This is the last of Chris' Sponsored Posts and his suggested topic was 'the impact of Larkinism on the Irish Working Class'.
Right.
I actually did a module called 'Labour, Nationalism and Unionism' but oddly I don't remember covering James Larkin or his impact on the Irish working class. This, as it turns out, is largely because it was all post-WW2. I know this because I have the file in front of me. My essay for that module was on the Northern Ireland Labour Party split of 1949. I'm sure you're all familiar with it, so no need to go over it here.
So, instead I will tell you, in a tenuous link style, five ways this was James Larkin Week for me.
1. James Larkin's birthday was Tuesday. On Tuesday I had a lovely morning off work (it was exam week, which was great til the marking came in. Ugh marking.) I celebrated Larkin by marking History essays in my jammies. I think he would have approved of a worker's right to mark in jammies.
2. James Larkin was born and lived for a while in Liverpool. Today I texted Brian who lives in Liverpool. Eh…yeah, I'm out.
3. James Larkin lived in County Down. I was nearly in Co. Down today. Well I was in East Belfast at the Soul Mates Day of Prayer. I like our Soul Mates people; we have some good people involved. I imagine James Larkin thought he had good people in the Trade Union movement. Unless he thought they were all spos.
4. James Larkin went to America. I Facetimed Megann in America for, like, a minute today. That's practically the same as going to America because I felt like I was at her table eating lunch with her, even though it was tea time here.
5. James Larkin said 'The great appear great because we are on his knees: Let us rise.' I'm not sure I said anything equally as profound this week but I did write a tweet that made me laugh, well the situation it was based around made me laugh. 'Had an emailed Word doc on my screen written in Comic Sans. Someone came into my room. As they left, I panicked they might think it's mine.' James Larkin didn't like Comic Sans either. I'm pretty sure the industrialists' insistence on using Comic Sans is what started the whole union affair in Ireland.
So that's it, those are my five ways this has been James Larkin Week.
Might take to a bit of Wiki editing to update Larkin's entry. At least to get James Larkin Week to be a thing.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Sunday, January 19, 2014
A historical rainbow
This was the second of Chris' suggestions. For reference's sake let me just remind you what Chris meant when he said 'a historical rainbow':
'A childhood anecdote, preferably one which connects into an experience which you had recently, thus bringing together the past and present together.'
Well, I have just such an experience but, to be honest, I normally wouldn't have written about this particular historical rainbow but that's also because I haven't really been writing about anything of late. But you have thrown me the challenge of writing about a historical rainbow so here my most recent historical rainbow (which by the way, is a great phrase!).
I've just recently got reacquainted with candles. I lived in a house last year where all the other girls were into candles. Meh. Just wasn't fussed on them. I think it was because it takes some restraint from me not to mess with them. Back in the Park, we used to play with them. One particular thing we used to do was pour melted candle wax onto our hands. Sure, it burned for a while but then it cooled and you got to pick the wax off. No, really, I don't know why we did it either.
Anyway, last year when I left school, a student gave me 6 big Ikea tea lights (which may be the oddest leaving present I got. Ikea candles are not pretty, they're…functional). They stayed in my storage room at my parents' for months (why yes, I have a storage room. It's my brother's old room which I have commandeered for the overflow of my stuff). When I was home just before Christmas I grabbed them and took them back up to Belfast. They sat on the coffee table, still in their cellophane, for a while until Jud came round to help me decorate my Christmas tree. Well, I say 'help'. She unpacked my Christmas lights and then went to get Chinese and by the time she was back I was done. Well, I didn't have a lot to put on, you see.
We watched Christmas movies and to add to the ambience I lit the candles as they had a vague smell of Christmas about them. Turns out I can restrain myself from messing with the wax. (Actually that's not strictly true, but I think it's important to note here the apartment block is still standing.)
Anyway, I've got so into them that I went to the Yankee Candle store after Christmas and bought some tea lights with the fragrance 'Christmas Cookie'. I like Christmas. I like Cookies. And most importantly, the colour of the wax went with my living room. I put them in the dish on the coffee table, happy with my purchase.
But then, every once in a while I got this familiar smell. It took me a few whiffs to put my finger on what it was - both where it was emanating from and what it reminded me of. Once I worked out it was the still new candles (in my defence it probably took me seconds to work this out), I worked out that the smell of this supposed Christmas Cookie was exactly the smell of Tiny Tears, my doll I got c.1984 from Santa.
