↓
 
Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do and the eyesight to tell the difference.

Head Rambles

A sideways look at life by an Irish Grandad

  • Home
  • Smoking
    • About
    • Smoking – On Ethics
    • World’s oldest smokers
    • The Scientific Scandal of Antismoking
    • Philippe Even
    • The WHO Report
    • Valuable links
      • The Black Lung Lie
      • Failure to produce cancer in mice
      • The myth of smoking and pregnancy
      • The Californian Study
      • Smoking is good for you
      • ETS doesn’t cause cancer
      • The real cause of lung cancer?
      • Nicotine – The Zombie Antidote
      • Environmental Tobacco Smoke
  • The Big Post List
  • History
  • Testimonials etc….
  • Disclaimer
  • Contact
  • About
  • Boring Privacy Policy
  • The Cancer Files

Post navigation

← Older posts
Newer posts →

I found buried treasure!

Head Rambles Posted on 23rd June 2025 by 192.168.1.123rd June 2025

I found something amazing.

I was rooting around on this here dad’s laptop, looking for passwords and breadcrumbs, and there it was. Like James Joyce’s Ulysses, the beauty of what I’d found only became apparent once I began to read it out loud.

It’s a piece of fiction that I can only presume dad wrote at some point in his life. Something vulgar and clever and awesome in the true sense of the word. It was so funny and well written and not entirely in the style of Grandad prose I had to run it through Grammarly to make sure it wasn’t already on the internet somewhere.

But it wasn’t. It’s pure unadulterated whiskey soaked gas craicery that was penned in notepad and simply titled:

“The King’s Castration”

I can see why he didn’t publish it here previously, but I think it would be a crying shame if it wasn’t published now. I’m 71% sure it’s the right thing to do.

So, in the next day or two I’ll publish it, perhaps in two or three parts as it’s so epic it deserves its own miniseries.

 
Posted in Blogging, Guest spot

The Changeling

Head Rambles Posted on 20th June 2025 by 192.168.1.120th June 2025

Why did I even come down here?

It’s a male ego thing maybe, like I saw a hole in the ground and felt I had to penetrate it in the Freudian sense. I’m kicking myself with the stupidity of it. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here. Didn’t bring any supplies, just my phone, my fags and my lighter. I just saw this hole and wandered into it and went too far and now I’m lost.

I’ve been here for a long time, days maybe… at least two. This place seemed so inviting as though it was calling me to it. I’d passed by it before taking shortcuts home from my mate’s house about two miles away. It was far quicker hopping farmer’s gates and crossing fields than following the boring road full of engines and blinding lights. Loads of times I’d passed this place and didn’t even notice the hole at first, but then autumn came and the brambles died back and the Hawthorn tree at the entrance retreated a bit and there it was. So I went into it like a pillock.

It started off as a small muddy tunnel which slanted downwards into a stone room with a low ceiling and an opening at the back. I half slid, half grappled into that space and felt the excitement at the discovery that there was more to the hole than met the eye. There was a warm earthy smell in there and an absence of outside noise, just the drip, drip of water from dangling root systems above. The opening at the back of this first section of the cave beckoned me and I figured there’s no harm in exploring it. I had my phone and I could always turn back if I wanted, it felt safe enough at the time.

I shone the phone torch into the void and discovered another bigger room beyond it, again sloping downwards. The squeeze through wasn’t too claustrophobic, it was an adventure, like I was the first to find it. I’d bring my mates back, I thought, make it a den maybe. Graffiti up the walls a bit and make it mine, I wondered what it would be like to sleep in there.

Down further I went, and noticed after a few minutes that the dripping sounds had grown more vast and echoed which suggested the space I was in had gotten much bigger. Sure enough, as I walked forward and shone the torch around the walls I could see that I was in a cavernous space with rock pools and sleeping bats framed by massive stalactites, large mossy boulders with altars and shelves and crevices to explore. I can’t tell you how long I was there before I realised I couldn’t get out.

The way I’d come in was confusing. Everything sloped the wrong way and none of the holes showed daylight, nothing looked familiar. I tried every exit and none of them led back to that first room. I wound up getting deeper somehow, to a place without moss or bats, just blank loveless rock dripping anxious sweat and eerie silence. I got scared after a few hours and tried to retreat in the direction I thought I’d come from but my bearings were gone and nothing made sense, I was deeper now. Too many tunnels to make sense of. My once trusty phone was useless now apart from its torch, there was no internet down here, or signal to call for help. Cold sweat beaded on my upper lip and panic began to set in.

After an indeterminable time down here, my phone died. It gave me a warning that it would, but that last fifteen percent didn’t last as long as it should have, as though something was draining it or the universe had it in for me. It plunged me into darkness and set my adrenaline into chaos. I’d never known that shade of darkness before, it was a total absence of anything at all and my eyes didn’t adjust to it, the blackness continued no matter how long I waited. My arms flailed around and feet fumbled on invisible stone, I tripped in my panic and fell, must have hit my head for here I am now, on the ground soaked in a pool of water.

