It’s Hugh Not You!Self indulgent tripe for the masses

Piracy used to be cool.  Not at first.  When it started out, it was a fairly horrific affair.  But then it got cool to be piratey.  Treasure Island (great book, you should all read it) made it sound dangerous and exciting, with hidden treasure and no scurvy.  And then there’s the Pirates of the Caribbean films which made it sound great to start with, but then it would taper into a muddled mess with no clear direction and minor characters you care little for.

Sadly, this has changed and piracy is back to its original horrific affair.  I’m not talking about those swashbuckling Somali pirates who are keeping the scene alive, but to the filthy degenerates who terrorise innocent mega-corporations and stop billionaires from being able to have a second olive in their martinis.  I’m talking about the scourge of entertainment industry: software pirates.

Thank Zeus that somebody is doing something to stop these animals.  Governments are making a stand.  The US tried it with SOPA, the Stop Online Piracy Act.  Thankfully they’ve no intention of implementing SAPA, the Stop Actual Piracy Act which would target our Somali friends.  Unfortunately SOPA was postponed, possibly indefinitely.

Now the more keenly witted amongst you may have realised that I’m not actually serious about the last part.  It was, in fact, cleverly disguised satire.  I could have been blatant about how the likes of SOPA are a bad idea, but only a fucking moron would think it’s a good idea.

Speaking of fucking morons, Sean Sherlock TD wants an Irish version.  And he decided that it was needed even after the worldwide condemnation of the US SOPA and it being halted.  This man is thick as pig shite.

Look at the head on this gobshite!

So, “what is SOPA?” I hear none of you ask.  Well, the best description of it was using a sledgehammer to crack a nut.  And even that is being tame. 

Piracy costs people money.  It’s taking something that you’ve no right to take and not compensating those you took it from.  Some people like to justify piracy.  The common arguments are “There’s nothing wrong with it because the original is still there”, (in which case why is forgery illegal?), and “I wouldn’t buy itanyway, so they’re not losing out”, (you wouldn’t buy a turd either, but I don’t see you picking them off the street and putting them in your pocket).

Personally, I don’t care about piracy, just man the fuck up and admit you’re doing wrong, then go about your piracy.  Blackbeard didn’t try and justify it and neither should you!

But I digress.  The entertainment industry doesn’t like piracy because they lose potential sales, and any amount of money they lose is unacceptable to them, because they evil, money-grubbing bastards (and also because they’re actually entitled to that money).  So they want to stop it.

And so, America being the land of the free was the perfect place for the Entertainment Industry to buy off politicians and make they pass draconian laws to do whatever they wanted.  And this very nearly happened.

In essence, SOPA would allow the US government to crack down on suspected copyright infringements with little recourse by those they attacked.  The likes of Youtube would be held responsible for any breaches of copyright and the entire site could be taken down, for example.

Ironically enough, Justin Bieber supports SOPA, even though he was apparently discovered doing a cover song on Youtube, which would be illegal under SOPA.  You didn’t think of that, you androgynous freak.

Other travesties would be the making illegal for non-US pharmaceutical companies to advertise within the US.  And I’m sure that has nothing to do with Pfizer backing the bill.  Any US citizen using a non-US website would automatically give the US government the jurisdiction to take action against that site.  And also, software like Firefox could be deemed illegal if it in any way could be used to help piracy.  You can check out the Wikipedia page for a full list of idiocy.

The law basically outlaws the internet, and was rightly protested down.

Life without the internet

Now, back to that fuckwit Sherlock.  After all the hullabaloo about SOPA, Sherlock decides that it must be a good thing to have, making me wonder if he’s corrupt or just incompetent.

Thankfully Sherlock’s law isn’t as bat-shit crazy as SOPA, but it’s still fairly bat-shit crazy.  This law allows anyone to complain about a website and that website would be shut down immediately, or in the case of foreign websites, it would force ISP’s to block out access to these websites.

And the beautiful part of this is that only a handful really knows what the law actually says.  It’s written in secret and will probably only become public once it’s passed.  What is known about it is that it’s so incredibly vague that it can be interpreted to mean absolutely anything and it’s up to a judge (those old guys who don’t know what technology is) to decide.  It’s not even known if you have any ability to object to the shutting down of your website if it’s found in breach of copyright.

And where this gets truly surreal is that it does nothing, absolutely nothing to stop piracy.  It has no effect on it at all.  The man needs to be shaken like a baby in Louise Woodwards care.

The bill was supposed to be signed at the end of January, but has been postponed (possibly in the hope that people will forget about it).  I know this is far more of a rant than I normally do, but the sheer stupidity of this really gets on my tits.  I know governments do silly things, but does ours really have to be incompetent in every aspect of governance?

There was a hell of a rainstorm the other night.  It devastated the land with flooding not seen since Noah looked out the window and said “Ooh, that looks a bit bleak.”  It was a true disaster of Biblical proportions.  At least that’s what we’re being told this time around.  We seem to have Biblical style floods a couple of times a year.  Somehow I appear to be one of the few who’ve noticed this trend.  I mean, if the councils noticed, surely they’d do something about the drainage, right?

That’s not to say the flooding was easily ignored.  A lot of roads turned to rivers.  Dundrum shopping centre had about 6 foot of water spurting though the doors.  Some minor bridges collapsed, and I stood in a really deep puddle and got my socks all wet.

This is Dundrum Shopping Centre.  If you look to the left of the stairs, you’ll see two girls standing in a lift.

And I’m afraid that it’s kind of all my fault.  It may be hard to believe, but let me take you through some recent events.  It all started with this thread, which originally was in the Legal Discussions forum of the Boards.ie website.  Now, by reading the rest of this blog, you’ll be ruining the M. Night Shyamalan-style plot twist.  So you may want to start reading that.  You don’t have to go through the whole thing (you can skip a lot of the longer posts), but you probably will once you realise what’s going on.  The main plot twist is in post #97.

For those with enough time to waste reading my blog, but not enough to waste reading anything else, I’ll summarise with quotations.  Again, it’s more entertaining to read the whole thing.

So, this thread started with a post from a user called Selfrep, whom I believe to be one Father James Clark (possibly self appointed), which read thusly:

 If someone were to have proof that a Taoiseach and Minister in power in Ireland was acting outside of our constitution in the running of their department and our country does a citizen have a right to take it to court and if so how would they go about it? bear in mind if it was proven to be correct it would bring down a government and the only place to decide whether our country is being run in breach of the constitution would be in the courts so how would one challenge the government through the courts?

How exciting is that?  Someone could possibly tear apart a government.  There’d be a media frenzy.  A new government.  Maybe even a new political system!!!  So the thread goes on with people giving advice.  And then Selfrep gives a bit more information about what he’s on about.  It’s long winded, so here’s the relevant part:

 As difficult as it will be for the people of Ireland and the media to accept, Jesus is back in Ireland for his second coming, the proof is below and attached and Fine Gael and Labour stood in the way of this unique event for the people of Ireland. 

So, Jesus is back and Fine Gael and Labour are standing in his way.  Deities don’t seem to have the same amount of power they used to enjoy, as demonstrated by this graph:

Surprisingly, people were skeptical of this claim.  I’m not sure how, Selfrep had a book and everything.  Although someone did point out a fairly important point:

 I have to agree with you. At least the OP is highlighting how backward DeValeras constitution is for 21st century Ireland, so backward in fact that this sort of thing can even be brought up.
Thanks OP for showing how badly we need constitutional reform to remove all religious references from Bunreacht na hEireann. 

But that’s not the point of this blog.  Well, there’s no real point to the blog, it’s just a slow day for me.

Anyway, this guy was emailing lots of people.  The Ombundsman actually politely replied saying they’ll look into it, which this guy took as proof positive that they were in on it. I don’t know how many of you are aware of how internet discussions go, but it’s usually along the lines of:

•  1st Person makes a statement.
• 2nd Person points out flaws in statement.
• 1st person demands that second person proves a negative.
• 2nd person draws comparisons to the Nazis.
• 3rd person posts picture of cats.

