Back In To The Swing

I returned to work yesterday. Saying it was painful would be an understatement of this soon to be over decade. I had an incredible ten days off over Christmas due to bad weather and what not. I think it's safe to say that of those ten days, eight were spent on the couch watching DVDs and steadily increasing the circumference of my arse. I spent all of my first working day on my feet and my god did I feel it!

When I got home my feet and legs were aching, my back was in bits and I generally felt that if I was a horse of any kind I would be kindly led out the back and put out of my misery. The positive here was the fact that our water was finally fixed and back to normal. In other words, our landlord had finally pulled his finger out and sorted it properly. He had "fixed it" the day before to an extent where we had cold water in the kitchen and nothing else anywhere in the house. He deemed this to be enough before he took off to a funeral (=drinking session in the pub).

Being in such pain after only a days' work in more than a little worrying. I think I really need to get my ass into gear and get fitter. Because I'm getting old. And the older you get, the harder it gets. I always found losing weight and getting fit quite easy once I actually got down to doing it. Finding the motivation to do it is that much harder. Maybe I'll paste fatty pictures onto the fridge. It doesn't help that my brother and his fiance sent proper Finnish chocolate and sweets alongside lovely homemade scarves for both myself and Mr S. Maybe we'll just eat the treats in one fell swoop and be done with it.

Anyhoo, work was busy, seemingly there are a lot of people who are coming out of their cabin fever state of mind and are only delighted to get out of their houses. I'm facing into another day of this today. Right now, actually. Better get going.

Oldie

I believe I have previously said that I'm not all that bothered about turning thirty. Well, turns out that I am. It's only a bit over a week away now and I'm feeling a bit panicky. Or maybe not panicky, but you know that feeling you get when you know you were supposed to do something and you realise you've forgotten to do it? I'm just not quite sure what it is that I was supposed to have achieved by this landmark.

Don't get me wrong, I'm more than happy with the way things are in my life. I have a wonderful man, Mr S, who inexplicably is still around despite the fact that I can be a downright bitch to live with at times. I'm sure that goes some way of explaining why he works such long hours. We've been together over eight years which is quite an achievement for me.

As for things, material stuff. Well, I know a lot of people seem to think owning a house is something you should do by the time you're thirty but if I'm completely honest I'm not sure I'm ready to handle a mortgage right now. We've toyed with the idea of moving abroad, too, so I'm guessing the less baggage the better. Although looking around me and thinking I need to pack all of these things up into boxes very soon fills me with dread. Six years of accumulative stuff. We might need ten trips in the van just to shift my shoes.

I've landed a job which, despite all my moaning and whinging, I actually like. I like the people I work with, I like the type of work I do and it's more or less what I studied in college so I think I deserve a pat on the back for that. A friend back in Finland has changed careers three times already from travel agent to translator to banker and still hasn't found what it is exactly what they want to do.

So why am I panicking? Well I am and I'm not. I suppose it's just the feeling of oldness. Or maturity. I've always been taken for an older person than I actually am, which came in handy when you were 16 trying to get into a nightclub. But now I'm thinking to myself, am I going to look like I'm 40 when I'm only 30? I did get asked for an ID in Tesco not that long ago and it made me smile. Firstly, because the girl at the till was barely 18 herself. Secondly, because I only had my driving license, issued in Finland, with me, I had the pleasure of having to point out to the now very confused girl where to find my date of birth on it. I'm not sure why she decided to ask for my ID; I had a trolley full of food (about €80 worth) and two bottles of wine. How many 17-year old people do you know who spend that amount of money on food?

In a way I'm glad to be older, but unfortunately I fear I may be expected to act like an adult now. I do that at work, to a certain extent, but spending time with people good bit younger than myself dictates that I can't be wearing my mature hat out to the pub. St. Stephen's night outing in Westport proved that given the right amount of alcohol I'm no better than a teenager. I'm pretty sure I'm barred from Cosy Joe's.

But I'm starting to think that not even adults act like adults. You remember when you were small, you're parents knew everything? Right up until you hit puberty when they knew nothing. And after you came out of you horrifically angst-y, self-absorbed, moody puberty tunnel and saw the light of impending adulthood, you started to realise they might be onto something after all. But let's go back to when you're about four or five. Your parents knew everything. They knew how to cook food. They knew how to fix things. They knew how to grow things in the garden. They know how to drive a car, answer the phone, use a computer and they knew when it was time to defrost the freezer. Imagine someone coming up to you and whispering in your ear "They don't really know, they're making it up as they go along". Imagine looking up to your parents and realising they're just plodding along, just as you are now when you're older without a clear cut idea in your head as to what you should be doing.

Anyhoo, I seem to be rambling a bit. I'm looking forward to being thirty as much as I'm dreading it. Don't expect me to be any more mature than I'm now, I still laugh at farts and toilet jokes. A woman I work with, I'm sure I've mentioned her before, is over 40 and doesn't look or act it. I intend to go that way. I'll be okay as long as I don't wake up on my birthday and have this staring back at me.

For those interested, it's a painting by Quentin Matsys called A Grotesque Old Woman (or The Ugly Duchess).

Happy Christmas!

Despite all that went before, disappointments and inconveniences, it is still Christmas and I love this time of year. Our water pipes may be frozen, I may not have left the house in days because of the weather. We may not have been able to travel to Finland for Christmas and we may have had to make some compromises.

Nevertheless, we have plenty of food for us, the cats and the birds outside. The house is warm and you can smell the Christmas in the air. Mr S and I are together and that's all that matters in the end. Thanks to Skype we can still see my family tonight and tomorrow.

All is well and we are starting to quiet things down. Here is my favourite Christmas carol.
Happy and Peaceful Christmas to you all!

Disappointed

We couldn't make it to the airport. We couldn't even make it to the bus taking us to the airport. The roads are bloody brutal and last night I think I lost another few years out of my life trying to get to Galway. Having slip slided a couple of times we decided it wasn't worth carrying on. No point in both of us ending up to in the hospital. Or the morgue.

