I pottered around the house doing various jobs wot have to be did, like feeding the washing machine which runs for about 16 hours a day and washing up and shit like that. Of course every time I found a few minutes to sit down, Herself would call me for something urgent [usually picking her cigarette lighter off the floor].
She seems to think I am overworked [fuck! I’ve been overworked for the last fifty years] and started talking about getting some home help. I pointed out that in theory that was fine but what were the odds on having someone arrive at the precise moment she dropped her lighter on the floor. I’m not going to pay someone to just sit there waiting for an hour just in case Herself drops something. And anyways we have been managing without help so why change things?
I don’t know if I mentioned it before but Herself has a nasty looking injury to her heel caused by some bit of equipment in the hospital. I’m in two minds about suing but there is the worry that a few million might change me.
Anyhows this injury requires constant attention, with special ointment [horrible sticky oily stuff] and special spongy plasters to be changed. I had run out of the latter and yesterday I called down to the chemist who had ordered them in specially. Sixty fucking yoyos for five spongy plasters!
So this morning dawned.
I did the usual chores like feeding the animals [including Herself] when the phone rang. A very cheery woman on the other end announced she was from the health board or somewhere and she announced that we have been allocated a home help for an hour seven days a week. Or I think that’s what she said. Anyways, someone is calling tomorrow to discuss things with me.
I had just managed to sit down for my first mug of tea when the dog got all excited. I stepped out into the garden to see what the fuss was about and there was a fine young thing being slobbered over by Penny. She [apparently] is our new allocated nurse and was calling in to say hello and to check Herself’s battle scars. She also offered me a chunk of those spongy plaster things which annoyed me – if she had come a day earlier she would have saved me sixty yoyos.
With all these gorgeous young women calling, Herself tells me I should tidy myself up a bit.
Just to be on the safe side Ireland sent one of their fishery protection ships up there.
This pissed off the Scots even more so they asked to borrow a few war ships off England [suddenly the Scots decided there were advantages to being part of GB].
As a gesture of solidarity with a country which hadn’t royally been fucking around with EU membership, the EU dispatched a coalition of French and Spanish war groups to defend the Irish ship.
Trump was still full of goodwill towards the Irish so he nuked France, Spain and the UK. Unfortunately he still wasn’t sure what the Northern Ireland Border was and accidentally nuked Ireland as well. This at least had the advantage that it solved the Brexit fiasco as the UK no longer existed.
Not to be outdone, Russia nuked the US [with enormous casualties as the Americans who were fleeing south found themselves trapped by a huge wall that some fucker had put up].
Pakistan then wanted to join the party and nuked India, Israel nuked Iran, North Korea nuked South Korea and China nuked whatever was left.
The title I chose for yesterday’s scribble rang a bell.
It niggled at me for a while and then I remembered why.
That’s from the days of decent music in the mid Seventies – a time that didn’t relay on gimmicks, semi-naked women or lyrics that didn’t sound like a toneless rapid fire hostile threat. [You may take it as read that anything Rap like is a complete anathema]
I’ll leave it up to yourselves to remember the group involved.
I went down to the village yesterday to sit in the sun and enjoy a coffee.
The strange thing is that I’m not really a coffee drinker despite having a reputation of making an excellent cuppa at home. But a coffee in the village is a wee break from the house and a chance to catch up on local gossip. And Penny loves the place too and is usually bombarded with treats!
There are two general purpose / tobacconists in the village and I tend to think of them as the big one and the small one. To spread my largesse I tend to buy my baccy in the small one and the bulk of cigarettes in the big one.
I had already been in the small one [which is also the Post Office] to draw down Herself’s pension. The bloke behind the counter was very concerned about me – he had been away for a couple of weeks and had returned to find they were out of pipe tobacco. He was most concerned for my welfare and had ordered in a large supply especially for me. Apparently I am his only customer for pipe baccy.
Anyhows I was having my coffee when I was joined by Jack, the owner of the big shop. The subject of pipe smoking came up in the course of random conversation. I didn’t mention that I usually buy my stash in his rival’s emporium but he must have guessed by now. He mentioned that his sales of pipe tobacco were very small. He does a fine trade in cigarettes so there’s no loss on him, but he started naming the people in the area who smoke a pipe. Four or five names! And that included myself.
So that begs the question that no one seems to be able to answer – what happened to the popularity of the pipe? We are becoming as rare as an honest politician. There was a time when pipes were common. Two of our previous politicians were famous for their pipes – Jack Lynch and Neil Blaney. Now it is an extreme rarity to see anyone enjoying a puff. I honestly cannot recall the last time I saw a pipe.
Is it that pipes are too much trouble? Is the cigarette is just too convenient?
For the last couple of days the news consisted almost entirely of breathless prose from Shannon, Doonbeg [where Trump has his hotel] and the occasional shot of Dublin. We were shown Air Force One and Marine One and we were expected to fall on our knees in adoration of these flying machines.
Personally I found the whole circus rather boring.
Having seen so much of Trump in the last couple of days I can’t help but wonder how many days months or years he has spent in front of a mirror practising his one and only facial expression – the eyes squinting into the distance and the mouth clenched grimly giving the appearance of someone desperately trying to hold in a massive fart. As for the hair! Surely he must realise? But apparently not.
Of course we had the locals in Doonbeg fawning all over him and his sons, which goes to prove that a Clare man will do anything for a free pint.
We also had the protests. They were an embarrassment to themselves with their placards and their blimp [for which they had to get permission to fly it from the Irish Aviation Authority even though it was surrounded by trees and lamp standards]. There really is fuck all protesting the other side of the land.
I have no interest in his policies simply because I don’t know what they are. He seems to blow with the wind. A highlight was his statement that Brexit will be very good for the UK and also very good for Ireland. I got the distinct impression he was merely saying what he thought the audience wanted to hear, even if it did mean tying himself in knots.
Anyway one way or another he is America’s problem. The good citizens there voted for him so that’s what they got. Democracy and all that shit. He’s their business not mine.
Unless of course he lost his game of golf in Doonbeg and will nuke Ireland in retaliation?