The change

Three months in. The things I ignored at the start and now harder to ignore. Being called “dude” is not a runner anymore. Being cut off in mid sentence by her to point out something random is not not a runner anymore. Use of the word random is back to being annoying again. Her eating the rest of my dinner is just a turn off now. Being licked instead of kissed sends me rigid. 

Then I remind myself that this is the ‘change’ which happens around three months. When that part of me that likes being single and staring into space for ages starts to wake from slumber. It controls my eyes and makes them look at other women longingly. It makes me not listen to the talking in between bits of crucial information. It tries to wrench me from her. It tells me that her brother is a witless fool (which he is). That part of me has had me for too long, selfish and stubborn.

Recession action list

• Reduce rent by €200
• Transfer credit card to personal loan, get rid of credit card.
• Start paying off other credit card so I can qualify for a mortgage.
• Stop using taxis instead of walking, taking a bus, cycling (come on, you used to cycle everywhere).
• Buy a bike on the ‘Bike to Work’ scheme.
• Register for the ‘Bike to Work’ scheme.
• Make a large heatable-upable dinner and freeze portions to stop me from being lazy and ordering in.
• Check the price of everything when doing a weekly shop.
• Do a weekly shop.
• Stop buying take-away coffee despite the beautiful girl with the killer smile.
• Never spend more than €6 on a bottle of wine.
• Stop buying food and not using it before it goes off.
• Instead of throwing out those shoes, get them re-soled and re-heeled. The uppers are perfect on them. It’s a good excuse to check out that old cobblers shop and help keep them in business
• Claim every single possible thing I can back on tax

A feast for the eyes

Check out this great photo blog by a Polish guy living in Cork. Some great shots here.

 

Eh, wow.

Moving on

As the taxi draws away, I walk in through the gate, not too late, only 1.30am. I’m content after a nice evening of barbecue and beer and reminiscence. I glance at the tall window of my living room and without warning, back comes that image her standing there smiling at me as I returned home once after a few days away. That was when here felt like a home, coming back sheepishly at 4am from a night out with the boys. Slightly dramatic tip toeing around the bed, a roaringly painful toe stub en route. But I’ve moved on and so has she. It’s this place that needs to move on now.

Speed limit increased on non-existent road

 

Watch for Grazing Animals

The Department of Transport has re-classified nearly 300km of roads as motorways. So many people skimming over the news headlines will think that we have 300km of new motorway, giving the impression that our road building is forging ahead despite everything. But all that has happened is an increase in speed limit on existing dual carriageways. But in the case of the N6 between Ballinasloe and Galway, the classification actually applies to a long stretch of open countryside where no road exists because it hasn’t even been built yet. So you can now travel at 120km/h across Joe O’Flaherty’s and other farms despite the fact that they are populated by herds of grazing cattle, some sheep, several hedgerows, ploughed furrows, drainage ditches, fairy mounds and rusting Ford Cortinas.

 

Good luck with that.

You know the type

She sat light on her chair, despite her being pregnant, her perfect bump kept small and round by way of neurosis. Her dainty face gazed around the room in search of others who may challenge her presence. Her nemesis was also at the wedding, a tall slim attractive blonde, also boring as hell. Her husband tended to her every need, some real, some just for her amusement. She listened in to the conversation but added nothing to it. She smiled condescendingly at our stories. She asked questions of my date, designed to expose any flaws in her breeding and education.

All etiquette and no manners.

Today I have…

… Read some Mark Haddon’s ‘A Spot of Bother’, several news websites, some blogs, some work related websites.

… Ate porridge, a banana, a Fox’s biscuit, some stir fry pork noodles with veg, a tunnocks tea cake, some crumbed cod, beans and boiled rooster potatoes. 

… Drank two coffees, one peppermint tea, three glasses of water, one smoothie.

… Walked about 5km

… Drove 6km

Infuriatingly nice

He was always a nice man, generous, affable, egoless, gentle, well mannered. He’d always help you out, have an old natter in the kitchen. He’d never bad mouth anyone, even very obnoxious people who took advantage of his good nature. We’d all joke about his tardiness, especially the story about him being late for his wedding by two hours. We’d all joke too about how he’d talk about something for months before actually doing it or how he’d change his mind a the last minute and cause mayhem. He couldn’t make a decision and stick to it to save his life. Mountains out of molehills. Long way round. Absent mind.

A lovely kind man without a care in the world and the memory of a gnat and the foresight of a two year old. He’s the most irresponsible and destructive idiot of a man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

The moths

I sit in the kitchen at 11pm. The night is still and mild. The fridge shivers every now and then. The clothes on the horse are drying fast. I scan the Sunday paper for the fourth time, descending layers of interest each time but ultimately more educational. Still can’t get 14 across. I need that to get 7 down, and about three others. The floor needs to be mopped, that print still needs to be re-glazed and hung again. Why can’t I get bin bags that fit the bin properly and who thought swing lids were a good idea. That thing is still in the fridge. I need to rotate the chairs so I don’t keep sitting badly on the same one all the time. I sit facing the back door, with large sash window to my left. Blackness outside.

Like desperate junkies, three moths, fat bodies, dusty brown, in pitiful silence, flutter and beat themselves against the cruel glass dying for a fix of florescence. No grace, no shame. I sit and watch as the thin glass keeps them but inches away from ruining my night.

Best before May ‘07

Of course I only discovered this after already eating quite an amount of the mayonnaise.