Jennifer Alice in Wonderland

Day 2. I'm always so - fashion!

2011-06-02T06:44:00.003+01:00

Got up and went to work at 9 and finished class at 11. Came home and let Gillian make me her bitch. Had a lovely shower and put on a lovely frock. Went to work where one of the other teacher's students said to me:

"You are always so - fashion!"

Success.

Day 1. Again.

2011-05-31T12:29:00.002+01:00

Lads I'm not sure I can say I fell off the wagon when I was only halfway up on it to begin with. For my last post I did the workout, but I did it like a little whiney dickhead. Then the second day I was literally too crippled (and fat and lazy) to do it. Then the third day I did nine minutes of it and then I said to myself "Fuck this", and I had a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Times seven.

Then I had a little think.

What the fuck like? What the hell is the problem here? I only want to get fit like, it's hardly rocket science. It's as simple as doing the workout every day and not letting my fat sausage fingers lift kebabs to my little piggy mouth.

It's not that simple though, is it? Oh no. It's a complex web of emotions and self-sabotage. And Bounty bars.

I took a step back. I took a good hard look at myself. And then I sprung into action.

I'd been working so hard and worrying so much about this that and the other thing that I'd completely forgotten about myself, so that when I finally remembered to have a look at myself I was like "Jaysus boy, some staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate". Luckily BBB was away for the weekend so I had that time to myself.

First things first, I went through the underwear drawer and threw out anything that I don't absolutely love. Then I moved onto the wardrobe and did the cull of a LIFETIME. Like I literally have barely anything left! I may actually have to go to work in my knickers like. But I'm telling you lads, my soul feels cleansed. Then I did a major facelift of the house. Which only took me a few hours, considering that we live in one room.

Then I did a manicure, pedicure, full body de-fuzz and a facial. The old Jennie was starting to come back. Then I put on me little frock and do you know what I did? Do you know what I actually did like? You won't believe it like, cos I still don't.

I went out and enjoyed myself.

Meseff and Laura went out and lay out under a tree next to the river all day. All day like. Me, relaxing like. Usually on Sundays, it's my only day off so I spend it organizing myself for the week ahead and being knackered and stressed. Not this Sunday though, cos there I was lurking under a tree reading my little book as happy as Larry.

I wasn't quite as happy when I woke up on Monday morning with the back of me legs burnt off me but shur what can you do?

Despite my red raw legs, I got up and weighed myself on my weighing scales, which I bought especially, and wrote it down on a chart I made, along with my measurements. Then I did the first day of the Shred. I think Jillian was happy with me, because she told me I was well on my way to being "Shredded". Although it's not quite clear if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Then I put on the most adorable ensemble ever in the world that I would never have put together had it not been for my wardrobe cull and skipped out the door, all pumped up and ready to teach the SHIT outta some English.

Compare that now to the last Day 1.

Bitches, I be reborn.

30 Day Shred - Day 1 - Jesus Wept.

2011-05-25T09:20:00.002+01:00

Good Jesus. That Jillian Michaels wan ain't foolin! I got up at 7 o' clock this morning to do The Shred with BBB. Lads no joke now, it was nearly the end of me. Talk about a near death experience! I was so traumatised that later in the day I had to eat a Bounty and a Reese's Easter Egg.

I hate myself.

Mmmm Fatty Boom Boom

2011-05-18T11:16:00.003+01:00

The last few months I have just been pissing along, working insane hours, complaining about working insane hours and just generally being a sad, sad, little lady. In fact, I was so busy being a sad loser that I didn't realise that I was going down a daaaaaaaaaaangerous road.

The road...

(Dramatic pause)

...of the fatty.

Yes it's true.

Don't look so shocked.

I was waiting in the lobby of an institute I teach at and I caught a glimpse of a thundering fatty in the reflection of the door.

"State of yer wan" I thought to myself.

But then this sinking feeling crept over me.

I had another look out of me side eye.

Music from the psycho shower scene.

"Holy fuck, that's me!"

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Good Lord. Holy Mother of the divine Lord Jesus Christ. How did this happen? How could this be? Because it obviously had nothing to do with the months and months of comfort eating to block out the supreme torture of endless teaching hours. Oh no, not a thing to do with that. Not a sausage.

Because I probably would have "et" that as well.

Now I love teaching and most of my students are delightful and I love the little bones of them, but some of them make me want to hurt myself and others.

The only blessed distraction I have comes in the form of a bebellied and boobalicious fat naked guy who enjoys an hourly cigarette hanging out of his window. Which, incidentally, is directly opposite the window of my classroom. May the Gods be praised. When I go to work tonight I'm going to try and get a high quality grainy and pixellated photo on my state of the art mobile phone from 1972.

Some thing boy.

But I digress. Back to the issue at hand. Drastic measures are called for. In a panicked frenzy, I directed my terror towards the interweb. I had heard whisperings that yer wan Gillian Michaels (who's she when she's at home?) has a DVD out that would make you rue the day you were born. 30 Day Shred. Especially for fatties like me. Sold!

I now wait impatiently by the postbox. It should be here by Monday. Hopefully I won't have died from a heart attack or diabetes by then. I think I might spend this time wisely, making a countdown calendar. Everyone knows that countdown calendars are the best things ever. Especially if they have glitter on them.

Note to self: buy glitter.

30 days. Let's see how that goes. I'll have to keep myself busy, because everyone knows that idle hands lift kebabs to fatty's mouths.

What else could I achieve in thirty days I wonder?

5,000 words of my thesis?

Why not shur.

I'll be keeping ye updated on this most recent undertaking.

In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for dodgy photos of a naked fat man taken from behind a plant.

I know, I'm so good to you.

Don't look at me like that...

2011-01-02T21:15:00.002Z

I did it again. I'm officially the boldest girl in Ireland. When I don't write my blog I feel like I went out drinkin and left a child at home unsupervised! Me nerves do be at me! So to catch you up on recent (and not-so recent) events, here is a handy list of bullet points:

I got the bursary again so I have moved back to the hovel.
I am actually delighted about it because it means meseff and himseff are living together again. Love bubble!
I am, however, slightly disappointed that I won't have any more Skid Mark Sue stories to tell ye.
I love BBB so much that I can't think about it for more than a nanosecond because I gets a pain.
I'm always working and always knackered and as a result have turned into a LOSER.

I think that clears up just about everything. Now, onto our main feature. It's a new year. It's resolution time. Last year I resolved to ride a unicycle across a rope over Niagara Falls. I'm pleased to say this went off without a hitch. I took loads of photos, but sadly my camera was stolen. What were the chances of that?

I've decided to share my real resolutions here this year, so that we may all wallow in my failure together in a few month's time. Or bask in the warm glow of my awesomeness, depending on how it goes.

SO here they are:

Enjoy myself more. Lately I've just been working like crazy and going home after work to collapse on the chair like a zombie and I have a terrible feeling that I may have forgotten how to enjoy myself, or worse, the general concept of fun. No more! I'm going to make an effort, no matter how wrecked I am, to go out and enjoy myself at least once a week. To start. Then I'm gonna eventually spiral out of control and show up at work in various night-before ensembles until I get fired and end up working at the petrol station where that weird woman works that puts the petrol in your car with one hand and holds a lit fag in the other.
Save. Gonna scrimp and save even more this year so I can make my triumphant return to Trinity before the age of 47(ish).
Number three - and this is the big one - I'm going to get my Italian driving license. I am TERRIFIED. Just the thought of it gives me Sweaty Arse Syndrome. I have been putting off driving for so long now I mean it's just not acceptable. Time to bite the bullet. Plus if I learn to drive in Italy it basically means I will have driving super powers. I hope.

I think three will do for now. I'll chip away at those bad boys and tackle any new general life resolutions as they arise. 2010 was kind of a tough one for a lot of people, me included, but all of the shite the year has brought just pales into insignificance when I'm curled up against BBB's chest in our little bed, or when my parents call me to say hello, or when my sister emails me, or when I get a letter from one of my chums, or when I see a new picture of my little nephew Jack. I can brush off even the biggest disaster, because I know these simple things are what really matter in life. Sniff.

So a happy and healthy 2011 to all of ye lads, I hope it's a good one, full of family, friends... and really satisfying farts.

You know the ones.

Week Two - D'Job

2010-12-02T14:00:00.002Z

Right lads, now it’s time to tackle the subject of d’job. After several months of working - oh sorry, did I say working? I meant slaving for Lush I decided I had improved my Italian enough and that the moment had arrived to get a proper job.

So I did.

I won’t say where I work, but I will say this – it rhymes with Shmitish Shminstitute. I don’t think that’s giving too much away.

So now I am a teacher and I have to say lads, when I am standing at that board, blackboard rubber-outer thing in hand, I truly feel at one with the universe.

I teach mostly adults, in groups and individually, then I also teach at a secondary school near my house. Lads it’s like a dream come true! I had been thinking for a while that I’d like to be a secondary school teacher over here but I also thought it might be one of those jobs where you think you might like it but then when you actually try it, it makes you want to launch yourself off the nearest tall building.

On my first day there I was shittin it. The night before I had one of my Oakwood sleeps. Me nerves were at me big time like. As I was walking down the corridor me heart was thumping in me ears – oh jaysus! The classroom was getting closer and closer…and me arse cheeks were getting clammier and clammier…

But then a magical thing happened. I walked in the door and a...a transformation came over me. I went into Teacher Mode. It was like an out of body experience. No joke now lads, I was actually in awe of my own sheer excellence.

I was in the lift then with their normal English teacher who is a lovely Italian lady and she said to me “You are brilliant! You have a gift.” My heart did a little dance. Hee hee!

The best thing about teaching though is having the privilege of hearing first hand the hilarious fuck-ups some of them do be making!

Now I of all people know that it in order to really speak another language it is necessary to make an arse of yourself regularly. Well I can see that I have passed this belief onto my students, who come out with the most fucking hilarious things I have ever heard in my life.

Idioms always provide the best laughs; this morning I was doing a conversation class with a fella and he was chatting away and then he said

“…and I mean I didn’t want him putting his leg in my mouth”,

and as usual my brain went through all the files of things he could possibly mean.

“You didn’t want him to kick you in the face you mean?”

“No, no! I meant I didn’t want him pushing my foot!”

“Wh…?”

“No, wait! I didn’t want him putting his finger in my…”

“Ok I’m going to stop you there, just open the book and find the idiom you want to say.”

Pulling my leg was the one he was after.

Then there’s the joy of correcting tests. The tests are the ones where you have a sentence and there’s a space in the sentence and you have to choose a, b or c to go into the space. This has had some hilarious results:

“I had to go to hospital when I sneezed my ankle”

“My back vomits when I spend too long sitting at the computer”

“I had a blister and then I fainted”

“At the end of the concert, everyone clapped their nose”

And then, my personal favourite: I was doing some weather vocabulary with a lovely lady and I told her what thunder was.

"Oh yeah, like the Elvis song!”

“Which one is that?”

“Love me Thunder!”

I love my job.

Week One - featuring Skid Mark Sue

2010-11-07T16:49:00.005Z

Jaysus lads I have so much to tell ye I don't know where to start, so I thought I would start from the very beginning as I have heard from more than one source that it is a very good place to start.

Well, another year is unfolding in Pavia; the fog has already rolled in for the winter, the birdies have flown south to warmer climes, oul wans are getting out their fur coats again. After work the icy wind reddens my cheeks and the dense fog envelops me as I trudge home, but I don't mind, because I know that after I turn my key in that familiar lock, I will be warmly welcomed by my flatmate's skid marks smiling up at me from the toilet bowl.

Ah yes, Skid Mark Sue. The messiest shitter in the west.

When I moved into this apartment it was just myself and The Flatmate and The Dog, who are both scrumptious. Just to be clear, The Dog is actually a dog. Here she is:

We were getting along swimmingly in our lovely little house, just as happy as can be, until Skid Mark Sue came along and shat all over everything. In a manner of speaking.

I just don't know where to begin. I simply do not know. Perhaps if I show you a picture of something you can begin to understand. For example, here is a picture of an item that belongs to her:

Were Skid Mark an eighty four year old crone bent ninety with arthritis, this would be an acceptable item to own. Skid Mark, however, is not eighty four. She is, in fact, nineteen. And at the rate she is going in awakening the inner murdresses in myself and The Flatmate, she may never live to see twenty.

I won't go into too much detail here, lest I explode in rabid fury, but I will tell you this much: in her nineteen years of existence I can tell you that a toilet brush has never crossed her path. Domestos? She probably thinks it's an island in the Caribbean. Toilet Duck? The national sport of Turkmenistan.

We had a very polite word in her ear though; something along the lines of "Would you mind not leaving your big streals of shite all down the toilet bowl, please and thanks?" And she said "Grand". Grand like. She didn't even have the common decency to throw herself off the balcony in mortification. Anyway that seemed to solve the problem. Until...

The other morning, I went innocently into the bathroom to do my morning tinkle. A gut feeling told me to look into the watery depths - and lo! There it lay. Skid Mark Sue had struck again - but this time it was personal.

Yes people, not only had she marked her territory in the manner that is customary for her, but there, lurking quietly under the surface of the water, was a giant poo. A large turd. A Cleveland Steamer. A log. Whatever you want to call it - there it was. Waiting. In silence. For some poor unsuspecting person to go along and have a wee, only to launch itself from the water and purse its squelchy lips together to kiss the previously unmarred arse of the tinkler.

Horrified, I turned the handle of the flusher. Our flusher is such that, when you turn it the toilet starts to flush, and it doesn't stop flushing until you turn it back to the start position. I left it run for a good thirty seconds and then turned it off. The bowl was clear. Or so I thought...

Within seconds, with all the glory of Christ rising from the tomb, it resurrected. My natural reaction was to turn the flusher again, this time for a good minute.

That should do it, I thought.

I thought wrong.

And then I thought wrong another two times.

Clearly I was dealing with the Chuck Norris of excrement.

I threw down three litres of Domestos and flushed it for a good five minutes.

Nowt.

Drain unblocker.

Diddly squat.

In the end I had to enlist the help of Flatmate.

We boiled up a saucepan or two of the kitchen tap's finest water and threw it down there with gusto.

It worked.

But by then we had both been reduced to peeing in the bidet, which only reinforced my love for it even more. Oh bidet, always there in my hour of need.

Ok lads, that's all I care to divulge for the moment, mainly because Skid Mark just came in. I will fill you in on the other details of my dramatically changed life in subsequent posts. Sorry I went AWOL for so long, I'm starting afresh from Week One of year three of my Italian adventure, and this time I'm back for realsies.

That's right, I just said "realsies".

Week Forty Five - Now With Willies!

2010-09-06T06:45:00.007+01:00

Don't worry lads! I'm still alive!

Monday 30th August

Today I decided it was about time I invested in a ladybag.

A ladybag is a handbag of the highest order that serves to demonstrate to the outside world that you are in fact a grown up lady who has made her way in this harsh world and come out the other side looking fabulous, high quality italian leather handbag in tow.

Yes, it is time for a ladybag.

So off I went to the nearest ladybag shop and that's where I saw it - the bag of my dreams. I reached up to take it off the shelf and KERASH! This big metal yoke fell down and hit the ground with the loudest metallic crash I ever heard.

Of course then it decided to bounce off the ground and ricochet off my shinbone.

Oh Christ lads.

Now you know when you are in public and something happens to you and everyone is like "Oh my God are you alright?" and your eyes are stinging with tears of agony and you're like "Ah yeah I'm grand, didn't feel a thing", when in fact you're about to projectile vomit from the pain.

Well yeah, that's exactly what happened. I was just thinking to myself, thank god I am wearing trousers, otherwise my leg would have been shredded. I hobbled home anyway, me leg was killing me, the feckin metal yoke was after connectin with the bone like.

I was wondering why my shin was tickling me and when I got home I lifted up my trouser leg and found out. Blood all over the gaff. Head spinning. Must sit down. Big slice under my knee. Mammy!

Cleaned it up and went to work with big sad eyes on me to get a bit of pity off the girls in work. They delivered. Result!

Tuesday 31st August

Every 31st August I think of my friend Leighanne who always nearly drowns every year on the 31st August. Oh Leighanne!

Anyway, I was chatting to BBB on Skype and we were talking about what I would wear to tomorrow's interview (will give more details when I can) and he was like

"One of your pencil skirts shur, and what about the black top with the weird neck?"

" Well I was thinking that but it's too hot for stockings"

"Whatever you do, stay away from treasures"

"What?"

"Treasures aren't a good idea."

"Jewellery like?"

"No Jesus Christ Jennie - treasures!"

"I have no idea what what you're talking about"

"The things you wear on your legs!"

"Oh - trousers!"

"Fine, trousers then."

Shur God love him.

Wednesday 1st September

Woke up with the worst crick in my neck in history! Went to the interview, hoping it wouldn't require me to look to the side.

All went well and then I went for lunch with the girls from my new apartment, who are just lovely. And guess what - we have a lovely little dog! Her name is Nana. I'll be moving in in two week's time, I think it'll be a good year with the gals.

Anyway after lunch I went home and signed into chat to wait for my sister to come online to tell her about the interview. My neck was killing me so I was absentmindedly rooting in the medicine bag for the Sifacamina i.e. Italian Deep Heat. I was rubbing it in anyway thinking to myself "Shur this thing isn's even getting hot - maybe it's out of date?" and I looked down at the tube only to find I was after rubbing Canasten into my neck.

Oh Jennie girl.

Thursday 2nd September

Today in work the non-gay gay fella was on the till with an American and he said "Seventy two fifty seven please" and she gave him an hundred and he said "Have you got any money?" He meant "change" , but the Italian word is "monete" which is similar. Obviously it was a tiny mistake but the way he said "Have you got any money?" and the head on the American wan when he said it, it was just priceless. I just said then "Change, have you got any change?" And he was like, wait for it:

"Oh right, I'm a donkey."

"What?"

"I'm such a donkey!"

"You mean you're an ass, is it?"

"Oh for fuck sake!"

Now I feel better about the the "as if I had two tits" thing.

Friday 2nd September

Only 3 more days until BBB comes home for one day and then pisses off back south for another two weeks. Can't wait! I'm gonna squeeeeeeze the muscly head off him! Can't wait to see his giant monster foot stickin out from under the covers. Unfortunately since I gave up wheat and dairy I rarely fart anymore, otherwise I would be savin up my best fart for his leg when he is asleep.

Saturday 3rd September

OOooooooh! Only two more days now!

Sunday 4th Spetember

Today is the longest day in the history of days. I tell myself I just have to get through today and then it's all biscuits and gravy as I get home and get ready, all excited for the arrival of BBB. To pass time I decide to have a flick through the nudie man calendar in the back. It's all famous rugby players with rugby balls over their willies.

Or so I thought.

Upon closer inspection, there are willies hanging out all over the place! I couldn't believe it! Willies like! Men's willies! Holy Mary Mother of God! Just in case you didn't believe me I took some photographic evidence. Merely to back up my claim, you understand. Take this photo, for example:

Just two lads hanging around on the treadmill, discussing what went down in Ruby's last night. Nothing amiss here, right? WRONG! Because if you just look a little closer...

BOOM!

Look! Look! A big willy just hanging there for all to see! Oh holy God! Lads I don't know what to think!

I mean I like it, like...

Week Forty (ish)

2010-08-03T16:28:00.004+01:00

Lads I am SO much better than the last post, thanks to my amazing friends. Sofia has left me her apartment for the month of August and Lorenzo helped me move in. Thanks lads!

Monday 26th July

Today myself, the once-mysterious Lorenzo and BBB drove out to Imperia to see my friend Sofia so that she could give me the keys of her apartment in Pavia so that I can stay there while I'm looking for a place, the blessings of God on her.

Meseff and himseff went down to the Italian version of Penneys and I bought an 11 euro togs and he bought a 7 euro pair of grandad swimming trunks in a fetching shade of blue. Then we met Lorenzo and hit the road.

Now lads. Just take a moment to imagine how buzzin off me head I was, after months of sweating my ball bags off in 35degree landlocked Pavia. Plus like it wasn't as if we were going to Tramore like, we were going to the beach in ITALY.

Hee hee!

Of course now every 5 nanoseconds I involuntarily emitted a high pitched squeal of delight, followed by the soon to be smash hit of the summer:

"We're going to the beach! We're going to the beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeach!"

The two boys were like:

"Jesus Christ Jennie boy calm down like, we're not going to Bora Bora, we're only going to Imperia."

I was like:

"Lads, I'm Irish, which means IT'S THE SAME THING!"

We got there anyway, had a lovely lunch and then hit the beach. I hit the umbrella and the factor 50 under the curious gaze of 50 leather-skinned Italians.

After only one day on the beach, I felt like I had a two week holiday. I didn't realise how much I just had to get out of Pavia for a little minute just to have a breather. On the way home I was trying my best to stay awake, I really was, but I have a sneaking suspicion that for large portions of the journey I was doing the head-bobbing goldfish next to Lorenzo in the seat.

Whoopsie.

Tuesday 27th July

Today was going to be a stressful and sad day.

Stressful because I had to move house, and sad becaue BBB is heading home for 2 months.

Lorenzo gave me a hand moving, cos he is the best like, and then BBB called over to my temporary abode and we had a sad snugglefest before he headed off to the airport. I would have been much more down in the dumps if I didn't have all of my stuff to unpack, so I just spent the rest of the evening solemnly sorting out my stuff and then I headed to bed with no one but Pablo my pillow boyfriend for company.

Sniff sniff.

Wednesday 28th July

Went to work today with a head and a half on me cos I really wasn't in the humour to be "upbeat" and "kooky" with two months of having no leg to fart on stretching out ahead of me. Managed to drag myself through the day and went home on the train with some puss on me.

Thursday 29th July

Waking up in Sofia's apartment is just wondrous. There is always that little moment before I open my eyes where I think I am in my horrible old hovel, but then when I really do open them I am in heaven. There's just one thing though...there is no hot water.

But that's ok because I have already established a routine where I boil 2 pots of water for a 2 inch post war bath in the evenings.

Spiffing.

Friday 30th July

Today I have to say goodbye to Lorenzo, who is heading to Lapland for 6 months. After today I will officially be the only person I know in Pavia until September.

Fabliss.

Lorenzo called up to the house to try and fix the hot water, but no dice. Then we headed "in giro". Now lads, this is the thing that I just can't get my head around about Italy, especially during the winter months. Instead of going out to the pub for the craic and the banter, Italians prefer to go "in giro". That means they meet up in town, they might get an ice cream or a drink somewhere, then they just lurk around town. Just having strolls like. Meanwhile I'm thinking to myself:

"Christ it's minus fifty and I'm GASPING for a proper drink and a sit down."

It also reminds me of something you would do if you were underage, like for example when we are all sitting in the window of Geoff's having a nice drink or seven, you always see groups of 16 years olds done up to the nines just walking around because they can't get in anywhere.

But I digress.

We were in giro for the night and at about 3 he said he had to go home so he brought me back to my house.

And lads, I don't know was I just being a weirdo but I could sense a certain...atmosphere.

We got to my door anyway and he said:

"Eh well, don't be too lonely here on your own, shur September will be here in no time."

And then I was like:

"Eh yeah, heh heh, you be careful up there and be good. And wear a rubber."

"Heh heh".

So then the moment came. I can't remember ever kissing him hello or goodbye before so I didn't know what the protocall was. So instead like I just kind of edged forward and put my head on his chest. He had one hand in his pocket and put the other one around me. Now when I say around me I mean it was around my general personal space, but it wasn't touching me, it was about an inch from my body like.

I was like:

"What the fuck was that? Who puts their hand in their pocket to hug someone?"

He was like:

"No my hand is stuck in my pocket! One second now."

And he reached his other hand around to pull his hand out of his pocket, where his finger was stuck in his keys which were in turn stuck in his pocket.

But it was too late. The information enterned my brain only AFTER he said "one second now", and I was going in for the proper snuggle when he was reaching his hand over to the other pocket and YES, you know exactly what happened.

Boob fondlage.

Oh Jesus.

"Oh, eh, sorry"

"No, eh, its alright, heh heh"

Dying an inner death.

Then we had a quick hug and he sprinted off in the opposite direction and I couldn't get the key in the door fast enough.

Lads it was so funny.

I loves him I does.

Saturday 31st July

Went to work today as usual. Bit glum thinking about how I am all alone in Pavia but I just decided to take it one day at a time and sure the month will pass in no time.

I miss BBB terrible though. I miss the aul bit of chat before we go to sleep, I miss tripping over his shoes that he ALWAYS leaves in the middle of the floor as I go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I miss the smell of his breath, I miss his giant monster feet and the way he looks when he's a-haboo babby bunty.

I miss the bit of human contact as well. Since even Laura is gone home, I am left completely sans-snuggle. And considering that I am a snugglehead, I have been finding it tough. I didn't realise it though until Francesco in work came up behind me and gave me a surprise snuggle and I nearly melted at the warmth of the human touch, when usually I would be like:

"Piss off boy will yeh - Jesus!"

Sunday 1st August

Today in work I said to Francesco:

"Don't forget to sign that, Love"

Christ, I'm losing it.

Next stop: Rock Bottom

2010-07-20T21:30:00.002+01:00

Lads I'm in a bad way. Everything is gone wrong all at the same time and I'm up in some heap (pronounced haype).

First off the house situation:

Meseff and himseff were supposed to be getting an apartment together to save ourselves a few bob (and to have a buzz). This was all fine and dandy, we were picking out apartments and buzzin off our heads at the thought of having our own fridge, of going out and not walking a half an hour home and of having deadly parties and more money to do mental things and having general good times 'n' shit.

Everything was peachy until....

Three weeks before we were due to move out, Big Brown Mamma calls.

First she pretended she wanted him to stay in the hovel for financial reasons. BBB explained that we were saving money by getting an apartment. Then she said if he moved out she wouldn't pay his rent. Then she said she would come up in September and help him find a place. He said "I thought you said if I moved out you wouldn't pay for me?"

The it all came out.

She just didn't want him to live with me.

