- drinking for dutch courage
- funny childhood stories
- parent teacher meetings
- eyeballs
- the cost of make-up
- tanning
- ginger kids
- sky sports
- staff vs management
- rascality & ineffectualness
Q1 - there's some places I won't lick
Q2 - that's not the child I gave birth to
Q3 - well I'm strange
Q4 - he's as funny as a mass card
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
28/03/2011 topics
- grandparent's birthdays
- the height of co-workers kids
- people dressing like it's their first communion
- semolina
- paying for school dinners
- lottery winnings
- the shock of receiving some post at the correct address
- standing in your knickers and using a hand-drier to dry trousers
- our new motto "what would McA**** do?" (name obscured for legal reasons)
Q1 - if I dressed like that my kids would lock me in a wardrobe
Q2 - what year was my house born?
- the height of co-workers kids
- people dressing like it's their first communion
- semolina
- paying for school dinners
- lottery winnings
- the shock of receiving some post at the correct address
- standing in your knickers and using a hand-drier to dry trousers
- our new motto "what would McA**** do?" (name obscured for legal reasons)
Q1 - if I dressed like that my kids would lock me in a wardrobe
Q2 - what year was my house born?
Friday, March 25, 2011
Bonus: The Fear
It always seems like you've done something really bad that you can't remember, a side effect of blackout from the night before. Is that blood on your arm yours? Did you murder someone? Where the fuck did all these bruises come from? Why can't I move my neck? Was I in a car accident?
Sometimes you have done something really cringeworthy, but mostly there's an anxiety about imagined outrages. Then the usual bite when you come to terms with how much money you rinsed in the binge, the fact your girlfriend isn't speaking to you because you grabbed her sister's arse right up the crease of her shuck, your mate is raging because you spilled half a bottle of wine down the back of his stack, the bouncers in your local had to escort you from the premises, and some amateur pap has photographs of the whole evening and tagged you on facebook in a video "erotically" dancing to Lady Gaga.
And never check your sent texts. Ever. Delete the whole folder and pretend you didn't send outpourings of undying love to the barmaid.
There is no cure for The Fear, but I find a fry and a couple of beers takes the worst of the edge of it. Try and resist the temptation to turn it into another session, however. The Fear will wait for you on the other side and grows in might exponentially with each day of the bender.
Last couple of days have been terrifying, spiritually, psychologically and physically.
Flew to Glasgow on 16th and flew back on 21st with no day off the lash in between. Managed a few breakfasts and a couple of evening meals, but mostly a non-stop 18hr a day diet of beer, red wine and rum. 6 days solid. Oh, and then took a pill and a rake of nose-gunk within an hour of arriving back in Belfast.
The Fear kicked in the next day as expected, but this was nothing like I have ever felt before. Squirting rusty battery acid out of my shuck every hour. Puking up every time I tried to drink a glass of water. Disturbing red flecks in said puke. Stomach on fire. Pissing a painful deep orange and cloudy reeking matter. Needed to go back to work the next day so I took to my bed and tried to rest. Not a fucking chance. Shrieking head-goblins every time I closed my eyes. Imagined that every car door slamming in the street was a murder squad come for me. Sweats, shivers, too hot, too cold, everything too wrong. Genuinely scared of even turning on the tv or looking out the curtains in case of seeing bad things.
And then, in a moment of sheer genius, got up and checked my online balance to find I had spent a grand in a week (not including flights, hotels or gig tickets all pre-paid) and I had a tenner left in my account. I think at that point there may have been some weeping. The Fear had won again.
Managed a pint yesterday after work, got paid by work, and the weekend may be ahead, but something has changed in me. Some irreparable damage, perhaps. I feel like a haunted man. My stomach still isn't processing stuff properly. The moral of the story: by the age of 44, I should have realised that 6 days non-stop should have a cost; the cost is 3 days in the ninth circle of hell. As the prison bitch of The Fear.
(link)
Sometimes you have done something really cringeworthy, but mostly there's an anxiety about imagined outrages. Then the usual bite when you come to terms with how much money you rinsed in the binge, the fact your girlfriend isn't speaking to you because you grabbed her sister's arse right up the crease of her shuck, your mate is raging because you spilled half a bottle of wine down the back of his stack, the bouncers in your local had to escort you from the premises, and some amateur pap has photographs of the whole evening and tagged you on facebook in a video "erotically" dancing to Lady Gaga.
And never check your sent texts. Ever. Delete the whole folder and pretend you didn't send outpourings of undying love to the barmaid.
There is no cure for The Fear, but I find a fry and a couple of beers takes the worst of the edge of it. Try and resist the temptation to turn it into another session, however. The Fear will wait for you on the other side and grows in might exponentially with each day of the bender.
Last couple of days have been terrifying, spiritually, psychologically and physically.
Flew to Glasgow on 16th and flew back on 21st with no day off the lash in between. Managed a few breakfasts and a couple of evening meals, but mostly a non-stop 18hr a day diet of beer, red wine and rum. 6 days solid. Oh, and then took a pill and a rake of nose-gunk within an hour of arriving back in Belfast.
