Week Sixteen

Lads, I'm after gettin a dose of the guilts after going off on one about BBB last week. Let me assure you all that he is a lovely man and that all is well in the woodshed. When he is not advising me about coats he is telling me how wonderful I am. Why wouldn't he be like - I am fairly wonderful alright.

Monday 18th Jan

Well the inevitable happened. After a week of ever building inner rage and frustration, I let it all hang out! The trigger was a pan of crispy pancakes.

"Are they ready yet?" says I.

"Sure you have them down on 4, of course they're not!" says he.

"Cooking them for longer on 4 makes them golden and crispy on the outside and liquidy and delicious on the inside, rather than cooking them on 6 which makes them black and carbony on the outside and a frozen lump on the inside."

Well at least that was what I wanted to say. What I really said was:

"Oh fuck off! Just fuck right off!"

and I stomped down the hall back to the room, where I am embarrassed to say, I stood with my arms folded, and lip pouting.

Next thing he come down the hall with the pan in his hand.

"What happened?"

"I'm sorry BBB, I didn't mean it, I'm just pissed off".

"Pissed off with me or pissed off in general?" he says.

And then the floodgates opened. And it all came out, without me even realising it needed to.

"Why is this so hard? Why is this so fucking hard? WAAAAAAAAAAAH! etc."

Because it is hard lads. We are from two different planets like. He is the loveliest, most wonderfullest fella ever, but when things happen - like Coatgate for example, they just serve to highlight the ginormous cultural differences between us. Things that he thinks are alright to say are just not alright with me. And the way I think about some things is just not alright with him. So we had a big heart to heart and now everything is back to rainbows and butterflies and princesses with pointy hats running through meadows. I still have my beady eye on that scarf though.

Tuesday 19th Jan

Now lads, I feel I should just mention at least a little something about my crazed stalker. Cos I am fairly buzzin off it like. The nutbag in question is the person who posts the comments under "Anonymous". They are basically all from the same person because it's that same IP address. Anyway this person insists that I am vulgar and disgusting.

Vulgar, moi? What they need now is a nice big cock inside 'em! A good belt of the relic never did anyone any harm!

Last week this person claimed to be 50 years old. If this is true I think I should be terrified. What 50 year old sits around obsessively reading blogs of people half their age and leaving comment after comment? I mean if it was just someone that hated me when we were in school or something then it's just funny, but some 50 year old? I mean that is less funny and more weird and creepy.

With these facts in mind I have chosen to believe that it is just some lurkbag I went to school with or somesuch. This allows me to fully appreciate the delicious irony of their comments; they are insisting that I am giving Waterford women a bad name. As opposed to the lovely image they are projecting of Waterfordians (I know they are from Waterford because they come onto my blog from upthedeise.ie). And shur I could hardly leave out 'May God bless each and every one of your misguided souls'. Oh lads, a little bit of wee came out when I read that bit. I think we are alright for a blessing from your God, Anonymous. Which is probably an elaborate papier mache puppet with marbles for eyes and bits of my hair stuck on it in the back of your hall press. I think we are better off being vulgar and disgusting than bitter and hateful.

I just thought that Anonymous deserved at least a few paragraphs in my blog after so many weeks of dedicated blog following. Thanks Anonymous - keep 'em coming!

Wednesday 20th Jan

Today my little Godson/Nephew of the Year 2010 Jack is one. I have a little mope mope here and a mope mope there cos I am missing his special day.

And for Rosie's benefit - today BBB said he was sorry about Coatgate and offered to buy me a new coat.

Thursday 21st Jan

Today as I was leaving for work, I casually took The Scarf off the peg and started putting it around my neck. Ooooh it is so soft and wonderful, such craftsmanship. Next thing:

"Don't you be robbing that scarf on me".

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I turned around:

"Shur I may as well wear it seeing as you never do."

"Don't take it on me, I wanted to wear that out tonight."

"I'll be back before you go."

"Alright then."

That night, as he was puttin on the scarf he said:

"All my friends are sick of me going on about this scarf."

Then, he looked at it and he said:

"Jesus, I can't believe you made this."

My mind wandered back to my broken hearted ranting about the scarf on last week's blog. A trickle of guilt-induced cold sweat slithered down my back. How could I have been so wrong?

