Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Tommy Lynam R.I.P

It was this day six years ago that the bottom fell out of my world. My dad lost his battle against cancer and passed away.
The Catholic church may have many short comings but one thing that it has gotten right is how to deal with bereavement. There is the removal to the church, the funeral the next day, the month's mind mass and then the anniversary mass held every year. The presence of family, friends and community on these occasions gives huge support and comfort to the mourners.
This lack of ritual made it that bit harder on this day as I am thousands of miles away in Turkey. Don't get me wrong! I would just like to have been beamed home for this one day and then dropped promptly back tomorrow!
I went about my day as usual but I soon discovered that if you try to swim and cry at the same time you will probably drown.
My ingrained Catholicism demanded something more tangible to help me deal with the situation. But I didn't have the solice of visiting Dad's grave. So I took myself across the road to the local cemetery.

Going in through the gates was like entering Narnia through the back of the wardrobe. The dense trees formed a canopy that blocked out the blazing sun and muffled the sound of passing traffic. It was a cool and silent little haven.
The graves were spread out all higgidly-piggidly among the trees. I wandered around trying to decipher what was on the headstones. I eventually came across one that said Mehmet. Other squiggles looked like a 76. So I took it that Mehmet had the most in common with Dad and probably had left behind a wife, children and grandchildren that he had meant the world to.
I stood and I said a decade of the rosary for Mehmet. I wasn't being disrespectful as I know he would have been Muslim. But I figure a Dad is a Dad in any religion.
I then asked him if he wouldn't mind asking Mohamed to pass on a message to Jesus to let Dad know that I love him and miss him very much.

It really did help.

Monday, July 30, 2012

Little pricks

I have been meticulous in my anti-mosquito spraying since I arrived here. I thought I had escaped, until last night. A little bastard managed to infiltrate the haze of Jungle strength fumes.
I woke up this morning and just wanted to rip my leg off, it was so itchy. It looks absolutely disgusting.

And why the hell was he wasting his time biting me in search of blood? I'd say that it's pure vodka running through my veins at this stage.
 Or as they say in Turkish
Pure wodka running through my weins!

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Revolving door

"Where has that week gone to?"
It was time for my Mam and sisters to pack up their bags and head back to rain drenched Ireland.
Tee hee!
We went for our Last Supper in......Foley's . Where else???
After much hugging and kissing, they all said their goodbyes. We wandered the couple of hundred metres up the street to the apartment.
Bags and cases were loaded into the taxi.
"Bye. Safe flight."
"See you in two weeks."
"Mind yourself."
"I'm sure these photos will be up on Facebook before we're even at the airport."
I stood on the pavement, waving them off until they disappeared into the distance.
I turned and made my way in through the front gates of the apartment complex. I walked around the swimming pool, a solitary and dejected figure in the moonlight. With a heavy heart I reached the carpark at the back gate.
Another taxi swung in, screeched to a halt and the door was flung open.
"NOELEEN! I'm here!"
It was my friend Sinéad arriving for her two week stint in Mamutlar.
All lonesome thoughts disappeared instantly.
Now I know exactly how a Turkish man feels with every two week turnover.

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Some Enchanted Ewening

I know I suffer from PSTS, that is, Primary School Teacher Syndrome. One of its main symptoms is an adverse reaction to misplaced apostrophes and wrong spellings. This is the reason why I can not sit at the far end of the swimming pool near this sign.
If I lie on my sun lounger within reading distance I begin to get agitated. I begin to twitch slightly and I get an overwhelming urge to jump up and circle it with a red marker!
But my most severe reaction is that one night I couldn't help but deliberatly flout the law, just because of THAT spelling.

I'm going into therapy when I get home!

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

LMVG Scuttin' Award goes to...........

Anyone involved with Leixlip Musical and Variety Group should know what scuttin' is.
Scuttin': Verb  While on a night out, marks are awarded for the most popular person.
Scoring system: 5 points - someone looks at you
                           10 points- eye contact is made
                           20 points- someone comes up and talks to you etc, etc, etc, 
Marks up to 100 points can be achieved!
Scoring system is very arbitrary. Namely, myself and Emer were the judges and if we felt you were trying too hard, then minus points were awarded.
For some strange reason, one of us seemed to win every night!

