The News! Ha!

The News! Ha!

“At some stage in their lives most men will stumble upon the truth, but most men will pick themselves up and stumble onward.”

Winston Churchill said that, or something to that effect. Even though I wouldn’t be a fan of his, that statement was so true.

The thing that drives me crazy is the news. The news should be re-named ‘the lies’.

The thing that bugs me even more than the news are the people who believe it.

The thing that bugs me even more than the people who believe it, are the people who know it’s lies and choose to pretend.

I could post links to youtube videos showing proof that the bigger the channel, the bigger the lie.

Like the reporter telling that the third tower had fallen, then suddenly being cut off mid report when they realised it was still standing, behind her, in the background. That same third tower which never appeared once in the commission report. Why? Watch the video of the thing falling.

Or the news channel that showed “live pictures” of crowds in Libya during the “rebellion”. Which was a recording from India!!

And why do the “experts” always get interviewed with a well stocked library shelf in the background, while the “nonconformists” get interviewed in a car park or in the middle of their breakfast? Because a picture says a thousand words.

I could post links but then that would spoil the dream.

If anybody wants both sides of the coin, go to youtube, because you will only ever get tales on telly. Not one news report is trustworthy to me anymore.

I did want to type something humourous for today’s prompt but the news is a serious matter. Some men and women sign their lives away based on it. That’s not on.

The prompt asks, What can I do to prevent it from happening?

I don’t know, perhaps pretend it’s not happening? It seems to work for others.

Winston hit the nail, with his statement.

Thank you for reading


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I have hit a stone wall with today’s prompt.

I don’t understand how to answer the question.

I think having values and standards is just something that happens and improves or unimproves as we go through life.

Showing compassion? I think it’s either in me or not.

Sympathetic? It’s either in me or not.

Rolling up the sleeves and helping rather than talking about helping? It’s either in me or not.

Sometimes I wish I were one way or the other but it never amounts to more than wishes. The early years form the values of a person. Isn’t there a proverb, “Show me the child and I’ll show you the man.” I believe that to be true.

So I guess most of us here are past the child stage. And by now, we are what we are!

It is probably a good question because it is so hard to answer. I guess the code I try to stick to is to remind people how special we are incase nobody ever told us.

We are not just a number. We are special. That’s my code, I guess.

See, I got there in the end!

Thank you for reading



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Anamchara. That word is millenia old.

It’s from the Gaelic (Irish/Celtic) language. Sometimes it has been broken into two words; anam cara, meaning soul’s friend.

The inetersting thing is that the word, anamchara,  was never meant to be split in two. Neither does it mean ‘soul mate’ as we understand it today.

The ancient Celts were so in tune with their gaurdian angel, spirit guide, synchronicity, Holy Spirit…whatever name we choose, that they worked as one. They hadn’t the same pollution in the mind that we have today.

My anamchara made itself known a few years ago and I have been trying to work in tune with it since.

As for my soul mate. It can only be my wife.

Think of the most humble, giving, forgiving, generous person.

Now half that, and that’s my wife. She also has a nice little sense of humour.

As if by a sign from my anamchara, yesterday at my parents’ home, I found a little diary I had kept during my early years as a motor mechanic. It was used to record different jobs on cars etc. It was one of those things I had forgotten even existed.

I randomly opened it somewhere in the middle. “Sunday, 30th June 1991; Me and Porter called up for Marie and Liz. Went to tavern. I tackled Marie. Yes.”

I was twenty. The tavern, was the name of a night club. Tackled meant I asked her to be my girlfriend.

She didn’t answer “yes”. She just threw the arms around my neck and hepled herself to my lips. I have that effect!

My anamchara reminds me every now and then just how lucky I am to have a soul-mate like her.

Thank you for not crying


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Saying thanks, starting write now.

Saying thanks, starting write now.

The best cure for the blues is to excercise. Exercise  = Exorcise

Another cure is recieving the Liebster badge!


Thanks to this lady I don’t have the blues today nor probably for the rest of the week. I enjoy the easy way she tells her tales. It seems effortless to read her posts and before I realise I’m reading at all…I’m at the end; A sure sign of a talented writer.

There are conditions to this badge. Before I wear it, I have to

(a) Thank the blogger who gives it.