Then his aunty had to get her two cents in - apparently BBB should only be going out with his friends and should have a "little girlfriend" that he sees twice a week or at weekends, and should "be free to find himself another girlfriend"

Colour me enraged.

Deep breaths.

We live together now for fuck sake!

I mean it's all fine and dandy that he lives with me now, his first year away from home, and I am after teaching him how to cook and look after himself and how to be independant and according to him "the importance of hard work"; now that I have already taught him all that stuff and I am no longer of service, it would seem that I can go and fuck myself.

Now obviously, because I am a nice girl, I completely understand that she is trying to "protect" her son. That is completely understandable and grand, even if she is most likely doing it because she is a bit jealous. However, because I am such a nice girl, I simply cannot understand why you would do this to me THREE WEEKS before we move out, thus effectively leaving me thoroughly fucked.

That was two weeks ago, and I am still grinding my teeth about it, because I have answered a squillion ads for rooms and nothing has come through for me. All the contracts are for students only and those that aren't are for disgusting houses that require a squillion euro deposit which reeks of scam to me. Now I am thoroughly screwed, because I have to be out of here by next Tuesday. Of course BBB is fine because he is flying home to BBM, who clearly couldnt give a flying fuck if I end up living in a cardboard box.

Christ like, a bit of common courtesy please! If you don't want us living together, grand - just open your mouth and say it straight away! Don't leave us make plans and then dump me in the shitter at the last minute!

Me nerves!

Next up, work:

It would seem that I have fallen foul to a cleverly worded work contract and instead of the figure I thought I would be coming out with every month, I will be coming out with approximately half that amount.

Wondrous.

And finally, the general morale situation.

I'm not going to lie lads. Morale is low. I think it might actually have reached an all-time low, in fact. As in WORSE than Luxembourg. And that was BAD.

I'm not taking Fionn's death very well. I'm not very good at death anyway but this is hard lads.

When I looked at his face I didn't only see his little face; I saw Mammy and Daddy and my brother and my sisters and my whole family. I saw our house and my room and all my friends. He was like a symbol of home and all the things that tie me to it. When I looked at his picture on my phone I used to get a warm feeling in my tummy cos seeing him made me think of all those things. Now that link is gone and I don't know my arse from my elbow.

But just with everything together I just feel so sad. It's like an unbearable weight on me. I don't think I've ever been so lonely in my life. Poor BBB can't help me because every time I look at him I think of how his mother fucked me over. Anyway, how could I ever expect to be helped by someone who has never even heard of The Goonies?

Next Tuesday BBB is leaving for home for two months. All my other friends are already gone home for the summer, because Pavia shuts down for August. I am the only stupid fucker left here, forlornly taking the train to Milan every day to a job that earns me significantly less than I need.

I could handle any of the above three crises with ease if they had come individually, or even two together, but everything all at once is so hard, especially when I am all alone far away from home. I don't know how I am going to pull myself out of this one lads.

No dirty jokes about that last line.

We interrupt your regular programming...

2010-07-14T15:45:00.004+01:00

...to bring you some terrible news altogether.

There is another dog in Heaven.

This one, to be precise.

My little Fionnzy Bunzy. Or, as I affectionately called him "Shithead". Mammy told me not to call him that though, cos she claimed he knew what I was saying. If he really knew what I was saying though, he would know that it was an expression of love. I also called him "Snooklepop", but that was mostly on Tuesdays.

Fionn was the best dog you could ever find in your long legged life. In fact, he was scientifically proven (by me) to be The Best Boy in Ireland.

Ten years ago my Nanny died (shout out to Nanny Alice in Heaven - best nanny ever!) and Mammy sent Daddy out to get a little dog for Grandad to keep him company in the house, since his own dog had died a bit before Nanny. Daddy went down to rescue a dog, and that's when he saw little Fionn. He couldn't believe his luck and brought the dog home to show Mammy.

Now before Fionn came onto the scene, we always had big dogs, and Mammy was terrified of them. They weren't allowed even look at the house, never mind come into it. Whenever they came within a three mile radius of Mammy she ran screeching into the house, so when she reached out and gingerly brushed the tip of her finger off the top of Fionn's head, we knew this dog was special.

"He's too lively for your Grandad!", she said, "but we can keep him, the poor little fella. From now on his name is Fionn."

I still remember that day, Daddy came to collect me from school. I believe I was going through my grunge phase at that time.

"There is a surprise in the house," he said.

"Is there?", I said, wondering what it was, since the last "surprise" there was at the house for me was an excercise trampoline.

We got home and when he opened the door this little red streak of madness came out to greet me. I couldn't believe it! After our last big dog went to the big farm in the sky Mammy said we weren't to have any more dogs.

Straight away he became one of the family. He was stone mad alright, and he was always up for a mess, but he would also sit down and watch the telly with you of an evening.

He went for weekend retreats to Grandad's house, and he would come home Sunday nights worn out after the two of them had been tormenting the living daylights out of each other for two days straight.

As he got older he mellowed out a lot. Every time you would sit down, he would plant his arse right on your foot. And if you were sitting cross-legged, shaking your foot, he would come over and put his back up against your shaking foot, thus receiving a nice relaxing back massage.

He also loved blankets. You could be sitting on the couch eating a prime rib and he wouldn't look at you even out of his side eye, but the mnute you whipped out a blanket, by god, he was up on your lap before the blanket was even over you!

He really was like my little brother. Mammy is fairly sure she gave birth to him anyway. He was her little buddy in the house. He followed her around every day as she was doing her bit of pottering. She used to sing him a special song and he used to love it. Once or twice when my parents went away I stayed there to mind Fionn and he would take to padding around after me. It's a nice feeling, having another little person who wants to follow you around and be with you while you are doing mundane things such as ironing.

In the evenings though, he was all about Daddy. Himself and Daddy would disappear into the spare room to watch the match. Daddy would have a bag of crisps and then Fionn would lick the paper. Or one time, Daddy had two small bags of crisps and he ate the first one and gave Fionn the paper. Daddy was wondering in the back of his mind how Fionn was making so much noise with the paper, but he was watching the match so he didn't take any notice. A while later he put his hand out for the other bag of crisps only to find that Fionn was after opening them and eating them and that's what all the noise was about!

Then yesterday, Daddy called me and said

"I have a bit of bad news for you Jen."

"Is it Fionn?"

Nausea.

"It is girl."

He had a tumor on his liver and while the vet was operating he had a heart attack and died. It was better he went that way anyway because otherwise he would have had to be put down.

Poor little Fionn. He was such a good boy.

After I hung up the phone I went into BBB's room where he was studying with his friend. Obviously I was hysterical.

His friend said "Don't worry - you can get another little puppy and raise it"

I wanted to stab him in the face.

You can shove your fucking puppy up your arse!

I know he was trying to be helpful, but for your information readers, when someone's dog dies, the last thing they want is for you to suggest that their little buddy is replaceable.

I am balling and roaring because it hurts SO bad, but at the same time I expect him to be there waiting for me the next time I fly home. That's when it'll really hit me.

At the end of the day though, I just have to think that Fionn was lucky to be rescued by us and that we were lucky to find him. He was the best boy and one of the family and we had a great ten years together.

R.I.P. Fionn, much loved little brother and The Best Boy in Ireland.

Week Thirty Six

2010-06-23T16:13:00.004+01:00

Monday 21st June

Today I was a very bold girl and I didn't write my blog. I was too busy trying to repress the memory of the incident on the train. You see the thing with my very highly developed brain is that it made the connection between taking a train and terrible things happening so that now every time I have to take the train to work I am literally a quivering mess on the platform and have to block it out the whole way to Milan. No matter how much I try to mind-over-matter it I still gets the heebies jeebies.

Sigh.

Me and my nerves.

On the upside though I am extrmemely smug about the seven stone I lost on my liquid diet in the hospital.

Hee hee.

Tuesday 22nd June

This day last week I got a facebook comment from my American niece who was somewhat bemused my use of her name in week thirty four's blog.

Her name is Mary Bridget.

I'll say no more.

Wednesday 23rd June

When BBB collected me off the train from Milan this evening we were having a nice chat as we came out of the station. A bit of rubbish blew over my ballerina shoed foot.

Hang on a second.

Blew over my foot? That's odd, seeing as there is no such thing as wind in Pavia. Not even a gentle breeze like.

I looked down.

And that's when I saw them.

The cockroaches.

They were EVERYWHERE. Scuttling all over the place, the size of human heads.

"Jesus CHRIST!" I roared, and started jumping all over the place, because there were literally hundreds of them, all over the place, moving at speed towards my little feet.

I'll tell you now lads I've never walked home so fast in my life. Me skin was crawling up the road ahead of me like. Bleurgh!

Thursday 24th June

Ladies and gentlemen, a word about cuntomers.

I love my job, and I loved it when I was doing it in Dublin, but sweet mother of the divine lord sometimes I want to stab people in the face. Today this woman came in and I served her and she bought a few little things. Thanks very much and have a nice day missus. She went out across the road to Sephora. Then she came back and said to the other girl:

"Hiya, I just bought some stuff there and I didn't get any samples."

The other girl was like

"Yeeees?"

"Well can I have some samples?"

I fucking HATE when people ask for samples. ESPECIALLY after they spend 50p and expect you to give them the whole shop for free. Usually I am very generous with samples and demos and all the rest, but if the person isn't very nice and only spends four euro and doesn't say thanks after I spent ages doing every demo in the shop then I am not very inspired to give them loads of free stuff. You see people know you will do demos and all lovely things to them so they just come in to get the royal treatment and then fuck off without so much as a thank you.

So the other girl goes

"Eh, yes here is a sample of one of our lovely soaps, it is made from.."

"No, no, I want some skincare samples."

Now hang the fuck on here.

It is FREE. You do NOT get to choose, you fucking cockeyed wench.

I felt like saying oh you want to choose do you missus?

Well you can choose between this:

or this:

What'll it be?

Friday 25th June

Today meseff and himseff went for lunch cos we were feeling fancy. With my blood levels in mind I ordered the steak.

For the good of my health like.

He ordered pasta.

Silly BBB.

When the lunches came out his looked lovely. But mine was glorious. The steak took up the ENTIRE plate, everyone was looking at it. It was bathing in its own juices.

And I was bathing in my own juices just looking at it.

It was melt in the mouth; so tender, so delicious. Om nom nom.

On the way back from the restaurant we passed a girl that I vaguely know and BBB even vaguelier knows through me. We said well in passing.

"She never says well to me when I am on my own" BBB said.

"I don't know what her problem is, it's not like she has a fanny of gold."

A fanny of gold.

Fire up the bidet.

Saturday 26th & Sunday 27th June

Worky worky work work.

I had a bit of a moment in work. There I was exfoliating someone's arm and giving the spiel when all of a sudden I was struck by a sudden realisation.

I work in Milan. In a shop. In Italian.

When I was little I was stuck to my Mammy's leg and didn't want to go anywhere.

Now I commute to Milan every day and battle my way through the metro, get off and go up the exit stairs into Piazza del Duomo so this is the first thing I see above ground when I get off the metro:

Then I cross the road to the shop where I work all day in Italian without even breaking a sweat.

Then after work I hop on a train home and my gorgeous Italian Stallion who I love so much it's actually disgusting picks me up at the station and we go home to our horrible little hovel.

Lads I have to admit like.

I'm kinda bad ass.

Except for that last bit about the hovel.

Week Thirty Four

2010-06-14T09:08:00.002+01:00

Lads now I thought this week was going to be great what with starting my new job and everything falling into place, but you know what they say - he giveth, and he taketh the fuck away.

Monday 7th June

Who gives a flying fionnuala.

Tuesday 8th June

Pales in comparison to the upcoming horror.

Wednesday 9th June

Ooh I'm all excited! Today I get to start my new job in Milan. Got up, did meself up to the nines, headed off on the train. Had some stomach cramps but put it down to being over excited.

Had a great first day, rocked that shit and was going home all smug after my shift. By now the cramps were really strong, but shur I only have to stick it out for 30 minutes on the train and then BBB is waiting for me at the station in Pavia.

One stop. Crampy crampy cramp cramp. Hang in there Jennie girl, only a few more stops to go.

Second stop. Grit the teeth. Grit them!

Third stop. Oh Christ, oh Jesus!

Whump!

That's the sound of my skull cracking off the ground.

Draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag.

That's the sound of me being dragged off the train onto the platform.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip!

That's the sound of my trousers being unzipped by one of fifty thousand crowder arounders.

Mee maw mee maw mee maw!

That's the sound of the ambulance coming along.

"Christ look at the colour of her!"

That's the sound of the first thing the ambulance man said.

Lads I was terrified. I didn't know what the fuck was going on. I only had a few cramps like. Now I was lying on the platform and my hands and legs were seizing up and my face was gone numb. And the cramps, the cramps!

On the way to the ambulance as the ceiling tiles whizzed by the ambulance man looked down at me and said "Are you pregnant?"

"No", I said.

"Oh", he goes.

Oh? Oh??!!! What the fuck does that mean? Now that really scared the shit out of me. All sorts of things started going through my fuzzy head. I was like:

Pleeeeeeeeeease don't let me be having a miscarriage when I didn't even know I was pregnant! Please God let my imaginary baby be ok!

Then I started thinking maybe I was having an ectopic pregnancy like Christina out of Grey's Anatomy.

They took me off to some hospital in Milan. I didn't know me own name, never mind where I was. I couldn't collapse in Pavia like, oh no. I had to do it away from home. Anyway they wheeled me into the emergency room where there were approximately five thousand people and left me on the trolley.

I have never felt so alone or so far away from home in my life.

Some student doctor came over and started asking me questions but my face was still seized up and I couldn't move my mouth to talk. Then they left me on the trolley against the wall.

And lads I was in pain. I was wriggling around the trolley and roaring and screaming. And would you blame me like, I was fucking delirious and my muscles were all spasming. I was fucking terrified.

Then some lovely woman who was there with her Mammy came over and she was like

"Are you in terrible pain love? You poor thing!"

I managed a mangled:

"Please hold my hand."

The she was holding my hand and minding me and her Mammy came over and was rubbing my little feet and kissing my forehead and pinching my cheeks.

Now can we all just take a minute to mentally send out good vibes to these two women.

Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...ok.

I thought to myself, thank GOD these two just happened to be here at the same time as me! Then the daughter looked down at me and she said:

"Do you believe in our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ?"

"Eh...yeah", I goes.

What like? I was hardly going to say

"Actually Missus, Jesus and Mary and all the rest of them lads aren't real, they are only symbols of the strength we already have inside ourselves so instead of praying to them for strength you should be looking inside yourself for it."

There's a time and a place, people.

So anyway there I am in some hospital in Milan, half dead on a trolley being minded by some lovely women.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

BBB has been waiting for me at the Pavia train station. He has been calling and calling my phone, which has been dead for hours. My train hasn't come in yet, and there's an announcement:

"The 20.30 train from Milan has been delayed an hour due to a medical emergency."

"Everything is ok", he keeps telling himself.

The train pulls up. A girl gets off.

"Are you waiting for your girlfriend?" she says to him.

Sweat starts rolling down his back.

"I am."

"Is she small and blonde and foreign?"

Mini stroke.

"She is."

"They took her away in an ambulance, she's alright though."

Sprints onto the next train to Milan.

The train departs and the conductor comes along.

Sidenote: conductors are Nazis.

"Where's your ticket, son?"

"That was MY missus that got taken away at Milano Rogoredo!"

"Jesus Christ. She was in a bad way. No problem, boy, no need for a ticket here".

BBB then got off the train at Milano, got the underground to the last stop and then sprinted the 47 miles to the hospital along a field that a road sweeper told him to take as a short cut.

I'm sure his muscles were rippling as he was doing it.

I wouldn't be surprised if he swang on a vine at some point.

Meanwhile the two ladies that were minding me had to go and they took my number and then everyone else in the room stepped up to the plate. My phone was taken out of my handbag and charged, someone rang BBB for me, someone let me use their phone to call one of my clients to drive up to Milano and pick me up. My head was stroked, my cheeks were pinched, my face was kissed, my feet were rubbed.

I was still dying though. And I'll tell you one thing lads, you are NEVER too old to need your Mammy!

The next thing, BBB comes flying around the corner, "Amore!"

I have never been so relieved before in my life.

He looks around.

"Where's the doctor here? Who's in charge? Nurse!"

I fell in love all over again.

Then my client and her husband came in. I love this woman, she is my Italian Mammy. I always say that if anything ever happened to me I'd call her straight away and I did and she drove straight up to get me.

After a few hours of being ignored and being handed a plastic bag to puke into (thanks lads, thanks a mil. Not even a kidney dish like) I thought I felt better so we decided to go home.

BBB brought me home to bed and put his arms around me.

"Go to sleep now Amore it's all over."

Yeah, it was all over, right?

Wrong.

Thursday 10th June

Mother of the divine Lord!

Woke up with unbelievable cramps.

Balled my head off because I was down to work today and I didn't want to give a bad impression but christ like, I could barely stand.

BBB brought me to A&E.

I was seen straight away. They took blood, they x-rayed my stomach, they put me on a drip. The next thing the (smokin hot) doctor busts in.

"Jesus girl I don't know how you're standing, you have no feckin haemoglobin, you need a blood transfusion. BBB - go home and pack her bag, she will be here a few days."

No! Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Ok let me explain.

I am the ultimate world's most squeamish person. I have no problem with injections, they are grand. Giving blood however, I can't even think or talk about it and I have to sit down. Drips as well. Rotten. Blood transfusions? Look, I'm grand, I'll just die, thanks.

So BBB went home to get my things and I'm not ashamed to say lads, I had a little cry on the chair. It was just all too much like. Far away from home, collapsing on the train, the whole ambulance thing, blood transfusion. Enough like, I'm supposed to be prancing around Lush rubbing cream into people's arms right now.

So then the ambulance man came to take me to my room. I stumbled up the hall anyway with cartoon birdies flying around my head and this young fella in a white coat goes,

"Here she is now! She's pale, but she's on her feet!"

They took me to my room. I faceplanted on the bed.

The young fella is my doctor. He tells me he is the same age as me. I don't know how I feel about this. The male nurse comes in to give me an ECG. There is a booby show. I silently thank God for my perfectly formed mammaries.

Then I am whisked away for 47 thousand tests in quick succession. One of them is a TAC where it's the scan yoke where they inject you with contrast fluid. Of course now I don't know anything about these things, so I didn't know the contrast fluid is hot. First it burned the fucking hand off me and I roared with the fright. Then it went down me main artery into my groin and it was all hot and it happened so fast I thought I was after weeing on myself!

I was lying there like "Oh Christ when I get up now I hope there's not a big wet patch on the table - morto!" But then the nurse came in and goes "did that burn the bod off you girl? It's roastin alright"

Thank fuck.

Then after 42 squillion more tests they brought me back to the room and put me on a 7 thousand drips. BBB slept in the plastic chair with his head on the pillow next to mine. I was awake all night with my head turned away from the drip, so as to avoid projectile vomiting.

Friday 11th June

Had to battle my way to the loo, wheeling the drip along with me, and subsequently mangling it past the cleaning trolley that was parked in the door of the loo.

And lo! Mother Nature's Monthly Gift! What joy! What fun!

Go back to the room anyway with my "I-just-got-mother-nature's-monthly-gift-now-you-have-to-feel-sorry-for-me-for-5-days" look on my face.

"Ah love, did you get your menstruation?" he goes. "Into the bed now til I mind ya".

A short while after the nurse comes in.

"Signorina you are booked for a gyno visit at half one."

Kill me.

I count the seconds til half one.

They wheel me away past the pregnancy clinic. Loads of pregnant knackers are lurking around with their fat knacker impregnators, gawkin up into my face. We get to the waiting room and they leave me in there with pregnant starers. Gawkin up into my face and talking about me overright me, discussing all the drip yokes stickin out of me and the gauze taped to my arms in the seventeen places they took blood from between yesterday and today.

If I wasn't half dead I'd say somthing smart.

The next thing the doctor comes in "Jennifer, you're with me."

Of course it's man.

Of course it is like.

Anyway we go into the room which is a room within a room. The door of the inner room is open. Obviously I assume this is because the outer door is locked and guarded by fire breathing dragons so I assume the position and he gets down to doing what he does best.

Then next thing some wan walks in.

"Giovanni boy I don't know what the fuck I did with that box of gloves I had earlier, well Missus how are ya" she goes and starts rooting in some drawer.

Eh....hello like? Bit of privacy like?

While she is rooting in the drawer another wan walks in "That file is out there on the table for you. I'm going to the shop do you want anything? Howeyeh Missus." she says to us, so close to my undercarriage that it nearly had an echo.

Lads. Come on now. Italians just take the biscuit with this kind of shit. They really don't give a fuck about privacy or anything like that.

Then we went into another room for part deux. "Lep up there Ms. Jack-es" he goes, pointing to a stirruped bed in front of an open window. Just an open window like, looking out onto Pavia. Hang on til I whip out Fifi now to make friends with a passing builder.

Afterwards anyway he said all is perfect and well in my lady garden, thank god. I was lovely and relieved then so when they took me back to my room I went for a nice nap with BBB minding me.

So just a tangent here people: THIS is the reason why I always wear nice matching underwear and have my lady garden perfect at all times. Because you never know when some strange man is going to put a probe up your Mary Bridget. My mother laughs at me and tells me I am obsessed and have a problem with the whole matching lovely underwear thing but at the end of the day when I was lying on the train platform and they opened my trousers I didn't give a shite because I knew I was wearing something fabulous. Ladies: let this be a lesson to ye!

Anyway then they gave me antibiotics and I slept like a dead body in the bed.

Saturday 12th June

Yesssss! I get to go home today! I had an infection in my intestines but it seems to be gettin better and my bloods are back up to normal levels. BBB comes to get me and I hobble home down the road.

There is nothing like getting back into your own bed lads.

Now can we just take a moment to reflect on how amazing BBB has been through all this. He never left my side for a second and he fought for me to get the best reatment the whole way. He held my little feet and told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world even when I was cockeyed in the bed with a big unwashed head on me.

God he really loves me.

And I really love him.

Despite all the terrible things that happened this week, I am one lucky bitch.

Week Thirty Three

2010-06-07T16:58:00.001+01:00

Monday 31st May

It's another gorgeous day in Pavia so meseff and himseff head out onto the grass to do a bit of study. After lunch I enjoyed a nice fruit salad and by then it was too hot to go back outside so we took our positions on the bed and continued studying there.

All was well until I felt a certain activity going on in my innards. Something untoward was definitely brewing. All of a sudden it was like my whole insides went into spasm and I had the worst cramps I have ever had in my life.

"Oooooooooooooooooow!" I was screeching.

"Jesus, what's wrong Love?" says he.

"I am not joking you I have some cramp!" said I, while contorting myself into every position of the Karma Sutra, trying to make myself feel better when finally:

Pfffffffffffffffft.

A little mini whisper fart.

I couldn't describe the relief.

"Oh thank God, I feel so much better", said I, and lay back down in my position, grateful that there was no smell.

No smell on my end of the bed.

"Oh MADONNA, Amore!" he roars, "Go into the toilet or something!"

"Stop being a drama queen BBB, there's no sm....oh christ that's bad!"

What can I say lads? Fruit salad is a bitch like that.

Then he was like sniffing the air going "ewwwwwwwwwww! bleuuuuuuuurgggggghhhhhhh!"

"Here's an idea!", I goes, "stop fucking sniffing it then!"

"I'm not sniffing it, I have to breathe like", he goes, all indignant.

What has the world come to when you can't even fart in peace in your own home?

Tuesday 1st June

Now it's no secret that I have fallen into the black hole of depression. Generally when this sort of carry on happens I think it's a great idea to stuff my face for a few weeks and get really fat. Surely that will lift my sullen mood, like. Anyway, I have been stuffing my face all the time lately and have not been running so you can only imagine the size of me.

Oonga boonga.

Today however, something happened to lift the oul depression. In fact it blew the depression out of the water.

Before Easter I handed my CV into Lush in Milano. I LOVE Lush stuff and I worked there for a year in Dublin so I thought, imagine now if I could work in a lovely shop that I love and do it in Italian? Double whammy of deadliness like. I know some Lush shops can be annoying because there are some serious knob ends working in some of them but the one I was working in was lovely and relaxed.

Anyway I never heard anything from them so I thought I didn't tickle their fancy. After all I'm only trilingual with a year's experience in the same company like.

Wait for it...

Last week they rang me to come in and do an interview and some demos and I have to say now lads I rocked it. I fucked up once or twice on a bit of grammar but I did a deadly demo and I had them in the knots with my wit and charm. Sure you know the way you'd be like. When you're witty and charming like.

Anyway they rang me today and offered me a one year contract.

I did a little dance.

So yeah, I'm staying here for another year.

This solves so many problems for me, because I was all depressed and up in a heap the last few weeks (did you guess?) because I was worried about next year. I felt like my Italian had reached a plateau and I wasn't learning anything new, like I was only using the Italian I already knew and I was all pissed off over it. Plus Eddie says no to college next year.

But now that I have the job I will learn so much so fast. I will constantly be out of my comfort zone so I will have to push myself hard.

Working in there I will be fairly close to fluent by the time the year is up and I can return to finish my degree like a smug fluent bitch with my thesis done and all my (two) classmates will hate me and want me to die. Hee hee.

AND I can save like a mofo and all my financial worries will be over for my last year in college!

Lads I feel so relieved I couldnt even describe it to ye.

I feel like someone just handed me a second chance on a silver plate.

And I'm taking the hand an' all off them.

Wednesday 2nd June

Woke up this morning and wasn't feeling great so I said I'd try and sleep it off. My hayfever has really been ruining my life lately. Nothing I take works so I am constantly snotting and sneezing and my brain always needs to be scratched and I can't remember the last time I had a lovely sleep cos I'm up all night snotting into a cotton knickers cos I have no hanky and tissues have my nose ripped to shreds.

That's a trick I learned from Mammy. When you are at home sick with a cold always use a nice soft cotton knickers or somesuch to blow your nose so you won't destroy your face. Well I think I left it go a bit far before I switched to the knickers, cos not only is my nose raw and bleeding, but me top lip is like a barren desert.

