Smoke & Mirrors by Neil Gaiman

Finally, everything I look for in a short story: a start, a middle and a twisty ending, and here's a whole book of them. Thank God for Neil Gaiman. Yeay!

Underground: the Tokyo Gas Attack and the Japanese Psyche by Haruki Murakami

An odd and strangely compelling book investigating the effects of the sarin gas attacks on the Toyko underground rail system on contemporary Japanese society. An incredible series of accounts of an incredible day in Japanese history, as told to Murakami by some of the victims, their families and members of the Aum cult who were behind the attacks. Scary and deeply moving stuff.

Arthur & George by Julian Barnes

An odd story, in which the two protagonists don't actually meet until the third act! I enjoyed this despite myself - nothing happens for ages and even when it does, you just want to slap people. The story is based in fact and was (apparently) meticulously researched, which is reflected in the vivid characterisations. I think this is why I liked it so much - even when nothing is going on, there's something going on...

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman by Haruki Murakami

Another book of short stories, this time all by Murakami. As you might expect from a collection of short stories, some are better than others - seeing as they're by Murakami though, they're mostly good. Some are even great. Tony Takitani, for example, is just a classic. Everything I like is there - a coherent beginning, middle and end; a twist; and a gut-punch!

Stuart: A Life Backwards by Alexander Masters

This book was really disturbing and has stayed with me for months after I finished reading it. For such a little book (less than 200 pages), it took me a long time to read it - mainly because I could only cope with reading a little bit at a time. This is the first biography I have ever read that I enjoyed. Alexander and Stuart were proper friends, which means that Alexander doesn't hold back when talking about how much of an asshole Stuart could be, and also how great he was. Stuart's story broke my heart and while I can't wholeheartedly recommend that you read this (you would definitely need to be in the full of your health), I would say that if you do, it will haunt you.

Birthday Blues

Oh God.
I'm thirty.

I spent most of the week before last being horribly depressed in the lead up to my birthday, and much of the time since has been spent recovering my usual joie de vivre.

This exchange is the only type of support that I could expect from my friends:

Gerry: Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, happry Birthday dear Penfold, Happy Birthday to you!
Or it may be tomorrow. But have a good one anyway Mrs Murnane. So is there a big party for your, em, yeah, em, 29th, Yes, 29 is a safe number.
Many more of them
G

Me: The depression has been settling on my shoulders for the past couple of weeks... I'm 29. Until Thursday. When I'll be upgraded to 29v2.1 [Sob]

Gerry: Ah to be young. Oh, wait, I am. Unlike you old people. Face it, you're like windows 3.11, outdated.

Me: (to Conor) This guy is supposed to be my friend...

Conor: I think you are taking this thirty thing too seriously. It only symbolises the end of your young life.

Gah! See what I'm up against? You had started so well, Gerry! Never mind - you'll get yours! And you Con - I was sorely mistaken for thinking that you might have had a little sympathy - O aged one!

The 5th Horseman by James Patterson and Maxine Paetro

A desperate airport thriller. Really, don't bother reading this.

Going on hols

I cannot wait for this time Wednesday evening, because then it will be the longest possible time before I have to go back to work. That's right, I'm going on holidays. Yeay!!
I'm off to Adelboden (near Interlaken, near Bern) in Switzerland with a group of Girl Guides - 18 aged 11 to 15, 8 aged 16 to 21 and 7 of us golden oldies. (I'm so depressed that I get counted with the golden oldies. I'm too young for that!) We'll be staying in a chalet that's tucked into a side-valley, half-way up the Alps.
There's loads of stuff planned, like abseiling and whitewater rafting but due to the fact that I'm infanticipating, I'll be restricting myself to the hikes and (hopefully!) a daily swim. There's plenty of walking to be done, seeing as the coach can't actually get to the chalet (the road is too narrow and steep!), so I'll be trekking up and down the gorge on a daily basis - with full kit and rucksack on at least two occasions. Hence, I am packing more lightly than I have ever done in my entire life!
We'll be going to a Cheese Maker (blessed are!) and a Wood Carver and Our Chalet, (which is one of the Guiding World Centres for those of you who don't know and are interested). I'm hoping to bring home some decent cheese for Conor, some wood carvings for me and if I can find it in one of the tourist shops, a pair of mini-lederhosen, preferably complete with a little hat with a feather in it, for David. If I'm really lucky, there'll be a grown-up sized pair and I'll bring them home for Conor! Imagine that photo on the Internet. Cute, not creepy...
I may not get a chance to blog again before I go away (mad busy in work, will actually have to do stuff before I leave) and I'm not sure whether it will be possible to get on-line while I'm away. Anyway, I'll post pics and news when I get back.

Yodel-ay-he-hooo!