(b) Answer the eleven questions she asks.

(c) Nominate eleven bloggers with less than 500 followers.

(d) Ask these eleven bloggers eleven questions.

(e) Let these bloggers know that I have nominated them.


Here are the questions I was asked, plus my answers.

1. Do I prefer real books or internet or audio books?

I prefer real books. Audio books are also a great alternative to a physical storyteller.

2. If money was no object what would I do all day?

I would tour all the historic and prehistoric sites around Ireland. Over and over and over!

3. Where do I most want to travel?


4. Up to now, what has been my biggest success?

Breaking every rule in the book and still believing that I will be forgiven.

5. University or Life experience, which prepares a person best?

Neither! Good parenting is key. Read to them stories from Aesop’s fables and/or Children’s Bible.

6. What is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me?

Forgiving me.

7. I have a Ten minute speech to give at a high school. What will it be about?

Explaining that anybody who preaches peace with a stockpile of weapons and souls at their disposal is as close to evil as it gets.  Let him/her do his own shooting.

8. Favourite Ice cream flavour?


9. Night person or Morning person?


10. What book have I attempted to read several times but couldn’t finish?

None! I think I have finished every book.

11. What book title best describes my life?

A traveler’s guide to Sacred Ireland. by Cary Meehan

Every page is a whole new experience.


My nominees are:


My questions for them are :

1. Tea or coffee?

2. Best piece of advice you have ever been given?

3. Which do you prefer Mountain or Beach?

4. Biggest lie you ever bought?

5. Your dream job?

6. Any phobia?

7. Favourite holiday memory, if any?

8. Can you swim?

9. Apart from swimming, what should we all try to learn?

10. Do you have a pet?

11. Can you recommend an Author?


ps…are you nosey like my wife?

Thank you for reading


A little song about swimming.



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Slow learner.

Slow learner.


“Pride always comes before a fall.”

My mother (the one with the dentures) said that.

I’m sure somebody else had coined it before her. But she never gave them credit for it. She made that comment her own and took all the pride for it.

It’s true though, about pride. Her words have been ringing in my ears on so many occasions throughout my life so far. And if my past is anything to go by, I will have plenty of falls in the future.

For instance, if this nonsense turns out to be the most popular post in the history of WordPress and the Likes are in the hundreds, overnight I will develop a swagger like John Wayne. I will forget Mammy’s wisdom until tomorrow’s post which will struggle to reach three Likes. And only then will I remember her words.

In recent years I have been improving my ability to shun pride. I try to stay grounded. I say “try.” But it’s like writing or running or anything really. The more I practice, the easier it gets.

I try to understand what the likes of Saint Francis understood. Even the wild animals wanted to be near him. I think he was the first person to recieve the stigmata. But in his early life he was no saint (as the cliché goes). He once said “I have been all things unholy. If God can work through me, He can work through anyone.”

My wife has warned me not to get too serious in my blog. I know she’s right but I can’t help it sometimes. I don’t want to be the great pretender on my own blog!

The truth is people like Saint Francis facinate me! The way a particle accelerator facinates a molecular scientist. Or outer space facinates an astronomer.

God is almost a dirty word in modern society. I wonder how they achieved that. It seems to be working for them, the new age thinking. I am no threat. The closest I will get to stigmata is perhaps a blister on my palm from holding a beer bottle the wrong way.

To wrap up and in answer to the question posed in today’s Daily Prompt I will steal a few lines from another mother, and take the entire credit like the imposter and hypocrite that I am.


Thank you for reading


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One man’s miracle…

One man’s miracle…

Some days when everything works against me it makes me smile. It sounds crazy I know.  It’s a recent alteration to the way I see the world.

One Friday afternoon, a  few years ago, I arrived back at the warehouse a bit later than usual. On the final leg of my journey I got stuck behind a chain of slow moving traffic. I cursed the farm tractor or whatever was causing the tailback but it didn’t improve things. I just had to ride it out like everybody else.

When eventually, I did get back to the warehouse my co-workers were long gone. On Fridays we usually knock off at 3pm, give or take  a few minutes. It was now 3:30.

I had to unlock the gates and open the large roller door, switch the lights on etc. More wasted time!