There’s a lump forming on the back of my head and warm blood is trickling down my neck and man, it hurts. There’s a whistling noise in my ears and I can’t think straight. How am I going to get out of here? Will anyone know to come looking for me here? I picture my mam putting my photo up on Facebook and begging her friends to share it. Someone in Canada commenting ‘shared, hun x’ as though I might have wandered to Canada by mistake.

The blackness is the blackest thing I’ve ever seen like an absence of anything nice at all and I’m trapped in it like drowning in a vat of treacle it’s sticky blackness and it’s all over me and I can’t handle this I’m going to die…

The whistling noise is starting to quiet down, I can think a bit better now. I focus on it for a few seconds, and hear it changing pitch.. it has a tempo of sorts. I slowly realise that it’s not in my head, I can hear music coming from somewhere, real haunting stuff like I’ve never heard before. It’s confusing but sort of soothing at the same time, I can’t pick out what sort of instrument it’s coming from, it’s closest to that sound a crystal glass makes when you lick your finger and run it over the rim. Like music that’s made from water, does that make sense? It’s everywhere, like the rock is creating it, it doesn’t have a source.

I suddenly remember my lighter in my pocket and fish it out, spark it up. I’m in a small space, there’s a large entrance like a door close by, a queasy sinking feeling hits my stomach as I spot writing above it. There’s no flicker off the flame, no air in here, it’s dead air but smells strange, like flowers.. not the nice ones, the weedy ones that smell like dog paws on a hot summer’s day. The writing is weird, swirls and dots and slashes that don’t make sense. As I peer at them the lighter heats up and burns my finger and I let the flame die.

Just that moment, in that split second the light died, I swear I see a figure in the doorway.

All the breath vanishes from my lungs and I’m drowning in panic.

I wait for the lighter metal to cool a bit before sparking it up again but I really, really don’t want to.

The light flares, and reveals a naked body standing in front of me.

It’s my body. It’s me.

It stares at me, expressionless for a moment, then comes towards me arms outstretched and takes a hold of my shirt collar. The light dies again as my finger burns. I can feel cold hands on my body, undoing my shoelaces, unbuttoning my shirt, I can’t move and can’t shout. I’m frozen like a date rape victim, powerless, unable to fight the horrific things happening to me as I’m being slowly, silently undressed. I’m naked now, and feel like I’m being pulled backwards by a gravitational force towards that doorway.

The lighter is still in my hand. I flick the flint one more time, but realise there’s no need to, there’s daylight coming from a crack in the wall ahead, an impossibility. I’m fighting fury with confusion at the unfairness of it. I watch as the copy of me walks away, towards the light. It stops and turns just as I fall backwards through the doorway.

“See you in three hundred years” it said.

 
Posted in Daughter, Fiction, Irish Mythology

Gremlins stole my air freshener

Head Rambles Posted on 16th June 2025 by 192.168.1.116th June 2025

My apologies, I have things to post here but there’s a problem with the blog. The comments have disappeared. I mean, I can see them but I don’t think you can, which means I can’t reply to them. Everything looks normal in the dashboard, all the right boxes are ticked as far as I can tell, but frustratingly the page just isn’t behaving itself.

What do?!

Dr. Google told me to revert to a different theme in case an update is to blame, but that turned the blog into an orgy of random black text on a white background so I switched it back.

Then Dr. Google told me to check my plug ins. ‘Glade’ makes them. I have one that’s Sandalwood and Jasmine, and the other is Summer Fruits. They smell lovely and there’s nothing wrong with them. I plugged them out one by one like Dr. Google told me to, then plugged them back in again. It smelled like wet dog for a while here in the house but now it smells like plug-in again. I’m very confused.

What else could I do?

But wait.. even if you know, you can’t tell me because you can’t comment!

I miss dad, he’d have this fixed in an instant and would enjoy giving out to me for breaking his blog.

 

 
Posted in computers, Daughter, WANK

Dementia: A mystery story in reverse

Head Rambles Posted on 3rd June 2025 by 192.168.1.13rd June 2025

I work as a care assistant in people’s houses, a job which earns me a lot of insight into various ailments that folk acquire in their latter years. The more frequent of these ailments, being dementia. No two clients display the same patterns of memory loss, but each client who experiences dementia does so in their own particular consistent way. If you’ve ever experienced caring for someone who has dementia, you’ll know all about the ‘back stage’ work that needs to be done… preparing memory aids, constant repetition, tidying away of triggering things, and endless patience.

I have one client in particular who is tough going. She has an extremely transient memory of about ten to fifteen seconds, so her mind constantly resets. She also has ‘anosognosia’ which means that she has no awareness of, and vehemently denies the existence of her own dementia. She ironically uses the phrase ‘completely compos mentis!’ roughly 40 times during my daily two hour visit. My work is to cook lunch for her, provide company and conversation, and complete some light housework that she’d find challenging.

