New Year, Old Face

Hello! It's been a while - yet again. If I'm completely honest, I haven't really felt as if I had anything interesting/amusing/noteworthy to say, so I kept my golden silence over the holidays and a little bit longer. Here's a quick recap:

Christmas
Ahh, lovely Christmas. It truly was lovely. We ate, we drank, we had duvet days and generally spent a lot of time doing very little indeed. Mr. S was home after his 5 weeks at his father's place so we felt like we had to make up for lost time. I went back to work on the 27th of December to a very busy place indeed. There were a lot of people about, which helped me get back into the swing of things again. Mind you, going back to work after a very very lazy week off was a challenge in itself.

Roadkill
December is proving a very bad driving month for me. Remember last year, with the snow and icy roads I managed to mangle my pretty little car's back bumper? Well, this year, to balance things out I mangled the front bumper. And bonnet. And radiator. And few other bits. With the help of a ram in the middle of the road. That's right, a ram. In the middle of the f***ing road! It was dark as well, so didn't really see the little shit until he was on my bonnet. Thankfully I had slowed down a lot due to an oncoming car with it's beams and hazards on blinding me. The result of this little incident was a small state of shock, one dead ram and a bill from the garage totalling €2500 sent to my insurance company. Thank deities for no claims bonus protection, eh?

New Year
I was working, Mr. S was working, so we didn't really get up to much to ring in the new year. I was proud to have stayed awake until midnight, for one. For a brief moment we did entertain the notion of going out but then realised that would've involved getting off the sofa, getting dressed and actually leaving the house. We had wine, nibbles and generally a wonderful evening without being pushed about in a cramped pub by drunkards trying to get to the bathroom/bar.

Getting Older

moviedearest.blogspot.com

Yup, it was my birthday shortly after the new year as well. I'm feeling old this year, and have decided to do a Benjamin Button on my birthdays and turn 29 this year, working my way backwards until I'm 25 again, and maybe then I can start over again and try turning 30 again in 9 years time. Sounds like a plan to me. For my birthday Mr. S fed me until I was fit to burst. He knows what makes me happy.



Other News
There isn't all that much out of the ordinary happening here, if I'm honest. I'm using up my last year's holidays from work and only working four days per week for the next couple of weeks. Mr. S bailed out again for a couple of weeks, to go over to his father's and finish putting in a new floor upstairs. He's back next week. In the meantime, work has gone quiet, it is the low season after all, so we're all working shorter days. This means I've taken up knitting again and this time I'm going to tackle my greatest nemesis; the woolly sock. In my 31 29 years on this earth, I've managed to successfully knit exactly one pair of woolly socks, and that was under the extremely patient guidance of my third grade teacher. I found knitting the heel to be somewhat problematic and decided I didn't need to bother with them anymore. But how times change! After years of knitting hats, scarves and few successful attempts at mittens, I've decided to face my fears. I've gotten this far for now. I'll need to watch a few online tutorials on the subject but I'm fairly certain I'll be able to master it soon enough.

Exciting times, eh?

They're Back

Can you smell that, people? It's getting warmer, days are getting longer and it's actually sunny outside. I have some daffodils starting to bloom out the front of our house. It's starting to feel like spring. But it's not the daffodils, the longer, sunnier days, my cats chasing flies or even the urge to do a bit of spring cleaning that has me convinced that it is, in fact springtime.

It's the return of the rental cars on the road. I was driving into work, rushing just a little bit as I had to go into town for an appointment with my doctor before making it into work. I found myself slowed down by a 8-seater minibus in front of me. I carried on with a little, niggling feeling at the back of my mind. There was a small voice inside my head telling me there was something wrong. Then I saw it; that little, round yellow sticker with a black "i" in the middle. Rental car! Rental car! Overtake now! Overtake now!


As I told you before, I don't have a great track record with rental cars. A certain model of Nissan is a particular pain in my bottom every summer. It seems now that the Micras are back, and this time they have brought reinforcements. There seem to be quite a few minibuses about with those stickers on their back windows. And, by the way, I really do think those stickers are there as a public service, to warn the vehicle behind them that the car in front is indeed liable to pull to an unexpected stop when encountered with something typically Irish anywhere in the distance.

But I can only deduce that the season is upon us. I will try and remain calm and zen, but nonetheless will reserve an extra 15minutes for every 10 miles or driving from now until the end of September. But the daffodils are nice, aren't they?

Rainy Day

It's bloody miserable out again. I can't even see out to the sea, it's so foggy. It annoys me even more, because yesterday was beautiful and sunny and actually kind of warm and I was stuck at work all day. I was doing a manual handling course in the morning (for the fourth time in five years) and after lunch I was flat-out at my actual paying job. Well, I suppose I was paid to do the course as well but seriously, how many different ways are there to lift a box correctly.

