Let's Follow The Thought Processes Of A Complete Fucking Idiot

Shall we? It's this snapper, again. No. He's not the idiot. I am. And, being such a cunt has cost me dearly! I just can't believe how fucking thick I've been! What's fucking Wrong with me?!

  Come to that? I wonder that none of the people I explained all this shit to didn't just say; " Hang about, you thick cunt. Why don't ye just ....." God all mighty!

  Here goes then: When I got my Snapping Turtle I was completely aware that he'd grow ridiculously big and would need, basically, a pond of his own.

  No problemmo. I'd get him what's called a Stock Tank. Basically, a large, low, circular steel tank. Somewhat like one of those blow up paddling pools people get for kiddies to splash about in. But, bigger.

  I'd put it out on my ground. Put a fence round it, to keep the Dogs out and turtle in. Job done.

  Only, this fucking snapper's grown on me so much, he's Like a fucking Dog now! I love glancing over at him. He responds like hell, when he sees me feeding the real Dogs. He knows they're getting meat and he wants some!

  No Way could I shove him outside. Just going out to stare down at him, once in a while. No. Not fucking happening. Not on my shift.

  That's about where I went full fucking retard and my whole thought process went completely to shit!

  I started researching fuck off great fish tanks. Mind bendingly big ones. Olympic sized shit. How do they do them?

  Ply wood! Seriously! The mega serious, Marine type boys don't fuck about with acres of plate glass. They use fucking ply wood! Glue it, with ridiculously special and murder to work with glue.

 Screw it. Seal it. Paint it, with stupidly special fucking paint that costs a fortune. Hell of a lot of fucking around. But, if They can do it ....?

    I decided, as ply comes in 8' x 4' sheets? That'd be my base line. Snappy shall have an eight by four tank. In here. Where my futon is. I can give it a glass front and look at him. Sixteen inches deep should do it. Cut a sheet into three strips, look.

  But, wait; What about my futon? " Durrrrr " moment number one! I thought I'd get some sort of table structure made. Put his tank on top of it. I'd sleep underneath.

  Cunt. Even when I calculated this thing was gonna weigh about a ton and half, full of water, I still envisaged getting a good nights sleep, directly beneath it. FFS!

  Thankfully, Hugh had the presence of mind to suggest I might be better sleeping above it! 

  He also threw in that miners, to this day, like wooden pit props. " Because wood can be heard to crack, before the roof comes down. ". Suddenly, the vision of me sleeping my remaining days, one ear open for that Crack ..... No. Just No. Fuck That!

  Then, I spoke to Dean O'. All round fucking genius, is Dean O'. Turn his hand to anything. He pointed out that this floor was laid for people to walk on. It was never mean't to support a ton and half in the space of a sofa.

  Being pissed doesn't help. The floor. Not Dean O'. Floor runs down. No good trying to level it. Needs a whole, new, slab of concrete. Both to level the slope and support the weight.

  So; I called Bob The Builder. Have asked him to come here and give me a quote. For laying an eight by four slab of concrete, in my room.

  I'll leave it there, for now. Because, that's about where I've got to. Paint, in my shed. Glue, on its way. Three sheets of 3/4" Exterior grade, under cover, outside.

  And, I'm a cunt. Complete and total fucking arsehole. Can you, dear reader, see where I missed the simple answer?

  Many decades ago, a nice bloke, by the name of Clem', once said to me: " Ditch; As you go through life, you'll need to get things done. And, there's Always a hard way, and an easier way of doing anything. Always look for the easy way. "

  I've tried to live by that. I fucked up. I've let ye down, Clem'. I'm a cunt.

My Cow Shed Roof .....

 Okay, peeps; This one's going to become an Epic! Not this Post. This is just announcing it and outlining it. But, I intend to follow this story ~ as much for my own pleasure, to be frank. It'll give me something to look back on ~ as the project unfolds.

 Craic is; My cow sheds roof is fucked. And this is a shed roughly twenty by thirty feet. Haven't got a fucker like that, in Your fucking garden, to worry about. Have ye?

 Better yet? The bastard's got a corrugated asbestos roof! Now, working with that shit doesn't bother me. I deliberately breathed in as much asbestos dust as I could create, some thirty years ago. And I created a Lot! But, that's another story .....

 It's the getting lumbered with all this shit. If it were iron? I could get someone to haul it off as free scrap metal. Like I did the 'Dutch Hay Barn' which collapsed, some years ago. 

