The Uproarious Adventures of the Uplander

DIY Starbucks

2010-12-29T11:58:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I parted with the alphas hard earned dollars for the last time in Starbucks. I love coffee. I positively love it; I’d have a bath in it if I wasn’t such a lazy bugger. So yesterday the offspring and I are out in the aftermath of the blizzard trekking to CVS to get formula (we accidentally went a mile out of the way to check out a vintage shop) and as a result the offspring was cold and red of visage. I decided to stop into someplace to get a coffee to warm us both up. I was passing Starbucks and began to dither. I usually hate starbucks but there was nowhere else on the journey home. What to do? Despite the fogged up windows and knowledge that the place really is just a total sh*thole, we wandered in as I was ok for further needless trekking through the snow (the vintage shop visit was a total accident).

I took a notion to treat myself and instead of the usual scorched Americano I chose with a stupid level of anticipation a white chocolate mocha. I’m thinking white chocolate and coffee…..mmmmmm, my ass badly needs these calories. How wrong I was. To start I forgot to ask them not to spray that white confection of chemicals from a can on top of it so I had a massive blob of “whipped cream” which was the first thing I tasted. I don’t actually mind this substance mostly as it tastes quite sweet and I would almost sell my cats for sugar at times. No, no. The thing about the cream was that it lulled me into thinking the contents of the do gooder green “I’m made from the arse of sustainably bred warthogs” coffee cup was not life threateningly hot. I was incorrect. I believe the contents of the cup took a good 4 layers of hard grown skin off my tongue and the entire roof of my mouth was reefed away by the scalding hot coffee. I didn’t even ask for it hot! Yes, you can get it extra hot. If I’d wanted such an experience I needn’t have paid 3.80 of the alphas hard earned dosh for it, I merely had to go home, fire up the gas cooker and attach my tongue to the flame. Simples.

Next, came the insult that was the “flavour”. For an extra 50 cents I could have gone up the road to another establishment and procured myself a mocha with ACTUAL CHOCOLATE in it, but silly and lazy Len must have subconsciously decided that a trapful of chemical tasting chocolate syrup would be far more pleasing to the tastebuds. What remained of them after the earlier scorching that is. The aftertaste of the “chocolate” was that of what I imagine anti freeze to taste like.

As I was walking home a thought struck me. I could do a DIY starbucks. All I needed to do was nip to the nearest zoological gardens, borrow a warthog, take it home and wrap it around my head. Next I fire up the gas cooker, singe the shit out of my tongue and pour the contents of my household cleaning products container down me craw and hey presto, I have a starbucks for free!! I would encourage you to try it but I think it might fall short of the actual starbucks experience and I wouldn’t want to deny anyone that little gem.

Toodles!

Childbirth Class

2010-05-13T14:36:00.001-04:00

The alpha and I spent a ‘blissful” Saturday last week in day long attendance of a childbirth class. I went along with few or no expectations just hoping to survive the 9 hours of class without waking up at some point with my face covered in drool. I think this was actually the primary aim of the alpha on the day. More about that later.

The first thing that hit me as we entered the class, apart from the fact that we appeared to be having it in a nuclear fallout shelter, were the vomit inducing positive labour affirmations all over the walls. I’m not sure how reciting to myself “My body is opening like a flower” will help me through what is likely to be pain on an unparalleled scale as I push my son from my very tiny loins. A flower would be the last thing I would liken the emergence of a fully formed human from my innards to. I would be thinking it would be more along the lines of using a pillow as a silencer when assassinating someone. I ignored the affirmations and also what appeared to be medieval torture devices displayed on tables around the room and concentrated on the introductions and what was going to happen in the class. In particular I was looking forward to whatever part happened to involve the pillows we were asked to bring.

We had to introduce and talk about ourselves and do all that sh*te you do at work training courses. The Americans (we were the only non Americans there) spoke at length about their schedules and fitting the midwife visits in, I wondered when they would find time to raise the baby. I didn’t reveal that the main items in my hectic daily schedule were procrastinating at length about packing a hospital bag and trying not to pee myself when I laughed or coughed.