The Fear kicked in the next day as expected, but this was nothing like I have ever felt before. Squirting rusty battery acid out of my shuck every hour. Puking up every time I tried to drink a glass of water. Disturbing red flecks in said puke. Stomach on fire. Pissing a painful deep orange and cloudy reeking matter. Needed to go back to work the next day so I took to my bed and tried to rest. Not a fucking chance. Shrieking head-goblins every time I closed my eyes. Imagined that every car door slamming in the street was a murder squad come for me. Sweats, shivers, too hot, too cold, everything too wrong. Genuinely scared of even turning on the tv or looking out the curtains in case of seeing bad things.
And then, in a moment of sheer genius, got up and checked my online balance to find I had spent a grand in a week (not including flights, hotels or gig tickets all pre-paid) and I had a tenner left in my account. I think at that point there may have been some weeping. The Fear had won again.
Managed a pint yesterday after work, got paid by work, and the weekend may be ahead, but something has changed in me. Some irreparable damage, perhaps. I feel like a haunted man. My stomach still isn't processing stuff properly. The moral of the story: by the age of 44, I should have realised that 6 days non-stop should have a cost; the cost is 3 days in the ninth circle of hell. As the prison bitch of The Fear.
(link)
24/03/2011 & 25/03/2011
- The Fear
- paranormal activity (not the film)
- raving at The Arena
- forum comedy
- tucker max stories (link)
- premature babies
- how to hang clothes properly on a washing line
- peppa pig land
- time off at easter
- monitoring timekeeping
- secret weddings
Q1 - when the light show came on everyone used to lie on the floor, pure rubbered, just watching
Q2 - hey ho
Q3 - have you seen the size of the bees we're getting? they're bigger than birds!
Q4 - count yourselves lucky you have jobs
Q5 - she looks like a jumble sale
Q6 - look at him!
- paranormal activity (not the film)
- raving at The Arena
- forum comedy
- tucker max stories (link)
- premature babies
- how to hang clothes properly on a washing line
- peppa pig land
- time off at easter
- monitoring timekeeping
- secret weddings
Q1 - when the light show came on everyone used to lie on the floor, pure rubbered, just watching
Q2 - hey ho
Q3 - have you seen the size of the bees we're getting? they're bigger than birds!
Q4 - count yourselves lucky you have jobs
Q5 - she looks like a jumble sale
Q6 - look at him!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
22/03/2011 & 23/3/2011
- health and safey regarding asthmatics & aftershave
- hen nights
- children
- scars and head injuries
- height issues
- semi-naked gypsies in Primark
- our own mortality
Q1 - you forget you have a shadow
Q2 - of course they're staring at you, you've got your tits in their face
Q3 - imagine your tubes untying
Q4 - one was a mistake when she was 20 and the other was a mistake when she was 40
Q5 -'what happened to your hand?' - 'someone smashed a bottle over my head!'
Q6 - my ma is 5ft5 and I would have made it if I didn't smoke
Q7 - I'm 36 soon so I don't consider myself young anymore
- hen nights
- children
- scars and head injuries
- height issues
- semi-naked gypsies in Primark
- our own mortality
Q1 - you forget you have a shadow
Q2 - of course they're staring at you, you've got your tits in their face
Q3 - imagine your tubes untying
Q4 - one was a mistake when she was 20 and the other was a mistake when she was 40
Q5 -'what happened to your hand?' - 'someone smashed a bottle over my head!'
Q6 - my ma is 5ft5 and I would have made it if I didn't smoke
Q7 - I'm 36 soon so I don't consider myself young anymore
Monday, March 21, 2011
21/03/2011 topics
- the secret marriage of co-workers and how they managed to keep it a secret. Questions will have to be answered on their return from honeymoon!
- dancing badgers (link)
- St Patrick's Day parades
- locked-in syndrome (link)
- phone upgrades
- making a pact to be married by 40
- drunken food choices
Q1 - people from Cookstown are ugly, they're really weird looking
Q2 - you'd eat shit off a rusty stick when you're steamin'
- dancing badgers (link)
- St Patrick's Day parades
- locked-in syndrome (link)
- phone upgrades
- making a pact to be married by 40
- drunken food choices
Q1 - people from Cookstown are ugly, they're really weird looking
Q2 - you'd eat shit off a rusty stick when you're steamin'
Friday, March 18, 2011
18/03/2011 topics
- painting pots and cake sales
- grinders
- memories of school
- conversations with children
- The Smoking Room (link)
- who we should have backed at Cheltenham
Q1 - I got one from Ling of the Bi
Q2 - an albino could only come from Larne
- grinders
- memories of school
- conversations with children
- The Smoking Room (link)
- who we should have backed at Cheltenham
Q1 - I got one from Ling of the Bi
Q2 - an albino could only come from Larne
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