That’s all folks.

Real life means I’ve got no time to do the blog the way I want to do it anymore and I think it’s better to announce it than let it fade away.

Thank you to all the readers and contributors. I know there’s a nice little community here but maybe it’ll re-emerge somewhere else. If it does, let me know. Thank you to all the interesting, intelligent and decent people who have spent time on here down the years. I’ll miss the chat and the laughs but that’s life.

The forum, that’s closing too. I don’t have time to manage it or wrestle it back from the place it’s in right now. Those of you who took part and didn’t blunderbuss your way through it, making it less tolerable than a Damien Rice fingering, thanks.

Take it easy, I wish those of you who aren’t total cunts all the very best.

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Sweet as sweet can be.

You may have my €80 and my two points but you’ve … erm … been temporarily clamped. You can use my money to pay for it.

Truly it is the circle of life.

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I was possessed by something, and attached to it by some kind of line, and after much kicking (which made no impact), shouting (which couldn’t be heard), and punching (which was like an old woman), I got free and found myself in a classroom.

I turned around and there was Paul Mayss behind me. Smiling an evil smile. When I woke up I was bursting but it took me a few minutes to get out of bed. I really haven’t been that terrified by a dream in ages.

Paul Mayss looks a bit like this. The little cunt.

Except much more evil and sinister. Half-retarded, but you know he knows shit. Like Ray Shah crossed with a beagle.

Anyway, if you see him in your dreams, watch out, he’s gonna get you.

On a lighter note, bought something in the Compub Apple Store on Grafton Street yesterday and one of the guys working there dropped something and went ‘Ooooh noooo’ exactly like this.

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However, that’s not the point. The point is this young lad called Karl came in. I know his name was Karl because his mate called him Karl. And because he had the name Karl tattooed on the side of his neck, in a font that can only be described as a cross between Times New Roman, something really gothic and Comic Sans.

I’m not a fan of tattoos really but I can understand why people might want them. I struggle to understand anything above the neckline, however, and certainly not your own name.

Is it there in case your forget? You wake up one morning and think not only ‘Where the fuck am I?’ but ‘Who the fuck am I?’

‘Let me look in the mirror. Hurrah! I am Karl. Take that memory’.

Also, it struck me that this young man might very well be the kind of young man who might possibly engage in behaviours in which it would be best if nobody knew your name. Having it scrawled across your neck is not a good idea. Unless this was his way of avoiding a life of crime, knowing that he would have to kill every witness, ever, if he did do something bad.

Then, earlier, I stopped at Leonard’s Corner and crossing the road there was a bloke with his name on his neck. I couldn’t make it out because it was garnished with a giant angel’s wing. Just the one wing mind.

Anyway, my point is, neck tattoos. No. Especially ones with your own name.

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Firstly, the TV licence money goes to a commercial organisation, not one like the BBC who remain ad-free.

Secondly, my payment contributes to the wages of many people who do good work in RTE but also contibutes to Ryan Tubridy and Brendan O’Connor. I object strongly to this. It takes approximately 2500 licences to pay Tubbers’ salary.

Thirdly, if RTE gets some of the revenue then so should all the other TV stations. It’s only fair.

Fourthly, I can’t remember the last time I watched Irish TV, let alone TV at all. I caught a bit of Reeling in the Years the other night, which is always worth a watch, but apart from that I haven’t watched anything. Not even the news.

Fifthly, it’s €160 I could spend better at this moment in time.

Sixthly, before my last licence had even expired they had sent me a ‘final demand‘, red writing and all.

Seventhly, well, I don’t know. I just wanted to use the word ‘seventhly’.

Eighthly, see above.

Ninthly, Joe Duffy.

Tenthly, the idea that you are required to have a licence for a piece of technology that you have spent hundreds of euros on is, when you step back and think about it, more ludicrous than Jesus. Even if you never, ever watch TV and use it as a computer monitor or for your xBox or just DVDs you have to pay this fee.

It’s stupid and instead of having a two day Dail debate about the Moriarty Tribunal which will result in nothing happening to anyone outlawing this nonsensical TV licence should be on the agenda.

I bet Ming agrees.

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Tesco yesterday hit back in a fledgling ‘price war’ when it announced that the price of 1,000 items on its shelves — including tea, vegetables and toiletries — would be cut by an average of 12pc.

Basically, all the things they put up they’ll take back down and pretend they’re doing us a favour by cutting prices. Which they’re not.

Having recently driven to Norn Iron I can safely say that’s too far to go to the groceries. If I had many children, perhaps I would be more inclined to do so, but I don’t so I’m not.

What I am doing is trying to shop ‘local’ as much as possible. There’s better value in fruit and veg and eggs and milk from some of the local shops anyway. Even if the bloke in my local cheap spuds and milk emporium could do with working on his customer relationship skills.

He’s always pretty gloomy. Perhaps that’s because he loses out to Get Fresh up the road but he could still be a bit more cheerful. Then again, he is quite chinless, and if there’s a people I distrust more the people who don’t like football, it’s the chinless. Especially ones that grow beards to try and hide it.

You’re fooling nobody.

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Where do the people who spend the rest of the week on the internet go? Is it because they’ve spent the whole week on the internet and are now madly dashing to do the work they were supposed to?

I can understand that. Back in my office working days we had a ‘management’ meeting every week in which we had to present our stats. The other conscientious managers would come into work in the morning, do the stats from the day before, and keep up to date.

Generally speaking I was left an hour before the meeting trying to catch up, so I’d simply make up some numbers that looked not too bad, not too good. In a mind numbingly tedious job it was the one vague thrill I got. What if they actually look at them? The office equivalent of shoplifting for thrills.

Also, while one of the best things about the internet is the fact that you have so much information at your fingertips for free, one of the worst things is the expectation of freeness. People want more and they want it faster, better, nicer looking and compatible with all kinds of formats and devices. Ask people to pay for it though and it won’t happen.

Are we building an internet bubble that could collapse at any time?

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How nice the last couple of days have been, it’s warmer, the evening’s slightly longer, the beer tastes just that bit better.

I don’t understand people who complain that it’s too hot. Ok, if you’re stuck in the middle of the sahara with no water, fine, but if you’re living in Ireland it is never, ever too hot. It could always be just that little bit warmer.

Anyone who prefers winter to summer is insane, in my opinion. One is nice and hot, the other is awful and cold, like Laura Palmer’s anus.

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Independent TD Michael Lowry has totally rejected the tenure of Moriarty report released today, saying the report is “factually wrong and deliberately misleading.

That’s nice for him, isn’t it? He accuses Justice Moriarty of being ‘biased’ and suggests the whole report was out to get him, regardless of any evidence.

As Lowry is a politician with an unblemished record, who doesn’t at all represent the very worst of gombeen, parish pump, slieveen Irish politics I suppose we should give him the benefit of the doubt. I mean, who could doubt the bona fides of a man who wants to give so much to his community in the form of a gigantic super casino?

Oh.

The whole thing stinks, from both sides, we’ve spent 14 years investigating something that is just dismissed by those who don’t like the findings. And what good has any of it done?

We should hold a tribunal into tribunals to find out if tribunals are worth bothering with. Then when that doesn’t work we’ll have a tribunal into the tribunal about tribunals.

Meantime Lowry takes his place in Dail Eireann, the North Tipp pump is getting a good polish.

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