The day pretty much dragged, I was actually glad of the massively swollen and spreading insect bite on my leg to keep me entertained. About half way through the really uneventful proceedings the midwife produced the floor mats and told us to ready the pillows and I admit I got pretty excited. I managed not to pee myself too so all was good. We lay down to do some relaxation exercises. Now I’ll admit I was a bit perturbed about this as I am not able to relax. Especially lying on a floor mat in a nuclear fallout shelter surrounded by medieval torture devices with a little baby battering the life out of the nearest available organ to him. Also, I cannot put on my own socks anymore but that’s for another day. We had to do the old closing the eyes routine and letting all the energy go from our arms and legs. At one point there was talk of golden shafts of light coming out of ones ar*e! Whatever state of relaxation I may have achieved was shattered by this revelation. When I am giving birth there will be golden shafts of light coming out of my ass?! Is it not enough that I will be passing a human through the eyehole of a shoelace but now there is the added pressure of generation of light and not just that but GOLDEN light?! It all got a bit too much to be honest so I turned on my side and had a small nap. Drool free might I add.

When we were all “relaxed” (not me as I was thinking at length about the inherent evilness of celery, viaducts and furballs) it was time to watch the DVD. Mmmmmm. No wonder she got us all relaxed and lazy, the feckin thing was HORRENDOUS! Not so much the birth bit but the people they filmed having their babies. The first baby-haver was the nurse from the Catherine Tate comedy series and the second was Roseanne Barr from the 90’s comedy series. You could avert your gaze from the baby popping out bit but there was NO part of these women that were not on display, it was god awful viewing. Roseanne didn’t appear to even be preggers she was so mahoosive. In her shower scene you could barely see the stool she was perched atop and the nurse from Catherine Tate seemed only to be content when ripping off all her clothes, the static of which seemed to make her already wiry and electrified hair stand further on end. Clearly I am completely shallow but feck it, I don’t care! I plan to have the full nuns habit on when I have the baby and a set of sharpened rosary beads for any bastard that may try to come near me with a speculum or a feckin camera!

The highlight of my day though had to be the late arrival and general presence of Wayne and Waynetta from Waltham. This poor couple in their tracksuits and spots stood out so much, I almost felt sorry for them. While Waynetta asked about drugs and getting the ol’ figure back, the Cambridgeites asked about organic products in the hospital and using only Tylenol as pain relief. W&W had a bit of argy bargy involving tears and making up so I entirely missed the last hour of the class. It was brilliant, I should have thanked them for the distraction! Pity the alpha didn’t notice their antics, it might have saved him from destroying his jumper with drool during his multiple power naps.

So it seems that the way this birth business is going to work is as follows:

Mild pain

Flash flood of Noah and the Ark proportions when waters break

Increased pain

Snapping at husband for impregnating me

Further increase in pain

Hallucinations likely involving my lifting the Australian Open trophy

More pain in case there wasn’t enough

Kicking midwife in face accidentally

Again, pain

Asking for medieval torture devices to be produced to distract from pain

Eh, pain anyone?

Emergence of baby through wormhole

Apologies to husband for the breakage of both of his hands, nose and 2 ribs

Apologies to midwife who is now in the ER having her face repaired

Asking if the alpha will polish my Australian Open Trophy while I recover from the birth.

Bring it on, I can’t wait!

Living in America??

2009-12-03T17:55:00.001-05:00

Well I’m back!!! Did ye miss me at all?! Doubtless there was a cavernous void, as a result of my lack of blogging but fear not, I have returned! I was a bit down in the dumps for a while there with an acute and life-threatening case of “Oh f*ck, I live in America”. Lifesaving treatment was administered in the form of 15 Wispas and a box of Cheese and Onion Tayto courtesy of my very good mother and I appear to be on the mend. My advice if anyone finds themselves afflicted with this pernicious condition is to desist immediately from watching diabetes advertisements (do NOT make the mistake of sending off for a testing kit OR a slap n’ chop vegetable cutting device, albeit revolutionary) and get outside with a box of Lucky Charms and perform Riverdance up and down the street until you feel suitably irish again. Also if you are lucky enough to have all of Enya’s albums, put them on repeat and play them through the night, your mental health will thank you. Your husband may not however, but it will prevent him from going over to the dark side, what with him being surrounded by good god fearing, gun toting workaholics everyday.

Right I’m off. It’s the third of December and 21 degrees so I’m off to work on my tan!

Anyone for an enema?

