Tag Archives: cocktails

Grovelling Apology

Dear readers,

Some of you will have noticed late and lacking posts over the last week. I’m really sorry about this, but there are reasons:

  • Work that I get paid for got in the way at first
  • Then my birthday
  • Then the work I get paid for, again
  • Then a mild flirtation with cocktails and some minor inebriation
  • Then a rather less than mild reaction to some won ton soup
  • The above has left me rather er, explosive and rather tired

Mea culpa, etc.

I am hoping to feel like a human being tomorrow, when more work shall intervene. And then? Why then I am all yours again and posts will flow and I hope you will enjoy reading them as much as I’m looking forward to writing them. I’ve been missing my history this week. I have new post subjects figured out and everything. It will be great! Or you know, fairly dull but with a few swears and stuff thrown in and a rant or several for good measure.

Yes please

In the meantime, my I recommend Source Code with lovely Jake Gyllenhaal (my future husband). If you’re ever in Brighton eat at Bardsley’s fish and chip shop It’s one of the best in the country. Their chips are to die for and my friend Mel who is not a fan of cod roe agreed that theirs was well lush. I also appreciated her battered saithe (a sustainable alternative to cod or haddock and frankly tastier than either) and eating them on a bench looking out to the setting sun over Brighton beach was rather lovely.

Also if you haven’t watched the first episode of The Crimson Petal and the White on BBC2, then do so now. It’s wonderful. Also read the book.

Please note that none of these are sponsored recommendations as I am not (yet) a corporate whore. I’m just trying to give you all a little something after being such an absent bitch for much of this week.

Right, back to the sickbed for me. More soon. Oh and for those who still remember/care, the vote for which year we’d use for a round-up of Marchian type stuff went to 1936. I intend to do this at some point next week when we’re all caught up and you’re all sick to death of reading me.

 

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February 11th

On this day in 2006 Neo-Con pin-up and all round supporter of corrupt business practices and use of slave labour, Dick Cheney, went for broke and shot a man (Harry Whittington) in the face.

Harry Whittington: Cheney thought I was a quail.

The two men were part of a hunting party at a ranch in Texas, ostensibly shooting at quail. The incident occurred in the late afternoon after what might or might not have been a boozy lunch. The facts, as they often are when a man has been shot in the face, are hazy. First reports were that no booze  had been drunk, then “maybe a beer or two”, then “I only had one beer” or “I did not have a beer”, and “there was lashings of beer and spirits!” We do know that later that evening, after having shot a man in the face, Cheney had a few cocktails to celebrate calm his nerves. The poor lamb. This is what we do know, or think we know, or in the words of Cheney’s good mate, Donald Rumsfeld “As we know, there are known knowns. There are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns. That is to say we know there are some things we do not know. There are also unknown unknowns, the ones we don’t know we don’t know.” It’s fair to say that we know there are unknowns about that day on a Texas ranch, but there are undoubtedly unknown unknowns too. Anyway, here goes!

There were men shooting quail. They had lunch and beer. Maybe. They went out to shoot some more. Whittington shot a quail. Whittington went to retrieve his quail. Cheney saw another quail. The quail was near Whittington. Cheney shot at the quail and missed. Cheney shot Whittington in the face. And breathe!

The shooting was of course an accident. Cheney had no reason to shoot Whittington in the face and he did not mean to shoot him right in the face with his big gun. And awful as the accident was – three days later Whittington suffered a heart attack because some of the shot that did not hit him right in the face got lodged in his heart and caused a cardiac incident – there was a big apology in the aftermath. Naturally, as is the right and proper etiquette in incidents of this kind, Whittington apologised for being in the way of Cheney’s gun, getting shot in the face and causing a big ole media hullabaloo for poor Mr Cheney. Naturally, Dick did not apologise in public or private for shooting Whittington in the face and making him have a heart attack, because in order to do that he’d have to have been a half decent human being.

All’s well that ends well. Mr Whittington recovered from being shot in the face and has had the good sense to have nothing further to do with Dick Cheney, especially not when he’s carrying heat.