His Dark Materials: The Amber Spyglass by Phillip Pullman

Wow. Nothing is as it seemed at the start of this trilogy. The characters are so ambiguous, the themes are so much more than you'd expect from books that are marketed towards children. I won't go into any details about this for fear of giving anything away.

These books, and particularly this last one, blew me away. Highly recommended.

I am so pissed off with work right now...

... so I've decided that I'm not going to do anything today.

I'm pissed off today because I had a conversation with one of the senior managers this morning about being able to apply for personal promotion this year. The rule is that you've got to be 3 years at the top of your scale in order to be eligible for promotion. I was off-scale from 1 January 2001 to 31 December 2005 and I haven't had a pay review since 1 January 2003. On-scale increments are applied in October of each year, but because of how my contract was set up, my pay reviews were conducted in January. On 1 January this year, I was put on the top of the SEA scale and told that my years at the top of my off-scale range would count for promotion purposes. Then when they were looking for the list of eligible staff, they asked for people who were 3 years on top of scale since 1 October 2002. So they're trying to argue that I'm not eligible.

Bastards.

I'm saying that the rule states 3 years at top of scale, which I have. People who are on-scale will still only be showing up if they've been on the top point since 2002. I think the manager dude is trying to come up with a work around so that I'll be able to go for it.

Still, I'm so angry about it that I haven't really done any work at all today and I don't think I'm going to either.

Fuck'em

Time for a change

So I finally got my act together this morning and selected the new CDs that are (currently) being ripped onto my mp3 player.
It's "Adieu and Farewell", but not "Goodbye" to Snow Patrol's Final Straw and Eyes Open, Bell X1's Flock and Counting Crows' This Desert Life.
I'm going back to some old favourites with (in chronological order) Radiohead's The Bends, Smashing Pumpkins' Adore and Arcade Fire's Funeral. I'll also add some gentle pop-tastic fun with Goo Goo Dolls' Dizzy Up the Girl. If there's room after that little lot, I might stick on the Arcade Fire EP too.

His Dark Materials: The Subtle Knife by Phillip Pullman

The second book in the series: Will stepped through a window in the air, to find himself in the frightening world of Cittágazze. There he meets Lyra and the two must find Will's father while avoiding the blood-thirsty children and soul-eating Spectres that haunt their new world.

His Dark Materials: Northern Lights by Phillip Pullman

The first book in the series. Set in an alternate world, Lyra and her daemon find themselves on a quest to the North with the gyptians to rescue all the children that the Gobblers have stolen. While she's about it, she also wants to rescue her father from the panserborne, find the city in the Aurora and discover the secret of the Dust. This is one of the most complex, well-written children's books I have ever read.

The Mistress of Spices by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

Tilo has been many things. Now she's a Mistress of Spices in Oakland, California. The rules of the spices are strict and their punishment harsh. But in using the spices to help others, she finds herself becoming embroiled in their lives and unable to keep her distance. She also can't resist getting involved with a lonely American, breaking the spices greatest taboo, and finally sealing her fate.

Pregnoramus

I feel like Lisa Simpson when she couldn't solve the brain teaser.

It's a clinically proven fact that a woman's brain physically shrinks in size when she is pregnant. I'm not entirely sure why. It could be something to do with hormones, fluid retention, or anything. I remember discussing this with my ob/gyn during my last pregnancy. It struck me as being rather unfortunate timing as I was in the middle of writing my thesis at the time. He seemed to think it was funny, particularly when he pointed out (rather unsympathetically, I thought) that there had been no research conducted to investigate whether a woman's brain returns to its substantive size post-pregnancy.

Well, I am currently conducting just such an investigation, based entirely on my own narrow experience. Preliminary results indicate that there must be some corrosion of brain size (and possibly brain function) with each subsequent pregnancy. It seems to be a similar (though opposite) process to post-pregnancy weight issues. (Apparently, whatever weight a woman manages to get down to when she falls pregnant again is the lowest weight that she will be able to reach after that pregnancy. Depressing, huh?)

Anyway. I had an appointment with my ob/gyn yesterday and before I left the house in the morning, I made doubly sure that I had my cheque book so that I could pay more of the fee. (I don't normally carry it around with me, so I had to go and get it.) I had my scan and my appointment and when I was making my next appointment, I started searching for the cheque book. No sign of it. I took everything out of my bag. I started to freak out slightly. I left the clinic. I sat on a park bench and ransacked every nook and cranny of my handbag. No cheque book.

'Oh Christ! I've lost it. This bloody handbag, I'm always dropping things and losing things out of it. I'll have to buy a new one. And cancel the bloody cheque book...'

I got home in the afternoon and checked the kitchen and the sitting room. I picked David up from the creche and checked that I hadn't left it in his bag or underneath the buggy. I was waiting for Conor to get home so I could check the floor of the car. And then, when I had given up hope and was pootling around looking for something else, I found it. In the spot where it's normally kept. Having purposely gone to get it and put it in my bag, I had then put it back in its place, without having any recollection of doing so. I still don't remember putting it back.