2009-11-06T13:47:00.000-05:00

If I have to listen to one more advertisement on the tellybox about medications for diabetes, I will surely go into said tellybox and beat the fools talking about their obesity induced diabetes about the head with the bag of doughnuts that is invariably lying somewhere near them. America is absolutely obsessed with illness and the associated medications and medical care. I estimate that at least 50% of ads on tv are for pharmaceuticals, medical insurance companies or hospitals. If I was unlucky enough to have depression induced constipation that left me with erectile dysfunction, bone density loss, swine flu and a general pox, there are medications I can ask my doctor to give me that will doubtless revolutionize my life. Now ignore the fact that I am a couch residing non-medical cynic and know nothing about medications or their side effects, I am instructed to go to my doctor and demand these drugs. Of course the medical insurance that costs circa 700,000 dollars a month won’t cover it because I sneezed three times in 1985. Oh and if your insurance won’t cough up, Astra Zeneca reassures us at the end of each ad that they will help pay for it. Good of them.

The pharmacies here are fantastic and wonderful places. You can get everything from a hot water bottle to a barium enema. I have been fascinated with the latter since I saw them in the local CVS (Crazily Vast Store) pharmacy 10 years ago on the student visa. Never have they been far from my mind. I thought you could only avail of the cleansing and invasive effects of said enema in a hospita. I also thought that introducing a substance into your system at home that can be picked up by the international space station would potentially be a tad detrimental to your health. Of course if you do enema-ise yourself and you wake up to find you colon has made a bid for freedom in the night and can be found at the local bus station with a one way ticket to Vegas, Astra Zeneca will help pay for your troubles.

I’m off to make contact with the lads on the international space station via the barium enema I’m going to use to correct my doughnut induced erectile diabetic depressive bone debilitating lunacy.

You callin' me fat?!?!

2009-10-16T18:38:00.001-04:00

As mo rhothar

2009-10-13T16:54:00.002-04:00

My arse is killing me. Cycled to the library yesterday only to find it was closed for an unpublicised public holiday. The pain is tremendous. Life altering even. Maybe next time i get up on the bike i'll be less ambitious. A distance of that magnitude should not be undertaken when one hasn't been on a bike since April. i'll half it next time. That mile was sheer lunacy.

Celtics v Diaspora!

2009-10-12T17:35:00.001-04:00

The blinds are up! The cats are determined to tear them back down again but they shall not prevail in their opposable thumb-less attempts. Furry divils. They have been informed that if they do not desist from this anti-homely behaviour they are going to be exchanged for the pair of raccoons that live in the oak tree outside the house. Let them put that in their pipe and smoke it. Or maybe put it in their nicorette. Sylvester has been off the fags for three months now and I really wouldn’t want to set him back.

Friday last saw a busy, busy day for the non-taxpayer here. The alpha rang me and relayed the great news of our attendance that evening at a Celtics basketball game in Boston! Excitement and fanfare erupted through the house, the blinds simultaneously opened and closed and the litter box self-cleaned. It was indeed a joyous moment, not least for the latter occurrence. As I leapt around the ground floor of our double family home, it occurred to me that I wouldn’t get a chance to take the fur off any tennis balls that evening so in my frenzied state I decided to treat myself to a run.

I donned my running attire. Let me point out that I don’t really like running and dress accordingly. Somewhat in the manner of a homeless person with a penchant for acquiring his clothes from a TK Maxx skip circa 1991. I don’t wear a beard though; I’d just like to clear that one up. Tennis attire is another matter altogether, but I digress. I hot footed it from the gaff, tied my keys to my runners and set off to run the massive 3 miles around Fresh Pond.

The name is ridiculously misleading. Ridiculously. It’s not a pond it’s the main source of drinking water for the city of Cambridge! It’s a great hulking mass of water that would house the entire population of Luxembourg attempting a world record breaking synchronized swimming program. The killjoys in Cambridge county council however won’t allow humans in the water. Short sighted in my opinion, imagine the revenue they could accumulate from such a record breaking attempt? Still, under the strain of record breaking I suppose not everyone could be counted on to hold onto their bladder.

About 3 minutes into my trot I realized that it was raining. I thought about turning back but I figured I’d be sweating like a person who had just completed a 3 mile run so a little rain wouldn’t do any harm. How wrong I was. Regular rain would have been tolerable but this was the special type of “wet” rain that previously I have only experienced in Galway. For 3.75 years of the 4 years I lived there to be precise. It’s the sort of rain that appears to defy the laws of physics and manages to soak you from the inside out. The disappointment I felt in arriving at the conclusion that irish weather was actually stalking me, another slap in the face for physics, almost led me to turn back. I was pretty soaked by the time all these thoughts has filtered through the remaining functioning sections of my grey matter so I ploughed on.

