The house at the end of the universe.

My middle child has been thinking again.

His obsession with death is back. He's really quite cheerful about it all. Today he informed me he reckoned his grandparents would be dead by the time he was old. Couldn't disagree with him. He told me that they'd probably go due to 'big heart attacks'. This info was accompanied by the sound affect his six year old brain reckons having a big heart attack sounds like - a sorta strangled squeak. He's probably right. About the noise. Not his beloved grandparents fate. Once he finished musing on the macabre he asked could we change the number of our house. I told him we couldn't. He asked why not? Told him our post wouldn't find us. He seemed disappointed. I asked him what number had he had in mind for our house. His answer? Infinity. I have to say, I quite like the idea of living at No. Infinity Blah Grove*, Lucan, Co. Dublin. He might be on to something. And I'm sure An Post would find us eventually. Eventually, eventually...


*sure I'm hardly going to post my actual address, now am I? We all know only nutters surf the web... and read my blog....)

The house at the end of the universe.

My middle child has been thinking again.

His obsession with death is back. He's really quite cheerful about it all. Today he informed me he reckoned his grandparents would be dead by the time he was old. Couldn't disagree with him. He told me that they'd probably go due to 'big heart attacks'. This info was accompanied by the sound affect his six year old brain reckons having a big heart attack sounds like - a sorta strangled squeak. He's probably right. About the noise. Not his beloved grandparents fate. Once he finished musing on the macabre he asked could we change the number of our house. I told him we couldn't. He asked why not? Told him our post wouldn't find us. He seemed disappointed. I asked him what number had he had in mind for our house. His answer? Infinity. I have to say, I quite like the idea of living at No. Infinity Blah Grove*, Lucan, Co. Dublin. He might be on to something. And I'm sure An Post would find us eventually. Eventually, eventually...


*sure I'm hardly going to post my actual address, now am I? We all know only nutters surf the web... and read my blog....)

Cake and the CIA Plot

So what do you do the day after 'the man' has stolen 800 of your shiny new euros?

Yes, of course, go shopping at Avoca! Mother lode of lunching ladies and purveyors of pricey purchases.

I needed cheering up.

And I didn't actually buy anything. Well, not for myself. Here is what I got:

1) Set of bunny clips for Baby Oubliette
2) Lots of goodies for Grandmother Oubliette's birthday
3) Cakes for Oubliette boys.



And then I had a coffee. And no cake. Am I or am I not, a total saint? Having lost six pounds in the last seven days, I thought I might actually stay being good. And how have I lost so much weight I hear you all cry?

Totally faddy no carb diet.

I've probably damaged all my internal organs and a few external ones too. But I don't care anymore. I'm sick of doing it by the book and losing only an ounce or two a week.

That's said, Its soo not my fault that I am estranged from my waistline. I blame the CIA. Or maybe the Freemasons. OR the Illuminati. I'm not sure who it is exactly, but it's their fault!

Let me explain - there are four of us in my family. Myself and three brothers. Two brothers - skinny. Oh, they'll pat their bellies and say 'look, getting fat!' when in fact they look like they may have eaten a grape in the last six months or so. (You know who you are!) And then there is myself and brother eile. We were obviously perusing the dessert menu when metabolic genes were being handed out. That grape I mentioned earlier? Well, if we so much as looked at it, it would somehow mutate into the most calorie dense foodstuff know to man and then actually transfer this energy bomb to us - all without us even having to eat it!!

So it struck me - how odd. Its quite neat isn't it - half the children skinny. Half the children rotund. Same parents and upbringing. I decided it was a murky plot. Obviously our parents were approached sometime in the seventies and asked/forced to take part in a secret scientific experiment where my brother and I were injected with fat retention chromosomes. Or some such jiggery pokery.

It really is the only explanation.


(I am legally obliged to point out that brother has actually recently lost loads of weight and is now buffer than Brad.)

Cake and the CIA Plot

So what do you do the day after 'the man' has stolen 800 of your shiny new euros?

Yes, of course, go shopping at Avoca! Mother lode of lunching ladies and purveyors of pricey purchases.

I needed cheering up.

And I didn't actually buy anything. Well, not for myself. Here is what I got:

1) Set of bunny clips for Baby Oubliette
2) Lots of goodies for Grandmother Oubliette's birthday
3) Cakes for Oubliette boys.



And then I had a coffee. And no cake. Am I or am I not, a total saint? Having lost six pounds in the last seven days, I thought I might actually stay being good. And how have I lost so much weight I hear you all cry?

Totally faddy no carb diet.

I've probably damaged all my internal organs and a few external ones too. But I don't care anymore. I'm sick of doing it by the book and losing only an ounce or two a week.

That's said, Its soo not my fault that I am estranged from my waistline. I blame the CIA. Or maybe the Freemasons. OR the Illuminati. I'm not sure who it is exactly, but it's their fault!

