<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175</id><updated>2011-11-27T23:18:48.272Z</updated><title type='text'>Que sera, sera</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>34</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-801974481027727697</id><published>2010-02-14T17:31:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-02-14T20:42:24.514Z</updated><title type='text'>Not Enough Hours In The Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Hola Amigo's! Thing's have been pretty quiet around here of late. January was a complete whirlwind of turmoil for me and the month just flew by. I returned to my voluntary job after the Christmas break and all was well with the world. I loved that job. Loved the people. Loved the work. Loved the organisation. Love the public sector. But alas, my time there was up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at home one day early January and I received an email completely out of the blue. It was from a HR guy in a company asking me if I would be interested in a position with the company. I was a bit dubious about the email as I hadn't applied for a job there and I was far too inexperienced to be head hunted. After a while I replied with an updated copy of my CV and I received a phone call from the HR Business Partner inviting me to interview the following day. I thought nothing of it as I have had several interview over the past few years and nothing has come of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off I trotted to the interview and it all went very well. It felt very relaxed and more of an informal chat really. A week passed and I was called to a second interview. At that second interview I was offered the job. Sure I was delighted to have finally found a paying job. They agreed to pay the salary I had previously had in my old job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I left the public sector, rather upset by that fact, and joined the private sector. I now work for a construction company and it's going well so far. The working week is rather long and the hours aren't particularly nice but the experience will be good. And the public sector said they'll take me back when they are allowed to recruit again so woo for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I just have to live with the fear of going to work one morning and being told I have to go to one of the foreign sites for a few weeks. Eek. Would not be a fan of that now but what can ya do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately this new job means I now have less time on my hands as I am trying to squeeze in having a life after work as well as working a 39 hour week minimum. So the blog has had to suffer. Not that it was all that great to begin with! Ha! But I will try my best to keep it up dated. I promise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the mean time, please have a look at this &lt;a href="http://whoopsadaisy.wordpress.com/2010/02/12/poor-oul-valentinus/"&gt;blog post&lt;/a&gt; about St. Valentine. It's wonderfully written and you'll learn something you probably didn't know before.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-801974481027727697?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/801974481027727697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2010/02/not-enough-hours-in-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/801974481027727697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/801974481027727697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2010/02/not-enough-hours-in-day.html' title='Not Enough Hours In The Day'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-7143172182937895630</id><published>2010-01-15T21:31:00.003Z</published><updated>2010-01-15T21:48:55.290Z</updated><title type='text'>Ring The Alarm and I'm Throwing Elbows</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Howdy doodle folks? It's time for me to have a little whine, quelle surprise I hear you say! I promise it'll only be a short one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my mobile phone. I couldn't live without it. But I'm not all that into keeping up with the latest trend and getting the latest snazzy phone every 6 months. My last phone lasted me for about 3/4 years till it finally gave up so I replaced it in August 2008. I don't really go looking for the best features in a phone, I just go on the one that I like the look of the most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I got a Nokia E51. Now it does way more than I thought it would. Like Microsoft Word and Excel are on it along with Adobe PDF. AND it has a WLAN. That has been the most deadliest thing ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here comes the problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I use my phone as an alarm. As many people do. With all my previous phones, I just set the alarm the night before. It went off the following morning and I turned it off straight away. No problem. But lads. This new super duper phone is just too clever for it's own good. And it's been bugging me now for the past 1.5 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Picture this. I'm in my lovely, sexy boxers in my bedroom, (Calm yourselves now), and I have my phone in my hand setting my alarm for the morning. I punch in the time I want it to go off at and then I press ok. And then it happens. I get that sinking feeling. A real pang of sadness. It's not that I have to get up at say 7.30 in the morning. That's not the problem, oh no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ladies and gentlemen, the problem is that when I press ok on the phone a message pops up on the screen and it says "Time Left Until Alarm: 6 Hours and 31 Minutes". I instantly think to myself, "Oh no. Only 6 hours and 31 minutes of sleep. And then I have to take out 30 mins while I'm trying to go asleep and the few times I wake up during the night...so that'll leave me with about 5 hours of sleep".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lads, it's just not fair. Why did they have to do that? Shame on you Nokia. Shame on you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I am just nit picking now cos I'm trying to justify buying an iPhone. I wonder what happens when you set the alarm on that?.........hmmmmm............&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-7143172182937895630?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/7143172182937895630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2010/01/ring-alarm-and-im-throwing-elbows.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/7143172182937895630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/7143172182937895630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2010/01/ring-alarm-and-im-throwing-elbows.html' title='Ring The Alarm and I&apos;m Throwing Elbows'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-3456939913166136184</id><published>2010-01-11T13:01:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-01-11T13:21:10.755Z</updated><title type='text'>Snow, Snow, Go Away, Don't Come Again Another Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Years ago when it snowed it seemed fantastic. It snowed out of the blue one day. It was gone the next day. We all got a day off school for it and life went on. Now, however, is a different story. We have had this cold, icey, snowy weather for near on 3/4 weeks. I think its high time that it fecked off to Florida for itself, or the like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my family we seem to have an awful fascination with "breaking a hip". It started two years ago when my grandmother broke her hip. Within six months my aunt had broken her hip. The recovery period for a broken hip can be anything up to twelve months. So having seen the slow and needing recovery of someone with a hip replacement, it's a wonder that none of us want to see another hip being broken within the family, or anyone's for that matter!