A Morning Visitor

I live on the top floor of the building. I was leaving for work yesterday morning when I saw this cheeky animal sitting outside the neighbours flat, directly opposite mine. The door he's in front of is up 6 flights of stairs! I went back inside to get my camera, and when I got back he hadn't budged. I took a few pictures with the flash on, and still he didn't seem in the slightest bit bothered by me. It was warm where he was sitting, and an inconvenience like me certainly wasn't going to get him back outside to the cold and wet!

Nice one, Robbie (and co.)!!

We've had our problems in recent times, but thank God that Ireland bowed out of Landsdowne Road on a high. I realise that European minnows San Marino should never have been a test for the Boys in Green, but after our trip to Cyprus, I have to admit that until we'd gone a couple of goals up on them, I was unable to relax and enjoy the show.

A couple of dodgy passes out of defense aside, it was a pretty accomplished display for the fans to watch. San Marino never looked like threatening Shay Given's goal, even from the set pieces that should have been their most likely route to scoring.

A man-of-the-match winning display from Robbie Keane, including his first ever international hat-trick, saw Ireland take 5 unanswered goals from the game. A deflected Andy Reid free-kick, and a great header off the underside of the crossbar from Kevin Doyle rounded off the scoring for the home side.

So, the Irish faithful left Landsdowne road for the last time with plenty to smile about. (Not least Federico Crescentini's hairstyle. And I use "style" in the loosest sense of the word!). Now it's onwards to Croke Park (after a quick trip to San Marino) to face Wales in a historic match that will hopefully keep those smiles just as wide.

Manchester, Here I Come...

Finally...

After weeks of trying, i've eventually landed a couple of tickets to see Morrissey play the G-Mex in Manchester on the 23rd December. It's the last gig of the tour, and is bound to be a cracker. I managed to land the pair of tickets for £52.00 ... not bad considering their face value is £35 + (ludicrous multiple) ticketmaster fees. I love getting tickets for less than face value on eBay... Maybe it's the bargain-hunter in me, but I suspect it's more the slightly smug feeling you get when you feel you've got one over on someone else! I know that sounds bad, but I've been stung a couple of times selling tickets on eBay, too, and could only imagine the satisfied faces of the person who just nabbed my tickets for a bargain-basement price!

I've seen him play 5 times before, with the best being a toss-up between the Olympia in Dublin and Old Trafford Cricket Ground in Manchester (at the Move festival). Hopefully this one will rate up near the top, too!

As an aside.... I saw him play in Earl's Court, London. What is with London crowds? The place was packed, but the vast majority didn't seem that excited at all. Compared with places like Glasgow and Dublin, the atmosphere was very subdued. They seemed to have a "Right, i'm here... so entertain me" attitude, rather than showing up at the gig looking forward to seeing the singer/band that they liked. It really baffled me, and made that gig a less enjoyable experience than it otherwise would have been!

I'm fairly sure this won't be a problem in his home town of Manchester.

Only 34 shopping days until Morrissey!!

When "Having a Glow" just isn't enough!

Is your pregnant belly boring you?

Tired of your husband telling you you're "glowing", when all you feel is fat?

Want to brush up on your geography during pregnancy?

Here's the solution

Seriously, people will try and sell anything!

I stumbled across this page when searching for something completely different... (honest)

Guinness Withdrawal

I've been here in Scotland for three days now after a 5-day stint back home in Dublin, and I'm starting to notice that Guinness is no longer coursing through my system. It’s a disappointing realisation, I must say.

It’s great to see my family and friends when I’m back, it really is, but it’s an almost physical yearning for the black stuff that I feel as the day to fly home draws nearer. It’s nearly the first thing I do when I get off the plane. Straight into the airport bar, and order up a pint. Even writing this now I can feel the mouth-watering anticipation as I watch it settle. I fork over at least one-too-many Euro for the thing, and wait for it to settle to a defined black and white contrast. As soon as the first gulp passes my lips, I’m home again.

But now it’s over. Until Christmas, at least, I’ll have to sate my thirst with one of the many lagers they dole out by the pintful over here. They range from terrible to pretty damn good, but not one of them can reach the spot that the uncarbonated ebony and creamy white can reach.

I’ve tried drinking Guinness over here. I’ve tried hard. But despite the recent “Now Brewed in Dublin” campaigns that they’ve thrown at me, it just doesn’t seem the same. Maybe it’s in my head; an emotional attachment with my home country, but I don’t think so.

I’ve had very good pints of Guinness in very good countries across the world, but there’s only one country I’ve ever had a GREAT pint in…

A Rude Awakening...

Why this incident inspired me to start writing a blog again, I'll never know...

I had just got back on Monday night from a long weekend in Ireland. My flight was delayed a couple of hours, and I was starving by the time I got back to the flat. It was pushing midnight after a long day and I had work in the morning, but I was too hungry to hit the hay without making something to eat. (Chips and cheese, as that was the sum total of my fridge-freezers contents. Unless you count milk with "personality"). By the time I got to bed I was absolutely shattered and went out like a light. (Forgetting to set the alarm...)

---[edit bizarre dream sequence]---

...I awoke with a jolt, in that state of blind panic that only the (very) sudden realisation that you have slept late can bring about. Sure enough, the neon red "07:31" glaring at me confirmed my fears. I leapt out of bed, promptly standing on a shoe lying in wait at my bedside. I lurched forward in the dark, and put a hand out to brace myself on the wall. Instead of the wall, I found the door. It was ajar enough for the top of my left hand little finger to fit through the gap. In this gap it rested for a brief, happy time... until the rest of my hand met the rest of the door at some considerable speed. Consider for a moment the fact that I had been in a deep, comfortable sleep only 8 seconds previous to this. You should then be able to imagine the confusing contrast between this blissful state, and having the fingernail and tip of your little finger being slammed firmly in a door.

It's two days later now, and my long weekend in Ireland is fading to a distant memory, but I have a still-aching purple fingernail to remind me of the awful 8-seconds which overshadowed it completely.

Somehow that doesn't strike me as fair.