Out here in Turkey, my family have no idea of this game. However I was playing it in my head.
As a little competition, who do you think should win the Mamuthlar Scuttin' competition 2012?
Please vote on the calibre of men they attracted.

#1 My sister Jacqueline.

#2 My mother, Maureen.
Now, I don't want to influence the voting, but all I'll say is, I want to be 78 years of age, and have all the waiters flock around me when I enter their premises.
Just sayin'.

Panic is....

Panic is that horrible moment when the lift door opens and the caretaker gets in with you. As the door slides closed and the lift begins to ascend, the blood-curdling thought strikes you.....
WTF! Who the hell is going to rescue me if the lift stops? The only man who can open the door is in here with me......and he doesn't appear to have his screwdriver with him!!!

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Why I love my sisters...Reason #1

Because after two weeks of starting the day with a continental style breakfast
  • Freshly baked bread
  • Cheese
  • Ham
  • Succulent tomatoes
  • freshly squeezed oranges.........
They brought over the makings of a greasy full Irish breakfast
  • Sausages
  • Black pudding
  • White pudding
  • Lyons teabags
I don't like rashers!

accompanied by
  • mushrooms
  • tomatoes
  • freshly baked bread
This was eaten on the balcony over looking the mountains, as the morning sun was beginning to heat the day.
A moment of sheer bliss.

Monday, July 23, 2012

Like Mother, like Daughter

One of my mother's most used phrases is
"What is that Noeleen one up to now?"
She can't understand me coming over to Turkey and lapping up all the attention!
Mam and my sisters arrived over last night. It's been three years since they've been here. After quickly unpacking we headed down to Foley's for dinner.
As I watched Mam being hugged and kissed by the waiters and basking in the attention I realised
"Do you know what Mother? It's not off the ground I licked it!"

And this is the one she turned down.....

Oops, are they exchanging rings already?
To my brothers John and Finian back in Ireland, I want to apologise.
I think we can kiss our inheritance goodbye!

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Table for one

My few days of holidaying on my own have been a real learning experience. I would consider myself a very independent person
Feck it, I have no choice but to be!
but I still found myself out of my comfort zone on a couple of occasions.
I had no intention of sitting in of a night, I didn't come all the way to Turkey for that! But surprisingly enough I found myself rethinking my wardrobe. Now, I would consider myself a classy-sexy dresser
as opposed to slutty-hoe
but a few outfits were postponed until later when I have company with me.
I blame my personal stylist Gok as he advised me, as a big busted woman, to wear a deep-V top to flatter my figure. I never noticed before but some of the items were a bit too deep-Ved for my comfort!
It's strange the things that stick in your memory.About ten years ago we were on holiday in Egypt.  We went out for dinner to a restaurant.....as you do! Sitting on her own at a table, right in the middle of the dining room was an elderly lady. I found myself glancing over at her several times during the meal.
In a totally non-lesbian way, I hasten to add.
It's just that she was incredibly beautiful, in a non-botoxed way. Yes her face was lined and wrinkled, but she had such poise and grace that you couldn't help but look at her.She was wearing one of those colourful scarves, wrapped around her head in the manner of Elizabeth Taylor. She wasn't arrogant or snooty, but she just seemed so relaxed and comfortable with her own company, while sitting alone in a world full of couples and groups. You could see that she wasn't apologising for existing!
I must have been too obvious because at the end of my meal she caught my eye, smiled and beckoned me over. I nearly had a heart attack.
Feck it. She's going to take out a restraining order on me!
I sat down opposite her and said the first thing that came into my head
I find that usually works well!
I ended up having the most fascinating conversation with her. Everyone has a story. She was Dutch and her husband of forty years had died the previous year. They had always planned on going on a round-the-world trip but didn't get to do so. Now she was doing it.....ON HER OWN!
I complemented her on her bravery and said that I wouldn't have the guts to do that, much as I would love to. She said that the thing she had found most difficult at first was going into a restaurant at night time. It wasn't "the done thing."
 But she had come to realise that single people have to eat too and shouldn't be confined to room service! She refused to cower away in a corner table and  always positioned herself in the middle of the room. That way she always had company.