Anyway as a result of never sleeping I'm always knackered so I thought if I tried to have a mini sleep I would feel better.

Wrong.

Somehow all the snot inside my head formed like a kind of bubble on the inside of my skull and started pushing against the front of my face and the top of my head. The pressure and the pain was unreal! BBB came home and drugged me up to the last and I finally felt better. About two hours later he goes:

"How are you feeling now love?"

"Much better after that Aulin", I goes.

"Ah you only needed to see me to feel better didnt you?"

"Ah yeah."

Nothing to do with the industrial strength painkillers you gave me like.

Thursday 3rd May

We had the washing machine booked for today so we were sorting the things that need to be washed. Being a woman, I was separating whites from coloureds and so on.

"What are you doing?" BBB asked me.

"You can't wash coloureds with whites", I answered.

"Oh yes you can!" he said, producing a little red box "with Grey's colour catchers!"

I just looked at him. I was expecting Barry Scott to jump out from under the bed and Cillit Bang a penny for me. You can't be having your pennies going around dull now.

"No I don't trust those things", I said, but he assured me he used them every time so I reluctantly put my few whites and pales into the laundry hamper.

Two hours later, when he brought the stuff back up, I was folding everything to put it away and I noticed that not everything was pink, or even grey. No, thanks to his orange bathrobe everything was a lovely pissy yellow colour.

All my little white vests were a lovely hue of pisswater. All his white t shirts however, somehow came out cream coloured, ie totally wearable.

Jammy bastard.

Friday 4th June

This is what happened last night.

INT. apartment. Late afternoon. Laura is sitting at a table watching Glee. The phone rings.

Brrrrrrrrrrrring!

Laura: Hello?

Jen: Well girl how's yourself?

Laura: (In American accent) I'm graaaaaand, what's up?

I love when she says all my little Irish Jennie things in her American accent. Highlight of my life: when she said "shur God love him".

Jen: Are we doing anything this weekend?

Laura: Nope.

Jen: Will we go to Ireland tomorrow?

Laura: What?

Jen: Yeah fuck it come on will we go?

Laura: Yeah! On my God let's go!

Jen: We're mad so we are!

And that's how meseff and herseff went to Ireland today.

I didn't realise until we were on the road though how much I really wanted to go home. How much I wanted to just be in my parent's house and be minded a little bit.

Daddy was waiting for us at the train station.

Now lads there is something about Daddies that makes my heart hurt a small bit. So when I saw my lovely Daddy I burst out crying and snotting up into his face.

How unlike me, usually I only cry in private because I am very proud. Even when I was small and fell in the playground in school I kept it in boy. I never wanted anyone to see me crying ever. The second I got home though, all bets were off. I don't know how my mother didn't "bate" me.

Anyway I don't know why I was so emotional when I saw Daddy. Probably because I was down innthe dumps for so long and now suddenly everything is going grand again I was so delighted. Went home to find Mammy and my niece Lily and my little dog were waiting at the end of the drive for me. Any lump in me throat, nah? Then Hazel brought my number one man in the whole world, my nephew Jack out to see me and shur I was made up.

Had a great night, meseff and Laura were stuck to the telly. Meseff and BBB dont have a telly in our house and Laura only has a baby one so imagine how lovely it was to watch a nice bit of Four Weddings in English. Top notch lads.

Saturday 5th June

Today meseff and Laura headed into the sprawling metropolis of Waterford and raped Penneys.

Then right, on our way home we passed The Open Door and I said, I'll just run in here a sec because they usually have some nice pieces.

Sure enough, I found an out of this world top and I went in to try it on. I pulled my top up over my head and hung it on the hanger and was just putting the other top over my head when I looked up.

At the security camera over the dressing room looking directly down on me.

Jesus I didn't know what to think!

The first thing that came into my mind was some perv sitting in the back room watching me try on a top. But I just said what harm shur there is no point getting upset over it. After all my breasticles are nothing short of majestic.

But now it's playing on my mind a small bit.

The camera was one of those ones that's in a bubble. So you dont know which way it's pointing. But just having it over the changing room. Christ like. There's something amiss there.

Sunday 6th June

Today we went out to Mahon Falls and had a pickernic.

Daddy tried to make me fall over by making me look up at the mountaintop while I was walking and then he did and he fell.

Then we went out to Tramore and we were up the Doneraile where there is an old cannon. We took forty seven million pictures of all of us on top of it and I was holding the camera and I said:

"Jesus we are getting out money's worth out of this cannon!"

and then Daddy pointed at the camera and goes

"Oh is that a Canon?"

Lads.

Why aren't there bidets in Ireland?

Week Thirty

2010-05-21T14:46:00.004+01:00

I’d like to say a big thanks to KFS for the much needed kick up the hole that was required for me to post this. Lately I have been losing the will to blog, opting instead to spend my daylight hours in the foetal position making low pitched whining sounds, moving only to lift croissants to my lips. Night time hours are spent sneakily farting on BBB’s leg and then giggling into my hand.

Monday 3^rd May

Last Thursday night when I came home from rowing BBB said to me:

“Next Friday we are going down to Mesagne, I’ve already booked your ticket”.

“Oh right”, says I, “hang on til I have forty seven heart attacks now over meeting every one of your family members as well as everyone you ever knew whilst simultaneously sweating my ball bags off in jeans because I have no summer clothes. Oh and eh thanks.”

“You’re welcome love”.

Anyway tonight we were going out for Sadie’s birthday. It was wonderful and everything but that is not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about something a bit more sinister:

Ire.

Now boys and girls don’t you be acting like you never got it in your life, especially if you do exercise. If you must know, it’s the reason I don’t wear skirts in summer.

Anyway I went to Sadie’s gaff all dolly dickied up in my lovely frock and high heels thinking I was the bee’s knees but shur I wasn’t to the end of the stairs in my own house when discomfort struck. And I ain’t talking about the shoes people. My two inner thighs were stallin the heads off each other. I knew it was going to be a rough 45 minute walk into Sadie’s.

Now I can hear ye all “put a pair of tights on love”.

No! NO! I REFUSE to wear tights!

Imagine me in a pair of tights. Me like, who gets a dose of the heebie jeebies at the very suggestion of a hypothetical situation which involves me leaving the house in mismatched underwear. The way women look in tights just makes me want to puke. Like a Country Style skinless sausage. Not to mention the sweaty gusset situation. No thank you. So away I went in my stockings instead.

Big mistake.

By the time I got to the end of Sadie’s road I was a broken woman. If anyone looked out the window of their house as I was approaching they would have seen me doing the John Wayne down the road. Lads I was nearly in tears. On the way home I had to borrow a pair of ends from Laura because I knew I wouldn’t make it home without exposing some bone.

God what a nightmare. But shur look, it will come in handy if I am ever kidnapped and then thrown blindfolded from a moving vehicle into woodland and have to find my way back, all I have to do to start a fire is go for a brisk walk, using my skirt as kindling and tah dah! A roaring fire in seconds!

Tuesday 4^th May

Got up, opened the shutter, saw the torrential rain, went back to bed.

Wednesday 5^th May

Now lads can we just talk for a minute.

All you ladies and possibly some gentlemen (swimmers?) out there will be able to sympathize with me on this one.

Is it just me or is it literally impossible to shave your legs without shaving off at least a square foot of flesh?

Today I was shaving me legs at my beloved bidet (is there anything it can't do?) and lo! I made the tiniest nick and two seconds later there was blood squirting everywhere. Bloody handprints on walls etc. It was like a scene out of psycho.

I just don’t get it like. You are shaving away happy as Larry and you feel the tiniest sting ever invented so you take no notice. You rinse the razor and then you look back at your leg and you can see down to the bone!

I don’t know lads, I don’t be able. I always use a new razor every time, I’ve tried every brand but I swear there is no getting away from it. Had I but the time and money and unsensitive skin I would Nair my legs into oblivion the whole time.

I remember one time I cut the knee off myself in the shower and I nearly fainted. Like literally cut the knee off myself. There was a space between my calf and my thigh. Just a void. No I can’t go any further, I’m way too squeamish to relive this.

I just thank God I’m not a man, cos then every morning in the bathroom it would be Face Off all over again.

Thursday 6^th May

Ooh getting all excited now! BBB had a match tonight at 10pm ( I KNOW – some shit time to have a match like) so I had to pack both our suitcases. In one way it was nice that I didn’t have him under my feet while I was trying to count out his underpants (always bring 2 spare – you never know!) but it was kind of shit as well because I had to do the Holiday Excitement Dance on my own. At about 1am I was knackered so I hit the hay and fell asleep straight away. The next thing I woke up with a start – BBB was back and he wanted people in Tokyo to know about it. He was clopping around the TILED FLOOR with his football boots, rooting in the depths of every drawer ever built by a human hand.

“Jesus CHRIST! Could you be making any more noise?” I said, in my half asleep voice, half in English half in Italian with my bun like a pineapple on the top of my head, only one of my eyes looking at him (the other one was still in Sleepy Town).

“Ok sorry Love”, he goes, and then proceeds to root in the back of the wardrobe instead. And I’m fairly sure he was zipping and unzipping something as well. With a tuba.

One of these days I’ll root up his arse with my foot.

Friday 7^th May

Ooh it’s the big day! We are heading down to his home town! Now it’s no secret that I get all up in a heap when I have to go to the shop, so imagine what I’m like when I travel. The last time we were in Dublin airport and BBB said to me,

“Amore, can I tell you something?”

“Of course”, says I, thinking it’s going to be something rosemantic about how much he enjoyed being part of my world or some soppy shit like that.

I turned my face to his and looked dreamily into his eyes, waiting for his reply.

“You are some bollix when you travel”.

So this time I was determined to change!

“I promise I’ll do my best not to be a bollix today, ok?”

“Ah no, be a bollix all you want girl, no bodder”, says he.

“If you insist then.”

We got down to his house with minimal bollixing in the evening and I met his brother and his Daddy and then we went to stay in their summer house, just me and BBB. It was fabulous so it was, lovely big garden, swimming pool, nice relaxed atmosphere.

My only qualm was there was some questionable fauna down there. Now I’m no arachnophile lads, so imagine me when these big yokes with ten heads and seventeen legs the size of an elephant started emerging from the undergrowth. No now. Sorry. Just no.

I went to throw something in the bin in the kitchen and was reaching for the handle of the bin lid when my eyes focussed on the biggest grasshopper I have ever seen perched there. It was at least three inches big lads I’m not joking, I mean it’s roasting hot down there. I was taking in the breath do leave out a roar when he jumps ten feet in the air and I actually choked on my own breath. I think the shock actually stopped my heart for a moment.

I'm not cut out for this type of carry on.

Saturday 8^th May

The strangest thing is happening. I seem to be falling even more in love with BBB. Oh dear – this is not ideal. This is not ideal at all. It would be very convenient for me to stop loving him right now. That way the inevitable suffering and heartbreak of my leaving can be avoided. But no, seeing him in his natural habitat is just amazing. And so is the feeling of how nicely I’ve slotted in down here.

I’m finding it so hard to enjoy the moment though because my mind is frantically skipping ahead to the pain.

Tonight we went to Brindisi with his bestest bud, who recently had his heart broken. On the way back BBB was consoling him a bit while I was sitting in the back.

“Ah no now don’t be thinking like that. There’s someone better out there for you. I mean my uncle [let’s call him Jimmy] was only saying to me this morning that I shouldn’t settle down when I’m nineteen, that I have my whole life ahead of me, and you never know who I might meet etc etc”

Of course now he was so caught up in consoling his friend that he neglected to notice that I was sitting in the back seat listening. He really shouldn’t have said that in front of me. I mean I did my bestest not to take it personally, shur for all his family know I am just some blow-in gringo.

I mean he is right. BBB is only 19. When I was 19 shur I was off out gallavantin, going off to live in obscure countries cos I wanted everyone to piss off and leave me alone. Bit of peace and quiet like. Of course he should not be settling down with the first aul wan who falls in love with him.

I just think it’s so sad, because I’m not 19. No siree bob. I’m not 19 at all. Not even a little bit. And I’ve done plenty of gallavantin and now I feel like it would be nice to gallivant with someone who roots in drawers at inappropriate times of the night.

As sad as I was I was pissed off as well. Pissed off a small bit with Jimmy like. Now I KNOW it was nothing personal, shur he hardly knows me. He was just giving some man-to-man advice to his nephew.

But piss off like. Piss right off! Doesn’t he think I don’t know these things? Doesn’t he think I want what’s best for BBB?

So there I was sitting in the back of the car, the lights of Brindisi flashing past, and all the sadness and the anger just kind of welled up and I really tried my best to hold it back, I really did, but big fat tears started rolling down my cheeks. Why couldn’t I have met him ten years from now? Or even five? For fuck sake like. Then we stopped at the monument in Brindisi port and I had to rub my face on the back of my sleeve, but it was too late.

“What’s wrong love?”

“A bit of an allergy.”

“You’re crying!”

“You shouldn’t have said that thing that Jimmy said in front of me.”

“Oh Christ I’m so sorry I was only trying to console him.”

And then we had to smile for a photo. This one in fact.

Sunday 9^th May

Om nom nom today we had a lovely big BBQ.

While preparing for this BBQ, BBB told me to collect some pine cones from the garden for the fire. Grand says I, and set off picking up the giant pine cones, using my top as a kind of apron, loving seeing him all manly at the grill while I skip around gathering pine cones.

“How wonderfully idyllic, no - rustic”, I thought to myself as I reached for another pine cone.

Then suddenly, the dream was shattered. I put my delicate white hand on a pine cone, just as a giant monstrosity of a spider, a burger with legs, was crawling onto it.

Needless to say I roared and fucked the pine cones back down onto the ground and ran off at top speed.

There’s such a thing as too rustic like.

Week Twenty Nine

2010-05-03T09:19:00.005+01:00

I know, I know, no blog in two weeks! It's an outrage! But here's a nice fresh one so quit your bellyachin'!

Monday 26th April

Must not think about leaving BBB in a few weeks.

Must not think about that excruciating moment when the airport bus pulls out of the station and I have to wave goodbye for the last time in who knows how long. Must not think about pathetically sniffing whatever item of his clothing I secretly stole on my way to the airport. Must not think about that fact that I wouldn't care if it was a pair of underpants, I would sniff them anyway. Must not think about not waking up with my legs all tangled up in his. Must not think about how I won't be able to sleep if my hand isn't touching the top of his head. Must not think about the way I love him so much that sometimes I want to punch him in the face. Must not think about that gut punched feeling I will get when I see someone on some Dublin street that reminds me of him. Must not think about the way his hair gets all spiky in the shower. Must not think about the irritating way he gives me cooking advice even though he can't boil an egg. Must not think about the little side step he does when we are out and his underpants are up his arse. Must not think about the way he says 'menstruation'. Must not think about the way he paces back and forth at breakneck speed when he brushes his teeth.

Tuesday 27th April

Must not think about they way today after we saw a woman in a purple crushed velvet tracksuit with a severe black bob he said:

"She'd remind you of the fella out of The Chocolate Factory - Winky Wallah!"

Wednesday 28th April

Must not think about how every single time he gets undressed there is always a feather from our duvet sticking out from between the cheeks of his arse.

Thursday 29th April

Must not think about how at least one of his feet always sticks out from underneath the duvet:

Friday 30th April

Must not think about the way he went to Esselunga this evening in a pair of leggings just to buy our 89c prosecco.

Saturday 1st May

Must not think about the way he brought me home tonight on the handlebars of a stolen bike that he got for a cigarette because I wasn't well.

Sunday 2nd May

Must not think about how he rubs my head in the night when I can't sleep cos my hayfever is driving me crazy. Must not think about how the first thing he does in the morning is sweep up all my tissues from the night before. Must not think about the way he gives me a little love and a mind when I'm poorly.

But most of all, I absolutely must NOT, under any circumstances think about how it is best for him that we don't keep this going after I leave, no matter how much I want to, because at the end of the day he is 19 and he should be enjoying his time in college, not spend it missing me.

No I absolutely must not think about this.

Because that would just be too much.

Week Twenty Seven

2010-04-12T14:08:00.005+01:00

This week I have the pleasure of introducing you to my new favourite weblog - The Loving Spoonful by the lovely Niamh. This is a brand spanking new food blog and lads her recipes are deadly! I love the way she writes, too. Basically I want to marry her. Meseff and Himseff are gone mad into the new recipes lately and our eyes are after wearing two holes in this girl's blog already! Om nom nom!

Now let's get down to business.

Monday 5th April

After four lovely days at home which were mainly filled with BBB's excited voice saying "Take a picture! Take a picture!" we headed up to the Big Smoke and checked into our hotel. You can only imagine our delight after four nights spent sleeping in seperate beds (I was grand actually because I had my electric blanket, but poor BBB had the sofa bed that his feet stick out the end of) when we walked into our room to discover our uber bed!

The joy! The delight!

And in true BBB style he exclaims "Look at this bed! Take a picture!" And so I did:

We spent our first night lurking around the city and taking in the sights before I introduced him to the WONDER that is the €1.99 chicken fillet roll from Centra. €1.99 for a tasty and filling roll - shur what more could you ask for?

Not cheese, cos that's 65c extra.

Tuesday 6th April

Today we went to the Guinness Storehouse. Lads, it was deadly. Usually I hate and am bored by touristy shite like factory tours but this was actually brilliant! Needless to say BBB couldn't cope. And I couldn't cope with how delighted he was. Shur God love him.

After the tour we went for lunch in what is probably my favourite restaurant in Dublin. I love it because I like the food in there, but there is just this one thing that irks me. For the most part, the staff are lovely and friendly, but one or two of them just give me ire. Like for example, the fella who met us at the door to seat us.

Now for the record, I think it's important when you work in a shop or some other public place to be nice and friendly at all times, but there is such a thing as being too friendly. Like as in over the top fake friendly. As in "I'm deadly cos I work here and I act like I own the place so I'm going to act overly familiar towards you" friendly, like the fella who seated us was. There was something in that laid back Bon Jovi mid '80's way he swaggered to the table as if he was seating us at the kitchen table of his own house that made me want to rip the poxy piercing out of his goatee'd chin.

I'd love to be like:

"Sorry do you know me? No? Oh. Right. No, it's just the way you're talking to me there that gave me the impression that you knew me. Now what are the specials?"

Anyway after lunch I was planning a major assault on Penneys. Needless to say I was going on and on about it, and BBB just didn't get it.

"I just don't understand why you are gettin so excited about a shop", he was saying.

"No, you just don't get it. Wait until we get there, and then you can judge."

We went into Penneys anyway and he was obediently following me through the aisles as I had my preliminary scan when we came to the shoe section, which is right next to the men's section.

"That T-shirt is nice", he said, pointing to the men's mannequin.

"Yeah it's lovely", I said.

"Wait it's...it's only four euro! Th.....this T-shirt is only four euro!" he goes.

"Yeah I know", I said.

"Look at this shirt! It's only NINE euro!" he squealed.

"BBB I know", I said.

"Here, hold my bag", says he, thrusting his belongings into my outstretched arms before bounding off into the clothing jungle.

"Look at this! No, this is nicer! Oh my GOD! SIX EURO! Jen - I have to try these on!"

Stop lads. He is so funny. I love shopping with him. He came proudly out of the changing room to model everything he picked. Every single thing he tried on looked amazing on him. I suppose that's what happens when you have a body like a fine cut diamond. In all the kerfuffle, I never got to look around or try anything on because we had to meet someone at 7, but we said we'd come back the next day for round two of the Penneys Grand Slam.

At 7 we met with a friend of BBB's and went for a few drinkypoos in the Hairy Lemon before going to meet my friends later at the Porter House. It was SO good to see them again. I have been kind of drifting along in the little world that I built for myself in Pavia so it was good to touch base again and see what everyone is up to. They are all crazy busy with their finals and the like, which made me all excited to get back to Dublin next year and finish up for myself.

After a while BBB and I decided we could drink no more and meandered home down Grafton street, accidentally getting a big mac meal and a triple whopper meal on the way.

Om nom nom.

Wednesday 7th April

Instead of the Penneys expedition we went on the free walking tour of Dublin, after which I ticked a major to do off my to do list when we met my cronies for lunch in the Gourmet Burger Kitchen. Lads, ANY burger and ANY drink for a tenner. I got the falafel burger which was scrumptious. My only qualm was that I couldn't pick it up and eat it burger style. I had to approach it with cutlery, which sort of sucks the joy out of the burger experience, to be honest.

In the afternoon we finally got back to Penneys but it was so packed and there was such a queue for the changing rooms I just couldn't face it. So we decided to just walk on through. I was absentmindedly looking around me so I wasn't really paying attention where we were going so I grabbed BBB's hand. It felt a bit small.

Suspiciously small.

I looked up.

I was holding some Indian fella's hand.

I didnt know how to react really. I'm not equipped for this kind of scenario. It hasn't happened to me since I was six and myself and Mammy were walking down Lady Lane in Waterford and I was off in a daydream and I went to hold Mammy's hand but I held some businessman's hand instead, WHO LEFT ME KEEP HOLDING IT until I copped on, and Mammy walking along behind us pissing herself with the laughing.

Anyway I just dropped his hand and turned to BBB who was bent double with the laughing, and the two of us nearly pissed our knickers laughing the whole way through Penneys.

After that we lurked around Dublino and then headed back to the room where BBB stayed while I went out and met my partner in crime for a drink, during which the most spectacular double-fail in history came into being.

We were sitting down minding our own business by the door of the pub, which, incidentally, was glass (can you guess where this is going?), but was CLEARLY marked with the name of the pub on it in sticker and a big steel handle. Anywho... the next thing this big poncey eejit swaggers down to the door, fag in mouth, pint in hand and WALKS STRAIGHT INTO THE DOOR. I am talking pint all over his t shirt, concertina'ed fag in his mouth like. He turned around and ran back up to his friends laughing. But he wasn't laughing as hard as we were, oh no.

About a half an hour later anyway he decided to come back for more punishment, the glutton. He sauntered down to the door and turned around to all his friends and goes "Look, it o-pens", in a fake-retard voice WHILE PROCEEDING TO PULL INSTEAD OF PUSH. So in fact, it didn''t open, oh no. He realised his mistake and quickly pushed the door and went outside, pretending it didn't happen while everyone inside the pub was inwardly dying of the awkwardness.

Classic.

Thursday 8th April

Well today is the stinky day that we have to go back to our hovel in Pavia after our lovely holiday.

Some bollix.

But I have to say I'm really looking forward to going back to Dublin in a few months. I love living in Dublin. Everyone always says "Oh I hate Dublin", but that is only because they have never lived there. As much as I am looking forward to going back to Dublin, it makes me a bit sad to think that my time here is slowly coming to a close.

Anyway we got back to Pavia and I went straight to work. I came home then and died a merry death in the bed.

Friday 9th April

Today I had the pleasure of meeting Laura's lovely parents. Now first let me outline the fact that I LOVE Laura. I think she was put on this earth to do fun activities with me and just generally be a lovely and admirable person in my vicinity.

Well after meeting her parents I know why she is like that. As we say in the Deise - she's from good stock, boy. Her parents are only edible! Her mother, first off, is a SUPERMODEL. I nearly fainted down dead on the floor when I saw her! I mean I saw pictures of her before so I knew she was gorgeous but in the flesh - I couldn't cope! Her beauty was hurtin my eyes like! And as for her Daddy - shur wouldn't you only run away with him! And didn't he whip out photies of Laura when she was little - he is so proud of her. Stop now lads, I was gettin a lump in me throat. Sadly, Laura said she was feeling dodgy so we went our separate ways.

Saturday 10th April

I texted Laura to see how she was and she was on her death bed. She was up all night sick she says. That's very unlike her now, she must have a stomach flu or whatnot.

I got her crackers to be munchin on in the supermarket and I called over to check she was still alive. She was. Only a small bit though. She was in bits, the poor thing, so meseff and himseff ran down to the pharmacy to get her some smelling salts and the like. I felt so sorry for her. I gave her a big cuddle cos I loves her.

Big mistake.

Sunday 11th April

Today meseff and himseff minded our business all day and then he made lovely focaccia and we sat down and had our dinner. Then I settled in to watching a film on the 'puter.

Then suddenly, and without warning, I came down with a dose of the vapours. I was feeling a bit light headed, a bit nauseous. I thought it was because I've been eating too much bread and now my intestines were punishing me, but it quickly became clear that it was something way more sinister! Laura was definitely after giving me stomach AIDS.

I was rolling around on the ground moaning and roaring. This might sound dramatic but if any of you have ever had gastroenteritis you will know that this behaviour is entirely appropriate. Then it all came to a terrible head. It was Tramore all over again.

"BBB!" I was screaming from inside the bathroom.

"What's happening? Can I get you something? Water? Pills?" he was shouting from the other side of the door.

"Yeah Love, I really need you to...put on some music", I said.

"What kind of music?" he asks.

"I don't give a shit JUST PUT IT ON!!!" I roared.

As if I care what kind of music is drowning out the sounds of my retching.

"Ok, ok!", he goes and puts on some Florence and The Machine.

I wish he hadn't. I really love florence and The Machine. But now and for the rest of my life I will associate that album with pissing out my arse.

Sigh.

Week Twenty Six

2010-04-08T18:44:00.005+01:00

Monday 29th March

Oh my God the excitement! I'm going home on Wednesday! I spend most of the day making monkey noises and giving BBB excitement digs, in between running around and organising everything.

Tuesday 30th March

Today while BBB was at college I scrubbed the room to a sparkling shine. There is no WAY I am coming back off me holidays to a lacklustre hovel. Now I don't mind cleaning usually because I do it against the clock. To add the bit of excitement like.

But today folks, I did things a bit differently. I did them in me nudie. Just to see like. Just for an experiment. BBB has me doing things in me nudie a lot when he is not here. You see, he is always doing things in the noodle and it gets me wondering. It gets me curious like, what's so great about it?

Answer: plenty.

Wednesday 31st March

Couldn't sleep a wink last night with the Oakwood Syndrome. You know, when you are doing something amazing the next day and you are so excited you can't sleep. We got up at the crack of dawn and headed off anyway.

