Rebecca Riots

Well, it clearly IS because, as I predicted in the post below, the Tipp rose was the biggest ride. Talent my hole, eh?

Jack and Jill is a thoroughly modern Irish couple. Both 30, these high fliers drink up all the benefits of living in a rich nation and work hard at their jobs in marketing. Jack has man-icures, Jill receives regular collagen injections at a Ballsbridge clinic. Both work out 300 times per week to maintain hard bodies and spend the GDP of a small nation every year on cosmetic enhancements in a bid to disguise their mild lack of natural beauty.

Jack and Jill host regular dinner parties for their assortment of friends with high disposable incomes. Over terrines, they discuss all the important issues of the day, including the US presidential race, war in Iraq, the price of property, the north side south side divide, Barbie v Sindy and holidays on the Amalfi Coast.

But lately, the couple found those staple topics of conversation have begun to dry up. Where once, the price of houses in Navan could fill up at least three hours of post cheesecake chatter, and immigration could fill up a half hour lull, lately, there seems nothing left to say.

Even the latest David McWilliams acronym; WCWNI (wanky cunts with no imagination) only holds court for a brief 10 minute interlude between courses.

Not quite ready to breed, and certainly not thinking of marriage just yet (Luttrelstown isn’t available until 2015) Jack and Jill are forced to do something really crazy to bring another talking point to the table.

So the cunts go to Superquinn and pay Eur45 for a bottle of…….WATER…….

Superquinn say they are happy with the response they’ve had since they began selling Bling, according to beverage buyer John McLennan. “We’ve had a fairly positive reaction. We’ve sold six bottles so far,” he told Herald.ie. “Most people buy it for the fun content.” “They buy it for the craic, to have with friends around the dinner table. It’s a real talking point.”

What the fuck does this water do? Cure AIDS? Make your tits grow? Recession my hole.

What a bunch of wankers

No, I lie, I lie, I secretly love the Rose of Tralee even though it offends all my instincts. I warmed to the contest following a reluctant work assignment where I had to cover the fucking thing. Three days of booze and dancing in Tralee later and I was converted, even mildly emotionally attached.

So let me be the voice of authority and give you my quick Rose round-up.

The good

Tipp Rose: Bit of a ride isn’t she? I hope that’s not too photoshopped and in real life she looks like an old hag.

Cork Rose: She may be doing a Bergdorf Blonde but this Corkie is pure Oireland. Even though she speaks German. Heil!

Dublin Rose: Winsome? Check. Nice bone stucture? Check. Works with retards? Check.

London Rose: Addin some FLAVA! Hurrah!

The Middlin’

South Australia Rose: Points for being all natural, points off for being all natural. Points for having healthy looking hair. Let’s hope she has some kick ass talent.

Coventry Rose: The poor cow should get a prize for living in Coventry at least. The place makes Milton Keynes look like Paris in springtime.

New Zealand Rose: While her presentation is excellent, I am deeply suspicious of the side profile and believe her nose to be the size of the Franz Josef glazier.

Philadelphia Rose: I mean, she’s alright, but looks far too fucking chipper for my liking..

Toronto Rose: OMYGAAAD TEEEETH! HAIR! TEETH HAIR!

The WhatTheFuck

Southern California Rose: Slow turn out for the SC heats this year eh?

Liverpool Rose: Why?

Boston Rose: Representing the preppy chinny section

Sydney Rose: Maybe the dingo took your tweezers?

Special award for the most porn star looking Rose

Luxemborg Rose

Special award for the most photoshopped Rose profile photo

Kerry Rose

The Rose of Tralee takes place from Fri 22 to Tue 26 August.

Your typical mouthy cow from Cavan

Roll over Miss Ireland it is time for Moos Ireland- a beauty contest for cows…

Though, given the state of the women in Cavan, I’d wager the cows are far prettier..

Zookeepers in Jerusalem solved this crippled tortoise’s mobility issues. The creature is fitted with a wheelchair attached to its back legs and fastened to its body with some fetching blue straps.