'A childhood anecdote, preferably one which connects into an experience which you had recently, thus bringing together the past and present together.'
Well, I have just such an experience but, to be honest, I normally wouldn't have written about this particular historical rainbow but that's also because I haven't really been writing about anything of late. But you have thrown me the challenge of writing about a historical rainbow so here my most recent historical rainbow (which by the way, is a great phrase!).
I've just recently got reacquainted with candles. I lived in a house last year where all the other girls were into candles. Meh. Just wasn't fussed on them. I think it was because it takes some restraint from me not to mess with them. Back in the Park, we used to play with them. One particular thing we used to do was pour melted candle wax onto our hands. Sure, it burned for a while but then it cooled and you got to pick the wax off. No, really, I don't know why we did it either.
Anyway, last year when I left school, a student gave me 6 big Ikea tea lights (which may be the oddest leaving present I got. Ikea candles are not pretty, they're…functional). They stayed in my storage room at my parents' for months (why yes, I have a storage room. It's my brother's old room which I have commandeered for the overflow of my stuff). When I was home just before Christmas I grabbed them and took them back up to Belfast. They sat on the coffee table, still in their cellophane, for a while until Jud came round to help me decorate my Christmas tree. Well, I say 'help'. She unpacked my Christmas lights and then went to get Chinese and by the time she was back I was done. Well, I didn't have a lot to put on, you see.
We watched Christmas movies and to add to the ambience I lit the candles as they had a vague smell of Christmas about them. Turns out I can restrain myself from messing with the wax. (Actually that's not strictly true, but I think it's important to note here the apartment block is still standing.)
Anyway, I've got so into them that I went to the Yankee Candle store after Christmas and bought some tea lights with the fragrance 'Christmas Cookie'. I like Christmas. I like Cookies. And most importantly, the colour of the wax went with my living room. I put them in the dish on the coffee table, happy with my purchase.
But then, every once in a while I got this familiar smell. It took me a few whiffs to put my finger on what it was - both where it was emanating from and what it reminded me of. Once I worked out it was the still new candles (in my defence it probably took me seconds to work this out), I worked out that the smell of this supposed Christmas Cookie was exactly the smell of Tiny Tears, my doll I got c.1984 from Santa.
 |
| Here is that very Christmas. I don't think Grandpa knew what he was doing here; I don't think you just smoosh the baby into the pram to make her fit. |
 |
| See Grandpa, watch the expert: you lift her out of the pram by her armpits. |
 |
| This is her now, well two years ago when I tidied all the stuff in the eaves. Here she is wearing a Bunny uniform. She didn't get as many badges as me. That was probably on account of her being not a full member. |
 |
| Rainy Day Tiny Tears. By the time you get the rain…onesie(?) on you can pretty much be sure it'll have stopped raining. |
I know what you're thinking, the smell of a doll that is thirty years old? But it's true. Tiny Tears has a weird sort of plastic-y smell that smells of my 1980s childhood. I don't know if it's her hair, or just the plastic, but there's a smell. Definitely not unpleasant, it just smells of Tiny Tears.
With Christmas being over, I did what any self-respecting Tiny Tears fan would do. I went back to the Yankee Candle store and bought up more Christmas Cookie candles before they were packed away for another year.
Well, who doesn't want to live amongst the ye olde leprechauns in a historical rainbow?
Sunday, January 12, 2014
A Travel Story
I went to Korea.
(I can't tell you how tempted I was to leave the post at that. But that would be unfair to the requests, nay demands, for a Princess Tavel Story.)
Long time readers will know that I've been to Korea before. Actually, I'd say after the USA and Singapore, it's my 3rd Most Time Spent In Country. Oh come on, we've all worked out that list, am I right? Am I right?
I find getting to Korea is always fun. This is largely because it's been a far way away from where I was before I went. This time I was leaving from Belfast, and it being a far way away it was also entertaining. (That's not the right word, but it'll do.)
The fun started on early on the Monday morning I was supposed to leave. Yes, supposed to leave. That was the day, way back when, in October 2013 that there were big storms in London and my Belfast to London flight got cancelled. Not until I had spent a considerable amount of time in the City airport while Aer Lingus (who had their Belfast to London flight cancelled by Heathrow) worked on an alternative way to Busan, Korea without the luxury of a computer with the internet. I said at the time on Twitter, any sort of Information Desk without the internet is really just a Desk.
