The Wisdom Of King Bob

The holiday cruising up the Nile was absolutely fantastic, and I would thoroughly recommend it for anyone who has an interest in history and does not mind getting up early to traipse round the desert. I will come back to the holiday itself, for now I want to talk about the boat, more importantly the people on the boat. You see, I have a problem, I actually don’t like people. I have worked in Customer Service roles for years, and as I get older I kind of believe that most people are fucking idiots, and as I go forward I am sometimes surprised and thus rewarded. On this cruise my theory was ratified over a hundred times and fortunately for me and herself we were rewarded by meeting a really sound couple from Sheffield who actually enhanced our holiday experience. However on the whole we were surrounded by idiots and stereotypes who we spent slagging off:

East End Matriarch plus insignificant other: Hugely overweight, had a larger cleavage at back than at front. Thinks everyone is interested in her opinion on everything. Her voicebox has some form of amplifier fitted so that the call to prayer was drowned out when she talked. She talked more than didn’t, must have had some kind of surgery on her lungs so that she only had to draw breath every half hour. Barrel shaped husband, very quiet probably brain damaged from oxygen starvation after being buried in back cleavage of wife.

Whinging malcontents: Don’t like food, don’t like Egyptians, don’t like heat, don’t like boat. All fucking week these people went on and on. I would recommend these people should have their passports revoked and made to holiday in Minehead.

Ignorant Peasants: Low IQ too much money, like above in that they should not be allowed to travel. Asking stupid questions and relegating 4000 years of history and culture into a stupid comment. Examples included referring to the heiroglyphs as Graffiti. They generally have low attention spans, this is demonstrated by talking over the guide because they are bored learning something new.

Having a bad day? Feeling frustrated and pissed off after work? Well my girlfriend has found the the perfect solution. Make someone elses day shit as well, and take pleasure in it.

Leaving Sandyford last night I was blocked by a fat twat driving on his mobile, further down he switched lanes without signalling or looking, still on phone. In fact three miles down the road he was driving like a blind stoat and of course was still on his fucking mobile.

The missus takes out her mobile, phones Trafficwatch and grasses the twat up. Two hours later, the Garda phone her back to tell her they have cautioned the offender, although he probably was still on the bloody phone.

More importantly it cheered her up.

I have decide to take my smoking to the next level. I have purchased a hookah, and the molasses soaked tobacco that the Egyptians smoke. I was building up to my return to Ireland so I could get it set up and confound my neighbours with billowing clouds of molasses flavoured smoke and was dissapointed to find I understood nothing about the finer points of using a hookah. What I didn’t realise is you need a special kind of charcoal to use it (normal charcoal burns off Carbon Monoxide), so I have had to order some on e-bay. The ironic thing is that I have ordered the charcoal from Israel. I am hoping the Jewish charcoal and the Islamic hookah do not fall out, given the Egyptians got spanked the last time I don’t want my hookah plastered all over the back garden by an aggressive Israeli response. I will of course give you an update on the hookah experience, which I believe may be tailored to smoke herbal alternatives to tobacco.

I am off travelling again, only for pleasure instead of work. I am off up the Nile on a cruise to prepare myself for the Irish winter. In preparation I tried to get a set of khakis and pith helmet. This picture was taken at our special forces training camp, I have blocked out my face for reasons of security.

We live life on the knife edge in Co Wicklow, and last night proved the constant peril that surrounds myself and my girlfriend. The website she manages kept failing last night, she got stressed and was working towards a solution when she turns to me in a serious tone and says “It’s sorted, made some changes to the app pool, you never want to do that, messing with the application pool is DANGEROUS”. Not really thinks I, driving the space shuttle is dangerous, swimming with sharks is dangerous in fact I would warrant that messing with the app pool isn’t dangerous at all, but what do I know I am not a web developer.

On Bravo last night was a program about David Icke, it showed him at the Brixton Acadamy talking to a large crowd for 7 hours for which they have to pay for the privilege. His ideas are strange, and he is stranger. It kind of looked like the birth of a cult, and i believe he has made shit loads of cash and been held up as some kind of prophet (or profit). Check out his website:
http://www.davidicke.com/index.php/
However, nobody pointed out the fucker was drinking Tennents Super , the drink of alkies around the world. That may explain alot.

So I met up with some of the folks from the Twenty major’s blog for a drink on Friday, and it did not start well. You see I was early, Monkey Balls was late and I had a floorshow of pikey martial arts. Monkey Balls had described one of the other drinkers as “a bit older” so when I clocked this bloke at the bar, reading a paper and on his own I thought that must be Fill. So off I goes, asking him if his name was indeed Fill, to which he gave me a strange look and a weird shuffling of his feet and said no. I retreated embarrassed, thinking he must think I am some kind of weirdo cruising for men. To validate this thought he left half his pint and fucked off.

I was in Derbyshire at the weekend, visiting my future in-laws and ran out of smokes. They live about a mile from the nearest village and I walked there along the country lanes to the village of New Houghton. Now, it is mining country there and the village was a typical pit village. Rows of red brick houses, a working mens club at one end and a pub at other end. Of coursse there is no pit now, in fact there are no fucking pits at all thanks to an over zealous union leader and a Tory Government who wanted to put the working classes back in their places. The village is grim, the pub cannot sustain its existence and the place just looks like the only busy day is when giro day arrives. There are villages/towns ike this throughout the North of England/Scotland and Wales, where the heart has been ripped from them because of politics. of course they will tell you it was economics, but they bloody well wish they could mine their own coal now. To rub it all in they have a “millenium park” where they have taken the pit wheels made them into a wanky sculpture in the middle of a fucking field. They want viable employment, a future for their kids and a village which isn’t dying on it’s feet not a fucking park.

Have made me add a specialist category for Irish Radio, because Irish Radio is indeed a world of it’s own. Newstalk is the best of the bunch, and I quite enjoy George Hook even if he does like rugby and come from Cork.

He broadcast earlier with his take on Obama’s acceptance speech. He must of been listening to a different speech, or was too busy thinking of spanking Hilary for letting him down and losing, because his interpretation was different from the rest of the world’s.

Weird Man and now a bit of a twat.

I think I have been here too long, I have started rushing home to watch Nationwide on RTE1 and this week when I was busy my girlfriend recorded it for me. For those of you who don’t know, the premise is an old geezer and his colleagues travel the country reporting on human interest stories and events happening through the counties of Ireland. The first time I saw it, a report on Westport offered irish dancers on top of large barrels, to which I disdainfully said “fucking bogtrotters” and went back to my book. However the bloody programme has me hooked, I find myself glued to reports about Tidy Towns and how auld Seamus has been carving driftwood from Co Clare into dolphins and flogging it to tourists. I once called into Dungarvin on the basis of a Nationwide report and to say I was dissapointed would be a gross understatement, it was a fucking kip capped off by a coachload of mutant tourists from Cornwall.