It’s how the internet works.

So, we have the first to parts, and Selfrep happily jumps at the chance to put in the third:

 unless you have untenable proof there is not a God, wont be a second coming and the bible is a load of rubbish and i said untenable then i would suggest you start paying attention to this pivotal unique moment in irish and world history.

So, unless you can prove the non-existence of something which cannot be proven to exist, you’re wrong.  It’s at this point that the people either give up and take the piss, or try and talk sense into him.  I don’t know what it is about the internet that makes people think that they can talk sense into someone who is quite obviously mental.  It’s a bit like the X-Factor.

So, the thread moves on.  And on.  And on.  Selfrep posts loads more “interesting” stuff on why he is right. He’s constantly trying to get people to read his book.  He says even more crazy stuff like:

 wait for the ark of the covenent to be discovered under the hill of tara, why do you think tara is known as the seat of the high king of Ireland….

which would really piss Indiana Jones off.  But it goes on. He claims Skellig Michael is the most Christian site in Europe, which will come as a bit of a surprise to the Vatican.  He even has a map of how Jesus will travel from Skellig Michael to Israel.

It’s obviously bollix as he’d clearly have to stop off in Heathrow.  Or Stanstead, if he flies with Ryanair.

The thread was then moved to the Conspiracy Theories part of the website, which is partly my domain (it gives me something to do).  Now, logic would dictate that the thread would be locked and just ignored as an odd bit of craziness.  But morbid curiosity got the better of me and it was left to devolve into utter zany craziness.

So he then goes on a bit of a rant about 666 being the number of the beast, despite is being pointed out that the number in the Bible is actual 616.  There’s also a section on astrology, which you’d think is odd to have in a fanatical Christian apocalypse rant, but he makes it fit in surprisingly well.

So it goes on, and the futility of talking sense is demonstrated again and again.  But finally, the bombshell lands.  Oh how foolish we’ve all been.  Post #97:

I will be submitting papers to the courts that claim I am the Messiah back in ireland for my second coming and the Office of the Taoiseach and Minister for Justice were dually informed ( as was the gardai and other Government Ministers) the proof of this is in the book you will download entitled Gardai and Government Judgement day and I will be claiming the Government are running our country outside of articles 6.1, 44.1 and the preamble.

Well kiss my grits, it was Jesus all along.  And he wants to sue Enda Kenny.  Well now it all makes sense.  It wasn’t some crazy man talking crazy talk.  It was the Second Coming of Jesus of Nazareth, son of the Almighty, saviour of humanity, coming to an internet forum for legal advice.  How could we have been so blind?

When Jesus facepalms, then you know you’ve gotten it wrong!

I think it was the bizarre way he mentions it so matter-of-factly, that took everyone by surprise.  It’s funny how several of the following posters didn’t even take in that little gem.  It’s one of those “hiding in plain site” things, I guess.

We thought that would be the end of it.  I’ve seen this kind of craziness before, and once it peaks, they usually sober up and run away.  But he wasn’t going anywhere without a fight.  He made a prophecy:

ya mite as well close off the post my life is not a comedy show for godless people to make a mockery of you might find it funny but he who laughs last laughs longest….the job of jesus during his first coming was to come to as many peoples attention as possible in as many ways……and he did…..be no different the second time…….watch the weather, expect a large earthquake, 2 volcanic eruptions, the euro to collapse, and an EU leader to be killed

Granted, he didn’t say what specifically about the weather we should watch, or which one of the hundreds of earthquakes and volcanoes which occur every year we should take as a sign.  But at least the other two have a chance of being possible.  Though he doesn’t give a timeframe, so that’s a bit disappointing.

And it goes on.  He posts more shite and people continue to point out faults and general craziness.  To cut an already very long and bizarre story short, we locked the thread.  He was also banned for sending abusive messages to people.  And he wasn’t happy about that.

He sent me a private message:

So Jesus ****ing Christ, it’s cold out here, let me in! can be written and I cant do my job….ban forever off your stupid forum and before you do the curse of god is upon you and watch what happens you, bad things happen people whom question me

I’m not the one who banned him, but when pointed out to him, he blamed me for not helping him be crazy:

 Did you assist? no you stood by whilst yer members laughed and mocked me and then banend me for doing my job, your judged, whether you like it or notand if you were human you would understand the next 48 hours in your life will be proof I am jesus wait and see, curse of god will pervade your soul now son GO TO HELL with your pathetic ” It wasnt me”….I am jesus alright and I dont need to prove it, my curse proves it now I am logging out of this forum and you watch what happens you and when it emerges that i am tellign the truth read over that forum post and each and every smart ass that laughed at me is going to hell….so you wont be alone!

 

Unfortunately for me the only way people believe me is when the curse works….and let me tell you….the english police sent the irish police after me I placed the curse of god on them over a year ago for it and their Chief Met Officer resigned…the news of the world hounded me and i placed the curse of god on them and their closed….dont underestimate me and dont misunderstand me, watch yer life take a turn for the worse and when bad things start happening you think of Jesus during his second coming and your pathetic ” I am banning you” comment. I ban you from partaking in the second coming, wait and see you GOAT…your so pathetic you banned jesus from using your forum during his second coming to save people, I greatly pity you over the next 48 hours.

This was last Friday.  I was genuinely terrified.  I’d never pissed off a minor deity before.  It’s just one of those things you don’t expect to come up.  He had the power to make the Chief Met Officer resign and he was the one who closed down the News Of The World (deeds truly worthy of the Almighty). 

And then the floods happened.  I feel so guilty.  If only I hadn’t assumed it was just a weirdo on the internet, he wouldn’t have called down the rains.

This was just around the corner from me.

Although, over the 48 hours he gave me, I had an absolute blinder of a weekend.  So I guess the Lord works in mysterious ways.

If anyone is interested in more zaniness from “Father” James Clark, here’s some articles about him:

http://www.westernpeople.ie/news/eyqlqlojid/

http://pastebin.com/eDWb8bn2

And he’ll apparently be appearing in Waterford District Court on December 6th 2011 10:30am telling the world that he’s Jesus.  I’m genuinely tempted to head down for this.

Two religious fanatics, a killer, a sexual deviant, a Fianna Fail lackey, an invisible woman who photoshops herself and a hobbit.  No, this isn’t the lineup of a new RTE reality series.  These are Ireland’s presidential hopefuls.  Or as I like to call them, a clear sign of the end of days.

 The role of president in Ireland is similar to the role of president in the USA, in that they both live in a large, white house.  After that, there’re not many similarities.  The Irish president doesn’t really have any power, which may come as a surprise to the “7” as they all seem to be of the opinion that it’s the most important position in the world. 

 Each one of these fucktards is harping on about how it’s in Ireland’s best interests that they are elected as they’re going to change the world.  They don’t know how they’re going to change the world, but by God they’ll give it a shot!  Let’s have a look at the contenders: 

1. Dana

She’s had some work done.

When people hear the words “Dana” and “Eurovision” they think about an Israeli transsexual.  Sadly, the person who is actually running is a religious fundamentalist who is against divorce and contraception.  She is also an unpopular politician, gaining only 3.5% of the vote in the last General Election.  She also has experience losing in presidential elections, so I’d hate to disappoint her by letting her win.

2. Gay Mitchell

I’m not sure if this is Gay Mitchell, or the dad from “ALF”.

Another fundamentalist, who is openly homophobic.  He’s in various anti-gay groups, but denies this despite members of the groups saying he’s a member and also his speaking at various members only events.

3. Martin McGuinness

I’m not sure which one of these he is.

A Former IRA member, he left to join Sinn Féin, a move a kin to changing seats in the cinema.  He has several times refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of the Irish Defense forces and, well let’s just keep it simple; he was part of the IRA.  People somehow have a blind spot for him and confuse him with John Hume, the guy who didn’t kill for peace.

4. David Norris

Man, you just want to smack that face.

