Thursday, July 30, 2009

There's a ribbon in the willow and a tire swing rope

Thursday, July 30, 2009
That Canadian trip, that was some good shit. I did not entirely fuck up my various wedding speeches, using the age old technique of picturing my audience naked and masturbating each other. Father Finbar was clearly less nervous, but somewhat more absent-minded, briefly forgetting the existence of myself and my sister. His subsequent squirming beneath the outrage of my not remotely evil stepmother Janice was a joy to behold. My brother Pinkfloydsucks, having undertaken the disposal of six bottles of unused Merlot by use of his mouth hole alone, then 'accidentally' set fire to a tree in the family garden. Harry, my other under-married brother, decided that a dramatic dousing with champagne was the only solution. Ah, the excess. Three firefighters looked on, unimpressed by the inferno but amused by the attempts the cope with it. I am unsure as to whether their commitment to off-dutyness would have stretched to a burning house, but I like to think that it would. The bride remained radiant and completely flame free throughout.

There was cycling, natch. I climbed for two hours to a ski resort on a somewhat unsuitable triathlon bike, forgetting that ski resorts are quite high up and thus really, really fucking cold. My flimsy short-sleeved jersey failed to deal with the sub-zero temperature and my descent, always destined to be dodgy on an umfamiliar and unwieldy frame was transformed to death-defyingly treacherous by my uncontrollable shivering. The logging trucks weren't a great help either. And yet I lived to B.C. bud it up, see Othello (the black guy gets it), and beat my baby sister at pig basketball. All in all a wonderful week.

And that is why I don't send postcards.

14 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Fat Sparrow said...

Father Finbar was obviously "using the age old technique of picturing my audience naked and masturbating each other."

Glad you had a good time, that BC bud is good shit.

Red Leeroy said...

Did you race up that hill against an imaginary Kevin Costner?

Twenty Major said...

Pig basketball sounds interesting.

gimme a minute said...

Fat Sparrow:
It is many a year since I have giggled lengthily.

Red Leeroy:
No, but i did feel like I had a cerebral tumour. In my ass.

Twenty Major:
You know, they're not nearly as bouncy as you'd expect.

ieatmypigeon said...

How would one depict "under-married" in postcard image form, anyway? Sometimes words are all the pictures you need.

Meadow said...

Much better than a postcard.

stipes said...

you'd never get all that on a postcard inannyway.

Anonymous said...

Pretentious bullshit.

gimme a minute said...

It's all I can do to not link to a picture I took of Harry sitting grinning at his place of work in response to your most likely rhetorical question. He wouldn't thank me for it though.

But welcome nonetheless.

Nice of you to say but you haven't seen the cute kitten postcard with the amusing slogan that Data bought in Bordeaux airport.

[p style="font-size:10%"]I can write really small.[/p]

Fuck. Stupid blogger.

Up yours.

Medbh said...

Now you're automatically 21 again, Gimme. Take heart.

Anonymous said...

Pretentious? Hilarious.

Conan Drumm said...

Off topic.

I hereby confess to having a new bike, named Alloyo after a greek god. Hardly on the damn thing and I discover I still have the adrenaline issue. Six miles in 21 mins. Hmm... how much can I shave off that?

gimme a minute said...

Jesus. Not a whole lot. That's pretty quick.

Conan Drumm said...

Hmm, it is fairly flat but I'll have to check the distance to be sure I'm not over-estimating it. My right knee is saying things like, "But you promised! You said your cycling days were over."

In my youth I know I did DunLaoghaire to the RDS in 15mins. But that was when I cycled for the fun of it, and for silver cups in the annual school sports at St. Weknowwhatsbestforyou's school for boys.

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