 Legacy of that is now impinging on this next building. Today I decided it was time to man up and get cracking on doing something about it. This is notification of the fact that; 'Today, Ditch Decided To Man Up About His Cow Shed Roof'.

 Next, I hope to show ye some photo's. Give ye a feel for the magnitude of all this. And, don't forget; This is for my personal benefit too. I don't give a fuck if you read it, or not. I want a record to look back on.

  To kick off though: Dean O' was up here today. He has his portable forge in the shed. He reckons he can lift the 'Skirts' of the old Dutch Barn off the roof. He also expressed some views about how to handle a couple of rafters which are gone.

 Pat' came by, this evening. He's my roof iron 'contact'. He's going to speak to his man, guy he gets his own roofing materials from. Get me a price for the essential shit to repair the damage, thus far. Said he'd give me a hand and reckoned it'd only take a few hours (?!)

 So, there's the situation as it stands. Pat' reckons he'll have word by the weekend. I'll try to have photo's, showing ye what's what, within twenty four hours.

 Let the drama begin ....!
  

This One's For Llew .....

  And no, it's not the panelling, mate. This is something really more special, in its way. 

 See, yesterday, I'm afraid 'Johnny spent rather too long at the fair' .....  It's amazing what just three pints of Guinness, as a starter before his customary skin full at home, can do to a man ~ the next day!

  Yeppers. I felt like shaking shit today! No fucking way was I attempting any sly mitre cuts of half inch moulding wood. I'd have hand sawn my own fucking finger off.

 But, anyway; Dean O' called round last night. Shit was discussed. Beer was drunk. Questions were asked. And, as a result of the whole combination of that sort of shit; A small handful of rather big screws was given me.

  Then I woke up, in my chair. And it was some time after seven A.M!

  Never mind. Touching the 'delicate' panelling was out of the question. That Really needs me to focus. But, what was it Dean O' had told me last night? Fuck, yeah! I even remembered!

 I also knew I had just about every tool and bit in the house. God knows, I'd had them Years! All I never had was Dean O's secret knowledge and the right sized screws, as prescribed by that knowledge. Now I had awoken an Initiate!

  So, out came the SDS drill and the various bits and pieces. I had at it and ..... I dunno; Just seemed like ten minutes! Probably was, actually.

Rest of the hour or so would have just been me fussily brushing the thick, greenish years of accumulated dust off of my DVD, CD's, PS2 Games and many books.

 Anyway, Voilla ....!

 

  Yeppers. Shelves. 'Big Fucking Deal!', eh? Well, Yes, actually. If ye live in a two hundred year old fucking cottage made of big stones held together with sand and shit! 

 No fucking wall bricks and Portland Cement here. Hit a stone and ye laughing. Hit a 'joint'? Ye'd might as well try to screw to a fucking kiddies sand castle!

 I've tried. Down the years? How I've tired. God almighty. Wrong screws. Wrong plugs. Wrong sized fucking holes to begin with. My Store Room's an avalanche waiting to happen, at the slightest touch.

 But now? I can sort it! I Have The Power! DVD's, Games, CD's which, for Years have lain and sat in miserable piles on the floor and fuck knows where else around here ..... Well; Doesn't the photo say it? 

 Today, the DVD's. Next? The books! Then ....?

 

Kudos To Dean O' .....

  So, cutting to the chase of an otherwise extremely long story:  Dean O's pulled up at my place, tonight. Just after I realised that really was fucking Snow flakes I was seeing ....!

  Never mind that. I'm ready to roll and have my Gray Wagtail nest box in my bag. Pair of Obo nails in my pocket. And I think to check Dean has a hammer in the van.

  He has. We're all set then. This evening, I get my Gray Wag' nest box popped under the bridge in town.

 One of us to hold it in position. Other to beat the masonry nails into the underside of the bridge. Team work. Fuckin' easy.

  Stopped off at Dean O's, on the way. He grabbed his Hilti Gun ~ why beat spikes when ye can blow them in? And his own gum boots too. We had water to walk in. Unknown, but certainly above the ankle depth. 

 Fuck almighty! First, the gate to the bank to the river's padlocked. No worries. We're big boys. Over the fence ~ wrong side of the fence / bridge. Dean 'O points out how we'll easier approach the bridge from the other side. Off we go.

