Severe Jam Damage

Slate.com commissioned artists to create ‘pulp’ covers for 6 classic novels. See the results here.

Link courtesy boingboing.

The sun is out, the sky is blue, there’s not a cloud to spoil the view - [zzzzzp of record needle]

I’ve been hanging around parks a lot lately. Not to be confused with the Barfly who also hangs around parks, except he prefers being in the bushes, with a camera. There are some lovely parks around Dublin, everyone always automatically thinks of Stephen’s Green, but I’m 2 minutes from Iveagh Gardens and it’s a lovely quiet little place.
Most of the time.
This afternoon I went down for lunch, found myself a nice little spot, got out my sandwich and book and settled in. Five minutes later two gobsheens appeared, sat DIRECTLY BEHIND ME and spoke loudly about the fucking World Cup. Now, I get enough WC bollixology at work, being as I’m the only girl in the office. So these two were less than welcome in my aural zone. At least - and I thank my lucky stars - they didn’t decide to strip down to skin. Unlike the fellows in Stephen’s Green on Friday evening. The amount of burnt flesh on show last week would have had participants in the (US) National Champoinship Barbecue Cookoffs calling for long pig to be put back on the menu. But there’s more! In addition to the sight of stripey lobster skin bursting with melanomas is the added bonus of low slung jeans with manky looking boxers hanging over the top. Now whatever about protecting myself from the dazzle of flabby white bellies there is nothing I can do about the jocks on show. My sunglasses cut out a certain amount of glare but they can’t hide the horror of old faded stretched out waistbands. I don’t inflict my knickers on you boys, I’d appreciate if you provided me the same courtesy. I won’t even mention the forty-something lady who was sunbathing in what must have been her 20th best bra. Shudder.

I headed out into the wilds of Wicklow this weekend. I’ve been getting out and about in the car a bit more on the weekends now. The lovely sunny days are helping of course. I drove down through Roundwood and Glendalough then across the Wicklow Gap to meet with some friends. We ended up in the Ballymore Inn, sitting in the sun drinking bucketloads of organic white wine. (Bonus: no headache hangover!) Okay bucketloads is a bit much, according to the barman who was very knowledgeable about such things we went through 12 bottles. But, I must clarify, that was from 2 in the afternoon through to about midnight. As you can see from the photo* (taken at about 9 o’clock) I was still sober enough to buy MORE wine. Although sadly I appear to have acquired 5 chins somewhere along the way.

Countdown to Holiday: 17 days

*Photograph by Priscilla