Visitors to City Airport will know it's super fun before security; there's that newsagents (I want to say WH Smith's but didn't' they close?) which sells those brightly coloured Irish sheep tourist tat and a Costa, for which I was the lucky winner of a £5 voucher for. I mean, it wasn't a raffle or anything, they just gave them out, but I hadn't had breakfast so I felt like a winner.
Anyway, cut to Tuesday and I was back in City Airport and ready to fly out again. This time I made through security! Again, patrons of City Airport will know that your options for pre-flight time killing rise exponentially. I mean, there's that cafe restaurant place that you have to walk all the way through before you chance upon the sort of food you're in the market for, some bar round the corner that few people must ever go to, another newsagents incase you passed by the opportunity of the first one (again, possibly a WH Smith one), some sort of last minute present buying shop that sells watches and scarfs and then a really small cafe that you see too late because you've already assumed the bigger one is it for your non-newsagent bought crisp food options.
As we were boarding the plane, who should I see, only Alistair McDonnell, leader of the SDLP! He's the one when I mention in class, I have a panic about his name (McDonell? O'Donnell?) and then look like I know nothing about. He was going to the bathroom before boarding so there was no time to for him to pass on to me how he easily remembers his name.
Heathrow was fairly uneventful. I got my Korean Won in the airport because I was so ill-prepared for the trip (even with 18 months notice) that I didn't have them already. I had something nice to eat while I watched something on my iPad. I can't remember what either were, but I have the feeling one was a milkshake or a donut or something. That's the eating; I think I watched something on iPlayer, I wasn't looking a picture of a donut on my iPad for an hour. That'd be weird.
At the gate for my flight to Shanghai (oh yeah, my nice route out to Busan got all arsed about and I was flying to Shanghai now), someone beside me had a very curt conversation with his mother about looking after another house he was having to sell on behalf of another family member (relationship: unclear). This made the wait for boarding way more interesting as me and fellow passengers shared shrugs and grimaced, awkward glances to the sky.
The flight was empty. Like empty. My nearest passenger was about 3 rows behind me or the other way, on the opposite window (I was in seat K). I watched movies...I'm sure. I can't remember. Oh yes! I did! I watched The Interns. Average.
Twelve days, I mean hours later we arrived in Shanghai. Ugh. It beats Atlanta to the top of my list of Worst Airports Ever. Come on, again I say, we all have that list, don't we? In my experience, it's a rare crap Asian airport, normally they're the best. Honestly, I have no kind words to say about Shanghai Airport… ummm… ehhh… it's roof seems to work, if it rained. There. There's one.
So let me explain my horrible Shanghai airport experience.
I was told I didn't' need a landing card. I did. I was told I needed to go to flight connections. I didn't. I was told my luggage was booked all the way through. It wasn't. I was told I'd have enough time to make my connection. I didn't.
And that's where the, what I'm calling, Shanghai Disaster really took hold.
My Chinese isn't what it should be, well whose is?! And bless those airport workers, I could tell they wanted to help me, just as I was willing to be told, but a game of Cross-Cultural Airport Charades after an early start and a long flight is just not my sport. It was only as I was on the points of having an emotional breakdown at a luggage carousel that one of the flight stewards from my flight saw me and worked out where I was supposed to be headed.
Then I had to trek (with my luggage) through the airport. Please, if you're going to Shanghai airport and changing terminal, remember your camel and enough food and water for the journey. The camel will be a pain to get it through customs, but you'll thank me. When I got the other terminal I wasn't entirely sure I was there because all I saw was a sign that said 'You are here'. Well no shit, Sherlock. Thanks a lot. Useful information. I have been 'here' since, well, 1980. See, even now I can't hide my bitterness and anger towards Shanghai Airport.
I arrived in time to discover I had missed my flight to Busan. Super, more Get To Know Shanghai Airport Time. And as a special bonus the next flight wasn't for another 7 hours. Woo. I was tired and hungry and had no Chinese money. Remember, I was never supposed to be in China and certainly not for any length of time that might require spending money. As BA had made me late for the flight, I was technically their responsibility. So I had to go back to the other terminal to see them. But again, I was without my camel.
When I got back to the other terminal there was no one from BA there. I tried Departures, Arrivals, Information. Everywhere. There was no one there. The best I can work out from the Shanghai Airport Information Girl (probably not her job title) it's because of the flight times to Europe they were done once my flight landed until that night when the flights for Europe would leave again. But the SAIG (I prefer the acronym) tried to describe to where the BA office was.