Today is the birthday of right-wing vapid totty, Sarah Palin. Ah Sarah! How shall I revile, thee? Let me count the ways. You know all about Russia because you can see it from Alaska, you thought your allies were North Korea, which is an easy enough mistake to make if you have shit-for-brains, you charged rape victims for rape kits when you were mayor of Wasilla, you fired a Police Chief, a

Sarah Palin makes a strong first impression

State Trooper and anyone else who didn’t fawn over you and have basically shown throughout your short rise to infamy, that you are a chancer, a pretty vile excuse for a human being who is very good at spreading hate and ignorance and very little else.

There are other things that contribute to making you a human being beneath contempt, but one doesn’t need to delve into the personal and your private hypocrisies to understand that your rise to prominence says something very troubling about the public’s collective psyche.  I can no more wish you happy birthday, Ms Palin, than I can sprout wings and shit on your head, but two days in a row of hating on the birthdays of the rich and famous? That’s a little too much hatred so …

Today would also be the birthday of a lovely man and a wonderful father by the name of Eamonn Bruen.  He was born in Castlerea, Co. Roscommon and eventually joined the diaspora and moved to London where in the 1960s his first and much-loved child was born, a daughter, who just happened to be me. Eamonn spent some of his youth singing in a show band and had a voice that was somewhere between Tom Jones and Otis Redding. He introduced me to Otis and Johnny Cash, for which I am truly thankful. The

No photos of Eamonn available, but he looked a lot like Rod Taylor, so this will have to do

last Christmas present I bought for him was a compilation of country and western hits, as like many an Irishman before and after him, he loved a bit of C&W. He was handsome, funny, bright and the most terrible piss-taker in all the world. He was also the best daddy a girl ever had and proof positive that not only sick and twisted demons from the bowels of hell were born on February 11th. Happy birthday daddy! Your little girl still loves you!

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February 6th

Raffles looks pleased with himself as he prepares to rob a safe

On this day in 1819 Sir Stamford Raffles founded Singapore. He had actually found it just over a week previously and thought it would be a nice place to build a hotel and invent the Singapore Sling, so he spent a while finding out who could let him have it and eventually signed a few documents on 6th which made it his. Unfortunately he had to leave the very next day to continue travelling around the Malay Peninsula to see if he could find any other nooks and crannies that the Dutch hadn’t bagsied. This proved difficult and there were a few fist fights along the way before he headed back to Singapore, built a hotel and some schools, and perfected the Singapore Sling after a brief foray into the Staten Island Ferry which he realised was just silly as the Staten Island Ferry didn’t even exist at that point in history.

Much as he loved Singapore, Raffles could not hang around for long as he had to go back to England and take up his other career, that of a gentleman burglar. He continued to rob the rich for shits and giggles for a few years before dying at the age of 44 when he got stuck in a cat flap whilst trying to get into Buckingham palace and suffered apoplexy. He left his fortune to his partner in crime Harry “Bunny Wailer” Manders and their seven children.

Today is the birthday of legendary top bloke and rather wonderful actor, Rip Torn. Torn has appeared in many films in a career spanning over 50 years and also famously sued the arse of legendary cry baby Dennis Hopper in 1994. Hopper had appeared on the Jay Leno show and claimed that Torn had pulled a knife on him back when they were about to start filming Easy Rider. (Torn pulled out of the film and was eventually replaced by Jack Nicholson). Torn brought the lawsuit on the basis that while there had been a fight, it was Hopper who pulled the knife. The full story is even funnier. Hopper pulled a steak knife on Torn who disarmed him.

Rip Torn. One of the coolest men alive.

Hopper then went off on a drunken rant saying he had a buck knife and did Torn want a knife fight outside? Torn told him to bring his knives, his guns and his pals and went outside to wait for him. Hopper shat it and never showed. Torn was awarded nearly half a million dollars in damages and when Hopper whined about the unfairness of it all, another judge doubled the amount. No one messes with Rip Torn!

As Patches O’Houlihan didn’t quite say, this man is way more useful than a cock-flavoured lollipop. He’s had his bad moments, including a few too many run-ins with the police due to his fondness for the sauce, but nobody’s perfect, not even Rip.

Happy birthday, Mr Torn, you’re a helluva man!

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