“Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt”

I have to remind myself of that sometimes. In less flamboyant language though, obviously (that Shakespeare was a bugger for words & shit). But I find myself doubting myself, or more accurately, my ability to do things. It’s foolish. I should really stop it. I’m working on it.

And it’s going to get better. There’s so much cool stuff coming up in the next few weeks for me to look forward to, it’s hard not to be a giddy kipper really. What’s on the agenda you ask? Well…

Rugby with Jules next Saturday, in our specially made T-shirts. Pictures of which I shall furnish you all with at some point I’m sure; so that you may revel in their majesty. Even Grace is going to be doing her bit for the Cork contingent & wearing hers too!

Given that one of us ended up vomiting blood & the other got knocked off a stool and subsequently, a concussion after the last match, we’ve vowed to avoid the shots this time though… yeah.

St Patrick’s Day, obviously. Always a giggle

Dan‘s birthday. *bumps* A shoe-in for a fun night.

Then it’s the Blog Awards over in lovely Galway. Which I still need to sort out a frock for.

A visit from my cousin, Nicola.

Last time she came over we danced the night away to cheesy 80′s tunes and laughed like the drunken twats we were, in no small part because of this guy either…

So that’s bound to be a giggle. Girls, you shall be rounded up to join us for some sherbets that weekend!

Then the weekend after, my ma & pa are heading over to see me. I won’t have seen them since Christmas and am already well overdue a dose of parental TLC. By, “parental TLC”, I mean chatting about anything & everything over several pints of stout.

And then, finally at the very end of April, Jules & I are at it again. This time perving over, ahem, I mean watching the rugby down at the Kinsale Sevens. Rugby & seafood & boozing, oh my! There’s rumour of another shirt being acquired for the trip too.

So, yes, lots to look forward to. I’d promise blog posts about it… but I have been unashamedly shit at updating my blog of late, so shall make not guarantees. However, if there’s news that’s worth sharing and which I can share without fearing the wrath of anyone, then I’ll do my best.

Assuming I’m still alive & not awaiting a liver transplant by the end of it all, that is

It’s good to know your limitations.

Along with rap star, I always knew that several things were out of my reach: nurse for only having very limited amounts of sympathy; nanny because I don’t like children really, or rather I don’t like the children I have no personal connection with (not that kind of personal connection!); artist, for being generally a bit cack-handed and lacking in artistic thought and also, perhaps somewhat linked to the rap star thing was being a human beat box.

It’s good to know your limits.

Maybe someone should’ve told this guy:

Worst Beatboxer Ever – Watch more Funny Videos

Or not; because he just made me laugh more than anything else in recent days (except for Stephen coining the term “riding the pigeon”). Yeah, yeah, I know, in joke alert.

Have to say thanks to the guys at Big Mental Disease for finding this gem too. Go and visit their site. Funny it is!

We were all invited to come along and take photos of things that are happy-making and would capture the spirit of the campaign -- cheering up. Let’s face it, after the snowy, icy, not-gritted shenanigans of last week, we all needed it more than ever!

Given the lovely snowfall of Saturday night it was a perfect day for it. Well, it was in Phoenix Park, the rest of town was less of a winter wonderland and more of a slushy, brown, icy puddle to be honest.

So, where are my photos? Well, that’s a good question. There aren’t any. I got a bit distracted. Mainly by building this…

Image courtesy of Shane Murphy

Affectionately named the Snow Bear of Peace (AKA The Snow Beast) and measuring far, far taller than he looks in the picture. A group of us decided to build him, climb on him and then… well, then we kicked him to pieces & threw bits of him at each other, but we’ll skim over that part.

As a result I was more of a “bringer of the fun” (self-titled) than actual photographer on the day. I’m a maverick. I live by my own rules. That’s just how I role. I also don’t have a camera since dropping mine on the floor.

The pic above was taken by Shane. For more pictures, by those who bothered their arse and did what they were asked to do, then check out the Flickr group. You can add you own to the group too and also stand a chance to win €3,000 for your efforts.

My chances of winning are pretty much shot to shit, but I have to admit that the snowman building was one of the most fun things I’ve done in AGES and did in fact cheer me right up. Add to the equation, Stephen & Kyle (who also made the video below) sliding about on some “found” children’s whiteboards, a trip on the big wheel and a really tasty brunch at Odessa and even gifts (!) from the lovely Kelly at Vodafone, and all in all it was a great Sunday.*

www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIGsyubpREo

Thanks for the invite guys. Happy to be a photographer/performing monkey for the next time, haha!