We were disappointed to say the least. Especially as the airport was finally open and all the flights were operating as normal. Well, more or less normal I suppose, although our airline did advise there'd be delays which didn't do much to reassure me seeing as our stopover in Oslo was only for 30 minutes. The nice man told me that there was a possibility that we might miss our connecting flight and end up waiting in Oslo for a connection for a day. Or three.

I just saw on Twitter that the airport in Dublin is closed again. I'm glad we decided to turn back, at least now we're at home and not stranded at the airport with no clue as to when or if we get to fly out. I feel really sorry for the people who are there, waiting, but as of now I am determined to make christmas here. I'm defrosting a ham as we speak.

Testing times

God I cannot bear this.. We've decided not to drive up to Dublin but take the bus instead. Which leaves 3.45 from Galway. Which means we have to travel on icy back roads to get to the shagging bus! I hate this country's inability to prepare for these kinds of things. When we had ice and snow last winter, I kept hearing how it would most certainly happen again because that's the way our climate is changing. Did anyone take any notice? No, we were all too busy enjoying the roasting hot summer.
Bastards.

Cabin Fever and Other Anxieties

Firstly, I've been stuck in the house more or less since Saturday. Stuck here with very little to do. Pretty much by myself with the cats. Mr S continues to go into work which adds to my stress levels as I keep picturing him and his car in a ditch, slowly being covered over by falling snow. So far so good and he's been able to do shopping and other bits but my OCD seems to flare up whenever I look in the fridge and see the wrong kind of cheese. I say nothing, it would be ungrateful, wouldn't it?

I've been defiantly packing my bags for our Christmas holiday. Defiantly, because every couple of hours there seem to be reports of the Dublin Airport being closed due to ice and snow. I spent most of yesterday compulsively checking both Dublin Airport's website and Scandinavian Airlines' website for information on our flights. I ended up ringing the airline and spoke to a very friendly lady who told me that while she couldn't give me a definite answer on whether or not our flights would be able to take off, she was being optimistic. Poor woman, she had had her ear chewed off by irate passengers over the phone for the last two days or so. As if the airlines just got together and said "Right, let's mess with all those thousands of paying customers and cancel all the flights, yeah? We'll tell them it's because of the snow, make them sleep at the airport, we'll take a huge loss in profit and face the paperwork to refund them all afterwards. Mmmmkay?" Yeah. Because that makes sense.

I do feel for anyone stranded at the airport, especially this time of year. Mr S and I, even if our flight does get canceled, we'll be able to at least go back home and spend christmas here. I heard they'd been telling people with canceled flights to leave the airport as they were running out of room. And where were these people supposed to go? Many were heading home for christmas, not living in Ireland and therefore had nowhere to go. They sent out a plea in the news for taxi drivers to go to the airport because the people who did have somewhere to go, couldn't get there because there weren't any buses or taxis to take them there.

In any case, I'm determined to get there. The roads may prove a challenge, though. We'll just have to head out early and hope for the best.

Obsessed

I've definitely turned into my mother. I'm obsessed with the weather. Every news bulletin on the radio, or telly, I have to catch the weather. And in between the news I keep checking the web pages. It is quite cold here for Ireland, anyway. -4 this morning and the ground is white with proper snow.

I haven't been to work since last Friday (it's now Monday). We got a good bit of snow on Friday night but that didn't stop me from heading in towards work on Saturday morning. I was about 3km away from work when my phone rang and I was told I was a lunatic for driving in the snow and was ordered to go home. Fair enough, boss' orders and all that. Not that I really minded getting an extra day off. My phone had been ringing before that, colleagues telling me they couldn't make it in because of the snow. Another one wondering was it worth it trying to get in. We all got a lovely duvet day, I spent mine watching bad movies. Namely Wrong Turn and Wrong Turn 2: Dead End. Great trash.

Later on on Saturday I got a text telling me I didn't need to show up for work on Sunday, either. Making sure I had a good supply of more trashy movies to watch, I settled into my couch-based nest and got all nice and cosy.

More news on the work front followed on Sunday evening; we were to close for Christmas anyway on the evening of Tuesday 21st but seeing as Monday was still supposed to be very cold, it was decided that we'll close early for the holidays and open again on the 28th. Which means I don't have to go to work until the 30th! Extended holidays = win.



We're just waiting to hear about the Christmas party. After all the headache I went through to get the bloody outfit and everything ready, there had better be one! If we can make it into Galway for the night, that is.

I don't mind the cold or the snow. It is inconvenient, we have no water most of the day, but it does thaw out enough for a shower and washing up at some stage. Probably not today, though. It is set to stay well below zero all day long. Ah well, let's conserve water, shall we.

The travel disruptions are worrying me, though. We're set to fly out of Dublin to Helsinki via Oslo on Thursday. Firstly, travelling to Dublin from here is a challenge. Snowy, icy roads all the way into Galway and there's no guarantees the motorway from Galway to Dublin will be any better. We'll head out early and make sure we'll have plenty of time. I'm just wishing the airport will be open when we get there. Like I said, I'm obsessively checking the weather forecasts. Just in case.

And just in case we get stranded here for Christmas, I have a freezer full of food and plenty of wine to keep us nice and warm. Just in case.

Best Laid Plans...

I should've known better than to plan a whole Christmas party outfit without as much as visiting a shop. I had it all planned, didn't I? The dress, the shoes, the accessories. And a cunning plan to hit the shops in carefully planned order to maximise my haul in record time. All of that went out the window when we got to the first scheduled stop, Marks & Spencer where I had planned to get the dress. The dress that I had drooled over and fantasised about for a number of days. Though titties to me, they didn't have it.

So there was very little point in going for the cute ankle boots to go with the non-existent dress. Plan B: drag myself and Teresa into every possible shop in Galway city trying to find a nice dress. And shoes. And accessories. Hi-Ho!