He speaks funny, has disturbing views on underage sex, talks shite about Wilde and Joyce for hours on end and wrote letters of clemency to Israel to get his ex-lover a reduced sentence for statutory rape.  But he on the plus side, he did help pull Ireland out of the Dark Ages in regards to equal rights for homosexuals.  So that forgives the funny voice.

5. Sean Gallagher

I suppose he gets bonus points because I liked that film.

The Fianna Fail stooge.  He appears on the Irish Dragon’s Den, where people who hope for a leg up with their burgeoning company get told to fuck off because it won’t make Gallagher enough money.  He also looks like the Monster from “Young Frankenstein”.

6. Mary Davis

Actual campaign poster.

I’d never heard of her before the election.  It’s like she suddenly came into being just for this, and she slink away back into the darkness afterwards.  She has a history of working with disabled people, but kind of killed off that goodwill when she started cold calling disabled people to see if they’d appear in posters for her.  Who needs equal rights when you can be used as a tool for someone’s election campaign?  She also had her election posters photoshopped by putting her body onto one of the Special K girls.  She does have the bonus of having the same name as the last two presidents, so people might mix her up.

7. Michael D. Higgins

He’s just odd looking.

After leaving Frodo with the One Ring, Bilbo Higgins went to Hollywood and played Dobby in the Harry Potter movies.  He later went into politics and hasn’t done enough for me to be able to make fun of, so I stick to making fun of is appearance instead.

And there you have it, the seven freaks.  It’s worth noting that in an online poll, all seven nominees were beaten by an inanimate carbon rod.  So that should give you an indication of both the class of nominee and the mentality of those who vote.

It’s a sad state of affairs when the role of president is decided by who you find the least objectionable. I don’t even know if I’ll bother voting.  It’s a meaningless role that should have been abolished years ago. I’m told the president travels off around the globe chatting with various people, but we don’t hear anything about it.  I’m starting to think that maybe the point of the election is to pick the person you hate the most, and then you don’t see them until the next election. 

But now I’m stuck with the dilemma of who do I hate the most out of that group.  You just can’t win.

To end on a positive note, The Book of Magic Bollocks by The Great Sebastiano is available for sale, for those with an interest.  I’m sorry if I lowered the tone of my blog even further by advertising, but I’ve been looking forward to it, so fuck you!  But buy the book.  And also give me money.

Flash mobs.  Let’s be honest, they’re kind of shit.  The first few times they were novel and the ones that are actually creative look great.  One of the best ones is where about a hundred people in Grand Central Station in New York suddenly froze in place for about a minute.  It looks really cool.  And there’s another one on the New York underground where a load of identical twins sat opposite each other in a carriage, doing the exact same actions.  That was cool too.

But, as with most things in life, idiots saw it being done and assumed it would also be cool if they did it.  You get all sorts of muppets fully organising these events and giving them national media attention.  Oprah even did one.  When everyone is doing something, it’s not cool any more.

There’s flash mobs all the time now.  And idiots still think they’re being edgy.  Some people have moved on to “planking”, where they lie down.  That’s it.  You lie down.  That’s apparently cool now.  And there’s owling, which I think started off as a piss take of planking, but now people think that’s cool.  You just perch yourself somewhere and that’s it.  Someone died while planking and so it got a bigger reputation amongst people to be edgier and cooler.  None of these people realised that they’re just fucktards.

This guy is cooler than anyone involved in planking.

A stint in a war would set these idiots right.  It did me no harm.  Granted, I wasn’t in a war, but I watched Platoon at least twice.

Anyway, flash mobs aren’t cool or edgy.  So when my mate Viko said he had an idea for a flash mob music video, I sighed.  I sighed loudly.

The concept for his shoot was simple.  A brass band plays a swing version of Michael Jacksons “Thriller” and a load of zombies do a dance routine.  If it sounds familiar, it’s because that’s what Michael Jackson had done for the video.  The difference is ours was a flash mob instead of a 15 minute short film (we tried to get Vincent Price to do an intro, but apparently he doesn’t do much work now that he’s dead).

I wasn’t sure what my role would be in this until last Wednesday.  I was kind of hoping it would be nothing to do with the cameras, as I’m incompetent and didn’t want to be responsible for ruining everything.  Since I fancy myself as a SFX make-up artist extraordinaire, I was given the job of creating the zombies.  Luckily, Viko had the foresight to get someone else who actually knew what she was doing, so all I had to do was follow her lead and pretend I wasn’t an idiot.  And Viko also had the extra foresight of asking another girl along do help.  So it was 3 of us to do 9 zombies in 3 ½ hours. Not a bother!

The process itself was long and needlessly messy.  I hadn’t a clue what I was doing first, but got into the swing of things just as I was finishing. I had been introduced to the real make-up artist and told her name was Bébé (her name was actually Babhan. I don’t know if that’s how it spelt, but it’s pronounced Bay-van).  This wouldn’t have been an issue except that she thought I was calling her baby for the first hour until she corrected me.

A lot of prep work involves standing around.

I did spend some time with a dancer’s leg on my shoulder as I painted a bruise on her inner thigh.  So that was fun.  There was an odd old man taking a lot of photos of us, which was unnerving. I’m not sure if he was part of the group, or just a pervert who wandered in.  Other than that, we just got on with the job.  I learned a few things about make-up and how limber dancers are, and that if you don’t got to the food trays as soon as they appear then you’ll be left with only mangy old fruit.

Once the make-up was done, and the rehearsals had all been finished, it was time to venture out into the world and see what would happen.  The various cameramen and women had already left to take up positions.  We were shooting it in Grafton Street just opposite Bewley’s Café.  There’s an alleyway there, which is where the performers would arrive from.  There was one camera upstairs in Bewley’s, one in Starbucks across the road, one that would be down with the crowd and a load of other cameras that would be dotted about where ever they could find space.  Added to this would be loads of camera phones.  So we should have enough footage of it.

Anyone who wasn’t a performer or camera person went down to the area and tried to act like they weren’t waiting for something.  Unfortunately it was fairly obvious that we were waiting for something.  And then at one point, a passerby looked down the alley and saw one of the zombies, so they just stood there staring, wondering what was going on (in the event of a real zombie rising, we’re all fucked if that’s how people react!).  Once one person started staring, it wasn’t long before there was a big group of people waiting to see what was going on.  Our flash mob idea was not going well.

Not pictured: Surprise. 

It was decided that it was now or never, and the performance began.  Firstly, the singer came down, set up some speakers and pretended to check the sound as if it wasn’t working.  Then the rest of the band came down behind him and started playing.  After a couple of versions, the zombies would lurch down, stagger around in front of the band and then break into a dance routine.

It all went really well.  The singer seemed a little nervous (and so did the band, despite the booze they’d been drinking before hand).  The dancers nailed it (and the make-up was the best in the world!).  Once they’d finished, they all left back down the alley.  All in all, it was about 5 minutes long.

So the crowd clapped and fecked off.  I wasn’t sure what we were meant to do.  I was about to head off back to HQ when I passed by one of the crew who told me that we were going to do it again.  The thinking was that this time nobody would be expecting it.  That made sense to me, but I was high on grease paint fumes at the time. 

So I bumbled about Grafton street for a little longer.  As luck would have it, I was in the perfect position to solve two major crises.  The first was a musician who started setting up in the space where the band was meant to be.  It took a while to explain to him to not do anything because he didn’t speak much English.  I finally got through to him, and he agreed not to play for a while.  And then set up anyway.  He didn’t play, he just stood there waiting. It was kind of creepy.

The second problem was with one of the zombies.  A latex wound was falling off her face (a common problem with zombies) and if she started dancing, it would have flew into the crowd and scarred some poor child for life.  I missed Viko’s panicked yells of “GLUE! GLUE!!!”, but Babhan found me and, also in a panicked state, was trying to figure out what to do.  Not one to buckle to pressure (I usually give up before the pressure has even hit), I ran (casually sauntered) into a souvenir shop which happened to also sell some double sided sellotape.