Now I feel I should just explain that I hate travelling. I get up in a heap for two days either side of any journey. I cannot stand it. I become an antichrist like. So my tactic with this is to put the headphones in and try to block it all out. BBB's strategy on the other hand, is to ask me every five seconds am I alright and why am I so silent. He will be fairly silent himself in a second when I dig the mouth off him.

Anywaaaaaaaay, after an hour on a bus, 2 hours flight and 2 and a half hours on the train, we finally got to Waterford, where I found out that my Daddy got off work early just to collect me. Awwwwww Daddy, you're the best!

Lads, I couldn't believe it. BBB was just fantastic. He was all shaking hands and claps on the back and chatting away no problem. I was like, he is so cool. For a minute like, I actually wanted to be him. If I ever go down to meet his family I won't say a word for a week I'll be so shy! His mother is coming up to visit us soon. If I was on meds, I would definitely have to up them for such an occasion.

I wish I was on meds.

Anyway BBB ended up going to watch the match in my brother's house with my father. "Ah lovely, now I can watch Grey Gardens", says I to myself, seeing as I rang Daddy weeks ago and asked him to Sky+ it for me. I sat down, jim jams on, snack in hand, snuggle sequence engaged, only to find that Mammy had erased it. Lovely. I was dying to see that, like dying. The original one like.

Tangent: I can't watch it on the interweb cos I can only find Divx links for it, and even though I have divx player downloaded onto my laptop, every time I open a link to a Divx player, it makes my interweb freeze and I have to close it all down. If a nice person would like to explain to me what I should do, that would be wonderful, please and thanks.

Thursday 1st April

Today we got the train up to Kilkenny (€11.40? Robbing bastards!) and had lunch with the lovely Gemma, who changed my life for the better with her roasted carrots!

Now it's no secret that I'm not into vegetables. I do like some of them, but I tend to eat the same ones all the time because the rest of them are an affront to the delicacy of my nature. As for carrots, I usually accept a spoonful with my Sunday dinner, but then I have to smother them in butter and eat them really fast first thing so then I can eat the rest of my dinner and wash away the non-taste of them.

But this time things were different - Gemma gave me roasted carrots and good lord. I nearly ate the fork an all! Fantastic they were! So fantastic that as I write this, myself and BBB are planning to have them with our dinner tonight!

Whatever about the roast carrots though - the dessert! The dessert, lads! It was to die for! Meringue roulade that she made herself. It was like art. I couldn't cope!

"Jesus look at that! Take a photo of that!" I said, and we were all so preoccupied with taking photos of the dessert that we forgot to take any of the four of us. We're smart like that.

Gemma courteously dropped us home to Mammy's then where Hazel and my nephew Jack were waiting. Lads now, couldn't cope with Jack. I wasn't able like. Running around the place he was! He even has a little dance that he does! Chest pains. Had to restrain myself from doling out the Love Digs.

We went out to Hazels then, where it was love at first sight between Hazel's husband and BBB and they went off to the pub while myself and Hazel went upstairs and had a fashion show. Ah, fun sisterly activities!

Hazel drove back down to the pub to collect the two boys anyway, and wasn't BBB after drinking 4 pints in an hour. The poor child. He was all starry-eyed gettin out of the car. And while inhaling a kebab. And also while snoring in my ear all night.

Love Digs.

Friday 2nd April

Today we had our walk around Waterford and I busted out the Shaws card. Only got two pairs of jeans though, I'm very disappointed in myself.

In the evening we went to Jac and Darragh's for dinner. Now lads, I actually wish ye were all friends with them so ye could all go to their house for dinner. It was the best dinner ever. Pea and mint soup to start with parma ham and a dollop of creme fraiche (every girl's best friend). Om nom nom. Lemon sole and concertina potatoes for the main that would make you want to eat the plate. All washed down with Bellinis and for dessert, white chocolate and baileys cheesecake. Now how is a person supposed to cope with the deliciousness? I had to have a lie down when I went home!

Saturday 3rd April

I was sick all night last night so I was a broken woman come morning time. I was having a nap on the couch, tangled up in BBB when Mammy woke me up.

"Jennifer!"

Me then, "Wha? WHA?" still asleep, jerking up off the couch, arms and legs all over the shop. You know the way you'd be.

"I need your help with something" says she.

"What is it?" says I.

Well that's what I tried to say but my mouth was so dry the words got stuck in there. My fringe looked like this:

"Just come here, I need help." she says.

"Ok" so I peel myself up off the couch, green in the face, with BBB looking on, horrified. "This must be serious", I was thinking.

I followed her down to the end of the hall.

She turned around then, straighteners in hand,

"Will you do my hair?"

Give me patience.

After I had a little lie down we went out to Tramore with Mammy and Daddy. BBB was delighted. Then he got a big dirty fish and chips from Dooleys. I didnt get anything, mostly because I will never again eat anything in Tramore for as long as I live after the incident.

On Saturday night it was me brudder's 40th birthday party. Oh lads I was feeling rough. It was touch and go like. I was looking fabliss though, if I do say so meseff. It was a great night though but I had to go straight home afterwards cos I was holdin in the puke.

Sunday 4th April

Went up to Mahon Falls today where there was - and this is no joke - a fish and chip van. I'd say he made a fortune! BBB couldnt cope with all the gorgeous scenery. Here is a lovely picture of us up there:

That's one for the mantelpiece anyway.

We went back to the house then, knackered and starving, to a lovely turkey and ham dinner. Well, I say "turkey and ham dinner", but what I really mean is "brown sauce dinner". I introduced BBB to the joys of brown sauce. He was suitably impressed. We relaxed then at home for the day with two mental kids running around and all my family. It was lovely to be all together. Or nearly all together as the case may be cos my sister Laura wasn't there.

We booked our tickets on the train the next day and got ready to hit the road once again after a lovely few days at home. I had the best time. I really needed to get home even if it was only for a flying visit. BBB did so great with my family, I was so proud to have him as me fella. We spent the next few days in Dublin, but shur ye can read about that on Monday.

Piss off - I'm on me holidays!

2010-04-05T10:33:00.003+01:00

Well lads! As ye all know I'm on my lovely holidays in Ireland so if ye came here looking for the usual Monday post ye can piss off - but piss back on Thursday when I'll post it as soon as I get home!

In the meantime, if it's entertainment you're after you might as well have a gawk here, here, or perhaps even here. Think that might cover a bit if something for everyone.

If these don't tickle your fancy though, and you would rather get sucked into a puzzle vortex that will keep you busy until Thursday (and beyond)- here you go! I guarantee you will be losing sleep over where the calipers are. Don't even get me started on the sextant!

I'm having a lovely time on me holidays - BBB is still alive, which is a good sign. Hope ye are all having a good week. Until Thursday lads!

Christian! ('Slater)

Week Twenty Five - Subterranean Homesick Blues

2010-03-29T16:57:00.001+01:00

Oh Holy God. I have it bad. I actually have a physical NEED to go home. It's giving me pains, like. Although that could be less to do with the homesickness and more to do with the fajitas we had for dinner last night.

To be honest lads I haven't been up to much this week, just crossing days off the calendar until the 31st when meseff and himseff are jetting back to the motherland for a few days. This week's grey days were punctuated by mortification and drunkenness though. Here's the highlights:

There is a new fella on our floor. A nice fella now, English speaker with a lovely accent. Didn't know what it was though until Tuesday night when I was taking scones out of the oven and he said:

"That smells really good."

"Ah thanks", I said and then went down the room to put one on a plate for him in the spirit of neighbourly goodness. Knocked on his door then and we had the chat about who we are where we come from. Turns out he's Canadian. He doesn't speak Italian and he is here to do a course for two months. Grand.

The next day anyway I was going to a funk gig that one of the lads is playing at and I said I'd invite the new fella along, seeing as loads of the lads speak English so he wouldn't feel like a tool. I went down to his room anyway. Knock knock.

He comes out.

"Oh hello."

"Well are you doing anything tonight?" I goes.

"Nothing much." says he.

"Do you like funk?" I ask.

"Nah not really", he goes.

"Pity now cos I'm going to a funk gig tonight and I was asking you along."

"What about your boyfriend...?"

This, like most things to do with awkward romantic situations, was lost on me. So I continued on, oblivious:

"Nah BBB's not coming, but all my friends speak English so no Italian is required."

"Um no, I'm not really into funk. Thanks though. Have a good night."

"Oh. Right. Eh, thanks, see ya."

I turned around then and walked slowly back to my room like "what the fuck just happened?"

A feeling crept over me. It wasnt until I was halfway back to me room that I copped on to what it was.

Mortification.

How did I know? Because all the classic symptoms were present: the big red head on me, the shaky knees, the SAS.

I suddenly copped on.

He thought I was asking him to come out in a rosemantic fashion.

Behind my boyfriend's Big Brown Back. Christ.

I thought about turning around and explaining myself, but that would only have done more harm than good.

Morto.

Now every time I want to go to the kitchen and BBB is not there to cover me I stick my head out the door and suss out the situation and then I leg it up at top speed, wrench whatever I need out of the fridge and then peg it back to the room, all the while praying he doesn't emerge from his room.

I just have to keep this up for two months, then I'm home free!

The rest of the week anyway was spent counting the seconds until our special Friday night: 89c prosecco in our scunders.

I woke up Friday morning, buzzing off me head, then I went to the supermarket and got 2 bags of jellies and 2 bottles oof prosecco for under €4 (I love Italy) and went home. In the evening I went for a cocktail with the girls, then I returned home to prepare the area for the calamity ahead.

After dinner myself and Gianluca took off our trousers (obligatory) and put our legs under the duvet and sat side by side drinking the prosecco straight from the bottles.

The next thing I remember is waking up Saturday morning.

I went into the bathroom to tinkle and the next thing I looked down and I was wearing a pair of red knickers.

That's odd.

I could have sworn I was wearing pinstripe knickers last night.

And what's more, when I went to pull them back up, something wasn't right. Something was definitely...amiss. I squirmed around a bit, and then I realised.

They were on sideways.

As in a leghole for a waist like.

I took them off and put them on again properly and went out of the bathroom laughing my head off.

"What's so...jesus!" BBB goes.

I looked down. There was a giant "scraw-eb" on my thigh, at least 4 inches long and 47 inches deep. It's ok though, it was balanced by the dinner plate-sized bruise on my other shin.

I have NO recollection of how either came into being. Or how I came to be wearing the red knickers.

I do know it was a BRILLIANT night though.

On Saturday then I had the world's worst hangover so we stayed in and relaxed for ourselves.

Then BBB suggested I try a puzzle game on the interweb.

4 hours later, he is rubbing muscle relaxant cream into my shoulders and neck and trying to pry my bloodied finger from the mousepad.

He should know better than to show me puzzle games.

I fucking LOVE puzzles.

On Sunday then we started PACKING OUR SUITCASE!!!!!

Excitement!

We'd be there folding up stuff and every three things folded we'd do a little excitement dance. Then we'd fold another three things. The give each other Excitement Digs. You know the ones. They are very similar to Love Digs.

Love Digs are what happens when you love something or someone so much that instead of hugging it or kissing it, you want to dig the head off it. Like my nephew Jack, for example. Every time I see a picture of him, instead of wanting to squeeze him and kiss him and hug him, I simply want to dig the little red head off him.

BBB suffers from a similar condition, called Love Seamuses. Sometimes he looks at me and goes:

"C'mere to me you!"

And as he pulls me onto the bed he INVARIABLY gives me a seamus. I mean without fail. He's after giving me at least twenty.

"Jesus! Me leg, ya bastard!"

"Oh no, have I seamussed you Love?"

"What do you think?"

"Here, give me a deadner back".

*Offers arm.

WHUMP!

"Mamma mia, you bastard!"

"Bastard is for boys and bitch is for girls."

"Oh right, sorry Love. You beech."

Lads I love when he speaks English. He says wonderful things like "Have you got your menstruation?" and "He wanted to go out with her but she renounced him."

Renounced, like.

Love Digs.

Even Better Than The Real Thing

2010-03-22T08:00:00.002Z

Lads. Lads.

I didn't make the finalist list for the Blog Awards.

I'm very sad.

I also want to raze the Irish Blog Awards to the ground. Only a small bit though.

My main feeling though is one of pissed-offedness with myself for choosing the wrong category. I can't help but feel that I should have chosen Humour, seeing as there isn't a dry knickers amongst my followers of a Monday morning. Up and down the country bidets are preparing themselves for their Monday morning pissy marys.

"It's only a Mickey Mouse award! It doesn't matter!"

This is a statement that does not make me feel better in any way, and I have heard it four thousand times since Friday so I DON'T want to hear it any more, please and thanks.

I don't mind about the other blogs because I quite like them and I think they deserve a nice award; the killer is that now I have to find something else to buzz over! I was tipping along nicely on the buzz off the Irish Blog Awards. Now I have no buzz! Well I had a bit of a buzz on Friday night when I drank a bottle of 89c prosecco in me knickers. Don't worry, I didn't drink it on an empty stomach - I had a bag of pick 'n' mix for me dinner. Actually that was a brilliant buzz. It was such a buzz that meseff and himseff decided to drink prosecco and eat pick 'n' mix in our knickers next Friday night as well. And every Friday night after that.

Plus we are going to Ireland in 9 days.

Ok I just realised that I already have plenty to buzz over. It would seem the problem is somewhat solved.

Now to find some pride Arnica.

Anyway as my lovely Daddy would say - fuck it, what harm, forget about it! I have allocated the lines above to being a pissy little bitch about it and now we are going to move on to pastures anew.

That's right, I've decided to have my OWN Blog Awards. Right here, right now.

First up, the award for Best Blog by a Mary Harney Hater goes to Grandad at Headrambles.

Congratulations on being a legend, Grandad. I think we are all in agreement that Mary Harney's job could be better done by a trained monkey.

Or an untrained one.

Or perhaps a zombie?

Next up we have the award for Best Blog by a Bearded Bonsai Enthusiast. It took me a while to get through the thousands of applicants for this popular category but in the end the choice was clear - congratulations Andrew of Chancing My Arm, you must be so proud! I hope things are going well with you and Stella.

Now for the much anticipated Best Use of the Term "Galloping Gee Rot" in a Blog award. The gong goes to the lovely Rosie at The Spanish Exposition. Well done Rosie, I hope your gee has returned to its former glory!

And finally, the futuristic "Best Blog That Doesn't Exist...Yet" goes to my loyal follower Niamh Doherty for her future Irish Blog Award-winning food blog. Get the finger out Niamh! I need an engaging post on the 7 best uses for creme fraiche!

No, seriously.

That's about all I have time for folks, seeing as I promised myself - or rather BBB made me promise myself to put the pedal to the metal on the aul thesis today. I hope ye found something new to tickle your fancy in this post. Have a gawk through the list of blogs I read over there on the right. If I read them, they must be deadly, like.

Until next week, I'll soldier on.

Week Twenty Three

2010-03-17T10:47:00.000Z

This week I said something absolutely mortifying in Italian. How unlike me.

Monday 8th March

Today is my lovely sister Hazel's birthday, but more importantly in the global scheme of things, it is International Wimmin's Day. This is taken very seriously here in Italia. Wimmin all over the country will be gettin a little bunch of yellow flowers from their nearest and dearest greasy eyetalian man.

Not me though.

At first I didn't even know it was International Wimmin's Day, but when I rolled over, bleary eyed this morning BBB was standing next to the bed and goes:

"Best Wishes Love."

"For what?" says I.

"It's International Women's Day", says he.

"Oh. Right. Thanks....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."

That day we were in town and there were fellas lining every street selling those little bunches of yellow flowers. Every fella walking past had a bunch of them to bring home to the missus. That's when I copped on that it was such a big deal. BBB said he was bringing me to my favourite shop to buy me something nice and I was pleased. I kept expecting him to stop and pick up the yellow flowers though.

Something you should know: I LOVE flowers. I love them. They are so lovely even just looking at them puts me in a good humour for the day. And if a delivery man comes to the door with said flowers? Well then. You are just in me good books for the rest of your life then, aren't you?

So we went to my favourite shop and he bought me a lovely pair of satin jim jam knicks-style shorts. As I type I am having a sexual love affair with them. No go on the flower front though.

On the way to the pub then he goes:

"I hates buying girls flowers, so I does."

Oh dear.

"I like to give presents that last, flowers only die."

"Right. That might cause a few problems then, seeing as I love getting flowers."

"Do you? Shit! Don't worry, I'll get you loads from now on."

That's more like it.

Tuesday 9th March

It was absolutely freezing today and then in the evening it started to snow. And snow. And snow. And then snow a bit more. Approximately eleventy million foot of snow fell.

While BBB was at outdoor soccer training, it should be noted.

Hates that, boy!

I am so over this whole snow thing. It was deadly at first, but then it gave me the worst cold ever, rendering me completely and utterly over it. I am so ready for my lovely Spring coat.

Piss off snow! I want to eat strawberries outside!

Wednesday 10th March

Now it should be well drummed into yer heads by now that I hate snoring. I cannot cope with having a snorer within a square mile of me.

After BBB stood on goal for an hour and a half in the snow, naturally he had a terrible case of the sniffles that night in the bed. And I had a terrible case of the Axe Murderers. He was doing earth rumbling snores into the back of my head and I couldn't take it any more. The Night Time Crazies struck.

"Jesus CHRIST!"

"W..what? What happened?" he says, still half asleep.

"You're snoring the ear off me head!"

"I am not snoring! I am breathing."

Oh he was breathing alright. Through a fuckin trombone by the sounds of it.

Thursday 11th March

Lads can we talk for a minute? There has been something playing on my mind a lot lately, since BBB officially moved into my room.

It's...it's....

It's the toilet brush.

When I moved in here I had to fill out a checklist for the office, ticking off all the stuff that was in the room.

Chairs...tick!

Waste paper basket...tick!

Toilet brush....oh no.

They put a toilet brush in every room. Which means that the person who lived in the room before you's poo particles are still thriving in your bathroom.

I mean, I just don't believe in toilet brushes. They are filthy. They are full of poo like. It just lurks there in the bristles, festering. So I happily hid it behind the toilet so I never have to look at it and become upset.

I believe that Domestos and lashings of it is the way to go on the toilet cleaning situation. Leave it in there overnight and if you die of toxic fume inhalation in the night, at least you can rest easy knowing your toilet is sparkly clean and fresh, should the paramedics need to wee.

I just cannot get my brain around "cleaning" your toilet with a toilet brush.

Anyway since BBB moved in, it has happened a few times that I go into the bathroom and it's there. Out from its dark corner behind the toilet. Basking in the warm tungsten glow of the bathroom light. Challenging me.

And because the shower head is in the main part of the bathroom, ie it is a shower head sticking out of the wall, when you use the shower water goes everywhere, including into the end of the toilet brush holder if it is not in its safe dark place. This results in a murky, shitty soup lurking stagnant in the end of the toilet brush holder.

Lads I'm upset.

Plus I can't do anything when it is in view. Like, every time I go in there I feel like it's looking at me. It's like when you are bursting for a wee but you know there is a spider in the bathroom. You know it is at leaast 6 feet away from you, because you can clearly see it there, but you are afraid to make even the tiniest of movements in case you touch off it and it runs its filthy hands all over your body.

I have to stop now, it's all gettin a bit much for me.

Friday 12th March

Today Ailbhe kindly informed me via facebook that my blog had been shortlisted in all three categories it was nominated in.

Delighted, isa?

Did a dance, did I?

Yup!

The Blog Awards will be on the 27th March, but I was after booking my ticket home for Easter for the 31st March, because I didn't have a notion of when they'd be on, shur. I'm goin mad now though. It would have been some laugh to head up. I hear there does be some drunken tomfoolery going on up there, horseplay even. I do enjoy a bit of horseplay.

Sigh.

Saturday 13th March

Had a tremendous argument with BBB today. Went off to seek sanctuary in Laura's house. Then we went and did a bit of retail therapy. Well she did, I watched.

I eventually headed home to find a ginormous bunch of flowers on my pillow. They were tulips, my favourite. And there was a yellow rose in the middle of them, which I prophetically explained to BBB on Monday means 'sorry'. They were gorgeous.

I wanted to fuck them out the window though.

Sunday 14th March

All is well in the woodshed again. I spent the day sorting out my Etsy shop and in the evening we went to the pub for drinks and snacks and while we were there I made another linguistic faux pas. My best so far, if I do say so myself!

We were sitting in a snug with some other couple (I hate that about Italian pubs - they always seat other people up in your feckin ockster) and BBB was naming out animals in English and I had to say the Italian names.

"Cow! Pig! etc" he goes, and I was calling out the answers.

Next question:

"Sheep!"

And I said, yes that's right, I actually called out:

"Pecorina!"

And I didn't even realise what I was after saying until BBB was bent double with the laughing and the couple next to us were averting their eyes uncomfortably.

That's because the Italian word for sheep is actually pecora, and what I called out was pecorina, which means doggy style.

Let me die.

Pray for me

2010-03-15T12:12:00.005Z

Now lads, I don't know will I be able to post up my long post today because on my way back from the supermarket this morning I bollixed up my hip afresh. How is this affecting my posting I hear you asking? Well it is a little known medical fact that my hip bone is directly connected to my two typing fingers, thus rendering me unable to finish this week's post.

In real life though the pain is making me feel sick and I need to close the shutter and lie on the bed and make low pitched whiney noises for the rest of the day. Or at least until BBB comes back from the pharmacy with drugs for me.

Trust me though, this week's post will be worth the slight delay - I have some thoughts on toilet brushes that I feel the need to share with my public. I think you will find them interesting and insightful.

Week Twenty Two

2010-03-02T19:49:00.004Z

Lads I promise I wasn't being the boldest girl in Ireland yesterday, but my interweb was on the blink again and I couldn't get into my blogger account. Anyway you can't be mad at me, seeing as I'm now a cripple. Read on...

Monday 1st March

Christ. The fella in the first room's mother is back. Every time I go to cook something she is down there taking up all four hob rings and generally giving me ire. And she doesn't just spend a half an hour cooking up the lunch either - oh no. She is down there milking the cow to churn the butter to fry the onions with like.

Every night I make scones to eat for our breakfast the next morning. Today I went to put them in the oven and surprise surprise - there she is. Then she has the cheek to offer me some helpful advice.

"No you put them on the other shelf."

Now lads. If you want to give me ire, just try and tell me how to cook my own food. I am the scone master, noone beats me in the scone stakes like.

Then she went on to ask me what kind of pre-packaged pastry I used for them!

I gave her the laser death stare.

"I make everything from scratch." Laser death beam gaze.

Then I had to go down the room and bang a few saucepans around.

No like, just no.

Tuesday 2nd March

You know the way they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach? Well it's true!

One day, shortly after BBB came back from his Chirstmas holidays he was sitting at his desk when he did a big dramamtic sigh.

"I miss Mamma." he goes. No surprises there, seeing as this is an entire nation of Mammy's Boys.

"Aw, why's that?", I goes.

"I miss her cooking and her bringing me snacks."

Now I don't know what happened, but that flicked a switch deep inside me and since then I have been plying him with home baked goods and top notch dinners. I think I'm actually addicted to feeding him. Every time I put a plate down in front of him he looks up at me with these puppy dog eyes and goes "I love you." No really, every time.

There is something so satisfying about watching a man eat. I love it!

"You spoil me girl," he says every time I put a plate of something fresh baked in front of him (after he says he loves me).

"Will I stop?", I usually answer.

"Christ, no!" says he, "Pass the jam, please."

Even considering how much I spoil him, he hasn't turned into spoilt shithead. In fact I have found that the more I spoil him, the more I become his queen.

This pleases me.

Wednesday 3rd March

Every night we fall asleep in the same position and then during the night I break away for some Jennie time and then in the morning when the alarm goes off he pulls me in for a five minute snuggle before we have to get up. This morning was no different.

Drrrrrrrrring! Drrrrrrrring!

"C'mere you til I snuggle the head off ya!" he goes.

And then proceeds to pull me into him, while simultaneously bending his knee. Why like, just why? Why on earth would you pull your girlfriend into you while bending your knee?

The obvious result was that he kneed me square in the gooter (pronounced "gew-thor"). As a good friend Jac would say "I didn't get a knee in the fanny since school."

It's still tender.

Thursday 4th March

For the last few weeks, every time I go for a run my hip hurts me. I thought I was just working some deep down muscles but now I feel something more sinister is at work. On Monday night as usual my hip was hurting me, but I didn't think anything of it. On Tuesday and Wednesday I stayed at home doing a bit of work, plus it was raining so I wasn't too bothered going outside. But today I ventured out to go into town and Christ! The pain!

I started off walking and I could feel a little niggle, five steps later I was limping like a leper. It's not a sharp kind of a pain, it's an aching pain, and more than anything the frustration of it is driving me crazy. It is just there.

I feel like I want to either feel the pain or not feel it. I don't want this kind of presence. It's like a shadow or something lurking in there, driving me nuts. I feel like I need someone to break my hip or pop it or something. I am fairly close to doing it myself, to be honest.

Since then anyway I have been doing extreme to the max yoga hoping that in some crazy stretch position it might pop or something. Me nerves!

Friday 5th March

Today I limped into Laura's and we did some fun activities including baking some amazing lemon and blueberry breakfast bread. I brought a loaf home for myself and BBB and when I got back to the house I was emptying the contents of my bag out onto the bed, just organising myself a bit. The next thing BBB bursts in:

"There she is! Come here to me you!" and scoops me up and starts swinging me around and then he plonked himself down on the bed with me in his arms.

A distinct squashing noise could be heard.

"Get. Up. Now."

He got up and we turned around to look at the bed. Sure enough, the cake was as flat as a pancake. It was in one of those disposable baking tins that's like the chinese box you get a 3-in-1 in. Needless to say it was completely concertina-ed.

If it wasn't so funny I would have murdered him.

"Jesus look at it!" I goes, peeling back the lid.

"God yeah, we should definitely eat it all now," he goes.

"I think you might be right", says I, "just to be sure like".

