An Explanation of Sorts

2 Nov

Well. Hello there.

(This is awkward.)

I have no idea why anyone would still be checking up on this (clearly and shamefully) abandoned blog, but God bless you, whoever you are. It’s much appreciated and I hope your good karma comes back to you in the forms of sunshine and sparkly things.

I have no real excuse, the simple truth is life got a whole lot busier there for a while and now I’ve attempted a fresh start at the blogging thing. Which is the same as saying I wanted to get back into it but was bored of how mine looked, really…

If you’re at all interested (seriously, though, why would you be?), I hang out at this place now:

Drop by any time! And thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! 🙂


Plinky and the Brain

14 Jul

Today, I encountered an interesting phenomenon named Plinky.

Plinky wants to be my friend. Plinky tells me that it will make my writer’s block go away and make it easy for me to

“create inspired content”.

Wow, thanks Plinky. Are you trying to tell me something about my current “content”? Why not just tell me I’m fat while you’re at it.


Plinky is insatiably curious about my thoughts and feelings on just about everything. To be honest, Plinky is a bit nosey for my liking. Not to mention a tad pushy.

“No Plinky account? Sign up!”

“Sign up below to get started!”

“To answer the prompt below, you’ll need a Plinky account.”

“Please give me your email address! Pleeeeeease!”

Jeez, Plinky. Have some self-respect, would ya? You’re embarrassing yourself.

In spite of all this, I think I kind of like Plinky. I suspect this is mostly because it is fun to say and also it sounds very like Pinky, which brings back some very pleasant childhood memories of Saturday mornings plonked in front of the telly.

“Whaddaya wanna do tonight, Brain?”

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky.


Obscure, you say? Pure brilliance, I say.

I’m playing hard to get. Well, kind of.

I didn’t give Plinky my email address. But I did spend a few minutes contemplating Plinky’s question of the day:

“What’s your favourite quote, and why?”

Well, Plinky. Interesting question. So many sources to choose from: literature, film, music, family (see below), friends, bloggers, civil rights activists, dumb-ass celebrities, crappy posters, crappier t-shirts…

Too many, in fact. I’ve changed my mind, it’s not an interesting question, it’s a stupid question that involves too much brain-racking on my part. What’s YOUR favourite quote, hmmm Plinky? Bit of a one-sided relationship, this.

At that moment, my attention was momentarily diverted as I noticed that someone nearby was watching Shaun of the Dead. Just as I turned to look, Pegg and Frost uttered the immortal lines:

Pegg: You want anythin in the shop?”


Frost: Corne’o [Cornetto].”

Bam, favourite quote. At least, at this moment in time it is. Do I really need a reason? I didn’t think so.

How’s that for inspired, Plinky? Smart-arse.

P.S. Shockingly, I could not find this clip isolated anywhere on YouTube. So the best I can do is give you the trailer and implore you to see the whole film in all it’s awesome-ness if you haven’t done so already.

Here is another great Nick Frost clip, for the craic.

Funny ’cause it’s true!

I Don’t Speak Culchie…But It’s Damn Entertaining To Listen

12 Jul

I recently attended an aunt’s birthday party that doubled up as a general family reunion.

You know, one of those events where you recognise roughly 35% of the people in attendance and everyone sits outdoors around a patio heater (regardless of gale force winds) and drinks solidly for approximately 14 hours while an army of children, loaded with carbonated sugary beverages, swarms about making as much noise as possible?


Maybe that’s just my family.


Anyway, there were some choice quotes throughout the day. Unfortunately, due in equal part to the considerable volume of alcohol consumed and the absence of my laptop and even my notebook, most have been lost forever. However, I don’t think I could ever forget any of the following conversations:

In reference to a patio heater:

“Ya could burn rubbish and young fellas and all sorts in that thing.”

(Uttered with no apparent ill-will towards any young fellow in particular.)

In casual conversation:

Do ya know black Joey down in Letterfrack?”

(In fairness there are probably many Joeys and relatively few black people in Letterfrack.)

My 20-year-old cousin’s career plan:

“I’m thinkin of makin coffins. There’s only one fella does them round here and I reckon I could do them cheaper.”

(Simple but brilliant. I am in awe.)

Conversation between a small child and his mother:

“Mam, can we get a hamster?”

No lovey, those are too expensive. They cost, ahem, €150.

“No they don’t Mam, I saw one for €10.”

“That one was dead, lovey.”

(Uttered with such unflinching sincerity that even I believed her for a minute.)


Because Sometimes It’s Fun to be a Positive Polly

11 Jul

So…apparently this is what a shamefully neglected blog looks like…

**Moving swiftly on…**

I have noticed that most of my (admittedly few) posts have fallen into the categories of Moans and Rants. With this in mind, here is a post devoted to

Great and Lovely Things

that have crossed my path in recent times:

His and Hers

Go and see it. Don’t ask too many questions, because the more I try to tell you how awesome a documentary about the ladies of the Irish Midlands is, the less you’ll believe me. Just take a chance, I promise you won’t regret it. However, beware that if you fail to shed a tear, I will forever believe that you, like my good pal Bert, are made of stone.