Three times I tried to get to that office. I couldn't find it. Each attempt felt like a two mile walk. And there were steps…with my stupid 'it's booked through' suitcase. My third time back at the desk, she gave me a note written in Chinese to show to the next airport worker I came across. Again I say, my Chinese is not what it should be.
I got to the office and, as with form, it was also closed. See what I mean. I know what you're thinking, how could a major airline, in a major city's airport close its office at 10.00am, because it's what I was thinking too. Albeit with more swearwords.
After 30 minutes, sitting in the only place I could find air con (oh yeah, all this was going on in a sweat box of an airport) I went back to the office, now I knew where it was. I got my flight delay money to spend in the airport. Of course, because it's Shanghai, you can't spend that anywhere. Oh no. It's like a less fun, more hunger driven game of treasure hunt to find the one underground restaurant to spend it in. Oh there's logos on the 'money' that match logos in the airport but for reasons I can't explain you can't spend them there. I suppose in fairness, I did find two restaurants but I gathered from the workmen gutting the second one that they were closed.
In the underground restaurant where I had to fight to be able to spend the airport money, I had a great sleep deprived, jet lagged, mental arithmetic task to work out what I could buy with my, as it turned out, limited funds. It was like the bloody Crystal Maze. If it hadn't been so far to get back to the BA office and had I been confident I would have someone there I would have gone back. But instead, I converted the fake money to a bowl of smiley face fries, dim sum and a Coke.
Three hours later, no joke, I left my seat in the basement restaurant and checked in for my flight. Well I tried. It's Shanghai, so I made my way through one long line only to be told I needed to join a different one. By now I'd been in Shanghai so long I was practically a native, so I headed straight to the top of the next queue, like I belonged there. But at last I had got rid of my 'it's checked through' suitcase.
I was flying with China Eastern to Busan, which was my first experience of time travel since I flew with Garuda to Jakarta; I was right back to 1970s air travel. What a joy to see and experience the olden times! We left the airport and boarded the bus. That's fine, lots of airports do the bus ride out to the airplane. Most airports don't drive you half way to your actual destination though. It took an age to get to the plane and although it was grey day, it was roasting hot. Plus I had the distinct feeling I was the talk of the bus. It was the looking and pointing that gave that away. That's Cross-Cultural Airport Charades for beginners, that.
So should you ever have the misfortune to fly to Shanghai I wish you luck. To you and your camel.
May you have enough smiley face fries to see you out of there.
(I can't tell you how tempted I was to leave the post at that. But that would be unfair to the requests, nay demands, for a Princess Tavel Story.)
Long time readers will know that I've been to Korea before. Actually, I'd say after the USA and Singapore, it's my 3rd Most Time Spent In Country. Oh come on, we've all worked out that list, am I right? Am I right?
I find getting to Korea is always fun. This is largely because it's been a far way away from where I was before I went. This time I was leaving from Belfast, and it being a far way away it was also entertaining. (That's not the right word, but it'll do.)
The fun started on early on the Monday morning I was supposed to leave. Yes, supposed to leave. That was the day, way back when, in October 2013 that there were big storms in London and my Belfast to London flight got cancelled. Not until I had spent a considerable amount of time in the City airport while Aer Lingus (who had their Belfast to London flight cancelled by Heathrow) worked on an alternative way to Busan, Korea without the luxury of a computer with the internet. I said at the time on Twitter, any sort of Information Desk without the internet is really just a Desk.
Visitors to City Airport will know it's super fun before security; there's that newsagents (I want to say WH Smith's but didn't' they close?) which sells those brightly coloured Irish sheep tourist tat and a Costa, for which I was the lucky winner of a £5 voucher for. I mean, it wasn't a raffle or anything, they just gave them out, but I hadn't had breakfast so I felt like a winner.
Anyway, cut to Tuesday and I was back in City Airport and ready to fly out again. This time I made through security! Again, patrons of City Airport will know that your options for pre-flight time killing rise exponentially. I mean, there's that cafe restaurant place that you have to walk all the way through before you chance upon the sort of food you're in the market for, some bar round the corner that few people must ever go to, another newsagents incase you passed by the opportunity of the first one (again, possibly a WH Smith one), some sort of last minute present buying shop that sells watches and scarfs and then a really small cafe that you see too late because you've already assumed the bigger one is it for your non-newsagent bought crisp food options.
