Mammy Usurps the Irish Medical System, Adds Gin

After shelling out for the world’s nosiest doctor, Mammy and Daddy depart Irish shores to travel to the lovely Lanzarote, where it’s warm and medication costs less.

‘Get me my sleeping tablets,’ I bark at Mammy, ‘as I have no money left from the Doctor Prat-a-lot.’

Mammy does, and hands them over upon her return, alongside a very cheap bottle of gin, my drink of choice.

Gin and sleeping tablets – would the doctor be worried?  Surely they don’t cause alarm bells to ring if your mother gets them for you in a sunny place?


Oh, Vienna

Speaking to somebody the other day who said ‘if you love Vienna so much why not move there?’.  Indeed.  Many thoughts.  But my nieces don’t live there, even though the chocolate is amazing.

Maybe I should move.

Who will have me?


Horoscopes are a Girl’s Best Friend

I know you shouldn’t read horoscopes but I must have the bloke from the Evening Herald, because he’s just so POSITIVE.   When I was going through the bullying rubbish at my last job my mother would read him out to me to make me feel better and he DID.  He is great.  My life is on the up; I am amazing; it’s all going to be fine.  Who doesn’t need to hear that?

He has turned to finances now, specifically, the fact I was coming into money last week.  I thought about the wages in my new job and knew it wouldn’t be that.  I have no discernible talents that would allow me to work unhindered and in joyous self employment so it wasn’t that either.

Then it happened.

I always make my bed before I go to work.  It’s what us good girls do.  I remember taking a boy home with me when I lived in Sydney and how horrified he was that my  room was clean and my bed was made that late on a Friday night/Saturday morning.  I never saw him again.  Well, I did, but the second time was even more horrifying.

After shaking out the sheets (there’s none of this just throwing the blankets over the pillows malarky in MY abode) I was thrilled to find a ten cent coin where my feet had lain.  Dare I say diamonds on the sole of my sole, Mr Simon?

But then.

I went to work, and did my standard pre-work wee in the ladies.  And there was a five cent piece in the floor.

No I didn’t pick it up.  I have never worked in an office where the kitchen and bathroom are so dirty.  I actually saw something crawl on the toilet floor one day.  It wasn’t a co-worker.  It was something that would survive the bomb.

And that, my friend, is the extend of the riches promised to me by the Evening Herald.

This week he said the new moon would contribute to more positive feelings, and I should love myself.

Doctor’s Orders: Pretty Your Feet

It’s Friday, making it toe day, and I should be applying my disgusting concoction nail varnish thing to my poor infected toe nails.  But!  I am off on a sun holiday tomorrow (with my parents, yes I am THAT spinster) and I cannot in all good faith allow my little feet to take their first flip flop outing this year without adornment.  For I am allegedly BANNED from painting my toenails whilst the fungal infection medicine is working it’s NINE MONTHS WORTH of magic on my tootsies.

I discussed the matter with Panties, and she agrees that the odd break in this tough routine is acceptable, and I can go to the sun in full toe varnished glory.  As she is a doctor of psychology I feel she is more than qualified to make this diagnosis.

When 10 is 12

Horrifically, after sitting stewing in the smelly police station with old people, pre-trial criminals and their offspring, I then had to go to the post office to apply for the super duper express passport ‘service’ which is pretty much the only way  you can apply for a passport in Ireland, because may your god help you if you try and do it through the actual passport office.

In Ireland, if you need a passport, you must go to the post office.

You can only go to the passport office if you have an appointment, and if you are travelling in LESS than 10 days.

If you try and contact the passport office you will fail.  There is no telephone number anywhere – you must use the website.  I found a number once and it answered by telling me to go on the website.

Passport express is pretty much the only way of getting your passport, you stand in line at the post office and pay a whopping fee to have your passport delivered within ten working days – they do not guarantee you will get it before that.  Okay.

 So!  I toddled over to the post office, which was infected with a large queue, many of whom had large shopping trollies, making the queue even longer.  Unfortunately, I was standing in front of an old hag, who kept taking steps closer and closer to me, so close in fact she was leaning on me at one stage.  I belted her whilst ‘adjusting’ my handbag.  Then more old people joined her and they talked about what a dump Ireland is.  I went on facebook on my phone, whilst seething with hatred.  Even when the queue wasn’t moving, she kept walking on me.  I considering kicking her, but I would probably get in trouble and I didn’t want to lose my queue place.

Eventually I was summoned to counter no 2, I said hi, not even a grunt back.  My documents were taken from me.  I was supposed to take a sticker from the application form (to trace the progress of the passport) and was told a loud ‘NO’ to this.  I was clearly interrupting his sleeping time.  Then I was told the cost was EIGHTY NINE EURO and whilst sobbing and handing over the money I was informed that wait times for PASSPORT EXPRESS are currently 10-12 working days.

‘I’m paying for passport express, right?’ I ventured.

‘Yes,’ said King Horrible.

‘Like, the 10 day passport service?’


‘So how long will I be waiting then?

’10-12 days.’

This is why Ireland will never ever ever go right.

Bad Photos and Hot Running

After purchasing my passport photos (they are horrible, I am SO GLAD I washed my hair yesterday and got up early to put on  a full face of makeup) I had to then take them to the police station to have them (not me) certified.  That means a policeperson has to sign two, and only two, of the back of them.  I must give four, and only two must be signed.  They must be signed in black pen.  The form must be completed and signed in black pen, if you sign in blue the form is returned to you sans passport.  I discussed this with the bloke taking my ugly passport photo and he said the people in the passport office are ‘pricks’.  Then he apologised because Little Star was there but luckily, while she can most certainly say ‘fuck’, the word ‘prick’ appears to be beyond her.  At least then I got to play ‘ready steady go’ with Little Star, which involves both of us screaming ‘ready steady go’ and running until I go very red and feel like passing out.  I think of it as my cardio for the day.



Chickpeas Will Make it All Better

No way am I going to Sligo I decided on the weekend, Mammy and Papabear are going to Lanzarote and by God, I will tag along!  So it’s sun and non-Atlantic bracing winds for me, and perhaps some alcohol and a pool.

Instead, today is the first day of Battle Eat Better – I would get up early, possibly exercise and buy chickpeas.

It has not gone well.

I woke up late, after a night of odd dreams, where I had to apply for permission at a desk to have a passport photo taken of me, and then somehow managed to be in my front garden where I kept finding a variety of giant snails and teddy bears that looked like real animals, which all frightened me.  Then when I was walking from my garden to the front door a creature with the face of a field mouse and the body of a cat kept jumping in front of me and saying ‘ha ha ha’.  I was extremely stressed when I woke up, and decided I would not exercise as I was already sweating.

Have managed to buy the chickpeas though, and tonight I am cooking up a middle eastern feast of falafel with paprika yoghurt dip and roast veg cous cous, much healthier than my normal fare which usually includes mash.  I have earmarked a half hour to clean the glass surrounding my shower but I cannot guarantee it will be done.  No woman can do everything.