 I went to Izzy's for dinner tonight.Its one of our favourite watering holes and I know all the waiters there.
"Would you like the table there at the back or the one right on the street side?"
My inner coward was screaming
"Sit at the back. You don't want people thinking you're one of those desperate women on the hunt for a young Turk!"
My role model popped into my mind.
"The outside one please."

I sat down and channelled my inner "Egyptian" lady.
Don't apologise for being here. Be confident and poised. You'll be fine!
And I had a great night. The women at the neighbouring table struck up a conversation. They were Irish and we had the usual dilemma
"I'm sure I know you from somewhere, and not here."
So I went through all the places it could be
"Raharney, school in Rochfortbridge, Carysfort College, Leixlip Musical and Variety Group, Abu Dhabi, Mullingar?"
I then said
"People have mistaken me for Janine Butcher, if that's any help!"
Thankfully it wasn't that either. So we are still none the wiser.

The waiters were run off their feet but I'm convinced they had a rota to sit down with me for a few minutes, check that I was okay and then dash off again.
And at the other times I sat and people watched. The stories I made up about the people who passed by my table. There is definitely a novel in there!
The night passed and no sleazy scumbag saw me as a desperate woman on the pull.
I obviously have to be in a graveyard for that to happen!
So today's lesson is
Nobody puts Baby in the corner!

Having said all that, I'm so looking forward to my Mum and two sisters arriving here later today!

Friday, July 20, 2012

Jack of all trades.

I noticed that I needed the bottle changed on the water cooler in the apartment. I met Mustafah, the caretaker as I was heading out for the night.
"No problem," he smiled "I will bring a new one in the morning."
When I got home later.....much later, that night/morning I then noticed a small puddle of water under the sink in the bathroom.
"I'll get Mustafah to fix that when he comes with the water in the morning."

At the ungodly hour of ten o'clock I was awakened from my slumbers by the incessant ringing of the doorbell.
"Groan. That must be Mustafah with the water."
I dragged myself to the door and opened it. It wasn't Mustafah, but another man with the water bottle. In he came and had it changed in seconds.
"Come here," I said, dragging him in the direction of the bathroom. I pointed out the leaking sink. He had a look and started talking in Turkish. As I don't understand the lingo and he hadn't a word of English, there was a lot of charades. I deciphered that he needed a screwdriver.
Wouldn't you think the caretaker or his assistant would carry around one with him?
He shrugged and went back to the kitchen. he returned with ...........a teaspoon!
Using McGyverlike skills, he twisted and turned the plughole and the leak stopped. I thanked him profusely, gave him 5 lira (approx. 2 euro) he thanked me profusely and I sent him on his merry way.

A while later, after my first cup of tea, I was hit by a bolt of reality.
That's WASN'T Mustafah's assistant! That was just some innocent guy from a shop that was sent to deliver water to an apartment. I have just hijacked him, armed him with a teaspoon and set him to fix the plumbing!
And what's more, he did it without batting an eyelid. What a difference to Ireland. How many times have you  tried to get something done , only to come up against a stone wall and someone saying
"Sorry Madam, that's not my department."
Another reason why I love Turkey!

Thursday, July 19, 2012

You'll never walk alone

With much heartache and gnashing of teeth I bade adieu to the two girlies on Tuesday night as they headed for home. As Mam and my two sisters don't arrive until Sunday evening I have five days on my own. I am a very independent woman, well capable of looking after myself and putting up with my own company. However this is the first time I will have been on holiday on my own. But if I'm going to do it anywhere, then Mamuthlar is the place to do it.
Everyone in the complex has been so nice.
"We're heading to the beach if you want to come."
"Do you want to join us for dinner tonight?"
"Fancy coming to Alayna tomorrow?"
I'm tellin' ya, I wouldn't have as much company in Mullingar!

I went for lunch in Foleys. As I was on my own they decided I needed a lunch date.
Here he is.....