My brain is shrinking.

Beyond Black by Hilary Mantel

Alison is a psychic who had a horrific childhood and now she's haunted by the ghosts of the men who made her childhood so awful. She's also got a weight problem and a live-in business partner, who is incredibly bitter and makes horrible comments to her all the time. The book is really well written: poignant, cruel and even funny at times. On one level, it deserves far more than its two star rating but I just found it so unrelentingly grim and creepy (and not because of the ghosties) that I can't bring myself to recommend that anyone read it.

Damn you, Dave Matthews...

I tried. I really tried. I listened to the new album ('Stand Up') several times before I removed it from my mp3 player. I wouldn't allow myself to skip through it when it cycled round again. I gave it every chance. More chances than it probably deserved. To be honest, I thought that I was even coming around to it. Maybe I had just become inured...

The upshot is that in the days following the removal of 'Stand Up' from my mp3 player, I'm finding it difficult to listen to 'Some Devil', a here-to-fore favourite.

Damn you, Dave Matthews! Damn you!

A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian by Marina Lewycka

Two feuding sisters try to put aside their differences as they attempt to extricate their émigré father from his unfortunate marriage to the gold-digging (and immigration-dodging) Valentina. There was the promise of many family skeletons tumbling out of the closet, but this didn't deliver in quite the way I'd expected. An entertaining tale, none-the-less. My sympathies definitely lay with the sisters - caught between exasperation at an old man's foolishness and feeling so sorry for him because of the situation his idiocy landed him in. Valentina was by far the best character - worth reading this book for her alone!

Birthday Stories selected by Haruki Murakami

Twelve birthday-related short stories by twelve different authors.
I enjoyed this book more than the 3-star rating would imply but I have a bit of an issue with short stories. You see, I'm a greedy reader - so I like short stories because I can guzzle them down quickly, several in one sitting. Unfortunately, this means that I don't give myself the time to digest each story on its own merits, so they all end up being a big messy blur. Also, I find that short stories tend to leave me feeling a little bit dim: I'm sure that there's a meaningful message tied up in the story and I just don't get it.
So, my own feelings of inadequacy aside, not one of these stories is about a 'Happy Birthday'. The strange tenor of each tale juxtaposed against the pre-supposed happiness of their settings left me in an oddly dissatisfied and slightly depressed mood. Maybe I did get it after all?

Eating Out Ireland

Well, I've been invited to post to this new blog, which has everything to do with eating in restaurants around the country and absolutely nothing to do with one deviant mind's sexual proclivities/promiscuities (I'm talking to that commentor on Gerry's blog - you know who you are!) Mind you, he might have a point. Perhaps I'll advocate the judicious use of a comma or a colon?

Eating Out: Ireland or Eating Out, Ireland?

Anyway, check it out. You never know - Egon Ronay could come to us for advice some day!

The Best Thing That Can Happen to a Croissant by Pablo Tusset

DBC Pierre was a bit misleading in his write up. Pablo has his own personal standards of Integrity, develops a personal hygiene fetish, smokes his joints with (not before) his breakfast and only pleasured himself in the sink of his local bar to get the best value from a prostitute once. He isn't much for political correctness though. That bit was accurate.

That said, I've really enjoyed reading this. The translation strikes me as being a little ropey in spots and they could have done with a better proof-reader, but I won't hold that against them.

Loosely, the plot runs along the lines of "loser little brother accidentally and unwillingly takes a journey of self-discovery and comes good". There were some very funny moments that made me laugh out loud too. It reminded me a little bit of a book called The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty. Also well worth a read.

Androgyny-smodgyny

For want of something better to do just after lunchtime this Friday afternoon, I wandered over to those lovely people at QuizFarm, and filled me in a couple of quizzes. According to the 'Should you be MALE or FEMALE?' quiz, I am 'Either'. I won't let this get me down though, because I also get to ride the brains out of Cedric Diggory, if I believe the 'Who are you screwing at Hogwarts?' quiz.



You scored as Either (68%). You brain is neither specifically male nor female dominated in the way you perceive things and as bad as this sounds it can easily mean that you are capable of combining both limiting gender aspects to your advantage. Rather than being genderless you are possibly able think freely. This does not nec. mean that you are bisexual or androgynous or indecisive, though it might.

Should you be MALE or FEMALE?*
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You scored as Cedric Diggory (95%). If you went to Hogwarts you would be the lucky girl fucking Cedric Diggory! Congratulations! Popular, good looking, and a hell of an athlete. All he had to do was look at you and you were on your bakck! MMMMM I bet that sex is golden! Too bad he dies... Oh well, enjoy that fine piece of man while he lasts.. Go ahead girl, go head get down...