Friday 22nd Jan

Today one of my clients gave me a recipe for an Italian torta and also for gnocchi. I am extremely excited. And I mean extremely.

Saturday 23rd Jan

Got up at the crack of dawn to meet Laura and go shopping for ingredients for our cookfest today. This is: a) a fun activity and b) an ingenious way to distract myself from the fact that today I am missing baby Jack's pirate themed first birthday party.

Came home and made the gnocchi, which, much to my delight, was unreal. Proudly served it up to BBB and his friend and nearly exploded with delight when the friend asked for seconds. Yes, boy! Success!

The cake, however, was another story. As there is no oven on our floor, I went first to the kitchen downstairs to check out the oven, which fell short of my high standards, so I went to the upstairs one to preheat it. Now lads, can someone tell me what kind of retard designs an electric oven that has no temperature knob on it? Instead of temperatures, it says 1-11. Which makes perfect sense like. Oh no wait, it doesn't - it's actually a load of bollox. I took a wild guess and cranked it up to 7 and went downstairs to make the batter.

Now I have to say lads, myself and Laura made ourselves a masterpiece. The batter was so light and fluffy it was like a vanilla cloud. Into the oven anyway and we said we'd check it in 10 minutes to see how it was going. When the 10 minutes were up we were going up the stairs and I goes:

"What would you do now if we opened the kitchen door and there were flames all over the gaff?"

"Haha", Laura replied.

"Yes, haha," I said.

We wouldn't be laughing for long.

I opened the kitchen door to an unbelievable smell of burn.

"Oh shit fuck bollix!" says I as I opened the oven and thick black smoke poured out. The two tops of the cakes were as black as a black man's cape and inside they were obviously still raw.

So you know on any normal day this would have been just another culinary disaster to be laughed off, but not today, oh no. Not after I wowed the crowd with the amazing gnocchi and promised to follow it up with an amazing torta.

"No problem," says I, "we'll just put them back in the oven and leave them bake through and then we can cut the tops off and cover them in chocolate. "

When they were done, we covered them in a tea towel and a t shirt lest anyone witness the abominations that they were as we were coming down the stairs. We snuck into the room with the stealth of two ninjas and fecked them on the table and threw on our coats and pegged it out the door and down to the supermarket as fast as our floury legs could carry us. Two jars of Nutella later, we have two lovely chocolate covered cakes, and a bin full of the charcoal we scraped of the top of them.

Were they a success, I hear you asking? Well BBB said "You know Love, this cake isn't terrible."

This is the equivalent of a cake Oscar.

Sunday 24th Jan

Am on a total downer today. Interweb is down in the whole building and anyway BBB is using his laptop for study so I can't blog it up a notch. I decide to dedicate 25 solid minutes to feeling sorry for myself over the laptop thing. Because that is how long it takes for my cordon bleu to cook. There is no feeling sorry for yourself once you have a cordon bleu in front of you.

Anyway back to the sulking. The next few months of trying to save up are going to be hard, seeing as I need a laptop to work, but if I don't work then I can't afford a new laptop. Oh life is hard, woe is me and all that. About 7 minutes into the sulking session, the phone rings. It's Mammy.

"Hello love listen I am going to buy you a new laptop and send it over with Siobhan next week so you just pick out the right one and tell your father."

I nearly dropped the phone. I couldn't believe it. Immediately I got a huge lump in my throat and no matter how normal I tried to sound, everything came out like a deaf person was saying it. Straight away I started thinking of ways to repay her, or ways to show her it was worth the investment like. I just came to the conclusion I always come to when I think of ways to repay my parents: I'll do my best. That's the best way to say thanks to your parents I think. I remember last summer when I rang my father to tell him I got this bursary. I was walking down Nassau Street and my hand was shaking dialling his number because I had just found out I got chosen and shur he didn't know what I was talking about.

"Oh yeah that's nice", he was saying.

It was only when I got to the free rent and food bit that he copped on. Next thing:

"WooHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" came down the phone. I nearly balled there and then. I have to say now lads that at the best of times we give each other ire, my parents and myself, but still my favourite thing in life is making them proud.

