Sunday at chapters in Parnell Street,

A reading organised by Seven Towers to celebrate Gay Pride

So, I like bookshops, and I like poetry readings, naturally I jumped at the chance to attend a poetry reading in a bookshop. (And yes - I bought a poetry book, but a poetry book doesn't count towards the dreaded stack of the still unread.) I went along mainly because I know Liam Aungier from my increasingly famous and talented writing group, and he was reading.

Raven kicked off proceedings. He'd arrived in fresh off the bike, complete with the helmet. A San Franciscan by birth, he's been in Dubland 8 years but hasn't really lost his home accent. His sheets were crumpled - he explained he'd normally know his stuff off - so his eyecontact wouldn't be as good as usual. The words were special though. I daren't try to quote them here, but there were definitely one or two spine tinglers among the images. Next up was Steven Conway, Phantom DJ, and one time pirate aboard Radio Caroline (otherwise known as "the boat that rocked" recently immortalised by Jack Black). He read a really moving piece from his book about the experience, got a really strong sense of the friendship and adventure on board, and the yearning we all have for some secret beautiful moment that we'll carry inside forever, feckin great. Then came the poet I'm proud to know - Liam Aungier. He read some really beautiful poems on the subjects of love and longing, I'm a big fan of his poems anyway, and really loved the chance to hear some new pieces (to me). He has kindly given me permission to let you all have a read of his poem "The Willow Tree" - see below, which has recently been chased for inclusion in a children's text book.

Next up was Oran Ryan with an excerpt from his book "10 short novels by Arthur Kruger" a really fascinating concept I thought, and the piece he read was great, a marvellous flight of fancy through death and out the other side, one I'm definitely getting once I've cleared the dreaded pile of the unread.

Finished off with Mike Igoe. I'd seen him once before at his open mic night in the Feile Bar. (But that night I'd had a couple of guinnesses in me, in an attempt to steel myself for the shaky reading I gave - my virginal open mic night), and I didn't quite fully appreciate him. The thing was, on Sunday in the queit book shop, he was able somehow to bring the same bold energy, and dramatic emotion forth. He's a performance poet - and what a performance. A great round off to a really interesting reading.
Raven runs Rá - a spoken word event in the cobblestone pub the last tuesday of every month - tonight is it's first birthday. Mike Igoe runs the naked lunch - open mic - music and poetry every second wednesday in the Féile bar. Seven Towers run open mic's in Cassidy's the last wednesday of the month - and a heap of other stuff besides.
There's no excuse not to get out and enjoy some of them, with Monday's covered by the International bar open mic, and weekends catered for by Nighthawks and Shoestring Collectives. Vibrant old scene it is...

And now - the poem... Liam Aungier's poem that you will some day hear a child say, or if you live for ages, you might hear an adult fondly quoting it, remembering back to a day in the classroom, yet to happen, where they were asked to say it off...And you can say you read it, before it ever got inked onto that dog-eared, graffitied text book.

Liam Aungier, ‘The Willow Tree’. From Apples in Winter, Doghouse books. P.64

The Willow Tree

Liam Aungier

staggered above me, shaking its many arms

at the laughing sky. Sometimes

its green cloak stole the sun, or

its winter branches clawed the stars

and trapped the half-moon in its web.

And then one day I came home

to find it gone: all its limbs

broken on the grass, gnarled roots

raised up to the air, and where

it had stood – the racing sky.

Advice

(for those who've had a 10% paycut)

1. Decimate your spending. This is what you'll have to do to survive. Instead of the 10 pints on a Saturday night, restrict yourself to 9. If you have 10 children, give one of them away; (note: be sure to choose whichever child costs the most average amount to feed and clothe - very high or very low maintenance children when given away may result in a skew on the figures). And ensure that any trip you take is 10% shorter, if necessary get off the bus 18 stops away from home if your workplace is at stop 20.
2. Decimate your work. When at work, once you have 9 tasks done, relax ... whatever you're asked to do next is actually unnecessary distraction, you are only being asked to do it as a joke. Smile, laugh politely - but do not do it.
3. Wear a volunteer t-shirt to work once every two weeks (assuming you work the normal 5 day week). On that day tell everyone you are volunteering today because you just love the company, care so much about the cause of doing stuff for whoever profits from your work. This will automatically lift your self esteem as you hang out with the other Volunteers, and say things like "Man, I love this! I'm so glad I volunteered!!! This is such a worthwhile thing to do." Then shake your head like a saint in a beatific rapture.

