Cabbage

Came down the stairs this morning to discover Mammy had left TWO messages on a pot containing ham  – peel potatoes, and at 3.30pm boil, then simmer aforementioned ham.  Great.  We’re having ham and cabbage for dinner today – another great reason to be in Ireland.  The ham and cabbage is great (yeah Germany you heard me.  Stop pickling yours!!!).

Papabear began talking of a ”friend” of his.  ”He’s a bit John Dimple,” he says.  ”Not the full shilling but not a cabbage.”

This was post eppo-fits had by Papabear in quick succession this morning.  First fit came after Lilsister called to complain about the set up of buying the season tickets for the Dubs matches in 2012.  Bit early in the day (and year) to be worrying about such stuff, but I’m a calm person, I can handle it, I thought.

LilSister emailed, texted and then called to say she would NOT buy season tickets until we could confirm we would all be sitting together as Charlie would not sit with Carl and she did not want to be left alone with Papabear at a match (him being mad abusive and all).  This from the girl who had to be TORN away from kicking the crap out of a Cork woman in 2010 cause she kept pulling on her Dublin jersey.  Fair enough to start on the Cork Cow but it was a tense match and we needed all our powers of concentration to get through the match, to will them on and all.

Anyway I know nothing about these season ticket purchases so went to discuss the matter with Papabear who threw a fit and said he didn’t understand anything and there was no point talking to Charlie cause they’re as thick as each other and he would ring Charlie who would ring Carl who would be TOLD to ring LilSister.  This was very confusing for me so I said I would ring Carl as Carl has normal brain functionality but Dad didn’t have his number so it meant going back to LilSister and her mood swings to get this.  This then brought forth fit no 2 which was about the telly not ommitting any sound – I tried the telly remote and the sky remote and no joy.  Fit fit fit and general badmouthing of LilSister for bringing up difficult subjects like seating at football matches in 2012.  Cue bashing of both remotes and the sound of the telly being turned on and off ”doo doo doo doo” noise when telly came back on, and grumblings of ”the next sound you’ll hear will be the bastarding thing being fucked out the window”.

I rang Mammy to ask if she knew how to resolve the situation and she declared that Papabear had probably ”sat” on the remote in a funny way and pressed a button.  No help.  She did suggest turning the telly on and off and then reefing out all the plugs for a minimum of five mintues.  I told Papabear this and no idea if he did it or not but as I passed by his room some minutes later I was informed through the closed door that all was well.  TV has been reinstated as the official favourite thing in the house, and viewing pleasure has recommenced.  Doo doo doo doo.

Back to shops today in vain effort to find cheap Christmas presents.  Failed miserably.  Too many people and still smarting from visiting the other day when a teenaged person stood in my way with a brochure saying ”there you go ma’am” like I was some old biddy receiving a free gift.  Bitch!!!  Or maybe she meant it like ”mam” and I look haggard enough to be her mother.  Either way, she is buried in the carpark, resting on a bed of brochures.

Came home to find Papabear still waving arms wildly about his head in relation to season tickets and seating issues.  Tried to ring Carl but am still waiting on him to get back to me.  Ate day old garlic bread and took two headache tablets.

LilSister complaining that when she turned around at her desk in work (everyone sits behind her for some reason) to declare that they are all ”retards” nobody said anything.  Have concluded that everyone is terrified of her, and that she needs a smack.

Have no deep or interesting feelings today, excepting sore neck from long haul flight home couple of weeks ago, but this is hardly worth talking about.  Besides it is nearly 3pm and I need to go and think about peeling the potatoes before Mammy comes home and beats me.

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