I ate the face off him!

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Cat on a hot tin roof

When I go away on holidays I leave Roxy at my brother Finian's house. I don't like the idea of having my car outside my empty house. At least this way, burglars can only target one of my prize posessions at a time!
There is one downside. If the sun ever shines in Ireland, then the soft-top roof becomes a magnet for Tom Cat.
Can't really blame him as a warm, comfy roof is where I'd park myself, if I were a cat.

The last time I came back I had to book poor Roxy in for a Brazilian, she was so hairy! Finian and Marese promised me faithfully they'd look after her carefully this time. So you can imagine how distraught I was when Emma received a text from her dad, Finian

Don't tell Noeleen!

Don't think I can't see your reflection in the rear window, breaking your arse laughing at the good of it all!

Healthy living

I am very conscious of the fact that because I will be here in Turkey for a month, that I might let my health and fitness regime slide.
Every morning I get up early before anyone else descends on the pool, and I do my lengths. I am not attempting to swim the channel this year. It nearly killed me last year...but I'm swimming half of it!
Also I feel it it vital to get my five-a-day.
So let me see...
Banana, apple, kiwi, cherry, orange.....and of course strawberries.
Wait a minute, that's six.
 Oh I better not overdo it. I'd hate to get too healthy!
I'll leave the cherry!

Monday, July 16, 2012

Come fly with me.

As we lay sunning ourselves on Pearla Beach, Emma and I espied an interesting sign.

"Mmm, Parasailing? That sounds like fun!"
Before we had time to lose our nerve/come to our senses, we had signed up! First of all was trying to get into the harness.
While you're down there!!!
Emma: "There's NO WAY I'm letting him near me!"
"Just wait til you get to this stage!"

"Oh shit! I've changed my mind. Can I get off please????"
This is A-MAZ-ING!
I'm the King of the World!
Now, how the hell do I get off?
"What will we do for our next adrenalin rush?"
"I know. Let's go and get stuck in a lift!"

Later, as I was recovering on my sun lounger the cute,semi-naked young guy comes over to me.
"I hope you enjoyed it. Did you have a good time?"
"Yes, it was great," I replied, very conscious of people's ears beside me beginning to prick up.
"Here are some photos of it, if you wish to show your friends."
"Thanks," Heads were turning in our direction.
"And here is your change."

Sunday, July 15, 2012

When in doubt....BANG!

We were all ready for a night on the town. Make up on, hair done, high heels on feet. We left the apartment and pressed the button for the lift. Dawn was singing some song that had been on the CD player as we got ready. When the lift doors opened, she scared the shit out of the two sixteen year old lads that were already in it. We got in, very mutely and pressed the button for the ground floor.
On floor 3 the lift stopped. We waited for the door to open and for someone to enter. Nothing! I pressed the button for the ground floor......and nothing.
"Eh lads I think the lift is stuck."
I pressed the button to open the door but still nothing.
Okay, don't panic lads. I'm sure everything is alright.
The buttons were pressed again but there was nothing stirring.
Don't panic.
I pressed the phone button and there wasn't a geek out of it. Health and safety issues aren't really a big thing in this country. The sweat was beginning to appear on our foreheads whilst the two teenage lads lounged against the back wall as if this was the norm.
I pressed the alarm button. It rang  out loud and clear....for about two minutes and then it gave up the ghost and stopped. I pressed again. Nothing! And again. Still nothing.
Noeleen, you're the adult in this situation. Do something.
"Has anyone got a mobile?"
Emma whipped out hers. No signal.
We gestured to the two boys. Surely they had the most up to date phones. They must work. The lads shrugged their shoulders and continued to stare vacantly ahead of them.
I had a thought. For the  past two days, every time I got to the lift it had been at floor 5 (which was us) or floor 7.
"What floor are you on?" I asked the boys.
Fuck. I don't think there is anyone else in the block this week. No one is going to use the lift. We're doomed!
We found a button for a fan and at least a blast of cooler air began to circulate. Then I had a horrid scientific thought.
"Is that pumping in fresh air or is it just circulating the old carbon dioxide we've just breathed out?
Doomed, I tell you.
Modern technology, me arse. Nothing would work. So we started banging on the door. I didn't shout, as I've seen enough Die Hard movies to know that shouting uses up the available oxygen.
By this this the sweat was running in rivulets down the backs of our legs. It was about 38 degrees !The two lads were looking at us as if we were mad!
After what seemed like an hour, but may have been ten minutes, we heard a noise.
"Okay, I am here."
Thanks be to God!
It was Mustafah, the caretaker.
There was the noise of fumbling and scraping and a screwdriver appeared in the jam of the door and it was slowly prised open.
When it fully opened, we were halfway between the third and second floor. Short skirts and high heels aside, we jumped out giving Mustafah an eyeful of Tír na nÓg! We didn't care!

