I meant to post this on Sunday… Dundalk man Jim Corr’s appeared last weekend on RTÉ’s new Saturday Night Show (hosted by that appalling Cork man Brendan O’Connor). Crap name for a show? Maybe… but at least it’s not “The Brendan O’Connor Show”…

And yes… Jim’s still bonkers… and he’s still going on about the New World Order stuff that he ranted about on the Last Word almost two years ago ahead of the first Lisbon Treaty. He’s still in way out of his depth and still abusing his fame and celebrity to spread this stuff and (repeatedly) promote his activist shite peddling web site.

I mean SURE… he’s entitled to his opinion and he’s certainly entitled to express it if he wants to… (although I believe RTÉ gave him way too much airtime here and any other presenter would have pulled him up on a few points far better than O’Connor could) – but if you’re to believe him, you’d have to believe the following:

I’ve gotten into a fairly unhealthy sleep pattern cycle that I really have to break – especially at the weekends, when I work in a bar and generally get home at around 2am. Once a week (Sundays, usually), I’ll stop off at the chipper and get a fresh cod and curry chips… probably a bad idea too, if I’m honest- health-wise certainly,- although I convinced myself recently that once a week is okay. I meant to make a new year’s resolution to cut down on it (or cut it out entirely) and get more healthy, but that’s easier said than done as I like it too bloody much for my own good!

Once home, I’m reluctant to go to sleep and usually watch a bit of TV with the dog for company. When I do eventually go up to the bedroom, I’m too awake to sleep and stay up reading, browsing, chatting, tweeting, facebooking, watching movies – and yes, occasionally, blogging.

Sometimes I have a few drinks while doing this… alone. Bad idea.. I know! – and this goes on until I finally start to feel properly tired – stupid o’clock usually (often after 4 or 5am) – a lot of the time actually in bed with the laptop on a tray on my knees, and I end up not getting up until 1 or 2pm the next day.

I’d been meaning to blog more recently… had plenty to say… plenty going on. It’s been suggested to me, however, that I don’t go talking online (facebook particularly… here too) specifically about the incident a week ago which led to me having a black eye over the time since then – and it’s been suggested for all the right reasons.

I am going to follow that advice to some degree and not go into any real detail about it. Of course, the minute details of the incident itself aren’t for public consumption as they’re quite personal and it’s not in anyone’s interest really that they be divulged publically. All that needs to be said is that I had a disagreement with someone, he expressed himself physically… and I didn’t get the chance to respond in kind.

Oh… and that I’m fine now!

(We don’t really use miles or gallons here any more – all kilometres and litres… not that miles and gallons don’t make sense to us, of course…)

Found this interesting, in passing…

33.5 miles per gallon

My body is definitely in better shape than my car (or “that immovable lump outside my mechanic friend’s house” as I know it at the moment) right now, but I didn’t think it was THAT good… and I was truthful with my answers! (well, mostly – put myself down as a non-smoker with a moderate diet – I only gave up smoking recently, and I still enjoy the odd curry-chip…)

How many MPG does your body get?

Now, I’m off to watch Top Gear… Playing football and having a few beers while watching wrestling on telly later… what a manly day Monday is…

A father passing by his son’s bedroom, was astonished to see the bed was nicely made, and that everything was picked up and tidy. Then, he saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow. It was addressed, ‘Dad.’

With the worst premonition, he opened the envelope and read the letter, with trembling hands.

Dear Dad,

It is with great regret and sorrow that I’m writing to you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend, because I wanted to avoid a scene with Mam and yourself.

I’ve been finding real passion with Jacinta, and she is so nice, but I knew you would not approve of her, because of all her piercings’, tattoos, her tight Motorcycle clothes, and because she is so much older than I am. Oh, and she’s from Leitrim.

But it’s not only the passion, Dad. She’s pregnant. Jacinta said that we will be very happy. She has her own caravan in the woods, and a stack of firewood for the whole winter. We share a dream of having many more children.

Jacinta has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn’t really hurt anyone. We’ll be growing it for ourselves, and trading it with the the other people living with us in the commune, for all the speed, crack and E tabs we want.

In the meantime, we’ll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS, so Jacinta can get better. She sure deserves it!Don’t worry Dad, I’m 15, and I know how to take care of myself. Someday, I’m sure we’ll be back to visit, so you can get to know your many grandchildren.

Love, your son, Brian.

P.S. Dad, none of the above is true. I’m really over at Deco’s house. I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the Leaving Cert results sitting on the kitchen table.