I reversed the truck inside the building, parked up, switched off the lighting, closed the roller door and made my way across the yard to my car. Mine was the only car left in the yard. The other workers were probably tucking into their dinners by now.

Just as I reached the car, a question occurred to me. Did I switch on the electric fork truck battery charger? It was my job to ensure the thing was charged up and ready for work on Monday morning.

So I went back. Opened the large roller door, lights on, checked on the fork truck and realised Yes I had put it on the charger after all. I can be forgetful at times but this was something I did only five minutes previous. Anyhow, Que Sera Sera. I lowered the roller door and made my way back to my car.

Like the previous time, just as I was about to get in the car, a little inner voice goes “Lights? Did you turn off the lights?” So I go back, open the roller door, only to discover I had left the lights on. Good thing I listened.

On my third attempt to get into my car, and go home, I heard another little noise. This noise was getting louder and louder, coming towards me. I turned around to see a forty foot Scania pulling into the yard. My fate was sealed. I knew what this meant. I would be very late home today. The driver climbed down and approached  me.

“Alright Mate,” in his English accent. “I have twenty-six pallets for you guys. I know I am late and I’m sorry. Would you be willing to fork them off for me?”

“Sure I will.” I answered. Because I’m a Yes man and that’s what Yes men do.

So, again,  I opened the roller door, switched the lights on, unplugged the fork truck and set to work unloading his truck.

When I was done it was close to 4:30. I started to sign the paperwork for the delivery. I was feeling a little bit sorry for myself until the driver made an odd statement.

“Thanks a lot mate. I’ll be able to catch the last ferry back to England this evening. If you hadn’t been here I would have had to park up until Monday.”

“Yep, it’s your lucky day!” I remarked as I signed my name on umpteen papers.

“The truth is, silly as this sounds, I prayed to God when I realised I would be late. I asked that he would work a small miracle for me. And believe me mate, I never pray. I owe him one for this.” He said.


On my drive home I realised something. That for every lucky break a person gets, the chances are that somebody else has to accept being second best. In a strange way, I felt special. My frustrating afternoon helped a miracle to happen for somebody.

One man’s miracle is another man’s cold dinner.

Thank you for reading,


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Banksy – The Advertisers

Some things need to reblogged.

"no doubt about it that nut's a genius"


‘People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you’re not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else. They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are ‘The Advertisers’ and they are laughing at you.

You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law mean advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity.

Fuck that. Any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It’s yours to take, re-arrange and re-use…

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There comes a time in a man’s life when he has to take stock. He has to weigh up the important against the irrelevant. Sort the treasured loving memories from the one night stands.

Problem is, some of my most treasured memories are one night stands! Thanks ladies. I will never forget you. We were good together…all three of us.

In the hunt for that one elusive memory I could delve into my childhood, and tell tales of tree huts and footballs. Or I could write prose about walks along the beach with my ball and ch… I mean beautiful wife. I could tell about bearing witness to the miracle of childbirth, a brand new person with their own little thoughts and feelings and dirty bum.

But I am feeling rather sentimental this evening. There are just some things which money can’t buy. Things that come along once in a lifetime. Some things you have to grab with both hands, and lift high up onto shoulders to become one, girating, shaking, hand in the air, head banging creature of rock!

Lifting my wife onto my shoulders at a rock concert was a thing I hadn’t done in nearly twenty years. But it had to be done. This was AC/DC. The greatest rock band of all time, bar  none.


As a boy, they were the one band for whom I would have gladly sacrificed my grandparents to watch play live in concert. My lifelong ambition was fulfilled in 2009. My grandparents had long since died of natural causes.

The shivers were running down my spine when Angus was doing his famous guitar solo during ‘Let there be rock’….so I had to put her down.

Seriously though. I don’t usually go overly sentimental on things but these guys sound better in person than on the radio or earphones. They take rock music and make it appealing to everybody. In fact, if your head doesn’t fall off  whilst listening to the song I’ve included, then check yourself for a pulse.

I will always treasure that evening in 2009. I was a schoolboy once again. With a 38 year old school girl on my shoulders. And a whole lot of woman she was!

Sorry darling, I meant a slight woman.

