Hullo there! It’s been a while! I’ve just recently started a new job and there’s been a manic bedding in period so I haven’t had much time for the ole blogging lark.

The best thing about the job is, no more public transport! No delayed trains wrecking me head anymore, (well for a while anyway) I’ll soon have a new annoyance to give out about though, other drivers! Jesus they’re bad. All that to come.

In the meantime there’s this. Someone’s just turned me on to it. The Drogheda Boxing Club, home to many reprobate (meself included) of a Saturday night during the late 80’s and early 90’s, the best gig venue in the North East. Classic bands such as Hothouse Flowers, Don Baker and Sisters (YES!!! THEEEE SISTERS) of Mercy have all graced the stage of the boxing club. Physically, the place was a kip of the highest order, girls had to go to the toilet in threes (one to go and the other two to hold the door of the cubicle up), guys pee’d into a Wavin pipe that went straight out into the Boyne River and by the end of each night the entire floor was coated one inch thick in a slimey substance that could only have been a cocktail of spilled beer, urine and vomit, but it was our club, the only club in Drogheda and surrounds that catered for your alternative sort.

I first fell in love there, first got drunk there and I smoked my first spliff there. I remember the night we booed a very drunk Mary Coughlan off the stage after her first few minutes. Her band came back on and played a blinder of a blues set and when she herself tried to sneak back unnoticed the boos began again and she left the stage with a ‘Well Fuck yiz then!’ 

The reason I’m sharing all this with you is that if you look at the site, scroll down through the photos section to ‘The Dreads’ gallery and click in, you will see an 18 year old JackMcMad (The one in the cap at the bridge and the obscured one behind the drums in the live pic from Sir Henry’s Cork) who is, at that time embarking on his first musical career. Also, if you keep going down to the playlist there are three songs for your listening entertainment. Sick of You and She’s on to You are taken from the first brilliantly named, 600 Thousand Million Records On My Head (and I can still stand up) EP and the song Crazy from the album Burn your Idols, with Emma Spiller on backing vocals.

This is stuff I haven’t heard in years and to be honest, not being even one bit biased at all at all, me, never, would probably do well commercially, today.

 Oh I nearly forgot, also on that site, in fact here, is a pic of Emptyhead from that era, sporting an absolutely fabulous Mullet!! He’s the one on the right

Sorry man, just had to point that one out. There are more of me amongst the throng but you’d never pick me out.

I’d love to see the little shite on it.

There’s nothing I like more than a snooze on the train on the way to work. I think I deserve it, I get up at 5am and it takes me two hours (door to door) to get to work, one hour fifteen minutes of which is spent at the mercy of Iarnród Éireann (pronounced Ear-in Road Air-inn and directly translated means Iron road Ireland, or Irish Rail, now enough of the cultural nonsense, they’re pissing me off again!). I’ve just sent them a letter.

Customer Relation Department
Northern and Eastern
Iarnród Éireann
Conolly Station
Amien Street
Dublin 1

9^th January 2008

Re:  Downgrade of the 6.04am service Drogheda/Dublin in 2008.

Dear Sir/Madam, 

I am writing to ask you why the quality of the above service has grossly deteriorated in the first week of 2008.

Before the start of this year, this service was a comfortable one where one could relax and more importantly, given the time of the morning it is, nap for a while and upon arrival at Dublin Pearse station feel refreshed and ready to begin work. So far this year though, this has not been the case. The type of carriage that is now on this service is one of the older (sub-standard in my opinion) carriages.

This type of carriage does not have the usual ergonomically designed individual seats, instead it comprises of the two seater bench seats, which look more at home on a 1970’s school bus than on a twenty first century commuter train in what is considered as being the richest country of the EU. Falling asleep on this type of seat is impossible.

 I implore you to restore this service to its former standard, for the sake of my health, the well being of my work colleagues, who are starting to feel the brunt of my non-sleep, for the sake of human decency and, seeing as you have just increased the fare by 5% from today, purely out of respect for your customers who have no other choice but to use this service every day to get to work. I look forward to hearing from you on this matter.  

Yours faithfully,  

Jack McMad

As usual, I bet I don’t hear anything from them.

Ahhh, the joys of working in IT.

As well as generally being me this year I’m going to start a few of campaigns to put a stop to the things that annoy me.