Tried on a  John Rocha dress at Debenhams, it was very unusual and could've been dressed up nicely with some purple tights and boots, but it was really more summery than christmassy. New Look had a nice black playsuit but it was way too short for me to enjoy the evening without being very conscious of my legs. While in New Look I had a quick peek at the shoes and quickly noticed the boots I had spotted online weren't there, either. So much for that part of my brilliant plan. Onwards and upwards!


Penneys came up trumps. Again. I found two dresses, coming to a grand total of €41. Two dresses. For €41! Brilliant. One is a dark blue embellished collared, ruffled, sleeveless dress. The other one is super-cute, wool blend, check pattern, A-line dress. Dorothy Perkins supplied boots to go with both. Unfortunately, after getting home I realised the grey ones aren't a pair. One is size 5 and another one is a size 6. I rang them today and they told me they were really sorry about the mistake and went to make sure they had the boot there for pick up. I explained to the very helpful Rebecca that I don't live just around the corner, that it is in fact over an hour's drive away for me to get there and to do so just to pick up a single boot seemed a bit too much. She was very understanding when I suggested that they could send out a courier to deliver the right boot in exchange for the one I got given by mistake. She told me she'd get back to me. She rang me back in about half an hour to ask me if it would be possible for me to pick the boot up from Oughterard (that's about half an hour away from where I live). One of her staff lives there and was offering to drop the boot off at the petrol station and arrange for me to drop mine off there for her to collect. Random but helpful. Courier would've been a feasible option had it not been a week before Christmas. They would've gotten out here sometime next week. When I'm in Finland.

Too busy to eat

...and it's playing havoc with my moods. And I most definitely am not doing this out of choice. I've had my fair share of mad diet plans and this is not one of them. I remember living off red wine and chocolate for a very blurry two weeks out of my life when I was 19. I lost about 10kg (20 or so pounds) and probably shortened my life by a couple of years at least.

Right now I've been so busy at work I haven't had time to eat. And the downside of being surrounded by food all day long is that by lunchtime you don't actually feel like eating any of it because you've been staring at it all day. Not that there's anything wrong with the food, quite the opposite, but too much of anything is, well, too much. And there's been so much to do over the last week, we're hosting a huge function tomorrow and getting everything ready for that has been a challenge to say the least. And that has meant a few compromises on my part, namely giving up solid food. I had a scone today. A sandwich the day before. And I believe I managed a bag of crisps the day before that.

So, needless to say I find myself getting quite irritable at around 3pm. Irritable and usually with a pounding headache and the shakes to go with that. Not healthy and not pleasant. And to make matters worse, I love my coffee. I'm running on caffeine and that's quite a rollercoaster.

By the time I get home I'm so hungry I have to make myself a snack while waiting for my proper meal to be ready. Today, peanut butter sandwich while waiting for pizza. Yesterday, ryvita and cheese while cooking carbonara pasta. You get the point, yeah?

I have no idea why I'm blogging about my lack of eating routine... Hunger has made me delirious. Awesome.

Dressed for Distress

It seems to be that time of year again. Time for the Christmas Party. Ours is being very generously organised by our boss at one of his hotels, free of charge to all staff members. Pretty good deal considering so many companies have cancelled theirs. In fairness we had a very good season, so it seems only appropriate to treat everybody to a night out after all this years' hard work. And work hard we did, but it has been well worth it I must say. Let's see if I still feel the same way after Monday's monster do at my work but more on that later. Let's just say I have so many paper cuts, hay fever and other hamper-related injuries I think I need to take some time off just to recuperate before I start again.

Anyway, Christmas Party. And I have no idea why I've felt the need to capitalise Party, either. The usual panic has started to settle in. The Dress Issue. I have a vague idea what to wear, I've even found this lovely dress on Marks & Spencer website and was thinking of wearing that with black tights and grey ankle boots. The problem is that I don't know if they have that dress in the M&S in Galway, so I really don't want to get my hopes up too much. I had planned on going to Galway on a little shopping spree on Tuesday with Teresa, but the roads were still like an ice rink, we postponed it to next week. Another possible issue is that I will end up looking like a bag of spanners once I put the dress on. Has happened before, folks, just to let you know. Morto. I found the perfect pair of boots in the New Look website but once again, it's the UK website and I have no way of knowing for sure whether of not they stock them in Ireland before I actually get there. Please please please, get your asses into gear and get your Irish sites up and running, I have a credit card that is in need of abusing!!

So, ideally I would walk into the shops, pick up those items and they would look good, yes? Obviously the dress needs accessorising, I'm thinking sparkly black and silver; clutch, belt, and all the cheap jewelry Penneys has to offer! That is the plan and the ideal situation for me to find myself in. However, these things usually never go to plan so I need a plan B. Which I don't have. So the "bag of spanners" may well be the look I'm going for on the night. I suppose after a copious amount of Morgan's Spiced rum and coke (the drinking kind, not the snorting kind) I won't care what I look like. There's also going to be karaoke, I hear. Awesome.

There are a few people at work I haven't seen on a night out. I cannot wait to see our Finance Manager let her hair down. She recently told me she'd been to a christening and had had a good 20, maybe 25 bottles of beer on the night. She'd gone home, gotten to bed and felt the room spin faster and faster as she laid down on the bed, beside her snoring husband. She had quite unceremoniously leaned over the side of the bed, gotten sick on the floor and flopped back down thinking to herself "I'll clean that up tomorrow". She woke up the next morning to a particularly hideous hangover and a smell wafting up from beside her bed so bad, she nearly got sick again. The smell was in no way made any better by the fact that the house has under-floor heating. I'm gagging as I'm typing this.

This was just to illustrate the type of people we're gathering together into a secure hotel environment, plying them with free food and wine, and making them sing karaoke. My boss said she wants cameras and camera phones banned from the party. She didn't particularly like the photos I put up on Facebook last year. They weren't even that bad, if I'm truly honest. Majority of them was taken early on in the night when everyone was still in a relatively clear state of mind. At least my drunken singing and trying to talk Kevin the Barman into joining me was never caught on any type of a camera. Not even a CCTV. I checked.