Let me explain - there are four of us in my family. Myself and three brothers. Two brothers - skinny. Oh, they'll pat their bellies and say 'look, getting fat!' when in fact they look like they may have eaten a grape in the last six months or so. (You know who you are!) And then there is myself and brother eile. We were obviously perusing the dessert menu when metabolic genes were being handed out. That grape I mentioned earlier? Well, if we so much as looked at it, it would somehow mutate into the most calorie dense foodstuff know to man and then actually transfer this energy bomb to us - all without us even having to eat it!!

So it struck me - how odd. Its quite neat isn't it - half the children skinny. Half the children rotund. Same parents and upbringing. I decided it was a murky plot. Obviously our parents were approached sometime in the seventies and asked/forced to take part in a secret scientific experiment where my brother and I were injected with fat retention chromosomes. Or some such jiggery pokery.

It really is the only explanation.


(I am legally obliged to point out that brother has actually recently lost loads of weight and is now buffer than Brad.)

Never Blog Angry

Bord Gais have charged us 800 euro for the last two months.

If I had blogged a couple of hours ago, it might have read:

Those B************d in Bord F-ing Gais have the f***ing nerve to f***ing charge us f***ing 800 euro for the last two b****ring months!

M*******F*************

G*****ing Ht******** ST**********

(Last expletives made up out of sheer inability of existing swear words to convey the depth of my annoyance.)



But, after shouting at a poor girl in Customer Services, and then hanging up on her and then ringing back and talking nicely to another girl, I now feel much calmer. And hence the expletive free blog.


They still have my f***ing 800 euro though...

Never Blog Angry

Bord Gais have charged us 800 euro for the last two months.

If I had blogged a couple of hours ago, it might have read:

Those B************d in Bord F-ing Gais have the f***ing nerve to f***ing charge us f***ing 800 euro for the last two b****ring months!

M*******F*************

G*****ing Ht******** ST**********

(Last expletives made up out of sheer inability of existing swear words to convey the depth of my annoyance.)



But, after shouting at a poor girl in Customer Services, and then hanging up on her and then ringing back and talking nicely to another girl, I now feel much calmer. And hence the expletive free blog.


They still have my f***ing 800 euro though...

Upon reading Uiscebots lastest post...

Before reading his blog...




After...

Upon reading Uiscebots lastest post...

Before reading his blog...




After...

Noodles and Nature.

So, seeing as Uiscebot totally stole my plan to run a poll on which writers out there moved house aged five, looks like I'm going to have to write about something else.



Hmm.

I could write about the delish meal the Oubliettes had out at Wagamama's today. It's the Oubliette family favourite restaurant, though Yo! Sushi is a close second. Even though I adore the food, I think the most pleasure I get from visiting there is watching my kids, who once would only eat sausages and waffles, tuck into Edamame, Gyoza and Udon noodles with gusto. They'll eat sushi too - though with the wasabi scrapped off!

But, I won't write about that, as methinks, only I am terribly interested in it.

What else has been happening since I posted last?

Ah, the budget.

But the less said there the better... Unless of course being starving writers will make us better writers. (Less trips to Wagamama's, boo hoo.)

Anything else on my mind?




What about the something blossom tree outside my window? It's so beautiful it certainly deserves a few lines. Unfortunately, I'm not sure what type of blossom tree it is... Its not Cherry Blossom - could it be an Apple Blossom tree, does such a thing exist? Does that mean apples?

The Something Blossom Tree

In bloom, the Something Blossom tree
Loitering at my gate, in no hurry.
Its downy fingers play a gentle scale of springtime.
A recital just for me.



Okay. That's going to have to do :)

Noodles and Nature.

So, seeing as Uiscebot totally stole my plan to run a poll on which writers out there moved house aged five, looks like I'm going to have to write about something else.



Hmm.

I could write about the delish meal the Oubliettes had out at Wagamama's today. It's the Oubliette family favourite restaurant, though Yo! Sushi is a close second. Even though I adore the food, I think the most pleasure I get from visiting there is watching my kids, who once would only eat sausages and waffles, tuck into Edamame, Gyoza and Udon noodles with gusto. They'll eat sushi too - though with the wasabi scrapped off!

But, I won't write about that, as methinks, only I am terribly interested in it.

What else has been happening since I posted last?

Ah, the budget.

But the less said there the better... Unless of course being starving writers will make us better writers. (Less trips to Wagamama's, boo hoo.)

Anything else on my mind?




What about the something blossom tree outside my window? It's so beautiful it certainly deserves a few lines. Unfortunately, I'm not sure what type of blossom tree it is... Its not Cherry Blossom - could it be an Apple Blossom tree, does such a thing exist? Does that mean apples?

The Something Blossom Tree

In bloom, the Something Blossom tree
Loitering at my gate, in no hurry.
Its downy fingers play a gentle scale of springtime.
A recital just for me.