The Coat: You Decide

Here is a picture of my lovely friend Eamonn and I in which I am wearing The Coat and he is teaching men everywhere how to do dress themselves.

Week Fifteen

Oh no. The cracks are starting to show.

Monday 11th Jan

We were just finished eating our dinner and I said "I'm still hungry" and BBB goes,

"How come you're always hungry these days? Are you stressed?"

"No not really," I says.

"Are you pregnant then haha" he says.

So I stuck out my belly and I said

"What would you do if I said yes?"

And he looked my straight in the eye and says as cool as a breeze

"I would kill myself".

Oh. Right then.

"Ah Jaysus girl I don't know - imagine! haha etc" would have been the appropriate response.

I would probably have been less hurt if he had taken off his shoe and beaten me about the face with it. I felt like he had actually reached over and slapped me in the face. The thought of having a baby fills me with dread alright but fuckin hell! There's a response!

That was a pivotal moment there when he said that. I think we can pinpoint that as the exact nanosecond that this week started spiralling downward at speed.

Tuesday 12th Jan

We said we'd go out for aperitivo tonight. That basically means you go to a bar and buy a €6 cocktail and then you can buffet for free until you have to be stretchered out the door. So I was throwing on my ensemble and he came into my room just as I was reaching for my coat. And the next thing, the next thing, he goes:

"Don't you have any other coat?"

No I didn't actually because I had to leave my other coat in Ireland cos it wouldn't fit in my suitcase but that is besides the point.

"Nah, left it at home" I said, zipping my coat up, mistaking it for a general question.

"I don't really like that coat on you" he goes.

Eh, what was that?

Seriously? I mean, really? This coming from Mr. Bomber Jacket of the Year 2010.

"I prefer form-fitting coats" he helpfully adds.

Form fitting? Form fitting? Like that black abomination you wear to college? Like that one, is it? (see Bomber Jacket of the Year comment above). Of course now that is what I was thinking but I would never say it. I think he is lovely no matter what he wears. Even that coat that makes my eyes squirt blood.

"Why did you say that?" I said. I was actually curious as to why anyone would say such a thing. After he made sure I had no other coat like.

"I was just giving you my opinion," he goes.

"Right", says I.

We were on our way into town then and there was a definite... atmosphere. I wasn't pissed off, I wouldn't say. I was definitely feeling an emotion though. I think it was part hurt feelings and part something else that I can't quite put my finger on, but whatever it was it was giving me a pain in my stomach.

"Ah now you're all pissed off", he goes.

"Not pissed off, no, but you're after hurtin my feelings now."

"Jesus you're so touchy", he said, touchily.

Well if I wasn't pissed off before I was rightly pissed off then! I should have kicked him in the face the minute he said the coat thing to me, but instead I relayed the information to the rational part of my brain for further analysis, and here he is calling me touchy.

Touchy? I'll fucking touchy him in the gonads with my fucking foot. Is that touchy enough for you?

And we were walking towards the bar then in stony silence. I was thinking "Oh shit, I've made a terrible mistake picking him," and he was (most likely) thinking "I love form fitting bomber jackets".

He gave me the sideways eye then and I said fuck it, I'll throw him a bone (cos he certainly won't be throwin me one later after that comment):

"Look everything is alright," I said, "we are only having a disagreement. So take the face off ya."

"Kiss me, woman."

And all was forgiven.

Wednesday 13th Jan

Usually I wake up 47 times during the night and I have a little perv on BBB sleeping and then I stealthily pull the pillow over another bit towards my head. But every time I woke up last night he was awake too, caressing me lovingly. Jesus how annoying. I'm trying to rob a bit of pillow here!

Anyway I fell asleep and was having a lovely dream about breaking into a cake shop and eating all the cakes and I was just stuffing my face with an apple and custard tart when the alarm went off. I woke up to find myself in a pool of my own drool. Worth it, them dreams are great. Second only to the ones in the yoghurt aisle in the supermarket. I LOVE yoghurts.

Went to turn on my computer but it wouldn't turn on. I thought maybe the charger was fucked, so BBB brought me down to the computer shop and the girl tried another charger. It didn't work. After numerous tests she gave her diagnosis:

"It's broken".

