Just so you know how close you came to losing me

We've just had a fire drill. It was sooooo exciting. Highlight of my week, definitely. So far, obviously. Things might get mad-crazy-exciting tomorrow.

When the alarm went off we sat around for about five minutes looking at each other going 'Is that a test? I'd say it's just a test. Is it a test, dya think?'. Then, when we finally decided to go outside, I ran back to get my cardigan.

Dumb. If it had been a real fire I would be writing this dead. It's a new cardigan though.

Happy Birthday Ashling!

File under: Too cheap to buy and post card.

Charging onwards for gender equality

Yesterday evening, as I stood waiting for my bus on Aungier St, a man at the bus shelter looked me up and down and said: 'Hello love. You've been off spending his money, haven't you? Good woman, that's what you're there for!'

Now. Shall we have some background here? I was, at this time, carrying a shopping bag from a high street clothes shop. He was, at this time, holding a can of Dutch Gold and a carrier bag which held what looked like three more. It was seven o'clock in the evening. He was weaving slightly. I know, I know that I should have stood up to him and pointed out that his awareness of gender relations was disarmingly outdated and insulting, that I was well able to earn and (very much so!)spend my own money, that I'd thank him to keep his sexist opinions to himself in future, if he didn't mind, especially when addressing classy young ladies such as myself.

Nevertheless, it doesn't do to start talking to men drinking lager at bus stops in the early evening. Unless you're Marie, obviously. Then it's called your love-life. I weep for the number of feminist stances I have been forced to forgoe for the sake of common sense. Damn personal safety! I resist hypocrisy in all it's forms!

Bloody winos.

Happy Boobday

On Friday night I arrived a bit late at Claire Doyle's birthday party. Claire and Joanne were both VERY drunk. 'Would you like to see my new bra?' asked Joanne politely before immediately showing me her breasts. 'Oops, must've slipped off! It's one of those backless ones you see.' These bra accidents reoccurred intermittently throughout the evening.

'Did you see she mentioned me on her blog the other day?' shrieked the Mitten one.
'Not by your actual name though, Joanne, so it doesn't count.' hissed Claire disapprovingly.
'I forgot to get you a present,' I mumbled, 'Here, I got you this bag of jellies instead'. This was a lie. I had not forgotten, I had merely failed to retain enough money to buy her anything. Easily done.

Both paused in their quaffing of mugs of wine to purse their lips at my jellied offering. 'I DON'T think so.' sniffed Claire.

'Tell you what, you can mention me on your site and we'll call it quits.'

I was delighted. Blogging is FREE. So happy birthday, Claire. And happy boobday, Joanne. May you both have many, many more.

Quite possibly the best idea I have EVER had

Right, it's my sister Sally's eighteenth birthday next weekend and last night I came up with absolutely the coolest idea ever for her party. I have been waiting all morning to ring her cos she is a lazy slug-a-bed and doesnt get up till noon but I've just rung her and she is very positive. Ready? Okay: we are going to have an Oxegen themed party!

We play CDs by all the acts playing at Oxegen, serve drinks in plastic cups, and name each room in our house after a different stage at Oxegen. I'm thinking our garden as the Oxegen stage, our living room as the ticket stage and the kitchen as the green room. We won't have a dance stage cos dance music is shite. Not that this will denote anything in particular about the rooms in our house, just sounds funny.

We spread the back garden wth rugs so people can sit out on them. We stick a tent in the middle of the garden. We stick a sign saying 'Portaloo' up in the bathroom. And [this is my favourite bit] we cut up square cards, punch holes in them, string them on some ribbon and write VIP on it, and give one to every guest. Festival tags!

God, I'm good. Wanna hear the best part? She's having a joint party with her best friend Jenny who's 18 on Friday and instead of calling it Oxegen, we call it 'SallyNJen'. Well? Brilliant, ain't it.

Now, brass tacks. According to the Oxegen website [http://www.oxegen.ie/lineup/ I can't manage hyperlinking anymore due to having a shit computer] I own CDs by the following from the line-up:

Have: Keane, The Killers, The Streets, Doves, Josh Ritter, Mundy, Bloc Party, Athelete, Rodrigo y Gabriela, Suzanne Vega

Pathetic, I know. If anyone has anything by anyone else playing, I will let you come to the party provided you bring your tunes with you. Especially anything by:

Jimmy Eat World, Greenday, The Frames, Deep Dish, Death in Vegas, The Magic Numbers, Super Furry Animals, Foo Fighters, Razorlight, Snoop Dogg, KT Tunstall, Kaiser Chiefs, Bright Eyes, Queens of the Stone Age, The Bravery or Interpol

Actually, scratch the Kaiser Chiefs, I hope to have bought that myself by Friday. And the Bravery, cos they're just shite. So, are we all clear? Bring a CD of an act appearing at Oxegen this year and you may attend the first annual SallyNJen festival in Lucy's house in Tramore this Saturday. Also, bringing a tent would qualify to get you in. Or just some booze. Us Aughney's ain't fussy.