Our HR manager, who was giving the course said you only need a refresher ever 3 years. I will hold him to that come next year when they're trying to make me do the communal box lifting exercise again.

My little Mazda had to go in for its very first NCT today. I had myself convinced, after hearing all those horror stories on people failing for ridiculous reasons, that poor little Molly wouldn't pass. I got in, handed over my paperwork and 50 euro, they took my keys, I sat down, sent a few tweets and 15 minutes later we were done. Pass, pass, pass and pass. Thank you, see you in two years. I proudly stuck my NCT disc on the windscreen and drove off.

Rainy days call for comfort food. Today's offering is cinnamon buns. My mother used to bake every Saturday. Buns, biscuits, cakes and the occasional swiss roll. Smelling fresh buns hot out of the oven takes me right back into my parents' kitchen with a hot bun and a glass of ice cold milk in front of me. And it was quiet in the house because it was Saturday. My mother minded children from our home on weekdays, so the house always seemed full, even though there never were more than four children to be minded at a time. But Saturdays and Sundays I had the house and the buns all to myself.

So, this is what I made today. And for the rest of the evening, I shall be complaining about the yeast-y buns and milk expanding in my stomach causing me to look about seven months pregnant. It's all worth it, though. Just look at them.

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.

Raging road-aholic

I don't really have a great track record when it comes to rental cars. Not driving them, but driving behind them. Especially around these parts where the roads are built for 1.5 cars rather than 2, or 2 cars with half an inch between them, and overtaking or meeting other cars requires a hearty mixture of self-confidence, bravery and prayer to whatever higher power you happen to rely on.

And I am completely aware of the irony of me writing to moan about tourists, when, at the end of the day it's them who pay my wages, but still. I can't complain to their faces, now can I? Can I? Please?

There is just something about the tell-tale sticker on the rear window of the car in front of me that immediately makes my shoulders creep up to my ears, my blood pressure climb up a notch or five, and my knuckles turn a lovely shade of white as I grip my steering wheel while muttering aggressively under my breath.

Yes, I know you're visiting this country and while doing so, contributing to the economy, but it doesn't mean you get the right to drive at the steady speed of 30km/h, in the middle of the road thus blocking anyone unfortunate enough to be stuck behind you from even attempting overtaking. And every so often you see a sheep, or the sea, or a thatched cottage, a pile of turf on the bog, of all of the above, skid to a halt (okay, 'skid' is an overstatement considering you were crawling along to start with), leap out of the car (which is still positioned in the middle of the road), and start taking photographs!!!

I would like you to know, that as I'm writing this I am in fact, working myself up to rage. I would love to know how many accidents are caused every year by people either plowing into a car stopped in a corner or in the middle of the road, or in frustration overtaking in a place where you probably shouldn't but can't take looking at the heads turning as if they were at Wimbledon while the car sways from side to side on the road.

I was stuck behind a Nissan Micra not that long ago. Just seeing one of them makes me annoyed. I don't know

anyone who owns one, apart from car rental companies. The image it evokes is one of a middle aged European, usually German or french (Americans tend to go for the biggest car available even if it means shaving off the wing mirrors while trying to avoid being involved in a head on collision with an oncoming bus). Spanish and Italian people I find, in general good drivers for these roads. I would imagine the Greeks being the same way. A nice mixture of overconfidence and disregard of rules and the welfare of yourself and your rental car.

Now, this Micra in question was travelling along at a break-neck speed of 20km/h. After being stuck behind it for what felt like an eternity, I decided to overtake, as that part of the road was wide enough for me to do so, and there wasn't any oncoming traffic. i don't know what people usually do when they see someone behind them indicating that they're going to overtake. Me, I just carry on as normal, the decision to overtake lies with the overtaker, they have obviously deemed this to be the best moment to do so and there is absolutely no involvement required on my part. The driver of this little Micra decided otherwise. As I was going past, he had come to the conclusion that the road was too narrow for me to overtake, and steered his car into the bog. Seeing this from my rear-view mirror, I pulled over and went to see if they were okay.

I was met with an irate Frenchman and his wife, who started screaming at me telling me I had driven them off the road. Now, I can assure you, this wasn't the case. The man then proceeded to tell me how all Irish people drive like lunatics, how he had been driven off the road three times during his holiday and how he was never going to drive in Ireland ever again. As I tried, in vain, to explain to him how it wasn't necessary for him to drive off the road when someone was overtaking, the man launched into what I can only imagine being an extremely derogatory outburst in french. I held up my hands and walked away. I could still hear him as I got into my car and drove off.

I must admit, I did feel a little bit sorry for him. The roads here are something to get used to, I know it took me some time to be confident in the knowledge that even if I do meet my neighbour on the road, neither one of us is going to lose mirrors or paintwork.