Getting the priorities in order.

Getting the priorities in order.

It’s like deja vu. I have too many irons in the fire…again. So I intend to take a break for a while. Gotta get my priorities in order.

If, in the meantime, I think of something that will change the world, you guys will be first to hear about it.

My blog has made it, by some mistake, to the short list of the ‘best humour blogs’ in Ireland. I haven’t worn my funny cap in months. Strange. Best of luck to the remaining participants.

On the car journey home from work today, my workmate and myself were listening to the news on the radio. He had lived across the pond, in Boston, for a few years. He has fond memories of the States, some of which he retells to me on our journeys home.

But today on the radio the newsreader told the heartbreaking tale of a young girl who accidentally shot her gun instructor…with an Uzi !! That’s a submachine gun. It ‘sprays’ bullets.

I will pray that the girl will fully recover from the eyewitness shock of what a gun actually does. The poor girl. May God watch over her.

“…the girl was nine years old,” finished the newsreader.

With that, my workmate starts nodding and goes “And they can’t order a beer until they’re 21.”

Then silence in the car…except for the weather on the radio.

Thank you for reading







St Patrick’s day is drawing to a close. There is cement still stuck to my hands. It’s the quick setting variety so I can’t linger.

In Ireland it’s a national holiday. We can do whatever we like, within reason. This year I happpened to use the day off to refurbish the bathroom in my parents house, hence the cement. It was probably safer for all that way.

There is a lot of talk about drinking and getting drunk on days like this.

I will be totally honest. I like beer. I like (love actually) the taste. Like an angel crying on my tongue.

I don’t like being drunk. But I do really enjoy that point where the mind starts to relax, feel happy, feel funny.

I wish that feeling would linger all night.

But that’s the problem with alcohol, isn’t it. It’s all nice and smooth and soft until…until…