As we were boarding the plane, who should I see, only Alistair McDonnell, leader of the SDLP! He's the one when I mention in class, I have a panic about his name (McDonell? O'Donnell?) and then look like I know nothing about. He was going to the bathroom before boarding so there was no time to for him to pass on to me how he easily remembers his name.
Heathrow was fairly uneventful. I got my Korean Won in the airport because I was so ill-prepared for the trip (even with 18 months notice) that I didn't have them already. I had something nice to eat while I watched something on my iPad. I can't remember what either were, but I have the feeling one was a milkshake or a donut or something. That's the eating; I think I watched something on iPlayer, I wasn't looking a picture of a donut on my iPad for an hour. That'd be weird.
At the gate for my flight to Shanghai (oh yeah, my nice route out to Busan got all arsed about and I was flying to Shanghai now), someone beside me had a very curt conversation with his mother about looking after another house he was having to sell on behalf of another family member (relationship: unclear). This made the wait for boarding way more interesting as me and fellow passengers shared shrugs and grimaced, awkward glances to the sky.
The flight was empty. Like empty. My nearest passenger was about 3 rows behind me or the other way, on the opposite window (I was in seat K). I watched movies...I'm sure. I can't remember. Oh yes! I did! I watched The Interns. Average.
Twelve days, I mean hours later we arrived in Shanghai. Ugh. It beats Atlanta to the top of my list of Worst Airports Ever. Come on, again I say, we all have that list, don't we? In my experience, it's a rare crap Asian airport, normally they're the best. Honestly, I have no kind words to say about Shanghai Airport… ummm… ehhh… it's roof seems to work, if it rained. There. There's one.
So let me explain my horrible Shanghai airport experience.
I was told I didn't' need a landing card. I did. I was told I needed to go to flight connections. I didn't. I was told my luggage was booked all the way through. It wasn't. I was told I'd have enough time to make my connection. I didn't.
And that's where the, what I'm calling, Shanghai Disaster really took hold.
My Chinese isn't what it should be, well whose is?! And bless those airport workers, I could tell they wanted to help me, just as I was willing to be told, but a game of Cross-Cultural Airport Charades after an early start and a long flight is just not my sport. It was only as I was on the points of having an emotional breakdown at a luggage carousel that one of the flight stewards from my flight saw me and worked out where I was supposed to be headed.
Then I had to trek (with my luggage) through the airport. Please, if you're going to Shanghai airport and changing terminal, remember your camel and enough food and water for the journey. The camel will be a pain to get it through customs, but you'll thank me. When I got the other terminal I wasn't entirely sure I was there because all I saw was a sign that said 'You are here'. Well no shit, Sherlock. Thanks a lot. Useful information. I have been 'here' since, well, 1980. See, even now I can't hide my bitterness and anger towards Shanghai Airport.
I arrived in time to discover I had missed my flight to Busan. Super, more Get To Know Shanghai Airport Time. And as a special bonus the next flight wasn't for another 7 hours. Woo. I was tired and hungry and had no Chinese money. Remember, I was never supposed to be in China and certainly not for any length of time that might require spending money. As BA had made me late for the flight, I was technically their responsibility. So I had to go back to the other terminal to see them. But again, I was without my camel.
When I got back to the other terminal there was no one from BA there. I tried Departures, Arrivals, Information. Everywhere. There was no one there. The best I can work out from the Shanghai Airport Information Girl (probably not her job title) it's because of the flight times to Europe they were done once my flight landed until that night when the flights for Europe would leave again. But the SAIG (I prefer the acronym) tried to describe to where the BA office was.
Three times I tried to get to that office. I couldn't find it. Each attempt felt like a two mile walk. And there were steps…with my stupid 'it's booked through' suitcase. My third time back at the desk, she gave me a note written in Chinese to show to the next airport worker I came across. Again I say, my Chinese is not what it should be.
I got to the office and, as with form, it was also closed. See what I mean. I know what you're thinking, how could a major airline, in a major city's airport close its office at 10.00am, because it's what I was thinking too. Albeit with more swearwords.
After 30 minutes, sitting in the only place I could find air con (oh yeah, all this was going on in a sweat box of an airport) I went back to the office, now I knew where it was. I got my flight delay money to spend in the airport. Of course, because it's Shanghai, you can't spend that anywhere. Oh no. It's like a less fun, more hunger driven game of treasure hunt to find the one underground restaurant to spend it in. Oh there's logos on the 'money' that match logos in the airport but for reasons I can't explain you can't spend them there. I suppose in fairness, I did find two restaurants but I gathered from the workmen gutting the second one that they were closed.
