Friday, July 28, 2006

Had a fantastic weekend last weekend in Northern Ireland. took a billion pictures of the giants causeway. wobbled across the famous rope bridge, was driven up the scenic Antrim coast. The differences & similarities with Scotland where fascinating, its great to go to a another country that still has a distinct culture of its own rather than some tesco led tele-glued hedgeomony.
All of which is secondary of course to the wonderful company i was in, but i'll stop before i make the casual blog reader feel ill. Next weekend i get my own back & drag my Irish companion around the north coast of scottieland, in the slightly less luxurious mode of camping & the miniscule mouse infested bou-mobile.

meanwhile, full time work continues a pace. I had to get our old cat put down as she was dying in a slow unpleasant manner. No art is getting done whatsoever...eeek.


Richmond A Clements said...

Ohhhh, scarey bridge!

Poor wee cat...

Paddy Goat said...

That bridge is scary only to pooves and wimmin - we had to go across that on our geography field trips back when I were a nipper. Them were the days.
The beaches round there are quite picturesque, though. That's what happens when you let drunkard giants throw your causway at Scotland, rather than someone with good aim.
McCool would have made a shitty sniper.

Ed said...

It was on CBBC this week, and the lady presenter cried when she had to go across. Cried like a woman.

bou said...

ooo did i tell yous that from the plane going home i could see the sea bed ? Mr McCoul could easy wade across its not very far at all to kintyre. course if he headed the wrong way he'd trip over rocks n stuff & drown.

Paddy Goat said...

Drown like a WOMAN.

A man wouldn't do something as effeminate as DROWN - he'd asphixiate - LIKE A MAN.

It's the 'X' in the word 'asphixiate' that makes it inherently masculine, see. Even though I've probably spelled it wrong and it's probably spelled 'asphipinkfluffybrasiate' or something equally woman-like. And if you could see the sea bed on the plane home, I suspect that you may have caught a special kind of plane home that the rest of us call 'a boat'.

On a not-unrelated topic, I was watching CBBC, and wondered why it was sunny and hot where the CBBC woman was, yet as I looked outside, it was PISSING down in fist-sized goblets of rain, even though the Loch where the skinny harlot and her boyband-faced compatriot were sitting, dipping their toes in the tepid waters, was clear as day and quite clement-looking - despite being less than thirty miles up the road.