CHAOSTOCOSMOS

Monday, 17 March 2008

Irish Logic, Pythonesque DIY and Eurovision

irish_clover My mother's maiden name was pure Irish, despite the fact that she's from a long line of "true" Cockneys, born wivin the sound of Bow Bells before they were silenced (the first time, I think) and my father's mother was brought up in Cork, in Ireland, so there was probably no hope for me really ... When I was a kid, I remember  my gran used to get a real shamrock (someone sent it from Ireland), to wear on St. Paddy's Day every year.

Anyway, I was chatting to my mother on the phone yesterday afternoon, about what I have absolutely no recollection now. Yes, this probably is a "senior moment" on my part, but that's not the main reason for "losing the plot."

Whatever important issue the conversation was about, mother meant to refer to MI5 (the United Kingdom's counter-intelligence and security agency), but what came out of her mouth was MFI (flat pack furniture Made For Idiots).

For once mother, yes, I can see how you'd easily confuse the two! :)

Given the farcical nature of so many events being reported out of the UK in recent times, I have absolutely no trouble imagining that security services (and British authorities in general), have employed the same bloke who writes the bloody useless instruction leaflets for MFI, IKEA or anything else that requires self-assembly, to re-write the "spy manual".

At this point, both of us collapsed into fits of girlish giggles, as we imagined "Flat Pack DIY Spy Kits", made from crappy MDF (Medium-density fibreboard). That thought probably should only have occurred to the "hallucinatory" mind of Monty Python, Terry Gilliam.

Where was I? Planet earth? Oh no, it was Eurovision.

Well, I wasn't, but Naomi commented that Spain's Rodolfo Chikilicuatre reminded her of a Karaoke singer. Whilst I don't disagree with her, that, I think, raises the standards for karaoke singing, as I remember it!

What more can I say, other than that I used to compere karaoke at an Irish bar in Playa de las Americas. We had an Irish vet in one night, singing drunkenly, so I warned people not to take their pets to him the next morning, because he might try to castrate the females. Another night in that very same bar, some bozo had asked if my name was, "Pamela like in Pamela Anderson?" and, being blessed (then) with "The Gift of the Gab", or at least, ability to string sentences and throw back the odd one liner, I said "Nah mate, more brain, less tits."

Recalling this made me realize too just how boringly normal I've been becoming in my old age and I think it's time to (in)correct that! Wink

(Oh yes, San Patrick is also celebrated in the Canary Islands, as Mojo Canario tell us, "with big drunken parties." They don't say? Is the Pope Catholic?)

Pamela is a former accountant, recovering journalist and international cat herder, disabled and chronically sick with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, Fibromyalgia and Cervical spondylosis, fluent in three languages; English, Spanish and Rubbish. Mostly writes in the latter. She likes Genealogy, Model Railways and Cats.

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