Ploughed on is another misleading statement. I spluttered, coughed, whined and dragged myself around the pond. I stopped for a cry at one point and the chipmunks came over for a chat. They informed me with great glee that Alvin, Simon and Theodore were in Hollywood finalizing the rights to another movie. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see man or chipmunk achieve success but I mean what gobshite thought it was socially responsible to make another chipmunks movie? Feeling somewhat rested if disturbed after the chat, I dragged myself the remaining 129 miles home on my elbows.

I arrived back to the porch and poured my remains through the keyhole. The alpha was home! I greeted him and the backyard raccoons and had a little rest. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Hobbes grappling furiously with an AK-47. I sighed and removed the aforementioned weapon from him, chastised him for his amateur attempts at raccoon assassination and handed him a proper sniper rifle. I was going to give it to him for his birthday but better him to have it now and not pick up bad habits.

There was little time to change and shower, although I was so wet anyway I could have just applied some soap and stood back out on the porch and washed it off. However, Americans are quite modest so I performed my ablutions in our rather nice bathroom. As I was in the shower Sylvester appeared to have been arrested by the thought that behind the shower curtain lay a treasure trove of mice, for he launched himself at the shower curtain with all the unbridled gusto of a psycho style serial killer. I looked out when I recovered my composure to see a monochromatic hanging from the shower curtain by three claws and managing to look somewhat apologetic. He lost one of his lives as a result of the eardrum shattering scream I emitted and I estimate I aged 7 years. Nonetheless I recovered and dressed sure in the knowledge that having gained the 7 years in age I wouldn’t need any iD to procure beer. The alpha suggested I bring it just in case.

We took the bus to Harvard. Well we took the fifth bus we encountered as the alpha had left his i-phone in the house and had to return for it. Good thing he remembered it too as Hobbes was on the internet ordering munitions and foot soldiers. Where did hey get the credit cards? This raccoon thing was getting out of hand. We got the fifth bus and subsequently progressed to the train where it transpires we were to spend a good portion of our evening. There was a “disabled” train ahead of us on the line resulting in delays. Disabled? I saw it pull out of the station before ours and there was no evidence of crutches or a wheelchair. To say the least we were confused. Eventually it lumbered to its destination with much apology and we met up with our irish friend and hit Boston Beer Works to meet the other lads.

The match was starting at 7.30 and we got to the bar, pardon me, the bah, at 7. Needless to say it was absolutely imperative, no crucial to the survival of the irish species, that we consume our own weight in beer in the short half hour we had before the match. This is a skill that almost every irish college graduate posseses. No, almost every irish person is born possessing this skill and college only serves to hone it to perfection. Indeed if you have attended college in Galway you are grand master of imbibing and generally invited to conferences around the world where you are revered in the manner of a good cult leader. The alpha had a Reeses peanut butter cup for his dinner and I had 4 peanuts. We hoped feverently that we hadn’t taken too much soakage on board. We had a stereotype to live up to. The alpha, I, the D man, the other irish guy, the Scot and the Kenyan partook of a half hour of concentrated merriment and then with lightning speed of foot, made haste to the Basketball stadium.

The game was great, a genuinely enjoyable experience. Celtics won but you got the feeling they weren’t trying too hard, I suppose it was a pre-season match. Having made that statement, you should be made aware that the only thing I know about basketball is that you use a roundy ball and have to be 8 feet tall to play it.

After the game we repaired back to the Boston Beer Works and honestly much of the night is a blurry haze of happy drunkenness. I have no recollection of any arrests but was so drunk myself that I spent the whole journey home convinced we were being ferried by a headless taxi driver to the other side to meet our maker. Thankfully I believe we made it home intact. It’s always a bonus.

Law and ORDER darnit!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-10-08T16:18:00.004-04:00

I’m still putting up those feckin’ confidence sappers, I mean blinds (the sitting room is complete folks, rev up the Gillette, procure yourself a cat – not one of mine- and shave it!) and I’m taking a little break. Despite being built like a brick shithouse, working over my 5 foot 4 inch strapping frame is draining me.

