Dream Job Quiet enough now today all the same.  Terrible close.  I probably didn’t need the tweed jacket and the geansai.  Minibus full of of throat singers in from Thurles after lunch on Monday.  Ate me out of house and home and finished off the pound cake.  I’ll have to do a big shop at the co-op.

I have a two young couples from Dublin staying down below in the holiday home for a fortnight  The rang that the telly was on the blink and wouldn’t play DVDs so I went over to fix it. I unplugged it all and plugged it back in and the damn thing wouldn’t work at all then.  And Ambrose away all this week!  So, now the little black and white from the bedroom is on top of the telly and plugged into the satellite and that seems to be sort of working.  No idea how Ambrose set the fecking thing up at all!

Anyway they seemed like a nice enough crowd until they started in asking for a second sponge for the sink.  I told them in no uncertain terms: one sponge and one J-cloth.  Just to keep things civilized.  The last time I left out two sponges we had terrible trouble – ended up with a commune of tantric psychedelia for two months – all sorts of going on and the lot of them wandering around naked at all hours with the curtains wide open.  Couldn’t be giving them a second sponge, would leads to all sorts of trouble.  One sponge and one J-cloth should be enough for anyone.  Any more just leads to all sorts of perversions.

Dream Job

Quiet enough few days all the same.  Busload of banjo players from Stockholm on Tuesday and every single one of them in the shop looking for Hula Hoops and Ribera.  Have ye never heard of Kit Kats, says I.  Stared at me like I had two heads.  Strangest thing.  Some fellah from Cape Town drove up on Thursday and wanted to shoot a movie about Cornish mobsters in exchange for backend action figure sales or something.  I told he’d have to write to the Arts Council.  That softened his cough for him!  Got a Cease and Desist letter that afternoon from some manufacturing crowd in Sweden called Ĥoøldgründgren Hüuts telling me I can’t use the “Disruptive Innovation in the pre-fab hut space” tag any more, that it’s theirs.  I talked to Tony Squires in town and he says they are chancing their arm and to not even reply.  He said his niece in Sligo bought one of their ready-to-assemble huts to keep the lawn mower in and the thing rotted away into blue goop after two months.  She wrote to them for a refund and they told her she should have bought the Roøtprøøffïng Kïð and the guarantee was voided.

Dream JobQuiet enough today, all the same.  Two Yanks in a puce-coloured Range Rover looking for Zero Zero L.A.  What? says I.  ZERO ZERO L A says the wife all slow and loud like I’m dense.  Then the husband repeats it.  (They both keep calling each other Whitney for some reason.)  Show it to me on the map, says I.  Of course they have no map and he hands me a phone the size of a portable telly with a map up on it.  There! says he.  Oola? says I.  You want to go to Oola?  Well you’re way off the mark.  How did you end up here?  We were following the GPS, says she.  That’s do it, says I.  Anyway I put them on the right road.

The young fellah of the Deasys came out in the afternoon to take a look at the septic tank.  Told me he’d just been in the Canaries on holidays.  Couldn’t get over how few canaries there were.  Never candidates for the astrophysics the Deasys.  Nice people though.

Dream Job

Quiet enough over the weekend all the same now, mind you. A couple of Moroccan birdwatchers on bikes and a busload of camogie players from Crossmaglen again curiously enough. I never thought of Crossmaglen as a camogie kind of town.  Nice bunch and it looks like they left a six pack of toilet tolls in the Ladies though one of the did write Up Tipp on the back on one of the doors.  I’ll get Ambrose to clean that when he gets back from Lourdes.

New fellah from the coop delivered the kit kats and left them at the door sitting in the sun so I have to discount them.  Feckin eejit!  Con Tim Pat Sullivan from out the road dropped in and asked me if he could count on my vote for county council.  Started his own party he has: The Ogham Party.  Has little badges and all. Got them made on rhe internet. Sure I might start me own party says I.  He laughed but I don’t think he saw the humour of it.  Apparently he is running on rhe pothole issue: he wants to install new ones cos the tourists are driving too fast and missing the natural beauty. More like missing the sign for his pick your own strawberries ripoff.  Of course I said nothing.  He’d never forgive me.  Always great ones for a grudge, them same Sullivans from out the road.

Dream Job

 would you look at that!  Amazing how time flies.  Sorry I have been out of touch this last while.  Me phone broke and I had to get one of them new smart phones, guthán phóca cliste, as Gabriel calls them.  Anyway sure I did and Ambrose helps me put Facebook on it and sure haven’t I spent the last ten months on it doing nothing else.  Anyway so finally caught up reading all the Roddy Doyle posts about the two gougers in Dublin so I’m back. Quiet enough now mind you today.   A couple from New Zealand in a rented car that looked like it had the worse of a close encounter with a stone wall: they were lost and looking for Sneem.  Then we had a busload of rugby players from Crossmaglen who ate every Kit Kat in the place and stole all the toilet paper from the Mens.  I’ll have to go to Lidl for more tomorrow.  Can’t go today cos I rode the bike here.  I’ll get more Kit Kats while I’m at it.

martello tower sandycoveThe Definitive Indefinite Article is proud to present this year’s installment in their 10,000-year project to broadcast the entirety of James Joyce’s Ulysses at a staggering rate of 140 characters per year.

Admittedly, this year’s gobbet does not move things along very much but does give the reader something to ponder over the next twelve months.  Here ye are now:

Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpu

 

Dream Job

Quiet enough now today.  Some Danish fellah got his motorbike stuck in the cow gate somehow.  Cross as two sticks he was.

Do you know what I’m only after discovering?  The whole summer I was taking pictures and writing posts about Cidney and Ambrose and the Comiskeys back from Australia for their holidays and all Cidney’s friends in their house share in the Hamptons  and all that and I was saving them all in the drafts folder and no one ever saw them?   Isn’t that gas all the same?  maybe I’ll make an album of the photos.  They have that yoke that does it at the Euro Spar in town.  Make a lovely souvenir for Cidney so it would.  Ambrose could post it to her.  Besotted so he is, the poor unfortunate little gobshite.

The Cliff Experience Reception Experience (Disruptive Innovation in the Prefab Hut Space)