Arts and Entertainment

Dream JobWarm enough today now all the same.  Got very close in the afternoon.  I had to take the cardigan off.  Busy enough, mind you.  Busload of young banjo players from Carrick-on-Suir and then, would you believe it, five minutes later, a busload of accordion-players from Carrick-on-Shannon and then a busload of Melodion players from Sikinos.  The racket they made!  Marvelous version of Por Aul Dicey Riley they all did!  Gave them a great appetite all the same.  The only things left in the shop when they were gone were two chamomile and gooseberry teabags and a Club Milk that looked like someone had slept on it.  I’ll have to do a big shop in the morning now to restock.

Ambrose has taken this whole “Futurizing the now building a better tomorrow today!” thing very seriously.  He comes up to me after they’ve all gone.  Says he has a venture for us.   Do you now? says I.  I do, says he, Celbridge Analytica, he announces, and holds up this piece of headed stationery.  What’s that? says I. a sex toy shop? I couldn’t be having any truck with the likes of that!  No, no, says he.  Data mining, says he.  What, like with computers and internets and the like? says I.  Not at all, this is artesenal, says he.  Go on so, says I.  Well, says he, we follow people around the Spar and see what they buy and what they pick up but don’t end up buying and then we put flyers through their letterboxes depending on what we notice.  Isn’t that a bit creepy? says I.  Àh sure they’re all living out loud in this town these days you have to get with it, says he.  You have to thrive to survive, says he.

So Ambrose will be in the Spar all week following people around and I’ll be one me own here in the hut.  good thing the weather will be miserable.  We shouldn’t be too busy.


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.

Dream Job

 Terrible pleased altogether to be asked to host this year’s Bloomsday Twiterature, The Definitive Indefinite Article’s 10,000-year project to broadcast the entire of Ulysses 140-characters per year.  I even borrowed Tony Balfe’s drape from when he was in the Showaddywaddy cover band – closest thing I could find to Edwardian garb at short notice.  Anyway.   Last year’s Twiterature was a huge success.  It is nice to get away from the box and watching the Copa America and the Euros and it was great to give the new intern Cidney something to do to go into town and get a copy of Ulysses and keep her out of me hair for a while.  Jaysus she has me driven up the wall complaining about not being able to get Hamptons Houseshare Hell on the telly below at the house or something but that is a whole other day’s work.

martello tower sandycoveSo without further ado, as the many says, I give you Bloomsday Twiterature 2016, a genuine cliffhanger, if I may say so.

then covered the bowl smartly. Back to barracks! he said sternly. He added in a preacher’s tone: For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine

Dream Job

 Quiet enough today.  Strange thing happens just after lunch though.  The young lad of the Hartigans appears out of nowhere tapping at my little window.  I slide it open.

“What’s the flamenco singer’s phone number?” he shouts at me.

“What flamenco singer?  What’re you talking about?” says I.

“What’s the flamenco singer’s phone number?” he says again, beaming at me like a Cheshire cat.

“I have no idea,” says I.

“90 90 9090 90 90 9090 90 90 90909,” he says, bursts out laughing and is off across the field before I can get any sense out of him.

Peculiar young fellah.  Harmless, mind you.  I must ask Seamus Deasy about it.  His daughter was an au pair in Malaga or somewhere.  He might know.


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

Dream Job

Here on me own today.  Greta went to visit her sister in Sneem.  So I’m over and back to the open the coffee shop every other minute and we’re out of Kit Kats again. Ambrose was supposed to get them last Thursday.

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

Dream JobQuiet day at the job. Two young wans throwing choc ices at each other in the car park around lunchtime but otherwise uneventful.

Lest there be any accusations of frivolity, here is the Definitive Indefinite Article’s contribution to the flood of images on autumnal foliage that have, well, flooded social media outlets recently.

Foliage likeit used to look in the good old days.

Foliage likeit used to look in the good old days.


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