WHO ARE YOU SCREWING AT HOGWARTS??
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Insomniac ShitList: Bad Habits

(Needless to say, I don't do any of the things listed below!)

Item Seven (added 24 May 2006)
Spitting.
Can you not see how disgusting this is? Why do you persist in hawking up great phlegm wads and firing them at high speed from your mouth to the ground, hopefully (I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt here, though you hardly deserve it) without being intercepted by any passing pedestrian or one of their personal belongings?
Then there's the big slippery green ooze that looks like someone trod on a slug and left it on the pavement for random pedestrians to stand on, walk through or unwittingly place their bags in. Uuugghhhhh.
The worst offenders here seem to be nasty little chavs, neddies and scrotes (who, it could be argued, will never know better) and fully grown men, often of Asian or Eastern European extraction (who should). Yuck. You all make me sick.
(I notice that I listed Spitting on the ShitList in October 2004 - Item 3 below - but obviously, it still pisses me off to such an extent that I had to list it twice. Double Shit.)

Item Six (added 18 October 2004)
Mainly women guilty of this as far as my observations go - failure to lift one's feet properly when walking and so being followed by an incredibly irritating shuffle noise.
How does it not drive you mental? It makes me crazy, and you're just walking past me. It must be murder on the heels and soles of your shoes. If this is happening because you're wearing very loose slip-ons, flip-flops or sandals, then you're either committing an unforgivable fashion faux pas, you think you're on a beach, or you just can't walk properly, you moron. Whatever else, it certainly does not give you the air of disaffected cool that you are striving for

Item Five (added 15 October 2004)
Bad table manners. This comes under two sub-headings:

5.1: Talking with your mouth full
To para-phrase a famous adage, "If you had any respect for anyone within spitting distance, you'd swallow that". Semi-masticated food is not attractive; nor are your teeth, gums or tounge while you eat. Swallow, then speak

5.2: Use your knife and fork properly
This is a really pedantic thing, I know; but it drives me batty to see people holding their cutlery in their balled-up fists. Knives and forks were invented a long time ago and used by the aristocracy to distinguish themselves from commoners, peasants and animals. These class distinctions are largely ignored by our society these days and pretty much anyone with opposable thumbs is expected to use a knife and fork. Please don't get them mixed up with shovels and other garden implements. They are delicate instruments and should be used as such. Otherwise, we'd all be much happier if you'd just go back to bending your head to the trough and ripping your food apart with your hands

Item Four (added 15 October 2004)
Littering. Oh God, is there no end to the filth you people want to make me deal with? I get especially irritated with people who don't correct their children for dropping their rubbish on the street - you will have your turn against the wall when I am in charge... You and your heathen spawn

Item Three (added 15 October 2004)
Spitting in the street. This is a bit of a double whammy as a good proper street-spit is invariably preceeded by a loud hawking noise. See Item One above for my views on this

Item Two (added 15 October 2004)
Coughing or sneezing without covering your mouth. Uuggghhhhh. I would never have had unprotected sex with a complete stranger (or any sex with a complete stranger), so what makes you think that I would like you to share any of your bodily fluids with me?

Item One (added 15 October 2004)
Loud Snuffling. Please use a tissue and blow your nose. I particularly despise those great big hawking snuffles that are invariably followed by a swallowing noise (often with some chewing in between). I can feel my stomach turning over just thinking about it

Another Announcement

Last week, I had my first scan. All is well. Due at the end of November. Too early to tell if it's a boy or a girl. I don't know if I want to find out though. I think I probably won't this time. It'll be nice to keep something as a surprise!

Oh Lordi

I am a big fan of Eurovision. Huge!
I love everything about it. How kitch it is, how twee, the block voting, bitching about the various entrants.

2006 was a bumper year.
There was Germany - an incredibly sappy (and very un-German-esque) Country number;

There was Turkey - a fairly chunky forty-something, who had beaten herself into a sequined ice-skater's costume that revealed her less than attractive tatoos, surrounded by some aggressively heterosexual (not!) male dancers (who could dance really well - as only aggressively heterosexual men can't);

There was Ireland - at least this year we didn't shame ourselves with traveller-boy or the incestous McCalls. But what a dreadful dirge! 'Every Song is a Cry for Love', indeed! What about 'Smack My Bitch Up', or 'Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter'? 'This Song is a Cry for Help!' more like!

There was the Ukraine - who went back to their Svetlana-roots and fielded a Shakira-sound-alike (I was surprised that this didn't do better!)

And of course, there was Finland. This year's winner. And what a performance!

I watched these guys in the Semi-Final with my jaw hitting the floor. I voted for them on the night of the Final. I cheered every time they scored a 'douze points' and hissed whenever they appeared on the 1-7 board.