The Connolly kid has landed

Text message just recieved from intrepid traveller, Ms Marie Connolly:

"Guess who's bac??? Not much of a challenge really. I am n d paris at d mo but wil be touching d green green grass of home at around 9.Can't wait 2 c u all. Hope ye are all up 4 a bit of a seissuin 2moro nite au revoir ton amie Marieee x"

Ahem. So, she's back. Did you miss her?

Oh, this rain it will continue through the morning as I'm listening...

Fuck, it's dirty out.

When I got off the bus at Dame St this morning I was distressed that I had, on leaving the house three- quarters of an hour previously, not grabbed my umbrella as I had thought but instead chosen to pick up a large navy-blue napkin on a stick. What use is a napkin on a stick in flood conditions, I hear you ask. None, I say. I made the best of it though, and barely noticed the increasing dampness of my right shoulder under the bent right-half corner of my umbrella. Scarecely a grimace marred my placid repose as bits of the broken frame of the thing stuck repeatedly into my head. And only the briefest glimmer of a frown flashed across my angelic features when the handle fell off into a gutter. You see, I am tranquil. I am at peace with the world. Most of all, I am absolutely GRAND about the fact that most people I know seem to be either going to see U2 this weekend or have turned down tickets to see U2 this weekend. This is utterly fine with me. I mean it. Totally fine.

Hmmmm.

Honestly though, the audacity of some people! My father, who is going Monday, had the cheek to ask me if could I put him and the girlfriend up for the night. "No probs, daddio", I replied, "You just fix me up with a wee ticket for the gig, and I'll boot the Burtenshaw kid right out of his room. Dad? Dad? Er...hello?"

Get your toes out

Where is the sun? Lucy is wearing sandals. This is MONUMENTOUS. No-one has seen my toes since 1998. My toes hate anticlimax.

Note to self

Met Eireann have issued a blight warning for tonight. Must properly secure my crops.

Mounting Disillusionment

I was all set to tell how I had a lovely day at REM yesterday but I am much too annoyed to do that now. I'm having a bad day. Yes, yes, I know I could have it alot worse: I could've had my car tyres slashed yesterday while we were at the concert, like Jenny did, or I could be starting my accountancy exams tomorrow like Aoife or I could be massively hungover like Burt, or I could just be ginger, like David. I am decidedly better off than all these people. All the same, if no-one has any objections, I think I will just go home this evening at five o'clock and die quietly due to my increasing exhaustion, poverty, boredom, misery and sunburn. Tis the way of a narcissist.

Brava Sally!

My sister has passed her exams! She scraped through in accounting and economics but that is only because her true star lies in other directions, namely the challenging worlds of computer applications and er, communications. Us Aughney's enjoy excellence in small, useless avenues and mediocrity in almost everything else.

Progress Made

Normally, Evan tells me every morning what mistakes he has found in my work from the day before. These aren't ever huge mistakes; usually just a small correction to be made to an address or a house price I've forgotten to enter. Usually there's not more than three or four: I'm not hugely thick, just sloppy. This morning, five minutes ago in fact, he turned to me and said 'I looked at your stuff from yesterday and it's grand. No mistakes at all.'

Well. I'm sorry, but there is something rather proud-making in learning you are improving at something. Even if you do regard that something with a passion close to loathing. It's nearly better that way actually. It's easier to be lofty about it.

Lucy: Boyfriend Substitute

It's a good time to be single. Thanks to the fragility of the modern relationship I am going to REM on Sunday and to a wedding in September. This is due to people having deadbeat boyfriends who unwisely have bust-ups just before the summer starts and leave their girlfriends shivering in the cold light of singledom. Fortunately for them, Lucy is here to extend a caring arm and embrace these innocent females. And attend events that their boyfriends had promised to go to! Excellent. The wedding is not just any old weddding though: it is in ROME which is in ITALY. And REM is on in Ardgillan Castle which is in...Louth? Is it? Not quite as thrilling as Italy, but close. The Corrs come from Dundalk, don't you know.

Last night I met Annie for a drink in Doyles at College Green (AKA My New Favourite Pub due to the free pints they were giving out last Friday). As I am broke, I made one pint last two and a half hours. Nice. 'I'm going to REM on Sunday' I bragged.
'Nice,' she said, 'who's supporting?'
'OOh, Devlins and Moby and... somebody.'
'Moby, eh? Cool. You probably won't like him though.'
'Why not? I like cool stuff.'
'Not dance music. You don't like that, do you?'

Now, I object to this. Of course I like dance music! Have you seen me tearing up a dancefloor lately? And I own a FatBoy Slim album for Gods sake! And who was the first one to cotton on to The Streets? That's right- me! All the way back in 2003, before everyone jumped on the 'Woah, isn't Mike Skinner shit-cool' band wagon. I started that band wagon, man. Also, I got Norah Jones before she charted. Less proud of that one, obviously.