*Yes, I DID get chicken pox later that day, but it was still a good day, it just ended scratchily.

I shall, however, endeavour to sort my shit out & get back on my sarcastic, somewhat caustic & often politically incorrect track, forthwith.

In the meantime, here’s a little something that both made me giggle & served to remind me of why I never became a newsreader…

www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtRJ80q7ltc

I’ve never been able to keep a straight face in the most serious of circumstances. Like the time when my ex’s Great Uncle told me he was really touched by the fact I had come to his recently deceased wife’s funeral. Only for me (feeling somewhat uncomfortable in the presence of his very raw grief and the surroundings of an extraordinarily posh country hotel) to tell him “Oh no, it’s nothing; I’m happy to take a day off work”.

Obviously that’s not quite what I meant.

Several years later, I still cringe… a lot! :-/

But now, it seems like the tables are turning and women are the new idiots on the block.

Now, I’m not going to try and rationalise a woman’s right to lust after shoes or even argue that there’s any perspective to it. I’m a self confessed shoe fiend and recently got very excited about the new shoe boxes I bought from Ikea that meant I could see all of my shoes at a glance and am currently wishing away what’s left of the summer so that I can go out and get myself a pair of these thigh-high boots for the winter. Yes I know they’re impractical. Yes I know I might end up looking like a hooker. But that’s part of their charm.

I would however, never do the following:

1. Run down the street in my nightgown (partially because I don’t wear one, but this isn’t about streaking)
2. Leave a baby to bask (bake?) in direct sunlight
3. Abandon a group of small children on the side of a street and let them run along the road after me

… all to get shoes from a truck!

FROM A FUCKING TRUCK!!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7zJ2YrW_4k

Fair play to the men of Ad Land for starting to fight back – you’ve had a hard time of it in recent years, but is this really how women are going to be portrayed?! Pesonally I think it just smacks of laziness, from the client and their agency alike. Women love shoes, ergo they will drop everything that matters to them to get their hands on a pair. That’s not an insight, it’s what happens when you leave naff all time to work on a brief and you know your client’s going to buy it because it’s “safe”.

And dooooon’t even get me started on the fact that none of these women has a decent job amongst them – the only one actually at work is a fucking Lollipop lady! (Though granted her response at the sight of said shoe truck does suggest a somewhat limited mental capacity and thus render her perhaps unsuitable for more complicated jobs – hell, she can’t even do this one properly!)

So it’s the middle of 2009 and where have we come since our fight for suffrage, keeping the country going through a world war and 40+ years of trying to break through the glass ceiling?! Well, we’re a bunch of dimwitted idots that will neglect our children, husbands, jobs (and I use the term job VERY loosely here) all to buy some fugly shoes from an out & out dickhead in a pimped-out Ice Cream truck?!

Well, not me thanks Buddy. I don’t care “how you roll” I’m not going to jump out of bed, hurdle over garden walls and into the path of oncoming traffic like some kind of vapid, shoe obsessed bint…

…well, not unless you’re giving these beauties away I’m not.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yr0_iCohyhw

This initially made me laugh and cringe in equal measure. But actually, no, I think it’s more cringe… er… hmmm…  definitely more cringe. In fact I’m going to go & sit in the shower for about 3hrs to rid myself of the uncomfortable, slightly grubby feeling I now have.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=-mWqr8pb2MY

Sorry

Now, I don’t know about you, but I have absolutely no desire to see a 50 year old woman flashing her crotch to all & sundry. And for those that do, I’m pretty sure there are specialist publications and websites that you can avail yourselves of which will give you er, more of what you want.

Apparently Madonna & Marc Jacobs think I’m wrong though. They think it’s exactly the kind of thing you should be looking at. Regard.

Seriously like, wtf?!!?! Evoking “Old Hollywood”?!? My arse! I don’t remember Bette Davis thrusting her ladygarden at the camera in All About Eve, or Rita Hayworth showing her wares to such a degree in Gilda, and jeez, she played a stripper! Do celeb types use the phrase “evoking Old Hollywood glamour” to pretty much allow them to do anything as long as they wash out the colour a bit?!