1. As it’s looking like I’ll be commuting to Dublin for another four years, campaign number one is for Quiet Carraiges on trains. Fellow commuters, your lives are not that fucking interesting that you have to share them with a hundred other people every morning. Whether you’re on the phone or talking at your friend, it’s gotta stop! You know who you are, Balbriggan girl, Skerries Goon and Nora Batty and her sister from Rush/Lusk.

2. Speed lanes for pedestrians. People who dawdle and saunter around town get on my tits. Caught up in their own little world with no heed for anyone else, you could be walking behind someone and they just stop dead right in front of you or they walk right across your path forcing you to implement your emercency stop and avoid plan that makes you look like some sort of demented clown. Folks, if I’m out and about walking, it means I have to BE somewhere, get out of my fuckin way! A speed lane with a minimum speed of 8Km/hr is the answer.

3.  Motorists that don’t stop at pedestrian lights will be shot on the spot. What the fuck is it with you people? When your RED light and my GREEN light comes on, it means it’s my fuckin turn to use the road. The crossings at Stephen’s Green/Kildare St and Kildare St/Nassau St are atrocious for motorists ignoring the lights. I have already started crossing as soon as the lights change and any motorist that doesn’t see fit to stop comes away from the encounter with a dented side panel and roof. You’ve been warned!

4. Pedestrians that wander into traffic should be fair game. Usually some doped up skanger or guy in a suit will meander out into traffic and with a wave of his hand will expect you to stop and let him cross. In 2008 I’ll be campaigning for a points system, not a penalty points system, a points system where you get points for each wanderer you mow down. More points for the doped up skanger as they waste valuble resources. At the end of the year you cash your points in and get a discount off your roadtax or car insurance.

 5. Umbrellas should be banned or at the very least, the people carrying them should be charged with assault with a deadly wapon. I’m just at the right height to lose an eye or get stitches in my neck. If it’s raining, wear a raincoat you stupid fucker. If I can’t get them banned, I’m going to walk around carrying a big stick with metal spikes protruding from it. See how you like it then!  

That’s about it for now, this list maybe ammended at any stage. Happy fuckin New Year to youse all!

I definitely wouldn’t be Christmas’s number one fan but this year’s ranks amongst one of my worst ever. Christmas Eve, I was on my way home from work when I felt the first twinges of yet another cold, my third in as many weeks. By night time my temperature had shot up to 103F and the pains started. It was a full on flu. ‘Manflu!’ I hear all the ladies scream. Nope this was definitely a flu.

Sleep was impossible amid the feverish hallucinations brought on by the high temperatures. One of these hallucinations developed when I turned on my side and one foot came to rest on the other. Convinced that there was someone else, other than Lady Mc and meself, in the bed I kicked the offending foot away. Feeling that someone had kicked my foot I retaliated by kicking back and very soon a full on pitch battle between both my feet ensued that lasted for a good half hour. Not able to take any more I dragged myself from bed and crawled downstairs where I had to be physically restrained from cutting both my feet off with the bread knife. Lady Mc suggested a pair of thick wooly socks instead. She’s so clever.

Christmas Day, my temperature rose to 104F. I spent the day alone between bed and the sofa. I persuaded Lady Mc to go to her parents like she had planned for the day and not to stay at home with me. I make the worst patient. I hate to be pampered, I hate to be touched, I hate being asked questions and I hate being told to do things like, drink plenty of fluids and don’t wrap up so well. It was better for both of us that I was left alone in my feverish misery. 

Stephen’s day was much the same. Lady Mc was out celebrating her father’s birthday and I was again the better for being left alone. Towards night, the fever broke and as I waded through the sweat patches in my search for some dry land I slowly elbowed LadyMc out of the bed and into the spare room. She’s so understanding.

So, today, I find myself back at work. The ONLY reason that I’m here is that we operate a skeleton crew over the Christmas period and I said I’d work it so I HAVE to be here. I am the colour of a boiled shite, I have about a weeks growth, the only thing I’ve eaten since my breakfast on Christmas Eve has been two bowls of soup and three slices of brown bread, I’ve lost three quarters of a stone (five Kilos for my American readers) in weight and the next person that says to me, ‘Jaysus, look at you! You must have had a great Christmas!’, I am going to fucking kill them!

I can’t f*cking wrap Christmas Presents. Everytime I try it looks like a ball of shite. I can’t cut the paper straight or to the right size, the bits of tape are always too long and no matter how hard I try, what are supposed to be neatly folded ends look more like badly flittered dog ears. I usually just end up wrapping everything like a football with layers upon layers of paper and tape.