5. Remember 10% off isn't really that much, like you probably wouldn't buy something on special that only had 10% off, unless you wanted it anyway, (or, I guess, unless you were trying to decimate your spending) so that's alright really.

By the way - the above advice will work with any level of paycut - simply adjust the sums accordingly....

24 - 7

7 things from the last 24 hours - or you could do 24 things from the last 7 hours if you want - consider this an open invite

Here goes:

1. Cakes at writing group - celebrating successes, both of the Saggart Oscars, and one of us getting a poem into a kids text book (not me unfortunately)
2. Tasting Pear Cider at a brilliant party in Galway - why are Galway parties always brilliant?
3. Attempting to call DQ at 2.15 am - having just enough sense to give up after 3 rings and hoping she had the sense not to have the phone near her after my threat of yesterday.
4. Dropping himself back to paradise, aka the gaeltacht in connemara, where he'll be molding young minds in the irish ways for the next 3 weeks. Missing him already.
5. Listening to Lemon Jelly, as I bounced back down the windy road with Cattle gazing at the car from all angles, over and through the stone walls, and the glimmery and sparkly sea in front.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-rxn6csDVM - do play it - it's worth it
6. Flashing my hazards to thank a bus for pulling in, only to realise it was a bus stop, I was thanking him for doing his job.
7. Going to see a poetry reading shortly, also heard of a 5 euro comedy gig tonight in Whelan's that I'm tempted by... but I'm shattered so.... we'll see.

So anyway, I've shown you mine...

Illustrated

Here's the illustration from 12 years ago in my diary that went with the original poem, which I began then and finished off this week and read today at "group".
Apologies again for the fuzziness. The poem is called "Ode to a Thumb Tack" but I cannot publish it here, for legal reasons, or because I don't want to. You decide.

Deep and meaningful talks with sales guys

Anyway, earlier this week, myself and a sales guy I work with were having a little road trip around the North West of Engerland.
We got to talking, as you do. He was telling me how he heard that a true friend was someone you could call up at 2am and they would talk to you.
I'm going to test that theory tonight. All those people on facebook and in my mobile, just to see how many "real" friends I have. If you'd like me to call you - and you know I don't have your number, but you know we are real friends nonetheless - feel free to leave your number in the comment box.
I'll know if the phone is turned off that you are truly a good friend, because it means you read my blog.
If you think you might be a friend of mine and I don't get round to calling you - please don't be too upset, it'll merely be a design fault with the mobile/ alphabetical order etc etc. Feel free to call me instead, to test it out - tho obviously my phone will probably be tied up with all the friends I'll be chatting to.
People in America stand a far greater chance of proving themselves true friends in this experiment. But it'll be more expensive talking to them, so I probably won't stay on long! Hmm - will report back tomorrow.

Slippy Pole - The Haunted Post

So today I took this photo:


It might be yesterday or the day before by the time you see this, but none the less, I did take it, fair and square. No photoshopping involved.

See it?
There!
The ghost beside the slippy pole, some part of it’s dim and distant history, perhaps a clue to the origin of its slippiness. Standing right next to it, some kind of a blur on the landscape, an ethereal wibbliness invisible to the naked eye, but picked up by my mega camera.

And anyone who says it’s just a bit of bird poo or hair oil smathered on my window is wrong wrong WRONG!!
You see, if I say it loud enough it’s true…

ShoeString

If anyone has a chance they should go to this... usually a great night.
It's a shame they keep having it on nights that I'm out of town lately... anyway, great value, great acts, great atmosphere etc etc - happening this Saturday.

This Saturday (27th) 8.30pm @ The James Joyce Centre, 35 North Great George’s Street, Dublin 1

One of Dublin’s best nights out for a recession-busting €10!

Music from Dublin’s Readers Wives Simon Jermyn

Comedy from Dundalk comic Colum McDonnell

Music from EleventyFour. Dorothy Cotter

Performance Poetry from Dubliner Noel Sweeney

Subtle songs from the iciclethieves.