Rushing (casually sauntering) to the damsel in distress and arriving in the nick of time, I started to peel off the tape to try and stick the girls face back on.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t get the paper off the second side.  I don’t get how someone in the QA department of that factory thought that tape of this standard was good enough.  I know it’s cheap tape, but come on. Take a bit of fucking pride in your work, you pricks!  And to make matters worse, the singer got his queue to head down the alley and begin.  So I started to panic, which doesn’t help the motor skills when trying to peel back sellotape.

One of the other zombies took another bit of tape and tried to get the paper off of that.  Very soon there were 9 zombies in an alley trying to peel paper off of some double-sided tape so that one of their faces could be stuck back on.  The band had headed down the alleyway and were starting to play.  Finally, I got the paper off.  And the tape just stuck to my fingers.  Those fuckers in the QA department need a good beating.  The others started to get the paper off too, but it was just sticking to their fingers too.

QA Testers can’t even organise a proper lab outfit, for Christ’s sake!

Finesse was out the window at this point.  I balled up the tape, slapped it onto the girls face and mushed the latex down on top of it, just as they got their queue to begin.  I know that’s not as exciting as defusing a bomb with 1 second to go, but it’s better than nothing.

Anyway, the second take went much better.  The crowd wasn’t as big at first, but grew big enough during the performance.  Lots of people were pissed off that they couldn’t get by.  I had to explain to some to just give it a minute, but they were having none of it and tried to barge their way through only to be confronted by a gyrating zombie.

A couple of gardaí arrived and just stood at the back of the crowd, slightly bewildered.  I thought I might have to intercept them, but being gardaí they weren’t prepared to do their jobs and just stood there looking gormless.  By the time the crowd dissipated enough for them to see through, the band and zombies had disappeared into the night.  Well, late afternoon.

As everything returned to normal, we headed back to HQ, cleaned up the place, and tried to take stock of what footage we had.  I was handed some stuff and asked to help the dancers remove their makeup.  It was then that I realised I was standing in front of a group of girls in their underwear, holding a bottle of baby oil and some cotton pads. 

Nice!

And so that’s the story of our music video shoot.  I don’t think it fully qualifies as a flash mob, so maybe that’s why I enjoyed myself.  It all came together particularly well.  Granted, it may turn out that the footage is completely unusable, but I don’t care. I got to swap dancers in baby oil and so have haven’t been arrested, so it’s a win for me!

Edit: The video has finally been finished.  You can view it by clicking here.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I don’t like wasting time on the internet and that I’d much rather be working.  These people are lying scumbags and don’t know me at all.  Kick them in the nuts next time you see them.

Everyone else knows that there’s little I like more than “social networking”, i.e. playing stupid games on Facebook while silently sobbing about the increasingly meaningless existence of humankind.

Google have decided that rather than let Facebook (and to a lesser extent MySpace, Bebo and all the other now irrelevant social networking sites) get all the credit and money, that they were going to muscle in.  Their offering is Google+ and I recently got an invite to it.

Seems simple enough…

I’ve read reviews about it not being particularly good, and even though I don’t want to move from Facebook (because I’m far too lazy), I thought I’d give it a shot to see what it was like.  And why not share with the rest of you my findings and experiences?

Unfortunately it won’t let me log in, so I won’t be talking about it today.

In other news, Oxegen happened last weekend.  For those who don’t know, it’s a music festival for scum who like to slash each other with Stanley knives, get off their tits on drugs and wallow in mud like animals.  So it’s just like all other music festivals.

Fans get ready for Coldplay

Sadly the rain, which I prayed would piss down on them, didn’t come.  And people seem to have enjoyed themselves.  All except the few who were forced to witness the gory horror of Amanda Brunker on stage.  Many of you probably don’t know who Amanda Brunker is, and to you I say “STOP READING NOW!”, fore to read on is to bear witness to proof that the gods have abandoned us.

Brunker has many claims to fame, none of which are true.  She’s written some chick lit (although it’s debatable if she actually wrote any of it. She’s not one for words), was somehow a former Miss Ireland (it was a slow year for women), and a television personality (in the same way as Captain Kirk’s chair could be considered a personality).

She currently, and without even grasping the irony, is a judge on the All-Ireland Talent Show.  Oh and she has large breast which she uses to get people’s attention when she realises people haven’t been paying attention to her.

This picture oozes personality

Oxegen had a reasonably famous lineup playing.  No music that I particularly like but the kids wouldn’t consider me hip nor down with it lately.

One “singer” goes by the name of Jesse J. No idea who she is or what she sounds like, but that doesn’t matter as she’s dead or sick or something.  Either way, they needed a stand in to replace her.  There’s plenty of talent out there and so picking one of the thousands of musicians, bands and DJ’s would have been easy enough.

Sadly for the world of music and justice, Brunker decided she wanted to live out her fantasy of being a famous musician (because being a talentless fuckwit wasn’t enough for her).  And since Ireland is run on a system of nepotism, greed and mind-numbing stupidity, she was given the chance that everyone else deserved more.

What the world got was a rough 15 minutes of Brunker quietly warbling a bizarre version of a U2 song and then dancing around like a demented ferret.  Then she promptly left the stage.  And this wasn’t a small stage off at the edge of the festival.  This was apparently the second biggest stage of the show.  A crowd small enough to be embarrassing yet big enough to be a lynch mob, had gathered to look on in awe.

Not pictured: Dignity

She’s lucky not to have gotten bottled.  She just wasn’t worth wasting a bottle on.

It’s a bizarre situation when a nobody gets to perform at one of Irelands two main festivals just because she knows the guy in charge.  So many actual musicians would have sold their souls to play on that stage.  But instead of showcasing Irish talent, they  have… well, you can see what they’ve done here:

NB: I did have a youtube video of the following clip, but apparently all videos of this troglodyte which show the tiny bemused crowd have been removed, replaced with edited footage that only shows her up close. *shudder*  I now have a dailymotion clip, but she’ll probably report that too:

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xjvv24_rotten-amanda-brunker-singing-at-oxygen-festival-2011_music

And what really gets my goat is that Brunker is deluded enough to think it was a success.  Before the show, she had to temporarily close her Twitter account because of all the “Haters” who were hurling abuse at her.  After the show she claimed she’d proven everyone wrong.  Has she no shame?  Oh right, she doesn’t.

I know you’re shocked that something so pointless could get me riled, as I’m usually such an accepting person, but why is this bint allowed to live?  Hitler wouldn’t have allowed it.  Are we worse than Hitler?

It’s odd that with so much else going on in the world that this man-beast is the thing I write about, but everything else seems more political and I’ve never felt smart enough to discuss politics.

See, we’ve got the government shutting down the A&E department in a small county hospital because there’s no money or staff for it.  But people are up in arms because they don’t understand how money works and assume everything is free.

We’ve got Wikileaks founder Julian Assange appealing the decision to deport him on rape charges.  But his supporters are all behind him claiming it’s a conspiracy, despite the fact that Assange is a sociopath who doesn’t see women as people.  He’s not too keen on men either, by the way.  I think it’s a general inability to connect with humanity.  When the Guardian paper were to publish the leaked diplomatic communications, they told Assange that they’d need time to filter them as they didn’t want to put any informants lives at risk.  Assange’s reply was “Fuck them! Informants deserve to die”.  Sadly, the irony was lost on him.

And the biggest story is the News of the World shutting down, surprisingly due to utter corruption.  Who’d have thought it?  It might even herald the destruction of Rupert Murdock’s empire.  And if you don’t know who he is, he’s like a real life version of Mr. Burns from the Simpsons, but not as honest.  The sad thing here is that he’ll most likely get away with it.  The bad guy generally does.  Actually, now that I think about it, Rebekah Brooks looks like Sideshow Bob.  Kind of bizarre.

But on a positive note, I found out yesterday that I’ve the next two weeks off.  So I best plan something to do.  I’m thinking something exciting and adventurous.  Something along the lines of a Murder, She Wrote marathon.  I’ll let you know how it pans out.

I’ve been remarkably busy of late and as a result have neglected to fill this blog with shite.  So I thought I may as well get on with it now.

