Blognapped!

Last year we were robbed – if you read the blog you’ll remember :  a shower of shits rummaging through the house at 5am, until herself decided to take them on in her negligée. Then there was the bit with the cops coming to the house which was more like a live setting for a Father Ted goes Crime Scene, and later how even though I was the one who was robbed, I still get into trouble with said cops because one of my many dodge mates managed to get the laptops back from under a bush up the back roads. (Got my little Bobbi Brown make-up kit back too, and my driving license.)

Well this year’s burglary was more virtual, so to speak. I log in to my lovely little blog and there it is gone. I kept on typing and retyping all the variations to the word Arsekick that you can think of, just in case it was me, not them, but no, it had been taken over by some strange website with the word Spank in it.

Where do you go to find a stolen blog? I mean, it has to be somewhere, and who’d want it really? Well eventually the I.T. manager where I work ( I have a new job, I’ll come to that later) found it for me. Apparently, html has it’s own little lost and found office, and whatever he had to do to get the blog back I can only say: be nice to I.T. managers, for theirs is the kingdom of the internet and they shall inherit respect from every other department in the company.

But you haven’t missed much – I’m still not finished writing the definitive modern Irish novel, and I’ve kept off the streets which really deprives one of a good muse – although now that I’m back in the corporate world that may all change.

While I was offline I wrote the blogs in my head, and they are now gone to the place where some psychiatrist might find enough material for a PhD.  One of them was going to be about dying my hair blonde and how the boxes of dye say stuff like ‘honey blonde’ or ‘platinum’ but in reality it’s ‘straw yellow’ which is better than the original ‘donkey’s ear grey’ so I won’t complain.

Then there were the two business trips to Germany where I wanted to write about how the trains are always late and that although I thought the Germans had become very cosmopolitan, they are actually getting worse but fair play to them for starting to sell proper cheese and onion crisps, you couldn’t get them back in the day when I lived there, and also, fair play to Lidl for bringing those little Nurnberg sausages to the rest of the world, because there was a time I only ever got to eat them on German trains.

And then we were up North to my beloved Belfast. It was a long weekend with the kids. Now that they’re teens we can do grown up things together, but the bottom line is that they cleaned me out and for a deluded moment I thought it was love and bonding when they smiled and hugged me for spending hundreds of pounds sterling on some designer label clothes that look the same as the ones in Penny’s to me, but how would I know, because as they soon reminded me – I know nothing.

 But that in itself is a blessing really, because if I’d never had kids I’d never know that I know nothing, I’d only know that I’d have no kids and too much money. Shucks. On the way back we had a family chat in the car. I told them what my wishes were should I pass away, I told them how to get on with their lives, and to celebrate my life and not mourn me should I get run over by a ten-ton truck. I got emotional, and they were silent. They were so silent that I began to worry I’d upset them but then I noticed that they all had their headphones on and hadn’t heard a word I’d said. That’s probably got something to do with me knowing nothing though.

Took a spin around the Newtonards peninsula but was afraid to get out and walk on the beach because of all the flags. There was definitely a blog in me on that one. And the peace line – we saw the peaceline in Belfast. In my head I was thinking it would be a nicely painted line with peace written on it – ah no. Berlin eat your heart out.

So we’re off to Barcelona tomorrow – myself and herself that is. A week. Odd choice for two people who hate the heat and want a nice quiet break, but there you go, see, I’m just some imbecile who knows nothing…