In the underground restaurant where I had to fight to be able to spend the airport money, I had a great sleep deprived, jet lagged, mental arithmetic task to work out what I could buy with my, as it turned out, limited funds. It was like the bloody Crystal Maze. If it hadn't been so far to get back to the BA office and had I been confident I would have someone there I would have gone back. But instead, I converted the fake money to a bowl of smiley face fries, dim sum and a Coke.
Three hours later, no joke, I left my seat in the basement restaurant and checked in for my flight. Well I tried. It's Shanghai, so I made my way through one long line only to be told I needed to join a different one. By now I'd been in Shanghai so long I was practically a native, so I headed straight to the top of the next queue, like I belonged there. But at last I had got rid of my 'it's checked through' suitcase.
I was flying with China Eastern to Busan, which was my first experience of time travel since I flew with Garuda to Jakarta; I was right back to 1970s air travel. What a joy to see and experience the olden times! We left the airport and boarded the bus. That's fine, lots of airports do the bus ride out to the airplane. Most airports don't drive you half way to your actual destination though. It took an age to get to the plane and although it was grey day, it was roasting hot. Plus I had the distinct feeling I was the talk of the bus. It was the looking and pointing that gave that away. That's Cross-Cultural Airport Charades for beginners, that.
So should you ever have the misfortune to fly to Shanghai I wish you luck. To you and your camel.
May you have enough smiley face fries to see you out of there.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Dear Tina
I recently received this correspondence from Chris N regarding my blog:
Tina, I don't want to be that guy but I can't help but notice that your blog hasn't been updated since the 17th of October. We all had a good giggle over the grapes but I think it times for some fresh material. I understand you're very busy/so much as happened since your last post you don't know where to start. Therefore I thought I would make it easier for you by giving you three topics you could choose to write on.
1) A tavel story. Whether it was a quick trip on the bus to town or a flight to some obscure place (like the Isle of Man), traveling places usual means funny/awkward/rewarding/
2) A childhood anecdote, preferably one which connects into an experience which you had recently, thus bringing together the past and present together; some might call it a historical rainbow (okay, by some I mean me).
3) The impact of Larkinism on the Irish Working Class
Now you have these handy topics to focus on, I'm looking forward to a new blog entry any day now.
Well Chris, thank you for your feedback. The management has taken the matter seriously and would like to offer this reply.
Let me deal with the points, in order:
1. I had no idea there is a stereotypical blog monitoring guy, but I am thrilled to have one!
2. I'm glad you liked the grapes. I like the alliteration you used in that sentence. Truthfully, if I'd realised that photo was what had been greeting Princess visitors since October I would have updated more quickly.
3. I am very busy and so much has happened since I last posted; how well you know me!
4. Thank you for the material ideas. Following this post will be a blog on each of your helpful suggestions!
Also, if you could kick my butt into gear in other areas of my life I would be most appreciative.
Item 1 will be to create a butt kicking list.
Tina, I don't want to be that guy but I can't help but notice that your blog hasn't been updated since the 17th of October. We all had a good giggle over the grapes but I think it times for some fresh material. I understand you're very busy/so much as happened since your last post you don't know where to start. Therefore I thought I would make it easier for you by giving you three topics you could choose to write on.
1) A tavel story. Whether it was a quick trip on the bus to town or a flight to some obscure place (like the Isle of Man), traveling places usual means funny/awkward/rewarding/
2) A childhood anecdote, preferably one which connects into an experience which you had recently, thus bringing together the past and present together; some might call it a historical rainbow (okay, by some I mean me).
3) The impact of Larkinism on the Irish Working Class
Now you have these handy topics to focus on, I'm looking forward to a new blog entry any day now.
Well Chris, thank you for your feedback. The management has taken the matter seriously and would like to offer this reply.
Let me deal with the points, in order:
1. I had no idea there is a stereotypical blog monitoring guy, but I am thrilled to have one!
2. I'm glad you liked the grapes. I like the alliteration you used in that sentence. Truthfully, if I'd realised that photo was what had been greeting Princess visitors since October I would have updated more quickly.
3. I am very busy and so much has happened since I last posted; how well you know me!
4. Thank you for the material ideas. Following this post will be a blog on each of your helpful suggestions!
Also, if you could kick my butt into gear in other areas of my life I would be most appreciative.
Item 1 will be to create a butt kicking list.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
