Sunday, Sunday, Sunday ...
Always fun pottering round the garden and thinking to yourself 'Ooh, little plant (another unknown) ... I photographed you a wee while ago and look how big you're getting!' :-) The piece of guttering should, in theory, be more in an up position rather than the current down ... but, there you go, it's been down for quite some time and best intentions haven't yet caused a reverse in gravity. Ho hum.
So far I've managed some stretchy exercises to get things in some kind of mobile state ... given double time simultaneous cuddles to Biggest Dog and Mr B (my largest black and white cat) (I'm trying to get them to be friends) ... and given a modicum of attention to the 'misery minutes' that have played out on the radio.
I find it most interesting at the moment that the Irish news on the radio doesn't correlate to what's being reported on the online news. If it wasn't for the radio news, I wouldn't know half of what the current bods in charge are doing ... or, in this case, not doing. I mean, these are people who love nothing more than a photo op. You know the ones ... look at my big hands, look at the practiced serious expression on my face, listen to the catchy soundbite. This has to be the most shifty and shambolic iteration yet ... still giving out that everything is the fault of the opposition.
Anyway ... today's cake related icing came in the form of several housing projects being cancelled because 'they'll cost too much'. (The amount my eyes are rolling and the heavy sighs that are happening, you'd think I'd found some new kind of breathing exercise.) Homelessness is at an all time high ... a certain hospital's building costs are now heading toward the 3 billion mark (5K alone was spent on figuring out what to name it ... unsurprisingly, it'll be called exactly the same name that it's been referred to all along) ... and don't even get me started on the next salary rise that this little shower will gift themselves when the next budget is announced. (Oh, and a quick nod to the 700K spent on a bike shelter.)
I'm blinking lots at this point and very carefully easing myself off the soapbox. Can't monopolize that little box too much, or any short arse celebrities currently on the Emerald Isle will be shouting out that I'm holding up their filming schedule. ;-)
Things just occasionally steam my cockles and I feel the need to let everyone (including the shellfish intolerant) know what's going on in me noggin. Perhaps I should take a leaf out of Kneecap and Bob Vylan's recent book?
Time to get some noms ... stomach is rumbling pretty hard at this point. I'll leave this page with a final ponderance ........ I'm thinking about the people whose life scribblings end up being discovered in a skip ... could this be what will happen to my many handwritten journals? Will someone decide to skip surf and plod all over me profundities? After all, a posthumous recognition is better than no recognition at all ... isn't it? (ponders further) ... or maybe me little books will just prove useful for propping up someone's delightfully over-painted and wobbly table ;-D ...
