Laughing In The Face Of Adversity

  Ye've got to have a fucking laugh. I was at the Doctors, last Tuesday. Nothing to laugh about there.

   In fact, it wouldn't be entirely unfair to say that, what with one thing and another, I've really not had much to even fucking Smile about, lately.

  Ironically; One thing I can't stand is fucking inertia! And, if I'm down? What better circumstance to exacerbate that situation?!

  And, this tin of fucking paint has come to absolutely fucking Symbolise  my malaise. It's all I think about. Day in. Day out. Have been for weeks now. Banging my head against a brick wall with it!

  Let me explain ..... I think I've mentioned I have this snapper? Common Snapping Turtle (Chelydra serpentina). Fucking brilliant, he is! Love him to bits. 

  And, I bought him in the full knowledge that he'd soon grow huge and that no, normal, fish tank would be of use to him. I'd have to think Big.

  Hence I have three, 8' x 4', 3/4" sheets of exterior ply, outside my gate. His new, 'forever home' tank will be eight foot long and four foot wide.

 It'll have a glass front, so I'll be able to look across and watch him. I'll be building it myself. Ye paint the ply wood with special, resinous paint, see? Makes it as water proof as glass.

  Led me a merry old dance, tracking down a supplier of this, very exacting, paint did. But, I found it. Interrogated the shit out of the manufacturers. This is The Kiddie!

  Only, they say they won't ship to Eire! Fuck me; Who Will ship shit here?! 

  Believe me: Feed ye Amazon account an address ending in Eire / Ireland and see just how many cunts won't ship shit to it!

  I imagine it's the breath taking postal rates, to here. They either lose too much profit, covering it. Or, they suspect we won't want to pay it.

  What ever. I've learned to live with it. No good moaning. I bought the paint and had it delivered to my brother, in Portsmouth. Figured I'd then pay a courier to fetch it over here.

  Big Fucking Mistake!!! Basically ~ I have since learned! ~ Terrorists have now sussed how to make bombs out of Liquid! Thus, they won't let liquids on planes.

  But, the ferries, for what ever reason, don't give a fuck? Okay. Plan D; Get if brought over on a ferry! Except that No fucking courier company Ships by ferry!!!

  Jesus fucking christ! Can't ye just Feel my frustration?!?  Plan E was to hire a local bloke, who goes over about weekly. He brings anything back.


  I figured to have a courier fetch it north, to where ever he stopped for the night. He wouldn't go all the way to the south coast, for a couple of litres of paint, obviously.

  Turns out he's going no where. It wasn't financially viable and he's given up doing the runs at all, now!

  Finally, Plan F. Find some random fucker who's coming over here anyway. On the Ro Ro. Get it sent to them. They bring it to Eire and leave it somewhere I can send a courier to fetch it from.

  And, I'm explaining all this shit to Tom, my excellent, Irish, mate, on the way home tonight. I said how I'm now at the point of posting on fora, asking if anyone's coming to Ireland, on the ferry.

  I said how I had a possibility of a bloke in Holyhead, willing to have it sent to him, for collection by anyone taking the Dublin ferry from there.

  But, I explained, I really, as yet, had no idea what the person would then do with it, in Dublin. Leave it in a pub? I ventured. Somewhere the courier could pick it up from.

  A moments silence, as I thought about it. Then, I said; " Wouldn't be very clever, if they took the Liverpool to Belfast boat."

  " Imagine that, " I said. " Fucking stranger, walking into a Belfast pub with a parcel. 'Mind if I just leave this here, and go away? ' That'd go down well! " 

I sniggered. Tom chuckled. I giggled. Before long, we were both outright laughing. By the time we got home?

  Haven't fucking laughed so much in a long time!

Sometimes It's Nice To Be Nice .....

  Even to a Courier ....!

  I just bought myself a Trail Cam, see. From england. So, I also sent for an SD Card for it, within Eire. I bought the batteries, in town, the other day. All I need now is the camera.

  Sat here this afternoon. Minding my own business. Phone rings. " Hullo, Ditch? This is some or other couriers firm. Where are you? "

  Now, I've had a decade of this now. You lot dealing with the Royal Mail just love to knock them, if a letter doesn't turn up or ~ god forbid ~ a package doesn't arrive on the hour.

  Let me tell ye; You just fucking wait till Uncle Ian gets his way ~ and ye've just handed him a vote of confidence to go for it! ~ You too will see what it's like living in the postal equivalent of a third world shit hole.

  So, anyway, I explain to this guy that I live out along the road between the middle of no where and that town with the population of about forty. And, I'm .....

  Oh, fuck it. Look; Come out of there, for x miles. I'll come up to the road and try to flag ye down .....

  Off I go and spend nearly an hour looking like geriatric, rural rough trade, standing around on the roadside, nodding at passing motors.

  Finally figuring it should have taken him ten fucking minutes, I ring him back. Answering machine! 

  Well, that's it, isn't it? There's me, storming back down the track, mood getting blacker with every step ~ and there's a Lot of them involved too.

  Come in here and I'm trying to check the senders get out policies. Like, this thing's liable to be sent back to them, marked as " Undeliverable ~ No Such Address ". Despite my SD Card coming today. By Postman. He finds my fucking address!

  Then, I've thought about the Councillors I helped vote in. Might ....? No. Frankly. I voted for them. They got their 'Job' ~ and get paid for it. Experience has shown though; Actually ask them to fucking DO anything ....?!?

  An Post ~ the Irish Post Office? Just like any other state sponsored outfit; They just talk down to ye like ye a cunt.  They know ye impotent and their very tone of voice rubs ye face in it. 

  What the Fuck to do ....? And then the phone rings. It's the courier again. " Hullo? Ditch? Is there any chance I could deliver this tomorrow ....? "

  And I just switched off. I went into 'Talking to some poor cunt who's been screaming around half of Eire, all day. No sat nav. No road names. Not even numbers on the houses in the towns ..... Trying to find strangers and buying his own petrol to do it, on minimum wage or below.' mode.

  I no longer take it out on these poor bastards. They have to do it, or lose their dole. Catch twenty two. 

  When I told him that that would be no problem, ye could almost Feel the weight lift off him. " I've still got to get back to the depot, in Sligo, see? And, I've been up since 05:30 this morning. I'm so tired ..... "

  Poor bastard! At Least thirteen fucking hours then!!! And he's no youngster. Tell by his voice. I said he should ring me back, tomorrow. I'd talk him in. He'd never find my turn off otherwise.

  When I threw in my usual; " Liam Neeson couldn't fucking find me! " He laughed so hard I thought he would cry. It's not That fucking funny, of course. Poor fucker was releasing the stress. Someone understood and wasn't screaming at him down the phone.

It was nice.