Well done boys (and girl). The Orcs have finally come good!


I can only wait with baited breath to see what Europe will send to compete with itself next year!

To That Guy on the Bus Yesterday

We had a long talk, you and I. I won the argument and everyone on the bus thought I was great and you were an arse.

Actually, no-one said a word to you but everyone still thought you were an arse.

You got on the bus in Lucan and sat 3 rows behind me on the other side of the aisle. I was listening to my mp3 player and I could still hear every tortuous screech of guitars and crash of drums emanating from your deafened-by-death-metal ear phones.

I hate you.

In my head, I very calmly asked if you would mind please turning down your volume. In my head, you said "Fuck off, you fat bitch."
In my head, I replied "I'm pregnant. Is your problem glandular?"
In my head, you sheepishly turned down your volume. There may have been an apology.

In fact no-one said anything and we all sat and silently fumed and wished that you could at least have had decent taste in music.

New Music: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

I got myself some new albums recently and I held high hopes for them all: Snow Patrol's Eyes Open, Bell X1's Flock and the Dave Matthews Band's Stand Up.

So, what did I think? Well:

Snow Patrol: Trying to follow the success of Final Straw couldn't have been easy. There was a lot riding on this album for them. I think I was also predisposed to not like this because the lead-singer-guy fired the bassist-guy (also the last remaining original member of the band) when Final Straw hit the big time because of "creative differences". Anyway. Whatever. Eyes Open kicks ass. It's brilliant and I love it. There's enough similarities to Final Straw to show that they know what's good about the band and what people like about them and their music, but enough differences so that you get the feeling they've moved on and grown up a bit and you're definitely not listening to the same album.
Favourite Song: Set The Fire To The Third Bar
Notable Others: Make This Go On Forever
One minor point of grumble (and this holds for Final Straw too) is that it sounds like desperate hard work to be lead-singer/songwriter-guy's girlfriend. I mean really, could you be bothered dealing with all that angst on a daily basis???

Bell X1: I'm definitely predisposed to liking these guys because they come from the same town/area that I grew up in. I really enjoyed their earlier album Music In Mouth, which Conor had given me for Christmas. I listened to it to within an inch of its little CD-life. So I bought their follow-up and widely critically acclaimed album Flock. Now, it's not that I don't like it: I do, just not as much as Music In Mouth.
Favourite Song: Bad Skin Day
I'm giving it plenty of opportunity to grow on me and it's not like I skip through any of the songs and I think that a bit of saturation therapy will soon have Flock taking its place in my heart beside its older brother.

Dave Matthews Band: What can I say? I have stacks of their albums and I love all of them for different reasons. In general, I prefer their more recent material to their older stuff - that's all a bit jazzy or something - but it's all good. I was especially taken with their Some Devil album, which has had pride of place on my mp3 player since I got it. I was really looking forward to Stand Up. So much so that I was trying to talk Conor into going to Canada next month to see DMB play in concert. What a disappointment. I will keep trying. I will give it a chance to grow on me. Currently, I do not hold out much hope.
Favourite Song: n/a
Notable Others: n/a

Strange Dreams

I've been having really odd dreams lately and some of them have been kind of creepy too. I don't like that. Not nightmares exactly, but they still leave you with an icky disturbed feeling when you wake up.

Anyway, I had a really wierd one this morning and I don't know why, but I've decided to share it with my reader. I dreamt that Michael Jackson needed the cash (to pay his lawyers?) and so decided to sell the rights to a previously unreleased Beatles medley. Whoever bought it paid $40 bazillion and then let the radio stations play it for free.

It was only when I woke up that I realised the songs in the medley were all Michael Jackson songs.

Something Rotten by Jasper Fforde

Thursday Next has left BookWorld with her son (Friday) and returned to the RealWorld to live with her Mum (Wednesday). Will she be able to ensure that the Swindon Mallets win the Croquet Superhoop, thereby stopping Chancellor Yorrick Kaine, the fictional megalomaniac, from becoming the Dictator of England, put a halt to the gallop of the evil Goliath corporation, avert a war with Denmark and prevent the Earth from turning into a mouldering radioactive cinder a week from next Tuesday? While she's about it, she needs to keep the BookWorld ticking over, find a Shakespere, smuggle Danish books into Wales, avoid a very determined assassin and reactualise her husband. All in a day's work.

The Heimlich for Babies

I went into the weekend aged 29 and I arrived into work this morning, a haggard and care worn 40-something. I now have my first grey hairs and am walking with a distict stoop.

Why? Well, because we had a small stone-swallowing-and-choking episode yesterday, with a certain one-year-old who ought to know better than try to kill himself through maternal neglect at his paternal grandmother's house! (Talk about showing you up in front of the in-laws!!!)