Om nom nom.

Saturday 6th March

Had a nice day today gettin up to various fun activities and in the night BBB headed off to Switzerland to see some car show. He was dying for me to go with him but I would literally rather he die than me have to go to a car show.

Harsh but true. I wouldn't drag him around a knitting show like.

Actually that's a lie. I totally would.

Sunday 7th March

I had a lovely day all to myself with BBB gone to Switzerland for the day. I indulged in various bidet-related activities and watched 47 thousand episodes of Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy.

Then I hobbled to the supermarket and then I came home and did some extreme yoga. Exciting stuff, I hear you say.

BBB came back from Switzerland around 9.

"Jesus I missed you!" he goes.

"Sit down there boy and have the last scone", says I.

"Ah I couldn't, that's yours," he said.

"I kept it for you."

"Ah you're the best, you're always spoiling me. I love you."

It's good to be queen.

Week Twenty One

2010-02-24T18:02:00.003Z

Monday 22nd Feb

Got up this morning full of the joys of Spring. Meseff and himseff had our breakfast and then he went into the bathroom while I was tidying up. The next thing I heard some sounds. It sounded like...no! It couldn't be, could it? It sounded like he was brushing his teeth. Surely not! He always brushes his teeth in his own room - it's how he asserts his independence. I busted into the bathroom and he turns around with a big surprised head on him, with his toothbrush hanging out of his Big Brown lips:

"What's up girl?"

"You're in here with your toothbrush!" I goes.

"Yeah", he goes, "and I brought in my deodorant as well, I'm going to leave them here. Is that ok?"

"Grand by me", says I, and I came out of the bathroom, delighted outta me head.

He came out then:

"You're delighted I brought my toothbrush in here aren't you?" he goes.

"Yeah I so am," I goes.

Short pause.

"I'm delighted as well."

Melt.

That night I went to training and ran the legs off meself. He had soccer training at the same time and I was home and showered before him. I heard him clip clopping up the hall in his soccer boots. I opened the door and lads, I fell in love all over again. That sounds so bent, but it's true.

He was head to toe in muck and shite and his face was all dirty and he looked about 12. Shur God love him.

He had a shower then and we went out after 11 to the pub for drinks and snacks.

I love drinks and snacks.

The minute we sat down though we realised we were wrecked. We could barely even talk to each other. Then after a sniff of a drink each the two of us were all tipsy and giggly in the corner of the pub. I could barely even chew me sandwich. After about an hour or so we said we'd head home.

We went outside and it was raining and freezing and we were so far away from home (there are no taxis in the nights).

"I know!" I said, "Let's time ourselves!", employing the age old trick my sister used to use on me to get me to go to the shop for her. Flashback:

"Run up to the Yellow House and get me a ten p mixture and a bag of cheesy popcorn - I'll time ya!"

Me then, the bigger eejit running down the road at top speed.

Anyway:

"15 mins!", says he.

"13!", slurred I, and the two of us started speedwalking up the road.

In the end we made it in 17, even though we jogged some of the way.

Note: when I am jogging, I do not love drinks and snacks.

Tuesday 23rd Feb

Woke up this morning delighted out of our heads, because it's the first time since we met that he doesn't have to study all day. We had a lovely breakfast and lunch and then we went into town to do a bit of shopping. We went into Marlboro Classics where he told the girl he was looking for a light polo neck jumper. Now I am generally against polo necks on the under 30's but when he came out of the the dressing room in this polo neck I nearly fell down on the ground. I'd say me leg was going like a dog gettin his belly scratched. He was a feckin vision. He was actually beautiful like. Jesus I had to take a step back.

I can't believe he is my boyfriend.

And better yet, he can't believe I am his girlfriend.

Talk about a ride.

Hee hee!

Wednesday 24th Feb

I was barely awake for two minutes when the phone rang. It was the person who works at the front desk telling me a parcel had arrived for me. I ran down there Linford Christie style and there was a big box all for me!

Now lads, I cannot convey to you how much I love post, especially boxes full of lovely stuff. I always write letters home, which is what got me started on this blog; I used to write my sister letters and she used to bring them in to work and read them out. Eventually I started writing the blog, cos me hand was falling off with the demand for letters!

Anyway, back to the parcel. It was a box full of all my favourite stuff from a lovely person who I love. Stir fry sauces, noodles, spice mixes, jellies, malteser bunnies, Glamour mag, but most importantly - and I mean MOST importantly - Kellogg's Crunchy Nut Feast!

I did a little dance.

"We are taking him out to lunch when we get to Dublin," says I to BBB.

"Yes of course, and tell him thanks from me as well, since I'll be eating half of all this."

Silly, silly BBB.

If he thinks so much as one spoonful of them Crunchy Nuts is going to make the journey to his mouth, he is terribly, terribly mistaken.

There will be blood.

Thursday 25th Feb

Thursdays are generally my crazy day where I have to run around like a wild animal between clients, stuffin a focaccia into my face as I run from one appointment to another, but once they are over at half six, I get to go home and fall into a crumpled heap onto the bed/floor/chair as BBB orders me a kebab.

Today was looking to be pretty stressful until my last client of the day cancelled, basically taking all the pressure off because today someone I met on the interweb is coming to meet me in Pavia. Now, now, get yer minds out of the gutter - we met on a translation website, not ratemypenis.com or anything.

Although, the first time he sent me a private message, the subject line was "Scopriamoci" which generally means "Let's get to know each other", but of course, what with my head being up my arse, I didn't read it properly, so the first time I looked at it I thought it said "Scopiamoci" which means "Let's fuck each other".

Me nerves.

I literally thought that was what it said for about 10 seconds. But then I copped on. Phew!

Anyway in the evening I met Laura and we went back to my place and had dinner and gave each other massages and then baked scones. It makes me laugh, the stuff we do be up to, we are like a pair of lesbanians.

You know, from Lesbania, like.

Friday 26th Feb

Oh dearie me. Today BBB's best friend from home came to visit him for the weekend. But you see I was after telling Laura we could get pished and stay in my gaff in BBB's bed but I forgot his friend would be in there. No bother says I, BBB can sleep in with the friend and Laura can sleep in with me. BBB was not best pleased to hear this, and proceeded to reinforce a cultural stereotype by screaming his head off over nothing.

"Grand, grand," I goes, but only because I know it drives him mad.

"I'm right and that's that!" he goes, slamming the door behind him and goes into his room next door to his friend.

Now bear in mind that (a) BBB has a mouth like a torn bag and (b) the walls are paper thin, so I could hear every word he was saying, bitchin about me to his friend.

"That fucker!" I was thinking, and then it went a bit quiet so I thought they were after lowering their voices so I decided to put me ear against the wall and have a good listen.

Don't you judge me! You'd be doing the very same yourself!

I went to stand up from the desk and as I was doing so I was cocking my head into the desired eavesdropping position when suddenly:

"NYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

Didn't my fuckin neck seize up! Lads it was agony. It was like one strip of muscle at the back went all hard and was killing me. I actually felt sick like. BBB came in the door then, face like thunder until I was like "BBB! This is not a drill! Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!"

"Jesus love!" he goes and runs over to me and starts sticking his finger in the hard bit.

"OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!"

He put me down on the bed then and after a while the muscle relaxed. I really thought I was going to puke.

"You alright girl?" he goes.

"Yeah but I feel sick," I goes.

You were only doing that for the attention," he goes.

"WHAT?!" I goes, "Excuse yourself, I was doing that so I could listen to you through the wall!"

"What?"

Oops.

That night myself and Laura got pissed, me on an 89c bottle of prosecco, her taking the high road on a €4 bottle.

Posh bitch.

BBB can't get his head around the fact that we are staying in to get pished.

"In this horrible room?" he goes.

Now lads, the rooms are horrible, but only I may call my room horrible!

"Yes, in this horrible room." I goes.

He doesn't seem to "get" that the rottener the place is where you get drunk, the funnier it is.

When he gets older he'll understand.

Saturday 27th Feb

Meseff and Laura headed to Milan today, then we got pizzas on the way home for us and the two boys and then she headed home and the two boys went out so I gave myself a pedicure in the bidet.

Dear Bidet, I love you. From Jennie.

Sunday 28th Feb

The four of us went back to Milan today for a lurk around. We wanted to climb the Duomo but BBB found a mobile on the train and being the good boy he is, handed it in at the police station at the train station. This took at least half an hour, which made us too late to climb the Duomo.

It is worth keeping in mind that simple tasks in Italy, such as picking one's nose, involve you filling in copious paperwork and paying a fiver for the pleasure. It would leave one to believe that the country is inhabited by idiots, but after thorough inspection, one comes to the conclusion that they are in fact not idiots, they are just Italians.

Anyway then we lurked down the most expensive street in Milan where we were given withering looks by the bouncers on the shop doors and made to feel like riff raff as we walked past the Ferraris and Bentleys parked outside D&G and the like.

Jesus I'd love to be filthy stinkin rich. Filthy with the dirt rich like. D&G and all that shite wouldn't interest me though. I'd be more into a nice house in a nice area of Italy and having Mam and Dad living in the lap of luxury in a granny flat out the back. There would be sausage dogs. And a wet room. And a grand garden out the back.

But above all - there would be brand name cereal!

Oh, and a bidet in every room.

Obviously.

Week Twenty

2010-02-22T09:22:00.005Z

This week lads was decidedly better than last week because we got a new oven in the house and.... what was the other thing? Oh yeah. The THREE Blog Award nominations! That's all like. Just the three. As in nominated not once, not twice, but thrice. Just to be clear. There are three.

Monday 15th Feb

Not much going on today during the day, but in the evening myseff and himseff decided to go to a carnevale party that was going on downstairs at the last minute. You have to go wearing a mask, and we had nary a mask between us so we had to do ourselves up with my Urban Decay eyeliners. He wanted a Maori mask yoke so I did that for him and then I had no time so I drew a shitty Zorro inspired black yoke over me eyes (see below). That'll do me grand says I and off we went. For about a half an hour and then we nearly died of boredom so we went back upstairs and washed each other's faces and watched a film. Party animals or wha?

Tuesday 16th Feb

Monday pales into insignificance when one considers that this particular Tuesday is the Most Wonderful Day of The Year. That's right - Pancake Tuesday! I nearly forgot though, until I logged onto Facebook because there is no Pancake Tuesday over here. I didn't have Mammy's magical recipe either, but my good friend Amy came to the rescue and gave me one.

I made the batter and left it aside to sit for a while and then I was just tidying up and whatnot when I went to throw away the egg box of the eggs that I used for the batter. On said eggbox it said "best before 13th Feb".

Ah bollix.

Ran down to the shop at top speed and got new eggs. Whipped up another thing of batter. When they were ready to roll I strode down to the kitchen with a confident swagger and flipped up a storm. There were "oohs" and "aahs" all over the place. That's right, people, stand aside! Professional at work here! BBB never had a pancake before in his long legged life, the poor child. Talk about a joyless existence. We had them with jam, doce de leite and lemon juice and sugar. Om nom nom.

Then we had to have a little lie down.

Wednesday 17th Feb

Today I noticed that something is definitely happening. Something is definitely going on here. I realised when I was sick in the night and went into BBB's room to hug the toilet bowl in peace. When I opened the door, I couldn't believe what I saw. His room was empty. Nothing in it like. A tumbleweed or two, maybe. I realised I hadn't been in there for quite some time. Neither had he, for that matter. That we were, in fact, living together in my room. Interesting. I went back into my room, and realised it was like a, dare I say it, it was like a home, rather than a rotten room in a fucking hovel of a building that I absolutely hate. No, there was something distinctly homely about it: my little shoes lined up next to his big shoes, our matching water glasses, his stuff neatly put away next to my stuff.

How the fuck did this happen? Where was I for all this...this...osmosis? Literally everything except his toothbrush is in here. Every morning and night he brushes his teeth in his own bathroom, though. When the toothbrush makes the journey in here, that's when we know it's serious.

Thursday 18th Feb

Nothing too exciting, I went to work and then met Laura, we went back to my place and watched several thousand episodes of Desperate Housewives and then I tailored the sleeves on her top.

Rock and roll!

Friday 21st Feb

Woke up delighted cos I just knew in my heart that today would be Pancake Friday, and I was right! Made a big feed for brunch and then went to supermarket to get ingredients for Obscenely Toothsome Steak Sandwiches for dinner. In the meantime, while I was away, a man came and put in a new oven in our kitchen! I couldn't believe it! Finally we have an oven! The steak sandwiches were breathtaking.

Today is a good day.

Saturday 20th Feb

Minded my own business today, just lurked around doing my Saturday things. Went onto my blog to answer my comments in the evening and here was one from Niamh:

"Haha have just come across your blog thanks to your Blog Award nomination - well done!
This post had me laughing several times, brilliant. Will be back to read more, looking forward to it "

Excuse me? What's that now? Blog Award nomination? I typed in the Blog Awards website so fast into the keyboard that there was smoke comin off the keys. I scanned down the nominees.

Jennifer Alice In Wonderland. There I was. Three times. I'm in the Best Newcomer, Best Personal Blog and Best Humour categories. Me nerves.

I had to sit down. Then I had to stand up. Then I had to sit down again. Then I had to do a little dance. Then I had to explain to BBB why I was doing a little dance.

It's just nice like, to know that people were nominating me. Anyway I was bustin to tell me Mam and Dad but I didn't have any credit. I went onto facebook where my knight in stalking armour Nigel came to my rescue by going to the shop and getting me credit. Thanks Nigel! (Can I have my knickers back now please?)

I rang my mother and father and sister and brother and anyone else who would care to listen. They all did a little dance for me. In fact I think my sister Hazel is going to Galway to "represent" me at the awards yoke. I seriously hope they have bidets at that hotel!

There are some deadly blogs nominated lads, so have a little lurk here and dirty them with your eyes.

Sunday 21st Feb

Now lads. Some of you may remember from reading Week Three that I have an absolute fear of fire and the house burning down and whatnot.

With that in mind, let me tell you what went down on Sunday.

BBB has a terrible habit that makes me very nervous and tonight he found out why. When he boils the water for the pasta, he takes the lid off the pot when the water is hot enough and puts it on one of the other cold hob rings. Now this always gives me the heebie jeebies but I never say anything I just take it off and put it on the counter instead. Tonight he was cooking pasta and I was down the room on the interweb. I went up to the kitchen to say hello to him and he goes:

"Do you get the terrible smell of gas?"

"I'm getting a bang of something alright. Open the window there."

"I hope that stupid fucker connected the oven up right."

"It's an electric oven love."

"Oh yeah."

So I went back down the room and the next thing BBB comes sprinting in through the door:

"Oh Christ! Oh fuck! The hob ring was on and the lid is after fusing to it!"

I booted it up to the kitchen - the glass lid was on the back ring and the plastic handle was after melting into a pile of molten plastic disgustingness. The fumes would knock a horse. I tried to push it off the ring and the next thing - didn't it fucking catch on fire!

Now lads. Lads.

The minute I saw the flames, several thousand episodes of Rescue 999 started flashing through my mind. Fire extinguishers were dancing with melting dolly's legs and the like. I'm not joking you, it struck terror into my very core. After the first terrified nanosecond, an eerie calm washed over me. I looked behind the door for a mini fire extinguisher. Nothing. I looked in the room where the fuse box is. Nothing. I ran out into the hall where there is the giant extinguisher that you have to smash the glass to get out. I scanned it. It wasn't the electrical fire one. Unbelievable. Every kitchen like ours should have one of those baby little ones for electrical fires that you can just pick up and give a quick blast and that's all there is to it.

Anyway I ran back into the kitchen where the flames were getting bigger and BBB was standing in front of them flapping the tea towel at them. I believe the correct term here is fanning the flames. There was no fire blanket or anything. I wasn't sure what to do. In the end I decided to wet the tea towel and put it over the burning lid.

"Gimme that tea towel til I wet it!" I goes.

BBB was in such a flap the words couldn't enter his brain, and he fanned the flames even more furiously.

"Love, give it to me."

More frantic tea towel flapping.

"Come on now I'll give it back."

"Ok," says he, and gave the tea towel one more furious flap which miraculously extinguished all the flames.

Sigh of relief!

BBB goes into combat mode.

"Open all the windows! These fumes are toxic!"

"Yes, Commander!"

The next thing he takes the glass top that was literally on fire until two seconds ago and picks it up with the tea towel and throws it into the bin. It should be worth mentioning here that the "bin" is a black sack.

"STOP!" I goes, but it was too late. It burned straight through the plastic and smashed into molten plastic-covered smithereens on the floor.

Sigh.

He is an engineer. He is a genius like. As I type this he is at the other side of the desk doing the world's most impossible sums.

It's so funny that when we panic we forget everything we ever knew about how to deal with these situations. Thankfully my formative years were spent watching mental health scarring telly programmes like Rescue 999.

After that ordeal we went down the room where we looked at each other with two big serious heads on us and promptly burst out laughing. Then just to make sure, we googled how long we had left to live after inhaling the fumes. A good while yet, it would seem.

He promised never to put the lid on the hob ring again. But only cos now we have no lid to put there!

Irish Blog Awards - Fair Play to Me!

2010-02-20T22:09:00.003Z

Oh Jesus!

Me nerves!

Just read a comment from the lovely Niamh on Week Nineteen and nearly fell sideways off the bed!

My blog is nominated for three big fat juicy filthy with the dirt Irish Blog Awards!

Breathe in...breathe out...

Needless to say a bit of wee came out.

And then I did a little dance.

Then I fired up the bidet. Ye know yerselves, lads, the way these things go like.

I want to say a big thank you to all the lovely people who nominated me. Thanks for following my blog lads.

No really, thanks.

Well done to everyone who got nominated, although I hope you are all deported for smuggling Mexicans over the border so that only I may be on the receiving end of an Irish Blog Award.

You heard me.

Week Nineteen

2010-02-15T08:41:00.006Z

Oh dear. I started off this week floundering in a fog of despair, which lifted gradually as the week wore on. Things actually started looking up...for about five minutes. Then they swiftly looked back down again. D'oh!

Monday 8th Feb

My good friend Siobhan from down Wexico way came over for a few days last Thursday. during that time we partook of various fun activities such as:

And also:

As a result of these activities, I woke up this morning with the worst cold I have ever had in my life. You know what I'm talking about; your head feels like a tonne weight, you have aches and pains all over the gaff - even the hairs on your arms are hurting you. Lads it was terrible. I'd go as far as to say it was touch and go there for a minute!

I lay in bed all day, making the animal noises that I have grown so fond of, then playing Zuma for a considerable amount of time, before going back to making more animal noises.

I was miserable. Beyond that like, I was just worn out. See last week's post for reasons why. I stayed in bed all day and spent the night snotting in BBB's ear. All I can say is thank God he loves me!

Tuesday 9th Feb

Much the same as yesterday, except today I got up once to pee.

Wednesday 10th Feb

Woke up today feeling slightly better. I decided it would do me good to get out of the house and a bit of fresh air so I went to do the shopping with BBB. Of course now, I thought I was in the whole of my health when we went outside, but by the time we had trudged through the snow and I nearly busted me snot 47 times before we even got to the supermarket, I was fading fast. By the time I got home I was like death warmed up. It was back to bed for me!

Speaking of bed now, I think it's time I addressed a very important issue that I know you have all been wondering about: the farting situation. I'm delighted to say that he was the one to break the fart barrier. I would be telling a dirty lie however, if I said that I wasn't far behind him. Not literally at the time he farted, thank God! I mean in general. Here's how it happened:

He was sitting studying at the desk and I was sitting on the bed doing out lesson plans. Total silence as we were both engrossed in our work. The next thing:

Paaaaaaaaaaaaaaarp!

We both jumped. We looked at each other in shock and amazement, and as our eyes met:

Peeeeerp!

ANOTHER one!

Well if I didn't piss myself then, I never will. Actually that is inaccurate; I will most likely piss myself laugthing, and in the very near future at that.

"Sorry girl, they just escaped", he goes.

"Nah it's grand", I goes, delirah that he was the one to do it first! Yes boy!

Now I was full sure this would have paved the way for me to fart in his presence, but NO! I don't know what it is, but even if I had a pain in my stomach, I wouldn't be able! Like every night we go to sleep but I wake up every single morning with a cramp in my stomach from holding in all my nocturnal emissions. I mean I am even holdin them in in my sleep! ...most of the time, anyway.

The other night we were asleep right, and now it was the middle of the night. The two of us sleep like two children -arms and legs trun all over the place, contorted into the quarest of positions, so when one of us moves, usually the other one has to as well. He was stirring a bit and it woke me up, not fully awake but just awake enough to feel him puttin his Big Brown hand on the back of my leg, at the top of my thigh just under my arse. I could feel the lovely warmth of his hand through the leg of my jim jams, and it was so lovely and relaxing that...

PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP!

I was suddenly fully awake. Oh my God! Oh sweet mother of divine mercy! I didn't, did I? Remain calm. Do not move. Maybe he didn't notice. Who the fuck am I kidding - how could he not notice that his wrist gone blown off by an errant fart like? He wrenched his hand off the back of my leg and turned his back to me. Hmmm, he was awake enough to notice that I farted, but still too asleep to call me a dirty bitch or somesuch. Good, good. This is good. He will most likely not remember this in the morning, in which case I am off the hook. We shall have to wait and see.

The next morning he wakes up and turns his Big Brown sleepy head to me and goes

"Mornin love. What's the story on today anyway?"

Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!

Thursday 11th Feb

Today I went to work with a big red nose, snot flying everywhere. This particular client is just the sweetest girl ever, and her English is coming on in leaps and bounds. When I had finished, I was walking out and her mother was in the hall and we got to chatting.

"She's great", I was saying, and the next thing the mother goes:

"She missed you terrible when you went back to Ireland for Christmas".

Lads I was touched. I got a big lump in me throat like. Imagine someone missing their teacher over the holidays. Stop, I love her!

Walked around with a big delighted head on me for the rest of the day.

Friday 12th Feb

Valentine's is coming up on Sunday, so I spent the morning making BBB's card while he was in doing an exam.

When he came home I said to him:

"Valentine's day is Sunday now so you'll have to get me a card ok? Just warning you, cos if you don't get me one, I'll probably be upset."

"Oh right, thanks. I'll pick one out tomorrow."

What like? Men are simple creatures. Ask and you shall receive and all that. For my present he got us two tickets home to Ireland for Easter (I'm so excited I can't wait!!!), but everyone knows the card is the best part! Hee hee!

Then I went to work, where the best thing ever in my life happened. Fridays is my favourite client anyway so I was already in a good mood. I plonked my bag on her couch and I was just taking off my coat when she came up behind me and put a bag on the couch.

"That's for you", she said, and she ran off to the kitchen. I opened it and nearly fainted. She was after KNITTING ME A SCARF!!!!

Now lads, I spend my life making things for people who don't even appreciate it, so for someone to actually turn around and repay me the favour - I couldn't cope. I started balling. Because it was bright red. Bright red like, my favourite colour! I was so touched lads. An amazing present like that, and for no reason! There are just no words to explain how much I appreciate it! I'm delighted for the rest of me life! I ran into the kitchen and threw my arms around her, and she squeezed the head off me with the bag of cat food in her hand.

I just loves her so I does! Lads, I must be the best teacher ever!

Saturday 13th Feb

Got up early and went into Laura's so we could go for a jog together. I haven't been to training all week, obviously, what with being on my death bed and all. I was dying for a bit of excercise, not having done any all week, so I was looking forward to a nice slow jog to ease myself back into it. Turns out "ease" didn't even come into it. I felt like I was running up against a brick wall, whilst being made entirely of lead. It was terrible.

After the "jog", we went to the market and got some blood oranges (my absolute favourite) and went back to mine to do a bit of work. And stuff our faces, like. Sometimes these things are necessary.

Valentine's day tomorrow - oooh I'm so excited! BBB was out studying at his friend's house all day today but he was coming home to have dinner with me so I put on a lovely frock and made myelf all lovely and when he came home he was all surprised and delighted and we had a lovely night. Can't wait for tomorrow now! At last my chance to erase the memory of the disaster that was my last Valentine's day in Italy, which you can read about here. This time I was smart! I reminded him with adequate time to purchase a card and flowers.

What could possbily go wrong?

Sunday 14th Feb

Woke up and snuggled into the back of BBB. He woke up:

"Happy Valentine's Day" he goes.

Yes! YES! He remembered! This definitely means something romantic is coming up! I ran over to the desk drawer to get his card and I handed it to him:

"Happy Valentine's day!" I goes, with a huge smile that faded as I watched the blood drain from his face.

"Oh SHIT!" he goes, and covered his face with his hands.

For a split second I thought he was joking but it turns out he wasn't. He forgot to get me a card.

Satisfyingly, I could see that he was DYING inside. He was distraught like. Not as distraught as he's going to be when he opens my card and sees that I spent ages making it just for him, I thought, smugly. He opened it anyway:

" It's brilliant!" he goes, then, "I'm so sorry Love".

And I can see that he's sorry. But he'll never be as sorry as I was just then. I wasn't pissed off or anything; it was an honest mistake and I could see he felt terrible over it. Valentine's is a bit of fun at the end of the day.

I was so disappointed though. Now I know ye all know I'm a big softie anyway so I don't have to explain that to you. This might sound totally naff, but I really wanted a card! Not the card itself or anything, I couldn't give a shite about that! I just wanted something with his handwriting on it, addressed to me. That's all like. A scrap of paper would have done the trick. Because I don't have anything with his handwriting on it. I don't know but I think someone's handwriting is like their essence. I mean you can recognise someone by their handwriting, and that says a lot to me. I think if something is written in handwriting and not in a text or printed that it means so much more. But shur I'm only a big feckin romantic anyway. There's not many of us left around, I am only settin myself up for disappointment really.

Anyway to make it up to me he promised he would make my favourite dinner tonight, so I was looking forward to that.

He went off to his friend's house for lunch anyway and said he wouldn't be long, that he'd be back and he would study in my room. By four o'clock I was wondering where he was. I didn't have any credit to text him though. He came home shortly after that then, but he gave me a kiss and said he had to go back out to study with his friends. Then he asked me to go to the cinema tonight. Yes! He remembered! The cinema is my favourite thing AND I was after asking him could we go and see a particular rosemantic film that I read about in a magazine a few days before. He is redeeming himself!

