The Navigator

Best Lines from last weekend

Me: I am THE NAVIGATOR, you must LISTEN TO THE NAVIGATOR
Him: Did you say right, nah - I think left
Me: Grrr
an hour later - and a display of Irish Zen
Him: Ah sure, we'll keep going - we're bound to end up somewhere
Me: Grrrr
Two hours later
Him: Hmmm, I don't think this is actually a road
Me: Grrr rr rrrr

Five hours later and The Navigator is back in control having put her pesky sidekick The Driver firmly in his place.

Him: Wow, you're like a homing pigeon with breasts
Me: !

feckin paddies Part Two

Things I remember from Parade

- The Cold
- Teenagers Carrying Guns - aka the Irish Army
- Helicopter flyover (I've been living in Phibsboro for past six months so this wasn't as exciting as it could be, same can be said of second entry)
- Airplane flyover (very cool)
- Teenagers breathing fire
- munchkins marching
- Teenagers driving tanks, again courtesy of the Irish Army
- more marching munchkins
- Teenagers carrying trombones
and of course
- THE COLD

Surprising how eager those in authority are to give teenagers weapons. Those trombones were particularly nasty.

Feckin' Paddies

St Patricks Day has struck again.
We woke early on Saturday and this unusual event inspired us to ignore my usual rule of thumb (marching and March do not a match make) and with an uncharacteristic display of energy we decided to attend the parade in Limerick city. I lasted an hour and a half.
First the weather suckered us in. When we got into the car at 11.25am the day was cool but shiny. By 11.30am the sky was overcast and ominous.
Second, the parade was supposed to start at 11.30am - and I'm not gonna point any fingers here, you know who you are - but that was time given to me. Actually I should have known better. The day the St Patricks Day parade -anywhere- starts on time, will be the same day that hell freezes over, martians land on earth, genetically engineered pigs fly and the Luas is empty at Heuston at nine o'clock in the morning.
Third, it was so cold, so cold, so cold, so cold, so cold. I swear my joints actually froze my body into a weird plank like position. I had a fixed grimace on my face for about two hours. I terrified little children. Admittedly a bonus, but still.

Anyway all this is leading to the astounding fact that I have a bloody cold, I sound like a man. I was alone in the house yesterday for a while and I began speaking to myself, as you do, and I ended up locking myself in the bathroom until I realised the rasping, deep throated growl was actually coming from my mouth.
Upside of this is that I got to watch daytime television. Dog the Bounty Hunter was on. You can actually watch this with the sound turned off, it's just as good. I personally watch it for the hairstyles.

diddly, iddiddly, dee

I played a fantastic computer game this morning 'Punch a Leprachaun'. Poor things looked so shocked.
Dublin seems slightly insane at the moment and not in a charming rich, eccentric, old - very old uncle type of way. More a frenzied, falling profits, bought loads of cheap crap which can't be offloaded, shopkeeper like insanity. Plus there's people on the street wearing zany hats. I hate 'zany' hats. Just cos it's big, ugly and has false hair stuck on, doesn't mean it has the magical ability to confer a personality on the wearer.
Um, come to think of it my current hat has a bobble and is bright orange. No, its okay, I stand by my words, at least I feel slightly shamed and defiant when I wear mine. Although you know it's bad when you realise your two year niece has developed a fine sense of the ridiculous due to your headwear.
Happy St Patricks Day everyone. May the force be with you. May your knickers be evergreen.

Shake n Vac Metaphors

The Good - The Wedding Officer by Anthony Capella - funny, exciting, sweet- got it all really. Plus the back cover mentions passion at least twice. This doesn't mean that its a bodice ripper, simply that it was set in Italy.
The Bad - Agatha Raisin and The Witch of Wyckhadden - another reason why I should stop buying books based on their titles and/or snazzy covers. Still, at least I didn't buy the one entitled Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death (but I was so close).
The Ugly - The Enquirer and Britney Rehab Heartbreak - actually a little more shameful than ugly, though I pretty sure the magazine had a Who's hot and Who's not list. Still I gotta admit I'm addicted to the soap opera triangle that is Brad/Jolie/Jennifer. Did he write her a love note, did she lose it in a shopping mall, are they all actually the alien mentors of Scientoligistic stars. Why, why do I care? I'm pretty sure its because I stopped watching Sunset Beach. Aaaaah bring back Ben and his evil twin Derek.
Yikes look at the time. Dash for train station...more tomorrow.....

ginger hair gits on trains

or Why men can't sit

I've moved from my little house on the phibsboro, to the wider more open vistas...and i'm loving it. It took me a few nights to get use to the lack of sirens and helicopters - what were the denizens of dublin getting up to - and now but for the rumble of a distant train, there is silence. Granted I'm up before the birds and taking some enforced exercise in the form of 'If you're happy and you know it....' but at long last I can sleep. I no longer feel like I'm living in a grottier version of Gotham city. I can give up on my project of working out how to transform an energy saving lightbulb and a skylight window into an impromptu Bat signal. The jokers are still out there but they can't cross fields.
And I still get to watch Desperate Housewives.
One of the side effects of my move is that I have become a train commuter. Generally I like this, I think Heuston station rocks - it kicks Connolly's ass every time - I can buy hot chocolate in the evenings from the Butlers stand, and in the mornings I get to choose one other commuter to have an imaginary race with to the bus (I win every time).
It would be perfect if it wasn't for the men. The leg spreading, seat hogging, commuter unfriendly men. It isn't enough that he (the ginger haired git) has his own seat, it isn't enough that he (the ginger haired git) is sitting on the outside, it certainly isn't enough that I'm letting him have both armrests. BOTH! It isn't enough but he (the ginger haired git) has to try and take some of my space too. This is a quintessentially male behaviour. I have brothers and a long memory. We went on car journeys. It's like their legs are on bloody springs. As soon as they sit down 'whoosh'. No amount of pushing, shoving, sighing, kicking, moaning would get them to sit tight.

Oh yes, happy International Women's day. Fighting for equal rights and equal seating.