I like messing around with stuff.
I have always been like that. Give me something new and I will immediately take it apart to see how it works. Sometimes I put those parts together again and I end up with something completely different which can be nice or nasty depending on what I have come up with. Of course the last thing I ever did [or still do] is Read The Fucking Manual. RTFM spoils the whole fun of tinkering.
Sadly, this tinkering bug is something I apply to the Interwebs, and I have been at it again. Though for once, I left this site alone and hacked another to pieces and reassembled it.
I had this site which was bland and ugly, but it didn’t bother me too much as no one ever visits it. Well, actually it might get one or two visitors a month who arrived there by mistake. What I decided to do was to give it a revamp, to use exactly the same theme as this site but to make it as different as possible.
For those who don’t know, the theme is like your home’s decoration – the wallpaper, the paint, the carpet and all the furnishings – and in theory if you move all that into an identically shaped new house you won’t be able to see any difference. So I took my theme from this site [Weaver Xtreme, if you must know] and applied it to the other site, but made one or two small changes on the way.
I’m quite happy with it. That is to say I’m happy with the fact it looks different even if the content is a bit naff. I’m not much good at writing stuff.
Things have been rather busy here at the Manor over the last few days.
I won’t say I have nothing to write about, rather there is a proliferation of pieces of news that are just so off the wall that it’s difficult to take them seriously.
Take for example the little snippet of news that our Great Boys in Blue have managed to breathalyse nearly 2,000,000 drivers over four years? That is a considerable achievement as it must be around the total number of vehicles on the road? They then recanted and said they were sorry, but it was only a bit over 1,000,000. Sure fuckit anyone can make a simple mistake, and I’m sure someone was adding them up and carried one when they shouldn’t have?
A million breath tests are pretty impressive though all the same. Having never seen them testing anywhere, they must be all concentrated in one area, probably breath testing one poor bastard every five yards he travels. Those Gardaí can really come down on a bloke if they take a dislike to him. He’s probably a publican who refused to serve the sergeant a pint after closing time.
Then there is Norris whinging about his pay. Any respect I ever had for that bloke has gone right out the window. He’s on €65,000 a year, plus a handsome pension from the universities and he’s bitching about not getting a pay rise? He compares politicians to captains of industry and implies that all politicians should not only get triple pay but that it should be index linked. Fuck that for a game of soldiers.
I got a pay rise recently. Yes, my state pension went up thanks to the largesse of our glorious Lords and Masters. €3.60 a week! I honestly don’t know what to do with this new found wealth. It will go a long way towards paying for a pint, which would be good for my health maybe? Or I could save it for about twenty years and get a holiday? If I save it for an entire year I would almost have half the cost of my fucking house tax.
Or maybe I should get a job as a senator and grab myself a cushy €65,000?
I received a guest post submission from The Blocked Dwarf yesterday.
He added in his cover note that I might not want to publish it, and seeing the topic, I can understand why he might think I might be reluctant.. However, anything goes here so I have no problems with that.
However, I have diametrically opposite views, so the though crossed my mind to publish his piece and then follow it up with my own viewpoint. Two birds with one stone as it were?
The Blocked Dwarf….
Since the UK Smoking Verbot I make an effort not to unnecessarily patronise those Quisling businesses
that didn’t fight against the ban. I mean places like Pubs, restaurants, cafes…and churches.
But a trapped nerve at C2 means me shaving my own head (‘if yer lawn is patchy-mow it!’) requires amounts
Ibruprofen that will burn holes in my stomach even with ranitidine.
So this morning I was at the barbers and whilst my loaf was being cut-throated (yes my barber will still do
a cutthroat shave, council and insurance regs be damned) Radio BBC Sheep Worrier was playing music to
plant sugarbeet to. Then came the news that Martin McGuinness had died.
Now you have keep in mind that , after having experienced the Orange Order up close and unfriendly in
in the 80s, I was a card carrying member of Cairde Sinn Féin who made a point of wearing his ‘IRA Undefeated Army’ T-shirt on Wemembrance Sunday and playing ‘Rifles’ at max volume during The Silence (yes, how very mature
of me I know but you try being married to a German in ‘traditionally tolerant’ Britain).
So I thought it best to keep my mouth shut whilst those in the barbers rejoiced at McG’s passing.
Never start an argument when someone has a cut throat to your head.
But I was shocked, even knowing full well how Brits can be when dancing on the graves of their enemies.
More than once I was close to putting one of the little islanders down with a remark about that former
murdering terrorist scumbag Mandela.
But even more than that what I wanted to say was: ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’. Whatever evil McGuinness and Adams did in the name of Freedom will be forgotten, will be outweighed by The Good.’
I still hope to see Gerry inaugurated as Taoiseach of ALL Ireland…that would serve the bloody bog trotting
taigs right and royally piss off the barber’s chair wannabe Paisleys.
I am what might be classed as Irish, and as such should be all in favour of fighting for a united country. Or at least this is the perception of a lot of non-Irish. It may surprise a lot of those self same non-Irish to hear that the vast majority [including myself] were totally opposed to the IRA and their ilk.
Every time a bomb went off, whether in the North or over in Britain I felt shame that the act had been done purportedly in my name. It wasn’t in my name, or indeed in the name of the Irish – it was in the name of a murdering bunch of criminals who seemed to think that it somehow was right to blow people up at random in the name of “freedom”.
On a couple of occasions I came face to face with “the Troubles”. I narrowly missed being caught up in the Dublin bombings in 1974 and was also caught up in the attack on Heathrow Airport in 1994. On both occasions I felt nothing but hatred and contempt towards the perpetrators on both sides of the argument.
I never trusted Sinn Féin. They were nothing short of the propaganda wing of a terrorist group. Their avowed aim was to unite Ireland “with a ballot box in one hand and an Armalite in the other”. Martin McGuinness along with Gerry Adams was one of their leaders and was therefore inextricably linked to the killing and mayhem.
Much has been made of the involvement of McGuinness in the Peace Process and how he should be remembered for that and not the murders he committed. Bollox. The Peace Process was merely a cleaning operation after the terror and mayhem caused by the armed militia on both sides.
How did I react on hearing of the death of McGuinness? I didn’t exactly cheer [death is death after all] but I can’t say I felt any sorrow. The man was a murderer and a terrorist first and foremost, no matter what he did in later years. He never helped with the recovery of the so called Missing – those who were murdered by the IRA and whose bodies were dumped and never found, so information vital to the relatives of those Missing is forever gone.
So I don’t mourn his passing, and judging by reactions here in Ireland, nor do a hell of a lot of Irish.
You can take the man from the IRA but you can never take the IRA from the man.