"What's on?" I asked, playing innocent.

"Paranormal Activity", he goes, "all the lads are coming."

Lads I just can't. I just can't even begin to address this situation. Where to even start? See how I feel about horror pictures here. After much persuasion I reluctantly agreed.

"Thanks for humoring me Love", he goes.

By that point I was just too worn down to even bother puttin up a fight. He went off and I went to bed for the rest of the day.

He came home to make the dinner then, and that's when the real drama began! It started off when he showed flagrant disregard for food safety by touching raw chicken off the vegetables and then it just escalated from there into a screaming match. Bear in mind now it has to be a screaming match to get him to listen to you, because every single thing you say, he just shouts over you how you are wrong and he knows best, even though you have a good 7 years on him. Somehow it ended in him giving me a lecture about how I am always so sad, and how it kills him to see me like this and the only time I am happy is when I write my blog so he thinks I should write a book.

Five minutes later, he was twiddling with my hair and I was snoring into his armpit.

What a fucking week.

This blogger will self destruct in five...four...three...two...oh shit hang on I left the oven on!

2010-02-08T16:07:00.002Z

Now lads. There comes a time in everyone's life when they hit rock bottom. That time for me is now.

Last night myself and Laura decided to go on a bit of a Nazi-esque fitness regime to turn ourselves into two sleek running machines over the next few weeks. This of course includes a balanced diet blah blah yawn. All well and good, I hear you say. Well we were starting off this morning, and I woke up and had an apple and sat down at my laptop, feeling proud of myself.

Cut to 15 minutes later and I had eaten 2 cakes and 7 Reese's peanut butter cups. Fast forward another few hours and I had a kebab and a can of coke for lunch. In between these food-related activities I lay face down on the bed making whiney animal noises. After the kebab I played Zuma for 4 hours and then lay down and made some more animal noises.

Keeping in mind of course that I have emails to be sending and blogs and articles to be writing.

What the flip is going on eh? I simultaneously feel like running ten miles and sleeping for a week. I just don't know what's up with me at all at all.

Actually I do know what's up with me. I'm fed up! Fed up so I am! Fed up of this being broke lark! Sick to the back teeth of working me arse off and still not havin a pingin rua! Yer man Valentin outside the supermarket has more money than me! Eddie Hobbs my arse - the bastard never even emailed me back. How rude.

I know we are all in the same boat, but we are allowed to be pissed off about it. I'm feckin sick of calculatin me shoppin to the cent as I go around the supermarket and subsequently gettin a dose of SAS as yer wan is beepin through me shoppin at the till. I want to waltz in and throw a rake of shite in the basket and breeze up to the till, not a bother on me.

But you know what I really want? I want clothes! Clothes and shoes and underwear and ridiculously priced stockings and hair flowers and dickie bows. I want to go on me holidays and drink overpriced plonk and eat weeping tiger steak. I want BRAND NAME CEREAL. I'm talking Frosties, Special K and Weetabix instead of Sugar Flakes, Wellness Flakes and Wheat Bisks. Basically I just want to STOP WORRYING ABOUT MONEY.

I mean, I am a lady, I should be thinking about rainbows and puppy dogs and butterflies, not how much I can save versus how much I can spend. Having to think about money non feckin stop is tiring and it's really starting to wear me down.

Morale is low lads. Morale is fuckin low.

Hence the absence of real blog post. Doing that would take up valuable energy that could be used for eating shite.

That's if I could afford to eat shite.

But shur look, at the end of the day I suppose I should just take stock: I have two arms and two legs and I'm healthy and I have a lovely family and lovely friends. My Mammy always says "Your health is your wealth" and she is right.

I still want brand name cereal though.

Week Seventeen

2010-02-01T08:46:00.006Z

Monday 25th Jan

Lads I feel like I just need to take a moment to extoll the virtues of the bidet. Contrary to popular non-Continental European belief, the bidet is actually your friend. When I first moved into my room here I popped my head round the door of the ensuite to check out the situation and the bidet caught my eye. "Yeah, right", I says to myself. At first. But as time wore on, my cynical glances became more like curious glances - what is this porcelain pretend toilet and how does it wish to serve me?

At first I used it shyly, tentatively using it to soak my feet in ice cold water after a long hot day, but little by little, I got more and more comfortable with it being in my life. What is its purpose? I hear you asking. Well I mean we all know its purpose people so I think you mean to ask what is the point? I decided to investigate by interrogating my lovely friend who shall go without a name for now as people need not know her bidet habits. She helpfully informed me that if she had a shower every second day, for example, then on the days she didnt have the shower she would have a bidet. I probed for more details and she described the fill-and-dip method. Interesting.

This doesn't apply to me as I have 47 showers a day but I am beginning to understand the convenience, nay, delight the bidet could bring into my life. Jacques family Christmas related "mishap"? No problem! Never mind your bottom half shower - just fill and dip! Genius.

The days wore on, and I became more curious with each passing second. Until one evening I came home and I thought "I'd love a nice shower now before I go to bed, but alas I am too tired", and then, as I was brushing my teeth, it caught my eye. It was just sitting there in its spot next to the toilet with a "come hither" air about it. Was it...was it inviting me? Surely it would be rude to refuse...

Five minutes later, I emerged from the en suite, gloriously reborn, bottom-half freshness levels at an all-time high. And so the love affair began...

Want that fresh panty feeling? Forget Bodyform - have a bidet!

Don't have time for a shower? Have a bidet!

Whole family died in a horrific accident leaving you completely alone in the world? No problem - have a bidet!

There now, isn't that better?

Tuesday 26th Jan

I have no recollection of this day whatsoever.

Wednesday 27th Jan

Made two tarts today, one normal apple one and one apple crumble one. The second one I left in the oven for BBB to supervise while I went to training, with strict instructions:

"Take it out when it is golden brown alright? Golden brown now not mahogany, is that clear enough for you? If I come home and that tart is burnt you are DEAD."

But let's leave the tarts for now and take a moment to discuss appropriate sports changing room behaviour.

When you walk into a changing room in Italy, the delicacy of your nature is immediately assaulted by giant hairy fannies all over the gaff. I'm talking jungle hairy. Tribal, even. Not a groomed undercarriage in sight. How distressing. But I digress. What I witnessed tonight was just the most...the most icky ocky thing ever. I have no problem with nudieness in these situations, that is all acceptable. But what I am about to describe actually shocked me to the core.

Now in these dressing room situations nudie chats are the norm. Chit chat, pull someone's three foot long pube out of yer eye, chit chat etc and so on and so forth. But tonight. A girl was chit chatting away and the next thing she pulls down her scanties to down around her knees and proceeds to peel her heavily soiled sanitary towel from the inside of her knickers and roll it up into a sausage while chit chatting away to the girl next to her, who incidentally, didn't bat an eyelid. I couldn't cope. Like I actually couldn't cope. I mean we are all ladies, yes, but there is still the need to be ladylike. No one needs to see that. Ok let's change the subject. Back to the tart.

After training, myself and Laura headed back to my place for tarts. Fnar fnar. Anywho, I came in to see the crumble tart that had been left under BBB's supervision. Lads, I was after terrifying the poor child so much he took it out the minute it started turning brown so it was still considerably raw. Shur God love him.

"It's a bit...." I started.

"You used too much butter" says he.

"Yeah, that's it Love. Too much butter." Nothing to do with the fact that it's still raw like.

Stop, I love him.

Thursday 28th Jan

Giovedì gnocchi. Whipped up another batch of my gnocchi. I am an unstoppable gnocchi-making force.

Friday 29th Jan

Tonight it snowed and made Pavia a Winter Wonderland for a nanosecond. BBB's friend had to stay over cos he couldn't get home in the snow so we had to stay in my bed. This displeased me. We always sleep in BBB's room and I dislike when my routine has been interrupted becase my sleeping patterns are very delicate. While my bed is lovely and lady soft and smells like lavender and chamomile, his bed smells like him. The only way to describe how I feel about his smell is that it's akin to a boo boo blanket you might have had when you were tiny. I realised this when I came home after Christmas and opened the door to his room and his smell just hit me and it made me feel warm and fuzzy and safe and yummy, and a bit like I had to wee a small bit. But that could have been unrelated.

Anyway we snuggled up in my bed, and no matter what way I turned or contorted, I couldn't get comfortable. There was only one thing for it - we were going to have to go top to toe. So I started turning around in the bed.

"Where are you going?" he says.

"Can't sleep up there. Night now."

"Ok night".

But then I realised I had made a major mistake. I had abandoned the end of the bed that had the pillow on it. What to do? I looked around the dark room, and my eyes spied the outline of two of his jumpers. Yes! That's what I'll do! I'll fashion a pillow from his jumpers, that way I have a pillow AND it smells like him. I'm so smart sometimes. But lads, no matter what way I folded the jumpers it felt like I was lying on a sack of spuds. I felt like I was in a tent in France in 1987.

And then the night time crazies began.

Now lads we all know about the night time crazies. They are what happens when you are dying for an aul sleep but something or someone is keeping you from it and in your state of half-awake half-asleep desperation, you actually go a bit mental. I have been known to scream and shout and threaten people with certain death for snoring (sorry Siobhan). Well tonight both BBB and myself were afflicted with it.

He grabbed my feet that were on the pillow and started pulling on them.

"Move up here!" he goes.

"Ok," I goes and went to turn back around so we were both on the same end of the bed.

The next thing:

"I said move your feet up a bit not fucking turn around! Jesus Christ!" he goes.

"Jesus, alright!" I goes and moved back down to the other end of the bed with the makeshift pillow.

Now lads please keep in mind we were both still asleep while this was going on.

"You are driving me fuckin mad moving around every five seconds. Mamma mia!" he spits, full of bile, before planting a little kiss on my instep.

"Do you hear this fella and he bending his legs all over the place and I'm here "bet" up against the wall! Dickhead!" I goes, full of hatred, whilst simultaneously snuggling his foot.

Ah lads.

I loves him so I does.

Saturday 30th Jan

Went for a jaunt around town today with Laura. On the way home we stopped in a shop by her house so I could get my Guarana Antartica fix and while I was there I was scanning the shelves wondering to myself "I wonder if they have..."

"Doce de leite?" the woman said, and pointed to a shelf of jars.

A little bit of wee came out.

Now lads. Doce de leite is the most delicious thing in the face of the earth. It is in the caramel family but it is so much more than caramel. It is just heaven in a jar. Obviously I bought one, knowing full well I would be eating it straight out of the jar with a spoon and washing it down with the Guarana.

At this rate I'll be obese by Tuesday.

Worth it.

Sunday 31st Jan

Today I headed to Milan to see my friend Nami that I used to work with in Dublin. In the end we didn't get to meet up and said we'd meet tomorrow instead so myself and Laura continued on our spot of shopping.

"Can we pop in here a sec and I buy a rake of shite?" I said, pointing to a supermarket.

"Way ahead of you" she goes.

While waiting in the queue, arms laden with shite, a fella walked past me and goes to the fella two people in front of me:

"Do you want a'in else?"

It slid into my ear like treacle. It nourished me like mother's milk: an Irish accent.

Surely I must be mistaken?

"Nah, it's grand," the other fella goes, and turned around in his Republic of Cork hoodie.

I actually felt a bit teary. It's one thing hearing english every now and again; usually in an American or Italian accent, but to hear an Irish accent was so lovely and comforting I couldn't even describe it.

In a good mood then we headed for the train home and I was thinking to myself "On my way home now I'll get a pizza for BBB as a surprise". The poor young fella is stressed, he needs something to go with the cola bottles I got him like. Plus I have a primal need to stuff my face.

Next thing the phone rings as I'm on the train:

"Well Love I'm just gettin you a pizza-what do you want on it?"

The man is a legend.

Week Sixteen

2010-01-20T08:35:00.005Z

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

2010-01-18T13:08:00.003Z

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

2010-01-13T18:28:00.006Z

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

2010-01-12T12:51:00.002Z

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

2010-01-03T13:23:00.007Z

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.

Week Twelve

2009-12-30T09:33:00.005Z

Lads how dare I have neglected to write a post this week?! Here is a consolation post for all you die hard fans out there. This is from me to the both of ye.

I said to myself I'd take a little Christmas holiday from the blog but then I got a dose of the guilts after the page views shot up on Monday from bored people looking for their Monday fix.

I have to say that this Christmas was the best Christmas I had in years. Needless to say, like countless others, I regard Christmas dinner as the best dinner of the year, because of its ability to be doused in brown sauce, but THIS year's Christmas dinner (courtesy of my sister-in-law) ...well. Well. As a good friend of mine said the other night - I didn't know whether to eat it or ride it!

Surprisingly enough though, nobody pissed themselves, so no bottom-half showers were necessary. That didn't take away from the holiday however, which was just gorgeous and laid back. At least it was when Grandad wasn't trying to bend my finger back so far he nearly broke it. Or throwing Rose wrappers at me and then pretending to be asleep when I turned around. Or indeed pretending to drink a cup of tea next to me when really he was ramming his elbow into my ribcage and lettin on he wasn't. I loves him I does.

Of course my lovely Uncle Paddy (or Paddy the Prick as he is otherwise known - see here) came for his Christmas/Birthday dinner too. Except this year he said the wrong thing. Now I mean the wrong thing. As he was leaving he said to Grandad "I hope we'll be here next year." Now lads. Anyone who knows me knows that Grandad is my number one man, and the very mention of his age or the fact that he is pushin on at all reduces me to a weeping wretch. But as most of you don't know me, you can read about my feelings for Grandad here. Immediately the tears sprang to my eyes and I was trying to say goodbye to Paddy with them streaming down my cheeks, snot flying everywhere. Stop lads, me nerves. And of course here was Grandad munchin away on a bowl of trifle, happy as Larry on the couch, completely oblivious to what was going on. Shur God love him like.

Another thing that has been playing on my mind lately is how BBB is doing his trials for the Marines in April. All well and good, except literally every single magazine I open has some feature article about young war widows or "hero" soldiers and marines dying in Afghanistan or Iraq.

Now I am as soft hearted as they come, and I have always said I'd never marry a soldier or a sailor, because there is no way I am sitting at home worrying myself half to death about whether or not my husband is coming home in a box. Imagine me. I'm a bag of nerves even now with my Trinity scholarship and peachy life, imagine me if I actually had something to worry about!!! Stop now, I wouldn't be able.

Shur of course all he has to say about it is "I have loads of friends who came back alive, I'll be grand". Like all 19 year olds, he thinks he is invincible. He doesn't understand that it doesn't matter how big and strong you are, or how good a fighter you are - the landmines aren't going to come kickboxing at you! It's a battle between flesh and metal like, and guess what side you're on, Love?! But shur it's his dream and I just have to let on to be supportin him like. I mean there is no way he won't get in, he is really fit and really strong, so now I just have to work on my game face for when he tells me he gets in. "Oh did you that's great! Congratulations! I just have to go to the ladies room...for three hours...with this drip."

Sigh.

On the upside I'll be headin back next Friday. Back to our hovel. And our broken oven. And SNOW!!! Can't wait!

Well the end of another year is upon us and I have to say I'm looking forward to the next one. I wish ye all the very best for 2010. May ye all laugh so hard a bit of wee comes out! May bottom-half showers abound!

All the best until next week lads!

Week Eleven

2009-12-21T09:58:00.002Z

Bit of an emotional rollercoaster this week, what with being fed up with being home but also being delighted that Christmas (and therefore Christmas Dinner) is just around the corner!

Monday 14^th Dec

Right. It’s official. I’m losing it. I’m going mad. I have to get out of here, I am so pissed off. Never mind that after yesterday’s ordeal I woke up with an arse like the Japanese flag. I just feel so fecking…fed up. Like fed up, only extreme to the max. In search of something that may actually interest me, I went on to breakingnews.ie. Now lads. Only in Ireland could there be the news headline “Ireland Heading for White Christmas, Says Postman”. Almost as good as the headline in the Waterford Today on the article about the hoodlums breaking off Mary’s hands. See here.

Get me the fuck out of here.

Tuesday 15^th Dec

Ok I’m over yesterday’s little mood swing. Today I’m going down to Shaws and I am packing plastic. Yes, that’s right folks, I’m bustin out the Shaw’s card! That’s right, the old faithful. You can get everything from a washing machine to a knickers in there on the aul card, god bless it. Where would we be without it? I LOVE Shaws.

Cut to two hours later.

That fuckin Shaws place. What a load of old shit. Not one thing. Not ONE feckin thing. I mean in fairness the fashion pendulum in there swings from old fat and horsey to young and hip but there wasn’t one thing in there. Everything was either old fat and horsey or young and “directional”. When did clothes become so shit? Everything is either way too “out there” or plain boring. There is not one classic piece to be found anywhere, unless you’re old fat and horsey. Me nerves.

Wednesday 16^th Dec

Right, I really must shake off this terrible mood I’m in. Must get in to the festive spirit.

Think festive thoughts.

If this was twenty years ago now myself and my sister Hazel would already have begun the annual frenzy of “practicing for Santa”.

Let me fill you in on our routine: every Christmas Eve myself and Hazel would go and sleep in the big double bed in the spare room, to get the buzz like. This was the only night of the year where I deemed it acceptable for her to sleep anywhere near me, as she breathes like a fucking foghorn. She doesn’t even snore, it’s just the fucking BREATHING. I can’t cope. Somehow though, for this one magical night a year, I had the ear equivalent of cataracts which rendered it bearable to share a room and a bed with her.

But the week before Christmas, sometimes even the month before, we would start “practicing or Santa”, whereby we would both go in to the spare room and lie on the bed and pretend to be asleep, and then pretend to wake up and pretend to check our stockings and pretend that Santy came. This may sound fairly innocent and childlike, but no; this was carried out with all the precision of a military operation. Every possible scenario was explored; me waking up first, her waking up first, us both waking up at the same time, an atom bomb going off resulting in neither of us waking up, an alien race from the planet Zorg coming to attack us and firing laser beams resulting in the liquidisation of said stockings. I mean the list was endless. And always every Christmas morning everything went according to plan.

Except this one particular Christmas morning.

About nineteen or twenty years ago, one of us woke up on Christmas morning and as we had practiced, gently woke the other before we quietly, with the stealth of ninjas, edged out of the bed and proceeded calmly toward the Christmas stockings. Ninja stealth in this case is necessary because my mother is the lightest sleeper on earth. She would hear a gnat fart in China. We couldn’t even turn on the light, as the click of the light switch would be enough to give her a heart attack.

So anyway we were both kneeling on the bed, elbow deep in our Christmas stockings.

“I got this and that and the other thing”, you’d be saying.

Next thing:

“…and I got Maltesers as well”, Hazel said.

“Did you?!” I said, inwardly thinking “that jammy fucking bitch”.

Mammy NEVER gave us sweeties at Christmas because everyone else always did. In our house, as in every house in Ireland, the child to selection box ratio was 1:86.

Anyway I couldn’t BELIEVE Hazel got Maltesers and I got shite all in the sweets department. So Hazel fished one out of the bottom of the stocking and popped it in her mouth and bit down for that satisfying honeycomb crunch.

But it never came.

Instead:

“BLEURGH!!!! They’re not Maltesers!!!!! Eeeeeeeeew! Bleurgh!”

It certainly was not a Malteser, oh no. Far from a fuckin Malteser.

It was a bubble bath pearl.

You know the ones, you got them down in Nectar. And you could get them in the shapes of bananas or penguins or rollerskates. But only if you were fancy.

I knew even then, as Hazel was dry retching down the side of the bed, that this was one of those moments that would stay with me forever. This, my friends, was Christmas Gold.

Thursday 17^th Dec & Friday 18^th Dec

Translated once again to the brink of insanity all day and then headed out to my sister’s house for a sleep over. Usually I hate staying over in people’s houses. I just abhor it. But I always sleep well in Hazel’s house. If I sleep in the front room. But if I sleep in the other guest room then I always get those weird black and white dreams about Tramore that hang over me and make me feel weird for the entire day. Plus I get to sleep in a double bed for a change.

Getting to sleep in a double bed while Hazel is in the building is nothing short of a miracle.

Allow me to explain.

When we were younger we used to spend every Friday night in our brother’s house. He had a double bed in his spare room, but on one side the mattress had a hole in it. Now I’m sure the hole was no bigger than a fist, but in my tiny imagination I saw it as a yawning chasm, a gaping abyss that feeds on the souls of the young. Fortunately we had a system where every week we swapped sides. At least this was in theory. In practice… well, guess who ended up getting their young soul sucked out of them every Friday night?

And this is not only Hazel’s fault, oh no. She had my brother Lenny on board. Every week the two of them would insist that the last week Hazel had slept on the side with the hole in it. And if I really kicked up a fuss, then Lenny would toss a coin to see who gets the bad side, but of course he would always fix the coin toss so that Hazel got to sleep on the good side.

What an evil sadistic bastard.

Things looked up when Lenny and his wife Becky moved into a new house though. I thought my bed-related woes were over. But no, they were just beginning. Now instead of a double bed in the spare room there was a double bed AND a single bed. Guess who always got the single bed?

At least I had my pink satin princess nightie to console me.

But it wasn’t long before that too was tainted.

One night when I was about 11, my sister Laura came home for a few days and we were all staying in Lenny’s. Hazel, being the drunken teenage delinquent she was, turned up in Lenny’s in the gazoolies and proceeded to puke her guts up. She was banished to the single bed while me and Laura took the double bed. Hazel was puking into a basin at the side of her bed. She also, by some miracle, had a bottle of Coke, which she kept drinking out of and then immediately puking it up. It was driving me mad. I whispered to Laura

“I don’t know why she keeps drinking that coke”.

“Mmm” Laura said, and shifted her leg into a more comfortable position.

Just then Hazel did another huge blood curdling retch.

“How uncouth”, I thought to myself and went to turn away from Laura.

But somehow I couldn’t. I seemed to be stuck. I tried to move again and again, but it was like I was pinned into place. What the fuck was going on? I lookerd under the covers. And nigh on wet my knickers with the laughing. Why was I stuck in place? Why couldn’t I move, I hear you asking?

Because, dear friends, my nightdress was caught between the cheeks of Laura’s arse.

When she moved her leg my nightdress moved with it and nestled in between her sisterly cheeks. So fierce was their grip that it rendered me unable to move. Of course then Laura pissed and my princess nightie was demoted to my pissy nightie.

Ah, youth.

Saturday 19^th Dec

Today is BBB’s Big Brown Birthday. He is hittin the big one-nine. Which means he is now only six years younger than me, making me less of a cradle robbing wretch. Excellent.

Sunday 20^th Dec

Went out for a for a run this morning. By the time I came back, I was convinced at least one of my toes had fallen off in my shoe. It was FREEZING. My lungs were burning the air was so icy. But it was lovely just running along in complete silence, looking out over the frozen fields, or forward onto my dog Fionn’s little arse toddling along ahead of me.

Back at the house anyway I spent the day organizing my Christmas presents. And by organizing, I mean making. This year, I am the poorest I have ever been, but Eddie says it’s ok, just make your presents. Thankfully I am brilliant at making just about anything. Except I am not allowed bake anything else before Christmas because Mammy said we will all get obese if I do. I didn’t hear her complaining when she ate the very last lemon square. Without asking.

I just don’t know anymore about the whole Ray D’Arcy thing. My facebook group has 91 members, but only about 2 of these actually realize its function, which is to attack Ray and his team with a barrage of emails, texts and phone calls until he bigs up my blog to the nation and therefore the nation rushes to my blog and feverishly clicks on all the ads thus ending all my financial worries. Oh yeah and Marian Keyes’ agent comes on and takes me on and holds my hand while I churn out a novel and pays me a squillion euro just in time to stop the Credit Union breaking my knuckles.

Sigh. If only.

Week Ten

2009-12-14T10:22:00.003Z

Are ye ready? Like are ye ready for this post? Cos it certainly ain’t for the faint-hearted. Don’t say I didn’t warn ye!

Don’t worry, you won’t give a flying fuck what happened Monday-Saturday after you read this bad boy.

Sunday 13^th Dec

Oh Jesus. Oh Mary. Oh Holy Saint Joseph. Not even with your powers combined could ye have helped me today. Today is the day where I can honestly say my number one absolute WORST nightmare came true.

By now you have guessed that me nerves do be at me at the best of times. But never more so when it has something to do with bodily functions occurring outside the home. I hate puking. I hate it. But because I spend most of my time doing it because of my dodgy stomach (thank you Nerves) I can just about bear it, but only if it is in the comfort of my own home. As in I can’t even do it in BBB’s bathroom, I always run back into my bathroom to do it in peace. And that’s just puking, need I even mention what could potentially go on down south? Never, ever, ever must a poo take place outside my own home. I mean if I was after eating 47 Weetabix and 3 gallons of OJ I would hold it all day in work, no problem, and then go home and be in and out of the bathroom in 30 seconds. Cos that’s my style.

So with that in mind, let me recount my day. Got up and started working early on the new translation. Texted Siobhan and Gemma about watching the X Factor en masse that night. Gemma couldn’t make it but she text me “Tramore chips about 3?” Oh yeah I says. Lovely jubbly. So we went out and got a chip, shunning Dooley’s for once in my life and instead heading to an ominously empty Massimo’s, or “The Long Hall” as Mammy calls it. I got a cheeseburger and she got chips and onion rings and the like. So we headed down to the prom and sat and ate and watched the waves coming in and soaking the poor children of the knuckle draggers of Waterford who let them stand at the edge unsupervised. It was an absolutely beautiful day, the light was splendiferous.

So then we headed up to Freddie’s and we set about playing the game where you put the 2p in the slot and try and knock other 2ps off the sliding shelf. You know the one! Lads, I love it! If I had every 2p in Freddie’s I’d stand there all night playing it, not a bother on me. But not this night, oh no. Not this fateful night.