It’s worth noting that all but three carers are completely refusing to do this house-call due to its intensity from a mental health point of view. This lady doesn’t believe that she needs carers, therefore assumes that we must be cleaners. She’s in her ninety-fourth year in age and is entirely nimble, so loves to follow us around ordering us to scrub on our hands and knees while she micro-manages our cleaning abilities and tells us how many spots we’ve missed.

I wonder if it wouldn’t be cathartic for me to understand her world by working through it from her point of view.

***

What time is it?

12.45pm. It’s lunchtime. I don’t feel hungry. I’d better go and see if staff are around.

There’s a woman in a uniform. And an empty bowl on a tray. I recognise her, she tells me I’ve just eaten and that I have fruit salad on the way. Jolly good.

The garden is looking well, I must go out and prune the roses. Am I hungry? I must see if anyone is here.

A full lap of the house, nobody is here! Was there someone here? There must have been, the kitchen is tidy. My diary has writing on it that isn’t mine. It says “Lunch @ 12.20pm: Soup and bread roll, fruit salad and yoghurt, green tea and ginger biscuit”. I don’t remember eating that. I’ll look in the fridge to see if I left anything there.

What time is it?

12.30pm

This floor needs to be swept. Where are my staff? It’s lunchtime and I’m hungry. What am I paying these people for?

There’s a woman in a uniform, she’s familiar but I’ve no idea what her name is. She’s drying dishes. Or is she just pretending to? I inform her that the table needs to be cleaned, she smiles and reminds me that there’s food on my table. It’s half-eaten. It must be mine, how embarrassing! Why am I in this room instead of that one? Why did I get up? I’m so hungry, where is that girl and why is she idle? I find her in my bedroom changing my sheets. I inform her that I require my lunch and she tells me that it’s already on the table, my ice-cream is melting. How rude of her! I already knew this, I think! What a very condescending tone she uses. She pleads with me not to use the oven hob in my own kitchen! How else am I going to heat up my soup?

The washing machine is running, and I didn’t put it on. I must stop it before any more electricity is wasted. I do wish people would consult me before running machinery. What time is it?

12.50pm

She’s out in the garden now, that woman with the uniform. I must go out and inform her that I require my lunch. She’s emptying the bin, at least she’s doing something useful. I fear she’s idle here with nothing to do, I’ve done all of the housework already myself. She walks indoors with me and shows me what she’s written down, food that I’ve eaten already for lunch. I see no evidence, I fear she’s lying, taking advantage of me. She’s boiling the kettle now. I inform her that I require lunch.

What time is it?

11.15am

Am I alone in the house? I find a woman in the living room, she’s using the vacuum cleaner on a floor that’s already clean. What a pointless waste of electricity! I inform her that the floor doesn’t require cleaning, that she should move the furniture back to their original positions and switch it off. I must find some work for her to do, she’s clearly wasting time looking busy. There’s a cup of tea in my hand, it must be mine but it’s cold! Why am I drinking cold tea? The woman in the uniform is carrying the vacuum cleaner away, I must tell her to do this room before she finishes. She tells me she will, once the washing machine is loaded and put on. She seems to be working hard today, that’s something.

What time is it?

12.35pm

The woman in the uniform is missing again. Idle, presumably. I find her by the washing machine, watching it empty. She says she’s waiting for it to reset, staff these days have a poor idea of how kitchen equipment works. She hasn’t made my lunch yet and I inform her of this. She tells me I’ve already eaten! How strange, I don’t remember. But true enough, I don’t feel hungry. I must have made lunch myself. I go to the fridge and find a carton of soup, I must go and put the hob on to heat it up.

What time is it?

1.35pm

I’m alone. Someone was here, what does my diary say? I’ve had lunch it seems, jolly good. Washing is drying on my line, I must have done that earlier after I made lunch. Do I have tea? Tea would be lovely, I must boil the kettle. The garden looks well, I’ll go and prune the roses in a moment. There are two cups of tea on the table, both hot! Is there someone else here? I must enlist the help of some staff to help me to keep track of this house. There are notes everywhere, none of them pertinent. Reading them might be helpful I suppose, but there should be staff here to do that. Have I eaten?

***

Maybe not so cathartic after all. I still don’t understand her world from her point of view, but I have a greater appreciation of my own mind. Except that I wonder sometimes, how would I know if I had dementia? People would tell me but then I’d forget, so I wouldn’t know. Is my world as I know it imagined, is it a memory that I’m just assuming is the present? Time appears to be linear for me, but then again it would if I had a short term memory.

Have I had lunch, even?

 
Posted in Rambles

Post navigation

← Older posts
Newer posts →

Get notified of new Scribbles

Loading
Try your luck with
a Random Post
A Martin Scriblerus Blog

Martin Scriblerus Latest

Other Links Latest

Archives

July 2025
MTWTFSS
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
28293031 
« Jun    

Categories

©2025 - Head Rambles - Weaver Xtreme Theme Boring Privacy Policy
Hosted by Curratech Blog Hosting
↑