Feelin odd

This is going to be annoyingly incoherent, so feel free to stop here. I find myself in a strange mood tonight. I'm getting an all-over odd feeling of excitement mixed with dread and I cannot for the life of me understand why. I have felt like this before, years ago, and even of that i can only remember this peculiar feeling and nothing leading up to it or anything that might have followed it. Here's a song that's been firmly lodged in my head ever since Little Lion Man lured me into buying the album:



In my mind I see images of smoky pubs, little corner pubs with stale air, open fires and lowered heads. Half-drunk pints and next ones on order at the nod of the head. Hushed conversations, crack of a match and the flame brought close enough to breathe life into a cigarette. Opening of the door, the noise of the outside briefly invading the warmth inside. Background music providing a beat to your speech, involuntarily.

I know this must sound odd, but it's the way my mind works sometimes. Conjuring up images for me to figure out whether it's somewhere I should be, something I should do, or maybe something to be avoided. Mostly these things occur in my sleep and my subconscious mind works away at them without bothering me too much, but every now and then, such as tonight there's something there demanding my attention. It's odd how these things are always triggered by music. Or maybe my brain knows it's the fool-proof way to grab my attention. Here's another one that cropped up recently, haven't heard this in ages and it took me a good while to even remember the name of the song or the band...

I'll be gone now, with my teenage-y, inane, navel gazing ramblings. Seriously, someone slap me, please!

First Aid for Shock

I could've done with some first aid on Sunday. I was stupid enough to venture out onto the icy roads we had and managed to do a bit of damage to my back bumper. It had rained on Saturday, and it froze hard overnight creating a lovely skating opportunity for cars and pedestrians alike. I'm bloody delighted I didn't hit a pedestrian, god, shuddering just thinking about it.


I was heading into work, I wonder would my boss pay for a new bumper, seeing as technically it was due to him that I was out driving in the first place. It's worth dropping it into conversation, I suppose. Our head chef, the lunatic, had travelled a far greater distance in the same conditions. We rang him first, our logic behind it being that if we had no chef, there'd be very little point in us going in. He was in when we rang. Bastard.

Anyhoo, I'm getting a quote on the bumper, hoping that David will come up trumps as he has many times before. I suppose it could've been a lot worse. I could've hurt myself or someone else, but it's the hassle and cost of having to sort something like that out that's annoying me. Although, I could've ended up like this guy, so I must say I was very lucky. I'd like to think I was very cool and calm but that would be lying, it was horrible. Such a loud bang from such a small car I must say. I did get quite a fright, I nearly wet myself when I realised there was nothing I could do to stop the car from sliding. I had made it down a very steep hill getting into the village, but it was a tiny little bit of a hill that I got stuck on and tried to let the car roll back to try and get up the hill again. So much for that theory.

In other news, I passed my first aid exam with full marks on Monday! We had three Mondays in a row to get to grips with CPR, bandaging, and all other things first aid related. We also learned to use the defibrillator, quite a handy piece of kit, I must say. It's not one of those things you see being used on TV, it's a little portable device and it's fully automatic. As our instructor assured us, it will not shock anyone who doesn't need it. Even if we tried to do so on purpose. Which is a relief since I accidentally "killed" the instructor the first time I was practising using it. But, as of yesterday, bring me your sick and poorly, I shall administer first aid and then promptly ring an ambulance.

Ginger Rule

So, Mick Hucknall, eh? He's only gone and apologized in an interview with The Guardian for sleeping with, by his own calculations, over 3000 women. This all happened on the mid 1980's when the world's collective taste in pretty much everything apart from music was truly appalling. Neon colours, perms, leg warmers and shoulder pads ruled the earth. Skinny jeans, skinny ties and rolled up sleeves on suit jackets. Remember? I was born at the beginning of this offensive-to-all-senses decade but was still able to take full advantage. I still have my awesome neon pink lycra leggings and an oversized tee-shirt tucked away in the wardrobe of yesteryear... But Mick Hucknall? Seriously? The ginger one off Simply Red? THIS MAN?!? Here's the interview http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010/dec/02/mick-hucknall-simply-red


There are many hot ginger men to choose from, there truly are. I don't understand the strange double standard of red headed women being perceived as being fiery and feisty and redheaded men perceived as being unattractive, nerdy and geeky. Mick Hucknall aside. A few cases in point as follows:

Specimen #1. Ewan McGregor
I must admit, his charm has partly something to do with him being Scottish and me being partial to any kind of an accent. But just look at his ginger head. He is lovely. So much better than Mick H.

Specimen #2. Kevin McKidd.
Now the name might not ring a bell with anyone who doesn't religiously follow Grey's Anatomy. He plays Dr Owen Hunt. And he is just yummy. And it's not just about him being a doctor and an army dude (I have been known to be drawn to men in uniform). He's all moody and tough and has issues. Has issues in Grey's Anatomy, I don't know about his personal life, but if he needs any help sorting anything out, I'll be more than happy to help. Just putting it out there... Owen? Kevin?

Specimen #3. Robert Kazinsky.
Anyone over in the USA might not know who he is, but that doesn't stop you from appreciating his ginger gorgeousness, now does it? Our lovely Robert featured in the UK soap EastEnders and Sean Slater, a bad boy and a all-round hottie. I was quite sad to see him written out of the soap, but you can still follow him on Twitte r@RobertKazinsky, he's spending quite a lot of time in America, you lucky overseas gingerlovers! Just look at him! You could have him on toast, you could...

Specimen #4. Seth Green.
This little cutie has the geek chic working for him as well as being ginger hottie. One thing baffles me, though. He looks the exact same in nearly all photos. Just do a Google image search on him and you know what I mean. He's pocket size, our Seth is and somehow it makes him all the more appealing to me. I loved him in Buffy and Angel, I love him even more now because of Family Guy and Robot Chicken. The little ginger man can do no wrong. Seriously, he can't. Look at Austin Powers.