Thank Christ, I knew how to do the baby-heimlich (i.e. Don't!) and got him to vomit it up pretty quick smart but scary, or what! I swear I lost half a stone from the shaking afterwards. And what was it about a nasty hard little grey pebble that looked so appetising?

I dunno. Anyway, all's well that ends well. I sent my child to his creche this morning clothed in bubble-wrap, with some well placed air-holes but nowhere for him to get a stone into his mouth... I'm a responsible mother, me!

If I were..., I'd fire...

I've stolen the idea for this blog from Conor. I'll at least have the decency to cite his suggestions, so there isn't any actual plagarism! Con, if you're really miffed about this, I'll take it down and you can have it for your blog.

If I were Victoria Beckham, I'd fire my husband's PA
If I were Sylvester Stallone's mother, I'd fire my plastic surgeon
If I were Han Solo, I'd fire first (con)
If I were the Emperor, I'd fire my architects (con)
If I were Russell Crowe, I'd fire my anger management therapist
If I were an Taoiseach, I'd fire my Minister for Justice for being an arse
If I were found guilty of a crime I didn't commit, I'd fire my lawyer. In fact
If I were found guilty, I'd fire my lawyer
If I were the Centre de George Pompidou, I'd fire my buiding contractor for not finishing the job
If I were managed by Louis Walsh, I'd fire my manager

More to follow as I think of them...
Feel free to add some into the Comments either...

The Well of Lost Plots by Jasper Fforde

It's big, it's clever and it makes me laugh. Thursday Next is pregnant with her non-existant husband's child and has taken refuge from the evil little sister of her vanquished arch-nemesis in the Well of Lost Plots. As if that's not enough for her to deal with, she must also avoid being murdered by a renegade JurisFiction agent, while all around her are popping off like flies. Who is behind the dastardly plot that threatens the Well of Lost Plots and the rest of BookWorld? How far does the corruption extend? Read on to find out...

A nice piece of chocolate

I was just at tea with some girls in work and we were talking about the TV show 'Trading Spouses' - an American version of 'Wife Swap'. Last night, the wife from an orthodox Jewish family was swapped with the wife from a Born Again Christian family. I'm sorry I missed it - you gotta think it would have been like watching a car wreck!

Anyway, the BAC woman was explaining to the three Jewish teenage daughters why they should abstain from pre-marital sex. She used a piece of chocolate as an illustration. She mooshed it up and squished it down and mauled it and passed it on to the first daughter. D1 mooshed, squished and mauled it before passing it to D2, who mooshed, squished and mauled it before passing it to D3, who also mooshed, squished and mauled it and then handed it back to BAC woman. She mooshed, squished and mauled it some more. So all in all, it was a fairly manky piece of chocolate by the time it had gone around. Then BAC woman took out a fresh piece of chocolate.

"This," she said, holding the manky chocolate, "is what you'd be like if you've been passed around. But this," triumphantly holding aloft the pristine piece, "is what you'd be giving your husband if you saved yourself for him!"

After hearing all that, boy am I glad that I kept a nice piece of chocolate for Con!

Potential for change

I've worked in one capacity or another for UCD Personnel for nearly 8 years - since I finished my undergraduate degree, in fact. That's a long time. From where I sit, it looks scary on the outside.

I just got a new job. In DIT, so sticking with the 3rd level educational institution vibe. In HR, so not much change there. Doing IT implementations of HR systems, so in fact, no change at all. The salary wasn't even much better - certainly not enough to warrant giving up flexi-time and the massive amount of leave I get in UCD (20 days' annual leave, 10 days at Christmas and up to 13 days' flexi-leave per annum - that's 43 days folks!)

Anyway, I'm not taking the job in DIT. It was only a contract to the end of December anyway. Why would I give up a permanent and pensionable job to take a short term contract when I'll be going on maternity leave in November?

How to earn Brownie Points from your wife

Go to dinner with her and one of her crazy friends. And I'm not talking nice-crazy here. I mean full-on damaged-goods-chip-on-her-shoulder-that-comes-with-its-own-dip-loud-abrasive-argumentative-angry-crazy.

And don't complain about it. Not even once. In fact, mention the next morning (through gritted teeth and a hang-over) what a good time you had the night before.

Thanks Con! You are genuinely the best person in the world. Smoochies. Massive brownie pointage for you this weekend.

Famous Captains

Captain Nemo
Captain Scarlet
Captain Ahab
Captain Hook
Captain Bligh
Captain America
Captain Buck Rogers (biddy-biddy)
Captain Sensible
Captain of my Heart

Captain Sinéad?

Yes, I've been asked to take over as Captain of my Guide Company. Well, one of the other leaders, Emma, and I have been asked to decide between ourselves which one of us will take on the role in September when the current Captain retires. (She's only been doing the job since 1978, so no pressure!)