Fantastic

Congratulations are in order for my dear old mam who today learned she will be attending a very prestigious university to study English as a dorty mature student. I have banned her from attending Fresher’s Week.

Congratulations mammy, you’re deadly.

A story in parts in the style of acclaimed author, Amanda Brunker..

Sharon Rasher couldn’t believe her black-rimmed eyes.

Her best friend and co-worker at Spice Burger, Sandra Sausage, was mopping some kid’s vomit off the floor and was smiling broadly as she swirled it around the grubby tiles.

“Sandra, you fuckin’ hate cleanin’ puke, what de fuck has made ye so fuckin’ happy wha?” quizzed Sharon, quizzically.

Sandra jumped, looked up sharply at Sharon and licked her lips hastily.

“Ehhh, fuckin’….eh…just in a fuckin’good mood ya know. It’s not bleedin illegal is ih?”

“Yeah, what de bleedin ever love. I know dat look, ye got a bleedin roide so ye did. Come on, spill de beans wha..was it Freddie Frankfurter? I saw de way he was lookin’ at ye in Coppers at de weekend…”

“NO….um, I mean, no, I didn’t get me hole at all. I just tink I woke up happy ya know.”

“Yeah, whatever love, ye can tell me all de ins and outs at lunch time wha.”

The rest of the morning at Spice Burger, Blanchardstown’s premier fast food venue, passed uneventfully. Maggie Mash, the third wheel of the friendship trio had the day off to have a STD test after some alarming genital itching following her night of passion with a Trainee Garda in Templemore.

But it was only moderately busy, so the two girls were more than able to handle the customers, apart from the puking child, who ate three breakfast rolls and a large milkshake while his mam talked loudly on her mobile.

It was no wonder the kid chundered, thought Sharon. He made a fuckin’ pig of himself.

The night out in Coppers had been bitter-sweet. Nursing a broken heart after Pat Parsnips marched off with a fuckin foreidn national, Sharon tried to lose herself in the pop music and even mooched with a culchie from Buncrana wearing a GAA jersey in the smoking room.

But it wasn’t enough to stop her thinking of Pat’s broad chest and manly hands, which only days before, had been probing her fanny with more dedication than mulder and scully on an X-files case.

“I must stop tinkin’ about him,” thought Sharon to herself while she turned over some sausages on the display cabinet to disguise the dried up bits and stirred the congealing beans.

“He’s only a fuckin’ wankor,” she concluded.

And just when she needed her best friend, Sandra had seemed a bit ‘off’ with her. Sharon hoped she wasn’t boring the tits off her best mates by talking about Pat all the time, but when she tried to bring him into the conversation on their fag break, Sandra went quiet and then asked her to stop talking about him because she had heard enough.

 ”I wouldn’t mind,” mused Sharon. “Buh when she let Gavin Gravy do her up de asshole and den he never wanted to see her again I was fuckin der for hore.”

With that, Sharon stubbed out her John Player Blue, put her apron back on with a heavy sigh and reluctantly went back to finish the last two long hours of her shift.

Will Sharon find out Sandra rode de hole off Pat? Will Maggie Mash cure her Gee Rot with a course of antibiotics? Will Fingal County Council address the flooding issues affecting large parts of Dublin 15? Find out….soon…….

Are there degrees of singleness? Can you be very single? A bit single? Moderately single? Or is it an absolute state? The thought came to me when examining the life of Blossom*, a 30-something woman who gives off more than a slight whiff of resolute and miserable aloneness. I compare her to Daisy* another 30-odder who holds the same badge of honour, but seems less….so. Perhaps because Daisy is quite chirpy and good natured in a pink-cheeked kind of way, while Blossom desperately needs to buy some blusher and maybe a sunnier disposition while she’s at it. Now I’m making the dreadful assumption that very single means miserable while mildly single means chirpy. But let me try and justify it: I somehow equate being very miserably single as very single, because it would appear one’s status holds bigger sway over one’s happiness than someone who is more comfortable being alone, sees romantic attachments as less important and by the same virtue, less single.

