Dawn of the Bed

So, Mr Oub is watching some zombie apocalypse tv programme at the moment. I don't like zombies that much - what can I say, I'm a bit undeadist - so I thought I'd post a little something on my blog and avoid the moans of 'bbbbraaaains' and 'ooouuuuuuuugh'.

And everything else Mr Oub has to say for himself.

Boom, boom.

It's Friday night, there really isn't a lot of stuff going on here. I could be out in the pubs of Dublin with a bunch of politico friends of mine. They're made up of people one step removed from the action... wives, cousins, ex-partners of TDs, that sort of thing. The night out was planned as an evening to celebrate the end of the election and an opportunity to point and laugh at the Fianna Failers among us. You can imagine, I am sorry to miss that opportunity.

That said, the zombies onscreen are doing a pretty passable impression of The Fianna Fail party, so I'm not missing that much.



So why am I sitting here on a Friday night eating some marmite toast and drinking decaf tea (rockkkkkkkkkkkk'n'rollllllllllllllllll!) and wittering on to my mighty blog audience of two? (Hi mammy and daddy!)

Because that naughty naughty baby has me even more tired!


'Never!' I hear you cry.

'Not possible!' you shriek.


Yes. Because, you see, she has Ninja Colic. This is no ordinary colic - it doesn't happen reliably in the evening, last for a few hours, drive you mad, then go away until tomorrow. No, this Ninja colic leps out at you when you least expect it! 6am - 'Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!' 11am 'Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! 3pm 'Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah' and then, just to fuck with you, in the evening 'Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!' And never at the same time twice. And it skips some days altogether. You think it's gone, and then, out from behind the curtains it jumps! 'Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!'

All this should really have driven me to the pub, not kept me away.

Hmmm.

Now, you know, seeing that all written down, I'm wondering, why exactly am I at home?

Sigh.

Zombie show is over. Mr Oub has fallen asleep. Baba is doing a passable impression of a good baba asleep on his chest.



We're going door shopping tomorrow.


Be still my beating heart.