The Lady Mc is an expert and can do wonderous things with ribbons but I can’t ask her to wrap her own presents can I? I need help.

‘Gorf………….. Gorf……… GORF!!!’

‘Wha?.. Huh?’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yeah’

‘Well then, give us me beer.’

‘Oh, sorry’

The four of us, ManDonkey,Gorf, Giblets and meself are in McFools, Gorf has just returned from the bar and is standing at the end of the table with four pints in his hands, looking a bit perturbed.

‘What’s wrong with you, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?’

‘Nah, I’m grand.’

‘Was Auld Mick running naked around the bar again?’

‘No.’

‘C’mon what was it? McFool didn’t put the price of the beer up even though there was no increase in the budget, did he?’

‘NO, JAYSUS…. NO, Nothing like that!’

‘Then OUT with it man!’ 

‘Nurses’, he says.

‘Nurses?, we ask.

‘Nurses Party!’

Two words that strike fear into the hearts of committed men around town. If research was done, it would probably show that the prime cause of relationship breakdowns would be if a man was found, by his partner, to have been within half a mile of a nurses party.

Several nervous minutes pass. The door to the bar opens and four ladies emerge in fancy dress sipping cocktails. They take the table across from us at the other heater. Sevaral glances are exchanged with looks, the like of which I haven’t seen since I was surrounded and accosted by a pack of hungry dogs while wandering drunk around the back streets of Kathmandu at 2 o’clock in the morning, that ‘I’m going to eat you and you’re going to enjoy it’ look. 

After their cigarettes are finished they return to the warmth of the bar.

‘That was close.’

‘It was.’

Several more minutes pass.

‘OK, who’s up?’

‘Not me’, says Gorf, ‘I’ve just gone!’

‘And I’m married’, says ManDonkey

‘Giblets?’

‘No way!’

‘Why not, you’re single!’

‘Noooo way, not even with a catapult and a bucket full of mickeys would you get me in there!’

‘Bastard, so what’ll we do?’

‘Sarch’s?’

‘Sarch’s’

Sarch’s we agree and off we went.

(To be cont’d)

Dear Thur,

Pleade excuse Jack from the Blog today as he has a bit of a head code and his head is all bugged up. Wid a bit of luck he’ll be bedder in de mordin.

Signed,

Me Mudder.

I’ve just been tagged for a meme. The ever gracious Grandad at Headrambles has tagged me so of course I will oblige.

Here are the rules of the Meme:
Post on your blog . . .
+ Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
+ Share 7 random and/or weird facts about yourself.
+ Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
+ Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
That’s all there’s to it . . .
Oh and have fun.

Now for the facts:

1. I used to be a tree hugging hippie. I thought that property was theft, cars and mobile phones were devices of the Devil and I used to facilitate interactive ecological programmes for children at Sonairte, the National Ecology Centre. My, how all that has changed since venturing back in to the world of IT. I’m now a gun toting, petrol guzzling, gadget using capitalist swine.

2. A band I drummed with came 2nd in the Carling/Hot Press Irish Band of the Year Competition for two years running.

3. I will never do a bungie or a parachute jump. I’m not scared of heights, I just don’t want to jump from one attached to a giant knicker elastic or a silk table cloth. I am Mad JackMcMad not Psychosomatic Addict Insane JackMcMad.

4. I find that coming up with 7 weird facts about myself is a little more difficult than what I though it would be. I have done it before and can’t remember what I put down.

5. For a local Graffiti Art Festival I appeared on stage semi-naked and played the guitar while one of the exhibiting artists spray painted me.

6. I had completely forgotton about fact 5 until last Thursday when the bass player of the band reminded me.

7. I walk so fast that sometimes I trip over my own feet. The reason is that my feet are moving faster than the speed of light so that they travel back in time and are not where I expect them to be.

The Magnificent  Unfortunate Seven.

1. Why not right back at Grandad and pass this to his very funny daughter k8 the gr8 at Cackaloo.

2. Here’s to you Galwaywegian at The Galway Growl

3. You’re up CardioGirl at 19% Body Fat 100% Fun

4. One for the Road is next.

5. Lets have, all the way from Australia, Baino at Baino’s Banter.

6. Jesus, coming up with seven blogs is more difficult than coming up with seven facts about myself so I think I’ll leave it there.

Enjoy