 It's getting dark, by now. Just how deep Is this fucking river anyway? Looked a piece of piss, last week. In broad daylight.  Tonight, I watched carefully, as Dean O' trod, carefully. I made sure to try and tread where he had. 

 Crouched over. Carrying weird shit to be carrying under a bridge in town. In the dark. It felt like 'Being in the SAS'.

 Well, it probably felt nothing like that. But, weird, uneasy, scary as this felt? Fuck being in the SAS! This was quite enough 'excitement'.

  Then the Bangs!  There's Dean firing the Hilti, to shoot the nails in. Only, it's more like " Bang! Ping! Fuck! " This fucking tool fires nails into scaffold tubes. I've seen it. But, natural Irish stone rocks? No fucking way!

 Just as he ran out of nails, I felt one stuck in the wood of the box! Bastard things had been ricochetting around our fucking ears in there!!! FFS! It Was like being in the fucking SAS!

  So, this box is plainly coming back home with me. I'll need to figure something else out. But, I suck it up and don't make any miserable comments. We'd tried.

 Then Dean O' says the most remarkable thing. He says; " Only way to do this is to use an SDS drill, and plug into these stones. " I, 'jokingly' say that, yeah; But, I don't think any of my extension leads will reach this far.

 " No. " Comes this voice in the darkness. " But, mine will. If I bring the generator ..... " Then I hear purposeful strides against the current. He's off .....

 All fucking credit to the guy. I mean, this is my baby. Yeah? My project. I'm the one obsessed with fucking nest boxes. It's also Friday night. Dark. Freezing fucking cold and we have " Dexter " waiting to be watched and beer to be consumed.

 But, no. He's slung the tools back in the van and drove all the way back to his place. Fucked around, testing the genny. Loaded up some more tools and driven us back down to that god forsaken river.

  I now have a Gray Wagtail nest box securely positioned beneath one of the bridges in town! I'm a Fucking Happy Bunny!

 The knock on effects of that box being there will now spread, like a tiny, soft ripple, through the whole community. And it'll bounce back too; To the benefit of wildlife. How cool is that?

  And all because my mate, after a damn hard weeks work, was willing to pick up the tools and sacrifice another hour of breaking his fucking back, stooping around beneath a dark bridge in a freezing river.

  I fuckin' Salute the guy!
 

Thinking About Dead People .....

  As one's supposed to, this night. As I tend to do, each year. Only, christ; The fucking list is getting ridiculous nowadays. So many of the people I've known. Now gone.

 But, anyway, that's not actually ~ really ~ what I wanted to talk about. Not really. It was something that occurred to me last night.

 I was round Dean O's, see. I'd only brought one film with me, because the other one hasn't arrived yet. I buy a couple a week, off Amazon. That's our Boys Night In entertainment. 

 I've been buying films pretty much since the DVD shop in town closed down. More so since Eirecon announced they were going to aggressively pursue anyone using Bit Torrent sites to down load films.

 Dean O'd only just got into that game when the letter came through. One fucking thing after another! At least no cunt can stop me scouring Amazon and paying good money.

 So, last night, Dean O' slings me a fifty quidder and says to use it to buy some more films. Him feeling that I'm doing all the paying here now. Wanted to pull some weight of his own. Fair play to the guy. Not that I was complaining.

 And that's why I was on Amazon again, later that night. Only, I wound up buying two 'films', which I paid for out of my own pocket, again.

 Why? Simple! I buy them. I own them. They come home and stay on my shelf. What ever I get with Dean O's fifty will, of course, become his property and stay at his place. And I've quite gotten into owning my own 'little' library of films now. Never really had one before.

 And, getting round to the point of all this ..... The first 'film' I bought was " Out ". Tom Bell. Anyone remember that? It was a TV series, back in the 70's. Fucking good, as I remember. Reviews of today seem to agree. I want that on my own shelf.

 And, digging around down the memory lanes of Google, I was horrified to learn that Tom Bell died some years ago. I didn't know that. I've been completely out of touch for the last decade now. No media input. I liked Tom Bell.

 And, that brought me to thinking about George Sewell. Fucking good actor. Looked a right villain ~ so they always cast him as a Detective! Face as craggy and pitted as a rock escarpment. And, fuck me; He's gone too, now.

