Half cut...

You know I got to wondering at the weekend about the fact that there’s a sign at the barber’s shop where I get my hair cut simply saying ‘Liar’s corner.’

What I was wondering of course was, if the guy who trust to cut my hair on a regular basis is really a barber at all?

I mean wouldn’t that be horrible – going to a barber’s shop for years and then discovering that the person who has been moving sharp implements around your head is really not a barber but something else like umm, say a photographer or a taxi driver.

Think about it for a minute – you’re not going to just plop yourself in a chair and let any old nut move sharp objects around your head now are you?

I suppose that is what makes getting your hair cut in a new place one of the most frightening experiences you can have.

After all - if you end up going somewhere new for a haircut - there is always the tendency to imagine the worst possible scenario.

On the one occasion in recent years when I went out of convenience to a different place in another town, I must say things were pretty scary.

For a start I spent a good five minutes searching the walls for evidence of diplomas and awards, which I thought might comfort me. 

I’m not really sure why because in the barbers shop I normally go to there is only one certificate as far as I can recall – certifying that this is Liar’s corner. There’s also a photo of Elvis getting his hair cut by the barber’s granddad with one of the sets of clippers he still uses now…. and you were wondering why there was a Liar’s Corner sign?

You know what though, despite all that I’m still comfortable there.

On my only visit in recent years to a different place, after scanning for certificates I spent the rest of the time checking that there was no visible evidence of large boxes of plasters or bandages in view.

After all in my worst ever barber’s experience (when I was about seven) I got the top of my ear clipped by an elderly man wearing triple glazing glasses.

As a result, years of bad haircuts by my sisters followed as I point blank refused to go back to the barbers until I heard that old guy had died.

That’s not to say that when I did start going back to a barber’s to get my hair cut that they were all works of art. 
In fact one place in Dublin when I was at college was absolutely woeful, but still managed to attract me in because, being a student noticed it was cheap! I should have known the reason for that was because they’d never get anybody in otherwise and my last visit there came after a guy came in and asked for too much off the front, not enough off the back and a cut on his left ear.

‘I can’t do that,’ said the barber.

‘Why not, you did it the last time,’ the guy replied!

Those memories all came flooding back as I stood just inside the door of this strange salon.

And, as I was busily searching for evidence of certificates and diplomas, I was also quickly perusing the ‘style’ posters on the walls.

I think the posters were to attract you to choose a certain style. To say these people have gained confidence from this new look.

Maybe they did, but these were not styles you’d see when you’d walk out that door again and into the street. Not the hair you’d see on ordinary people who can sometimes only give it a dash of water and quick comb and out the door with a piece of toast in their hand in the morning.

No these styles would require more than a comb and a hair dryer, more like NASA technology and a team of experts to get every strand in place.

These were styles that required time and effort and as I looked at them I started to wonder if I really needed to get my hair cut after all.

Maybe it would do for that extra few days until the weekend when the shop I was used to would be opened after all …it’s hard to beat the divvil you know…especially when he has never cut you…well not yet anyway!

Course after reading this all that might change, but hey at least I could always say then that I have something in common with Elvis!

Yep, I like burgers too….

The farcical heave

The events of the past week in Irish politics got me thinking of Christy Moore's version of Lanigan's Ball, wondering if Brian Cowen would survive or not. Was he out, was he in again? What the hell was going on? It was hardly a surprise then that when I sat down to write the blog, this forced it's way onto the page...

In the house of the Dáil, Brian and all his merry men

Battered the books ‘til we hadn’t a shilling

But the IMF came and they made it all grand again,

Gave us some cash and sure turned things around

But then one by one and all in rotation

Some boys and some girls they all started to ask

if Brian Cowen’s time shouldn’t come to cessation

so they pulled out the knives and put on the masks

Quick as a wink in bars and Mercedes,

Meetings were held to plan disarray

Martin, O’Dea and the Hanafin lady,

counting up hands to see who’d vote yay

The plan it was set, take Brian to the slaughter

That was the message that flew round the Dáil

But it wasn’t thought out as well as it oughtta

And Brian called their bluff, he threw a curve ball

Six long days we watched from Dublin, six long days they did nothing at all

Six long days we watched from Dublin, the farcical heave up in Fianna Fail

They were whispers and rumours, nonsencial stances

Nobody thought the bold Brian would twig

But Mary and him they soon banished the nonsense

When they called for a vote at a press conference gig.

“Now boys and girls you all should vote for me”

Brian told his troops and they mostly agreed

Michael’s heave failed as pals turned coat you see

And Biffo’s still leader it was then decreed.

Well the boys were all merry, girls were all happy

Next day in the Dáil they were all cracking jokes

But the shit hit the fan and things they got scrappy

When Brian he revealed ministerial strokes

The Greens they went mad and they called “Holy murder!”

John called his team and he gathered them all

And then they swore blind that they might go no further

So they hid in a room ‘til election was called.

Six long days we watched from Dublin, six long days they did nothing at all

Six long days we watched from Dublin, the farcical heave up in Fianna Fail

Boys oh boys ‘tis then there was ructions

And Brian once again found himself in the stew

Vincent Browne on his show, he made some deductions

And Lenihan kicked up a hullabaloo

There was all sorts of noise from the opposite benches

Their luck at this sham they could hardly believe,

While the Fianna Fail boys headed back to the trenches

As rumours flew round of another planned heave

Six long days we watched from Dublin, six long days they did nothing at all

Six long days we watched from Dublin, the farcical heave up in Fianna Fail

A vegetable plot...