Performance Poetry from Glaswegian Brian Conaghan


Tickets €10, Last admission is at 8:20 and show ends at 11:00. Limited Bar.

theshoestringcollective@gmail.com www.myspace.com/theshoestringcollective

Barred from TV

I’m not allowing myself to watch tv again (apart from Fair City obviously) until I’ve at least half of the 38 unread books that are languishing on the floor in the dining room read. We decided to declutter the bookshelf last week, and that’s how many there are that I want to read, some are his, some we got for free, some I bought, some materialised out of thin air, and are a joy, like “The diary of Balso Snell” by Nathaneal West, with the following little bit about libraries that I particularly liked:

“Two years ago I sorted books for eight hours a day in the public library. Can you imagine how it feels to be surrounded for eight long hours by books - a hundred billion words one after another according to ten thousand mad schemes. What patience, what labor are those crazy sequences the result of! What Starving! What sacrifice! And the fervors, deliriums, ambitions, dreams, that dictated them!...
The books smelt like the breaths of their authors; the books smelt like a closet full of old shoes through which a steam pipe passes. As I handled them they seemed to turn into flesh, or at lest some substance that could be eaten.”

I love all the exclamation marks - ah they knew how to punctuate in the thirties though, didn't they?!

Lucan Writers "At It" Again

I do have very talented friends. Lucan writers swept the boards last night at the "Saggart Oscars" - otherwise known as the Johnathon Swift awards. Each and every one of the shortlisted Lucanians came home with a first or second prize, no mean feat with the high standard of other entrants. Louise Philips and Triona Walsh for Short Storys, David Mohan for poetry. So Johnny's back in Lucan for another year!!
At this rate we'll need a new trophy cabinet in the library. Well done all of y'all!

Legs 11

"Ye only know about kicking turnips around the field" a man sitting behind me jibed at a neighbour before the game. I was at my first GAA match in a few years, with my husband's tribe, shouting for the wrong side. Luckily I didn't have to shout too much, because the poor Roslander's didn't seem to have the ball all that often, looking like a pack of panicking ostriches whenever the ball did land somewhere near them. The one entertainment was Rossie no. 11. Despite the 1 point to 3 goals 11 at half time, he came out bravely after the break, still with his strangely lovely legs shown to their fullest advantage with socks pulled down as far as they'd go. It was kind of fascinating, I don't know whether it was that his shorts were too small, but his legs seemed to go on forever and his were definitely the best two stripes of well tanned (though admittedly slow moving) flesh on the field, kind of hypnotic. Luckily I saved the day by shouting "last score wins" just as Roscommon got the last point of the game, they lost 3 goals 18, to 7 points, but I think the moral victory was theirs.

I mightn't turn into a full time GAA fan after all.

An Inaccurate Prediction

15 years and 5 days ago, when I was 15 and 5 days of age, I made an inaccurate prediction which I only remember now, because I wrote it down in my diary.

I was at a fluffy stage in my life, when I believed in predictions/ magic/ mysticism or whatever you want to call it. I'd be in the shower and I'd say "Oh my god this time tomorrow something life changing is going to happen," lo and behold the next day at that time I'd have completely forgotten about it. Anyway - this particular day I looked at my watch, sat down on the bed in my room, and said to myself: "I am exactly half way through my life"

I wrote it down because I thought it would be good to remember it, to see if I was right, worked out the time and everything - 19th June 09 at 10.45 pm my life was to come to an end. That prediction was inaccurate, even though it's not 10.45 yet I know it's wrong because I got the day wrong - thought it was going to be a Saturday, (and of course because I haven't yet won the booker or hosted the late late).

However stupid predictions do sometimes have their uses, and any time I've been scared for the latter half of my life I've been able to recall it and think "no, I'm not going to die now, I'll be fine" - I could do a whole nuther post on the times I've had to use that calming technique. So, what to do now? Face a life of uncertainty and indeterminate length? I don't think so, instead I'm assuming that I got the fraction wrong somehow - (even though I was always vert good at maths, it's a possibility), so maybe I was only a quarter of the way through. Therefore I can live a completely fear free life for the next 30 years and 10 days, tune back in 2039, June 29th to find out how it goes!

