Search for a Lost Childhood

Back in October 2006 I embarked on a little adventure.

I had heard about this “blogging” lark but I hadn’t a clue what it was about.  I had only seen one or two of them and that wasn’t much help.  What was it all about?  I decided to install the software and give it a bash [Linux joke].

It needed a name so I called it “Grumpy Site”.  I stuck a couple of thoughts on it and that was that.

Or so I thought.

Because I hadn’t a clue what the whole game was about, my first two brain-farts were rather pathetic – like a newcomer to a party making the first hesitant steps to strike up a conversation.  However my second fart actually got a reply.  Weird!  I decided to write some more.

After a week or so I began to feel a little embarrassed at the “Grumpy Site” name.  It was shite.  I had to replace it, but what with?  After a very long period [about five minutes] of deep thought I came up with “Head Rambles”.  I have no idea where it came from – it just sort of rambled into my head.  I changed the site to the new name and wrote a couple more farts.

Then it got mentioned in the Irish Times.  I have no idea why, but it did and all hell broke loose.  Then it got mentioned in a couple of magazines and all hell became pure mayhem.

They were the glory days.  There were the various awards, spots on radio, a book offer and a feature in a television programme.  Blogging in Ireland was somewhat wild and it was fun.

Eight years on, things have quietened down a bit.  Actually they have quietened down a lot.  Most of the old sites have gone and there is only a handful of the old crew still around.  Nowadays the scene seems to be just a clatter of cookery, handicraft and fashioney things.  There are a few new sites which almost reflect the early days but they are few and far between.

So here I am, eight years, eight hundred thousand visits and nearly two million page views later, still rambling and still wondering what the fuck it has all been about.  I have gone from being a Wild Boy to being a bit of noise in the background.  Rambles has become a mole on the chin – it’s been there for so long no one notices it any more, and most people are too polite to mention it so they pretend to ignore it.  But mole or not, it still gives me a kick and maybe someday it will develop again into a fully fledged melanoma on the face of this politically correct world?

But if I had known back then that I was starting out on such a long journey, would I have taken that first tentative step?

 

P.S. Anyone know where I got the title for this?  ;)

Vote for Burton

Those of you who have occasionally read my mellow musings will be surprised to know that I can get quite annoyed at times.

Yesterday was such an occasion when I read of a little speech from our Glorious Tániste [deputy prime minister].

Do you remember the Labour Party?  Yes?  They are the people who used to represent the Working Classes and to protect us from the excesses of Big Business and their ilk?

Our Glorious Tániste, Joan Burton is also the leader of the Labour Party.  She it is who represents the toiling masses, the unions and the oppressed.

Some fucking hope.

She was challenged that the police were being used as a political force against water protesters.  It was pointed out to her that large numbers of Gardaí are being deployed and are intimidating people who are peacefully protesting at an unfair and unjust taxation.  In one estate of 27 houses, no fewer than 19 gardaí were deployed.

Her response?

The protesters “seemed to have extremely expensive phones, tablets and video cameras”.

Here we see the raw thinking of our politicians.  How dare people squander their money on phones, tablets and video cameras?  Don’t they know that every cent they have should be given to the taxman?  If people have anything left after buying their loaf of bread and tin of beans for the week then that money rightly belongs in the gubmint coffers, and the gubmint has every right to take it.

So much for Labour Party roots?

Then she goes on to complain that people are posting videos of police outnumbering and police harassment on YouTube. 

There has been the most extensive filming in relation to any of these actions than I have ever seen anywhere. Hollywood would be in the ha’penny place.”

She then went on to say that all the material that looked controversial was immediately posted on Facebook.

Two points.

Firstly, the protesters are absolutely correct in videoing our Boys in Blue.  It is not only their right but it is their duty to themselves to prevent any “over enthusiasm” by the supposed keepers of the peace.  We all know how easy it is for some placid young gentleman to become a version of Judge Dredd just because he’s wearing a uniform. What Burton really hates is the proof of her lies.

Secondly, there should be no videos to post on social media.  If there is nothing to be ashamed of, then what is there to post?

