Seamus' wedding

When you tell someone that you’re going to a wedding in Ireland their immediate response always seems to be something along the lines of, “I bet there’ll be plenty of drinking.” However, such a prejudiced (dare I say borderline racist) comment does not do justice to the whole wedding experience we enjoyed last weekend.

We laughed, we danced we chanced upon the Miss Mayo beauty contest and we met up with relatives we hadn’t seen for decades. I was actually told that I hadn’t changed a bit in ten years; - good old ‘Just for Men’. Gill and I even walked into the middle of a political rally held by the leader of the opposition in the Irish parliament (it’s a guy called Enda Kenny if you’re interested). At one point we were trapped directly behind him while he went around pressing the flesh. We couldn’t get by because of the crowds and we were so well dressed for the wedding I think people just thought we were part of the entourage. As a result me and the missus must have turned up in the backgroundof numerous photos and news bulletins bewildered and grinning like goons.

The wedding itself was beautiful and we were even early for once. My first cousin had decided to tie the knot with his long time girlfriend at the cathedral at Ballina. The cathedral looked lovely and all the singing was performed excellently by one soloist. After the ceremony we moved en masse to the Downhill hotel for the rest of the festivities. The actual meal was delayed slightly while the groom watched the cup final. It will come as no surprise to learn that Gill met someone she knew; this time it was a girl she'd done teacher training with (how does this keep happening?). There was a little mix up with places and tables but the meal and the speeches were first rate. Afterwards there was a show band followed by a disco accompanied by the requisite amount of yeehahing.

So when the next person comments that because the wedding was in Ireland it must have been some kind of alcohol soaked ho down I’ll point out all of the above. I suppose I could also mention the fact that it didn’t end until five in the morning and the bar was still open even then.

Kafka'ish'

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. No doubt the last remnants of humanity had been sucked out of him by sustained exposure to feckless call centre operatives.

You see dear reader, I am writing this from from home for the first time having finally been connected to broadband. However, this is a cautionary tale such was the Herculean effort it took to get through the hoary tendrils of bureaucracy and incompetence.

To get the best deal (or so I thought) I signed up for a new phone and free broadband. The phone, since you ask, is proper nice and everything in that department was quickly and efficiently sorted. So far so good. Yet when I tried to get broadband I was told it was not possible as there was already an account set up on the line. Now this was news to me since I'd set up the phone line when I moved in and to the best of my knowledge there were no nocturnal hackers sneaking into the house to use my phone line after lights out. Still when I suggested they get rid of it I was told they couldn't as they hadn't set it up. I felt like John Hurt unwittingly letting the Alien incubate inside his stomach. It was suggested I ring BT and ask them to find out who put the account on the line and to sort it out. Now I don't want to go all 'That's Life' so to stop Esther Rantzen appearing with a funny shaped carrot I'll cut out the constant backward and forwarding between phone companies. In the end some Yorkshire pudding at my new provider suggested (after keeping me on hold for twenty minutes) that I should ring around all Internet providers on the off chance that it was one of their accounts and ask if they'll remove it from my line. All Internet providers!!! Can you imagine.

When I eventually did get connected I was sent a letter to inform me of such. I was told that I would need a password to log on and that this would be sent to my new email account. The flaw in this particular plan being; how was I supposed to read the email if I couldn't get on the Internet? At least the next call centre bod had the decency to laugh at my predicament. Weeks later the necessary equipment turned up but true to form I found it didn't work. I then spent the child's college fund calling a premium helpline in India but to no avail. Despite hemorrhaging money like a crack addict, my friends from the sub continent could do nothing to ease my frustration. Finally I took the laptop to work and asked the IT technician to have a go at it. Incredibly and without cost he got everything sorted so, after my labyrinthine ordeal, I finally have broadband at home. I suppose it could be described as Kafkaesque in the style of 'Before the Law' but I always preferred his weird animal stories about talking apes and horses studying law anyway. Maybe my tale should end up with the people at the call centre turning out to be jackals chancing their arm with another ignorant northerner. But they weren't jackals of course; they were ****s.