I was happily pushing the 2ps through the slot when I got a sudden pain in my stomach that literally took my breath away. It was like someone had stabbed me. I looked around for a bloody dagger, just to be sure, but no, this was really happening. This pain was actually coming from inside me. I went over to Gemma.

“Jesus I have some pain!” I said, clutching my stomach for dramatic effect.

“Come on and we go home” she said but on our way to the car, I had to sit down. Like I literally couldn’t make it. The pain was that unbearable. I was hoping it was some kind of alien fart pain from Mars that would go away if I could muster a fart but no. I knew it was something more untoward. Then suddenly, the realization dawned.

“Oh my God Gemma, I might have to go to a toilet”.

The blood drained from my face.

“Ah grand, there’s one over here,” she said.

Ah grand? Ah grand?? I became hysterical.

“You don’t understand Gemma! You don’t understand!”

Of course she was in the knots at how terror stricken I was, and I would be too, if I hadn’t just gone colour blind from the panic.

So we ventured down to the toilet. Which toilet? I hear you asking. Oh you know, just the disabled toilet next to the amusements. You know, the one they shot Trainspotting in.

Now bear in mind it was about 4 o clock now, so it was dark out. And there was no light in the toilet. So it was literally pitch black in there. And I mean pitch black. I could only imagine what horrors lurked in there.

“Oh God Gemma, I can’t, I can’t!”

I was whimpering, crouched on the ground trying to make the pain go away. Gemma ventured in there and took her phone as a torch to suss out the place.

“Look, it’s grand, just go in” she said.

“I will never…”, but at that moment, I knew I had no choice and I had to peg it in the door. I didn’t have enough strength in my legs to hover so I had to fashion a makeshift AIDS barrier out of toilet paper to put between myself and the seat, all the while wondering how I was going to pay for the years of therapy that would inevitably follow this incident.

And then the storm came.

I didn’t know how long I had been in there. Was it days, weeks, months?? I was fully expecting to emerge having grown a full beard. But it was when I had blocked up the sink with puke that the delicious irony dawned on me. I had caught the vomiting bug that was going around. It had lain dormant inside me for God knows how long, slowly festering to a crescendo before coming to fruition in he disabled toilets in Tramore. For my sins, like.

In the whole time I was in there, there was no window of ten minutes where I possibly could have made it to the car and subsequently home. I just had to ride it out, so to speak, in this tiny dark room. Gemma was outside the door talking me through it.

“Soon you’ll be in your lovely warm bed…”

“Soon? When is soon?! I’ll be dead by then. I’m gonna die in this disabled toilet. I just know I am,” says I, and I was serious. It was so bad I was about to walk into the light like.

Well after the longest couple of hours of my life, I emerged, broken, from the toilet.

“Well, what colour am I?” I said to Gemma, holding the phone under my chin.

“Jesus you’re…you’re glistening!” she said. Nice.

I couldn’t even stand up straight, it was like my muscles had contracted and would only permit me to walk bent over. The pain was unbearable. But I knew it was time to make a break for it. It was now or never.

So I proceeded to do the scrunchback shuffle to the car with Gemma half carrying me. And you can guarantee that everyone who saw us was thinking one of two things. They were either thinking: a) “Look at that poor young wan in the horrors and her friend carrying her home. Tut tut. The youth of today etc.” or b) “Ah will you look at that girl bringing her handicapped sister out for a walk, shur God love her. Isn’t she as good? It must be terrible hard. And she with a bit of a scrunchback as well…”

Made it to the car anyway, “thanks bit of God”, Gemma strapped me in and we were on our way, fully intending to break every speed limit on the way, were it not for the line of cars in front of us being driven by healthy people who don’t know the meaning of terror.

Well the second we pulled up the drive, I was overcome with joy. I still had the gut-wrenching pains but I literally didn’t care. Now I was at home I could piss out my arse and projectile vomit to my heart’s content! Hurrah!! There was nobody home but I ushered Gemma out the door in case she got a touch of leprosy off me and went down to the room and got into bed, literally elated. Pity there is no one home to share in my horror story though.

Of course now, I wasn’t thinking “I can’t believe that just happened to me, I better roll over and try to sleep it off”, oh no. I was thinking “ Who can I ring now that will really understand what just happened to me?” So I rang my sister in law who also shares my toilet concerns. She was satisfactorily horrified. Then for good measure I rang my other two sisters, just to share the terror like. A trouble shared, and all that.

Couldn’t fall asleep cos the pains were really bothering me so I settled for reading Chat magazine, curled up in a ball. In particular, the story entitled “Too Fat for Take That” was riveting.

So there you have it. The worst thing that could possibly ever happen to me actually happened. And I survived. As my friend texted me last night “Everybody’s life is made up of lots of different experiences, good and bad! And the bad ones define mostly who you are”. Whatever the fuck that means.

Right I’m going for a lie down. Shook I am. Until next week folks!

PS I want everyone to know that Gemma Grace is the bestest friend in the whole world and I literally could not have done it without her. Literally, I would have gone over to the dark side like. Thanks Gem, love you!

Week Nine

2009-12-07T11:29:00.002Z

I had a big romantic notion of coming home for Christmas when I was in Pavia. Now I'm home and all my romantic notions pertain to how the fuck I am going to get back out!

Monday 30^th Nov

Ok so I got home, I’ve seen my family, I’ve squeezed the head off my nephew Jack, my niece Lily and the dog. Right. Check.

So now what the fuck am I going to do for a month?

Lurked around for the day, halfheartedly translating until the evening when I went spinnin down to Fungarvan to watch Twilight. Lads. Talk about substandard. Yer wan Kristin Stewart was an abomination. The big Portlaw Jaw on her – it nearly took the eye out of me head! Jacob was enjoyable, only because he has a bod that, whilst being somewhat inferior, is reminiscent of BBB. And Edward. Edward. He looked like someone flattened his face with a smack of a shovel. And his nipples? What’s going on there? Talk about uneven! Bit of penny farthing syndrome going on there Edward boy. Still, though, shovel face or no shovel face, I’d leave him throw me into a table any day!

Tuesday 1^st Dec

Got home from adventuring around 2am last night and snuggled up in the bed, SO comfy. Electric blanket, the works. The next thing through the fog of sleep I heard “Jack…Jack” but as I came up from the depths it was suddenly “Jack! Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!” WTF? I lep up outta the bed boy, still half asleep, and ran out into the hall:

“What is it? What’s wrong?” (probably in Italian) No glasses on me, one tit in, one tit out, the usual like.

“Get your father! I’m siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick!” Oh no. Dear Lord no. I think the worst thing that can ever happen to any child, even if you’re not a child any more, is that your parents could be sick. It’s distressing like, at any age. They are supposed to be mindin you, for the love of God. So poor Mammy then was dyin sick all night from a terrible bug. In the morning I text my sister, who said that she and her husband also had it. It must be going around.

A word about things “going around”. Having worked in a chemist in Waterford City Centre for a number of years, never have I heard a phrase being so overused, and so inappropriately. If someone came in with a cold or with flu-like symptoms I’d be like ah you poor thing, take two of these and take it easy for a few days. Inevitably, and I mean INEVITABLY, there will be some nosy fucker in the queue behind who says “Ah it’s going around girl”. In this instance the use of “going around”, although annoying, is acceptable.

But when someone comes in with something like an allergy, a rash, IBS or one leg hanging off and their head hangin on by a thread, blood flying everywhere and some one pipes up “ah its going around girl”, it gets my back up, BIG TIME. Guess what, fuck off and mind your own business you nosy bitch ( always a bitch, never a bastard). Oh, and for the record, when I ask you how you are as you wait for your prescription, I do NOT need a rundown of the consistency of your stools. Jesus Christ.

Wednesday 2^nd Dec

Translated all day to the point of madness, but was rescued at the last minute to go to the cinema and for a spin after. I just LOVE the cinema. And I just LOVE spins. So a combobulation of the two is enough to elate me, even at times like these.

Went in to see Law Abiding Citizen anyway. It was great, heads exploding all over the gaff. But that wasn’t what haunted me afterwards, oh no! What haunted me afterwards was the trailer for “The Crazies” that played before the film. Much like the time me and Sandra rented The Gift, but that night I lay awake in bed thinking about the trailer for Jeepers Creepers that came on before it.

After the cinema we went up to Mahon Falls. It was about half twelve at this point. The moon was bright enough that we cast shadows but it was still eerie and the like. The next thing, my so-called friend starts going “Jesus look, this looks right a right place for the crazies to come out of.” And the next thing a fuckin sheep jumps out from behind a rock. Now lads. Usually when one gets such a fright a bit of wee comes out, but in these situations, the wee goes so far back inside me, I think I expelled a drop or two from me ear.

We got down to the falls anyway and it was AMAZING. Freezing cold and high wind but just so peaceful but exhilarating at the same time. Next up we went to basically every beach looking for phosphorescence but the moon was too bright so I went home, freezing but happy around 3.

Thursday 3^rd Dec

Another day spent translating, trying to build up as much fundage as I can before I head back in a few weeks. As he evening wore on I drew ever closer to the end of my wick. Texted my friend Siobhan:

“What are you doing?”

“Watching emmerdale, what are you doing?”

“Think I might kill myself, you interested?”

“Ill be there at half eight”

Went for the inevitable spin, Saw Doctors blastin out, singin at the tops of our lungs. Pain in my face from being in the knots. Talk about cathartic. Went home, hit the leaba, happy days!

Friday 4^th Dec

Hit the translation hard all day today. In the evening went to Siobhan’s house for a bit of a DVD/Chicken Shop/Minstrels and Natural Confectionary Company combo. Bliss.

On the way though Siobhan told me that someone broke the hands off the Holy Mary statue at the grotto in the Cork Road. Now lads. I am no holy joe but my jaw literally hit the ground. I know the Catholic Church have turned out to be a shower of evil bastards as per the Murphy Report and the Ferns Inquiry and the like, but that’s not Mary’s fault! I’m shocked, so I am.

Like it’s not as if they could have accidentally knocked them off in passing, they would literally have had to climb over the railing, over the flower bed and then somehow mount the bit that Mary is standing on and then exert considerable force to wrench her praying stone hands from her wrists. Most likely with a group of drunken friends cheering them on.

This to me is just horrifying. I just can’t get my head around it. I get the feeling that whoever did it is not from Waterford, because this grotto has been there over 50 years, untouched until now. It’s just disgusting. I hope whoever did it is racked with guilt. I wish there was some way we could have CCTV footage of it and play it on the news and take a still from the video, a close up of the bastard’s face, preferably twisted into some drunken grimace, and print his picture in every newspaper in Ireland so that wherever they are from their mother will open the newspaper and her hands will fall off from the mortification of it all. Sounds fair to me.

Saturday 5^th Dec

God I just can’t believe this weather, pissin out all day! On the upside though I finished the translation. Whoop!

Sunday 6^th December

Wandered into town today to scout out the new Penneys. It always interests me to visit the site of origin of the Christmas Top that 72% of Waterford will be wearing this Christmas Day. Not great now lads I have to say. Bit lacking on the clothes front. It basically has the same stuff it had before, but now there is more space between the racks! The building is nicely done though, with the old city wall exposed. Very nice. Other than that tis a bit of a disappointment. Went up to Shaws then, got talking to the girl in Dorothy Perkins. "I just went down to the new Penneys" I said, "not great is it girl?" "Nah" she said, "all I got in there was the top with the sequins on it for Christmas. I got it in navy and my sister got it in white."

Case in point.

Although on this little excursion I did realise the extent of the economic differences between Ireland and Italy. The recession basically doesn’t exist over there like it does here. I mean over there they are hittin the shops hard for their Christmas presents. Over here in Ireland, we are hittin grannies over the head with our basket in the pound shop to get the last Old Spice set! I’m telling you now lads, there’s going to be plenty of Brut aftershave sets bought as presents this year. Or “Brutal” as a handsome man I know would put it. Between that now and the ever-classy “Denim” and “Maverick” offerings from Aldi and Lidl, I’d say we’d all want to be wearing gas masks to Christmas Mass! It’s sure to be an eye-watering experience.

Eamonn was in Waterford for the night so we headed to Geoff’s for quiet one or two. Went up to the bar to order and got chatted up by not one, not two, but three fellas. In quick succession. Love it lads. I must be givin off pheromones or something. That’s always the way. When you just start going out with someone new and you’re all luvved up, Jesus they just come out of the woodwork don’t they!

Anyway I was on my usual Paulita white, but holy moley, strange things were happening after only one glass! Then I copped on, over in Italy I always drink prosecco, which has only about 6% or so, depending, so I just got used to that. Well after one Paulita boy, I was in the goolies. After two I was in the horrors. And then the inevitable occurred. I had to pee. But here is the timeless problem with that. You have been sitting down for quite some time, your legs have forgotten how to walk. When you do get up to go to the loo, you will inevitably do the “drunk walk”, hands clamped by your sides, head bopping up and down, what you think is a look of sobriety on your face. The indignity of it. But then I saw a fat wan in a sparkly dress do it ahead of me and I felt better.

Finally got a kebab on my home, sat down in the sitting room with Dad to enjoy it. And by enjoy I mean ingesting half of it and spilling the other half on my face/top/boobs/jeans. It’s the only way to enjoy a kebab.

Something I’m noticing actually. I say Holy Mary and Jesus Christ a lot, and seeing as the ads on my page are determined by the content of my blog, all my ads are now “Total Union with God”, “Jesus Christ’s Real Story” (the uncut version, I’m guessing) and “Free Christian Books”. Now lets see what happens when we throw some more interesting vocab into the mix. Let’s say, for example, WILLY, BOOBS, and DIDDIES. Should be interesting to see the outcome! Until next week, m’dears!

Week Eight

2009-12-01T11:06:00.002Z

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday just didn’t seem to exist this week as they only served to bring me closer to Thursday, when Mammy and Hazel were coming over to visit me. I have been crossing off the days on my countdown calendar for WEEKS and it’s finally here! Of course now 5 mins after the novelty wears off we’ll be at each others throats. Except we will be repressing the rage and acting like we are grand. You know how these things go.

Thursday 26^th Nov

Today is the day lads – when the Jacques women take Pavia by storm! Was delighted to meet Mammy and Hazel at the station, then we headed out for a bit of lunch, turning every head in Pavia on the way to the restaurant. Had a great laugh eating our pizza, watching yer wan next to us try to cut her pizza with the wrong edge of the knife. Talk about a pizza cutting fail.

Next thing anyway we headed around town for a little gander before I had to go to work.

And then the inevitable happened.

We were in a department store looking at the baby clothes and Hazel picked up a little pair of scratchy grey trousers and said

“Look, St. Paul’s school pants!”

“Ah yeah”, I goes, still in a world of my own.

“They come with a built in rash” she says, and it didn’t sink into my brain fast enough and I goes “with a built in what?” grabbing the label to read what was built in.

"A built in rash, ya ding-dong!” Hazel goes and the two of us were bent double with the laughing.

I leaned over onto a rail and Hazel stumbled backwards into an unsuspecting Mammy and the shock caused her to fart.

“Oh Jesus I farted!” she goes.

Well lads.

I couldn’t even stand up straight, either could Hazel. The three of us were in the knots, three big red heads on us. And I would have been alright, I mean, I just KNOW I would have been alright had Mammy not clung to me cos she was laughing so much she couldn’t stand up by herself.

And we all know that when we are laughing at something like completely in the knots, it is so much funnier when there is someone else laughing the same as you. Now at this point my bladder was finding it hard to cope so I tried to walk away from Mammy, but the conniving little geebag FOLLOWED ME and kept grabbing on to me. And then it happened. I immediately stopped laughing and turned around, stoney faced to the other two;

“We have to go home now”.

Jacques family code code for “ I have to go home and have a bottom-half shower cos I’m after pissin with the laughin”.

The three of us were walking up the road to my house anyway and the next thing I put my hand in my bag to get my keys and they weren’t there.

I was after leaving them in Mammy’s hotel room.

Oh for fuck sake. Didn’t have time then to get changed before work so went in one of Hazel’s knickers, distraught because it didn’t match my bra. Those of you who know me know that I NEVER venture outside the front door if my bra and knickers don’t match. I mean if for some reason I don’t have a matching set I will go without either the bra or the knickers. Sorry like, no can do on the uncoordinated front. And here was me going to work in a black bra and burgundy knickers. Me nerves.

Came back from work and we headed to the pub with Sofia and Silvia. Copious amounts of prosecco, pina colada and red beer were drunk. Then came the inevitable – the hole in the floor toilets. Of course now I’m a pro after the first night, but Mammy and Hazel had their doubts. Eventually Hazel had to face the music and a while after that Mammy was up.

Now I should mention that the toilets are unisex, so when I was in a cubicle I heard Mammy outside;

“Jennie are you in there? Are these the womens?”

“Yeah” I goes.

The next thing;

“Jesus Christ! Jennie there’s a MAN in here!”

“Mammy the toilets are unisex!”

“I don’t care! I don’t like it!”

And yer man standing behind her understanding every word she said like! I was in the knots, and so was Hazel in the cubicle beside me. Let me just inform you kind people that squatting over a hole in the ground after having a few drinks is NOT the most opportune moment to be in the knots. There was a moment of uncertainty, but thankfully I grabbed onto the toilet roll dispenser at the last minute and saved myself!

On the way home then we were drunkenly admiring the architecture and Mammy said;

“I love all these old stone balconies”

Then Hazel pipes up;

“Yeah I know, they’re so ‘Romeo, Romeo, let down your golden hair.’”

Are they Hazel, are they really like? I’d say they are, alright.

Oh Jesus lads. Nearly had another department store moment. Ah I just love the two of them, I’m so glad they came over.

Friday 27^th Nov

Right, I don’t know who to kill first, Hazel or Mammy. Hazel doesn’t know who to kill first, Mammy or me, and Mammy doesn’t have a fucking clue what is going on cos she is walking ten feet behind us at all times.

Have the hangover from hell and have to work this evening. Went around the market and the shops in the day and then went to the girl’s house for dinner where they had kept us some of their pumpkin pie left over from their Thanksgiving Dinner the night before. It was the first time I had ever tasted it. It was AMAZING!

It reminded me of Leahy’s chester cake slices, if anyone remembers them. Or “doorstops” as we used to call them, and if I’m not mistaken, I think one time Hazel actually did go in and ask for a ‘doorstop’ by accident.

Leahy’s, for those not in the know, was a cake shop in Waterford that had the best cakes in the whole town. They retired a few years back and now Waterford has to get by on the substandard produce of X (cannot name names but we all know what I am talking about). Well, technically, X’s is nice but their vanilla slices just can’t hold a candle to Leahy’s, which was pure set custard, instead of a bit of pisswater custard mixed in with a bit of cream.

Jesus Leahy’s was great. Remember they used to have those yellow swirl cakes with the cream inside the swirl? They came in brown as well. And their jam tarts – out of this world! And the donuts! The donuts! I have to sit down. I think we should all have a moment of silence for how great Leahy’s really was.

Saturday 28^th Nov

Ok so we had organized to go to Bologna today for a spot of shopping and eating some good Bolgnese food. Had organized to take the 9.12 train to Milano and get the connecting train to Bologna. We were all meeting at 8.45 at the station. However the girls were 15 mins late so we missed the train. No bodder butty we’ll just pay a bit extra and take the next train. Yer wan behind the counter was a nazi anyway but we got our tickets and she told us which train to get on.

Cut to 20 mins later and the train was stopped in a station that was NOT Milano Centrale, and we were there with a few Italians who were in the same boat as us. Turns out the nasty ass bitch at the ticket counter sold us all the wrong tickets and told us to get on the wrong train. I ought to punch her in the kidney. As a result we missed our train to Bologna and ended up going around Milan for the day. I was SO disappointed that I didn’t get to go back to Bologna but what harm shur, Milan is nice as well. I’ll go back to Bologna after Christmas. And at least Mammy and Hazel got to see Milan.

On the train anyway Mammy was telling us about some poor simple fella who was on the train from Waterford to Dublin with two kids.

Now here’s a bit of background on these types of situations: Mammy is a sucker for a sob story, and if she sees some “poor craythur” she immediately constructs in her head an elaborate back story of woe for them. I mean talk about adding (shriveled) arms and (lame) legs to the story. Now herself and Hazel were describing the fella for me and how he was struggling with the buggy and here Mammy goes;

“ And he had a bit of a lame leg as well”.

And I wouldn’t mind now lads but the fella was probably 6 foot 2 and made of steel and braun.

“Mammy stop it, he did not”, Hazel goes, to which Mammy replied;

“Did you not see him bent over the buggy – I think he had a bit of a scrunchback”

Lord, give me strength.

Sunday 29^th Nov

Today is the day! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I’m going home! Yay! Can’t WAIT to noogie the head off my little nephew Jack! But first have to tackle the unpleasantness of “The Goodbye” with BBB. I was almost ready to go when I heard him opening his door. I opened my door and the look on his face was enough to break my heart. He brought me down to the station anyway and when I got on the bus he stood outside and waited until the bus pulled away. Now lads, if it’s one thing I can’t stand it’s goodbyes. I usually prefer to do the whole slap on the back and sprint away with me eyes stinging kind of thing but this time I had to look at his heartbroken face out the window for ten minutes. It was torture. And it was torture too because I actually didn’t want to leave him. A month without BBB is going to be tough. How does that old line go? “I’ve grown accustomed to his pecs” or something romantic like that.

After a neverending day of travelling we finally made it home and squeezed the head off little Jack, and if that wasn’t enough joy then my niece Liljana showed up in a gorgeous little cream furry hat and jacket combo to melt my heart even more. MSN’ed with BBB. Hard to believe that only this morning we were snuggling. Would you listen to me lads, I have it BAD! It’s ok though, cos he has it worse. I mean it’s hard enough when you’re 18 and a month without your girlfriend seems like the end of the world, but to be 18 and ITALIAN!

The poor fella.

I think he had a bit of a scrunchback as well…

Week Eight Delay

2009-11-30T12:46:00.002Z

Sorry lads, but due to the stresses and strains of being an international woman of mystery, this week's post will be an eentsy weentsy bit late. But at least you'll have something to brighten up your Tuesday morning.

Feel free to leave disgruntled comments below.

Week Seven

2009-11-23T10:32:00.002Z

Oh Mary mother of God. I haven’t been this sick in a long time. However, as a result, I haven’t been this skinny in a long time, so it’s alright by me. And somewhere between picking me up off the floor and force feeding me dinners NDN (Next Door Neighbour), ceased to be my NDN and became my BBB (Big Brown Boyfriend). All well and good but Eddie is breathing down the back of my neck like nobody’s business!

Monday 16^th Nov

Today was rough out, boy. Woke up with the usual burn in my stomach and took my tablets in the (vain) hope of finding some relief but holy god by 12 o clock I was crippled in agony. I just lay on the bed watching episodes of Dexter but by 3 o clock I swear to god I couldn’t take it any more.

You know when you’re really sick and you’re in so much pain that you actually go a bit mental? Well I was right there. You start having them black and white waking dreams about going on the waltzers in Tramore.

The pain was such that I was like “I think I might just die instead of going through this.” And what’s more I was SWEATING, I must have been a million degrees. So I went over to the window and opened it wide letting the blast of Baltic November air blow in on me. Then I said to myself shur Ill have a little lie down on these lovely cool tiles. I’ll just lie down a have a little die for myself, like.

I don’t know what happened then or how long I was lying there for but the next thing BBB came bustin in the door and picked me up off the floor.

“Jesus Christ look at the state of you!” he goes.

Then he put me on the bed and started ransacking my room. Why? Why, I hear you ask? Lads this is so funny. The poor child thought I was after taking an overdose or something and he was looking around for evidence. Shur God love him like.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I said.

"What did you take? What did you drink?"

White as a sheet he was, reading all my toiletry labels. I was curled up in a ball on the bed, literally in the knots with the laughing. This wasn’t helping my case. In the end anyway I managed to convince him I was only sick, not dying of a body lotion overdose. He made me eat some pasta then and then I went back into my own room to writhe around in peace.

Tuesday 17^th Nov

Woke up in absolutely no pain for the first time in weeks! Yay! Did a spring clean of the room and organized some work stuff before BBB came home from college. Yet again he made me my dinner and then we watched some Dexter.

Into me leaba I hopped that night, happy as Larry just to be well. But as I lay there all snuggled up in the dark, Little Eddie Hobbs crept over the pillow to whisper in my ear “You’re fucked Jen, just give it up, bitch”. God, he’s right. I am fucked. The ad revenue from this blog has somewhat plateau-ed lately, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that noone on God’s green earth is going to come and read a blog about the Eddie Hobbs Diet and then click on an ad that says “Men’s Tartan Boxers”. Although it has been reported that once there was an ad on here for Eddie Hobbs services.

Speaking of Eddie Hobbs, I feel I must share with you all that about a fortnight ago now I emailed Eddie Hobbs through his website and told him all about my Eddie Hobbs Diet and I haven’t heard anything back, not even from one of his minions. And then he had the CHEEK to show his face on the Late Late Show after he didn’t bother acknowledging my adoration. He is clearly playing hard to get. Oh Eddie. Don't make me start a facebook group.

Wednesday 18^th Nov

Today is my friend Laura’s birthday so we head to her house for dinner and drinks. On the way I am solemnly warned by BBB that I am absolutely NOT to drink tonight, that it is contributing to my ongoing sickness. Of course, I say. Shur I’ll just have a sneaky glass or two of prosecco like.

Now lads I don’t know what happened. I just don’t know. I really did only mean to have one or two. But when I look back on the night, the one or two glasses turned into one or two bottles of prosecco. And also, I never do shots, like as in I have never done one shot in my entire life, but shots of JD were involved. Or “Sinor Jack” as he is affectionately known. Then when the prosecco was gone, I was so busy chatting that I didn’t notice that I was drinking a full glass of neat rum as if it were lemonade. When the time came to go to the club, I went outside the front door and bejaysus. No way. No WAY was I going anywhere but home. I’d say BBB would have killed me if he wasn’t as pissed himself. For a beast of a man, he can’t drink for shit, shur God love him. And that’s saying something coming from me, who gets drunk at the sniff of a West Coast Cooler. But then again I suppose his organs aren’t fully formed yet, what with him being a child and that.

