On the 21st day before xmas my true love said to me
Hic; hic and triple hic NO I’m not getting pissed
Just hangin from the tree!
Only four more days whee whee !
Three gentle farts; two quick pees; one if you can make them last?
And the gifts are all half wrapped???
is that an island attached to the mainland or not - it probably make a big different to a govt gonk who may be looking for a ferry??
as xmas draws cloose and my memory dims I recall a few last tales:
a favorite song was:
Xmas is coming the goose is getting fat
please spare a penny for the old mans hat
if you haven’t got a penny a halfpenny will do
if you haven’t got a halfpenny God bless you
which reminded me that we were so poor we couldn’t afford a turkey and so ma and da always bought a duck which was ceremoniously hung on full display for a week at least before Xmas to mature I suppose.
the other great preparation was the making of the xmas puddings with sixpences embedded within them and us kids always tried to spot and remember were they where buried but always failed. the puddings were hung in wet muslin or sheeting from the indoor clothes lines to cure!
we always waited with great anticipation for the snow to fall and that was it!!
I have been to that very church, although did not venture within a-cause we only wanted to go to the café but my Uncle/FiL couldn’t manage the steps.
We did go in the other big church in Dublin. The one at Saint James’s Gate. Well it must be a church as many people drink the holy water from within, and it’s named after a saint.
Speaking of many, how many is many, is it greater than a few?
It has ossopits as well, as in too many, or not many. My branium is starting to hurt already.
I hope you get your boiler fixed Pug, the worst mistake we made was having the old copper boiler removed and a gas boiler installed, well it was at the wife’s insistence, you could burn anything in the main fireplace, coal, logs, turf peat brickettes, and the water would be piping hot in no time, these new boilers are made to conk out, and even when they don’t you still have to pay a chap 100 quid to ‘service’ them every year, our fella is just in and out in five minutes, what a racket, they play on peoples fear of them blowing up.
That photo is Christ Church Cathedral Fruity, Irelands largest church, completed in 1191, very interesting inside it, that Norman lad Strongbow who pronounced himself King of Ireland is buried there, all that cider was the doings of him in the end.
What a strange coincidence Gummy, I swear to God I was just singing that old song (the goose is getting’ fat) to me little grandson about two hours ago just before his mother called to take him home.
It’s Christmas time again and all the memories keep flooding back to me.
As you know I always get sentimental around this time, I guess it’s the memory of that old Christmas card sent to me many years ago by my childhood sweetheart Bella who had to emigrate with her family to Canada back in the early 60’s, we had to be physically wrenched from each others embrace as she left for the airport that sad morning.
Yes folks she sent me love and kisses on that old Canadian Christmas card just before she braved the arctic conditions to walk the 50 miles to the nearest outpost to send it on to me, what a gal, the snow lay four feet thick on the old trail home, but she was a tough ‘un and she hummed our favourite song as she shovelled her way back to the homestead and momma and papa.
Then fate played a cruel trick on her as a 200 foot giant cedar cracked under the weight of the snow, fell, and crushed her tiny frame to a sheet.
Yes folks it’s many years on now and when I look in the mirror I see a tired old man, then I look at that old Christmas card with the dog eared corners and in my heart I see her rosy cheeks, long raven hair, and captivating smile, for years I couldn’t pass a tree in the park without cursing at it. God rest her kind soul…every time I see snow now I weep,…I’m so sorry folks …I just can’t go on… it’s all too much, bless ya all.
It didn’t happen,Jem-the pr1ck arrived,whined about having to be here,spouted his opinions of people who live in rustic,bucolic and generally non-urban areas [God only knows where he thinks his cornflakes are grown] then guffed about the flu being too close to a window…even though the flu is FOUR FEET from the fkn window in question and rises to just above the feckin’ gutter,where the wind-cap ensures any fumes are carried out to sea,fer cryin’ out loud. The bloke was a total twat,with the brain-power of a sponge,but half as charismatic. SO-no hot water or heating for Pug & Yes Dear until the Noo Yurr. But soddem…I’ve got a decent stack of logs and several sacks of coal nuggets,so sodthefekkinlotovvem. [cue shivering noises]
Plus,as it’s totally not the thing to do,due to being severely frowned upon by govt wankers who HAVE both heating and plentiful hot water,the MOMENT that prat was back over the causeway,I got to work on this old,defunct,knackered,impossible to repair boiler. Took the bloody thing to bits,cleaned,cleared,reset the pressures,reset the psi’s,ran cleaner and wires through the heat-exchanger,using an old coat-hanger,set it up for 2.1 bars [which is 2.4 below it’s operational setting]…and although it’ll take a bit of caring for,the bloody thing’s now chugging gently away as it heats the water-although the rads remain turned off,as it’d take a bit of explaining if the poxy thing goes bang as it tries to power the flow through ten radiators-even a fikky such as I realises that’s a tad too optimistic-so just a low psi/bars limit set,so Yes Dear can have a shav…er…I mean,wash in warm water. [PLEEEZE don’t tell the old bat I said that!]