We walked back up the stairs to our apartment to mop ourselves down.
Needless to say, I shall be using the stairs from now on! So if I have lost weight when I get home, you'll know why!

Back to the future

On my first evening in Mamuthlar I headed across the road to my hairdresser Ibrahim. Disaster!
It was closed down!
Noooo! This can't be happening. I can't spend a whole holiday with bad hair. I may as well go home now!
As I walked dejectedly back across the road I heard a shout. I looked around to what can only be described as a scene from one of those Matrix films. A man was vaulting over fences, somersaulting over cars and running up the sides of buildings, all in an attempt to reach me. As he stood in front of me I screamed.
"Ibrahim! Thank God I found you."
"Ah, my best customer! See, I have opened new salon just on corner."
And sure enough, up the other side of the street was his new place. Its even nearer to our apartment!
As I walked towards it, who came bounding down the steps only Private Peter Mark.
 More hugs and kisses all around.
I sat down to get the chlorine washed out of my stressed tresses. There was a local girl beside me getting an upstyle.
"See," explained Ibrahim."She is getting married this evening, just like your friend."
I had the deceny to blush as I feel a little guilty about our fake wedding.
I muttered something appropriate and buried my head in the price list
One thing I love about Turkey is reading how they translate things. Somehow, things do get lost!
There was a list of the usual procedures to be found in a salon
Bridal hair
Engagement hair
and this one really grabbed my attention
Face Retrieval.
That's a new one.
"Okay Ibrahim. I'd like you to retrieve my face from 1986 please!"
"No problem. Quick Marty. Hand me the Flux Capacitor!"

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Planes, trains and automobiles

It was time for my annual pilgrimage to Turkey! I set off bright and breezy at the ungodly hour of 7:00am.

Marese drove me over to Kinnegad to catch the ShittyLink at 7:30, I mean CityLink bus to the airport. We sat in the car and chatted and waited....and waited....and waited. I didn't panic at first because its always a bit late. But 45 minutes later it was beyond a joke. Thank God for my brother, who came over to drive me to the airport. As he was putting the cases into the boot, he noticed a fella waiting with a case.
"Are you heading to the airport?"
"Supposed to be. But the CityLink bus hasn't arrived."
"Hop in. That's where we're going."
To say he was appreciative is an understatement!
We both arrived in time for our flights.
In the meantime Marese had rang CityLink to enquire as to what had happened to their bus. I had booked my ticket online the day before so would I get a refund? The guy on the other end of the line was adamant that the bus had arrived in Kinnegad at 7:33.
"No way. We were there at 7:20 and no CityLink bus arrived."
"I'm tracking it here and it definitely did."
"No it didn't. We would have noticed a big blue and yellow bus if it stopped."
"It wasn't one of our usual fleet. It was a white bus."
"And did it have CityLink written on it?"
"Loads of buses stop in Kinnegad. How were we supposed to know that this was a CityLink one?"
Heel of the hunt is that I will not get a refund as the bus DID stop in Kinnegad, despite the fact that it was an undercover one!
Thankfully that was the only hiccup on the journey.
As a single traveller, there is always the moment of dread before you discover who your travelling companion is going to be.
On the flight to Istanbul I was sitting beside a girl of about 16. She was part of a group from a secondary school who were going on a school tour. I was confused about this as schools are on holidays, until I realised that she had a Northern accent. They have shorter holidays than us in the Republic.
She had been separated from the rest of her group and put sitting beside me.
"I hope you don't mind. I'm sure you'd rather be with your friends."
"Not at all", she replied. "Knowing my luck I'd have been put sitting beside one of my teachers. How awful would that have been, having to be careful about what I said for four and a half hours?"
"And what do you work at yourself?" she continued.
"Em, I work in an office" I replied.
I didn't have the heart to ruin her flight.