 Met the bloke, once. Straight up! I was sitting on a precinct bench in Southsea, Portsmouth. Had my old ferret hob with me. " Pot ". Used to take him out for a bit of a summer time leg stretch.

  Of course, this being long before 'walking ferrets' became the rage, I was well used to people stopping to enquire. So, when I heard this voice say, " My, my, my; He's a great little fellow, isn't he?! " I just glanced up, quite casually.

 Then my mind's like; " OMG! OMG! OMG! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! It's ....."  Yeppers. Craggy face himself. George Sewell. I nearly farted!

 What a fucking lovely bloke he was too. Stood and chatted to me for a good few minutes. Me, heart in my mouth. Trying not to stare, or break into Norwegian ~ I mean; This is a bloke I'd seen shit loads of, on TV. And I liked the roles he played. I was a Fan, FFS!

 I somehow managed not to embarrass myself. Mr Sewell took obvious pleasure in meeting Pot. Then he excused himself and paced off in the direction he'd been heading, obviously making his way to some engagement.

 And now he too is gone. Lost to us. Great shame.

 I treated myself to the whole series of " Fox " too. 80's TV. Remember that one? Brought Ray Winston to our attention. And, of course, the inimitable and menacing Peter Vaughan! Fucking Love that guys characters! 

 The patriarch in " Straw Dogs " to the patriarch, " (King) Billy Fox ". Absolutely fucking brilliant!

 And now, what? Well into his eighties? Will he still be with us next year? Will I, come to that?! FFS!

 I dunno. The longer we live, the more good people we see slipping out the back door.

 My thoughts on this night, anyway.
   

Driving With Dean O' .....

Went over to Dave Movihill's gun shop with Dean O' this evening. I'd barely got into the van when I decided to add to the ambience and so silently peeled off the most throat locking fart. I then sat there and silently PMSL. Counted to ten and heard Dean O' open his window. In equal but, somewhat more stoney, silence.

It's a long old drive and, by the time we were heading back, I was doing my bit to break the monotony of the journey we'd undertaken so many times before. To this end, I'd spent about the last three quarters of an hour periodically easing my arse off the seat and slipping out some of the most vile and loathsome samples of rectal putrification known to man.

Dean O's a stoic sort of driver though. All concentration. Eyes locked on the road ahead. He never once flinched.

Still determined to get a rise out of him, I went through my usual repertoire of randomly emitting strange noises. Thrusting my head in and out. Occasionally slipping another one from my rancid bowels. No reaction.

Finally, I thought I'd try a verbal approach.; " When I was in school, " I said, casually. " I knew this big family. Their oldest lad was on a train one time, with some mates. It was speeding along and he stuck his head out the window, like a Dog. To get the wind in the face effect.

Got an oncoming train in the face instead. Took his head clean off. "

" And, I'll take Your fucking head off, if ye don't stop that farting!!! ", snarled Dean O'!

Got the bastard!

Snussed In Fucking Credible!!!

This is never fucking Real, is it?! I walked into my local, tonight, at 5.40pm. At 5.45, I crept out for a crafty fag, having just spent ten minutes in a taxi and ordered my pint etc. At 5.55 I was told my Snus had arrived! About 6.00pm, I popped this weird little tea bag like thing under my lip and offered the tub round.

None of my fellow smokers accepted a ..... I dunno. What do we call this shit? A 'Dose'? A 'Tab'? A 'Hit'? We really, as yet, have no common term for it. They call them " Portions " on the tub. But 'Portion'?! Ask a bloke in a pub if he fancies a Portion ....?! Fuck off!

Anyway; Dean 'O turned up ~ and refused to try it. We went about our business and went back to his place. I took my Snus out while I ate my kebab. Put it back in and drank my beer, as normal.

Around 8.00pm, I fancied a fresh Hit. I put the used one in the special compartment in the lid of my Snus tub and popped a fresh one under my lip. We sat and drank beer as we watched an excellent film.

By Ten O'Clock at night, Dean'O was aghast enough to want to try it. I gave him a hit of my General (Portion), and the poor guy virtually spat it out. This is one of the stronger 'Portions'. High Nicotine and Strong Taste of Tobacco.

Happily, I also had some " Skruf (Original White Portion) available. Much Milder in all departments. Apparently has a slight, lemony tang flavour to it? Dean 'O didn't spit that one out.