I could just fill you in on recent events, but there’s been little of note happening in my life.  I was over at a Wedding in Germany at the end of April, so I suppose I could let you know about that and I’ll give you some insight into weddings and relationships while I’m at it.  Not that I’m an authority, but I’m bitter enough to pretend I know everything so that I can be condescending.

My friends Denis and Siobhán were getting married in a fancy 5-star Schloss (that’s possibly German for fancy house), about an hour outside of Berlin.  It was a fantastic place and made a great job of making everyone feel like we didn’t belong. We kept wanting to tell them that they really shouldn’t fuss because we just weren’t worth it.

It was a strange feeling when we arrived and all the staff were out to greet us. Our luggage was put in a pile, and we were told it’d be moved to our rooms later. Then a man with a clipboard told us which block of rooms we were each to be staying in.  Then we passed through the large gates and could go for a shower to freshen up.  It was like a pleasant Auschwitz.

The wedding venue. 

The first night was spent boozing and the second day had the wedding (it was amazing) and more boozing.  The weather was fantastic and a lot of it was spent sitting out in the sun trying to forget that we were back in work once the trip was over.

Although the wedding was great, I won’t go into the details as it’s not really going to be of interest to most people, and anyone who wants to hear about it probably already has.  What’s more interesting is my Saturday morning in hospital.

I had had a pain in my side before leaving for Berlin, but like any self respecting man I decided not to see a doctor so that I could complain about it to anyone unlucky enough to be near me.  It wasn’t too bad to start with, but got steadily worse.  On Friday night I was in agony and was going to wake up my roommate Damian, to get a doctor, but passed out due to either pain, booze, tiredness, or a combination of the three.

The next morning, I managed to get out of bed and showered by about 7:30am.  I woke Damian up and told him I was going to get a doctor and there was no way in hell I’d be able to make the wedding at 2pm.  He insisted on going with me.  Then he realised there was no point and decided to get John to go with me (as John speaks a German and would be more help in a German hospital than Damian, who studied engineering).

So an irate John, woken from his slumber, came with me to the hospital.  The hotel were a great help. The General Manager drove us there and gave us her card so that when we needed to come back, they’d pick us up.  She even went in to have a word with the nurse on call to explain the situation.

Almost straight away, I was shown into the doctor. Thankfully he spoke English fluently (I think he was South African).  He asked a few questions and did a few tests. They were remarkably efficient, even for Germans.  I gave them my European Health Card thingy and that seemed to take care of all the paperwork.

I’d a couple of hours with this sticking out of my arm.

Within the space of about 2 hours I got a blood test, an X-ray, 2 ultra-sounds and a thorough examination that would cost a few hundred on the streets of Amsterdam.  He never did figure out why I was in pain (I put it down to some sort of muscle strain due to being awesome), but he did notice a couple of things.  He gave me one ultra-sound and then insisted on another with a more modern machine.  He had found out two things of note:

1)      I have an enlarged liver, which he told me is commonly known as an “Irish Liver”

2)      I’m missing a kidney.

He showed me the ultrasound and pointed at a blank space, as if to emphasis the missingness of my kidney.  I probably should have been worried, but I thought it was pretty funny.  After all, it’s not like I was missing something important like a brain or heart or courage or whatever that slut Dorothy was trying to blag.  The missing kidney wasn’t exactly missed.  I’ve survived this long and am relatively healthy(-ish).

Not pictured: my kidney.

It got me thinking that maybe if I had my other kidney I might have some sort of super urinary system.  I’d battle super-villains with my Pee of Justice.  And I’d use my enlarged liver to deflect bullets, like Captain America’s shield.  I could have been kick ass!

But instead I’m reduced to live like all you “norms”.  I won’t ever stop super-villains. I won’t ever fling my liver at bank robbers.  But I also won’t be donating a kidney to anyone.  Not because I’ve only one.  It’s because I’m an asshole.

Anyway, the wedding went ahead.  We made it back in time (a good thing too, as John was a Groomsman.  I probably should have pointed that out earlier and given him kudos for risking not making it.  But fuck him.  He doesn’t have internet access, so won’t be reading this).

After the event, and when I got back home and was feeling sorry for myself, I got thinking about weddings in general.  And I realised, (well remembered, as I had realised it long ago) that I really don’t like weddings.  I mean, I really fucking hate them.

This is going to come as a shock to most women who read this, but weddings are all pretty much the same.  There are exceptions, such as the one I mentioned above, or the royal wedding etc, where it’s a completely different affair and that difference makes it stand out.

But for all the others, they’re pretty much identical.  Now the reason I say it may shock women and not men, is because men already know this.  The wedding day has little to do with the man anyway.  It’s something that just has to be done, like a prostate exam.  If men really cared then we all wouldn’t wear the same coloured suits.  And women would actually value the man’s input with regards to the seating arrangements.

People could save themselves a whole load of hassle if they just Photoshop their faces on to someone else wedding pictures.  Think of the money you’d save.  And you’d have great memories, because you get to make them up.  You don’t have to worry about the weather, because you pick the photos with the weather you choose.  You don’t have to worry about the speeches because nobody will be there to hear them, and nobody remembers what’s said in them anyway.

See? It works perfectly.

If anyone questions if there ever was a wedding, just show them the photos and tell some vague story about the drunken dancing at the end of the night.  Since it’s happened at all weddings, people will convince themselves that they were actually at your imaginary wedding.  The money you save could be spent on so many other things.  Like a holiday, or a divorce.  Or hiring a designer to come up with a costume for a kidney related superhero. 

I’ve never really seen the point in weddings, to be honest.  Till death do you part?  How fucking ominous is that?  I also object to Catholic weddings being preceded by a lecture by an unmarried celibate man in a dress, telling you how to make a marriage work, but that’s a different matter for a different blog.

Marriage is just too definitive for me.  It’s too final.  It’s declaring to the world that you’ve given up searching for that perfect person and are settling for less.  I blame the marketing machine that is “Love”. It’s a load of bollox, and mainly misunderstood by people.  Some idiots believe it’s like a mystical entity which is created when two people meet.

“Oh when I first saw her it was love at first sight.” NO IT FUCKING WASN’T!!!  You saw someone and wanted to stick your penis in her vagina. That’s what happened.  It was lust, pure and simple.  It’s a raw, animalistic need to produce offspring.  You find the best mate available and spew sperm in them.  The odd time you may motor-boat their tits, but that’s the extent of it.  Love had nothing to do with it!

“Love” comes into play when you mistakenly believe that you can’t do better.  Or, even worse, that you don’t want to do better.   There’s a fear that if you let this one go, you won’t get anyone better.  You’ll be left all alone as your ovaries shrivel up or your sperm stagnates.  So you plaster a smile to your face and pretend you’ll be able to change them, learn to love their little foibles.  Well, why should you have to?

There’s not a lot to be said for casual sex.  That’s because all you have to say is that it’s awesome, and that pretty much covers it.  It’s what we should all be doing.  None of this “settling down” rubbish.  You can have kids along the way, but think of them as a way to remember things, not something that’s specifically tied to you.  Like a Facebook status update.

And in 50 years time, when your genitals have fallen off due to venereal disease, you’ll lie back on your hospice bed, smile and think “Thank God I didn’t stick with that loser.”

I wonder if lacking a kidney relates to bitterness in anyway.

It’s been quite some time since I “blogged” anything, so I thought I may as well do it now (slow day in work).  I’ve had an unfortunately eventful time of late, so at least I’ve something worth writing about.

For those who don’t know, my mother died at the start of December.  So Christmas wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs.  Don’t worry; I won’t go on about it.  It’s a depressing subject, so I’ll move on in a minute. 

But one thing about the whole experience that really made me wonder, was the sheer amount of people who came up to me and said they only found out about it while reading the obituaries.  Who the fuck spends their time reading obituaries?  You know there’s a website called RIP.ie?  It’s like Facebook for the elderly.  They can easily check if they know anyone who’s dead.  It’s just bizarre.