Anyway, Emma's been there longer than I have, so I reckon that if she wants it, she should get it. Emma reckons that I should take it. I'm not fully sure why.

Meanwhile, I'm just trying it on for size. Any other famous captains out there that I've overlooked?

A Year in the Merde by Stephen Clarke

An almost sterotypically British Englishman goes to live in Paris and is met with a very stereotypically French reaction.
Some of it is a bit hit-and-miss, but some of it makes me laugh out loud. On the bus.

I can't believe it's been a year already

I'm a bit late with this reportage, but can you believe that David is already a year old?
No, really, he is. He's nearly walking, chats and sings away to himself and is currently cutting his fifth tooth (yes, he's a bit of a late developer on the dental front!), which has made for some incredibly unsettled nights' sleep for Conor and I over the past couple of weeks.
(cf: Con's blog)

Anyhoo, better late than never, check out how cute my li'l boy is!

Miss Garnet's Angel by Sally Vickers

A curmudgeonly old bird's friend dies, so she goes to Venice and realises that she's a curmudgeonly old bird. Beautiful story, beautifully told. Made me want to go back to Venice to see all the bits that I missed.

Reading Lists - for posterity

How this works
Why didn't I think of doing this before? I certainly read enough to make it a regular feature... From now on, there will be a note in the side panel about what I'm reading at the moment. Once I've finished it, I will move it to this main listing.

I have an owwiee (another one)

Well, I did it. Yesterday, along with 7,499 other gluttons for punishment, I ran the Great Bupa Ireland 10k Fun Run in the Phoenix Park in Dublin. It was also David's first birthday. But mostly, I ran 10k.

Granted, it was the first time in 3 or 4 years that I'd done the full 10k but to be honest, I was a little disappointed with my time of 1 hour 2 minutes. That already takes into account the time lapse between the starting gun and my crossing the starting line. Congratulations to my pal Ann Marie Brooks who finished it in 47 minutes - there's a time to be proud of. Gerry Gainford didn't start. So, even though I went more than 15 minutes over my target, I still beat Gerry. Go me!

I was also a little horrified by how shattered I was for the rest of the evening. After we got home, I lay in a hot bath for ages and then just vegged out on the sofa until I crawled back up the stairs to my bed at 9 o'clock.

Anyway, it was a great day and I really enjoyed it. Conor and David came out to cheer me on. My friend Aiveen and I ran nearly the whole course together until I had to take a break between 7 and 8km. I almost caught her back up at the end though, finishing just a minute behind her.

I got a bit emotional towards the end as I turned onto the home straight - just 600m to go - and I looked at my watch. It was 2.30 pm... a year to the minute when my beautiful brand new baby was handed to me and I remembered the feeling that I could do anything in the world that I wanted to. So I straightened up and dragged every last bit of my energy up from the ends of my hair to my toenails and I ran those last 500m (it took me 100m to gather my energy!)

My legs hurt today.

There was something on my mind...

There was something that I thought of this morning and it was accompanied by dinging klaxons, whirling lights and a little man dressed as a ringmaster that all yelled: "BLOG IT!"

I can't remember now what it was, but at least I did remember to blog it!

Dib-dib-dib

While I was growing up I was a Girl Guide (and quite a good one too - good in the sense that I got loads of badges, knew first aid, was able to tie knots, had plenty of practice building outdoor fires and cooking on them and could build a bridge or an overnight shelter with a piece of 4x4, a couple of branches and a length of twine, that is; not good in the sense of being, well, good.) Anyway, between the jigs and the reels, I left Guiding far behind me when I went to University (because, even though I wasn't good per se, the two lifestyles are very different!)

Last year, I moved back to the town where I grew up. One Wednesday afternoon in September, I was out walking and I met up with my old Guide Captain, who lives very close to where I do now. We were chatting away and I asked her if Guides was still going.

The long and the short of it - from that day on, I have been a Guide Leader. I'm back at my old company, working with a great bunch of girls (most of whom weren't even born when I left Guides). I got my warrant a couple of weeks ago - a nice shiny badge! - and I've just been on my first camp away in almost 15 years! (It was indoors - it's still far too bloody cold to camp out.)

Ooops, I got it again!

Oooh! That stomach bug!
I spent Sunday in a wretched heap.
Couldn't eat a thing.
Didn't even have the energy to stay awake through American Idol.
No fair.
Woe is me.

Flash Forward

I saw a vision of Conor and I about 30 years from now yesterday evening when I was on my way home from work. I couldn't hear what was being said, even though I was standing right next to them, but it was definitely us-in-the-future. And I'm scared.

She was the epitome of rage: eyes bugging out of her head; steam rising from her ears; giving out about something (me, I think - there may have been some perceived bus-stop queue skippage - and also everyone else standing around in the throng for the same reason; the bus was running about 5 minutes late aswell) and he was so calm - talking her down off the metaphoric water tower.