I left Dean's and am now home. Soon as I got in, just before 10.00pm, I popped my third General of the evening. I also served myself my customary Jameson Irish Whiskey. I'm sat here Enjoying the fuck out of both, as I type this report. The Snus in no way disturbs the taste of the Jameson. And ~ in case ye haven't registered this yet ....? I haven't smoked a fag in FOUR Fucking Hours!!!

I've eaten. I'm drinking alcohol. I'm relaxing and perfectly happy. I have Absolutely No Desire to skin a fag and put it in my mouth! Why the fuck Would I?!

I Don't Believe I just did that! I swear to god; I just hit for the next paragraph. Paused to think what to say next. My right hand lifted up and hovered, uncertainly, over my desk! I was looking for my 'baccy and skins! LMFAO! That's how much of a 'natural' smoker I am! I skin a fag virtually without conscious thought! I'd have skinned one then. Only, I don't actually Fancy one!

My friends and fellow, life long, full on Smokers? All of ye. Addicted or not; This is nothing short of Fucking Revolutionary!!!

I didn't get this stuff to try and kick smoking. I'm quite contentedly resigned to smoking. I Know it'll kill me ~ but, so will much else. I just wanted to try this 'for the craic'. Another novelty. 'Games that men play'.

I'm absolutely fucking astounded at the effect it's having on me! Nothing 'should' make a life long, Heavy Smoker feel this way! It can't be physically possible. Our governments Must know about Snus, obviously. They Beg us, nay; FORCE us to give up smoking ~ or Pay!

So; How come this shit Isn't available in the shops? It's At Least half the price of 'Tobacco', as we know it. It has absolutely Zero effect on those around us, just Looking For a reason to bleat! I don't breath this shit on anyone. It doesn't sting their eyes. It doesn't obscure their view. I don't smell of it.

Fuck me; Unless they want to put their Tongue in my mouth ....?! It's about as bad for our health as yellowy coloured stuff on our sandwiches ~ probably less so, judging by the findings of " The Leitrim Experiment ".

Yet, it's not Allowed to be sold, retail, Anywhere in the EC, except Sweden and Norway. Ye see absolutely No mention of it amongst the plethora of govt. 'Give It Up' sites. No Way is ye GP going to know about it. " Talk to (Fill space with some NHS / Govt Dept) About Giving Up Smoking " ?

No! Fire up ye fucking computer and check out The Northerner. There be the gear. Take ye picks. It's perfectly straightforward and legal to buy it, from them or any other Swedish or Norwegian source, for ye own use. 'Thank You, Brussels!'.

11.35pm. I haven't smoked a fag since 6.00pm. I see no reason to. I feel fine, thanks.

Fuck this; I'm getting me a stock of Snus!

Let's spread the word;

Here's the Revolution!

My Pot Bellied Stove .....

Chuffed as fuck with this, I am!




That's for my kitchen. Just as a place to burn off my paper and cardboard. Cracker, isn't it? Hot Plate covered hole on the top, for filling and fire lighting. Little trap door and vent, in the middle there. Chuck shit straight into the blaze. Then shovel it all out of the hole at the bottom, look.

This is to replace the clapped out old, full sized Range I have out there at the moment. Came with the cottage, that did. Nice. Authentic. (Made by Stanley). Original. But, truthfully? It's fucked with age. It's twice the size I'd need, even if I used it for other than 'Waste Wood' disposal. It needs to go.

This little beauty? No doubt some crap, made in China or Italy. Cost me less than £300. But, it'll serve it's purpose. It'll also stand there, on the three little legs which aren't fitted yet, and save me a ton of room out there.

Be an absolute age before I get it fitted, of course. Still in the shop yet. And now I have to meet the man who I hope will want my old range for scrap. (Things are turning so hard round here, Someone's figured humping scrap metal's worth their while. God knows where to. But, I couldn't get it there)

Then I can strip down and beat apart the old range. Pile it up outside my gate and wait for it to vanish. Then I can call Dean O' in, to collect and fit this fucker for me.

That'll be interesting. Because the range has been fitted in front of the original, 'Walk In' fire place. I wonder? Get the range out of the way. Knock a few bricks back out. Might this lovely little stove fit back into the original alcove, underneath the 'Man Sized' chimney?

Imagine that?! Look the Dogs Bollocks, wouldn't it? Dean knows about these things. Interesting times ahead, no doubt!

The Great 'Halloween' Explore ..... (Pt 2)

If ye've just read the prelude to this? Good for you.