Goway, is it? Fair play to you girl, you are a fucking genius.

So now my laptop is fucked so I am without computer until I save up enough to get a new one. I had my last one for 4 years though, which is a long time to have a computer, in fairness. It served me well. I'll get one at Easter when I come home. Thank God I live with BBB and can use his computer whenever I need to, otherwise I'd be up the Swanny.

Thursday 14th Jan

I made BBB a scarf for Christmas. Now as Jeremy said the other day, you should never knit something for someone who isn't a knitter themselves. He was so right. I spent WEEKS knitting this gorgeous scarf for BBB, never mind that I went to Dublin to get the wool for it and when I gave it to him he said "I thought it would be more green". Oh. Ok then.

Then he gave it the token one wear before puttin it out to pasture on the coat hook. I am considering stealing it back. It is spectacular like! I mean I spent weeks planning it out and choosing the right wool and I was thinking of him with every stitch so basically it's all full of good vibes and loveliness as it languishes on the coat hook in his room, where it is no good to anyone! And I wouldn't mind but I have not one single thing that I knitted for myself. Everything I knit I give it as a present. And I know it is so my fault. I put myself out there just to get crushed. I mean if someone knit me something or even made me anything at all, I would be so touched like. Even if someone knitted me a leopardskin nosewarmer I would wear it until it was threadbare.

I guess I have been somewhat spoiled by Stewy's neverending admiration and gratitude for my knitting skills. I learned to knit just to make him a scarf. Which is full of mistakes and quare bits but he still wears it with pride. And his ear flap hat with ridiculously large pompom. And his multicoloured mittens. All horrifically mismatched but he wore them all with a big smug "look what my girlfriend made me" look on his face, even though he looked a bit like a "shur god love him" in them. I also miss his pride in my astounding baking and dinner skills.

Over here though I just don't know. I have been spoiled by an adoring man for too long! Without my oven and baked goods and knitting and sewing and crafts and Glen Miller and Benny Goodman I feel like I am missing a huge chunk of my identity. Who the fuck am I, like? I'll just have to flounder on. And think of a way to steal that scarf back. I want it, goddammit!

Friday 15th Jan

Went back to training tonight. I was really looking forward to the run but at the same time I knew I was going to be pathetic the first night back. WRONG. I took off running and I swear lads, I was like a fucking gazelle. So elegant. Regal, almost.I couldn't believe it! Then I realised, that in Ireland I was huffin and puffin and strugglin away on my morning runs, but that was because it was up a hill, but now that I'm on the flat again I can really see how I've improved.

Myself and BBB said we'd get a pizza when I came back from training and by the time I was finished I was starving. So I told him to run down to the pizzeria , that I was on my way home. 5 minutes later my phone beeped.

"They are closed since 10 o' clock"

Now lads, did ye ever want to kill yerself? Cos I did, a small bit.

Had pasta instead. Dramatic sigh.

Saturday 16th Jan

Saturday the internet was down all day so I just studied until it came back on and I could send the emails I was waiting to send. Then that night BBB went out, but I stayed at home cos I wanted some Jennie time (ie I wanted to slather myself in Johnson's Holiday Skin). So I had a bit of a spa night in and put at least 14 inches of Johnson's on me. I haven't used this in a while, so I forgot how rotten it smells. I was in bed reading my book and stinking to high heaven when BBB came home. He was telling me about his night etc and all I was thinking was "Don't smell it, don't smell it". The next thing he climbs into the bed next to me and was cuddling into me, still talking away and then he just stopped talking. And sniffed my shoulder.

"What the fuck is that smell?"

Oh. Shit.

"It's body lotion alright, Jesus!"

Morto.

"What kind of body lotion?"

"I'm too morto to tell you, sorry"

"Come on come on come on"

"It's to make me brown alright? Are you happy now?"

"Bwah ha ha ha ha ah love you are trying to achieve the impossible."

"Night now. Hope you choke in your sleep."

Sunday 17th Jan

While lurking around the blogosphere I came across something very interesting that bloggers are being urged to get out there.

