Smiles

There's virtually nothing in this life that pleases me more than the smile on a child's face. Especially at this time of year.

Yesterday we went to see Santa and then to a magical Winter Wonderland. The children were so happy and were enchanted by the occasion. It was therefore with great sadness that I informed then that, very unfortunately, I had to quit that magical place to go to the pub. To see the Celtic game. It almost broke my heart but what could I do?

As I walked to the pub, my persona very much non grata, I met my cousin Audrey who is a very sensible woman. She hugged me and expressed surprise that at eight minutes past two of the clock I was walking loose on Princes Street rather than being in the pub, watching Celtic, where I belonged. I shook my head and told her how hard it had been to pull myself away from the children and their unbridled yuletide joy. She looked at me sympathetically and gave me another quick hug before sending me on my way to the pub. To see the Celtic.

OldHookey

I visited the Hook Norton brewery a couple of years ago. It's a beautiful old Victorian building and the beer is great. But, in England, due to laziness, they don't have sparklers on the beer pump cos they prefer flat beer.

Last night I had 6 pints of lovely Old Hookey that had a proper head on it.

Old Hookey, 5.6 abv * 6 = 33.753.

After that we took off our shoes and threw them at the American military. Calling them dirty dogs.

Disadvantage of throwing one's shoes at the military and calling them dirty dogs:
They run off with your shoes.

The dirty dogs!

Lockerbie

The 20th anniversary of the Lockerbie disaster is on Sunday.

It must have been a strange time indeed for that small border village.

For five days straight, you see a man who has fallen from the sky. And you think:
I feel like I know that man.

Everyone on Christmas holidays but given a new job instead:
Guardians of the Dead.

DAB

Listening to the radio in the car I heard the most annoying advert ever. It was for DAB Radio.

This condescending woman asked archly,

Would you spend hours defrosting a chicken when you could simply pop it in the oven?
No, I would spend hours doing other things while the chicken defrosted.

Not content with my response she went on:

Would you light a fire in the centre of the living room when you could simply switch on the central heating?
No, but I might light a fire in the fireplace.

She persevered with this absurd line of questioning.

Do you have a DAB radio yet?
No, they don't feckin work in Galway.

She then lost the plot, in my humble opinion.

You don't have a DAB radio yet! Do you use a quill to write with?
A quill! Ha, ha. That's good. Quill. Excellent. Quill. Haaahaaa.

A quill. No.

Humanist

I was at a humanist funeral ceremony yesterday. Performed by an excellent lady from the Scottish Humanist Society.

The great Tam Mcginn, a gentleman and a gentle man sadly died aged only 57. He wasn't a believer in God but he was very much a believer in his fellow man. Tam was a great human being. He was certainly a humanist.

Driving home my Mum asked me if I would like a humanist funeral. Presumably she meant when I was dead! I replied that I wasn't sure I liked humans very much either. Not missing a beat she suggested I call the Scottish Canine Society. Perhaps they would put me down humanely.

Mothers can be so cruel!

O'Connor's

Was in the worst pub in Ireland last night.

I don't really think there's any doubt about it. O'Connor's "famous" pub in Salthill is truly dismal.

Just look at it!!!

Question:

Does Ireland really need an Oirish theme pub?

No, no, no. A thousand no's.

From the pots and pans hanging above you to the yellowed long johns hanging limply in front of the fire this pub simply reeks of tourist hell. I would urge you avoid this gallimaufry of soulless kitsch with the greatest possible haste. Avoid it now in fact.

Another question:

Does anybody care that Lisdoonvarna is 23 miles in that direction?

No. Especially when it's not. 

Two signs on the piano warned,

DO NOT CLIMB IN THE PIANO!!!

I can only assume that these are aimed at the pixies and elves rather than any of us sad-sack punters.

Robit

You come home after eight pints and find that a Danny wallayce has circumnavigated the globe searching for a robot thta can talj ike jim.  

Horison colon Whare's my Robit?

You relaise that he had dicovered that the robitics world is as weird as it it insanely complimicated [S].

You futher must wunder why there is nothing decent on the tel,ly.

C&W

One of my daughters, can't recall precisely which one, said to me yesterday,

Please Daddy Don't Get Drunk This Christmas.

Don't kids say the cutest things?

In saying those words she accidentally recalled the precise title of a song by Alan Jackson. She also triggered a reaction in me which made me immediately set aside Mahler, Aphex Twin and their unremittingly demanding ilk. I realised that this Christmas would be a Country and Western Christmas and that, sadly, I would, indeed, get drunk.

I started this morning with George Jones. The greatest singer of them all. Then straight onto Dolly with her Coat of Many Colours. I even dipped briefly into the arch Big Hat himself, Garth Brooks. I only like one of his songs. I've Got Friends In Low Places. But, yessir, I sure do love that song a whole lot!

Slaid Cleaves and Hayes Carll were quickly followed by the great Lyle Lovett and that's what I have on now. I also have on one of my C&W shirts. Black with white trim. I didn't even mean to take things this far. I just stumbled to the closet and found my cleanest dirty shirt.

 

Pharmacy

My eldest dotter was prescribed 150 ml of drugs last week.

Cut a long story short. She only got 100 ml last week because that's the amount that would stay fresh. The other 50 ml would, presumably, go off and be as ineffectual as a pair of self removing driving gloves.

This morning I went back to get the other 50 ml. The pharmacist mooched about behind his desk for ten minutes before coming forward and giving me the bottle. 

He told me that it only came in 100 ml bottles and therefore I'd "probably" have some left over. He also charged me for the full 100 ml meaning that, in total, I'd paid for 200 ml. Even though she only needed 150 ml. As prescribed by the doctor. 

"It only comes in 100 ml bottles"

I don't know about you but I was always under the impression that pharmacists actually made up these prescriptions. That's why they always made you wait. They had to mix the medicine, so to speak.

"It only comes in 100 ml bottles"

I really, really wanted to say to him. "What are you for?" But I said nothing.

My life was already feeling enough like an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Hoy!

Seeing Chris Hoy for the first time ever last night without a union flag draped over him it struck me that perhaps I've been a little unfair on the boy. He is a tremendous athlete, there's no question about it. He looked normal enough and spoke well. 

So, today, when he woke up as "Sports Personality of the Year" and threw back his union jack duvet, ready to meet another red, white and blue day, I wonder, will he feel the same? 

Or different.