Specimen #5. Rupert Grint.
Who would've known that Harry Potter's best friend would grow up to be such a ginger dish? He went from a dear little Ron Weasley into a bone fide hottie in Cherrybomb. And all of that in the space of few years. Now that I think of it, there are quite a few of the Harry Potter stars who have grown up to be really quite yummy. I feel a bit wrong just typing that because I remember the first movie and how little they were. It's okay, they're all legal now. Aren't they? Here's a link to a great gallery of HP stars then and now. http://www.buzzfeed.com/ashleybaccam/harry-potter-stars-then-and-now Neville Longbottom, anyone? Cousin Dudley doesn't look too bad, either...

Specimens #6 and #7. James and Oliver Phelps.
Keeping with the Harry Potter theme here. And I am aware that these two strapping lads aren't actually ginger, but having spent the last 10 years and seven movies bouncing about the place with ginger hair, I think we'll let them participate. I can't tell these two apart, by the way, and I won't even pretend to have a favourite. They both are equally tasty bit of ginger. Remember that long, ginger hair they had in the earlier Harry Potter movies? Hated it. Really really hated it. With the shorter hair and those lovely eyes, you could wave your wands at me any day of the week! Both boys can be found on Twitter, by the way @James_Phelps and @OliverPhelps. You're welcome.



Specimen #8. Laura Prepon.
I will not have anyone say that I am gender biased. Admittedly, I prefer to ogle at gentlemen (and as previously demonstrated, sometimes barely legal boys), but I shall not make an assumption that everyone else does. And I can appreciate the beauty of the female form as well. Although that I do with a healthy amount of envy. But moving on. Laura Prepon of That 70's Show Fame was always to me very beautiful. A friend pointed out to me recently he'd noticed her in a magazine and "was surprised as he didn't think a girl that tall and ginger could be that hot). Yes, poor Laura. Way to overcome your crippling disabilities.

Specimen #9. Karen Gillan.
Again, here is someone who probably is a relative unknown Stateside but a lovely ginger lady nonetheless. Cool geeks world over love her as Amy Pond, the companion to The Doctor. Ah, Doctor Who! No longer a scare at bedtime consisting of a random time-travelling man battling monsters made of a bit of leftover carpet samples and some kitchen foil. Thank you, BBC for bringing it up to date. We even forgive your casting error. Namely Christopher Ecclestone. What were you thinking? You more than made up for it in David Tennant. Karen in hot in a girl-next-door kind of way... I am forever jealous.


Specimen #10. Christina Hendricks.
She is the epitome of Hot Red Head. Just look at her. A touch of Dita von Teese, a touch of Bree Van de Kamp with tons of sex appeal. She is so very well cast in Mad Men. If you haven't seen it yet, please watch it, it's awesome. Christina is the reason why 1950's glamour works so well. Just look at the woman! I would.


Specimen #11. Alyson Hannigan.
Ever since she showed up as Willow in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I've loved her. She is just bloody brilliant and it has nothing to do with the colour of her hair. Who hasn't seen her in How I Met Your Mother and thought she was hot? Something nextdoor-sy about her, too. How do these women do it!? Grrrr...



Specimen #12. Jessica Rabbit.
The ultimate redhead. Need I say more?

So, to conclude my highly scientific essay on ginger beauty... I believe I have conclusively proved that there really are better options than Mick H when is comes to finding a bit of ginger lovin'. And, in case you're wondering, Mr S is, in fact, ginger. But keep your paws to yourselves, folks, he's all mine...

Plane Irritating

I can’t say that I travel all that much. Not as much as I’d like. I do spend quite a lot of time on airplanes, nonetheless, what with me living in Ireland and most of my family still residing in Finland. Flying to Finland, for me, doesn’t count as travelling, although I am glad the people responsible for calculating frequent flyer miles don’t see it that way. After 6 years of permanent residence in Ireland, hopping over to Finland is much like driving over to the local shop for milk. Only more expensive and time-consuming.

I have one question for the airlines, all of them; why oh why do you not screen people’s personal hygiene?! I mean, you check our passports, boarding passes, suitcases, hand luggage, pockets, belts, shoes and hats. You check whether or not we are in possession of an appropriate bag to contain all our liquids and pastes (clear, re-sealable plastic bag no larger than 1 litre in volume, FYI) and on occasion rummage through our hand luggage just in case we have decided to smuggle something very small in between the pages of our Times Sudoku book. More recently you scan under our clothes, too. You can see our bits just in case I am trying to sneak some state secrets out of the country between my butt cheeks. And trust me, my butt cheeks would be capable of housing state secrets of most of the continental European countries, I’ve got room.

I fully understand all these checks are necessary in the current climate, and that having to strip off, empty our bags and make do without lip gloss at hand is a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things, especially as the alternative could well be having you body parts scattered over several square kilometres of woodland area, state secrets, lip gloss and all. But surely a little sniff test amongst all this would be quite easy to arrange? I cannot tell you how many times I have suffered, sitting uncomfortably close to someone who had forgotten to shower before boarding. And a couple of days before that, actually. I remember one particularly painful flight from Dublin to Riga, sitting at my window seat (I always sit at the window as I mostly sleep on the plane and do not want to be bothered by people with tiny bladders) having to endure a couple, who clearly hadn’t showered and were also very excited about flying. They kept their thick winter coats on for the entire flight, sealing in the stench, only to release it every now and then by lifting an arm, or worse yet, to lean over me to look out the window!

I’m sure they were a lovely couple. They certainly seemed friendly enough when telling me in broken English how they’d been over to Dublin to visit their daughter who lived there. Whilst they were telling me this, I was busy holding my breath because they had not only forgotten to shower, but their teeth would have made the most seasoned of dental hygienists recoil in horror and seriously reconsider their career options. I shudder as I’m writing this.

Another time a man sat in front of me had such strong body odour, that every time he lifted his arms to adjust the air vent or switch his overhead light on or off, it made my eyes water.