Needless to say I am doing nothing exciting or life threatening tonight!!

Any stupid predictions made by anyone else out there??... particularly any useful ones?

Significant developments at the Slippiest Pole

Here at Various Cushions we don't shy away from bringing you certain news, just because it might be unpopular, deemed unworth commenting on, or insignificant. No, we will not just forget about the situation at the slippiest pole in Dubland - just because those in power might wish it.

So here it is, the very latest, keeping you up to speed. As you can see from the above, things have changed utterly since the last update. The hedge has been shredded, leaving relieved pedestrians free to walk in the sunshine, no danger of verge dwelling lions, last feared here on June 4th. However, as seen in the below - all is not well that ends well. The warning sign - which says "Caution Slippery" for those too lazy to read back, is still there, but is almost completely snapped in half, perhaps by the deranged lawnmower handler who obviously went spontaneously insane when faced with this particularly slippy area. The authorities are doing their best. More news anon.

Things that seem funny when you're a little bit too tired

1. Typing "Google Anal" into the toolbar when you want to look at google analytics.

2. Mixing up signposts in your own head for the craic; eg there's two signposts at work, one says "Place all rubbish in the bin" the other says "Now wash your hands" I wish one of them said "Now wash all your hands" - as if sometimes you'd only wash some of them.

3. Mixing up signposts outside your head for the craic; eg in the botanical gardens - actually no - that's always funny, only when misinforming people of latin names for plants though - not when the signs are actually important to someone - ie a signpost for cork or something.

Last Night

First of all - I said the poem on the phone to my Mam, the one I'd learned off for the occasion, she said it was "Genius, Brilliant, etc etc" sometimes they say the right things. Then spoke to a very distinguished poet friend whose advice was to pretend any 15 minute pauses were avant garde, and call them all losers if they didn't get it.

Myself, himself, Oub, MB, and co were safely ensconced in front of the "stage" well before the show kicked off.

Host Stephen James Smith started things off with his version of 1913, and put every one at ease with his laid back friendly hosting style, a true gent.

I was psychotically repeating the poem to myself again and again for most of the next two hours, but was shaken out of the nerves by alot of the acts that were on before me, alot of them were so great they distracted me right away from thoughts of the utter humiliation that lay ahead when I'd go up and mumble something incoherent and be booed off. There was a guy from the Netherlands who shocked us all with his "I can't believe it's not Luke Kelly" but better than the usual "I can't believe it's not Luke Kelly" voice. There was the hilarious Aiden O Reilly, a great young comic, genuinely clever, a joy to watch. There were several other brilliant music acts, an outstanding guy from Longford, a guy with floppy hair who has an anonymous mandolin playing friend, a brilliant fella with a Cohenesque song about "Forests of song". (I know this is a really helpful review for anyone who wants to go and see these people, sorry I'm just crap with names - if anyone reading this knows their names pls comment below)

There were other poets, SJS - the maestro treated us to a lovely one about a sunset, and a delightful tale about where he was when he wrote it. Matt Bolton, a fellow Lucanite writer went on, 2nd last before me. That's when things got a bit sticky. He told me it was only his second time reading, so of course I was hoping he'd utterly mess up, say things wrong and run off crying. Unfortunately he did a great reading, and I know size doesn't matter but his poems are so much longer than mine! He had some real beauts and even made some off the cuff comments. The fecker. So there I was, really under pressure, at least he hadn't learned any of his off, ha - brevity pays off at last.

I eventually got called up, and said my poem. The poem that the goldfish nearly know off by heart at this stage, because I'd been trying so desperately hard to make sure I wouldn't forget it.

Here tis by the way - by popular demand (thanks Oub!) - written during my angst ridden computerless evening last week.

Techno Tribes

Children scream,

Their only mode

of being seen

Adults Shout

Along the road

M50 rage. All Out.

Don't you touch my van.

Don't you "Don't" me man.

All anger full.

Bile rich, nice poor.

Kicking heels, licking windows, not answering the door -

Our friends are on facebook, on myspace, on twitter.

Strangers stay strangers. And we'll never get fitter

squandering lives on bebos blogs and so on -

By the way, mine's variouscushions.blogspot.com

I forgot -

I forgot how to meet real people years back.