Thursday 19^th Nov

Woke up. Groaned. Went back to sleep.

Friday 20^th Nov

Oh this is it, folks. Things have reached a crescendo! Woke up with the old familiar burn in the stomach and was watching a spot of Dexter when Nora asked did I want to have a lurk around town. Of course! I says, but when I stood up, my stomach had other plans. I was struck with the most acute pain I literally couldn’t straighten out. I got down on the floor in a ball. This is it, I was thinking to myself. This is how I am going to die. Because this is definitely NOT normal, I don’t know anyone who lives like this. The worst thing was I couldn’t even start banging on the wall for BBB to come in because he was gone home for a few days. Next thing I crawled in to the bathroom, and shur Jesus there followed what can only be described as an exodus of my innards. This is good though, this is cleansing. My friend Sofia came over then with tea and biscotti and DVDs and minded me. I think I will marry her.

Saturday 21^st Nov

Went into town with Nora, then headed into Sadie and Laura’s. It was pissin out but all the Christmas lights were on so it totally cancelled out all the dreariness. I am SO looking forward to Christmas! Mam and Hazel are coming over on Thursday and then we are all flying home together on Friday. I can only imagine the shenanigans that we are going to get up to once we get a Malibu and pineapple into Mammy!

Once again, can’t wait to get home to Waterford for a while. Of course, once I’m there five minutes I’ll be itchin to get back out! I can’t even begin to tell you how much I am looking forward to some more classic Jacques family moments like the one that came to pass last March on Hazel’s 30^th birthday. (That’s right Hazel, I’m going there).

We were all out in Hazel’s house for her birthday and we were in the living room in front of the fire having a chat.

Daddy was on the recliner in front of the telly, watchin it at full blast cos he is deaf (from listening to us I’d say) and Hazel’s little dog Lola was standing on his chest just licking the face off him, and he was just letting her.

I don’t know what it is about Daddy’s face but all dogs are mad to lick it. And I don’t know why he lets them, especially Lola, of all little dogs, because she always pees when she gets happy or excited, shur God love her. She was going apeshit licking the face off him and we were all laughing our heads of and making jokes about it, while poor deaf daddy continued on watching the telly, oblivious to us takin the piss.

Next thing Hazel’s husband goes

“Jesus if he’s not careful, his face’ll be like the fella from the Falklands war!”

So we were all laughing at this, but naturally because Hazel had literally just had the baby she pissed herself and left a little wet patch on the leather sofa (thank god it’s wipe clean is all I’ll say!) and I said

“Haha you left a wet patch!’

Ivor then

“Where? Where?!”

And we were all laughing our heads off, like really in the knots, I mean I was on all fours on the floor. Daddy must have heard some faint sounds cos he turned around and we were all rolling all over the place.

“What’s going on?” he said.

Ivor said “She pissed herself!”

And Daddy went “Wha?! Jesus Christ!”

and threw the dog off him, literally launched her through the air like, cos he didn’t have a clue what was going on and he thought Ivor meant that Lola pissed herself all over Daddy and that was what we were laughin at! Well needless to day there wasn’t a dry knickers in the house. Oh lads - get me home!

Sunday 22^nd Nov

Feeling better today. Went for a stroll around town to get some air and reintegrate into society slash spread my disease to the unsuspecting masses. Headed home then to rest. Got on to facebook and had a hilarious nostalgic conversation.

Lads, hands up who remembers NAFFco 54 jackets? And I always thought it was Nanny Annie Fuckin Fanny Colm’s Only 54, but I was told it was in fact Nanny Annie Fuckin Fanny Condoms Only 54. These jackets were the shit boy. If you had one you were the biznitch. You were also king of the pikeys but that’s neither here nor there. If you had the original Naf Naf coat you were actually LESS cool than the people who had NAFFco 54 jackets that they got for a fiver down the Apple Market, where the fella threw in a few gone off Mars bars with it.

If you were a female pikey, the Naffco54 jacket HAD to be worn with “skrousers”. For the uninitiated these are a tasteful mélange of a trousers and a skirt.

Now if you wanted to be REALLY cool, you headed into Rockit on Blackfriars and got yourself a pair of Xworx jeans. I think Rockit replaced Mork’s in the Broad Street Centre as THE place to go for t-shirts and jeans.

Except of course now I was no raver, I was something MUCH cooler lads. I was a grunger. Or at the very least I was trying to be! Jaysis now lads I had it all, the flannel shirts, the chain on me wallet, the black and red doc martins. Shame my Harry Potter glasses didn’t quite fit in with the whole look. Same goes for my “curtains” fringe. Sigh.

Toward the late 1990’s then my style developed into a more skater-y look. With my Quiksilver t shirts and peace sign pendant I was the shit. No joke.

All I can say is thank god I got it all out of my system back then. I can honestly say I was positively rotten until I was about 20. I think I have somewhat copped on since then though.

Thank God.

Bit of a depressing week here in Pavia due to being sick and losing sleep due to the financial nightmare that is my life, but thinking of the good times ahead with the family Jacques keeps me going when I’m sitting on the toilet puking into the bidet.

PS Heard there's a lot of rain at home at the moment. People must be bustin' out their arks left right and centre. I can only imagine them up in the Apple Market now "Ten euro the ark! Free box of mars bars with every ark!"

PPS I can't find any pics on the interweb of Naffco54. The first person to find me one will get a present in the post! If you remember any other mortifying trends from back in the day, leave them as a comment below and give us all a good laugh!

Week Six

2009-11-16T10:24:00.004Z

A somewhat interesting week in Pavia culminating in being threatened by an axe murderer, facing my fear of squatting, skinning both my knees and discovering the joys of chip pizza. Good times.

Monday 10^th Nov

This morning I opened the shutters and looked out the window and there on the street below was a billboard with a picture of a nudie white woman and a nudie black man. And the caption was “They call me Dirty Black. They call me Filthy Lesbian”. And that’s it like. Nice to meet ye lads, they call me Jennie!

This afternoon then I heard voices in the hall, one of them being next door neighbour’s. I went out to join the banter and we ended up in another girl’s room chatting away. Next thing “Do you have a boyfriend?” he said to me. Heart skips a beat. I must have just been sitting there like a gombeen because the girl next to me answered for me. He expressed an interest in going to rowing so later when I was getting ready for rowing I asked him does he want to come with me, but he was already on his way to the gym. “But I’m going to a party tonight, do you want to come with me?” Me then “Eh, yeah” And I grabbed my phone to take his number and as I was typing it in my hand was shaking and I lost all strength in my fingers. I was typin in all types of Xs and Os like a ham-fisted buffoon. I’m not used to this kind of carry-on at all, at all. Once I had his number I had to close the door and sit down for a minute. Me nerves!

That night anyway I had to come home sick from rowing. I hopped into the shower when I got home and by the time I had gotten out he had rung me four times and texted me once. Hmm. I text him anyway saying I was sick and couldn’t go. He text back “Pity, etc, next time etc, if you need a doctor let me know…” Oh my God. Oh my God. Three dots! He is flirting with me.

Ok right, all systems go. Must construct a text message that is flirty and nonchalant in equal measure. Then we can keep the flirting going for a while to help me to acclimatize to the idea of going out with someone new. Excellent. This is good. This is healthy. So I typed in “Shur come and examine me tomorrow, my lips are hurtin me…smiley face” See that’s the trick, hedge your bets with a smiley face. Usually I hate smileys, but in this case, they are my ally. I read the message ten times before sending it. Ah here, fuck it, I’ll send it, I’m mad, I am! So there then followed the ten minutes between my message and his reply in which I was having the obligatory panic attack “Oh my God, what was I thinking! He’s not going to reply now, he thinks I’m a mad aul wan!” Until the phone beeped and my blood pressure rocketed. “Shur jaysus I could call in tonight if that’s the case…smiley face”. Ah good. The presence of smiley faces keeps it all innocent. This suits me grand, what with being a divorcee stumbling blindly back out into the market like. A few more weeks of this and I’ll be ready for the first awkward kiss. Great. By then it was past midnight so I relaxed a bit, shur we can continue the harmless flirting tomorrow.

Next thing, a knock at the door.

Oh Jesus! JESUS! It’s not, is it? It couldn’t be. I opened the door a tiny crack. His giant bod was taking up the whole door frame. I didn’t know whether to puke or faint! He must have run home as fast as his teenage legs could carry him! I was just standing there in shock, in my jimjam ends and my horrible t shirt that I usually only wear for training, hair all over the gaff. Next thing he goes “Did somebody call for a doctor?” Oh God. Oh Mary mother of Jesus. I’m not ready for this! I just stood there, jaw on the floor. Then he just said “You propositioned me” and pushed me in the door, scooped me up with one hand and closed the door behind him with the other. Oh God! My first thought was “How the fuck am I going to get out of this one?” but then I was like, go with it, give him a little kiss like. No sooner were my lips braced for contact than his hand wanted to go on a holiday to Boob Town. Ha! I don’t fuckin think so, butty. He was swiftly “trun” out back into his own room. Boob town, as if! You’ll have to put in a fair bit of wooing first, m’dear. Now I’m no prude but please now, I mean honestly. I really don’t think so. I meant the lips on my face were hurting me, like. Talk about gettin the wrong end of the stick. I mean Italian women might give out free passes to Boob Town like they’re going out of style but not me, no siree. No hands please, I’m Irish.

I got into bed anyway hoping for a good night sleep. But I just lay there staring at the ceiling all night thinking “what just happened?” Most terrifying/hilarious thirty seconds of my life, like.

Tuesday 11^th Nov

Yesterday just kind of ran into today because of lack of sleep last night. He knocked on my door in the morning to say goodbye before he went to college. Like a nice polite boy. Good, he’s learning. Let the wooing commence.

Wednesday 12^th Nov

Today my friends from college Anna and Eamonn came over to visit me. I was delighted to see them. The two of them were foaming at the mouth to do something mental to get into my blog, and they didn’t disappoint. We checked into their hotel room first. Now this hotel, like all hotels in Italy, as stipulated by law, is run by a complete mentaller. You just know by his soft spoken voice and the mayonnaise on his cheek that he has some bodies buried in the back yard. We were in the room having a catch up in the middle of the day like, and the next thing a knock at the door. It’s the axe murderer. “You’ll have to keep it down lads” he said, quite nicely, “Oh yeah grand boy, no bodder” says us. Even though we were only conversing as mature adults, as illustrated in the picture below.

But he kept going on “If you keep talking, I’ll give you back your money and you can go find somewhere else to stay”. “Yeah, yeah no problem” we said. “If the talking continues I’m going to call the police and have you dragged out of here” Ok, now this is getting weird. “Eh…ok, yep, understood”. “If I hear one more sound I’m going to come up here and chop you into little pieces, wrap you in quality street wrappers and give you out as sweets on Halloween”. Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay. He went off anyway and we were all just staring at each other like WTF? The next thing a drill started up upstairs, and continued for all of Anna and Eamonn’s stay. Welcome to Italy lads.

That night we went out to the Irish pub. Now I hadn’t ever used their bathroom before so I was shocked and upset to find that they had those hole in the ground toilets. Now people, anyone who knows me knows that I just do not do anything that involves squatting. I have never peed in a field in my life and I’m not about to assume the position now. I mean, how does one even approach these things? I’m very upset like. But as the proseccos kept coming I had to face the truth: it was time to pee. Oh god, oh god. Had to get detailed instructions from Sofia before I could go downstairs. Emerged equally victorious and disgusted. I mean how unladylike. These things really bother me, I wish I could be more like my sister, who’d piss in yer eye. I’m not saying which sister. (It’s Hazel.)

Thursday 13^th Nov

Today Anna and Eamonn went on a jaunt to Milan while I had to go to work in Pavia. When they got home we went out for a several drinks. Of course, we all know that the part of the night when you are in the bar drinking the actual drinks is never the funniest part of the night, oh no. The funniest part of the night is when the drinks have been drunk and you’re on your way home and one of ye has a “brilliant idea”. In this case, the ‘brilliant idea’ was had by us when we were going through the underground passage in town. “Oh my god like, let’s recreate the Twilight New Moon poster.” “That is the most ingenious thing I have ever heard of in my life!” This is clearly a completely normal and appropriate thing to be doing at 2 o’ clock of a Friday morning in an underground passageway. See result below.

Anyway then we headed to the taxi rank to get me a taxi home. Not a taxi in sight, and when we rang the taxi company there were no taxis available. In fact, there wasn’t even any traffic. Anna and Eamonn said they’d walk me home the ten minutes up the road. Grand. So we were walkin up the road like the three drunken gowlers we are and no harm came to us, until we were literally outside my front door and I slapped off the ground. Like, literally lying on the ground I was. I have always hated walking down slight declines and this is why. First one foot slipped, but then the other foot saved me, but then that foot slipped and the other one came back to save me; and this must have went on for about ten seconds, all the while I was getting closer and closer to the ground until I eventually admitted defeat and sprawled out face down. You know that feeling, where there is the initial panic when you slip, but then the relief when you realize you have saved yourself, only to slip again and save yourself again and you keep thinking you are going to be ok until slowly, slowly, the realization dawns on you that you and the ground are going to meet face to face. Needless to say we all were creased up laughing. Eamonn tried to help me up “No no!” I said “lets laugh first”! And then when we got enough laughing out, Eamonn was helping me up and he was like “Anna take her other hand” but Anna said “I can’t, I’m peeing”. Ah lads. As Eamonn would say - it’s all fun and games until you’re crawling home.

Friday 14^th Nov

Woke up this morning with no skin on my knees, and my palm shredded. Not bad for a night’s work. Eamonn and Anna came in to my place and then we headed out for lunch and a stroll. Headed back to my place then for them to collect their bags and they headed off into the sunset. What a great few days. Went to work and then came home and curled up and watched Up.

Saturday 15^th Nov

Right this weekend I am taking it easy after the hectic week. Head into Laura and Sadie’s house for some pizza and prosecco action. However after a miniscule amount of wine, it seemed to have reawakened the alcohol that was lying dormant in my system and I was instantly in the goolies. This is not good. Must stumble home immediately and fall into bed.

Sunday 16^th Nov

Worked all day (with a sprinkling of America’s Next Top Model) then in the evening went into town with the fella next door for an aul stroll. On the way home we got pizza and I, only out of morbid curiosity, you understand, got a Chip Pizza. That’s right, a pizza with chips on it. For 5 euro. I mean come on. I imagined how much money I could make off the drunken louts on John Street in Waterford at 4 o clock on a Sunday morning with chip pizzas. But then I thought of the trauma of having to see all the fat wans with their “bet” on clothes stumbling in and stuffing it down their hideous gobs and I thought nah - me mental health is me wealth.

Anyway I said to the fella next door, "this is mad now, the two of us hanging out and you’re only nineteen." “Oh, I’m not nineteen.” He says. Oh thank God, I think to myself, and breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m eighteen”.

God forgive me.

Week Five

2009-11-09T10:00:00.003Z

Now lads everyone calm down right – but this week I found out what it says on the sign! I know, like. I know.

Monday 2^nd Nov

I went to training tonight determined to find out who Lorenzo was. Had me eyes cocked for him all night. There weren’t many people there so I was scanning the machines for a big fella. And lo – about 6 machines down there he was – a BEAST of a man rowing away. That must be him I say to myself. He gets up and goes out to get some water and he looks at me on the way out but I looked up too late to catch his eye. Shit! Must make up for it on the way back. On his way back in then I was STARING him down like willing him to look at me, lasers shooting out of my eyeballs like. He looked at me anyway and I got that lightning bolt in my belly and I smiled and was like “well boy” And he smiled back at me like he knew me. That must be him Im thinking to myself. But how can I be sure?

I finished up on the machines and went out into the hall and the trainer was there. Come upstairs with me I said so we were going upstairs and halfway up he stopped me and said in an urgent (sexy) whisper “Quick – which one is Ella?” This is it! This is my moment! “Never mind about that, who the fuck is Lorenzo?” And then he was like “Lor..” and someone started coming down the stairs so we were like “yeah lets do some ab work yeah, yeah” ! And we continued on up the stairs. Goddammit!

Tuesday 3^rd Nov

Went down the supermarket today, and all the way down there I was psyching myself up to no end to find out what it says on the sign. I have to keep my public happy like. Lads I was hyped up to the last. SAS in full swing like. I was here like “I’m just going to say, ‘give us a look at that sign’”.

Well lads he must be reading this blog or something, because when I rounded the corner of the footbridge there he was with a NEW sign. A bigger one, written out in stenciled letters and laminated. “Jaysus”, I said to myself , “he means business.” So I went up to him, “Ciao” I says, “give us a look at that sign” (all going according to plan so far), and it says

I am looking for work.

I am a deaf mute.

I have had to leave my country.

My father is dead.

Please help me.

“Jesus Christ” I thought to myself, what a shitty hand to be dealt.

Then I was thinking to myself – deaf and dumb? I could be full sure he said well to me a few times. Funny, that. Must just be me. “Would you fancy an oul pizza boy?” I says, “Ah yeah, missus” he nods. So I did my shoppin and grabbed him pizza and a drink. On the way out anyway I handed it to him. He puts his hand on his heart. “Tell me a bit about yourself” I goes. He looked at me as if I had two tits (new readers see week two). I said “where are you from?”, cos he was a bit too mocha-choca-latta-ya-ya to be Italian like. And he is like lookin all flustered like he cant communicate with me and I say “come on like, lets at least try and talk to each other.” Ok he nods and takes out his phone. Alarm bells are going off. What is he doing with a phone? Then I think shur I am only marginally better off than him and I have one hahah! So we carry out a conversation via typin stuff into our phones. He is from Romania and his name is Valentin. So I went home anyway thinking of places I could find him a nice cushy job. The poor fella like, it’s a hard oul life.

I get home anyway and I’m chatting away to Jac. I tell her I found out what it says on the sign. “Let me guess” she says “Im a deaf mute with a son on another country. Theres a fella with that sign in Waterford.” And I actually thought for a split second- lads I ACTUALLY thought “Jesus that’s some coincidence”.

Now bear in mind I am the most gullible person on the face of the earth. Like one time at home Stewy says to me in the living room “Jen I was just reading there, did you know statistically that 6 out of 7 dwarves aren’t Happy?” And me then “Oh my God, really? That’s terrible!” And he lookin at me then as if to say “oh my god you thick bitch.” Couple that now with me big dopey soft heart and shur I’d fall for any sob story.

So anyway needless to say I am rightly pissed off that Valentin is after playin me for a fool. I mean like I couldn’t buy me cashews cos I bought him lunch instead. And I need them to keep me calories up when I’m training. Well I swear to god, he better HOPE he is actually deaf and dumb. Of course he’s not feckin looking for work. Shur how could he be and he standing there every hour of the day? He knows he will make more money standing there than he would in a proper job. The fucker. He’s prob at home now with the rest of his begging crew and his father, who is very much alive, going “yeah this thick blonde bitch bought me lunch today – boo-ya!”.

This is remindin me of some beggars in particular in Dublin. Like the fella on Westmoreland Street with the gammy leg. And he rolls up his trouser leg to his thigh and waves his leg in your face as you walk past. And the practiced pitiful look on his face like, he gets up in the morning and puts in his puppy dog eyes. “Oh poor me, look at me poor leg it’s upside down and inside out”. And a full head of gold teeth on him. He doesn’t need money like, he needs a Cash4Gold freepost envelope.

Stop lads - I shouldn’t have read the sign. I knew even as I was reading it, that it was a bad idea. Sigh.

Wednesday 4^th Nov

Didn’t go to training tonight as there was a big dinner on in our palazzo. Actually it was more of a banquet – we each dragged our tables out into the corridor so it was one huge long table. It was a good laugh. So before dinner I was chattin to some new people and the fella next door comes over and here the next thing he starts leaning on my shoulder and I was thinking to myself “If he puts his elbow on my head he definitely fancies me” Two seconds later, he put his elbow on my head. Ha! I knew it. Pity he is only 12.

But he surprised me. We were sittin down eatin dinner and he was sittin at the top of the table (of 30 people) holding court there like a fully grown man. I was impressed. And I’m ashamed to say it, but….he was makin me feel a bit giddy. Stop lads. Remember when you were a teenager and every time you saw someone you fancied you get that shock in your stomach? All I needed were the glasses and the braces and I’d be 15 again!

After dinner we all had to stand on the table and walk down it like a catwalk and stand on the end of it and talk about ourselves. Everyone was going up and then the next thing everyone started chanting “Lady Gaga! Lady Gaga!” and here I was , what the fuck are them eejits on about, and here they were on about me. Sorry. Sorry now - Lady Gaga? Since when do I look like Lady Gaga? I can’t help but feel insulted. I must have dropped a pair of balls when I wasn’t lookin like.

Anyway then the next door fella gets up. Now I’d by lying if I said I wasn’t lookin. I was just having a look like, just browsin. He was wearing a nice pair of jeans, a pair of boots and a skin tight polo neck. All of which were having an effect on me. Lads you could tell the time off his pecs. It was ride o clock like. Later on then we were having drinks and he went to walk past me and put his giant hands around my waist and brushed his whole body against me to walk past. And I wouldn’t mind but there were at least three metres between me and the wall. Interesting. Then at some point I felt a twinge in my back. The twinge that tells me someone is standing very close behind me. Infact, their belly is touching my whole back. He was breathing in and out against me. And the next thing he starts off talking in his ridiculous accent, and his voice is trickling down the back of my neck like HONEY. Just be cool, Jen. Act normal like. The girl I was talking to was talking away but I could literally only see her lips move. The room was spinning.

And for a split second, for a split second I actually thought “hmmm I might have a steamy fling with this fella”.

But then I considered the fact that it would entail holding in my farts in front of him, and I said fuck it, its not worth it.

After dinner then we all headed outside and then the fuckin horror began. The “initiations”. All the new residents were made to stand in the grass and sing some song. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on – was the song in some quare dialect or was I just pissed? I may as well have had a teat on the end of the bottle of prosecco I was drinkin it so fast. Me nerves were at me like. Then we had to do the chicken dance around the place. I was laughing along but inside I was like please someone drop an atomic bomb so this can end. Eventually the terror ended and myself and the lads headed to our beds.

Thursday 5^th Nov

God, what was I thinking last night? Me and another fella. As if, like. Imagine someone other than Stewy touchin me. Ewwwwwwwwwwww. I could puke. No, I’d much rather continue on my merry way without some fella draggin out of me annoying me when I’m trying to watch Dexter. Anyway he is only a child. Plus like if I was going to have a bella storia over here I’d go for something a bit more my style. Well I mean I do enjoy a larger gentleman with beauteous carrying-me-around abilities but I’ve always been really into glasses on fellas, more so recently actually.

Head out the door to go to the shopping centre at the exact moment he comes out his door. I’m turning to say well but I only got as far as “w..”.

He was standing there in a trench coat and glasses.

Ah, for fuck sake.

Friday 6^th Nov

Right – this is a serious business. Ray D’Arcy WILL read out an email about this blog thus propelling me to international superstardom. I started up a group on facebook called Ray D’Arcy – You Will Bow To My Whims! to unite my fives and tens of fans in an email onslaught in a bid to get him to read it out. It’s for the good of the nation. God, look at what I have become - a facebook whore. If I wasn’t such a laugh I might consider hating myself.

Saturday 7^th Nov & Sunday 8^th Nov

This weekend was like the number one wasted weekend in the history of the universe. I literally just facebooked all weekend – that’s right, it’s a verb now. It was all rainy and pissy outside and I was longing for home. You know when it’s a really shitty day outside but you’re all snuggly at home with the fire blazing and the cupboard stocked, you can’t bayte it boy.

I’m really looking forward to going home. Every year about this time I start getting really worked up about returning to the motherland. If there was an award for best family Christmas we would totally get it. Like it’s not a Jacques family Christmas, nay, a Jacques family gathering unless someone pisses themselves.

Take last Christmas, for example. It’s my uncle Paddy’s birthday on Christmas day so he was in our house having dinner with us. After dinner then he went in to the sitting room to sit down and we were around the corner in the dining room getting his cake ready. I had a packet of candles where each candle was a letter that spelled out “happy birthday” but in the end there weren’t enough letters so mammy had the bright idea of just putting “B” for birthday. So then my sister’s husband pipes up “What’s the B for?” and Daddy said “B for Bollix”.

B for Bollix like. My father said that. Looking back, that was the indicator of the hilarity to come – Daddy was clearly giddy like.

When we were finished laughing Mammy goes “No, it’s B for Birthday” and the brother-in-law says “Bertie? I thought his name was Paddy!” So that started us all off again.

And then someone was like “Put P for Paddy” so were like yeah that’s nice. And we had the cake all set up and we were in formation ready to march into the sitting room when Daddy pipes “P, lovely – now he’s a prick.”

Well lads.

On the ground I was. The reason why it was so funny is it didn’t have anything to do with Uncle Paddy, who is lovely, but it had everything to do with the fact that Daddy was giddy and wanted to say dirty words.

Anyway then we all got it together and got back into position and we were taking in the breath to sing Happy Birthday when all of a sudden Daddy was like “Take the cake! Take the cake! I cant hold it!" And then he started crying with the laughing and had to get down on his hands and knees, and shur jaysus then that set us all off again.

Needless to say I pissed myself. Don’t judge me now – if you were in our house when we are together you would piss as well. Literally every time, at least one of us pisses themselves. My sister Hazel uses the fact that she just had a baby as an excuse. Yeah yeah.

Anyway we were all rolling around in the dining room with the cake on the dining table with the candle burning down to nothing and here is poor Uncle Paddy sittin in the sitting room, completely oblivious. I don’t know what happens; I think we all get in a giddy mood around Christmas. So anyway then we all had to pick ourselves up and go in “Happy Birthday to you etc..” and the tears rolling down our cheeks and the soggy jeans on me. Good times!

I’d say if my sister Hazel is reading this at her desk she is probably after pissin herself. I’d say there’s not a dry seat in the house like. But it’s not her fault lads! Come on like – she just had a baby!