A woman sitting beside me kept scratching her greasy hair for the entire flight, making it snow dandruff on my sleeve. Emerging from the plane I had to explain to Mr S why I looked like I had just walked sideways in a blizzard.

Maybe the metal detector gate we all must walk through could somehow incorporate a decontaminating shower? I’m sure that would help reduce the amount of airborne diseases being spread on flights, too. Think about it. Seriously. It would make life (and travel) so much more bearable. Or, alternatively, the passengers deemed nice-smelling and hygienic enough, would get an upgrade to business class. That would most certainly encourage people to shower. I’m writing a memo right now. Not to Ryanair, though. He’d only charge you.

Happy, snowy days

Yes, I know it's freezing cold.

Yes, I know it's snowy.
Yes, I know it's difficult to drive.
But doesn't it look beautiful!?
I get ridiculously excited seeing snow in Ireland. I understand this country isn't geared up to deal with it, I found that out the hard way driving into work on Sunday. A 20 minute journey took me 45 minutes. But I was blown away by the views on my way in. The lakes like a sheet of glass, beautiful white mountains reflected on the lake, and the silence. Lovely, lovely silence.


I mean, look at it! And this is where I work... lucky me, eh?

And what's more it makes me feel all christmassy. Not really supposed to say the c-word until the first of December, but seriously, there isn't much else to look forward to, is there?

Positivity

Just a quick one now, before I head off to work. I have had it up to my eyeballs about the bailout and IMF and four year plan and budget and ECB and all that goes with it, okay? From now on I am going to enter a blissful state of denial and ignore all the bad news. Instead I am going to concentrate on the following:

• It's less than a month until Christmas
• We are as good as sorted on the house front (more on that later)
• I get to go and spend time with my family soon
• Despite the weather being freezing, it looks beautiful out there
• My friend just gave birth to a beautiful baby boy
• Looking at pictures of kittens 
• Watching comedy DVDs
• Baking loads of goodies, because there's no such thing as too much pie
• Sitting down with a good book and a glass of wine

And that's only the beginning. 

Bailing out

It most certainly felt like the morning after the night before. On sunday night, Brian Cowen was waiting in the wings with his namesake for hours on end to announce to the nation what we already knew, and what the international media had been reporting for the past week or so. Ireland needs international help to deal with the massive cock-ups made by the governments, past and present.

I only see this bailout plan as a positive thing, to be honest. I would put as much faith in the current government to sort out this economic crisis, as I would into a baboon with a learning disability to operate the Large Hadron Collider. Admittedly, there will have to be some harsh measures, but at least these measures are being monitored and regulated by someone other than a corrupt minister only interested in lining his own pockets.

In his 1pm/7pm/8pm/8.15pm announcement Brian Cowen said that these cut backs will affect everyone. My question is, will the Dail be taking a paycut alongside the rest of us?

In my native Finland, there has been some criticism as to why other countries are asked to fork out vast amounts of money to bail out a country that has failed to regulate it's banks' lending practices or to pay back it's loans in the boom years like so many other countries, Finland included, have done? Finland suffered a similar banking crisis in the late 1980's and early 1990's. I remember seeing the news in my childhood, the main story being the recession for about 5 years running. Having learned from our mistakes, the succeeding governments took measures to make sure it wouldn't happen again. People are, however, left wondering how could this not have been foreseen? I'm sure it was. But unfortunately it was foreseen by someone who either, didn't voice their concern, or when they did, they were laughed off by all of Celtic Tigers and their cubs with euro signs flashing before their eyes. They were too busy building the 8 bedroom houses, buying the second homes in Bulgaria and drawing out another loan to do up the conservatory in the old house.

It was easy get swept up with it. All you heard was people telling you how the economy was in such a great growth, how we should spend more because it was good for the economy. Keep the money in Ireland, it's good for the economy. I've even heard someone blame this recession on all those foreign nationals who came into the country in the early naughties and sent their money back home. I've heard people saying it is this money, leaving the country and not staying here to keep the economy going, that is to blame for this deep hole of crap we now find ourselves in.
Bullshit.

Every time you shop online, you're more than likely to spend money abroad. Your foreign holidays are leaving money out of the country by the bucketload. What about me, and hundreds, if not thousands, like me? A foreign national, working in Ireland full time, living here full time, paying my taxes here?  What about all the Irish people working abroad, sending money home, or saving it all up and bringing it home with them upon their return.

In any case, we are receiving help from the EU countries, ECB and the IMF. I must say I was surprised to hear the UK and Sweden, non-euro countries have agreed to bilateral loans. Well, UK not so surprising, but Sweden even more so. But I suppose they must feel not only the pressure of the other EU countries, but the concern for their own economies if this now localised problem was to suddenly become europe-wide. Surely it's better to fix that one broken tile on your roof now, rather than to wait for the whole roof to cave in?



A quick word on RTE's coverage of the 1pm/7pm/8pm/8.15pm announcement, or more accurately, the lack thereof. No information on the website or Aertel, which as far as I know, should update in real time. RTE1 saw fit to lighten the mood and air Fair City as scheduled before the press conference, without even as much as a banner across the bottom of the screen to let viewers know what was happening and when it was happening. Appalling lack of communication from the national broadcaster at a time when it really was needed. Shame.

Dear Campers

Okay, I just cannot help myself. Another blog post about I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here, I hear you say? But it is fascinating viewing, it really really is. It even made me switch over from BBC's Children In Need 2010, which was a brilliant night of TV, too, more of which a little later.



 
Earlier on, the much put-upon ten little celebrities were joined by foul-mouthed comedienne Jenny Eclair and the over-sized mobile phone carrying Dom Joly. They do this every year, the producers. They wait for the group to gel a little bit, usually for about a week and then they decide to stir things up a bit by dropping in another two mouths to feed. It doesn't always go down well, particularly this year when our Dear Gillian keeps getting voted in to do the trials she's not excused from on medical grounds, and she keeps fainting into the arms of Medic Bob. In fairness though she did manage four stars (= four meals for camp) last night in a tube of water and other stuff. She was fine with baby gators, but bailed when faced with a spider. Go figure.