Oh-and,gumbud…this is an island,as in NOT a peninsular,bruv.
Well thank you JEM for being the man you are & for being a catalyst for LEISURELY SCRIBBLES this last coupla years.
Thanks also to
Spitfire for being inscrutably screwy, season by season
Pug for being irritatingly incredibly well informed.
Gumbud for being irascible, intelligent and with a heart of gold
Fruitcake, not just a baker , more a chef
Sweetie Pie, forget saccharin, she’s the real thing.
MOI???
. . . . . “irritating” ???. . . . .
vous plaisantes avec moi,monsieur! [je le sius]
It is satisfying to know, it takes eight fingers, and two thumbs to play a Piano, it takes two thumbs to text, suck that up.
But, dexterity knows no bounds.
No man is an Island……………
Sounds familiar?
Yes, a book
Written by the Trappist Monk , Thomas Merton in 1955
Yes
A work of prose, by John Donne in 1624
Yes
A debut album by Reggae singer, Dennis Brown in 1972
Yes
A 1962 film about war hero George Tweed.
Yes
But I cant remember the name of the paralysed man who painted by using his mouth (brush in). 1970s era.
No I can’t
Does where you live smell? just been out to put the recycling out and the air outside smells, just the same as it did 20 years ago, that is reassuring if one ever gets caught in a Blackout.
It’ all Greek to me
Μου αρέσει, κύριε!
and to RJ for continuing the grand traditions of his family as an erudite story teller - a sharp wit and an uncanny habit of appearing just at the right time to advise the captain of wind changes etc!!
Cos it’s Christmas, I’d just like to say.
Be yourselves folks
Observe the terms and conditions
Look and learn
Love and like
Occasionally question
Cause a rumpus
Key results matter
Say sorry often
Thank You.
(got it Spitty, very clever, have you done this before)
As Sir Winston once said “Round Objects”**
**
Refers to a margin note Winnie added to a report given to him.
His guileless A.D.C asked of him
“Who is Mr Round & what does he OBJECT to?”
Juno wot? Eh? No? Well I’ll TELL yers…
That total TIT that got lost yesterday trying t’find the coast,ffs,has put in a complaint to the county council,because he had to drive across a fekkin causeway to get onto this island! An official complaint,stating its against imaginary Elfen Safety rules he’s just made up! I’ve just had an HOUR speaking to my MP [I happen t’know the bloke,so not a biggy] about this island. Right-for all yooz losers wot spend yer days fingering keyboards,it’s name is Osea,in the River Blackwater. Now-I’m NOT alone here-we have eight permanent residents and a special place for celebs who have problems.
THEY all find their way to the mainland and back,often several times a day,without dramas. So do the dustmen,the postman,the milkman,various supermarket delivery drivers,etc…but a GOVERNMENT official can’t even find the fekkin COAST,then manages,having driven across the causeway onto the island…to get LOST AGAIN,trying to get OFF it,back to the urban areas he STARTED OUT from,ffs!!! …and yous lot wonder why this country’s in the shitfest it currently stinks of! Bloody Norah-my granny’s granny could navigate better than that! SHE once went right to the bottom of the orchard unaccompanied! Bugger this…time for Puggy to take matters into his own hands and stir up some REAL shit for those self-important expenses-fiddling,porn-downloading tory twats! Watch this space…
Pugsy, pray tell, why was Bloody Norah so known?
This was a very clever acronym, deserving of wider acclamation for our dear Spitty, I appreciated it El Spitola
Why, thank you RJ, not bad for 6.48am, Inverted Hypnagogia can be very a very creative micro period.