There’s a feeling welling in the pit of my stomach. A tension. A nervousness that won’t abate. I can’t sit still. Something’s stirring. I’m fidgeting like a bastard.

And I’m not a religious man. Not at all. But today I’m calling on God. All the Gods. Allah. Buddha. Anyone who’ll listen. Everyone.

Please, please let us beat the cheese eating surrender monkeys. Just this once.

Allez les verts.

During the summer I spent a fantastic week in the company of family and friends at a wedding in Eastern Europe. Much fun and frolics ensued. And only yesterday I was talking to a cousin about it all. It transpires that 3 of the couples who were there have, in the past few days, broken news of impending arrivals so the stork will be busy in Springtime it seems.

Then it struck me that it’s almost exactly 3 months on from that trip.

“Jaysus there must’ve been something in the air in Slovakia”, says I to the cousin.

And quick as a flash, without so much as a breath…

“Yeah, legs” says he.

As I say, sharp, so very sharp.

Her: “You know what day it is today?”
Me (internally): “Oh fuck, what have I forgotten?”
Me (reality): “Emmmmmmm”

Awkward pause. And then eventually…

“Happy anniversary my dear!”

You see the pause is what fucked me up. And the fact that I had neglected to remember the date until I heard the tone of the question. That way women have of asking such questions. It’s all about the tone and the delivery.

And my lame attempt at getting out of it didn’t help either…

“I thought it was the 30th”

And in so doing I joined that stereotypical male, idiot grouping who forget anniversaries and birthdays. And I’m genuinely annoyed at myself for doing so. I didn’t think I would ever be that fucking eejit but today I’ve helped further denigrate the status of mankind.

And now there’s no chance I’ll get to see the Arsenal – Liverpool match this evening.

I’m not a huge fan of eggs it has to be said. I must’ve had a bad egg-related experience as a child. And this crappy slogan isn’t gonna change that any time soon….

Nor this…

Seriously. People got paid lots of money to come up with those ideas and to implement them. And that’s the best they could do to promote eggs?

C’mon, “an egg a day is ok”? What a slogan, what copy. For fuck’s sake. Mad Men they ain’t. They’re practically saying eggs are mediocre at best. And they’re supported by An Bord Bia channelling our taxpayers money for this shitty campaign.

And the gas thing is at the bottom of the promo website it has this… © Irish Egg Marketing Limited 2008. They needn’t worry, I don’t think anyone’s gonna nick those slogans any time soon so they may hold off on the patents.

I’ve been inspired by the Radge. Mainly his recent Bish Bash Bosh post. A fine, simple post indeed. In it the aforementioned Radge draws up a list of his very own 6 word narratives. It’s all very literary, being based on Hemingway’s story which goes thus… ‘For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.’ Very deep man, don’t ya think?

Radge specifically did not or does not intend this to be a meme but fuck it, it set me to thinking of my own. So here goes nothing.

1. Six words is not a lot.
2. Red beachball sales go through roof.
3. Jamie Oliver continues to annoy me.
4. Andy should have listened to Giovanni.
5. The leaves will surely grow back.
6. Ernest Hemingway I certainly am not.
7. Six sixty a pint? Cunting Gogartys.
8. Pissing off balconies is quite dangerous.
9. Ciarán Mullooly sounds like his name.
10. Pay cuts are better than unemployment.
11. Fuck me this is quite hard.
12. Ribery makes Tevez look like Clooney.
13. It’s 2009. Why can’t we fly?

That’s about the height of it.

That is the gist of John O’Donoghue’s going away speech. What a martyr, a hero. Sign him up for a sainthood right away.

What a prick is the real truth. A petty, bitter man with no sense of shame. A product of the Fianna Fáil corruption line. He practically said, “I didn’t even enjoy all the fillet steaks, I only ate them for the good of Ireland”.

Fuck off John. Shame on you.

Bohemians FC play “Hold Me Now” by Johnny Logan at the end of every match.

That is all.

A quiet Friday night in. Nice glass of wine and all that jazz.

And then a knock on the door. An unexpected rat-a-tat-tat. Who could it be I thought? I kicked off the slippers, didn’t wanna look uncool. You know yourself.

So I opened the door, a little tentatively at first cos ya just never know. It was one of the sisters from across the hall. They’ve only just moved in. About 23/24 I’d say. Could be twins. Met them for the first time in the lift the other day. Seem nice and pleasant.

“Has your electricity gone off?” says she.

“No, it all seems fine here”.

“Oh, ours has gone off somehow”.

The other sister was standing in the doorway looking every inch the damsel in the distress. Turns out the hair straightener was much needed and now defunct.

Who said chivalry was dead eh? “Let me have a look… if that’s ok?” says I.

“Oh please do”. Two sisters in bathrobes. One says “oh please do”. Good God.

So I wandered across the hall. Throwing the odd shape I’d say.

A quick look at the fusebox on the wall. “Hmmmm, I reckon you must’ve overloaded the circuit” says I. Impressed they were. No doubt about it. Alpha male me.

And then just as I was about to flick the trip switch her indoors wanders across the corridor. “Looks like the trip switch. The grey button there, flick that one up” says she. And sheepishly I did. Straight away the hair-dryer started to whir once more and they all introduced themselves while I was stood on a stool in the hall.

And in one foul swoop one man’s dream had died. Ah well. Easy come, easy go eh?!?

The stat counter looks like a graph mapping the Anglo Irish share price of late. The amount of new comments in the past week mirror the amount of new posts. It’s been like a Roman Polanski film set of late round here. Tumbleweed wouldn’t be seen dead near this place.

Things have gotten so bad I nearly signed up for twitter. But only nearly.

But all is well dear reader. For now I shall offer no new pearls but the world still turns. Just a post about posting.

It happens to the best of us.

As seen on irishtimes.com…