When is a secret not a secret…?

Gotta love people who curl up on the train, snuggle in against the window, with their headphones on, whispering into them “I can’t really talk…” before belting out some of their top 50 most embarrassing secrets

“I’ll be riding shotgun…”

Today’s commute was…eh…interesting. I thought – foolishly – that, as I was taking a half day, I’d treat myself to driving to work. Didn’t realise that that decision had already been taken for me!

So it’s all so quiet on the road but as I near the next town, the volume of people starts to build. People are walking. People are waiting at bus stops. Bikes that haven’t seen the light of day are now being peddled furiously townward. The cyclists vary between those who are quasi-professional and those whose cycling and buttocks are wobbling in unison.

Seems people lost the run of themselves. Cyclists narrowly escaped scrapping off the sides of cars. Motorbikes sideswiped pedestrians and cyclists. Pedestrians stepped out in front of cars or deliberately blocked the road. And the motorists were just as bad – perhaps worse. Trying to drive into lanes where no gap existed. The end of the world as we know it? Certainly had that vibe about it.

I wanted to give a few people a lift but the bay of wobbly, hairy legged, cyclists (and that was just the gals…) blocked the way each time.

Eventually managed to give one girl a lift. As she rode shotgun, she shouted at the cyclists coming too close for comfort, gave a few choice gestures to cheeky cars trying to cut in and marshalled me into the Bus Lane. I didn’t fear a policeman catching us as I reckoned she’d box the bleedin’ head off them if they even looked sideways at us!


What’s in the bag?

“What’s in the bag?”
“An omelette maker.”
“So what does it do then?”
“Eh…it cooks omelettes…”
“Does it make waffles?”
“Why not?”
“Eh…it’s the wrong shape.”
“Wrong shape for what?”
“Why did you buy it then if it doesn’t make waffles?”
“Because I bought an omelette maker to make omelettes…”
“Hmmmm…no need to be sooooo sarcastic!”

Mothers’ Day Memories

“I’m posting me Ma her Mothers’ Day card.”
“Now as in today?”
“Way too early. Waaaaaaay too early!”
“It’s not for another two weeks.”
“I know. I know. But she’ll kill me if I forget.”
“Thing is – if you post it now, she’ll have forgotten all about it by Mothers’ Day so you’ll be in trouble.”
“I can’t win this one, can I?”

March 2017

Praise where praise is due?

“Yeah, got called into the school about his behaviour.”
“Really? I thought he was such a quiet, well-behaved, chap.”
“Oh, he is. He is!”
“Oh! But he’s only young.”
“Yeah. Eleven.”
“So what did he do?”
“He’d a box of pencils.”
“I don’t understand. Was he stabbing the others with them?”
“Good God – no!”
“What then?”
“He was simply renting them out to the others at a daily rate of two euro.”
“Per pencil???”
“And what did the Principal say?”
“Something about the ‘extortion’ having to stop.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am. I am. After all the fees we paid that school, I thought the very least they could do was praise his entrepreneurial spirit!”