White Stuff Everywhere

Everybody is talking about snow and ice and cold and when you turn on the news it's nothing but blah blah blah about white stuff everywhere.  I specifically flew south for Xmas to avoid this crap but what happens?....There's feckin' white stuff everywhere here too..

OK - I guess white stuff on the ground isn't always bad... and now Trivia time for Pensacola Beach:

1.) This beach was completely fu(ked by the BP oil spill earlier this year but thankfully has recovered rather well. 

2.) The Native American Indian Geronimo (now there's a real American Hero)  was sent here (Fort Pickens) after his capture.  Must have been quite a contrast from his homeland of New Mexico.  
   

Tags: ..Pensacola Beach, Florida..

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2010 - The Year in Review

Since this blog is more of a diary, I feel compelled to share that 2010 is a bit of a blur (nought to do with beer - well maybe a wee bit..).  It was a challenging year to be sure.  The missus and I flew from our abode in Hong Kong and spent the last week of 2009 slummin' in a swanky Singapore apartment courtesy of my cuz' and his missus ('grassy arse' B & J) who headed to the snow and ice mayhem of London / Dublin for their Xmas break including an unscheduled free stopover on the airport floor for a night in Luton.  Deja Vu if you look at the weather forecast in those parts of Europe at the mo'.


We were back in Hong Kong just in time for a spectacular New Years fireworks display with a large party crowd on a glitzy junk boat on the HK harbour, where I got spectacularly busted trying to 'borrow' a bottle of champagne from the 'non communal ice box'.  The problem with a boat is there's nowhere to run and hide from dirty looks and worse (for 90+ slow, tick-tock, agonizing minutes....cringe).  Note to self - only steal champagne on land from now on - lessons learned.

The jury is still deliberating as to whether I had been avoiding work or it had been alluding me but alas in February 2010 opportunity knocked and I answered and after some back n' forth and see-saw, a potential international relocation for June/July once again presented itself to the already road weary Mr and Mrs Paddy in BA.

And so it came to pass, that we Irish/Argie gypsies packed up shop once more and headed off into the sunset to arrive at an already familiar destination (NYC/NJ) where upon six months has now passed and I'm happy to say no regrets (apart from the B&T label). We've reconnected with old friends and made new friends and with the exception of owning a home (we rent), and having 2.5 children (New Years resolution) and a dog (not likely) and a car (maybe) we are living the American dream (subject to recessionary scaling).

Here's Wishing Best Wishes for the Holidays and Happy New Year to Y'all!

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Tags: .2010 - The Year in Review..

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Rubberbandits - Horse Outside

How to pick up the ladies in Ireland....

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Tags: ..Rubberbandits - Horse Outside, madeline mulqueen..

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Scarred for life by the brute force of Irish hospitality

The Irish have a reputation for hospitality which is renowned the world over.  When you visit someones residence you will typically be offered a cup of tea.  This apparent gesture of goodwill should not be taken lightly.  Do not under any circumstances accept a cup of tea.  Tea is a gateway refreshment which leads to more and more varieties of snacks and food you don't want.  If you accept the tea you will be asked if you want sandwiches, cake and on and on it goes.  Before you know it, you are presented with enough food to feed an army

The fundamental problem with Irish hospitality is the shameful lack of moderation and restraint.  As a wee lad visiting friends and relatives in rural Ireland I still have torturous memories of being subjected to unwieldy amounts of hospitality.  I remember the pre-visit strategy where my parents would warn us kids not to say 'yes' to any form of refreshment. This rarely worked as my Mum would eventually be forced into submission of 'just a cup of tea' and before long the mountain of sandwiches were in front of us.  The amount of butter on these sandwiches was criminal verging on manslaughter.  Thick dollops and wedges of artery clogging butter that made me want to vomit on the spot.  My Dad would lean over and whisper to us - "Yiz better feckin' finish those sandwiches now, 'cos we don't waste food around here."  

To this day, I still gag at even the thought of butter and I eat only dry toast.  Scarred for life at an early age by the brute force of Irish hospitality.

Tags: ..Butter..

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