Anyway, that’s pretty much how December went.  I spent New Year’s over in Berlin again.  Fantastic time over there.  I went with John and Slam to visit Denis and Siobhán.  It wasn’t as much fun as it was before as there were less of us.  And since I was blind drunk for a portion of it and horrifically hung-over for another part of it, I don’t really remember it all too well.

The city itself was beautiful looking.  Snow everywhere and the transport systems still worked, something that’s unimaginable in Ireland.  The first day we headed off to Potsdam, mainly as something to do.  I’ve no idea what it looks like in the summer, but in the winter it really looks like the type of place Santa would live and work, if he was ruthlessly efficient and invaded lesser elf nations.

There’s a huge estate there where, I think it was Frederick the Great hung out.  It’s a monstrously huge place.  We only got to travel around a small portion of it, as it’d take the best part of a day to see it all, and we were cold and sober. 

The snow was great.  Real powdery, so you can jump around in it.  Too powdery for snowballs, but I can live without them.  I really love snow.  It was great.  The others weren’t too keen in jumping around in it, but what else are you going to do with snow?  Granted, when I jumped into 3 feet of snow and it went right up my trouser leg, I was taken a bit by surprise and couldn’t’ feel anything for an hour or two, but it’s all part of the fun. 

Later we ate in a lovely Thai restaurant and were refused from a bar for not being cool enough (their excuse was that it was full, but considering it was half empty, I got the point).

New Years was to be spent in The Bird, the best burger joint on the planet (that I’ve been to).  Although we almost didn’t go, as we heard The Hoff was going to be singing at the Brandenburg gate.  But sadly, logic won out as we would have had to wait for several hours in order to get a good place to see him, and it was about -15 degrees out.

Before The Bird, we went to a cocktail bar to have an aperitif.  I had a lovely drink called a zombie.  It was so lovely, I had several more.

When I awoke, I was a tad tender.  My head was thumping and was felt too ill to get sick.  At first I had no memory of the night at all, but looking through the photos of my camera, bits and pieces came back. 

The Bird had been empty besides us and the staff.  I remember the burger and little else.  We went outside for the countdown (which I don’t remember) and watched the fireworks.  Later we went to some bar where I remember standing near the bar, not to chat up the bargirl (who was a pretty film student name, I think, Katherine), but because I knew that without some sort of support I’d fall over.

Then I woke up.  I was told that I had left early with a couple of others, who got me back to the hostel, but they’re not fully sure how we got there (I wasn’t the only one with memory problems).  John, Slam and Denis had gone on to a nightclub (and been refused) and apparently when they got back an hour or two later, they found me sitting upright, fully clothed in bed.  Lord knows what I was doing, but I’m sure I was doing it well.

New Year’s Day was a right-off.  John was in ribbons, though Slam and I weren’t far behind.  I got up first and opened the curtains to let some light in.  By the time we were actually ready to leave, I’d to close the curtains again.  We were a little slow moving.

Heading over to Denis and Siobhán, Slam and I went into McDonald’s for one of the best meals I’ve ever had.  20 chicken nuggets dipped in strawberry milkshake.  I’m telling you, there is nothing tastier!  What added to it was watching Slam (who spoke no German) at the counter trying to tell the girl (who spoke little English), that he wanted 3 packets of 6 nuggets.

“I want three six nuggets.”  “You want six nuggets?” “No, I want three six nuggets” “Eighteen nuggets?”  “No! Three six nuggets!” “We have six, nine or 20” NO! Six nuggets! I want three of them! “We don’t sell three nuggets”

He finally joined me at the table with a burger and six nuggets.  (Thankfully the girl managed to drop some more down later.  And just for clarity, they were to bring back for Siobhán and Denis.)

When we got to Denis and Siobhán’s apartment, we didn’t do anything.  Literally.  We could barely move.  John sat with his head in his hands.  After a while, I realised this was getting us nowhere.  I decided to bring John back to the hostel for some sleep and I’d have a bit of a rest too.  We’d meet up with the others for dinner.

You know what you don’t need when trying to sleep off your hangover?  The fire alarm going off.  And each room had a speaker, so we couldn’t ignore it.  John didn’t seem to care if he lived or died, so I left him there as I went to investigate.  Outside, all the residents gathered and joked about the false alarm.  That is until 4 fire trucks, a squad car and an ambulance pulled up. 

I started moving away from the building, wondering if it was about to explode, and then after about 15 minutes, the alarm is turned off and everyone goes about their business.  It was bizarre.  In Ireland you’d have to be on fire before you react, but here there send out an entire crew for a false alarm?  How did they lose the war? (Well, probably pre-occupied with false alarms, to be honest).

That’s about the last interesting thing that happened in Berlin.  Dinner that night was a sombre affair.  The flight home the next day was subdued.

January was fairly shitty.  Over December and November, 11 people I either know or know the relatives, died.  Again, it’s a depressing topic, so we’ll move on.

February started off well.  Back in November, myself and Andrew had thought about having a party.  There was no event to celebrate; it was just a party for the sake of it.  We would invite the people we know, and they would invite the people they know, and they would invite the people they know and so on.  A large group of people with only a tenuous link to each other would get to know each other.  It seemed ingenious.  And so, The Unnecessoirée was born.

We organised it for the 5^th of February as most people will be paid monthly and will have gotten their January pay check in.  Word of it spread like wildfire.  And by wildfire, I mean I mentioned it to a few people and then completely forgot about telling everyone or booking the venue.

Thankfully, Facebook came good and I created a little event thingy and invited everyone I could.  A couple of emails and text messages later, and it was sorted.  Of course, the smart thing to do would have been to book the venue first, but that’s not how I operate.

When I finally got to The Gingerman bar to book the upstairs function room, the barman already knew who I was.  The power of The Unnecessoirée had revealed itself!  That and the barman knew one of the girls who was invited.  Sadly, the upstairs function room was booked out, so we were stuck with the basement, which was cold and smelt a bit.

I was all excited when the night finally came.  I’d no idea if anyone was actually going to turn up.  Myself and Andrew sat at the bar upstairs for about an hour waiting.  Once a handful of people arrived with an instant look of regret on their faces, we heading to the basement and huddle around a table.

A normal person would probably have started to worry around then, but being abnormal, I was still quite excited to see who if anyone would turn up next.  People started trickling in, in small groups and the gathering turned into a group, then into a crowd and finally into a party.

I was well chuffed with how it all turned out.  It wasn’t a rousing success, as there wasn’t a huge crowd there, but those who went seemed to have had a good time and it’s a good practice run for future events.  I’m thinking of having another in maybe June or July to have something nice to aim for.

And that’s about it, for this catch up.  It’s now Valentine’s Day, the most depressing day in the year for single people.  Also for people who do IT for dating sites and have to deal with servers being overloaded with desperation and sorrow.

So I guess I’ll leave it at that, for the moment.  Can’t think of anything else that’s happened, so I’ll just stop typing.

There comes a time in any filmmaker’s career where they actually have to make a film.  You’d think it was a given, but procrastination is the watchword of the artistic.  That and laziness.  And ineptitude can also be added there.

My friend Viko (I think I mentioned him before) is on the Board of Trustees for Durrow House in Offaly (I may have mentioned this before, too.  I just can’t be arsed checking).  It’s a kick ass house that is being renovated into a bit of a tourist spot and also a film studio.  But before that happens, I’ve been hoping to shoot a few short films down there and possibly a feature too.

The problem is, well there’s no one real problem but a whole list of problems that keep cropping up in inopportune times and causing us to have to cancel.

So it was with great relief that I finally had a chance to go down and shoot some stuff.  It was the night before Halloween, so was suitably spooky.  I’d thought about bringing a few cans and having a piss up, but the others had this bizarre notion of being “professional”.

We were a team of 4: Myself, my barber Derek, Viko and Bryan.  What we were aiming for was simple.  Derek and I had a basic idea of a plot of a guy arriving in an old house and stuff happens.  I know what you’re thinking.  And yes, we have had major interest from several studios in LA.  But we weren’t ready to sell out just yet.

