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- Shaggy, and occassionally dead, Dog Stor
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20SIX can take a running jump.
After a delay of 4 months, 20six have finally succeeded in making a complete horses arse out of their upgrade. LOOK AT THE STATE OF MY PAGE!! CALL THIS AN UPGRADE. THEY LOST ALL MY LINKS TO MY PHOTOS AND SCREWED UP THE FORMATING!!
If your thinking of joining a blog service, don't make it this one. Thankfully I had backed up my blog regularily, so I'm going elsewhere.
good luck 20six.
Career change
I think to be good in this sales lark you have to meet certain criteria:
1) You have to be enthusiastic about ripping someone off
2) You must be a born liar
3) You must be able to convince someone to buy something you wouldn't touch with a barge pole
4) You must enjoy the company of wheeler-dealer, shop talking, back stabbing self-impotant little gobshites.
5) You must be motivated primarily by money.
6) Feel great about ringing people up in the middle of their busy day to ask them to give your money in return for 5 years of ignored phone calls.
7) Luuurve paperwork
8) Be happy in the knowledge that you've spent the week helping nobody but your faceless boss.
9) Be able to stand on your own two feet, as they cheerfully kick the stool away.
I need a new job.
I don't mean to say sales per se is bad. Selling something to individuals must have its own rewards. But selling to corporations, business's, or industries just becomes a ring-a-rosy battle to see who's left standing at the end with the best deal. At least with my previous career I could see something at the end of all the effort, and could see directly how your efforts helped people, even if it was just somebody building their confidence and becoming able to do a job and get promoted. This just leaves me with an empty victory. I'm going to brush off the CV and have a look around at what else I could do. I wonder if I could teach English abroad as a foreign language, for a year or something? I could teach it with an Irish accent:
Some useful phrases:
How-ye = How are you?
How-ya = How are you? (Feminine)
How-yez = How are you all?
How-y = How are you? (if your not sure)
How-ya Gard, how'sit hangin'? = Hello officer, nice evening.
Ah, here, whats the stooooory!?! = What do you mean the bars' closed?
Feck off with ye = good night
Feck off an' die = good night, hope to see you soon.
Deadly buzz = its not too bad, this stuff.
Dry yer arse = please stop acting like a child
How’s the talent? = is there anyone good looking about?
I will in me brown = I won't!
I will in me ring = certainly not!
I am in me wick = you must be joking!
I could eat a baby's arse through the bars of a cot = I'm hungry
I'd eat a farmer's arse through a blackthorn bush! = I'm hungry
I've a mouth on me = I'm hungry
I've a throat on me = I'm thirsty
That's Arthur Guiness talking = when someone is talking rubbish while under the influenceffice
ffice" />
Circling over Shannon = Drunk, a la Boris Yeltsin on his visit to Ireland, when he failed to get of the plane as he’d had one too many.
Hmm, (taps fingers thoughtfully). Maybe not.
A day at the races
Would you let a 2 year old that close to your head with a hurling stick?. Use you imagination for what happened next.
The stewards inquiry into why I didn't win the best dressed male competition. Very regrettable decision on their part, I'd have made a great Ambassador for the races. I scraped those jeans off specially AND ironed that shirt. Clean underwear, the lot.
Shane and Muireann study the form guides Paul "accepts" babysitting duty!
Anybody seen my horse? Short little thing, being ridden by a feckin' cowboy...
Only a father would let her get away with wiping a bogied finger in his beer, as Muireann celebrates her winnings.
The Laytown races have just passed by on one of the hottest days of the year, in my home town. The races take place on the beach in between tides, allowing time only for 6 races, and in keeping with time honoured tradition, took my money with them. To be honest, everybody bets on it for fun, but the day is always a chance for everybody to meet up and generally dosen't get started untill after the last race. I spent most of my youth running up and down this beach, first for training, then for occasional exercise, and later for last orders. Judging by the performance of most of my horses, I could have beaten them to it.
Throughout the years we've had halloween bonfires, football tournaments, parties, bike races; been chased down it by Nuns for running through their woods, lambasted by priests for burning much of said woods in aforementioned bonfires, and the occasional swim in the icy blue cold of the Irish sea. During the hottest summers of our youth, we would spend all day on the beach, braving the cold water as only kids can, until the tide brought us back in again for dinner. Summers were made of a house full of noisey kids, salty sand, washing off feet with freezing cold garden houses , Itchybacks (Small, irritatating seeds we'd shove down each others shirts!), and buckets and bags of shells used for chucking at each other for fun. For some reason, mum was always very happy when we all went back to school.
Gibney's of Malahide
After a long day of digging that feckin' garden, and finally getting rid of all those bloody trees, I went up to Gibney's of Malahide to see Paul. Great pub with an excellant courtyard garden. Back at the house, the Bohrans, bongos and guitars came out as usual.
The Guy in the picture in the middle is indeed, Dr Cox from the American comedy show, "Scrubs". I was a bit too intimidated to go and get my picture taken with him, as he was there with his family, who are all, huge! One of the girls flashed the eyelids and got a few pics though.