About nothing much in particular.

This article is going to be about absolutely bugger all, so you read on at your own risk of wasting your own time. My woman has gone off with her sisters for a long August bank holiday weekend which is about keeping what the Irish call the month’s mind after the death of a love one.

They have so many childhood memories of their last uncle, who was a fine man, I’d feel like an intruder. I’ve seen very distant strangers nobody’d ever heard of turn up at funerals or a month’s mind. I never liked them to appear at the wake of ones I truly loved. There was always a sniff of scroungers, thieves in the house or will contesters about them.

It’s formal mourning ritual that’s a thing that happens in Ireland, which is a luxury I’ve never had. People just die on me and I get slowly and deliberately drunk while writing out details of my love for them while it’s red and raw. They tend to go into the ground in cardboard coffins the county has paid for. That seems to be the fate of the brave ones who won’t compromise.

There’s a lot of anger there because I always feel they’ve betrayed me by leaving me alone. Such pieces rarely get published. It means something to me, so I can never take the anger out of it for a blog. I allow myself a few sherberts at the wake and know from the non-recognition of the stories by the strangers, they never knew him at all, so my anger stage of loss can pop out very easily, which is not a good thing for a grieving family.

He had a good long run and was in my experience a gentle and kind man who deserved the honour. There was an element of strictly strictly girly stuff about them all getting together to reminisce, so I’ve left to their own devices. A man who’s been married to a woman for a lot of decades should know well when it’s appropriate to retire from the field, as should she to be generous enough to know your reasons without pushing it into some rubbish about endangering such an old firm relationship.

That’s two weekends on the trot which I think is a little selfish of her. I get to do useless things like clean out my wallet for want of anything better to do, which I still think of it as my escape kit. Anything with money in it is always useful.

There’s nothing more useless than an already completed emergency crossword.

Mostly it’s fairly baroque currency but you never know, it might be useful one day. I’m the sorta guy who has a lot of plan B’s. I’ve seen plan A fail so many times. Plan B’s can be useful at times. It’s like that saying about having a gun. Nobody wants them around the house, but once in a while they can come in quite handy.

The nice thing is I get to do the naughty things like playing Wagner full vol amp 11. Everybody in the house except me hates Wagner. I’ve never understood that or perhaps it’s just me. They think of it as all a bit Nazi, but it’s just lovely, so there you go. It’s related to me going languages which my wife hates. Suddenly you’re a foreigner to me, which she doesn’t quite like. She doesn’t like the immediate transition, without some sort of pause. I try not to do that around her on holidays.

Perversely, instead of Wagner, I find myself listening to Brahms, a much neglected composer. Go figure. I know a little too much about him. But I discover a new pianist Helene Grimaud. She’s actually very good indeed. Pretty damn good actually.

I once knew a woman who was a fine pianist who’d at some point started to mouth words that were only there for her. It was one of those extras women bring to the musician’s banquet which makes you fall in love with them. Such beautiful creatures. I’m sure men have certain virtues, but women tend to walk it when it comes to stuff like that.

So talented and lost and you love her all the more so. It’ll be the background to this weekend I think. Brahms first piano. Not commonly thought to be one of his finer efforts. He was more of a violinist as Clara Schumann knew.

She is of course horrendously talented, the concentrated professionalism it takes to play one hour of a Brahms piano concerto is well beyond the call of duty. The first piano is not normally considered to be one of his best efforts, he was a violinist after all. That little smile she gives at the end of the hour-long ordeal is quite revealing. She’s more in her zone with Rachmaninov. She slays the second piano but that’s a personal opinion I know.

I’m listening to Catherine Ashcroft playing the eillen pipes. Only the Irish could invent such a horrifically over complicated instrument. Only a ginger could play it with such intensity. Red headed women are a very dangerous breed. You go near them to your delight or peril. I stepped out with one once. Never again. She lived up to their reputation and was a bloody nightmare, but at the same time she had something about her, if only the makings of a jazzy weekend.

Anyway, I’ve been living on takeaways and micro-nukeable food left by my wife. Lasagne with thinly sliced Jalipino peppers artfully concealed under the upper crust is both a delight and a pleasure. That’s her own particularly addition to the dish, but she’s so freestyle when it comes to cooking, you get used to such surprises.

Any man out there should consider it to be a pleasure in finding stuff in the fridge which is a mere 60 seconds on 100% microwave power away from an easy and delicious fork in meal, as you watch some crappy war movie illegal download.


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13 Responses to “About nothing much in particular.”
  1. 42david says:

    “Red haired women”

    Heavy sigh. Delightful and dangerous and sent to try the patience of men.

    Lasagne with jalipinos – that’s on the “to try” list a.s.a.p


  2. Torquaymada says:

    From the heart.

    Like the crossword thingamabob.


  3. beththeserf says:

    Red headed women. Nuthin’ wrong with us.Nuthin’.


  4. beththeserf says:

    Posted this on ‘Dance’ @ Chiefio’s blog I luv the folk dance stuff you
    can find on the web. Cossack dancing, even w/out the impossible,
    improbable movements …

    Liked by 1 person

  5. The Irish idea of “Wakes” appeals to me. People coming from far and wide to remember the departed with plenty of booze to create a rosy aura.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. PaleoSapiens says:

    White Tiger with English subtitles –

    White Tiger (2012) – Info, Ambush, & Final Battle Scenes (~36 min.) –


  7. PaleoSapiens says:

    Optional help. I’ve been looking for the identity of the percussion sound in Yanni’s (Okay, groan oh no!!….to your hearts content) “Forbidden Dreams.” Best guess, so far, is a cross of xylophone and solid PVC (Polyvinyl Chloride) pipes. My offer for the help is a pint, upon visiting Colorado, and several decades worth of knowledge in Military History (WWII), Computer Systems, Geology, and common law versus imposed/overlaid Roman Civil Law (BAR) insights. And/or ‘sea stories’ of a U.S. Navy veteran on hunting steel sharks from the air (P3-C Orion).

    Pointman – feel free to delete this post if you feel it detracts from your article theme…


    • Pointman says:

      You were one of the MAD men?



      • PaleoSapiens says:

        Ah yes, Magnetic Anomaly Detection (MAD). The ‘stinger’ in the P3-C Orion’s tail. A pain in the a$$ to work on, much less fix. The vast majority of steel shark locations/tracking were done via sonar-buoys (slang: sonobuoy).

        As an aside, several “Stark Trek” TV programs and movies have used empty sonobuoy containers as one of their props. Imagine the surprise of realizing what one of Star Trek’s ‘futuristic’ containers once actually contained. A similar thing applies to “Star Wars” using a German WWII MG42 as a laser weapon and the movie “Serenity” (“Firefly” TV series) using, again a German WWII, 20mm Flak38 as a laser cannon.

        Hydrophones on the ocean floor (SOSUS network) would usually point to a target within a 35 to 50 km (20-30 mile) radius. If necessary, a nuclear depth charge would be able to kill a submarine & its crew within a 80 km (50 mi.) radius.

        One day I remember is the eerie feeling from staring at the red anodized button, which released the depth charge, and truly realized what it meant. Around 100 men would die instantly, if they were lucky.

        More sea stories, of Diego Garcia, British Indian Ocean Territory (BIOT), available upon request or at some other point on the time continuum.


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