I swear, if she'd been a little shorter and he'd been a little taller with long hair and a beard, I'd have known for sure that these were the Ghosts-of-Christmases-yet-to-come and asked them what the world was like in their time and whether now was a good time to buy...

Anyway, the upshot of it all was that I made a mental note to calm the hell down. Just in general. I think it would be a valuable life skill. Future-me looked like a stress-induced heart attack waiting to happen.

In my defence

I got a bit of stick from Con last night about my previous blog.

Thing is though, you can never really tell the tone of someone's 'voice' on their blog. I was kidding. It was a celebration of city breaks. And a little bit of a rant against suburbanisation. But mostly a celebration of city breaks.

BTW, Venice is lovely. In estate agent parlance, viewing is highly recommended.

Oh God! I'm so suburban...

Sometimes I hate what I'm becoming - a middle-class suburban working mom. Such a hateful and dull cliché. I had such visions for myself - a high-flying, jet-setting, devil-may-care, free-as-a-bird individual. But no more. I appear to have relegated myself to the staunchly middle-of-the-road suburban 4-bed detached outside of the city territory that probably describes a good 50% of the population. How very unique.

On the plus side, I get to go on mid-week city breaks! Yeayyy!

Winter Vomiting Virus (ii)

And now, so does everyone on the 17.10 CL3 Mortons bus to Celbridge.

Sorry about that folks!

Winter Vomiting Virus

I used to think this was a myth.

Now?

I think I've got it.

I have an owwiee

Rather foolishly, a couple of weeks ago, I allowed myself to be goaded into challenging a "friend" to a 10k race. Our race will coincide with the Great BUPA Ireland Run in the Phoenix Park (which we're both signed up for) on 9 April this year. I said I'd do it in under 45 minutes. Not 45 minutes. Under. 45. minutes.

I've been in training ever since. Luckily for me, I like to run and there are plenty of nice places for me to go at work and at home. I've been going out at least twice and mostly 3 times a week.

I did a drive around at home over the weekend and realised that I'm going to have to train a bit harder. My main route takes me around 25 minutes to complete, but it's only 5.5k.

So I decided to ramp up my efforts today. I did this circuit in 30 minutes, but I'm not sure how far the route is, because there's no scale on the map. Anyway, I feel like it's a lot further than I normally go and that I did it at a quicker pace than I normally run, because Oh My God, my legs are like jelly this afternoon. I am exhausted.

I suppose that it's all good - another couple of days like it and maybe even 10k in under 40 minutes will be looking promising!

Gerry, are you listening? The gauntlet is being thrown back at you!

Ballot Stuffing

The Irish have always been good at stuffing on-line ballots. Case-in-point, when the Wolfe Tones' 'Only the Rivers in Ireland Run Free' was voted Best Song Ever in an on-line ballot run by the (British) Times newspaper. Maybe you've got to be Irish to understand why that's funny, but it is.

Anyway, Irish Blogs are currently running the Irish Blog Awards and I want all my loyal reader [sic] to join in the ballot stuffing effort as detailed below...

One of my husband Conor's posts on his blog has been nominated in the category of 'Most Humorous Post', while my friend Gerry's blog has been nominated for 'Best Personal Blog'.

It's only at the shortlisting stage at the moment, but your votes are still important. So get your browser to the Irish Blog Awards site and vote.

Insomniac ShitList: Advertisements

I'm not down on advertisements per se, but there are certain ones that I really don't like:

Item Two (added 9 February 2006)
Lucozade.
What was wrong with the old "Replaces lost ener-geeeeeeeeeee!" jingle?
Now we've got some funky dancing zombies, with missing body parts. What's the subtext? Drinking Lucozade will rot your insides, make your arms fall off your body and your eyes fall out of your head. No-one else in the shopping centre will want to hang out with you, except for other creepy-looking Lucozade-drinking zombies, who just want to eat what's left of your brains anyway. Hmmm, it just doesn't hit the right note with me... even if the jingle is better.

Item One (added 19 October 2004)
Harvey-bloody-Norman.
Have you heard the latest ad? Listen to this crap. What I would like to know is, what alternative does this Antipodean addle-pate suggest to "electrical computers"? I tried (though not very hard) to find the Harvey Norman website, but a google search for "Harvey Norman Superstore" (pages from Ireland) gave me this beautiful rant instead

Decommissioning, mk ii

I'm just catching up with myself (a year later, almost) and I'm going to keep the posts from Insomniac ShitList and Insomniac Baby, but I'm going to incorporate them into Insomniac Tirade. So, they'll be buried in here somewhere. Unfortunately, any comments posted (and there were a few, though not many) will not be making the move.

Once I'm done sorting that out, I might even get to a spot of blogging today. Or maybe tomorrow. Don't want to wear myself out, now do I?!