Archive for January, 2009

Cool chairs

One of these days I will have a place big enough to house random, funky and cool chairs. Pride of place however will have to go to my future rocking chair. There is something supremely comforting in the predictable, simple rocking movement of the chair, moving only as gently or as quickly as you want it to.
It will have big comfy cushions and maybe a knitted throw for snuggliness and comfort.
Nothing fancy or new age, just a simple rocking chair.
Rocking chair
Of course I will need something big and comfy to curl up in on a cold winters evening with a book so what else is there on offer?

Hmm has the book space but doesn’t look very comfy.

Hand chair
Those hands look way too distracting.

walking chair
Admittedly cute but not for reading on.

brown chair
Mmm nice but it doesn’t look very supportive…I might fall off!

I think this is it…it has everything…lying back position to read in, speakers for music, screen for dvds. THIS chair I would never get out of.
Cool chair

Now I just need a house big enough to fit it and my rocking chair ๐Ÿ™‚

Chair photos taken from here


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Scary times

A comment posted by Holemaster earlier about a little old lady in his neighbourhood who still drives around on an old Triumph, prompted me to post this story about The Granny. It’s an an incident which occurred in May of last year, which was emblazoned on my mind for quite a while and which my mind seems to have forgotten mostly, so I had to go back to where I had documented all that had happened.

This weekend I went to Kilkenny and Waterford with my grandmother. I was hoping to drive as she had mentioned that to me when she asked me to go with her. What I forgot was that she can be a sly old boot and that she is THE worst driver in the world. Without exception.

So Saturday morning she picked me up in torrential rain. By the time I got out to the car, she was already safely settled out of the rain in the driver’s seat, so I thought I won’t make her get out in the rain, we’ll make a start and I’ll get her to pull in somewhere along the way and we can swap. Fine. So off we went. It took us 3 and a half hours to do a journey most people would do in 2. In fairness we stopped for a coffee on the way for 20-30 minutes. Apart from driving appallingly slowly (sometimes as fast as 20mph :shock:), her driving was ok.
We had a lovely day at her sisters house, I met my grand aunt and some second cousins for the first time and they were all lovely, we ate lots and generally had a nice, civilised evening.
Sunday we had dinner in one of the cousin’s houses in Waterford and then headed home. At 8pm. I’m not sure if it was as a punishment for not staying an extra night (I said I wanted to go home since I had barely planned to stay one night, let alone two) or punishment for telling everyone I was driving her home, or just to save face but she wouldn’t let me drive home. And that’s where it all started to go horribly wrong.

It was 8pm. She was tired. She can’t follow road signs (“sure how can anyone read those yokes?” – big blue signs on the M50!) so I was navigating the whole way down and back, basically driving every inch of the road with her.
She doesn’t really ‘get’ roundabouts so goes very slowly around them almost coming to a complete stop at every exit even though I’d told her we were going right.
She doesn’t really ‘get’ lanes on dual carriageways or motorways either.
Mirrors? What would I be looking in them for?
Indicators are used sporadically.

Numerous times I had to let a roar at her that we were too close to the kerb (I almost grabbed the wheel off her at one stage), too close to the verge (we hit a rock on a gravel verge at another point), to stop weaving between lanes, NOT to stop in the middle of a motorway just because she almost took the wrong exit and to please change lanes because she was driving on the wrong side of the road ๐Ÿ˜ฏ

To top it all off, when she dropped me home to my house, I was standing in the open passenger door talking to her, telling her to try not to get herself killed on the way home when she decided she was done with me and took off in reverse. With me still in the open passenger door. So I slammed it before it hit me and left her to it.

I swore to myself and to others afterward that I will never, ever get in a car with her behind the wheel again and so far I haven’t, though I have driven her in her own car on a few occasions.

I had forgotten just how bad it really was until I re-read this. What I do remember is shouting at her when we were almost home and she was driving down the wrong side of the street, that she ‘wouldn’t be happy til she had the pair of us going home in a box’!! Eeek!

So Holemaster, keep a sharp eye out for old ladies behind wheels and handle bars ๐Ÿ˜€

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Sunday Smiles :)

More from the Baileys book of Simple Pleasures.


Ooh I do love to warm my bum in front of an open fire or on the rad when it’s nippy out ๐Ÿ™‚


This seems to be a comfort thing for youngsters though many keep it on into adulthood. Hell, my 28 year old brother still does it absent-mindedly!

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The Granny

No Grannymar, it’s not about you, you’ll be glad to know ๐Ÿ™‚

It’s funny how easily we can forget that the older generation may not necessarily know more than we do about life – certain parts of life anyway, for sure.

Last night I paid a visit with my sister to my grandmother, heretofore referred to as The Granny.
The Granny is a funny old lady. She would certainly object to being called ‘old’ but she’s not here and not likely to read it so what the hey… ๐Ÿ˜€ She used to tell people that we were her nieces and nephews because she thought she was too young to be a grandmother. In fairness to her she was only 47 when I was born, but was probably well into her fifties by the time she was telling porkies about us and where we came from…
While in her house last night my sister picked up a copy of the RTE Guide to have a flick through and came across an article about an Irish t.v. personality. I’m afraid to mention his name due to what comes next-I don’t want to be sued for slander, lol!
Sister asks did we know that this person was gay? I said no, had never heard that but am not hugely surprised.
The Granny straight away…”What? Who? What are you talking about?” She’s getting a bit deaf or uses selective hearing, we haven’t decided which yet. She was also bet into the t.v. waiting for Desperate Housewives even though it wasn’t on for another twenty minutes. On another channel.