We all know about the earthquake in Haiti. Lads, imagine. The horror. Imagine now being over there sittin at home havin a chat and the next thing you wake up next to the dead body of your Mammy or sister and you can't find anyone you know and the whole house is gone. Or worse, if you had a new baby or even a small child, shur how would you look after them? All your stuff is gone, no bottles, no cribs, no nappies, no clothes.

I just read this morning that a nurse had to perform an amputation on a small child without anaesthetic. The whole situation is turning nasty, people are looting and there is chaos all over the shop, and why wouldn't there be? It's like the end of the world over there. I don't know how you'd get over it.

Anyway the whole point is that there is a great organisation shelterbox.org that is doing great things. Have a look at the website at the very least and if you can, give a few bob. I know we are all financially fucked at the moment but imagine how fucked you'd be if you had no house and a one year old to look after. And daddies and brothers with serious injuries and husbands gone missing and bodies everywhere. It doesn't bear thinking about.

So if you can, put your hand in your pocket, and if you can't, then spread the word. Post the link on your facebook or somesuch.

And then ring your Mammy/Daddy/ brother/sister/best friend/hamster and tell 'em you love 'em.

Just in case like.

Me nerves!

Week Fourteen

I know, I know, I'm the boldest girl in Ireland. Sorry about the tardiness lads but I only got back to Pavia on Friday and sure, well, ye know yourselves like.

Monday 4th Jan

"You are my star that illuminates and guides me. You are my life."

Now if some Irish fella said that to me I would either a) laugh in his gay face or b) kick him in the gooch and run off screaming in the opposite direction, but because it is being said in Italian, and specifically by BBB, I full-on swoon. Only four more days until I get home to our broken-ovened lovehovel. Be still my quivering loins!

But things are going to be different this time. No longer will he be able to pass comment on my creamy whitedness. Oh no. I'm going to black it up a notch. Armed with my L'Oreal self tan body lotion, no one can ever call me too white again!

I put on a generous slather before I went to bed. We'll see how this pans out in the morning.

Tuesday 5th Jan

Success! Every inch of my once-creamy skin is now a lovely golden colour. Excellent, excellent. Now to the hairdressers to white my hair up a notch. It's all about balance, people.

Cut to 2 hours later...

Emerge from the hairdressers an icy-haired goddess. Absolutely worth two weeks of starvation when I return to Pavia.

Walk home down Hennessy's Road in a state of cautious optimism that I'm in a such a good mood that noone would dare to throw a Country Style White Pudding at me.

Made it home alive and unbludgeoned by pork products. I thought to myself "I'll have a lovely bubble bath now". While the bath was running, Mammy passed up the hall.

"Are you washing yourself again?" she goes.

"I'm just having a bubble bath" I said.

She stood at the door and cocked her head to one side, her eyes alive with suspicion:

"Could you tell me Jennie, exactly why is it that you are always washing yourself?"

"Because I like to be clean?"

"You won't have a skin cell left on your body"

"Ok. Eh..bye."

Had a lovely bubble bath and slathered another layer of L'Oreal body lotion onto my remaining three skin cells before bed.

Wednesday 6th Jan

Behold! I woke up a glorious shade of mixed race after I put on the L'Oreal last night! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

Have to finish packing today because I am leaving early in the morning. Now I just don't be able for the travelling. I get so up in a heap for a week before and a week afterwards. I always leave my packing to the last minute as well. And every time I do it I get all stressed and say "I'm never going to leave it to the last minute AGAIN!". Until the next time like. Right. So packing done and another layer of L'Oreal body lotion and its time for bed.

Thursday 7th Jan

Wake up early, a proud Nubian empress. I have reached epic levels of blackness.

Head off on the train to Dublin, which was delayed by 40 mins by the snow between Waterford and Kilkenny. All the way up to Dublin the country was absolutely beautiful, peacefully nestled under a blanket of snow. It was so calming and inspiring. Until the inevitable asshole opened up a bag of Tayto Cheese and Onion and ruined the rest of the journey for everyone within a three carriage radius. Bastard.

Friday 8th Jan

Woke up at 3am to get out to the airport. Had to have Stewy with me holding my hand and practicing yoga breaths with me in case the flight was cancelled because of the weather.Thank god it wasn't though, it was just delayed ten minutes cos some other retard (read: Ryanair) plane was stuck on the runway. AND I had the whole three seats to myself so I lay across them and went a haboo for the whole flight. Bliss!

