Thursday, July 27, 2006
This has proved particularly galling to me as it was to mark the engagement of Denise and Adrian, confirmed last week to a chorus of oohs and aahs. Suffice to say I'll make amends to all concerned, and then some.
So, it appears that after months and months of unrivalled health, unruly nights and unnerving experiences, my body has shut down and said 'give it up ta fuck'. These things happen, but I wish it had come at a more opportune time. Loss of appetite, sleeping to beat the band, shakes... I don't know. It all started with the Uniflu, poison if you ask me.
I'm a man of strong constitution, though, and rest assured I'll shake this one off in a day or two. Can't wait to want to eat again.
And what else? Was shown the sights of Cork City and Kinsale on Wednesday. It was a capital time in the pseudo capital, though my unwellnesses saw an earlier departure than I'd have liked. Twists of fate have seldom been so cruel.
Finally, all appointments are cancelled until later dates. Gonna let Mother Nature restore me to myself, and then we'll see..." he added tantalisingly.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
'Glenda Gilsen: The Real Me'...
'I cloned my pet llama'...
'Mourinho says Chelsea are victims of their own success'...
'Goat torments owner'...
'Man spotted haranguing Tim Henman'...
'Ironing: A beginner's guide'...
'Frowning doesn't affect fertility, doctors insist'...
'Bertie's roasting shame'...
Not enough people shout 'Read all about it' anymore.
How come you never hear 'all aboard!' in train stations?
Dave has never ironed anything in his life.
Text messages should be free.
Caffe di Napoli on Westland Row does great pasta at low, low prices.
My headache is gone.
Julie likes Kerry.
The Onion is the best website in the world. You Tube is good too.
Insuperior is my word of the day.
I've been drinking Coke again lately.
I once had a fire extinguisher set off near my face. Far from pleasant.
I'm trying to bring back the 'funny'.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
My mind keeps escaping me. Sat here at the desk, this perpetual screeching alarm from outside breaking the sound of GAA and Golf commentary, a rattling in my skull to rival the Bull McCabe himself.
I can only think of the beach. It’s not even particularly sunny, and I get nervous near water, but I’ve got me a want for Inch Strand late at night, drinking bottled beer and listening to birds and waves and all that useless beauty...
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Think it's actually been a while since my last entry. Been kept going so I've been, wheeling and dealing and rocking and rolling as per usual.
Just got torrentially pissed upon here in Limerick, coming back from town. In fairness, it's drab at the best of times. While the rest of the country is swathed in pulchritudinous sunshine, applying the Factor 15 and hitting beer gardens from Dublin 2 to Dublin 6, Limerick is laid low with humidity and damp and dreariness.
Twas always thus.
As City Centres go, it's a dump. Boarded up shop windows, betting emporiums, places where everything on display costs two euro and your usual high street monstrosities like Next and Boots and HMV. I also notice that people tend to appear angrier down here.
Lazy 'Stab City' jibes aside, most Limerick City dwellers have the appearance that they owe money to a loan shark, all shifty and restless. It's terribly depressing.
On to other matters, and this is one I probably should have addressed a long time ago. Last week I was confronted about the contents of this blog. A reader, who I won't name, told me with drink taken that they find it self-serving and immodest, among other things.
Maybe this person has a point, but what grated with me afterwards was that I felt I had to justify what I'm doing with this. The majority of people have been hugely supportive since I started Radgery, and fellow bloggers such as Cowzer, 5X, Vicky Pollard et al have helped me immeasurably to keep it going, knowing as I did that I wasn't ploughing a lone furrow.
It's just that one or two people have made the assumption that their opinion matters to me. Believe me, I think they and not I are the immodest fools, that they think that the sound of their own voice is that of an authority on such matters. It really isn't.
I won't justify what I write on this anymore. I have never used this as a forum for attacking specific people, despite what some may think. I only name names if it's in a friendly context, and if anyone feels I've failed at this, or if I've inadvertently hurt anyone's feelings, then my apologies.
If you like what I have to say, great, stay with me and we'll have the craic. But if you don't, quite frankly, fuck off.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
I'm always in the last place you left me. Yep. Well anyway, what about yis?
Good to see 5X doing so well in Paris. The right lad. And I quoth: 'Suffice it to say that Dublin sucks sweaty balls while Paris downs the Eiswein when it comes to putting on free shit for the gens to enjoy.'
