That’s a bad father, very bad father!

I was sitting down to breakfast with Sarah when a charity ad came on the TV.

Me: “Ha, Tim-Hammer used to get so annoyed when these ads came on.”

Sarah: “Why is that?”

Me: “Well, they always seemed to come on whenever we were sitting down to have dinner. He didn’t like that at all.”

Thinking back on Tim-Hammer’s reaction has made me realize that my father hates the needy. # BaldManProblems

Advertisements

Don’t call me that!

It should be noted that Post Men don’t like it when you refer to them as the Post Fairy. I think it makes them feel less of a man. I wouldn’t mind being a Post Fairy. You get to deliver unwanted bills, notifications about the TV Licence, and sometimes nice hand written cards. You also get to meet bad tempered doggies.

I guess Post Men don’t look at their profession the way I do. # BaldManProblems.

You don’t even go there!

A middle-aged father approached me while I was at my post. The smell of airs and graces clung to him like underwear clings to a fat man’s bottom.

Ronan: “Hi, would you have anything on particle physics? If you don’t have anything it’s fine, I can get my daughter, who is in Trinity, to get me something from their library.”

Me: “Yeah…I’ll have look”

I told him we didn’t have anything.

Ronan: “I guess I’ll have to get my daughter in Trinity to get something. Would you have anything on electronics?”

Me: “Yeah, come over here with me.”

I show him the books.

Ronan: “Ah, brilliant, if you didn’t have anything I would…” I had to interject –“get your daughter in Trinity, yeah.”

Ronan is perplexed–“How did you know?”

Me: “Lucky guess.”

Ronan departs and leaves behind an unpleasant, upper class smell.

I’ve heard of name dropping, but this guy takes the biscuit. Did he think I was going to be impressed by his daughter’s place of study? What a tool bar! # BaldManProblems

Sam: “I made a promise, Mr. Frodo.”

I was in Tim-Hammer’s car, travelling to a funeral along some country back roads earlier on today. The conversation in the car was quite dull and first but it soon picked up and started to interest me.

Cousin Garth: “There’s a house up along here that has a predator statue in the front garden.”

Me: “Oh, wow!”

Uncle Paulini: “It doesn’t really resemble predator, it just sort of looks like him”

We passed the garden that predator occupied. It resembled Mr. Predator down to a Arnold Schwarzenegger’s bulging biceps. Uncle Paulini was wrong.
Uncle Paulini then began to regal us about the time he hit a pheasant along some country back roads.

Uncle Paulini: “I was driving along some back roads when a I ran into a pheasant. In fairness, the pheasant was in the wrong, I tried to avoid him, but he decided to ram into me as I was swerving to avoid him. The bastard wrecked the left axle on my car. He definitely knew what he was doing.”

Tim-Hammer: “Those pheasants are built like brick shit houses.”

Uncle Paulini: “I only noticed it when I got home.”

So my family can have in-depth conversations about the dangers of pheasants but not about the relationship between Sam and Frodo in Lord of the Rings. Well, that’s just wonderful. # BaldManProblems.

Book make brain better, yes?

Not long before closing, a dishevelled young man approached me at my post. He had the look of someone who was given a Sarah Jessica Parker calender for his birthday and every consecutive birthday since then.

Podge: “Em, ah, ehhh. Do you have the book, Neuroscience for Dummies?”

I check the computer. I know we don’t have but I wanted him to think I was actually trying to find the book.

Me: “No, we don’t stock it. ”

Podge: “Ahhhh, I need to learn about the brain.”

Me: “Honestly, if you’re looking to read into neuroscience I’d avoid that series like I avoid church. You’re better off getting another title.”

Podge: “No, no. I want that book. It’s the only book to use to get results.”

He goes off. His shoes squeaking out the disappointment that courses through him.

Well, he was an interesting fellow. Still, he wasn’t as weird as the man who took pictures of the tattoos on my arms. How could I say no? He did say he was an amateur photographer and likes interesting art, so it would have been a shame to disappoint him. Now that I think of it, he’s probably interfering with his man parts while he looks at them. I should really learn to say no to people. # BaldManProblems.

The Hostile Bog

I’ve been teaching myself to play the tin whistle these past two weeks; it’s going grand, I’m definitely making progress. I’ve got two tunes under my belt: Mary had a little lamb and Frére Jacque. There not exactly going to woo the lady folk but I get a feel good factor every time I play them. I started learning a tune called The Rattlin’ Bog. It’s a nice upbeat piece that will get you dancing. I decide to take a break for it and get some tae –jaysus, could this post get any more Irish. While out in the kitchen I started chatting to the Mother.

Me: “I think I’m getting better on the tin whistle.”

The Mother: “Ugh! That bloody thing.”

Me: “I’m learning the rattlin’ bog at the moment.”

The Mother: “Oh, I like that tune. I still hate you playing, though. I was telling a girl in work about you, my 24 year old learning the tin whistle, and she told me that her 34 year old fiancé is doing the exact same thing.”

Me: “You’re not very encouraging at all.”

The Mother: “Shut up.”

Gone are the days when she used to praise me for every little insignificant thing I did. I don’t mind the lack of praise, I’m well used to her mood swings. It’s the hostility she has towards me playing the whistle, even when it sounds delightful that irks me. # BaldManProblems