If ye haven't? Why not fuck off back to page one of this entire Blog. Read the Profile and get yeself a clue what goes on around here? This isn't a news paper. Something ye can open where ye fancy and just start reading. Well ..... ye can, I s'pose? But, do that and ye'll miss a Lot. Some great shit back there. Much of it also laying the foundations for what ever might come next.

Anyway; Head lights swept across my window .....

Off we went. Dean O' slyly asking me what footwear I'd brought. I reassuring him that I had my gum boots on. They being more comfortable than my waders. I assumed there'd be some walking to do. And he'd mentioned big vehicle tracks churning the mud about the place too. Weather we've had this year? Regular, overland vehicle movement could form some Seriously deep shit!

On the way, I enthused about my new Pot Bellied Stove. I'd bought it that day. To replace the clapped our Range in the kitchen. Dean was so buoyant that I'd agreed to come, he said he'd pick it up for me and fit it, free of charge. We'll see about That!

On we drove. Sign posts to 'Balligodknows' flashing by. Through villages and towns. Up a little main street. Straight into a fucking Gard, standing there, in the middle of the road, with a flash light! Eh?!

" Have ye ye driving licence, sir? Thankyou. Where ye heading? 'Just up through the next place ye can think of'? Fine. And, who's that in there with ye? 'Ah, Just a friend'? Fine. Ok, sir. Have a good night. "

Thank Fuck he didn't say he had " Ditch Shitter " in the motor with him! That could've led to some closer questioning!

Anyway; Big Night Out, in Eire. 'Halloween'. I guess we might have been a local farmers son, 'borrowed' Dads van and driving it, full of pissed up youngsters, to some party, somewhere. Nice change to see the Garda making themselves 'useful' round here.

Shortly afterwards, we found the gate. " This is it! " Cried Dean O'. " This is where we came ..... in ... ". He sort of tailed off as he took in the fucking great chain and padlock! That hadn't been there before! My self preservation alarm bells started ringing! Time for a bit of caution!

Never mind. There were a few ways into this place. Dean O' wasn't to be beaten yet. We drove on. Down here. Round this side, somewhere, there was another lane in.

And That must be it! See? The cut stone wall? Only a place like a convent would have had those around here. And our convent definitely had them. In we go!

Or not. Steel fucking gate. Load of young cattle behind the fence. Friesian cattle?! WTF?! Listen; Where you are, maybe 'All' cowz are black and white, with fucking great udders slopping about? Around here, we breed Beef cattle. Right mongrels. Any colour ye care to mention, on the outside. Meat inside's all that matters. 'Strange'.

And, what about that fucking great tractor standing there? Nothing at all unusual about that. Weirder Not to have seen one. But, still the sense on unease seemed to step up a little.

Ever onwards. This place did have at least three ways in. And, fuck me! Just look at that Gate House! That's got to be The Main Entrance! The Gate House, built in a style reminiscent of a little chapel. The expensive, fancy looking fencing. The 'religious' (?) looking symbols in the walls?

Yes. And the fuck off great, new and very clear sign blaring, " So and so Dairy. Private Property! Do Not Enter! " Ohhhhh Fuck! And here's Dean' O, driving us straight in there! This outfit owns the whole fucking acreage. They have valuable livestock on it. Their boys get all over it, in four wheel drives.

Few more yards? Another fucking sign: " If You MUST Enter ... Phone ..... " That just about did it for me! Like; They've already warned us not to come down this god forsaken track. Now they're warning us that there's, potentially, some mad old cunt with a shotgun at the other end, nervy as all hell about Anyone who turns up before his fucking phone rings? No Fucking Way!

Still Dean O's creeping forward. Though by now, with me trying to get under the passenger seat and making weird, high pitched squealing sounds ~ bit like a Guinea Pig, actually. Only from the wrong end ~ even He's starting to break a sweat and feel the doubt.

I think it was the last sign we approached that finally broke even Dean's youthful will; " Mad Old Cunt With A Shotgun At The Other End. Ring His Phone, Or Else! " That about did it! We were out of there. Fuck This for a game of intrepid nosers!


As we sped off homewards, it was Dean's phone that rang, as it happens. His mate from Dublin. Calling to ask how it was going. It wasn't going, of course. Mission Aborted and Returning To Base!