I and the drill have called a truce. It’s lying on the couch beside me taking a nap. It looks pretty innocuous when it’s asleep really. So now that I feel my life is temporarily no longer in mortal danger I break out the cookies and chocolate milk and switch on the ol’ mind bending box. Would you feckin’ credit it, LAW AND ORDER is on again!! I think that in addition to my Chevy Chase counter I’m going to add a counter to total how many house straight they show it for! Yesterday it was on for thirteen hours. It also shows on several channels at the same time. It makes me want to take out my seeing orbs, jump up and down on them with the alphas steel toe safety boots and then put the remainder in the garbage disposal! Honestly, it makes the blind erection feel like sports day in National School! I’m beginning to pine for Garda Patrol, Mailbag, Nationwide and other home produced high production value classics.

Oooohhhh, got my paraphernalia from the USPTA today and I’m officially a trainee….imagine the brainwashing I can exert when I qualify!!! Oh the exciement, it’s unparalleled.

Killer bathroom utensils

2009-10-07T16:19:00.003-04:00

Trimming the ol' tootsies today (tmi indeed) to avoid them falling off from tennis activities and i was ruthlessly attacked by the nail scissors! Minding my own business and the next thing i know the tip of the scissors is embedded in my big toe!!

What i'm wondering, through a haze of quite pronounced pain, is whether the power drill has a hand in it. That demon device is still on the premises.

To the library to pick up one of Bill Brysons American travelling books, yay!!!!

The housewife, the blind and the power drill

2009-10-06T13:35:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I’m not exactly busy. Legally I can’t be employed….yet. Legal dossing is the new black for me. That’s fine, right? I’m becoming really adept at doing f*ck all. Well, it would be fine were it not for the half erected blind in the bedroom that talks to me every night as it hangs from the window frame sobbing at its ridiculous and undignified predicament.

Today is Monday. Not normally a day for doing very much but the blind has been pestering me for a week now so it’s time to take action. Affirmative action that is…… i’m in America now. Procrastination, though quite the engaging hobby in my eyes, just isn’t going to cut it if I want to stop dressing in the bathroom.

The most challenging household maintenance task I have ever undertaken was to hang some pictures. The result of said undertaking was singularly unsuccessful. It was particularly disappointing for the alpha who had to re-do the entire job. Last time I painted the hall, stairs and landing I got bored of it so hit the beer and by the time I reached the landing the gobs of wall paint on the ceiling will attested to my state of inebriation upon completion of the job. You can see how hanging blinds is a leap of space traveling proportions, but as I said, I’m tired of using the bathroom as a changing room.

I consume two percolators of coffee and in a dizzy haze of caffeine procure the landladys power drill and associated accoutrements from the basement (I love having a basement!). The cats scrub in to assist. Who says that women and cats are inept at DiY?

To start I rescue the forlorn blind from it’s diagonal sitting position in the window frame. I drop it on the floor behind the bed. A tremendous start. The blind is the venetian variety and gets tangled with the wires from the bedside lamps. Not to worry, I can tackle that problem later. Procrastination is my favourite activity after all. I retrieve the screws from the bedside drawer and the cats immediately set about battering them around the bedroom. Apparently the screws have been transformed into silver mice by some form of secular transubstantiation. I sigh, round up the screws and put them back in the drawer.

Next I tackle the brackets to hold the blinds. They’re small. Small and plastic and not particularly robust looking. There is one already in the window frame from the alphas earlier attempt to erect the blind sans tools. I attempt to remove it using brute strength but to no avail. I have a think. The bracket is at the wrong height to employ the use of what I consider to be the essential METAL support bracket. What to do? I have another think. It has been some 45 minutes since I started the task and all I have achieved is to entertain the felines. I’ve also cursed at length and broken a mild sweat. I decide I need to drill holes in the opposite side of the window frame and hang it that way. It won’t be as sturdy but it will be up, that’s the main thing.

The power drill is primed and ready to bore me some holes! I rev her up and approach the window frame with a mixture of trepidation and gusto. Standing on the bed I’m completely steady. 5 minutes of full throttle drilling later and the hole I’ve made is about 3 mm deep. I’m perplexed. Another think. I examine the power tool as surely this lack of progress is entirely attributable to its general shoddiness. Interestingly the drill bit looks shorter than anything I’ve seen on a drill before and it’s a bit fatter…..kind of like a screwdriver. Very like a screwdriver actually, a Philips one I believe they’re called. The heavens part and a chorus cranks up. It appears I have been trying to drill a hole with a power screwdriver. Who even knew such new fangled tools were available on the open market? I suppose we are in America. I look around to be sure no one has witnessed my erroneous and downright silly activities. We’re clear; no one apart from the felines are around and English isn’t their first language. I retreat to the basement in search of drill bits and inspiration.