I also tackled one of my lifetime fears - I went for a tinkle in the plane toilet. Now usually I would hold on to the last, but I REALLY had to pee and there was noone on the plane so I said I'd risk it for a biscuit. Off I went down the aisle, heart POUNDING. I went in there and I did the deed. Washed up, ready to go and....couldn't get the door open. And for a split second my world crumbled. I actually felt weak. But then I copped on that I hadn't unlocked the feckin thing first. Me nerves! I walked back to my seat, triumphant. Not only did I no longer have to pee, but I survived the ordeal without even gettin my innards sucked out by the space time continuum that is the aeroplane flusher.

Got to Milan, but the bags were so slow coming out that I missed my bus by 6 minutes! I was devastated. Had to wait another 2 hours for the next one. Usually I would have just gotten the train instead but I had already bought a return ticket on my way home before Christmas. Thank God I had the new Marian Keyes is all I'll say.

Got home around 3 anyway, completely worn out, but in a state of panic cos I still had to have a shower/shave my legs/dry hair to perfection/apply so much make up that it looked like I was wearing none/lie seductively on the bed by the time BBB got home at 4. My phone beeped "Well love, won't be home til 6"

YESSSSSSSSSSS!

Operation beautification begins. Hopped into the shower, exfoliated until my internal organs were showing, did a full body depilation and moisturized and blow dried and made myself up to the max. Then I lie down on the bed and say to myself I'll have a read of Marian while I'm waiting for him to come home, and when I hear him coming in the door I can drape myself across the covers like a common whore. I settle down anyway. This bed is soooo comfy , om nom nom. I might just rest my eyes sure, he won't be home for another 40 minutes. I'll just close them for a minute....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Next thing the light snaps on and I'm like WTF....? and I half cover my eyes with one hand while squinting up, half asleep with a Vicky Pollard expression to see what the hell was going on. Oh no. It's him. It's after 6 And I am sprawled across the bed with one leg in and one leg "trun" over the duvet. This is disastrous. Not as sexy as one might have wanted. He is just standing there for a minute having a look. Oh no. His expression is unreadable. But as quick as I thought "I'm doomed, he couldn't fancy me after this" his top is off and he is under the covers holding me in to his lovely Big Brown chest. And all is right with the world.

Saturday 9th Jan

Woke up at 8 because he had to study and had a shower and got ready and started editing my own work with him lying across my feet, doing his genius maths. Ah look at his Big Brown face concentrating hard on his impossible sums and theorems. My heart was melting at every stroke of his pencil.

"Do you want to go to Dublin for Easter?" I said.

He looked up.

"I'll think about it".

Oh no. Dear God no. The Brush Off.

I sat and stared unseeingly at my computer screen, pretending to be nonchalant but really I was dying inside. 30 seconds later:

"Yeah actually I'll definitely be able to go. Deadly! Can't wait now! And can we go to Waterford as well? Can we? I want to see your house."

Thank God. Thank GOD. It was touch and go there for a minute.

Sunday 10th Jan

Ok this is it. I am taking the next step in this relationship. I am going to use his bathroom to tinkle instead of going to mine next door. This is healthy. This is trust. So I nonchalantly put down the laptop and saunter toward the en suite door. He is deep in study and doesn't even look up. Good. I use the Fireman's Blanket method so he won't hear me pee and then I flush the toilet triumphantly. Victory! Then I am standing at the sink pumping liquid soap into my hand when the bathroom door bursts open and he strides in and gives me a slap on the arse "I love you, girl". I am frozen in horror. He didn't even knock. What if I was still peeing? Or worse - wiping. Shudder, I hate that word. I hate it so much I had to whisper it, sorry. It's almost as bad as discharge.

Lads I dunno. I mean I haven't even farted in front of him yet. I haven't even needed to. I think my body has stopped making farts because my mind is clearly not psychologically ready for my body to release them in his vicinity.

I think I'll leave him break the ice on that one.

Unless I accidentally unleash a face melter first, like.

