When I’m stressed I fret. I’m often considered overly pragmatic but underneath I’m fretting like a… well a person that worries a lot I guess.

The Boy, however, has an uncanny knack of being able to make me stop & get a bit of a grip. From almost 6,000 miles away he’ll tell it to me straight & make me feel better.

He calms me. He’s annoyingly good at it. I don’t like being wrong. Or being “looked after”. My, not inconsiderable, pride hates it. I really rather like it though. Annoyingly.

I’ve been a bit shit at updating my blog over the last couple of months. In all honesty, I’ve been both too busy (in a good way) and lacking inspiration for anything to write about. My life is full of great stuff at the moment and I’m in a really good place; paradoxically this means I am utterly devoid of inspiration for things to write about.

This bothers me. I love my blog, for all its nonsensical silliness, and I don’t want to neglect it. I’ll try and update it again, more regularly. I’ll also try to make it funny again… can’t promise that though.

Hmm, I also don’t appear to have included any swearing in this post.

FUCKSHITPISSWANKBOLLOCKS

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, that’s better.

image via Dropular

Autumn. It’s lovely. The sun’s low, the leaves are golden, the air is crisp. Food becomes more comforting – stews, mashed potatoes, cosy roasts on a Sunday. The clothes are nicer – snuggly knitwear in luscious, jewel colours. Even though Summer’s over, there’s an air of optimism as we know party season is on it’s way. And, well, I just like the whole “hunker down & enjoy a nice cup of tea & a good book while you listen to the rain on the window”-ness of it all.

I could wax lyrical for ages, but to be honest, others have done it better than I ever could. So, take it away, Mr Keats.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimmed their clammy cell.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies

To be honest, I prefer Shelly’s efforts, but he doesn’t seem to find the optimism I do in Autumn

Now, who fancies snuggling under this lovely blanket & enjoying a massive cup of tea and some shortbread, while we watch an old movie? Mmmmm, cosy!

Not sure what’s up with me of late, but I’m feeling a bit out of sorts. Like I’m walking around in a bubble. I can see everything that’s going on but feel like I’m watching it all through a slight haze & can’t quite get myself fully involved.

I'm a bubble girl, in a bubble world, Life in plastic, it's... er, a little disorientating actually

There’ve been a fair amount of ups & downs going on in Curlydena World of late which have all factored into create this feeling: upheaval at work, tonsilitis the other week and then a mad dash back to Manchester on Sunday for a couple of days for a bit of a family emergency & several long hours sitting in a hospital & generally just fretting a lot, and then back on the ferry to Dublin in time to be in work on Wednesday.

So, now I’m left feeling like I’m permanently zorbing, but without any of the fun, giddy “ooh, wahey, look at me, I’m running around in a giant bubble” goodness.

I’m sure I’ll shake it off soon enough. Probably after a weekend of lie-ins, red wine, Mad Men, Scorcese films, Mock the Week & more red wine. Sounds like a plan to me.

And if nothing changes and I still have this bizarre bubble around me, then I guess I’ll just have to look on the bright side, and realise that now at least I can be my usual clumsy self but without the risk of quite so much injury and less regular bruises about my person – I often have the knees of a 9 year old who’s no good at hopscotch combined with the shins of a footballer who forgot to wear shinpads when playing against Roy Keane circa 1997. Not the most attractive feature on a girl of, ahem, 30… I mean twenty-something*.

Got to look for the silver lining after all

* I know, I know, I don’t look it.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOZTsICTupA

(… though it was a little gutting to know that you could genuinely be a curly haired child and actually look cool, not have to sport the dubious “explosion in a mattress factory” mullet that my parents inflicted upon me).

As I got older, I loved it because it was just a great ad. It’s dated a bit now, as have I in 20 years I guess, but it still remains a classic TV ad from the time when TV ads actually worked.

PS – If you want a really good Billie Holiday song though, you should check this one out: Strange Fruit. One of the first anti-racism songs; it made me cry when I first heard it & really listened to the words. Brilliant, brilliant song.

via ffffound.com

There’s something really lovely about this thought. What with the “current economic climate” and the rest of the bollocks that’s going on out there; the ups & downs of love (not the ins & outs, that’s just lust), and the endless opportunities for worry and stress that the world holds.

As a cab driver wisely reminded me last week, it’s all too easy to worry about the future and completely forget to enjoy or even experience the now.

When you think about it all though, you don’t know what’s around the corner. (unless you’re some kind of psychic, but then even I know what’s around the corner for you my dear – care in the community!) Who knows what the future will bring? Could be utter shite, but it could also be fucking awesome… and if you’re really lucky, some awesome fucking.

The only thing you can count on is that the sun will set on today, and will rise on tomorrow. So don’t sweat it. What will be, will be. I  like the idea that the future is unknown… plenty to look forward to!

So I snapped at you. Big deal.

It was over two weeks ago for fuck’s sake. It was late, I was hot, I was tired and you were looking for me to fix something that was frankly unfixable at the time.

But no, I shouldn’t have snapped at you and I am sorry and I’d have said it to you if you had told me that you were even the slightest bit upset. But now… now you’ve just dicked me right off.

Rather than tell me I upset you, you haven’t even had the balls to tell me that I upset/annoyed/bothered you. Instead you’ve decided to act like a child and become the Supreme High Empress of Passive Aggression; blanking me when I try to make conversation, or giving me monosyllabic answers when I give you no option but to reply to me; sneering at me when I speak, and CONSTANTLY contradicting whatever I say, just for the sake of it.

I swear, if you turn around & tell me that the sky is green and leaves are orange and my hair is straight I will be in no way shocked. Although I will be forced to hit you upside the head with a frying pan, Vic & Bob style. Badoooiiiinnnnngggggg!!!!!!

Sooner or later, you’ll grow up. Sooner I hope because you need to, as frankly you’re too old to act like a spoilt little brat. And I for one am far too old to entertain this nonsense.

GROW. THE. FUCK. UP.

I did.

Yesterday.

It was a good Sunday.

Image via: ffffound.com

From my new favourite band Camera Obscura‘s new album, My Maudlin Career, it’s the perfect song for a sunny Friday, and a Bank Holiday one at that – wahoo!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=hH9n8LVY0vs

Anyway, I hope you all have a lovely weekend (Bank Holiday or not) and that you get to enjoy a spot of sunshine. Roll on Monday and dubious tan marks all around.

Oh yeah, and special good luck to Joe who’s running the half marathon in Cork on Monday – Go Joe!

So, I’m on the lookout for things to make me cheer-the-fuck-up. And rapidly.

Here’s a short list of things that have managed to spark a little seratonin production within my good self, so far today:

Comic goodness

Fluffy Evil Chicken Genius

The musical equivalent of  vodka – makes me feel a little smiley and also makes me believe that’s it’s OK to just get up & wipe my feet on the rhythm rug, regardless of where I am!

And because I will never ever stop laughing at the total whack jobs that go on Total Wipeout. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for a) having no shame at all, b) giving it a go when it’s clearly doomed to fail (could teach us all a thing or two!) & c) making me think that actually I wasn’t as bad at P.E. as I thought at the time. To Total Wipeout contestants everywhere I salute you.

(apologies in advance for the god awful music though – sorry!)

www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQk9AynI8AY