Archive for July, 2009

cec477bbc5396f6e3fa5a23aa73d50e22People have asked us many times over the past few years why we chose to move to the unchartered meadows of South Belgium.  Why, in God’s holy, unstigmatized name, would we possibly want to leave the glorious land of Saints and Scholars, with it’s verdant greenery, poetic scenery, quaint pot-holed roads and voracious developers?

Patiently, we would sigh and trot out our carefully rehearsed replies:

 – Can’t afford any more Cillit Bang to remove the ‘verdant greenery’ inching its way down the wall towards the Monster’s beds.

– Can’t afford the high-resolution zoom binoculars needed to view the ‘poetic scenery’ through the gaps in the  housing blocks and cranes.

– Tired of dinner party conversations where the sole topics of conversation are: 

    “Well, how many buy-to-rent properties do you think ARE still available?”  

    “Just invested in my third set of Michelin all-weathers..this YEAR!!”

– A few things mumbled about SAD disorder (in EVERY season), archaic       languages, price rip-offs, celtic tiger my arse, and the high meat content of Belgian saucisses.

Now, when one makes up ones mind to cart one’s nearest & dearest to a foreign shore (incurring an immediate 453 hairs on head to turn white overnight), how can one ever be sure that this decision is right?

 How can one be sure that ones Monsters won’t develop worms from an over abundance of produits de porc?

How can one be sure that The Drummer will be able to navigate through the double entendres of an unfamiliar tongue?

How can one be sure of how much time it will take to wean oneself off the food department of M & S?

Then, finally…..finally… after 3 long years of wrenched, twisted hands and the agonised plucking out of 283 of the aforementioned white hairs….a message from GOD….yes, He!  Yesterday the validity of my decision was presented like a seraphic bolt of  blinding light upon my slightly patchy scalp.  I could smell the intervention of Divinity here; surely, this was no random act of my own self-evolution?  

Ireland’s signing into law of  The Defamation Bill which “renews the offence of BLASPHEMY provided for under 1960’s legislation”….(ahh…40 odd years of de-christianisation down the swanny and we won’t even whisper a word about that nasty church/state separation thingy), could only mean one thing for me personally.

I am FREE to cuss, swear, blaspheme and be profane, wherever and whenever I choose (usually sur les autoroutes).  In addition…..I can thunder and blast and scream unsavoury, religious epithets….IN A FEW DIFFERENT LANGUAGES…!

Why, from where I sit typing out this blasphemous tome, I can reach four different countries within 1 hour happily roaring out my “Holy Mother of un-godly sudden brakers” to the idiot in the car ahead.  What’s more, it’s not just on the motorways….thanks be to the Celestial Choirs, there is as much to curse about here as there is at home….

Please feel free to leave as many religious profanity comments here as you like, especially if you are in Ireland and feel the need to…you know…let it all out.

I never said when I started this thing that I was going to be regular about it in any way, shape or conceivable manner.  There may be a post in January followed swiftly by one in September (where DO those micro-seconds go…?), or there may be a post this morning followed lethargically by one this afternoon.  This is because my brain has decided to take up a new sport…Extreme Hormoaning.

When the Boy  Monster was naught but a toddler and couldn’t quite get a grip on the word “moaning”, he used to tell The Drummer and I to “stop hormoaning”.  Naturally, The Drummer thought this was insanely hilarious being as he had just swum through the hormonally infested nine months of Girl Monster pregnancy and survived relatively ‘Drummerus Intactus’….( or as intactus as drummerusses can actually be).  Now, to me, those pregnancy ‘hormoans’ were friendly little critters; all baby loving, milk suckling, ability to deal with shitty nappies & nada sleep ‘hormoans’.  Let me tell you friends, the ones we are dealing with now are a WHOLE different bucket of slime-worms.

These are the EVIL ‘hormoans’…..oh yes….the Alien in the Mothership ‘hormoans’, the nasty Dalek mind-warp ‘hormoans’….the brain-of-no-return ‘hormoans’.  They start to invade with their foot-soldier armies of PAHs (Physical Alteration Hormones); a newly sprouted chin-hair here, a wire-sprung white pube there.  They leave a nasty trail of brownish markings on face, arms and decollete before calling on the aerial troops to bombard the mind with the WMNAs? (What’s My Name Again?)hormones.

Anyway, where was I?  Oh yes, toilet training for tortoises…..

YOU SEE???…..there they go again….that’s my next week’s blog….

I have therefore decided it is time to take extreme counter-active measures against these parasitic invaders, hence:

a) Be armed at all times with the number 1 weapon of attack….The Tweezers. (Yes, I knowww, it’s gonna’ be sore….down there….but a full monty wax is just NOT an option at this point).

b) Stay drunk AT ALL TIMES….copious quantities of alcohol are a proven solution for killing brain-cell eating organisms.

c) Hire some out of work Dementor extras from the Harry Potter movies…they’ll suck the life-blood out of the syphilitic schnooks…mwuhahahahaha…

d) Go back to bed….forever.

Well, there you have it people.  As a courtesy to female-kind everywhere I shall put the above into practise and may, or may not….(WMNA?) get back to you next week….or tomorrow….or this evening.cec477bbc5396f6e3fa5a23aa73d50e22

And, no, I have absolutely no idea why this picture appeared down here instead of in the upper left hand corner where I TOLD IT TO GO….

Connection….

Posted: July 9, 2009 in Connection....
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cec477bbc5396f6e3fa5a23aa73d50e2Three weeks after being cruelly thrown out of the Virtual World, yesterday I became re-connected.  The whys and wherefores of this dis-connection are not really germane to this post, but let’s just say…..it was weird.

It was weird because suddenly I was thrown out of a comfort zone of connectivity with friends, family and others, not so well known, but familiar on a daily basis, back into my pre-internet life.  This, dear friends, means that I was thrust back into the darkness of…eek…1995.

Sure, I still had the TV and the telephone, not forgetting my trusty (one of these days I will get around to throwing that POS into the recycling) ancient mobile phone.  But here’s the thing.  I’m at the stage when TV mostly drives me nuts unless there is a good period (no pun intended) drama, documentary or nature programme; all of which will cause me to weep abundantly. And, BELIEVE me, I’m entering that phase of life when the local water-works company is contemplating buying shares in my eye-duct productivity.

The telephone always seems to ring when:

A) I’m on the toilet (the polite way of putting this is that I am now bladderly- challenged).

 B) The kids are roaring and I can’t roar back because I lost my voice roaring at them yesterday.

C) Our elderly, deaf, (also bladderly-challenged) dog has decided to wander across the road to the neighbour’s compost heap for some tasty pickings, and I can’t roar at her to come back because I lost my voice roaring at her and the kids yesterday.

As for my ancient, POS, mobile phone….yes, I can send and receive SMS messages but the sudden declining faculties of my eyesight (and I’m talking only a few months here) means that my poor father may get a message from me saying “ball me whenever you like”, instead of …well, you know what I mean.

Truth be told though, I did re-connect more with what needed to be done around the house during my online dis-connection time.  I did re-connect more with the kids for playtime and finally, I re-connected with that book which had begun to weave cobwebs around itself on my bedside table.

So today I realised that, as in all things, moderation in connection is good.