And so as another week ended it was time for bed. We put on our jimmy jams and he lovingly watched me put on my vest while sitting on the side of the bed. I was smug out thinking to myself "he is so admiring my blackness." And how could he not be? Clearly I have roots of Ashanti. He pulled me onto his lap and ran his finger up my (nut brown) arm.

"My love" he said.

"Yes BBB?" I said, waiting for the skin tone related compliment.

He cast a longing look over my golden limbs and then looked deep into my eyes and said:

"You are so, so white".

Bastard.

Week Thirteen

Oh lads I'm going to be very bold and write another pretend post! I know, I'm a disgrace!

I don't know why I have lost the ability to stick to my usual format of late. I think it might have something to do with the days in Waterford merging into one long grey icy day punctuated with "D'ya wanna bay-eg?" s and "C'mereawancha"s.

Had a great aul week now, I must say. It consisted mainly of watching seasons one and two of The Inbetweeneers, which I highly recommend, while knitting my fingers to the bone between the child's blanket and BBB's scarf.

Went into town Saturday for a lurk around and then had some food in the Kazbar. "Wasn't that a lovely day now?" I was thinking to myself while strolling home. I was walking down Hennessy's road at the time, and across the road was a group of three little gurriers wearing tracksuits and no winter coats on them! "Jesus!", I was thinking "that's the mark of being dragged up now, your mother leaving you out without your winter coat," and it was positively BALTIC out.

Before anyone gets up on their high horse to tell me not to be judgemental allow me to just say that within 2.5 nanoseconds I was proved right! Because my friends, the instant after that thought passed through my head I heard something whistle past my ear and slap off the ground in front of me. You will NEVER guess what it was. Literally never. What was it, I hear you asking? Ah you know, just a WHOLE Country Style white pudding. That's right, one of the little gowlers threw the puddin at me head. Of course now, seeing as it didn't hit me, I didn't turn around and just walked on. I wouldn't give them the buzz of turning around. I just let on I didn't notice it. But if it had hit me. Well. Needles to say one of their mother's would still be pulling it out of their arse as you read!

I don't know what it is about little shitheads, but they just love tormenting me. Specifically they love grabbing my boobs and running off. Now I have to say that even if the little boob grabber was only about 7, I would have no qualms chasing after him and giving him a good slap. Not a bother on me.

This is the problem with kids today. While alright, I wouldn't see the need for Mammies and Daddies to slap their kids, if a little fucker grabs my boobs on the street and runs off I feel like I am within my rights to chase him down and give him a thump. And why shouldn't I? I mean, he sexually assaulted me, after all! I don't give a shit if he is 7 or 25! He needs to be learn that you don't get away with treating women like that. Touching women's boobs and then running off laughing with your mates is not acceptable. Of course now everything is so fucking politically correct in Ireland you'd be afraid to look at them sideways in case they sued you. It's political correctness gone mad. I can just imagine it now:

Lawyer: Miss Jacques, is it true that you slapped a ten year old?

Me: Of course I did, the little gowler's hand was still warm from squeezing my boob!!! He is lucky I didn't go Kunta Kinte on him!

Judge: As we in Ireland are so fucking chicken shit and scared of everything we will have to put you in jail for ever, even though you were totally right, just because we are terrified of political incorrectness.

Ok sorry had to get that little rant out. It was inevitable, after six weeks in Waterford! Now I feel better. PLUS his mother is going to kill him anyway for coming back home without the white puddin for the tea that she sent him to the shop for.

In other news this week, BBB found out that he won't be joining the marines because of his eyesight. He is -0.25 below what they are looking for in one eye. And lasering is not an option.

Technically I know I should feel at least a bit relieved. But I just don't. The poor fella. My heart goes out to him. I can't imagine now if someone came up to me and said "Sorry Jennie girl but you can't live in Italy any more cos your left boob is 1mm bigger than your right". I'd be devastated. He went out last night to get pissed i.e. drink one pint. That's very unlike him now, shur God love him.

Of course I couldn't sign off without mentioning that it's a new year etc and my resolutions etc. As usual my main goal is to make Eddie Hobbs proud. And I think I'll rob Stewy's resolution to visit 5 different countries this year. Oh yeah and ride a unicycle across a rope over Niagara Falls. Obviously.