While I am on the subject of YouTube, it’s only fair that she herself should feature:

[Skip to just after 8 mins if you just want the juicy stuff]

When it comes to Burton, words fail me. 

My seemingly inexhaustible supply of profanities is insufficient. 

I admit defeat.

All I can say is that I hope she gets elected again.

Cunt of the Year 2014.

Driving in Ireland for foreigners

Car lights and their uses in Ireland:

Indicators.  The purpose of indicators in Ireland is to indicate what you are doing, and not what you intend to do.  For example, if you intend to turn right at a crossroads you wait in the middle of the road [thereby giving the impression you are lost and may take any exit on a whim] and only when you are moving again and half-way off the crossroads do you start to indicate.

An alternative use of indicator lights is to leave them flashing at all times.  You can then claim off the insurance when some poor bastard pulls out of a side road thinking you were turning.  Either side flashing is good but nearside is preferable.

Hazard lights.  These are never ever used in a hazardous situation.  Their function is to indicate that you have parked, blocking the main road and that you have gone to buy the paper and will be back within the next half hour.  They are a free pass to park wherever the fuck you like.

Headlights.  These are to be used at all times during daylight hours.  They should preferably be adjusted to face oncoming traffic.

Dipped Headlights.  What are they?

Sidelights.  These are to be used at night instead of headlights. 

Fog lights.  These are to be used at night in conjunction with sidelights.  They should be adjusted as per headlights.  They are NEVER EVER to be used in foggy conditions.

Brake lights.  These are to be used prolifically.  Particularly at night and at junctions, keep your foot on the brake pedal to bathe the driver behind in a nice bright red glow.

Internal rooflight.  To be used solely by the driver for use at night when putting on make-up, reading the paper etc.

Snake Oil

I would like you to meet Bruce McBernie.

He has a product which is perfectly safe to consume [though the long term effects could be problematic].

That product can cure virtually everything from athlete's foot through asthma to cancer.

He can produce no scientific evidence for this yet is convinced from anecdotal evidence that his claims are 100% accurate.  He is utterly convinced to the point of fanatical religious zeal.

Does any of this sound vaguely familiar?

No?

I would like you to meet the Anti-Smoker.

His hatred is for a product which is perfectly safe to consume [though the long term effects could be problematic].

He claims that product can cause virtually everything from athlete's foot through asthma to cancer.

He can produce no scientific evidence for this yet is convinced from anecdotal evidence that his claims are 100% accurate.  He is utterly convinced to the point of fanatical religious zeal.

Is it not strange that our Mr McBernie is [rightly] reviled as a snake-oil salesman and a nut-case and is thrown out of the studio, yet out Anti-Smoker is revered and is listened to by world governments?

Just sayin'.

[H/T Holy Shmoly]

How to live with yourself

I somehow stumbled across an article over the weekend.

It was an interesting little piece about a woman who married herself.

Naturally most people will think she has somehow lost the plot, but I think she may be on to something.

First of all, she apparently didn’t rush into things as she had been having a relationship with herself for the previous six years and in that time she must have got to know herself fairly well?  I always worry when I see people marry in haste.  The proposal [on a park bench] must have been quite a moment of suspense?  After all, how would she react to such a strange proposal?

The concept of self marriage does raise some interesting points though?

Just think – no more rows.

No more fights when you come home late from the pub, pissed out of your mind, because your partner is as pissed as yourself and is out just as late.  And the trip to the pub is a lot cheaper, unless of course you have to go drink for drink with your spouse?

Sex is never a problem.  It’s there when you want it and not when you don’t.  No more headaches or being “just too tired”, because if you’re up for it then so is your partner.  You needn’t worry about contraception either.

Holidays will be a lot cheaper.  Only one plane ticket and half the baggage.  You can also avoid the single-room supplement if you point out there are two of you.  A romantic meal out will also cost just half the norm.

No more fighting over the television remote control.  After all, both yourself and your partner have equal access to the buttons.  You are guaranteed anyway that your partner will want to watch the same programme as yourself.

There is one inherent and massive disadvantage though, and frankly it’s one that requires careful thought.

If the marriage breaks down and you get a divorce, you’re going to be stuck living with your divorced partner for the rest of your life.

Maybe not such a good idea after all?