Made me laugh; " If that was me, " He'd said, " I'd have gone Straight over that first gate! ". Oh no ye wouldn't, son. Especially after Dean O' had mused that there had been empty 12 Bore cartridges lying about the place!

Fuck That ....!

Lead Up To " The Great 'Halloween' Explore " .....

Yes. I know I'm a bit late in referring back to Saturday night. That's how busy I am. Literally days behind here. Thought I'd get this one in, before it goes by the board, though. And I'm splitting this tale too. Otherwise it'll just seem interminably long and even I'd get bored with writing it. Anyway, it starts long before last weekend.

Weekend or two before that, actually. Dean O' had a fellow 'Urban Explorer' freak up from Dublin and they set out to do a couple of explores. One was an old Workhouse. (I hope to bring ye a taste of that one in the future) The other was an abandoned Convent.

Dean showed me the photo's they took of the convent. Amazing, vast, purpose built structure of stone and concrete. Made about eighty years ago. Abandoned, fuck knows when or why.

But, I could see ~ and quite appreciate ~ Dean O' felt this was unfinished business. Ye see, Dean's, basically, a 'Plumber' by main trade. Loves anything mechanical or what ever. Always concentrates on getting photo's of fuse boxes, dials, valves and gauges. This shit turns his screw.

And that's what was so bugging him about the convent. He'd fairly risked his neck to find a way into the Boiler Room complex beneath the place. Only to find one room flooded. And tantalisingly visible, through an open doorway, across this shallow swimming pool, his photo's showed, were boilery, valvy things. To Dean O', quite fascinating. He wanted to see those too.

And that's why, having not long got in and settled down with my slippers on and thinking only of my dinner, I had Dean on the Messenger. Bugging, cajoling, just about begging me to come out on a 'Scary Explore ..... For Halloween'.

Scary explore, my arse. I knew he had only one thing on His mind. That 'Hidden' Boiler Room! Anyway, what the fuck. If his bloody parents indulged him like I do? He'd be fucking ruined! As were all thoughts of my dinner, and a nice, quiet night in, unwinding.

Truth to tell? I had my fucking gum boots on, long before I put him out of his misery by openly agreeing I'd come! Dogs and eager young men; They should be made to feel they've worked for and earned our favours ;-)

Inside fifteen minutes, headlights swept across my window. I groaned, resignedly, and heaved my tired carcass out of this chair.


Now go back out and see Part 2. If ye interested in how it all went off, that is .....

This Poxy Fucking Weather!!! (Űber Rant!)

I was talking to my sister, last night. She's been away for a month so I'd heard nothing. Last night she told me how they're backing in an immense heat wave?! FFS! I told her to look out for what we're having. Constant, torrential, unbelievable fucking Monsoons!

This may be Eire. But it's fucking July, for chris'sake! Yep. Just glanced out the window right then; It's raining. Not hard ~ not yet! ~ in fact, I could hardly see it at first. But the ground's all soaking wet and, sure enough, as my old eyes focused, I could see the pelting rain drops. They're gathering in strength even as I write this. Here we go Again!

I don't like to moan ~ No. Seriously! ~ but, this is just fucking stupid! I mean, shit like this matters to us, out here in the country. We live by the pulse and rythms of nature. Not because we're some tree hugging, good lifing bunch of wankers keeping chickens we refer to as our 'Girls', and calling vermin " Mr Rat ". We don't. I don't even have any chickens. I call rats a potential job. And what I get up to in the privacy of my own home is nothing to do with you fuckers anyway!

But, we tend to hole up in winter. Winter, out on the bogs, really Is just about down to survival and getting by. We get damn cold. So, we use shit loads of fuel. Days are shorter than hell, so we work like men posessed to just get the everyday chores done. Cleaning out our animals and dragging in stored fuel can amount to a days practical work in those times.

And the winds come. Good ones we may refer to as a " Tin Tester ". Because so much of what we have here is made of 'Tin'. Corrugated Iron is the back bone of rural Co. Leitrim. (Come to think of it? I don't know if Any part of Leitrim isn't rural?!) And those winds, combined with the cold and the rains will sorely test what ever we have. Sheets get lifted. Gutterings buckle. Drains block. Leaks appear. Half of it goes gradually to rat shit as we hunker down and sit it out.