We’d written down the first few scenes and then we were going to shoot the rest BOMM style.  BOMM is the “Brian O’Mahoney Method”.  Brian is a friend who, while doing a shoot in Leitrim, had a bit of a nervous breakdown.  As a result, (and in order to not go home without having a film shot), we ended up turning on a camera, had Brian shouting random directions at the cast and didn’t stop until the tape ran out.  Everything else was fixed in editing.  It’s a genius way of getting artistic results with absolutely no planning.

Bryan owned the camera, so it made sense for him to be the camera man.  Derek would direct and Viko would stand around being disappointed with us and the terrible job we were doing.  Since I was the only one with major acting experience (I was a grey blur during a crowd scene in “Michael Collins”), I was going to be the star.

It was a Friday.  I’d finished work and headed home to get all my stuff.  I’d taken a few bits of FX make-up, just in case they were needed, a creepy and dirty stuffed teddy bear, three backpacks (I honestly can’t remember why.  Two were just stuffed into the third), and 4 torches that I’d picked up that day.

I ran down to Derek’s barber shop.  After a bit of a sit down to recover from the unnecessary exercise, the two of us loaded our equipment into his jeep and set off. 

Then Derek decided to give me some news.  Apparently the jeep wasn’t in the best of conditions.  The battery wasn’t charging.  His mechanic friend had given him a charger that would top it up, but as soon as the engine started, it would start losing power.  So the entire journey was made without a radio and with the dashboard light set to low.  But that was something we could live with.

Luckily, the jeep was diesel engined, so you pretty much just need the battery to start the engine.  If it wouldn’t start later, a push would get her going. 

We trundled off and hit the first of our obstacles.  Derek had to get some more diesel for the car.  We stopped by a garage and he filled up the jeep.  Then he emptied out the remains of a petrol can that we were going to use as a prop.  Neither of these things seemed like problems, but they came back to bite us on the ass later.

It’s worth noting that while filling the jeep, Derek’s brother-in-law just happened to drive up beside us.  I know that doesn’t seem like anything worth noting, but it crops up at the end (and to be perfectly honest, it’s not that interesting then, either).

We headed off into the city and picked up Bryan and Viko.  Unfortunately, Bryan didn’t have his camera, so we had to head back to his apartment to pick it up.  Not much of a problem as he was only about 15 minutes drive away and we got there without trouble.

So the journey proper was about to begin.  Heading through the city, we hit pretty much every red light there was.  At one particular one, a taxi driver beside us started beeping and pointing at the back of the car.  I hopped out (well, grudgingly staggered out after everyone else refused) and checked the back door.  It was all fine. 

Then Derek asked me to check the fuel cap.  This I was unable to do as he’d left the cap in the garage earlier.  So, much swearing later, I called directory enquiries to try and get the garage’s number and ask them to keep an eye out for the cap.  And directory enquiries gave me the wrong number.  When I finally got the right number, the bastards just didn’t answer the phone.  It’s not like they have a complicated job.  And there’re two of them. Why did they need two people to not answer a phone? One person is perfectly able to ignore it.

While we tried to decide what to do, Viko and Bryan began complaining about a headaches and a smell of petrol.  You would think that a “smell of petrol” and the fact that we were missing the cap of a fuel tank would have alarmed us a little more than it did.  It took a bit of further debate to decide to pull over and do something.

What was decided to do was to stuff some newspaper into the top of the tank.  I’ve seen enough films to know that this isn’t a great idea, but the others ignored me.  But we still had a problem with the smell.  After some detective work that would make Jessica Fletcher proud, I discovered that the smell wasn’t from the tank, but from the empty petrol can that hadn’t actually been cleaned.

I should probably point out that this can was going to be used in our film in conjunction with fire and so it not being fully empty should again be cause for alarm.  And again, we preferred not to think about it. 

I sealed the can in a plastic bag and we headed off again.  That was until everyone else announced that they hadn’t eaten.  Kind of mindboggling that I was the only one who didn’t have time to eat yet still managed to do it, while this lot somehow thought that the food fairies would take care of them.  And so, we had to make another detour to find a MacDonald’s, of which there were none around.  So we found the nearest chipper and they stuffed themselves on food that they later described as being “a bit shit”.

The journey continued, and after a few minutes we were lost.  Of course, being manly, we just drove in random patterns and eventually found the motorway.

And our journey continued.  For a while.  You see, the jeeps battery wasn’t just used for starting the engine.  It also ran the lights, which you’d think we’d have thought about.  We didn’t realise that the lights were getting dimmer and dimmer until we were well into Offaly.

The motorway so far had been pretty well lit, and as a result we were unable to tell that the lights weren’t really lighting anything.  It wasn’t until we reached a section of road which had no lights at all (actually, why weren’t there lights there?  Seems stupid that they wouldn’t put one or two up.  It’s bloody dangerous!), that we could see… well, fuck all really.

And then it started raining.  So Derek did what any other driver does when it rains.  He turned on the wipers.  They lasted about half a minute before grinding to a halt.  The lights in the front were all but off.  Viko and Bryan were in the back trying to find the torches in my bag to shine out the back window so nobody would hit up. 

Derek was shouting at them to shine one of them up front so he could see where he was going (Viko’s idea was to drive really close to the car ahead.  This suggestion was voted down due to common sense).  Luckily, I had brought a fairly powerful torch (the kind you charge from the mains and hums while it does so.  Anything electrical that hums has to be powerful, right?) and this would light up the road for us.  Sadly, this plan had two faults:

1)      The torch hadn’t charged properly and was as bright as a particularly black brick, and

2)      I had to put the torch out the window, which required the opening of the window, which was an electric window, which opened about two inches before the power cut out.

So we were coasting down the road with no power.  The engine had spluttered and died and momentum was the only thing keeping us going. 

Derek moved us over to the hard shoulder and we cruised along it for a while (if it weren’t for the panicked cries the other three worrying about being hit by traffic or driving into the deep ditch, it would have been quite peaceful).

The road started to rise a little.  Just enough to slow us down and, eventually we stopped.  As luck would have it, we happened to stop right at an SOS phone box.  It was literally inches away from the front of the car.

We climbed out.  As we each reflected on the situation, the silence kept time with the clicking of the hazard lights.  It was decided to try the SOS box.  It really shouldn’t have taken so long.  We just weren’t in a “decision making” zone that day.

Derek hit the button on the SOS box.  A woman said “Hello?” to which Derek replied “Who’s this?”  I’m still not fully sure who he was expecting.  It’s an SOS box.  It’s quite likely to be the people who you need to talk to when your car breaks down.

Well, after some mucking around, Derek finally got the info he needed.  He borrowed my phone to call his insurance company and organise a mechanic to come out.  This actually put me out a little, as I was trying to Tweet my adventures and had to cut it short.

Derek jumped back into the semi-warmth of the jeep and called his insurance people.  Meanwhile, Viko, Bryan and I stood outside wondering what to do.  I think it was around this point that I started laughing.  I had decided that I was having a wonderful time.

The rain had stopped, but it was freezing cold.  The silence was occasionally broken by the odd car or truck speeding past to one side.  On the other side there was empty wasteland as far as we could see.  That was about 10 feet.  After that it was just blackness that seemed fairly empty too.

I had a lantern torch which we placed on top of the car, in case the hazard lights went out, and so we didn’t have much else to do.  Viko decided to take out his camera and take a few long exposure photos.

They’re pretty cool, I think.  I wanted to get some pictures of the sky, but there was too much light about.  The sky looked fantastic.  You were almost able to get a hint of colour from the Milky Way, and every now and again a shooting star would streak across the sky.

Derek was in the car, struggling to get someone to help us.  Bryan was frozen and complaining.  Viko was trying to get us to stand still so he could get more photos and I was having a great time.  I think I was really starting to piss people off because I was laughing so much.

