"The report of my debt is an exaggeration"

Given that I spent c. 2 months in a 2 star hotel at the start of my year abroad, it seems that the money is starting to run out. Plans to get a McJob have so far been scuppered, owing to the requirement that one be in some way competent in la langue francaise. Facists!. I'm considering selling my body... of literary work (this Blog included) to the highest bidder.

In other news, my co-kotteurs and I had a nice meal together for the first time on Wednesday, we all went out on a whistle stop tour of all the student run bars afterwards (occasioning the rant). Subsequently, two nights later I'm still shattered.


In udder news, mastitis is on the increase in Wallonia.


I'd like to finish with a happy note: G#

Au Revoir les Enfants...

This week, I choose to wave my right hand, and say goodbye to the whole club scene thing...

... on the subject of young people and their desire to go out late at night in uncomfortable clothes, to dimly lit venues, with music playing at a level that Nigel Tufnel would describe as a "12", flailing the limbs for no good reason... I've tried and failed over the last 10 years to understand it, and to enjoy it. Well it's no use. Every time I'm out, I'm looking at my watch waiting for it to be 3 am so I can go home. I'd much rather be at home watching paramount comedy channel, even if there are more eligible hotties in Q bar then at home. I resent that despite the fact that a night out forms perhaps 3% of everyday life (6 out of 168 hrs in a week) it makes up perhaps 40% of a guys/girls pullability; "If you're a fun drunk and you can work it, then you'll make a good life partner." Well that's just bollix, and I'm sick of it. Pubs and the whole culture of a "local" I can deal with but I'm done with dancing and trying to chat with someone at 2am. The fact that I can sing along to 90% of the songs on the radio from the 60s onwards shows that I love music, I don't need it played at 200 dB to enjoy it ... rant over.

In future rants:
* Parties for people not going to a debs in the house of someone who is.
* Bus ticket and postal stamp prices coming the official secrets act.
* Plastic Soles
* "Aquired" tastes

If music be the food of love, then make mine a double cheese burger...

In tonight's episode of Bear In The Big Blue House...

Bear: Where oh where oh where is Shadow?
    Where oh where oh where is Shadow?
    Where oh where oh where is Shadow?
    Where can Shadow be?
    <looks>
    Shadow?
    What, what are you doing on Luna?

Shadow: Ha ha ha ha ha ha

Bear: OH NO!

Ojo: Yes Bear?

Bear: No, I said 'Oh no" , not "Ojo"!

Ojo: Oh, What's wrong.

Bear: Shadow did a bad thing Ojo!

Treelo: Worse than the thing that Ray did to Doc Hoggs skin.

Bear: Yes, worse than a melanoma...


Elsewhere...

Treelo: Treelo thinks it's very dark Tutter.

Tutter: Bear said it's a magical Lunar Eclipse show, Treelo

Treelo: Treelo hates clip shows.



Yet Elsewhere...


Pip: It looks like a full moon again, Treelo

Pop: Yeh, Shadow should put her pants back on.

Pip, Pop: ha ha ha ha ha ha

Errrrmm, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Writer's Block.

The more perceptive of you will notice that my post rate is not what it used to be. This is unfortunately due to ... continue.

Wanted one balloon, last seen going in the direction of up...

I was wandering across the main road by my flat the other day, when something struck me.

If memory serves this year's a leap year, meaning in simple terms there's a 29th of February coming (30 days hath September, April may, and June definitely has). This is traditionally a time for the ladies to propose to the eligible bachelors. I'm going to give you the same advice that I gave the local hospital gave to the job seekers: Please form an orderly queue.

I got my hair cut for the occasion. I didn't like the length at first, but it's growing on me.

I've recently got back into the whole staying fit and healthy thing. I used to work out back in the day, but then I started using a calculator. Sometimes I participate in a kick-a-round on the college astroturf. As they say over here the game is a foot. If you've been me as long as I have (and I think I have been), you'll know how difficult it is to stay away from an unhealthy diet. Greek scholars see me and proclaim "that face could lunch a thousand chips". Rather than staying away from the mitraillette, I balance the equation with some exercise, running away from responsibility, carrying heavy burdens and lifting all my readers' spirits. Sometimes I like to get down on my knees, so I go down to the local park and kneel on a duck.



In other news, my parents, wanting to get away from our house with a poky little bathroom, have gone away on a cruise on a luxury lino. Good for them.

Nominated for an Irish Blog Award?

Just as I was celebrating one whole year without losing a single election, you guys go and fail to nominate me, despite my subtle hints, for an Irish Blog Award, (IBA).

Not one nomination for Best Blog, Best Personal Blog or Best Newcomer.

Nor did "I'd like to apologise in advance" get on the Best Post shortlist, nor "Hey T.K., Orange you glad you asked me to update this..." for Most Humorous Post, not even a nomination for Best use of Irish Language in a Blog for "Deirtear gur 'tús maith' leath na hoibre ach is é 'HOI' leath na HOIbre!". Faraor faraor.

I am not a happy campeur.

Still at least Nikki's not there either.

If only there was some way to redeem yourselves...

Tom Brady is Superbowl

After my flight back I think I may have shaken off the effects of that deep vein tombola. I just had to wait till my balls dropped in the right order.

I started new subjects this week, Maths for Computer Scientists, Calculability, varieties of English and Automatic treatment of Textual data. (Answers on a postcard to the usual address).

Big changes in the accommodation this week as two of my former flatmates have moved out. Nothing good ever comes from a group of people constantly rowing, except for maybe the Boat Race.

One thing I did miss when I was in the fatherland was the traditional Belgian chipper. You can't keep a good deep-fat-fryer down, or food from a bad deep-fat-fryer.

Belgians are becoming more and more price conscious and there have been a few demonstrations since I got here. Personally I think they don't know how lucky they are. €4 for a filling Kebab/Pita/Roll is just like a Nun on a Clown: Virgin on the Ridiculous.

Some people have been asking me what the ladies are like over here. When I consider la femme belge, I'm confused, no wait... maybe I'm not. Well they're a little hard to get a handle on, especially if your concerned about such trivialities as consent. Some girls I've met have been as thick as a telephone directory. Not that they're all unemployed supermodels: Belgium has it's fair share of red heads. If The Little Mermaid has thought me anything, and I think it has, it's that gingers smell of fish. Don't get me wrong: I can hold my own with any woman, and I usually have to. Having said that the fact that I am yet to score here is as big a shock as that time Gay Byrne pulled out of the Rose of Tralee. One cute girl did wave at me the other day if two fingers count as a wave.
Tonight's the superbowl and I plan on overdosing on Nachos. Good times.

Last but not first, I'm not one to gossip, so listen carefully.

Word on the grapevine is that a leading candidate for the Ents position in TCD's SU has been working very hard behind the scenes to get a great line-up for the Trinity Ball. I hear that said candidate has recently contracted The Blizzards & The Rolling Stones; he's been advised to stay in bed and keep off fatty foods.