Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Holy cow

Can I face it? Can I tackle another pummelling from the pint glass? I can't. It's been an insane week.

As Thursday crept into Friday I knew there was a storm a-coming. Kenny with his American pal Will, over to savour Croke Park on a frenetic Sunday. As a preamble there was drinking to be done, and how.

Lads got in on Friday for a few quiet ones in the house. Or so I thought. They arrived with Kev and duly bludgeoned me into town. I tried to fight it but proved the softest touch to the machine that is Kenny.

Destroyed.

Got into work Saturday with a head like a chewed tomato, all mush and juices intertwined with the pull and the push of my dullest thoughts. Somehow produced some alright articles but.

Saturday was the Long Stone. A strangely soporific and sober affair, for me anyway. While the lads were getting hammered the drink was not connecting to my recepticons. Remained cogent and fully aware of myself. Didnae fuck up once.

As a result Sunday in work was a relatively hangover-free affair, and I thought I may even get away with not drinking that night. Wrong again. To Pravda and to the Market Bar and to The Village with us. It was another night where the lads were leagues ahead of me in the drinking stakes, and I decided I'd had enough when fire was introduced into the equation.

Headed home about 11.30, with my slumber predictably interrupted by the returning masses at 2am for a couple of night-caps. Cut to the here and now, it's Tuesday night and I haven't even had the respite of a day off this past week. I'm coming across slightly jaded and I apologise for that.

One things for definite: This weekend coming I'm closed for business.

Monday, July 25, 2005

The Radge Party

I'm getting together the new world order. The reason I'm doing this is to rid the world of stupidity, laziness of thought and Amanda Brunker*.

So without any further ado, the honours list.

Owen Cowzer - Minister For Drink:

A very important brief. I've admired Cowzer over the years for his increasing tolerance of liquor. The man can, I admit it, out-drink me and his position on the cabinet is very much tied in with his ability to keep the libations coming to his imperial conqueror - me.

John Fitzpatrick - Minister For Dog's Abuse:

Let's admit it, nobody hands down justice like Johnny. I will call on him to perform the "frowning of a lifetime" when the chickenheads try to rule the roost. He'll also run down a chav for no added charge.

Kevin Murphy - Minister For Groping:

No better man for this particular office. CRINGE as Kev makes yet another drunken fumble for the nearest piece of action. WINCE as his advances are met by a stern slap to the face. SYMPATHISE as he asks "where did it all go wrong, Radge? WHERE?"

Julianne McKeigue - Minister For Laughter:

Julianne has performed admirably in the laughter stakes for some time now. Belly laughs, sarcastic laughs, nervous laughs - the girl can run the whole gamut of mirth.

David Maher - Minister For Games:

Whether it's games of the heart, games of chance or games of Bumperball, David is king at trickery. Like trying to pick up mercury with a fork, David is a tough man to second guess. A political bulldog who, ironically, doesn't play games when it comes to the truth.

Finbar Brady - Minister For Smithwicks With A Guinness Head:

Tipple of the stars, there's no better man to dispense the aul black and tan than Finbar, an experienced ale drinkist.

Brian Kenny - Minister For Foreign Affairs:

Brian will be heading up our German office, scouring the fields of Frankfurt town to bring the ideals of the Radge Party to the Rhineland.

5X - Consiglieri:

Derek '5X' Fennell will be my right-hand man as I endeavour to rid this land of depression, disappointment and dismay. A seasoned thinker who's been pitching for a chomp at the big banana for some time now. A man whose time is imminent, he'll be head honcho one day.

More appointments will come as I see fit.

*Divvy.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

5X on The Godfather

The Godfather.