Then the summer comes. Out we all dash, into the bright sunshine. Only, no fucking sun bathing for us! No. Apart from the fact that the fucking Clags (Horse Flies to you) would eat us alive if we tried. There's just no time. See; We have gutterings to fix. Tin sheets to replace. Leaks to sort out. Loads of stuff to repaint. Hay fodder to harvest. Fuel to gather, cut and store, ready for the next round of this never ending battle.

And now ye see why I'm so pissed off? This, basically, constant, unremmiting rain since ..... god knows when it was last Not raining for any appreciable length of time? This rain means we can't get Shit done around here! My gutterings are simply ~ and quite literally ~ breaking down around me. Down pipes are fracturing and bursting open. Horizontals, unable to cope, are over flowing and drenching my walls. Those walls are Desperate for the paint I planned to, now long to, give them. But it's fucking pissing it down here, day and night.

Now; Make my fucking day. Tell me This is " Natural "! I had That shit off Dean O', just the other night. FFS. We were having a sly fag, out the back of the pub and, naturally, the fucking heavens opened. I said something about, " And still the fuckers say Global Climate Change is as normal, recorded and expected as night and day. Well, This shit ain't fucking Normal. Not on the first of fucking July! "

Oh no? Hell, I hit a wrong button there! Dean O', self styled " Man Of Science " just sort of hung his head and went into some weird kind of fucking robotic voiced litany! Some shit like; " It Is natural nothing's wrong it's all been recorded before it's like the Ice Age we've had it before it'll come again there has been global climatic variation since The Big Bang this is all a conspiracy governments are making big money out of all this by telling people it's man caused man can't cause this it's just natural ..... "

I'm just sat there, listening to this shit in open mouthed amazement! The guy's going on like a fucking parrot! Every word so patently obviously learned, by rote, from some fucking web site somewhere. He was actually droning! Didn't have to think what he was saying - god forbid he should. Then maybe he too would realise what unsubstantiated, unsubstantiable, utter shit he was coming out with!

I mean, this is a youngster, less than half my age. By his own free admission, he's not really aware of ever having had a cognative thought during a time when a computer wasn't there in his life. So, he wasn't even Born when it all started to break down. When I remember the wrong birds starting to sing at the wrong times of year, as the wrong plants came into bloom. My mate, 'Man of Science' wasn't even born then. But now he's telling me this is all quite normal? Because a web site told him so?

Uh huh. Like a web site will tell us Lee Harvey Oswald took out JFK. That the Yanks had men walk on the moon, flags 'n all. That scientists ~ just last year, wasn't it? This year even? ~ replicated " The Big Bang ".

Well now; I was told, as a kid, that some cunt called " God ", who was Always there - and don't you Dare question that! - one day decided to make 'Man'. So he made one out of clay. Then he ripped one of his ribs out and turned that into a woman, tits 'n all. Man fucked woman and they had two sons. One son killed the other fucker. Then, one can only imagine, had twos up on Mum and god alone knows who fucked the resultant offspring! Da Daaaa! The whole damn human race is born! Bet I could find a web site purporting That shit to the hilt too! FFS!

No. Ye'll have to forgive my cynicsism here, people. Only I'm just a simple man. I listened to all that 'God' shit and saw it for what is is; A load of bollocks one's supposed to just choke down and live with. No Questions Asked. I see much of what modern " Science " tries to palm off on us in much the same way.

" They recreated The Big Bang. " Says who? The fucking 'Sun' ? And how does the Sun know? Because a guy calling hiself a 'scientist' told them? Sent them photo's of a load of pipes in a huge 'Laboratory' and said that's what they were doing there? Were We around at the time of the first " Big Bang "? No. So, as they weren't either; How the fuck do they know Anything they might have figured they'd did Was anything like a real Big Bang? Bollocks!

Now, it's stopped raining now. But it'll come again. Experience of all this is teaching me that. And it's natural? It's all happened before so shall happen again? Like the Ice Age?

Listen, you cunts; When I look out there and see a herd of Wooley Fucking Mammoths cavorting on the home acre, or maybe a Brontosaurus wallowing in the bog? Maybe then I'll treat the sort of shit our Dean O' puts such faith in with a bit more credance.

Right now, I'm gonna dash out there and grab a quick inventory of how much new guttering I need to buy. Though, fuck knows when I'll get a chance to put it up, without drowning myself!


There. Is there Anyone I haven't upset, in some way, with some part of that? Fuck the lot of ye! The fuck else do ye come here for?!