We weren't ready for their jelly

The Destiny's Child are to split! The group that gave us such hits as Bootylicious and another half-dozen songs that I don't quite remember but were probably riotously good with spunky female-empowering lyrics and outrageously rollicking grooves! I am in shock. I don't know about you, but I was starting to warm to The Destiny's Child. I mean, I had even installed their timeless hit 'Lose my Breath' as my alarm wake-up call! If that doesn't get you out of bed, I don't know what will.

My sister got their new record a while back. I never got around to listening to it but I'm sure it's very good: it had some nice seemingly nude photography in the sleeve notes. Ah, well. Goodbye to them all: to Beyonce, to the skinny one and to the other one who never sings.

What? Oh, apparently they go by the moniker 'Destiny's Child' now, no 'The'. Apparently that’s as bad as calling The Bravery just 'Bravery'. I just don't know. These kids and their crazy didactic grammar guidelines.

Popular Misconceptions

I bet you thought people who work in libraries can't be funny. I bet you just assumed that people who work in libraries spend their days shushing people and sitting on their arses. Speaking as someone who used to work in libraries, I'd have to admit this is on the whole correct. Some vibrant, ambitious library-workers are working to demolish this stereotype however, by actively promoting an image of librarians as fun-loving and witty. Take this for example, received in an email from one of these enthusiastic young go-getters*:


This guy walks into the library and goes up to the issue desk.

"Can I have a book on euthanasia?" he asks.

"No," replies the librarian. "I'm afraid not. But We do have a book
on young people in India."


See? This is a JOKE based on a librarian's experience. The humour, I feel, lies here in the librarian's clever wordplay on the word 'euthanasia'. Many people do not realise what a stress-filled occupation library work is. Many librarians fuck with peoples heads JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT.

Try this one:


This guy walks into the library and goes up to the issue desk.

"Can I have a book on suicide?" he asks.

The librarian on duty looks him up and down and replies: "Fuck off,
you won't bring it back!"


Once again, pretty bloody hilarious. Again, a JOKE thought up by a LIBRARIAN. Here, the darker side of library work is being examined. Librarians have a dark side you know.

But mainly, a funny side! Like Germans!



*Grazie, Cormac.

Forgetting the old country

News from Marie in Japan:

"The toilets here are fanbloodytastic they warm your bum, play music and all have a built in birthday."

I am completely stumped as to what this means.

Lost in Translation

Recieved from the McIntyre one over the weekend:

"Hello my pretties --- or as the sleazy greek men pulling you into a bar/restaurant would say --- 'baby baby baby '- well how the hell are ye all my little flowers -- Ive so much to say and so little space to say it - "

Yes, Ashling is one of those people who eschew normal grammar rules and use only hyphens to get their message across. She is at this moment in time backpacking with her sister Fiona around random Greek islands. Moving on:

"we went dossing around athens then for the afternoon--- was great the amount
of stuff we saw was amazing --- we saw zappelion, national gardens, changing of guard at unknown soldier - temple of zeus - some bath thingy that i cant remember name of right now and then the next day we walked up to the acropolis was class class sight definately worth the climb the walk and everything - the view was unreal and the place itself was gorgeous -- of course was petrified of snotting myself coz it was so steep and all the steps were marble -- "

This is pure, untarnished Ashling. Never change, little one.

"went out last night and needless to say go a little intoxicated ----went to a really nice pub where the barman was of the sleazy variety---- when ya asked for sex on the beach he'd reply - when??? and insisted on trying to throw ice cubes down me top --- (loved it really - just messing) but then i thought id be all flirty and throw one back at it him --- of course gobshite here throws it at his head --- nearly knocked the poor ejit out --"

Ahem. This all happens during her few days in Kefalonia, a place where, she tells us is where Captain Corelli's Mandolin was filmed. She harbours an especial love for this place, for reasons you will soon uncover:

"The island was beautiful the water was so clean and lovely --- We stayed in an apartment called Vivenne Villas --- and this is the highlight of the holiday so far ---- you could flush the toilet paper down the toilet --- WAS KLASS -- its the little things in life that matter ---"

In other, less toilet-related news my good friend and habitual drunk, Marie Connolly has written to impart equally vital info on her trip to Japan to see her sister:

" Hi guys,
Hope your all well, any goss from the weekend? I am cream crackered so i'm off to my foton. I'll write you all a long e-mail Thursday boasting about how much fun I had in Disneyland, hard to believe seen as i'm so humble and never gloat lol:-)
Lots of love Marie "

Ashling goes to Greece, which, apparently, is somewhere around Europe and writes about 10,000 words on the subject and Marie goes to Japan- JAPAN- which is a whole other continent and writes two lines, mentioning a visit to a foul Western themepark. And she misspells 'futon'. Pah. She doesn't deserve Japan. And no, she's not a cockney. I don't know why she writes like one either.

Circumstances conspire against me

Is Oxegen seriously sold out? This is scandalous, I can't believe I missed out on getting a ticket AGAIN. Who would have thought that putting things off and generally being terrificly lazy and feckless would one day blow up in my face? Not me anyway.