I return to the bedroom armed to the gills with various tools and long metal pointy things with grooves in them. I’m supremely confident I’m equipped to crack this problem. That hour of sweating and cursing was just a warm up, I know what I’m doing now. I insert the correct drill bit into the power device and drill holes successfully in the places I think they should be. Recently I’d had my eyes calibrated for measurement. We’re looking good, the holes are made and now all I have to do is hold the small bracket against the wall with one hand and screw in the teeny tiny screws with my other massively clumsy adult hand. It’s a challenge to say the least and fifteen attempts later I drop the screws for the last time and sit down and lament the fact I am a stinky adult in possession of digits with the dexterity of ready-mix.

After a short feeding session on peanuts I feel re-energised and go for it one last time. The use of a small hammer is employed and we have success!!! Well sort of. The blind brackets are up, semi-secured to the wall, one of which hangs in a rather jaunty and somewhat mocking manner. I am not to be deterred by it though. If I wasn’t playing tennis later in the evening I’d have had a few Sam Adams to celebrate this stage of success.

The blind must be retrieved from under the bed. Reluctantly I get down on the floor. I crawl under the bed and bid good evening to the monsters. They’re all in good spirits, apparently highly entertained by my sweaty and seemingly futile escapades with the power tool. To think I thought no one had noticed. Anyway, I extricate the blind from the lamp wire with the help of the monsters (I thank them as I enjoy a good nights sleep) and hang it from the brackets. Looking good! Better test run it, I guess. I pull the cord to raise the blind and amid a cacophony of scraping metal and plastic the blind leaps dramatically from it’s brackets and resumes its original diagonal position halfway down the window frame. It laughs at me. In a diagonal fashion. I am being mocked by a four dollar blind.

I swear, curse, rev the power drill in a menacing manner and eat some more peanuts. There is NO way a 4 dollar blind is getting the better of me and my new found manly DiY skills. I go to the bin and resort to looking at the instructions which I have retrieved from underneath an old pizza box. There are little gates to be inserted before the test run apparently. The felines return the little gates and I re-instate the blind along with the little gates (why is everything so little?) and attempt the raising of the Titanic, sorry, the blind again. Shave the cat it goes up and even more pleasing it stays up!

I have conquered the blind and the power tool. I feel ecstatic, successful and powerful, I feel like I could finally take over the world! The alpha returns from the coal face and admires my “work”. He is congratulatory and delighted I was able to manage to affix it to the window frame in a fully working fashion. He is also hilariously suggesting that I’ll now be able to do the other 11 windows in the house….

Anyone for a visit to Bahstan??!

2009-10-06T10:56:00.002-04:00

Flights are pretty reasonable at the minute folks....costed a return flight yesterday for 470 euros per person which isn't bad really! There is a spare double bed crying out for occupants, don't let it go to waste!

Tennis yawns....

2009-10-05T14:14:00.006-04:00

i know, i know, the obsession continues.....for anyone interested in following the attempts of a very average club player to take her all or nothing game to the Americans, click on the link above. At the minute the fall league is taking place and i'm in the Womens advaced section....

The posse arrives!!!

2009-10-05T13:21:00.000-04:00

After much, much wrestling with bubblewrap and a bathroom scales the O'Toole clan, replete with felines, finally made it to Boston!!!

We arrived in the land of freedom, justice and the drive thru pharmacy on the 5th September 2009 for our year long adventure (and my attempts to take over the country). Actually it might be 18 months but that depends on whether or not Fergs employers suceed in their attempts to Americanise him. The first sign of that and he will be fed Lucky Charms intravenously while the coffin ship return journey is sorted out.

Just so you all know, the i button is broken on the current laptop we have. it's powered by "mouse on wheelTM" technology, so it's not really surprising some of the keys have made a bid for freedom.

As i'm not working at the minute, i thought a blog would be an absolutely marvellous use of my time. Surprisingly, there is only so much cleaning i can fit into the day. Also, Cif cream cleaner doesn't seem to exist here so my cleaning jaunts have been curtailed to the point i'm considering branching out and cleaning other peoples houses. For free of course.

Hopefully, if you're interested, this blog will keep you up to date with what we are up to. The cats are setting up their own blogs.