Poetry Bus!

Hurray, hurray the Poetry Bus is back.

Sadly, my poetry brain has atrophied in its absence... but, if rumours are to be believed, and the literary route is back, and the Poetry Bus will be passing by regularly, maybe there is hope that I can recapture my former glorious heights...

Anyway, on the theme 'Red Car', here is my latest effort...


Red Car

his car was red.
i kiss whispered in his ear.
i was his, i had the fear
he knew it.
his love like bleach
excruciating
leaving nothing
but a washed out stain
his car was red
and i sat next to him
whispered in his ear
I was his.

Poetry Bus!

Hurray, hurray the Poetry Bus is back.

Sadly, my poetry brain has atrophied in its absence... but, if rumours are to be believed, and the literary route is back, and the Poetry Bus will be passing by regularly, maybe there is hope that I can recapture my former glorious heights...

Anyway, on the theme 'Red Car', here is my latest effort...


Red Car

his car was red.
i kiss whispered in his ear.
i was his, i had the fear
he knew it.
his love like bleach
excruciating
leaving nothing
but a washed out stain
his car was red
and i sat next to him
whispered in his ear
I was his.

Abandon All Hope

I've always felt that when Cromwell suggested 'to Hell or to Connaught!' he was uttering a tautology of sorts.

Ah, hahaha, I amuse myself.

Apologies to all Connaughites.

I've just returned from visiting the in-laws in Mayo this weekend you see. And of course I'm not suggesting that my in-laws are minions of the Dark Lord. Heavens no. Nor am I suggesting that the winding roads of the rural Ballygobeelzebub remind me of the circles of hell. No.

I just don't travel well. Nor does Baby Oubliette. She's a champion sleeper. I'm that mam at toddler groups smugly crowing about how she slept right through the night from a day old and how she still takes ten naps a day blah blah blah. Those haggard husks of sleep deprive women hate me...

But in Mayo, Baby Oub has to sleep in the ancestral cot. I'm not kidding. My children have all had a spin in the cot their very own father slept in. Impressive. But unsurprisingly, this cot has seen better days. It creaks and generally isn't up to the princess and the pea standard Baby Oub is now used to.

Invariably, she wakes up in the middle of the night. And this is a baby who doesn't wake up in the middle of the night, so she doesn't know what to do. First she cries. I try to hush her as we're in someone else's house and God forbid we disturbed anyone! Well, okay, I'm not quite so concerned about that. Its more the memory of the first time one of my children woke up in the middle of the night when visiting the in-laws and I was nearly flattened by my mother-in-law in the middle of the night as she rushed to attend to my child.

So, I picked up the little munchkin, and in a technicolour example of the triumph of hope over experience, take her into the bed with us. Sigh. As I said she just doesn't know what to do when woken up - so she lies down to go to sleep with us. But a minute later, moves to another spot. Then two minutes later moves again. Continue for two hours. They're using this technique quite successfully in Guantanamo I believe.

I eventually, at 6 am, chucked her back into the crib/relic and despite a few screeches of protest, she gave up the struggle and went back to sleep.

This has happened every time we have visited the west in the past year.

Bad enough I'm not in my own home. Bad enough my children are being spoilt to within an inch of their lives (oh, the beatings that have to happen once we get to Dublin to remind the children they are not little emperors). Bad enough I have to hear about what happened to Maura, you know Maura? She lives over behind the Kelly's, married to Joe McMurphy? She worked with Aine? You know Aine? She's married to your cousin Jack O'Malley? Bad enough that its raining. Bad enough that...

But I spend the entire visit exhausted and grumpy as hell. It's not my best look.


I just know that when we leave, they tut and shake their heads. 'Why couldn't he have married a nice country girl?'

Worst bit of all?

I never did find out what Maura did. You know Maura?She lives over behind the Kelly's, married to Joe McMurphy?
She worked with Aine?
You know Aine?
She's married to your
cousin Jack
O'Malley?...........................

Abandon All Hope

I've always felt that when Cromwell suggested 'to Hell or to Connaught!' he was uttering a tautology of sorts.

Ah, hahaha, I amuse myself.

Apologies to all Connaughites.

I've just returned from visiting the in-laws in Mayo this weekend you see. And of course I'm not suggesting that my in-laws are minions of the Dark Lord. Heavens no. Nor am I suggesting that the winding roads of the rural Ballygobeelzebub remind me of the circles of hell. No.

I just don't travel well. Nor does Baby Oubliette. She's a champion sleeper. I'm that mam at toddler groups smugly crowing about how she slept right through the night from a day old and how she still takes ten naps a day blah blah blah. Those haggard husks of sleep deprive women hate me...

But in Mayo, Baby Oub has to sleep in the ancestral cot. I'm not kidding. My children have all had a spin in the cot their very own father slept in. Impressive. But unsurprisingly, this cot has seen better days. It creaks and generally isn't up to the princess and the pea standard Baby Oub is now used to.

Invariably, she wakes up in the middle of the night. And this is a baby who doesn't wake up in the middle of the night, so she doesn't know what to do. First she cries. I try to hush her as we're in someone else's house and God forbid we disturbed anyone! Well, okay, I'm not quite so concerned about that. Its more the memory of the first time one of my children woke up in the middle of the night when visiting the in-laws and I was nearly flattened by my mother-in-law in the middle of the night as she rushed to attend to my child.

So, I picked up the little munchkin, and in a technicolour example of the triumph of hope over experience, take her into the bed with us. Sigh. As I said she just doesn't know what to do when woken up - so she lies down to go to sleep with us. But a minute later, moves to another spot. Then two minutes later moves again. Continue for two hours. They're using this technique quite successfully in Guantanamo I believe.

