Thursday, November 30, 2006

And the award goes to...

5X celebrates his trophy for Outstanding Achievement In The Field Of Excellence with no little enthusiasm.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Let's get disgraceful. Let's.

Here, 5X is at it again.

What? Blogging, of course. If you don't know the link by now, you're not important enough. He's raised the bar to another level with a 'day in the life' expose of Parisien existence. The inveterate bastard.

Let me just say that his cup of Earl Grey runneth over. Not long now until he's thrust back into this ugly little quagmire of a country for the Christmas break, however. I forecast the following conversation:

"My life is great Cuddihy. Everything has fallen into place. EVERYTHING Cuddihy!"

"Shut up and drink your pint. You swan in here with your Gallic flair and your monocle and you expect me to be gracious. Bollocks to that. My life's a mess.

"But it's good to see you."

Then we'll probably crack our holes laughing and he'll be arch and I'll make plans and actually get it done this time.

I'm in the form for getting it done, you see. Everything to do with the fact that tomorrow night will see my first night Chez Forbes Quay, my new dwelling located 13 short minutes down the water from Setanta Central. Oh mercy yes, no more buses and aul lads spluttering 'bread and dripping' on the back of my next.

I spy happier times.

All I need now is somewhere to buy coffee in the morning and presto!

Otherwise, it's full steam ahead for the birthday. I spy the usual japes, drunkenments and wandering hands by candle light. These are disgraceful times, they really are.

What else? Casino Royale is good. Not great, but good. Worth the fee.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Blog entry for the current week and day.

My t-shirt's filthy. Just noticed as my eyes wandered down to where my fingers were doing the typing on our Anne's keyboard. Filthy. Must change it before I go into town.

Meeting Denise and Lynn tonight, you see, and can't be seen to be letting the standards slip.

Congratulations at this point go to Ms Greene and Mr Andrew Conaghy. Engaged! My word. Couldn't smile wide enough when I heard the news. There'll be talk of wedding bands and dresses aplenty tonight but it's a small price to pay.

Andrew, if you're reading this, get your ass into town and save me.

What else?

There are rumours of snow. Honest to God. Wintry front or something.

How come on the telly, when someone picks up a phone they manage to hear how "Sonny's in the hospital with a broken leg after hitting a horse who'd escaped the stable down on Emmerdale Farm" quicker than you or I could say, "Well, what's the story?"???

It's fuckin' ridiculous. Take a pause. Jesus!

Divil a plan I have for the weekend, work aside. Might keep it that way*.

5X on 'Last Of The Summer Wine': "I can't watch the ones with the new Compo."

Dylan Moran is a very funny man.

Afternoon television is tat.

Thanks to Julianne for a stellar meal on Tuesday night. Steak. Top notch.

*Get lampy.

Friday, November 10, 2006

"Talk to Joe."

Terence McDanger has a point. I should be more prolific. But I'm not apologising, you get your dose of Radgery when the Gods deem it right. No sooner.

And so they deem it now.

I woke up this morning without a scratched throat and/or belly ache for the first time in an age. I'm renewedly vigorous. Actually, it was 12.40 when I eventually got out of the scratcher, I tend towards lazy bastardness when I'm down here in Castletroy.

Nights to report:

Last Saturday was a dinger. To the Stags once again for our Anne's birthday. Jesus if she didn't have 50 or 60 show up to pay homage. Of course it skipped by in a drunken heartbeat, each conversation more disremembered than the last thanks to copious pints and bottles of brew.

Stayed on a not-too-uncomfortable blow-up bed in Skehan's mammoth apartment that evening. A fine place, and fine hosts are the brothers Skehan too. So fine, in fact, that Ollie and I freewheeled down the hill to The Villager after lunch and got destroyed all over again.

Monday I was back at work for the latest era in Radge's Setanta-dom. Yep, back to the sport coverage with me. They decided to ease me in gently on the Soccer shift, much enjoyable, before the hell of Wednesday and scheduling. Oh Jesus. Made me yearn for 'I'm A Celebrity...'

Speaking of 'I'm A P-lister, Get Me Some Publicity,' Julianne informs me I'll be privy to it next week when she hostesses me for food. Small price to pay for what will be an enjoyable occasion, but I sincerely hope there are snakes aplenty. She's cripplingly phobic.

Does that make me a bit of a fucker? Probably.

What else? It's very much November, which means obligatory Tuesday pints and generally getting rightly Mulliganed while the wind screeches and the rain batters.

Finally, keep those lovely ladies coming, Terence, and 5X and Dogger - get yisser acts together. I want to hear more about how 5X gets paid to drink in some Parisien pub called the James Joyce while quizzing the locals. Regale us.