Thank you for rocking,


In response to


Truck Talk

Truck Talk


“I don’t know your, your…friend… here but to be honest, Frankie, I am shocked at you.” She said. Then turned on her heels and stormed out.

I didn’t see that coming.

There is a roadside diner I frequent for lunch. Lots of people from all professions stop to eat there. It’s one of those places where the staff make you feel as if you’re the most important customer they ever had.

There’s a waitress who works there. I understand it is rude to describe somebody by their physical appearance.  So I will just give her name, as it is spelled on her badge. Manddy! Notice the double ‘d’. Her name suits her. That’s all I’m saying.

So this one day I arrived in to find a friend of mine sat alone at a booth by the window.  He’s a truck mechanic. I used to work alongside him for years until I hung up the spanners and opted for a life inside a truck rather than underneath.

It was great to talk technical again, with somebody who knew what he was talking about. I was telling him about a few problems I had been having with my old girl, my baby, my truck.

She doesn’t have the modern self greasing system. It is an older model. All greasing has to be carried out by hand, using a tool called a grease gun. Each joint has a small little connection to which the gun  would be attached. These connection points are called grease nipples. The word nipple conjures up a different image in the mind of a mechanic. Not a sexy image at all. It is a messy job.

We were in deep conversation when an elderly neighbour of mine arrived in and sat at the table next to us. A real lady, it has to be said. I gave her a little wave. She replied with her trademark nod and smile. Rather like the queen of England would do.

Manddy took her order then came over with more tea for us. We thanked her and returned to our conversation.

“Do you wanna know what I would do with her?” asked my friend.

“Go on, give me your expert opinion.” I answered with a knowing smile. He loved talking trucks.

“Well she’s a big girl, isn’t she?”

“She is indeed.” I nodded.

“And you say she’s been around the block a fair bit?”

“Well, no shame in it.”

“Aye, but she’s seen a fair bit of grease if you know what I mean?”

“I suppose.” He had a point. “Put it like this, she was never neglected anyway.”

“Well I would pull her inside and get underneath her. There has to be something you haven’t tried yet. Move the pins from side to side and listen to her. If she’s making a squeeky noise then you’re on the money!”

“You reckon she needs more grease?”

“Aye, there has to be an air pocket in there somewhere that hasn’t seen grease in a while. I know it’s hard to believe. But trust me, I know her type. Maybe she has a blocked nipple.”

“How would you unblock that?” I asked.

“Don’t waste your time unblocking it. Sure nipples are dirt cheap nowadays. In fact I would replace the set. But try to give her the grease first. Maybe that’s all she wants… ”

Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. My neighbour was in a hurry to leave. But not before she stopped at our table to create a scene.

On her way out she passed Manddy who was pouring tea at another table.

“As for you,” she said as she looked her up and down. “Hmph!” Then left the diner.

My friend and I looked at each other.

Then he goes “Women! I’ll never understand them.”


Thank you for reading,


In response to


All aboard!

All aboard!


Have you ever stood beside a railway track and marveled at the work that went into building it? I am sure you have.

The thing about railway tracks is that they aren’t in your face like most structures. They stay grounded. They don’t demand attention.

The pattern of the sleepers stays the same from A to Z.

I wonder if I were to remove a sleeper, using a chain saw or whatever, would it be catastrophic?

It might well prove to be, if for instance that particular  sleeper was at a critical joining point between two rail sections. The shockwave would reverberate to the next sleeper, and the next, and so on until eventually all sleepers would be shaken, and less than sound.

There is a common piece of advice offered to young, newly married couples around the world. I have heard this piece of advice numerous times, at weddings, in movies, in books etc.

“Never go to sleep without first sorting out any disagreements between yourselves. ”

That advice is pretty good for any person, single or married.

I remember one time I was a bit upset with somebody. I let them know how I felt. I went to sleep and when I awoke the person was dead.

It took a long long time to sleep properly after that. My final words to the person haunted me for a long time. I have served my sentence.

I’m hunky dory now! As you can tell.

So my advice on sleeping is simple. Make peace before you close your eyes. A clear mind is better than any sleeping drug.

A railway track looks pretty boring when it’s  finished. But I like to imagine the thing being built. People, even with their differences of opinion, working together making their way forward to the final destination. And a good night’s sleep at the end of each day.


Thank you for reading,


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