with the nominations on and had to tick who they thought would win in each category and as the awards ceremony started these were dished out for people to mark. I remember getting very pissed off when Laurence Fishburne and Angela Bassett didn’t win but was pleased that Schindler’s List took Best Picture. I can also remember getting very excited and emotional when Deborah Kerr got an honorary award as I’d loved her as Emma Harte in A Woman of Subsance and so had Ash. In fact the two of us, and just us two, cheered when it was announced. I don’t think Deborah Kerr actually won an Oscar other than that one. I could be wrong, it’s been known! I can’t be bothered to check.

Hours later the ceremony had finished and those that were staying found a place to sleep, those that weren’t said their goodbyes and headed home. Ash & Ian were supposed to be sleeping in the spare room but someone else had beaten them to it so the four of us top & tailed in the massive king size bed Paul (my actual partner) had bought a few weeks earlier. It was hours before any of us actually got to sleep as we lay there laughing and giggling about stupid things, all of us too pissed to care about sleep.

In the morning there were bodies lying all over the place and I hadn’t realised just how many people had actually stayed over. The place was a tip with as many bottles lying about the floor as bodies! I heard Derek get up and get in the shower so i thought I’d join him rather than face the clearing up. The bathroom door couldn’t be locked as the catch had been broken for months so I just tip-toed in and announcing loudly that he wasn’t to drop the soap flung open the shower curtain only to find it was Ash in the shower and not Derek. He joked about me joining him but I left, giggling, and walked into the bedroom to tell Derek and Ian what I’d just done.

I’ve never once questioned why Ash & I didn’t end up together. As close as we were it just didn’t seem right yet I can often recall my mother, and his, talking as though it was a forgone conclusion. I guess fate proved them both wrong.

A few people helped clear up and once the place was back to normal we had something to eat and the headed off to the pub. Darts, cards and drinking games followed and yet another night stumbling home drunk and laughing about what a good night we’d had. Ash & Ian stayed again but this time they got the spare room as there was only the two of them. Ian took Ash back to uni the next morning and Derek took himself back to his halls of residence. The party was officially over, the house was actually clean, so after sorting out some work for later I say back and watched A Woman of Substance on videos that I borrowed (on a long-term basis) from my mother. I have them on DVD now, and To Be The Best, and as I write I’m thinking I may have to go and starting watching them once I’ve posted this!

N.B. It’s been four months since Ash died and I still miss him and I still cry when I hear certain songs. If he’d been alive I probably wouldn’t have spoke to him in the last four months anyway but I always knew I could. Now I can’t and I hate it.

“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!

How horrible!

As seen here!

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, answer the following questions. You can’t use the band I used. Try not to repeat a song title. Repost as “my life according to (band/musician name)”

Pick your Artist:
 Erasure

Are you a male or female?
Boy

Describe yourself:

Drama

How do you feel?
Too Darn Hot

Describe where you currently live:

Home

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
The Circus

Your favorite form of transportation:
Ship of Fools

Your best friend is:

Brother and sister

What’s the weather like?
Rain

Favourite time of day:
I love Saturday

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called?

Perfect Stranger

What is life to you?

Tenderest Moments

Your fear:
Victim of Love

Obviously as an avid fan of all things Apple and Mac I shouldn’t not find this funny.

But I do.

It’s my first day back at work today since the attack last Thursday and I’m sat in my car feeling a little nervous.

I know who I’m on with and I trust them implicitly, which makes a massive difference, I just don’t think I want to go in.

Oh well.

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!