Defence being the best form of attack,

I'll defriend you if you call be a hack,

All while ignoring the complete, utter, lack,

of any real life

in my life.

- so that was it, went down well, people listened, (a very nice lady with impeccable taste even told me afterwards that she thought it was great) laughed at the right place(s) and I somehow remembered every line without stammering or stuttering at all. Then I took out me little red note book and read another, only had the one more ready to hand, so that's all I did, but I tell ya it was the easiest poem I ever read out - after the stress of the first one, and again got a warm response.

Lovely place - downstairs in the International Bar on Monday nights, check it out, google Stephen James Smith and book a spot to read/ play right now, you won't regret it. See you there.

Takin my own advice

"You should take whatever opportunities come your way to do what scares you," I remember saying something along those idiotic lines there not so long ago... Well tonight I'm doing a reading, and gonna try and do my latest poem without the words in front of me. I have several people to thank for leading me towards this fad.
I'm just wondering would it be worse to do a terrified shaking nervous delivery with only half the words right, or should I get roaring drunk and give an extremely confident performance with probably less than 10% of the words correct? and anyway who'll know the difference... I will - that's the pain of it. Twould be only myself I'd be fooling - but I wouldn't mind being fooled - especially by myself - sure I'd hardly take offence at all...
BUTTERFLIES . .. . ... .

On Meeting a Sound Poet

So we went to see Christian Bok at the Tulip Fest, google him if you care. But he was advertised as a sound poet, in that he’s paid to write funny noises down on paper and then say them out loud. I have to admit it was different, it was freaky, at some stages of the show all I could see in the world was his huge lips and teeth as he made the strangest noises, loudly and with definite purpose. At first I assumed he had a deeper worked out meaning to it all.
I bought his book, Eunoia. 5 chapters of verse. Each with only one vowel in it. It took 7 years to write, it’s fun to read, conforming to the rules forces him to put together some unique phrases and ideas, which made it kinda worth while. HOWEVER – his new idea is stupid. Well the way he’s goin about it is kind of stupid. Well maybe just his answer to my stupid question was stupid. But here it is anyway. He’s goin to write a poem and insert it into the DNA of a bacterium, and it would be written so that the protein’s code would also be a poem. (I’m presuming the first poem will use CATG only, and the second would be spelled out with first letters of the amino acids), anyway – yadda yadda inserted in a bacterium so it will survive forever etc etc, and here’s why I don’t think he’s sound, and also why he came across more as a batman baddie by the end of the show: I asked him what the protein would do, that he was writing into the little animal, presuming that he would have some really poignant or clever or beautiful idea about it. Don’t ask me what. I just trusted that he would have thought of something brilliant. Guess what? He hadn’t. The answer was simply – “Ah Science is the easy bit, so eh – doesn’t matter what it does. I think we’ve time for one more question”
Anyway – I realised as we walked home that the reason I was so depressed was the total and utter absence of any true feeling in his work, the cleverness and high falutin-ness of it, without a pick of anything that matters.

The one thing that we enjoyed most about the whole thing was our chat in the queue on the way in (by the way nothing starts on time in Canada – and no one minds, except if the person putting on the show is loitering in the audience drunk for the first three quarters of an hour – but that was a different show).
We met nice language enthusiasts – a translating lecturer woman, and an earnest man with bored teenager & wife in tow. They told us about this Oulypo movement in France. A new one on me. It’s this crowd that used to hang around making up writing rules for each other, and playing games with it. Apparently, one of them wrote a novel without the letter E, in French. And got it successfully translated into English without the letter E either.
Some of the games they used to play are below.
Anyway – we had a fun conversation about trying to spend a year without consuming anything with the letter E in the name of it. You couldn’t have water, but you could have milk, no beer but vodka would be fine, etc etc. See if you can spend the next day without eating anything with the letter E – no tea, coffee, bread, cheese, only a potato, or a tomato – no plurals of those things. Let me know how it works out for ya...