This movie is so gay! I was completely bored all the way thru. WTF was up with the way that fat gansta talked? You could hardly understand him, and what relevance to the plot did he have anyway? The Michael character was stupid too. You couldn't emphatise with him. He has no morals, but sometimes he does. That's inconsistent characterisation. The pace and direction are all wrong in this movie. And the CGI was terrible, you could SO tell that it wasn't really New York in the background. And who was the Godfather anyway? How could God have a Father He IS the father. It's ridiculous.
The Director clearly used too many broad brushstrokes. The film is an inchoherent mess. And what was with Colin Farrell's dyed-blonde hair OMG!!!

0 out 10.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Come fly with me...

"We're gonna move to Nashville, and we'll make a career
Out of writing sad songs and getting paid by the tear."

Silver Jews 'Tennessee', Bright Flight, 2001.

The boys are releasing their new album in October. The 18th to be specific. Eagerly awaited. Top lyricist that David Berman lad.

What news? Fucque all now to be honest. A quiet weekend bookended by pints in the Long Stone and Doyle's with Raf and Dave on Thursday and pints in the Long Stone and Doyle's with Raf and Dave on Sunday. Last night was good craic, was journeying home when the bould Denise Farrell intervened and next thing it was pints being lowered and plentiful merry being made.

Apologies to 5X at this point for my abrupt and effete departure, flouncing away like a dandy as I did...

I'm on for a week long session now, interrupted only fleetingly by Setanta and its Media. I'll chance getting the lads together tonight and we'll take it to the mid. Tomorrow night? A dinner date no less. Wednesday? Liverpool. Thursday? The bould Ms Greene. Friday? Just tell me where to be. Saturday? Joseph's return from out foreign.

I'm on a mission to see Dublin renamed as Nothingtown. Discuss.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Dave Maher, everybody...

Radge has won the right to host the 2016 Olympics, after fighting off competition from major capital cities.
Venues for many of the sports have yet to be fully, or at all, constructed on parts of and close to Radge, but the leader of the Radge bid, Radge, is confident all be done in time for the Games.
"Firstly, I'd like to thank my team for helping Radge to secure this great honour," said Radge. "Radge is the perfect place for this event and all of the venues will be completed with time to spare."
The swimming events will be held in Radge himself, while Radge will be the javelin and shot-put for the field events. A running track is to be completed around Radge, while a football pitch will be made on Radge's head.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Sky rockets in flight...

Came back last Friday from two weeks in Lanzarote.

Capital villa, scenic surrounds, San Miguel, a crock, the folks, the girls, swimming pool, Factor 15 down to 8 in week two and I still don't care about tans, a bar/restaurant called Lagomar carved from the side of a hill, trips to your bog standard resort (Puerto del Carmen) with bog standard Irish bars frequented by bog standard birds from Shannon (thought through the haze of liquor to be high in the pulchritude stakes, but actually not), seafood starters, lilos and every building in white.

That last one's a strange sight. No building can be anything but radiant white. They make the very exceptional leaning towards cream - the bawdy bastards - but otherwise it looks exactly like an extended version of the Eldorado set. I even dressed in white most of the time for fear of Hispanic reprisals.

And the natives don't speak a word of English, but I hate those who complain about people in foreign countries ONLY speaking their own language. It's linguistic snobbery so I'll leave it alone.

On Thursday we were an hour delayed leaving Arrecife airport. No problem, thunk we, because we had hours to kill before our connecting flight from Stansted. The baggage handlers plainly did not like our complacency, however, and they took two hours to unload our bags from the first flight.

Upshot? Missed connecting flight but Emma and I got to stay at the Radisson on Swissport's dime. How bad like? Top notch place but it did seem like I'd walked onto the Lost In Translation set, right down to the snap-clean sheets and half chewed stogies left in the ashtrays.

6.30 flight on Friday morning. Sakes.

It's all been a blur since then. Friday night saw me blab the night away with Jill's fella Aaron on all sorts of musical/football related guff, Saturday was back in Setanta, Saturday night got destroyed by the usual Long Stone/Doyle's route and, well, it brings me to the here and the now as I rise out of my two-day torpor.

And you?