(Yeah, that’s right, Bert. Your pseudonym is Bert. You know why. Before you complain, think how much worse it could have been.)


So yes, His and Hers = fantastic. Also, if you happen to have a student card and be in Dublin on a Monday, you can see it in the Screen on D’olier Street for €5. Score!

A lil taste…

Inception Anticipation

(Inceptipation? Nah, sounds like an unpleasant medical procedure)

Continuing in a film-ish vein…

I’m not even gonna bother posting a trailer because if you’ve managed to stumble across a blog as obscure as this one, there’s no way you haven’t picked up on the hype for this movie. Hype for which I have abandoned my snobbish indie tendencies and thrown myself wholeheartedly into. Why, you may ask? Three excellent reasons:

Before I feel compelled to rename this blog, I would like to re-affirm that each of these beautiful gentlemen is a ridiculously talented actor and has an excellent track record of being in deadly films. Having said that, I’m fairly certain the film will disappoint, but for the moment I’m having a grand aul time being excited about it.

Tim Minchin

Isn’t he just wonderful? Thoroughly enjoyed his presence on the Jonathan Ross show recently, despite the enormous drag factor of…well, Jonathan Ross. Who else would begin an interview with the big ball of charming genius that is Minchin by talking about the weather? Sigh.

But then the Four Poofs gave him a go of their Piano and it was all good.

The Temper Trap

Got their album Conditions in the post the other day (yes, I buy CDs) and its just great. I’ve heard complaints that the songs all sound too similar – that’s okay by me as they all sound great. Okay, so Sweet Disposition has been used to advertise every product in existence over the past few months, but don’t hold that against them. Sure have an aul link to Love Lostit makes me smile!

(Whether this is despite or because of the misery of the subjects of the video, I am uncertain. Either way – greah song.)


In a truly drastic attempt to counteract some of my unhealthier habits and fill up some of my unemployed time, I have taken to a cross-country machine twice a day. To my complete surprise, I can now walk moderate distances without my lungs shrivelling up into painful balls of fire. I also feel generally more awake and alert for longer periods of time. Do people know about this amazing phenomenon? Someone should write a book about it or something.


Who the hell knows how I’m going to pay for it. But its happening! On August 10th, myself and at least three of my favourite people will be on a plane to Berlin to begin our interrail adventure.


I am awfully pleased and excited about this but will restrain myself at this point as it will most likely be the subject of many future posts. I will also attempt to forget for the moment that due to various constraints (collectively known as reality) I will have to return home after a measly two weeks. Ah well, better than a slap in the face, as my dear aul Ma would say.

And last, but most definitely not least…


Yes, you. God only knows what inspired you to take time out of your busy and fascinating life to read this, but you are both Great and Lovely for doing so.


My Kryptonite

18 Jun

Allow me to introduce my arch-nemesis.

Yes, that is correct. I am plagued by spiky, scary-looking balls of mysterious composition.

Irritant, bastarding, invisible specks.



Its that time of year again. If you are one of those blessed individuals who does not and has never suffered from hayfever,

(or seasonal allergic rhinitis – my dramatic soul enjoys the more serious-sounding title)

be thankful.

Also, if you tell me that rubbing my eyes isn’t going to make them stop itching, I may very well punch you in the face.

If, like me, you are reading this through puffy, itchy eyes while sneezing approximately twelve times per minute – well, let’s just take a moment to feel sorry for ourselves, shall we?

Six Things I Hate About Hayfever

(in no particular order)

1. Itchy Eyes

Agh. Agh. AAAAGGGH. There is nothing like it. Constant and relentless. Try as you might, you WILL rub them. Just a little, you think. Just one teensy rub will definitely relieve this torture.


Just over halfway through June and already I have constantly swollen and bloodshot old-lady eyes.

2. Timing is Everything

We all know that the sun only ever shines in Ireland during exam season. This coincides nicely with Mr Hayfever, who shows up and unpacks his bags on June 1st and makes himself at home for the ensuing four to five weeks. For this time I am obliged to hide my puffy miserable face away indoors while everyone else goes to the beach and eats lots of ice cream. This feels similar to being allergic to presents at Christmas. By the time I emerge in early to mid July, the sun has taken his business elsewhere and everyone is settling into another eleven-month Rainy Season.

3. Sneezing

Teach me your ways, Demetri

To quote the fabulous Demetri Martin in his masterful song, “Sames and Opposites”:

“Earrings are the same as sneezes: two is okay, but ten in a row is annoying.”

I don’t have particularly strong feelings on multiple piercings.

Constant sneezing is very annoying though.

4. Cosmetic Crises

Okay, this is a bit of a girly one. But I’ll admit it: I love my eyeliner. And my eyeshadow. And my mascara.  And I hate hate HATE that for the month of June I’m forced to either just stop wearing it, or accept that at some point during the day/night it will end up smeared all over the top half of my puffy, inflamed face. This may be very amusing to my friends and family, but it is very upsetting for me and very frightening for small children.