Anyway, new arrivals. I was expecting Dom to be a loud mouth, shit-stirrer and Jenny to go in cool, calm and collected. I was half right. In their Shack task  Jenny kept her cool a lot better than Dom did, picking out stars from underneath layers and layers of cockroaches. Well done Jenny. Once she got into camp, she took an immediate dislike to Lembit. I know his kidney bean shaped head must be a bit disturbing from close up, but surely a judgement like that should take more than half hour? She called him a cock, apparently. Maybe it's just because he used to be an MP. Most of them are cocks. But he's not an MP anymore. Give him a chance, Jenny, he's just like a special needs puppy. Annoying, yes, but you can't kick him to the curb either, without feeling incredibly bad about yourself.

Dom, on the other hand seems to be taking it all in his stride, getting quite relaxed in the camp. I'm still waiting for that massive mobile phone to emerge for a special guest starring spot any time now. Please, ITV?

Oh, Linford Christie has turned out to be a roaring disappointment. Apparently, he's not only 50 years of age, but also has the mindset of someone from the 1950's. Having pretty much attacked Playmate Kayla for posing for Playboy, he proceeded to liken her to a prostitute and said that his own daughter would find herself homeless should she ever even dream of doing something like that. You're lucky you can run fast, Linford (Thanks for that, @hollywills). Dagenham girl Stacey jumped in to defend womankind and prostitutes (male and female) all over and my inner feminist was cheering her on. She was the only one to speak out. You are my champion, Stacey!!

Okay, 12 in a camp, getting a bit crowded, yeah? Let's send in another camper, then, shall we! Talk about the most lackluster welcome ever! Poor Alison Hammond, she wasn't to know. Or was she? Don't get me wrong, I like her, did when she was on Big Brother. But she is loud. And big. Big personality and big as is takes up a lot of room. And probably used to eating a tad more than rice and veggies. In her VT she did say she wanted to go in to lose some weight, which she will more than likely achieve unless the hungry campers turn on her and decide to slow-roast her over the campfire. She did bring the camp a Chocolate Orange. With 12 pieces in it. For 13 people. Think these things through, Alison!

The Chocolate Orange didn't really go very far due to Gillian's fainting fit at the trial earlier. Poor Alison was feeling a bit self-conscious at mealtime even offering to skip the dinner because she was the last one in. She tucked into whatever it was they had on offer that night, afterwards pointing out that Gillian, who also does the cooking, gets everything ready, dives into the food first spooning out a big portion for herself and then leaving the last person in he queue to scrape the bottom of their all-purpose pan. I don't know when they'll start voting people out of there, but before they do, it is going to get rough going around that campfire.

And poor Shaun. Hermit Shaun. All he wants is to go back to camping with four other blokes, doing blokey things and spend most of his time asleep in his hammock. Please don't go, Shaun, you have so much more to offer.

Now then. Children In Need. Great show, but in all honesty I really didn't care about anyone else on stage once these lads took to it. Take That. Sigh and swoon. I loved them all through my teens, I remember being heartbroken when they broke up and I was absolutely ecstatic when they announced their comeback. And then Robbie came back and him and Gary made up and did that song... I am swooning as I write this. I mean come on, look at them! They look amazing. Even little Mark, who I imagine will in years to come look more and more like a cross between Dobby The House-Elf from Harry Potter movies and Frodo Baggins. But Jason. Oh, Jason. Never mind your Chocolate Orange, bring me Jason Orange! Yum. I'd tap it and unwrap it...

Seriously?

Myself and Mr S went around having a look at three possible rentals yesterday. None of them were through a letting agency or anything, it's word of mouth and knowing someone who knows someone who has a house for let. God forbid should we actually do this in an official and effective manner.

House #1
   Pros

• Available right now
• Nice landlord
• Cheap rent

   Cons

• Mouldy ceiling in the kitchen
• A huge dip in the floor in the living room
• Threadbare carpet in the bedroom
• Fully furnished (with furniture that had obviously come from a skip)

House #2

   Pros

• Three big bedrooms
• Beautiful views
• Very remote location
• Brand new everything

   Cons

• Not painted inside or out
• No floors in yet
• No kitchen yet
• Basically, it's still being built

House #3

   Pros

• Loads of room
• Lovely neighbours
• We know the landlord
• Cat-friendly
• In a village

   Cons

• Possibly too much room
• No idea how much the rent will be
• Too close to the pub (!!)
• Driveway possible blocked every Sunday because it's across the road from the church

Basically we gave up on the first one as soon as we set foot in it. Come on, you cannot possibly expect to find a tenant for a place that looks like something from The Hills Have Eyes 3: The Beginning. It was truly horrendous, and  when Mr S went in to tell the man it wasn't what we were looking for, the owner had hinted that he'd thought I looked a bit high maintenance and hadn't thought I'd go for the shack he had to offer. Just for the record, I don't consider that being high maintenance, I call it having standards! The owner had also "decorated" the surroundings of the house with "No Parking" signs everywhere. Not just eccentric, but a bit disturbing, too.

The same man owns House #2, he was originally building it for his daughter who then decided to move to Cork and now the house is nearly finished, and he's not entirely sure what to do with it. Daughter apparently doesn't want to rent it out because she might want to use it for a about two weeks a year. It is lovely, I must say but if he doesn't know whether or not he can rent it out, I think we'll give it a miss.

House #3 is lovely, but I don't know if we'd need 4 bedrooms. I suppose we could always give the cats a room each and that would still leave one room spare. Unless Mr S and I start sleeping in separate rooms. Which is not going to happen any time soon. It's a relatively new house, the landlord is a friend of Mr S's and the neighbours are lovely, but it is bang in the middle of the village, which means more noise and less privacy. I think I'm being too fussy...am I? 

Lucky we're not in a rush. or we just might find ourselves treading the charmingly sticky lino floor or shack number 1. *shudder* Honestly, I'd rather live here...