I got my connecting flight in Istanbul and then onto Antalya. I had a taxi booked to bring me the last leg of the journey to Mamuthlar. When I came out of the airport there was the usual crowd waiting to collect people. I espied a man with a sign that read
I presume that's me! And even if its not, he'll do! I'm exhausted and I just want to get there....NOW!
He had very little English but we managed to work out that he was actually my taxi driver. One hour and 45 minutes later I was at my destination. It had taken a total of 15 hours from leaving my house to getting into the apartment!

Emma and Dawn were waiting for me.
"You must be wrecked. Are you too tired to go down to Foley's?"
"Of course I'm not. LET THE GAMES BEGIN.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Get in touch and tell Joe...

What does a nation do when their backs are to the wall and austerity measures are brought in but not uniformly across all groups of people? Well, if you're Portuguese, Spanish or Greek you probably riot. If you're Irish you........ring Joe Duffy on his radio show! I think he is really a Government Secret Agent, whose sole mission is to give the people of Ireland a soapbox on which to vent their anger thus keeping them off the streets.
I was staying in my friend Rose's house and I was introduced to her adorable dog, Daisy!

Rose was in a dilemma. As she worked away from home every day, she was concerned about leaving Daisy on her own. She heard that you should leave a radio on so that the dog will feel that they have company. Every morning before leaving, she turned on Radio 1 as she figured that it had a good mix of conversation and music.....so Daisy wouldn't get bored! This scenario seemed to be working well.

Several weeks later, Rose was having a quiet Friday night in, lounging on the couch and watching The Late Late Show with Daisy snuggled up beside her. Ryan Tubrity introduced his next guest
"And now we have.....Joe Duffy."
Daisy didn't stir until Joe started to talk. As soon as he opened his mouth she shot up, looked around to locate the source of the voice and started to whimper. When his "dulcet" tones continued to permeate the room, Daisy buried her head in her paws as if trying to cover her ears to block out the sound! She only calmed down when Rose turned down the volume on the TV.
Rose was horrified to think what she had put her poor dog through for the past few months.
The next Monday she tuned into 2FM.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

The graveyard shift

Definition of shift


·         move or cause to move from one place to another, especially over a small distance: [with object]: a team from the power company came to shift the cables away from the house

·         each of two or more recurring periods in which different groups of workers do the same jobs in relay: Anne was on the night shift

·         a slang term used by Irish teenagers in the 1980s, meaning a brief romantic encounter with a member of the opposite sex, usually occurring after a youth club disco at the back of the hall:

He was a great shift   or

Did you get a shift last night?
This is the conclusion to my chance encounter in the graveyard at my godfather's funeral. I was recounting my story to my cousins who were all agog, gasping phrases like
"Oh my god. That's sooo romantic!"
"That's a new one."
It was only when one of them asked what his name was, that I had to think.
"Em, I just got his first name. It was Bob*
*His name has been changed to conceal his identity.
Niamh's face went pale and she said
"Was he a tall, dark-haired attractive man, wearing a navy jacket?"
Her face fell and she said
"Noeleen, he's MARRIED. I see him leaving his kids at school while I'm dropping my girls off."
"What??? Are you sure?"
"But maybe he is separated. I don't know."
Alarm bells had been ringing in my head anyway because it all seemed too good to be true. He was so smooth at what he did, it was obviously not the first time he had done so. All I can say to any potential philanderers out there is........
Don't pick a Primary school teacher as a potential victim especially if you have kids of a school going age. We have a network of contacts as potent as the Mafia. As there are only three training colleges in the country we have at least one connection in every school. If your children are in Second class or lower, we probably even know the state of your marriage. Younger kids tell their teachers everything without us wanting to know. Two examples from my early teaching days are
"Miss, Mammy came home and found Daddy in bed with the babysitter."
"Mammy and I had great fun at the weekend writing Daddy is a B-A-S-T-A-R-D on the mirrors with her lipstick. What does that spell?
So I rang my friend who teaches in that school. I recounted my story to her, leaving out the important detail of his name.
Let's face it, it is a great story!
She was squealing with excitement. Then I dropped the bombshell of his name. There was silence down the other end of the line followed a squeal of horror.
"OH MY GOD! Stay a million miles away from him. He's married."
"Not separated?"
"Well if he is, he hasn't told his wife! She'll kill you."
"Hold on a minute. It's him she should be killing. I wasn't the one leap-frogging over tombs and family vaults to get a phone number. I'm the innocent party here."
To say I was livid is an understatement. How could anyone be so blatant as to come on to me, in his own village graveyard? He had to have been spotted by his neighbours getting my number. Another B-A-S-T-A-R-D!
To further add to the drama, I had five missed calls from him that evening plus a number of texts saying how much he was looking forward to meeting up. Even if he had been ever  so single, that would put the fear of God in any woman. We're raging when men don't ring us....and put off when they ring too much! Confusing or what?
I suddenly decided that I was going to win a moral victory for all wronged women. I answered his next call. There was a bit of small talk and then he asked when we could meet up. I explained that I was heading away for the weekend and wouldn't be back until Sunday. He said
"Great. I'll head over to Raharney to meet you."
I see what you're doing there. You figure you won't be recognised in my local.
"Well actually I will be heading over to your area to visit my cousins. I'll meet you there."
Let's see how you get out of that.
"Hmm, I think it would be nicer to meet in town as there are better places there."
Back-pedal, back-pedal.
"Give me a call on Sunday and we'll decide then."
I wanted to give him a few nights of rubbing his hands in anticipation, thinking he had fooled some poor unsuspecting female into dating him.
Today he rang....and I was prepared.
"Hi there. Where are we going to meet? I'm so looking forward to it."
"Actually, I don't want to meet you, so might I suggest that you spend some quality time with your wife and sons. I'm sure they could do with it. DON'T contact me again as I am not interested in married men."
I know that mobile phones don't actually CLICK when you hang up. I put that in for dramatic effect, so show just how irate I was!
No further contact has been made.
The next time someone asks me why I'm still single, I am just going to direct them to this blog and say
See for yourself!

Saturday, July 7, 2012

A very grey area

One of the main considerations for holidays is what reading material to bring. It would seem that I am the only woman left in Ireland, or possibly the planet, not to have read "50 Shades of Grey" yet. Seems perfect for lazing by the pool in Turkey.
I mentioned this to my cousin  Jeanette, who immediately warned me of just how potentially lethal it could be!
It seems she decided to take it with her to read on her recent plane journey. The plane took off, Jeanette opened the book and began to read. She obviously became totally engrossed in it because an hour into the journey her teenage son popped his head over the seat, looking very alarmed and said
"Mam, don't you think you should offer to help?"
Jeanette lifted her head from the book and asked
"Help with what?"
It seems that the captain had announced three times over the loudspeaker for anyone with medical experience to please go to the front of the plane.
Jeanette is a nurse in Intensive Care and would have loads of such experience but she hadn't heard him as she was too busy reading her "Mummy porn"!
She jumped up and went to the front of the plane to discover some poor unfortunate woman had had a heart attack.
Maybe she had been reading the book too, and couldn't cope with it!
Anyway, Jeanette worked wonders and the woman arrived safely at her destination.
How different the story could have been if Jeanette had been travelling alone and had no one to draw her attention away from her "literature"!
 The woman was whisked away by the awaiting medical team and I am happy to report that she made a full recovery.
As for Jeanette, I don't know if she ever finished the book!