5. I’m Not Contagious, I Swear!

I don’t blame them. I’ve probably done it myself. But I can feel people silently taking note of my sneeze-attacks and constant nose-blowing and trying to shuffle quietly away from me in order to avoid being infected with whatever pathogens I’m harbouring. It’s like (an extremely mild) form of leprosy.

6. Unpleasant Remedies

The only thing that comes close to easing my symptoms (for a little while at least) is a nasal spray that tastes like liquid grass when it hits the back of my throat. Eeeeww. Also, spraying mysterious liquids into one’s nose is generally not regarded as socially acceptable behaviour; so if a private place is not immediately available, emergency administration inevitably increases my leper-like status (see above).

So, to sum up…



A Wasted Day

11 Jun

Oh dear.

Ever had one of those days? You know, where you feel that if you were to look back over your life, right before you died, you’d come to this day and think,

“What a total waste. I can’t believe I frittered away all those hours on absolutely nothing.”

One of those days where it feels like you’ve got no places to go or people to see.

I’ve had plenty of days where I haven’t achieved anything in particular but have felt satisfied that I’ve used my time well, whether it was just being with someone special, or doing something I enjoy, or taking a break from something that’s been stressing me out.

But days like today…nothing excites me. I drift around my house, looking for things to do, then looking for reasons not

to do them. I’m not motivated enough to follow through with anything I start and leave a trail of half-finished projects behind. I seem to be incapable of creating anything worth sharing or doing anything worth doing. I find myself wandering Facebook aimlessly and suddenly, an hour later, I’m checking out the holiday photos of some friend of an acquaintance, who would undoubtedly be unimpressed by my creeping.

Staying in is dull, going out is hassle.

I try to remind myself on days like these that the number of hours I have to live is in fact finite, and I’m wasting precious, precious time. It makes me feel angry at myself and also vaguely guilty. And yet nothing seems strong enough to snap me out of it. The worst part is, I know that when this spell of unemployment comes to an end (and it must…eventually…right??), I’ll be longing for days like this, full of free time that I can use to do anything I want…and yet today, I can’t think of anything I want to do.

Before anyone writes me off as a spoilt brat who needs to be entertained 24/7, I’d like to assert that thankfully, these days are pretty rare. Although I’m currently in the midst of my longest period of time (6 weeks – feels like so much longer!) not in full-time employment or education since the summer I was fourteen, up until now I haven’t had trouble filling my days.

Maybe because when I was growing up, the word “bored” was illegal in our house, I’ve always been able to think of ways to amuse myself. Also, being pretty poor at sports and a more-awkward-than-most teenager meant that I’ve always opted for pretty solitary leisure pursuits. So, asides from spending long hours drafting and re-drafting CVs and cover letters for every job imaginable, I’ve kept myself occupied by:

  • Reading books I’d been meaning for ages to read (Catch 22 is mind-blowing, The Talented Mr Ripley ain’t too shabby either)
  • Re-learning to play the piano (ever so much more satisfying when there isn’t a hatchet faced woman sitting next to you rapping your knuckles with a little stick)

  • Re-attempting to teach myself guitar (My Lovely Horse is trickier than it appears; however, I’m comforted by the belief that any little plucking or strumming inaccuracies are covered up by my loud singing)
  • Lunching, picnicking and generally hanging out with sound people (although the number of such people who are as unemployed as me is sadly dwindling)
  • Refining some of my scribblings from the past few years and attempting to put them together to form something a bit more substantial (sure we’ll see how that goes)

    Where have they been all my life?

  • Discovering wonderful films and television about a million years after the hype has died (Flight of the Conchords? Yes please.)
  • Walking around Dublin (and occasionally sitting in cafés and eavesdropping – clichéd but true…and fun!)
  • Pottering about the kitchen and doing the odd bit of laundry so that my family are in awe of my domestic goddess-ness (yeah, they’re definitely in awe, I’m sure of it)
  • Sifting through four years worth of handouts, journal articles, assignments and God knows what other paperwork I accumulated in college and attempting to impose some semblance of order
  • Image courtesy of

    Tending to my sunflowers (they live on my kitchen windowsill and take up more time than you’d think; the day they bloom I’m going to have a party)

  • And of course, discovering the endless entertainment and education to be gained from reading (and occasionally writing) lovely blogs.

Sadly, none of the above pursuits were enough to engage me today. Personally, I blame my Dad for making me lunch at 11:30 before I had even eaten breakfast and thereby upsetting my whole sense of routine. God, what a thoughtless bastard.

Ah well. There’s always tomorrow. 😉

An Ode to Supermacs

30 May

(Dedicated to a friend who understands.)

O hallowed house of the greasy chicken snack box,

You haunt my dreams.

One reckless visit in Oughterard (its really a place)

And now I can no longer walk my city’s streets

Without fear of the fumes that waft from your premises,

Inducing cravings for your delectable products.

I once thought that you were only for culchies – fool that I was!

I laughed at them, flocking to your door

Past McDonalds and Burger King and other (cheaper) options,

Now I laugh no more, but salivate,

And long for the day when I have €7

And can buy another snack box meal.