As a parent I often find myself in a dilemma when it comes to meal times since apparently I’m supposed to encourage my children to eat vegetables because they are so good for you.

The thing is, although I do eat some vegetables, there are plenty I don’t and just won’t eat, so it becomes kinda hypocritical of me to say make sure you eat up all your greens if my plate is veggie free.

You may not be surprised to know then that as I was growing up it was often said that I was a fussy eater.

This was then used as an explanation as to why I was so skinny and why - if you had you turned me sideways and got me to stick my tongue out - I could have passed for a zip.

But there is a lot of misinformation doing the rounds about vegetables and I think it’s time somebody umm... spilled the beans.

For instance there’s the whole carrot thing. How many of us when we were growing up heard that carrots are good for you and they are good for your eyes?

Well I have absolute proof that they are not – because when I was growing up I tested this theory by sticking a carrot in my brother’s eye once and he couldn’t see for a week!

Funny thing is, I quite like carrots, but I have noticed over the years that when it comes to vegetables, carrots are always the first to come up!

Still, there are worse, like Brussels Sprouts for instance. These wee green balls are just nasty and I’m convinced that they were developed for some means of chemical warfare many hundreds of years ago.

And some people seem to mad for them especially at Christmas. It is as if Christmas wouldn’t be the same without having them on the table.

If I’m asked now if I like Brussels Sprouts I always politely say yes, but if it is ever noticed that I still leave them all on my plate, I usually just add that I don’t like them enough to actually eat them.

And anyway I’ve been wondering about this whole eating vegetables thing because they don’t seem to have anyone fighting on their behalf.

And let’s face it folks eating vegetables has to be worse than eating meat because when you think about it, at least the animals have some chance of running away!

The poor old veggies stand no chance and how do we know that they don’t have feelings?

I mean in the vegetable world we know that corn has ears, potatoes have eyes and beanstalk.

And of course cabbages have hearts and not only do lettuce have heads, we have all heard over the years - lettuce pray.

In fact I’m pretty certain they even mourn their dead and when a cauliflower died once there was a large turnip at the funeral.

All that said we’re still being urged to eat these poor wee critters and still being told that they are really good for us.

In fact, to make them sound even better for us we’re now being sold not just any old plain vegetables, we can even eat organic vegetables – which apparently are even better for us.

But I’ve made up my mind that it’s just wrong to eat these vegetables even if I do occasionally have to buy them for my other half and my children.

In fact just last week I stopped at an organic vegetable stall to get some.

“I don’t really eat vegetables. These are for my wife – have they been sprayed with any poisonous chemicals,” I asked the stall owner.

“No,” he said...”you’ll have to do that yourself!”

Good Clean Dirt

I know there is an advert on telly right now asking viewers if they have, but I for one have never spent time wondering where the bits of food washed off plates by my dishwasher go to.

There could be a few reasons for this, I reckon.

One might be for instance the fact that Donegal County Council has been turning our water off every night for about a month now, so our dishwasher – which was usually only ever turned on once a day (and usually after 6pm at night) – doesn’t be switched on much any more.

However a more likely scenario is the fact that I actually have a life.

I mean, come on folks, anybody who sits around wondering where the food gets washed away to really needs to get out more.

What the advert did get me thinking of however, is how these cleaning companies are trying harder and harder to scare the byjasus out of us.

For instance, you know the ones where they show us all the places that germs live.

Yep, even after we clean things those germs are still there.

Unless of course we clean with the stuff they are selling.

And even that will only be for a while.

After all, these things usually come in a new and improved version at some point.

“Now Cleanupia doesn’t just clean and kill 99% of all germs, because new and improved Cleanupia cleans, kills 99% of all germs – and smells nicer too!”

You know the kind of stuff.

I watched three or four of these adverts recently and began to wonder how the human species ever managed to survive this long.

It’s not that I’m against cleaning or anything it’s just that, well I kinda grew up in an era where we had such a thing as ‘good clean dirt.’

To be honest, I never really understood that concept enough to be able to actually define it now in words, but I’m guessing it might have been discovered by the same person who invented the five-second rule.

Some people I know are totally shocked by the concept of the five-second rule.

I have always found it kinda ironic that these are usually the type of people who have floors so clean ‘you could eat your dinner off them.’

Personally, I have to admit that I have adapted the five-second rule to six, ten, heck maybe even twenty seconds depending on how badly I wanted the piece of unfortunately dropped item on the floor/ground.

Oh yeah – and I’m still around today folks to write about it.

You see in some ways I reckon that since our ancestors lived in caves for years upon years and lived in mud cabins and huts of all kinds, our bodies are used to living around a certain level of dirt and germs and bugs and stuff.

It’s why we come built in with an immune system and wee filtery hair things in our nostrils and well, common sense enough not to extend the five-second rule even to five-seconds if your chocolate éclair has fallen into fresh cow dung.

If we are to follow the example of the adverts however, our lives would be just one endless circular motion of cleaning – wax on, wax off, over and over and over and over and over…well you get the picture.

To me that seems a bit excessive. Excessive compulsive even. And excessive compulsive anything does not seem like a good thing in my book.

Let’s face it folks we don’t want to be cleaning and wiping everything to such a state that we drive ourselves to the point of extinction by the teeniest of germs – which is why I’m thinking of starting a campaign online for the return of ‘good clean dirt.’

I’m hoping it goes viral…