Okay. That's going to have to do :)

Waiting by the letterbox

Have a feeling I've won all the writing competitions I've entered recently. Those stories I sent off were just so fabulous there is simply no chance that I haven't swept the board. Mine, all mine.

No one appears to have told the postman this though. He stubbornly refuses to bring those letters of congratulations to my door. I am most cross with him.

Curse for the Postie

May your bicycle wheels be flat and your route be far
And may all the dogs fancy leg of postman tartar.

He has been warned.

Waiting by the letterbox

Have a feeling I've won all the writing competitions I've entered recently. Those stories I sent off were just so fabulous there is simply no chance that I haven't swept the board. Mine, all mine.

No one appears to have told the postman this though. He stubbornly refuses to bring those letters of congratulations to my door. I am most cross with him.

Curse for the Postie

May your bicycle wheels be flat and your route be far
And may all the dogs fancy leg of postman tartar.

He has been warned.

Millionaire Authors Club

Monday night saw the reconvening of the Millionaire Authors Club, (aka MAC), membership moi and Domestic Oubliettes old college friend who also writes - (from here on in to be known as Doocfwaw, catchy...)

So, we had been meeting regularly in the pubs of Drimnagh and Lucan to encourage each other in the pursuit of completing that difficult first novel. We were making progress that a snail with ME would have been embarrassed with, but still, many pleasant pints and packets of King crisps were consumed.

Then someone fed me after midnight, or should that be splashed me with water, and Baby Oubliette was on the way. I didn't have the ability to wash, never mind create a light and witty chick novel all about the lifes and loves of a group of young Dubliners at a crossroads in their lives.

Skip ahead now two years, and Doocfwaw gave me a buzz. What did I think about getting the old gang back together and giving it another go. He had scaled down the scope of his epic sci-fi book, and was now in a place where he thought he might actually get a book start to finish down on the page. I was delighted to resurrect my unfinished witty book about the life and loves of a group of young Dubliners struggling with unexpected decisions and life changing choices that would affect them for ever.

Seeing as Baby Oubliette is practically of college going age now I had no excuse. So, off to Drimnagh pub we went. We were scared by how empty it was! It used to be full enough on a Monday night, and there was always a couple of loungy staff around to take our orders. But empty. Only a doddery old bloke behind the bar (who practically kissed us and brought our drinks to the table and poured them for us). And so started a conversation about the R word. Eventually we dragged ourselves away from the seditious whispers where Cowen suffered far worse than his trousers round his ankles.

Pleasant surprise - I realised I had nearly 100k words written of the delightfully light and funny book about the life and loves of a group of young Dubliners faced with heartbreaking dilemmas - I thought I only had 80k, so that's a plus right from the beginning.

So, I've committed to a couple thousand words for next time. We'll be industrious and motivated in Kenny's in Lucan with our efforts. If its still in business that is...

Millionaire Authors Club

Monday night saw the reconvening of the Millionaire Authors Club, (aka MAC), membership moi and Domestic Oubliettes old college friend who also writes - (from here on in to be known as Doocfwaw, catchy...)

So, we had been meeting regularly in the pubs of Drimnagh and Lucan to encourage each other in the pursuit of completing that difficult first novel. We were making progress that a snail with ME would have been embarrassed with, but still, many pleasant pints and packets of King crisps were consumed.

Then someone fed me after midnight, or should that be splashed me with water, and Baby Oubliette was on the way. I didn't have the ability to wash, never mind create a light and witty chick novel all about the lifes and loves of a group of young Dubliners at a crossroads in their lives.

Skip ahead now two years, and Doocfwaw gave me a buzz. What did I think about getting the old gang back together and giving it another go. He had scaled down the scope of his epic sci-fi book, and was now in a place where he thought he might actually get a book start to finish down on the page. I was delighted to resurrect my unfinished witty book about the life and loves of a group of young Dubliners struggling with unexpected decisions and life changing choices that would affect them for ever.

Seeing as Baby Oubliette is practically of college going age now I had no excuse. So, off to Drimnagh pub we went. We were scared by how empty it was! It used to be full enough on a Monday night, and there was always a couple of loungy staff around to take our orders. But empty. Only a doddery old bloke behind the bar (who practically kissed us and brought our drinks to the table and poured them for us). And so started a conversation about the R word. Eventually we dragged ourselves away from the seditious whispers where Cowen suffered far worse than his trousers round his ankles.

Pleasant surprise - I realised I had nearly 100k words written of the delightfully light and funny book about the life and loves of a group of young Dubliners faced with heartbreaking dilemmas - I thought I only had 80k, so that's a plus right from the beginning.

So, I've committed to a couple thousand words for next time. We'll be industrious and motivated in Kenny's in Lucan with our efforts. If its still in business that is...