With this delightful gentleman as a neighbour

Movements

Our landlord rang us yesterday, saying he wanted to come up for a chat. Something had to be up, seeing as in the five or so years we've been living here, I've seen him maybe twice. The man understood the importance of privacy if nothing else. Having said that, he did often take his time to fix things around the place, but nonetheless he was my ideal landlord. He didn't come anywhere near the place as long as you paid the rent. He didn't even care about us doing a few bits of DIY in the house, we did always ring him to let him know but his answer was always "Go ahead, do what you want".

Anyhoo, he was looking a bit sheepish coming in, completely uncharacteristic of him. Mr S and him engaged in what my Finnish, get-to-the-point type of frame of mind calls shite talk for about half an hour which was driving me nuts and it really took all my will power not to blurt out "What do you want?!?!" just to get them to shut up about the recession et al. Eventually he did get to the point which was the fact that the house and the site it sits on, are in his son's name. Said son is after moving down from Dublin with his wife and wants to build a house. Here. Which means he wants to knock down this house in order to build a new one. So we have to move.

I am quite excited and annoyed at the same time. Excited to be looking at new places to live, annoyed at having to pack all the crap we've (read: I've) accumulated over the last few years. I wonder would it be okay to leave anything we don't want behind, and he can bulldoze the whole lot without us having to do three trips to the local tip... I can always ask.

Our neighbour didn't take the news all too well. She's been here for over ten years and really likes it here. Well I like it here, too, but what can you do. I understand the nuisance of having to pack up and move, but my god it'll be great to get rid of some amount of shite!

So I'm trawling the Internet now nosing about, and quite honestly, getting ideas well above my station... I'd love something like this,

but I'm afraid we'll end up in something like this instead

I'm worried for my cats, though...Or Tom, at least. I'm sure Lily will be fine as she never goes outside. Likes her creature comforts, that one. But Tom likes to venture outside a couple of times a day, and if I'm completely honest, he's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. I know you're supposed to keep the cat indoors for a few days so he'll get used to the smells of the new house, and them let him out and it should be easier for him to find his way back. Unfortunately letting the cat out is very dependent on your neighbours, too. Irish people don't like cats. There are some delightful exceptions to the rule, and of that I am grateful, but generally speaking if you let your cat out, there's always a chance he might not come back. Being the lazy little fur ball that Tom is, he might not mind being an inside cat, after all...

Dear Gillian

I don't really do this often, but I feel compelled to blog about a TV show. Show called I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here! http://celebrity.itv.com/2010/ For those not in the know, it is a TV reality show, where celebrities (playing fast and loose with words "reality" and "celebrity" here) are dropped into the Australian jungle for three weeks during which time they endure Bushtucker Trials involving goo, creepy crawlies and eating kangaroo penis, balls or bottom. Quite possibly all of the above.

It's a great show. It really is. Why, I hear you ask? Well in all honesty, there's nothing quite as satisfying as seeing a group of has-beens trying desperately to stay in the limelight while the show producers are doing everything they possibly can to strip them from that last little thread of dignity. And doing it quite successfully, I might add. How dignified would you feel after crawling through a tunnel filled with spiders, cockroaches, rats, snakes and goo, just to grab a hold of few plastic stars which mean your camp is eating something other than rice and beans tonight?

Some of these has-beens did quite well out of the show over the years, but really the lucky ones are few and far in between. Mostly the public laughs at them for the three weeks they're in there and then forget all about them until the ITV compilation show around Christmas time.

But enough with my ramblings, and to the point. The point why I'm writing about a TV show. Two words; Gillian McKeith. The once-presenter of You Are What You Eat, #notarealdoctor and poo-inspector extraordinaire. These days he calls herself a nutritionist and some time ago she basically went around a couple of years on TV in the UK telling people to eat mung beans, shifting through their poo and calling herself a doctor. Doctor she ain't but she may know a thing or two about mung beans, being a vegan and all that. Just to make one thing clear, and I'm using the help of Dara O'Briain here to make it clear as day. Nutritionist is to a dietitian what a toothologist is to a dentist. Ok? I  could call myself a nutritionist and get into no trouble at all with any type of authority.

Clearly in a bid to boost her non-existent celebrity profile at the moment, Dear Gillian decided to sign up for a stint in the jungle. She told everyone from the very beginning she's afraid of all bugs, snakes, spiders and basically everything with more than four legs, I imagine. Note to Dear Gillian: when you say this on air, every viewer in the country capable of dialling the number to vote for you to be thrown into a dark hole with spiders, is going to do so. Which is exactly what happened yesterday. She was voted to spend some quality time in an underground crate, chained to the floor with five padlocks in the company of some lovely rodents. She was going head to head with a former MP and Cheeky Girl romancer, Lembit Opik.

Having screamed at regular intervals at ordinary flies while being briefed about the task, Dear Gillian was locked into a crate and told to fumble around in the dark to find keys to the padlocks holding her in place thus freeing herself. She continued screaming and telling us she couldn't see anything (it was dark in there so, duh..)  and as soon as she heard the bell being rung to mark the victory of Lembit, she screamed even louder to be let out of the crate. Then she "fainted". While being "unconscious" she was given oxygen and carried to level ground where she managed to pull down her top to hide her control-panel undies while still supposedly out of it. Faking it.


More hilarity ensued when she returned to the girls' camp telling the tale of her loss, putting a lot of emphasis to the fact that she had fainted twice. I must've been to the loo when she passed out the second time. She is getting on everyone's nerves already and I, for one am loving and hating it in equal measures. I cannot wait for tonight when this vegan excrement-enthusiast will have to eat all sorts of maggots, insects and animal genitalia. I'm sure she'll go back to her camp telling her camp mates (a Bond girl, a Playmate, a WAG and an X-factor finalist) how she had to wrestle a crocodile to the ground and rip out it's testicles with her teeth. Now there's  a trial I'd watch over and over...