Retro Computing

So we dusted off the old Mitsubishi apricot, last night, the third oldest appliance in the house, and turned it on for the first time in 5 years. No USB orifice so no chance of wireless, but we used the old telephone wire and managed to get it to hook up.
The cutest thing was the approach the machine took to getting started. Do ye all remember that screen that used to come up "Dialling attempt 1 of 5"? It was so sweet really, like Thomas the Tank Engine, this steadfast computer wasn't in any way confident that it would manage to carry us all the way on to the world wide web on the first attempt, but it wasn't going to give up after that, oh no ... it would try at least 5 times, and then presumably explode. So yeah - in the end it managed to get us "ON the Line" everything was the wrong size, gmail didn't work, but it got us there.

Back Up Schmack Up

So the computer broke last night at home, here's a sneaky post from elsewhere to inform you of the technical difficulties I'm experiencing.
All my pictures from the last few years, not to mention the only copy of my dodgy 2nd novel which has not been read by anyone (including myself), all possibly lost.
Himself to the rescue - off to the computer guru right now to try and get it all fixed up, fingers and toes and eyes and ears crossed everyone!

my foot - a hideously self centred post - you have been warned

Here it is, as pictured after midnight last night, on entering it's fourth decade of service, my right foot.

I mention this merely because, today is my birthday (oh stop, sshhh, I'm not fishing for you to say happy birthday, ok well maybe a little!) and on my ninth birthday I noticed that my feet were bigger than they had been when I was eight. It was the one and only time I noticed a difference in myself on my actual birthday. Eventually I turned out to grow slightly unusually small feet for the size of the rest of me, and I wonder if that was caused by some kind of paranoia caused by noticing them being so big that morning of my ninth anniversary on earth, some kind of mind controlling growth or some such. Creepy eh? Since then I check my feet on every single birthday to see if they're any bigger. Maybe it's a scientific thing - maybe feet do grow especially on the night before your ninth birthday, I don't know. They don't grow much when you turn thirty, that's all I can tell ya... but is there anything else I should watch out for oh learned old people on the world wide web?!?

New Beginnings

When our little “Shirley” passed on – an orange coloured goldfish, we were saddened, but most upset at the thought of “Laverne” – spending that time swimming around under her little floaty body. That’s why we now have 3 fish – so if one dies the other two can keep each other company while they grieve, and so there’ll always be a witness.*
Anyway, I’m trying the same approach at the moment with writing competitions, using failure notification or lack of winning notification as a kick to force me up and out to try again. The aim is to have 2 or 3 things on the go at any one time, so that if I lose one there’s still more to hope for, and the lost one acting as a spur forward might actually be kind of exciting, or not...

* We think shirley couldn’t work out how to use the holiday food, but I must admit to a very slight quiver of suspicion at how quickly “Laverne” seemed to get over it, how much she seemed to enjoy the extra space in the tank.

Photo Blast From the Past

10 years ago, in my bedroom, in a terraced house in Cork. My boyfriend is a dentistry student, which might explain the tooth paste on the mantlepiece. My bed is pushed up beside the blocked up chimney, so I can use the mantlepiece as a shelf. Fliers, posters, artwork, beermats, and college notes fight for space on the confused blue and yellow flowered wall paper. Brick phone at the end of the shelf, you never lose your phone in these days. I’m reaching for a cup of tea, which sits beside the two plastic alarm clocks. I’d bought one after giving mine away to a comedian who needed to get up for a train back to Dublin. The other was given to me by another comedian in repayment. I have my docks on in bed, no sheets, quilt wrapped around like a nest, I’m comfortable. A second cup of tea – probably belongs to the photographer. My jeans are too short, or my legs too long, there’s a gap of black socks. Off to Germany soon for a “many things” kinda summer, mostly fun, friendship, poverty, singsongs, lots of alcohol, sausages posted over from home.

An idea from Dominic Rivron’s blog – great idea, (pity the picture is so smudgy) – c’mon folks I’ve shown you mine, 200 words on a self from the past, told in the present tense. Go on – you know you want to...

Slippy Pole - the very latest

This is it - the sad scene, seen today at the slippiest pole in Dubland. First reported in this blog on 24th March, I updated you again on April 22nd when it had been named as a public emergency. I did not think I would have to update on this crisis again. The grass has grown so that, even in this very professionally taken close up shot, you can barely see the "caution slippery" sign that once fell victim to the slippiness of the pole. There is a path in behind the grass; I used to be able to see pedestrians on it. I'm worried that anyone who tries to walk along the path nowadays is being swallowed up by verge dwelling lions.