Sis repeats herself to exclamations of ‘He is NOT, sure he has two kids and such-and-such a daughter of his just graduated from Trinity last year”
We try to explain that this, in itself, is not proof of anything.
“Sure he was married!”
But is he married now? No. Separated apparently. Uh-huh…another tell tale sign. Maybe.
She then comes up trumps with the best explanation she could think of…bearing in mind that she is trying to be very ‘modern’ without quite knowing what she’s talking about.

“Sure he’s probably a tranny” says she. Myself and the sister, falling about laughing, try hard to explain to a clueless grandmother the huge difference between a transvestite and a bisexual.

Fun times ๐Ÿ˜€

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Put an ad on Gumtree offering a cash reward to anyone who will pretend to be your new girlfriend.



I wonder how effective it is?

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Sunday Smiles :)

At Christmas I received an unexpected gift in the post, a book from Baileys which they had sent to their members of the Baileys Lounge.


It’s a collection of answers on postcards from Baileys Lounge members in response to the question

What is a simple pleasure?

According to the introduction in the book:

At the time we had no idea how many people would take part, and could hardly believe our eyes when we were inundated with thousands of mini masterpieces. We felt we just had to share them with the world. So here it is, a little book full of simple pleasures.

Here are some of my favourites from the book and I’ll share some more with you over the next few Sundays ๐Ÿ™‚



My favourite from the whole book:

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An epic, shaky start. A year ago to the day, 17th January 2008.

So picture the scene…Daisy is heading off on a holiday of a lifetime, all on her ownio, to the far side of the world, first stop Brisbane, Australia. She has left her job of almost eight years, she has put off packing til that very morning and then in a panic tried to fit everything into her newly purchased backpack. Fails and has to be helped by helpful and lovely friend and housemate, D.

The time comes and Daddy Daisy comes to pick me up along with friend D. who wants to wave me off at the airport. Another friend, L. has decided to also meet me at the airport and wave me off. I head to the basement of Dublin Airport to the Aer Lingus check-in area for London Heathrow (LHR). Earlier in the day there had been a story in the news about the BA flight which had skidded off the end of the runway that morning, holding up many of the flights. My flight was delayed by several hours but the kindly lady at the check-in desk noted that I had an onward flight to Singapore (SIN) and a third flight to Brisbane (BNE) and put me onto an earlier flight which originally should have been leaving that morning but which had also been delayed due to the ‘incident’ at LHR. caramel-macchiato

Thanking her and my lucky stars, I headed off with D. and L. to Starbucks upstairs for a final round of caramel macchiatos before I departed for nine whole weeks. We drank coffee, we chatted, I stayed a little longer than I should have but I was to board at 3.30pm and left Starbucks at 3.25pm. After goodbyes were said and I went through security, I raced to my gate to see that the flight was still being listed on the screen at the designated gate so I sat down and waited. And waited. And waited. I was busy receiving phonecalls from D. and L. on their way home making sure I was okay (bless!) and reading my magazine and some time had passed before I realised that I was the only person sitting at that gate. I got up to check the number on the screen and PANIC it was no longer my flight number!

Cue a frantic race around that circle of gates looking for an Aer Lingus staff member, any staff member…on my second lap I spotted someone just in from boarding a flight in the rain in her high-vis jacket. Panting and embarrassed, I explained that I had missed their numerous pages for me as I was on the land-side of the airport sipping a caramel macchiato, as opposed to air-side and they don’t make the announcements land-side. The flight was gone, without me. And without my luggage which had been offloaded. Screaming
I was sent down to the baggage hall to reclaim my bag and in a perfect moment of dejรก vรบ, back to the same check-in area, where once again I had to explain myself, red-faced. So I was put back on my original flight which was now delayed to 5pm and was warned by the ground attendant checking me in ‘not to miss this one!’ Suitably chastised, I headed straight for the gate and refused to move myself until boarding. Which was delayed and delayed until about 7pm.

My planned day of swanning about LHR, shopping and sipping lattรฉs was ruined. It’s not quite the same in Dublin Airport when all you have is a tiny O’Briens counter, a manky cafรฉ and a Hughes & Hughes shop.

Eventually I was airborne, headed for LHR and somewhat happy that I would have enough time to switch terminals and catch my next flight. When we landed in LHR we could not go straight to the gate as, due to the earlier ‘incident’, there were now queues of flights waiting to dock. As I sat looking out the window at the pouring rain in the dark, stranded on a runway at LHR and watching the minutes tick by, I thought, “What the hell am I doing? What the HELL? How did I get here, what am I doing??” It was a little surreal after all the shenanigans of the day. By the time we actually got to the gate, I had about forty minutes to get from Aer Lingus at Terminal 1 to Singapore Airlines at Terminal 3. Normally they tell you to give yourself 90 minutes. Yikes! I ran, I sprinted, I panted, I dodged people, I leaped over bags – I didn’t think I had it in me! But I made it and I think I was the first person to board the Singapore Airlines flight after the First and Business Class passengers.

It was my first step towards a journey into completely new territory…an admittedly shaky start but it could only get better. Right?

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