For a while there I was struggling to understand why Louis Vuitton would pick someone like Madge to front a campaign for them again, so I asked Twitter, always an excellent resource for reason and logic

Initially we all agreed that “It’s a bit Readers’ Wives” and “That image is just disturbing, put it away Madge” along with the thought we all had, “She must love her crotch, it’s everywhere”.

But after a bit of debate it was decided that actually it’s a perfect brand association: Expensive, Exclusive, Leathery Purses. A match made in heaven!

Though I am going to say that only one of them can really still be considered a luxury brand these days – I mean, I’m all for a bit of vintage bargain hunting, but there’s only one of the two going to remain desirable despite years of “wear & tear”. Am I wrong?

I am however, slightly terrified about the aspirational qualities of each and am somewhat concerned about any future trends which may involve impressionable teens going out brandishing imitation “Madge Vadges” that they bought off a market stall somewhere.

So here’s my plea to Madge – Put it away love, we’ve seen it before. It’s old and it’s boring. Yes, you may be very bendy for a (late)middle-aged bird, but are you still going to be flashing it at us when you collect your bus pass in a few years? I thought you were all about reinvention anyway – how about reinventing yourself as a woman that keeps it in her pants every now and then. Go on, try it, you might like it. I know I’ll be happier anyway!

I mean, jeez, almost every girl I knew when growing up was a massive Steffi Graf fan, but I’m English, we’re supposed to hate the Germans, almost as much as we hate the French. It’s practically genetic. But no, we all loved her, and rightly so, she was fucking brilliant – and not bad to look at either to be honest (though that was more a justification for her male fan base than anything)

I just don’t think nationalism really has a place in individual sports. I tend to support whoever I think is the best player. I’ve supported tennis players who are American, German, Czech, Spanish, Serb/Hungarian (that’s Seles btw) and yeah, some British players (though never the faux British, but really Canadian ones. That frankly was a bit too desperate even for me). Over the last few years my favourite players have been Nadal & Djokovic for example. I like the way that they both play, I like the way that they handle the media circus around the game and the fact that they seem to genuinely appreciate their fans’ support.

All of which are totally unlike a certain spoilt, grumpy, android-esque Scottish/British player of note. Step up Mr Andy Murray.

Ooh look I've won a trophy, let joy be unconfined!

Now, because I’m British I’m expected to want this moany arsehole to win Wimbledon, because that too is quintessentially British… er, I mean English… but he’s Scottish… Oh yeah, it’s British, definitely British.

Well bollocks to that thanks all the same. Why should I? He does absolutely nothing to evoke any support from me whatsoever. Now, I could bring up the whole “I’ll support anyone that’s not England in the World Cup” story… and in fact I just did.

So let me get this straight, you hate England but you’re still British, standing shoulder to shoulder with England, Wales & Northern Ireland? Ooh, what’s that smell in the air? Oh that’s it, it’s the distinct whiff of hypocrisy there methinks.

But it’s not just that. He’s a miserable sod. Watching his match last night he was struggling to beat (the totally unknown) Swiss player, Wawrink, yet the crowd on centre court were cheering him on as though he was already in the final and about to make all of their collective wet Tennis dreams come true. Cheering so loudly it’s going to put off the best of players, and no doubt affected Wawrink’s play. It sure as shit affected Murray’s.

So when asked by the BBC reporter at the end of the match how great it was to have this huge support, the guy could barely muster a good word to say about them and when he did he sounded almost as disingenuous as Tony Blair on a good day. He’s a fucking robot with the emotional capacity of Rainman. You might not like the support Andy, but don’t pretend you do. If you do like it, show it for fuck’s sake.

If he does win Wimbledon (and I am praying hard to mystical teapot orbiting the sun that he doesn’t) he won’t have the depth of emotion to cope with it – cue a monotonous acceptance speech and ENORMOUS anticlimax. As most of Britain, not just Scotland, but Britain, wanks themselves into a frenzy at this historic event and the BBC literally tear themselves in two from the sheer strain and effort of giving birth to a level hyperbole the likes of which we’ve never seen before and which may very well shift the earth off it’s axis, he’ll be struggling to elicit a tear, or a thanks, or anything of any note really.

I could go on and on for days, but I won’t. Can’t be arsed really. Needless to say I am counting the days until someone knocks the miserable prick out – either via a tennis match or even better, via a racket straight to the face. In the meantime I’ll be supporting the players that are well, just better.