He's making the most of it out there. How long before I pay Aer Lingus to help me keep an eye on the man for a weekend? Not long I'd say, and I'm willing to bet that Dr. Fell himself might be a willing accomplice. I put it to you, Richard Roche, that John Giles made a very interesting point earlier on...
What else? Had a reasonably quiet weekend of it is what. Granted, went to the pub John Mulligan for one (six) on Friday night. Hurriedly drunk down with my Dingle associates Noel, Oliver, Mel the belle and the bould Donna. Sorry for leaving in a hurry lads, was Arthur'd up to the eyeballs.
Took her handy on Saturday and merely had a few ales at home watching the fitba on Sunday. Isn't Materazzi some scumbag? Latest news, and this is from some lip-reader employed by the BBC, that he told Zizou he was the "son of a terrorist whore."
Ye can't be saying that lads.
Elsewhere, I'm in dire straits financially. Those hours of mischief in pubs from here to the County Kerry come at a price, with the result that a work night out with free booze this Thursday will be the height of my rabbling for the foreseeable. Mark it down and don't come near me for a jar until pay-day.
Finally, the keys to the new apartment are in the possession of Pike and Fitzbollix. Should be moving ourselves in in roughly two weeks. Probably more like three. Either way, new lifestyle here I come.
No more listening to other people's 80s techno on the 25A, no more turning and frowning at the worthless piece of effluent munching Meanies in the seat behind me. No more Centra-tinker-central, and gone the nosiest neighbour this side of Mrs Mangle.
And she was notorious for her interference.
Things I don't give a shit about this week:
1) Soft furnishings. They CAN be a flashpoint.
2) Celebrity Love Island.
3) Where the smell in the fridge is coming from.
5) Bakewell tarts.
7) The film screening of 'The Break-Up'. I'll leave that to Kathy. Bless her.
8) Where my next meal will come from.
Cheese of the week: Buffalo Mozzarella.
And as an addendum - May Juliannus Mirabilis enjoy her week off. If you meet Julie Feeney, look the other way. You're a bad liar.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
That's it. That's absolutely it. Staying off the gargle for a good long spell. I'm not right, my entire constitution feels like the inside of a pint of stout. Black. Slightly acidic. Alchoholic as all hell.
Joining the lads at Limerick Junction, I knew it was going to be messy from the start. Ollie had that crazed look, the appearance of a man who knew what was in store. That ever-so-cheeky slight raising of the eyebrow that said, "we are going to be in a heap."
And so it proved. Friday and we started in Murphy's, as all good sessions in that town must. I think it was the Marina Inn then for the game, wedged in between fans of Germany and the Argies, and at that stage I must have been already fairly drunk because the rest of the night comes to me only in patches. John Benny Moriarty's for a feed of mashed potatoes and some bog standard cod dish, into O'Flaherty's where Fergus was doing serious justice to the 'Cliffs Of Dooneen', stout, (scenes missing), bed.
Saturday we took a boat journey to see Fungi. Frankly, after the first twenty minutes I was bored to the bone, I just wanted to be back on dry land and wetting my lips.
So we did.
There was Dick Mack's, Murphy's again, up to McCarthy's, down to Ashe's, back to the B+B for some kip, back out again to Adams's, breaking a shot glass off the pub sink, getting thrown out with Ollie singin', (scene missing), Mel the belle and her patented dolphin noise, promising to go to the Hill Grove 'dishhco', (scene missing), bed.
On Sunday we'd planned to go our separate ways, but foolishly we decided to stop into O'Flaherty's again and the whole day disappeared in a haze of hat buying, lots more supping, some aul fella called Ned, the demise of Paddy Dowd, meeting some friend of Noel Skehan's while the rest of them faded out, back to Adams's (or was it Ashe's)... Either way, fucking destroyed.
Now I've probably lost most of you at this point, but this really is aimed more towards my own remembration of events than anything else. I'd say 43% of it is lost to me.
Finally, it got Monday and we thwarted Ollie's attempts to stay down. A six-hour journey back to Dublin culminated in a couple of topping off pints in Ryan's of Parkgate Street (great food). We staved off another session, though. As I put down my pint glass for the last time I even gave it a little wave goodbye.
I won't be seeing it for a while.