Confused? Yes, me too. I confuse myself quite frequently.

Daisy lives her life right in the here and now. She loves the simple things and takes delight in them. She gets attention from everyone.

I’m biased, however, because I strongly dislike Blossom. I think she either was a: bullied at school or b: the school bully. Either way, she’s a nasty piece of work who has jaw-dropping lack of judgment and impropriety. Despite her advancing years, she goes on the way I did when I was 18: “OHMYGOD I was sooooo drunk and my friend Fanny fell in a fountain” at that is the least of it. Blossom also carries her damaged soul around in this bony carcass with veiny arms and feet and flat tits which I imagine (ick) are all nipple. Even though she has bones you could slice ham on, clothes look dreadful hanging on her hunched shoulders. (FYI If I was a man or a lesbian, I’d totally want a nice big round pair of baps and a squishy arse to wrap myself around.) She gives off the air of being terribly miserable and terribly single.

Blossom looks way older than her years. Deep lines snake around her sickly pallor which at least give you something to focus on when she tells another one of her tedious anecdotes which invariably end in: “and then we all done tequila slammers and it was sooo much fun”.

She goes on multiple first dates, but never a second. I wonder what she tells them, over dinner or drinks, to make them run for the hills. I doubt she would come in too fast, like Jennifer Aniston, and mention babies, because you know, she’s so damn cool. Or maybe it’s because she thinks she’s so damn cool, when the reality couldn’t be further from the truth: she’s washed up before her time and bitter with it. Nothing cool about that my friends.

My status: Moderately single.

Lorna herself has responded to the dubious nature of the original story and also, There is no mention of a big advance in the original press release of Lorna Page’s book A Dangerous Weakness, the attached news story causing a maelstrom of attention and speculation on this blog and elsewhere. Ms Page’s daughter-in-law has just come forward to address the confusion surrounding the “big advance” from a Vanity publisher: Enjoy.

First Novel at 93

LONDON, June 26 /PRNewswire/ — A 93-year-old woman is having her first novel published and with the book’s proceeds plans to buy a large house in Devon so she can give a real home to some of her friends who are currently in nursing homes. Lorna Page of Surrey says: “I started writing as soon as I could hold a pencil; fairy stories, poetry, short stories, and now my novel, a who-done-it. Seems I’ve been writing for a hundred years and that’s practically true!”

During the Second World War Ms. Page helped to organize the local branch of the Women’s Junior Air Corps, sewing the uniforms herself. She stayed one lesson ahead of the class she taught in Morse code, and drilled and marched the young cadets around the village lanes, while rearing two children in a cottage with no electricity or running water, “where rats ran through the thatch overhead”. She says she was one of the lucky ones to have a house at all. During that period her writing took her away from the everyday life of bomb shelters, gas masks, and air raid sirens.

Ms. Page’s book A Dangerous Weakness is being published by AuthorHouse this July. It begins when Marion Hemming accepts an invitation to spend the Christmas holidays in Switzerland with an old classmate from her boarding school days, and is on the brink of doubting her marriage. She never suspects that the seemingly innocent invitation is part of her husband’s plan to involve her in a bitter power struggle which includes unanticipated treachery and leads her into uncertain partnerships and liaisons. From a luxurious, forbidding house in the Swiss mountains to London’s room eleven on the eleventh floor of a hotel, A Dangerous Weakness catches Marion up in a chase which brings her full-circle to the realities of love and one woman’s strength.

Lorna Page is busy at work on her next book, a collection of short stories. “After all,” she says, “I have to buy a jolly big house for all the friends I have who are alone and need a home.” A signed copy of A Dangerous Weakness can be ordered directly from the author at lornapage@gmail.com or is available from your local bookshop.

Ms.Page is available for interview.

    Contact information:
    Cate Allen
    tel: +44(0)7964-555-216
    lornapage@gmail.com

Distributed by PR Newswire on behalf of Lorna Page