Friday, July 6, 2012

Graveyard etiquette

About four years ago I was bemoaning the fact that I never got a birthday card, christmas card or present from my Godfather. In fact I didn't even know who my godfather was! I asked Mam and she couldn't remember who stood for me.
Come off it Mum. You only had five kids, not dozens!
I went to my parish priest and asked him to look up the records. He rang me later that evening.
"Noeleen, I've looked up the Baptism records and your godfather is James Bollard."
"Who?" I paused. "Oh, you mean Sandy."
Sandy was my aunt's husband.
Unfortunately this week, Sandy passed away after a long illness. His funeral was held today.
As I walked away from the graveside, a quite attractive man fell into step with me.  There were the usual comments about the dreadful weather
It was raining....
and also about the reason we were attending this funeral.
I explained about my godfather, though I left out the bit about the lack of presents.
Then the man said
"I hope you don't think this inappropriate, but I couldn't help but admire you from a distance."
Wha??? I've heard about eyes meeting across a crowded room, but a crowded graveyard?
"Well, thanks very much," I managed to reply.
"So I'm wondering if you would like to meet up sometime."
Do you mean outside of the graveyard??
"I'm afraid I am heading away next week for a month, so I won't be around."
"If I could have your number, I could give you a call and maybe arrange something."
I then had the surreal experience of giving a man my phone number, while being obscured by a headstone!!!
Was that an inappropriate thing to do. What is the etiquette governing chatting up? I've never understood it at the best of times, but I'm pretty sure funerals were not one of the pick-up joints mentioned in "The Rules".
Later I was telling my cousins (Sandy's daughters) what had happened. It did manage to make them laugh in an emotional time.
"There you go. Daddy never gave you anything while he was alive. Maybe this is his way of making it up to you and getting you to shut up about it!"
Anyway, watch this space!

Monday, July 2, 2012

Waxing lyrical

It's the countdown to Turkey time. Today saw me in the beauticians, poised for my leg wax.
Anyone who is squemish, look away now!
You know that awful situation when you really should have gotten it done two weeks ago, but then the timing would be wrong for holidays. So you hold out for a fortnight, and then you can nearly plait the hair on your legs, and .....ouch! That was me today.
But I held back the screams of agony by thinking about my favourite waxing story. In fact if I ever get to Graham Norton's red chair, this is the story I will tell. I apologise for reposting an oldie, but it still cracks me up......pardon the pun!

Sunday, July 1, 2012

I'm a pregnant bitch!

I bet that heading got your attention!
I was out on the town with the girls last night. I was talking to this guy who asked the unusual question
"Do you watch Eastenders?"
I have to admit that I don't. I may have seen about two episodes by accident in my life. Real life is depressing enough without it invading my entertainment time as well!
"Well, you're the image of loud music Butcher."
I missed the first name of who he said, but the only character I would know from reading magazines is Pat Butcher....and I wasn't impressed.
"No, no," he explained."I said Janine Butcher."
"Is she pretty?" I asked, still slightly miffed.
"Yes.........but she's a complete bitch."
That's alright. Pretty bitches get what they want out of life.

We continued onto the next bar. I got talking to a guy I hadn't seen since secondary school. His friend looked at me and said
"Do you know who you're the spit of?"
This time I was prepared.
"I have an idea, but you tell me first."
"Yer wan out of Eastenders, Janine. Here, Dave, who does this one remind you of?"
His friend was returning from the bar with a rake of pints in his hands. He threw a quizzical eye over me and said
"Oh, that bitchy one, Janine on the telly."
I was becoming quite used to this fame by association.
"I've never seen Eastenders," I explained. "But I'm definately going to watch it this week."
"Oh, Jaysis. Don't start this week. She's about to give birth."
Oh great. So I look pregnant, then!

We continued onto Club Bed, where we met Gillian and her friends. One of them came straight over to me and said
"I just have to say that I saw you earlier in the bar and I did a doubletake. Do you know who I thought it was?"
"Eh, would it be Janine Butcher?" I ventured.
"Yes. You must get that all the time."
"Well, actually never....until tonight.

First thing this moring I googled my doppelganger. I can see a slight resemblance, but nothing that warranted all the attention last night. But I'll take it. After all, it could have been Pat!