I will, of course, let you know if there are any developments.

One thing I never had when I was growing up

Here's a "chalk holder". You can buy them for a few quid. I had to hold my own chalk when I was young, and when I didn't have chalk I had to use the stuff that peels off the insides of some walls when they're broken up, and when no walls were being broken I had to use spit, or my imagination. But when I did have chalk(s) - the one advantage of not having a "chalk holder" was that I could switch colours almost instantaneously - instead of constantly having to reload my "chalk holder."

Ah happy days - any other useless things kids have nowadays that we're glad we don't have?

Ban the Ads

In Canada (did I mention I was in Canada? No? Well I was; as a matter of fact quite recently it was, why, only last week...) there was a big campaign on to boycott all puppy and kitten farms, an easy one to sign up to, I mean who wants to be presented with puppy steak in a restaurant? It'd be tiny (possibly in more ways than one).

I am starting an Ad boycott. Ironically in Can Ad a (see what I did there), they had very few ads. I mean no ads - when you were walking out of the plane and down to Customs/ passport control. No crappy catchphrases up on the walls speculating on what you're first text home will be, or what bank you should join, or worse - that your workplace should join. It was weirdly relaxing - I mean like - nothing foreign jumping through your brain, as you walk along, alone with your own thoughts, and your fellow travellers. It was cool. People aren't alone with their thoughts enough - I'm the world's worst to be always looking for diversion - see the length of the bloglist if you don't believe me (bet mine's longer than yours), but it is nice to sit and let yourself just float for awhile, leave your head alone to do it's own thing. It works better like that sometimes - just read Malcolm Gladwell's Blink, or Dorothea Brande's Becoming a Writer.

Anyway - Boycott all ads. Don't look at em - imagine you're a horse with Blinkers, say nay to the billboards, pretend those smiley feckers on the poles are all works of art or philosophers. Don't walk to the shops for coco pops just cos the monkey said you should. In fact don't buy anything at all in your weekly shop that you have seen an ad for. And most of all - drink Coca Cola (ok that's just a test - the last bit, to see if you've been paying attention though sadly there is such a beverage within my immediate vicinity and I probably now will sup it - Frailty thy name is woman!)

Blog winners

So here's me lovely award. Recieved with thanks from total feckin eejit - his link is over at the side - always worth a visit - and he has a decent music player in there as well! The award comes with certain terms and conditions as follows - so here they are

1. Post the award on your blog and link to the person who gave you the award.
2. List seven things you love. So...
1. Galway in sunshine on a bank holiday with kids having waterfights, and sipping wine in someone's back garden
2. When you get all the green lights
3. The Goldfishes - all three of them
4. The newly aquired husband - only one of them
5. Brilliant books
6. Crap books - cos they make me feel better about chances of publication
7. Friends, family, nice strangers, all of humankind

Finally,pass it on! List seven blogs you love and let those people know you’ve given them the award.Here are my Kreativ Blogger Award recipients!:

1: http://anghuianiar.blogspot.com/ An Ghuir Aniar - means west wind, and I'm not just giving him this because he's letting me use his laptop to write this, but because his is a very fine blog, and gives reason to try a bit at the aul Irish. Check him out.

2: http://domesticoubliette.blogspot.com Domestic Oubliette started her bloglife around the same time as me, so we're kinda the same age - hers is full of funny insights on life and the universe - well worth a visit

3: http://dramaqueen.blogspot.com Drama Queen is the queen of blogland and media mogul extraordinaire. Very entertaining posts.

4: http://huhtikuunnoita.blogspot.com/ Huhtikuunoita means Witch of April, her photography is great, and I love trying to figure out what it's on about

5: http://quotidian-photography.blogspot.com/ A cool photographer travelling in thailand - worth a look

6: http://theswisslounge.blogspot.com/ Swiss is pretty cool - always thought provoking

7: http://theblogsthejob.blogspot.com/ Uiscebot is always worth reading as well - a great writer, when he's not killing cute fluffy bunnies.