I eventually, at 6 am, chucked her back into the crib/relic and despite a few screeches of protest, she gave up the struggle and went back to sleep.

This has happened every time we have visited the west in the past year.

Bad enough I'm not in my own home. Bad enough my children are being spoilt to within an inch of their lives (oh, the beatings that have to happen once we get to Dublin to remind the children they are not little emperors). Bad enough I have to hear about what happened to Maura, you know Maura? She lives over behind the Kelly's, married to Joe McMurphy? She worked with Aine? You know Aine? She's married to your cousin Jack O'Malley? Bad enough that its raining. Bad enough that...

But I spend the entire visit exhausted and grumpy as hell. It's not my best look.


I just know that when we leave, they tut and shake their heads. 'Why couldn't he have married a nice country girl?'

Worst bit of all?

I never did find out what Maura did. You know Maura?She lives over behind the Kelly's, married to Joe McMurphy?
She worked with Aine?
You know Aine?
She's married to your
cousin Jack
O'Malley?...........................

Wow! Milestone!

This is my 101st blog post.

I do hope its memorable.


















Oh well.

Wow! Milestone!

This is my 101st blog post.

I do hope its memorable.


















Oh well.

Schadenfreude

Schadenfreude

This is a good meaty sounding word. I always had trouble though, remembering exactly what it meant. For some reason, it would never stick in my head.

Then along came Iris Robinson and I'll never have to struggle with this one again.

As Baby Oubliette likes to say, while pointing a finger, 'Ha, ha! Ha, ha!"

Of course, this isn't very Christian of me. But then again, I don't think her comparing homosexuality to pedophilia was particularly Christian. Of course, her committing adultery is most definitely mentioned in the Big Guys big book of rules. I think she'll find it at number seven.

And the boy was just 19 - barely legal. Nuff said.

Schadenfreude

Schadenfreude

This is a good meaty sounding word. I always had trouble though, remembering exactly what it meant. For some reason, it would never stick in my head.

Then along came Iris Robinson and I'll never have to struggle with this one again.

As Baby Oubliette likes to say, while pointing a finger, 'Ha, ha! Ha, ha!"

Of course, this isn't very Christian of me. But then again, I don't think her comparing homosexuality to pedophilia was particularly Christian. Of course, her committing adultery is most definitely mentioned in the Big Guys big book of rules. I think she'll find it at number seven.

And the boy was just 19 - barely legal. Nuff said.

Snow Fun Anymore..

I have become an enforced agoraphobic. I have not left the house in days. I trundled out at the start of the week, and was regretting it in seconds. But turning back would have been nearly as dangerous. I have not ventured out since. Supplies are running low. Soon I will have to kill, butcher and serve up Mr Oubliette for food. Thankfully he's got a bit of flesh on his bones, so it should see us to the end of the cold snap.

The school is closed. I was like an OCD sufferer last night, repeatedly clicking refresh on the browser, waiting for the schools name to be added to the list on the RTE website. At about 11 o'clock it finally appeared. What could have been the delay? The school is at the bottom of a hill. A hill that doesn't get much exposure to sun. The only nearby carpark is at the top of steps that don't get any sun. And once you get to the school, its at the bottom of a long sloping drive. What could have made the principal wait so long to make the call? As no brianers go, this is as brain free as the Celebrity Big Brother house...

That said, I shouldn't criticise CBB. It is one of the bright spots in my dreary snowbound life at the moment. Well, no it isn't actually. I'm willing it to be. Every bloody year its on, and I don't watch it. Then some celebrity goes mental, best car crash tv in years, and I'm playing catch up.

So, I decided to watch from the start this year.

Snoozefest.

Oh well.


Anyway, to wrap up today, here are some pics from my snowy suburban oubliette...

Only the snow could make the horrible 1970s houses look pretty

Eldest Oubliette child unimpressed with taking a direct snow ball hit

Middle Oubliette child really quite happy with his aim...

Youngest Oubliette child, wistful for the day when she can catch the other two feckers.

Snow Fun Anymore..

I have become an enforced agoraphobic. I have not left the house in days. I trundled out at the start of the week, and was regretting it in seconds. But turning back would have been nearly as dangerous. I have not ventured out since. Supplies are running low. Soon I will have to kill, butcher and serve up Mr Oubliette for food. Thankfully he's got a bit of flesh on his bones, so it should see us to the end of the cold snap.

The school is closed. I was like an OCD sufferer last night, repeatedly clicking refresh on the browser, waiting for the schools name to be added to the list on the RTE website. At about 11 o'clock it finally appeared. What could have been the delay? The school is at the bottom of a hill. A hill that doesn't get much exposure to sun. The only nearby carpark is at the top of steps that don't get any sun. And once you get to the school, its at the bottom of a long sloping drive. What could have made the principal wait so long to make the call? As no brianers go, this is as brain free as the Celebrity Big Brother house...

That said, I shouldn't criticise CBB. It is one of the bright spots in my dreary snowbound life at the moment. Well, no it isn't actually. I'm willing it to be. Every bloody year its on, and I don't watch it. Then some celebrity goes mental, best car crash tv in years, and I'm playing catch up.

So, I decided to watch from the start this year.

Snoozefest.

Oh well.


Anyway, to wrap up today, here are some pics from my snowy suburban oubliette...

Only the snow could make the horrible 1970s houses look pretty

Eldest Oubliette child unimpressed with taking a direct snow ball hit

Middle Oubliette child really quite happy with his aim...

Youngest Oubliette child, wistful for the day when she can catch the other two feckers.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year
To you all
in the blogosphere.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year
To you all
in the blogosphere.