Herself woke up this morning and demanded her mug of tea.
Now you have to understand that if you deny Herself her morning tea, it is enough to have a grizzly bear with a sore head cower and tremble behind a rock in fear. Morning tea is an essential morning requisite to wash down her first fag of the day, and to go without is a thousand times worse than Armageddon.
There was however a problem.
Having been woken by the postman at the ungodly hour of eight, and having been unable to go back to sleep, I had been up for some time and had attempted to make my own mug of tea. I had discovered to my disgust that the two cartons of milk in the fridge didn’t make the sloshy sound that milk cartons should make. I hesitantly tried pouring some milk from each and all I got from each was a sludge of sour milk. Fuck!
I don’t know what it is about milk. I always keep it in the fridge even in mid winter just in case. Somehow however it seems to have this impish sense of the weather and as soon as the frosts recede, it decides to go sour even though the temperature inside the fridge remains the same. Some people say that you can say that spring has arrived when your shoe can cover three daisy flowers on the lawn. Others say that spring has arrived when the birds start nesting. I say that spring has arrived when the fucking milk goes sour in the fridge.
Anyhows, I had just added a dash of cold water to my mug of tea and that made it palatable if not quite perfect.
But Herself wasn’t having any of this nonsense. Oh no. Tea has to have milk in it under some unwritten law dating back to Druidic times and she wasn’t going to tolerate anything in her tea except a dash of milk. I tried to appeal to her better nature that it would mean my dragging myself down to the shop, but then I remembered she doesn’t have one. Fuck!
So there was no alternative. I had to trolley down to the village whether I liked it or not.
I decided that if it was mild enough for the milk to go sour it was mild enough to go down to the village wearing just a shirt and I wouldn’t bother with a jumper or a coat. Another sign of spring is when I don’t bother with jumpers or coats so all was in order.
I got some funny looks in the shop.
Maybe I should have remembered to wear a pair of trousers as well?
On Friday last, the Powers That Be introduced a 30Km speed limit in Dublin city centre.
Now personally I couldn’t care less if they introduced a 1Km limit as I avoid that city like the plague and haven’t driven in it for a decade or two anyway. However it’s the principle of the move that annoys me.
All these limits, be they speed or alcohol or whatever, are based on a highly flawed assumption that less is better. The principle works along the lines that if everyone drove at 140Km through city streets that there would be carnage – a fair assumption? – and that if everyone drove at 0Km there would be no deaths, injuries or even accidents which is also a fair assumption as nothing would be moving. The logic therefore goes that the slower the speed, the less accidents there would be.
Now that logic sounds pretty reasonable, but there are flaws within.
Suppose they did introduce a 140Km limit in the city centre, they would assume that everyone would drive at that speed which is beyond nonsense. From my recollection of driving in Dublin you would be damned lucky to hit 40Km because of the congestion. Every road has its own natural speed limit which is based on visibility, road conditions, driver ability and experience, the capability of the car and the geography of the road itself. Go over that limit and there are dangers, while below that limit there is just extra congestion.
Seeing as some drivers misjudge their natural abilities, there are of course accidents, so while I dislike limits I can see a certain logic, but imposing a blanket limit at such a slow speed will just cause frustration which is the enemy of safe driving. It is also a nice little earner for those Powers That Be as they can fine people for driving at a perfectly safe speed of 50Km on a road where otherwise conditions are right for such a speed.
These unrealistic limits are just another form of tax gathering and a sop to those campaigners who have lost family members. They are fuck all to do with “saving lives” because they don’t. How many deaths have there been in Dublin City Centre down purely to speeding and not carelessness? Probably none.
Frankly that speed limit is just another reason why I will never drive in that city again.
“Could you ever shift the table from the front room to the back?” says Herself.
“What table?” says I more cheerily than I felt. I know how these things go.
“Don’t be smart! There’s only the one.”
“So where to I put it in the back room?”
“In front of the radiator where everyone can see it.”
“But there’s no space there and anyway that’s where the dog has her dinner dish.”
“Too bad about the dog, and of course there’s space.”
“But it wil look completely out of place, like a spare prick at a wedding.”
“Just do it! Okay?”
The table in the front room is covered in clutter so I had to find somewhere to put it all if I shifted the table. I hauled out a spare folding table and moved all the clutter onto it. I hauled the now empty table through to the back room. There wasn’t space for it as there was a heater in the way. I moved the heater to the front of the house [and it’s damned heavy]. I rearranged stuff as best I could, according to instructions from above [Herself was staying well out of the way in the upstairs room until I had finished]. The dog’s dish is now at the other end of the room.
I announced that all had been moved, and that I had followed her instructions to the letter.
She came out of hiding and inspected the work.
“Jayzus but that looks terrible! It looks completely out of place, like a spare prick at a wedding.”
“And the dog can’t eat her dinner because you’ve moved her dish. You know how she likes routine and hates things to be moved. The poor thing is starving and upset.”
“It’ll have to go back the way it all was.”
I get 90% of my daily exercise from sighing.