Once Derek had sorted out the mechanic, he joined us and soon was also pissed off with my laughing.  The laughing stopped when I realised the hazards had stopped blinking.  The jeep was completely dead.  I decided to put a torch behind the jeep, pointing at it, to light it up for oncoming traffic.  But I actually had to struggle to convince Viko to let me have my torch, because he wanted it so he could fiddle with his camera.  It’s good to know his safety comes lower down on his priorities than the camera.

To cut an unnecessarily long story slightly shorter, the mechanic arrived, loaded the jeep onto a flatbed truck and left us a spare car to drive.  We’d be there for maybe 2 hours, I think.  We hoped in the car and had to decide if we’d continue on to Durrow or just call it quits and try for a clean run another day. 

In the end we decided to just head home.  Things had gone so badly that they seemed to just want to get worse.  So we drove back to Dublin.

I was still having a great time.

On the way back, Viko got a phone call from one of the other trustees of Durrow.  She said to him, “You’re not down in Durrow, are you?” Slightly confused, he said no. “I had a weird feeling you wouldn’t get down there tonight.”  That was kind of creepy.

Another weird thing is that Derek’s wife was heading to Belfast for the day with her sister.  But there had been a bomb scare on the train and her whole day was delayed as a result.  She was meant to get back to Dublin at 9, but by some bizarre coincidence happened to be at Connolly station just as we were passing by it.

We had just dropped Bryan home and so loaded Derek’s wife and sister-in-law into the car.  We dropped Viko off and decided that the best thing to do was to hit the local for last orders.  The sister-in-law wasn’t interested, so she was dropped at her house and the remaining three of use went to the pub (with a quick detour to the garage to see if we could find the cap for the petrol tank. We didn’t).

We got in just at midnight and sat down with a pint, only to find Derek’s brother-in-law (who we met earlier in this joke of a story).  We had done an almost perfect circle in a journey which started when talking to this guy made Derek forget to put the petrol cap back on.  It’s a silly coincidence, but I think you’ll agree that this story ran out of steam a while back so I thought I might as well throw that in there.

And that’s pretty much it.  At least we tried.  Sort of.  We’re probably not going to get a chance to head back down for a good while, and the place will probably have been redeveloped by then and no longer be spooky.

I suppose it at least got me out of the house and I got a good laugh out of it.  The others hate me now, but that was bound to happen anyway.  And if nothing else, I’ve learned that cheap torches are better than expensive ones.

I logged into my blog today, not to write another world class article on nothing, but to clear out the spam posts that gather.  The clever people who designed these blogging thingies have managed to scan any comments that people post and check to see if they’re spam and the not publish them if they are.  It’s all very technical and wonderful.

I already posted some of these spam messages before but, to kill some time, I thought I’d do it again.  Here’s a selection of what’s on offer (by the way, I’ve removed any links in order to protect you from the evils of the internet!):

Hello, I Really Love your article I would hope to write a few articles for your website as well. I am interested in everything asia but would also be interested in other subjects I have composed a great deal of articles that you can see here: Honolulu Car Hire

A lesser man would have assumed this was a genuine offer by someone in Honolulu to help me write a blog about my life.  But the spam pixies knew it was a scam.

Tom Cruise is surely one of the top celebrities I know, I absolutely adore most of his dvds and I tend not to care whenever some individuals express he’s possibly not as fantastic as he was formerly.

That was in response to a post about my holiday in South America.

I appreciate the insight, and I think the author definately knows their stuff… has better details than the wiki on the subject!

Oh you flatterer you.  I sent them my credit card details.  They seems the nice sort and would hardly screw me over after complimenting me.

Very well written article. I’m really impressed by you knowledge of the subject. Fell free to write more.

It’s my blog. Of course I’ll feel free to write more.

Here indeed buffoonery, what that http://www.humanji.eu

A little below the belt, if you ask me.

Hi there, I loved studying your post. Thanks for the great info. Was hoping that we can prolong our friendship through a mutual hyperlink trade? Let me know, and good to meet you right here!

That one just creeps me out, for some reason.

i see in your blog in my pad but i have a problem, can you tell me why?

I pray they’re talking about an Apple product.

my sister always bake fruit cakes coz we always love to much them at night”-”

That was from someone called “Petrol Leaf Blower”.

I am very surprised of level of this web site. I have never seen so terrible articles, absolutely waste of time!

In fairness, that was probably a genuine one, but fuck them anyway!

They go on and on.  I’m starting to wonder if some of these aren’t even just automated. I got the following one:

Your header is a bit wonky in Opera, mate.

I checked it in Opera (that’s a web browser if you don’t know. Like Internet Explorer or Firefox) and the site’s header was a bit wonky.  Was that pure fluke spam, since most things look shite in Opera?  Was it directed spam? Or was it someone genuinely pointing out that my header was wonky?  Do people actually read this drivel?

I started getting paranoid that some of the other stuff wasn’t spam at all.  I’ve got hundreds of comments that the system has tagged as spam.  Have I really got lots of readers who just enjoy sending me bizarre comments?  I talk rubbish that even people wno know me shouldn’t bother with, why would a stranger want to read it?  What’s their game? 

Now I’m going to spend the rest of the day wondering if people are watching me when I’m out and about.  Maybe I really am in a shitty version of the Truman Show, like I always feared. 

Wow, tv must really suck in the real world.

I’m slowly getting the hang of Twitter.  It’s still fairly rubbish, but there’re a few gems that make it worth the effort.  No sign of any famous people following me yet, but I assume they’re all just nervous about getting to know me, due to my brilliance.

Dara O’Briain posted a message last night, linking to the Greater Manchester Police tweet that they started up to show how busy they are.  And it’s fucking hilarious:

Call 3113 Noises from empty property. It is believed property is being removed. Officers attend. Nobody seen.

Call 3026 Suspicious man wearing cape in Bolton – police attended and no sign of man

Call 2859 Man urinating at rear of houses in Sale – five officers attend

Call 2698 possible sighting of wanted man. Police stop man and find he is not wanted.

Call 2742 A woman who is a persistent 999 caller is screaming down the phone and says a bus driver has slapped her

Call 2731 Thieves breaking into empty pub in Tameside – nine police officers attend, no sign of offenders

Granted, there’s also a fair few serious ones like a rape, a couple of attempted murders and a suspiciously large amount of missing teens.  But they’re not funny, so I ignored them.

I’m tempted to start “Unfollowing” some people.  Simon Pegg isn’t as exciting as I thought he’d be.  He just lets everyone know where his next promotional tour is taking him.  Although he does occasionally retweet (that means “steals someone else’s message and posts it themselves”, to non-twitter folk) some good lines.

Danny DeVitto is just weird.

William Shatner just pimps his wife’s paintings.

Graham Linehan of Father Ted fame just tweets about politics and the like, and just makes me feel guilty for not having a social conscience

Tom Hanks and Kevin Spacey don’t really post anything, but that’s ok because it means I’ve less to read.

William Gibson, author and father of cyberpunk, posts stuff that I just don’t understand.

Writer Neil Gaiman seems to live a much cooler life than I could ever have, and so I’m just jealous of him.

And Peter Serafinowicz and Will Arnett currently have a TV show called “Running Wild” that is doing badly in the ratings and it makes me sad to hear about it.

All in all, this Twitter experiment isn’t going too well.  It does have its moments. Vincent Gallo is fucking hilarious, as is Stephen Colbert and Conan O’Brien (although I get the feeling that the last two have a team of writer’s coming up with their stuff).

My technological woes don’t stop at social networking either.  I keep all photos that I take on my PC and somehow they’ve all just disappeared.  There’s over 5000 of them.  I thought I had them backed up, but I’m fucked if I know where I backed them up to.

The hard disk is down with some IT experts, but it’s not looking good.  Somehow the disk has been ripped to shit.  Which kind of sucks.

Sadly, a few of those photos were of friends who are now dead, so my plan to stage all the photos again has run into a hurdle and I don’t have the money to buy a shovel to dig them up.  And considering I barely remember this morning, a lot of my past will now be shrouded in mystery.  Like a really shitty version of the Bourne Identity.

Ah well, may as well get back to work.  And then tweet about it.