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now what do you think has been said most often over the past few weeks? "Mind you don't fall and break a hip." It probably started in November when the floods came. The roads and pathways were all slippy and covered under amounts of water. Getting in/out of the car, setting foot on a footpath, walking in/out of the house, basically anything that involved putting your foot on any surface was met with the words "Mind you don't fall and break a hip".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This phenomenon only got even more and more used over the Christmas period. Firstly it was cos of the ice. Then it was black ice. Then it was snow. And now it's slush.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am only in my 20's and for some reason I am even petrified of breaking my hip. I have already had one or two falls in the past few weeks but nothing serious, thankfully. A friend text last week to ask me to go do something. I replied and said "Oh I'd be terrified I'd fall and break my hip" to which he replied "You can't break a hip, you're too young". This rather upset me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I set about explaining why I fear breaking my hip. You can only have two hip replacements in your lifetime. The life span of a replacement is twenty years. So that'd give me forty years of living with a replacement hip before my time is up. Should I break a hip now, I'd be after running out of replacements by the age of 65. Wouldn't that mean I'd be in a wheelchair from the age of retirement? Oh the fear. Of course, my friend just thinks I am a little crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I met another friend last week for lunch. It was one of the worst day's of the week, ice wise. We were walking into the hotel bar and outside was a little ramp up the path. I said "There is no way that I am walking up that ramp. It looks skatey girl. One foot on that now and sure I'd end up on me arse with a broken hip, no doubt". This was met with howls of laughter. So I proceeded to walk on the gravel flower bed at the side of the path.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inside the hotel my friend told me "You're too young to break a hip". I protested and told her the story of the replacement's and how my grandmother and aunt broke their hips to which my friend said, "Your granny is old so her bone's are brittle. Your aunt is menopausal so her bone's are weakened. You are neither of those". While they are all very valid points I am still having none of it. Accidents can happen and you never know what the outcome of a bad fall will be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, people, "&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mind you don't fall and break a hip&lt;/span&gt;!!". I think I might get some t-shirts printed with those words on it....any buyers? Two for a fiver.... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-3456939913166136184?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/3456939913166136184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2010/01/snow-snow-go-away-dont-come-again.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/3456939913166136184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/3456939913166136184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2010/01/snow-snow-go-away-dont-come-again.html' title='Snow, Snow, Go Away, Don&apos;t Come Again Another Day'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-4749600001084698609</id><published>2010-01-03T17:02:00.002Z</published><updated>2010-01-03T17:21:34.108Z</updated><title type='text'>Me, Myself and The Birds</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;The Wednesday before Christmas was my first day of my Christmas holidays from work. I was sitting at home in the kitchen eating my lunch and looking out the window into the garden. It was so beautiful and so cold. It looked like it had been snowing but of course, as you know, the frost had been so severe that most of Ireland looked like it had been buried beneath a blanket of snow. The I noticed the birds where in the frozen grass and they desperately trying to dig down for worms and sure the ground was frozen solid. And then it happened. Bang came the pang of guilt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched them for a while as they &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;desperately&lt;/span&gt; tried to get something to eat so I eventually gave in and took some bread from the press, ripped it up and threw it on the path at the rear of the house. I then went off to the shop to get myself a hot chicken roll from the deli counter as I was just totally starved, just like the birds! I was only gone for five minutes and when I got back all the bread had been eaten and the smaller birds were now around looking for crumbs. Sure god love em like. I had done something but it wasn't enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided I'd go back down to the shop and buy one of them bird feeder things that you hang from the tree. It cost €2.40 or thereabouts. I then had to buy a bag of nuts for the birds which cost around €13! Now don't get me wrong, I wanted to feed the birds till they got over this frozen spell but €13 was a bit steep. Anyway I stumped up the cash and trotted home merrily in the knowledge that the poor &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;lil&lt;/span&gt; birdies would now be fed till the ground softens so they can pick out the worms or whatever else they eat!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I filled up the bird feeder and hung it on the tree. Now it was dusk as I did this so it'd be the morning before they got a chance to taste the delights that awaited them on my tree. When I got up the following morning the tree was bursting with birds and they were munching uncontrollably through the nuts. I was going to shoo them away cos I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;didn't&lt;/span&gt; want them to get fat but then I thought to myself that maybe they were really hungry after the past few days so I let them to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to fill it up again the next day. And the next day. And the next. These birds were starting to annoy me. How greedy can they be? And it's not as if I even like them feathered things. I'm actually petrified of em. If one flew near me I would actually die. Like actually die! My heart races when they are on the footpath near me. But I'd hate to see them hungry and suffering. See aren't I just a softy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well lads, I got up yesterday morning and the bird feeder was lying flat on the ground and they were literally gobbing food into them. So out I went in my pyjamas and shooed em away and I went to put it back up on the tree. And wouldn't you know they had gone and broken it. Out with the glue and I glued it up and then I stuck it back up on the tree. Got up this morning and they had knocked it off again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These birds are really testing my patience. See at first I thought that they'd be starving and could do with some lovely food to keep them alive. But oh no, they like need food, and lots of it, everyday. AND it's costing me a small fortune to keep them in food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What started out as me being the good Samaritan is now going to result in me being a hard and cruel b*&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;stard&lt;/span&gt;! Anyone see my shotgun? Joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-4749600001084698609?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/4749600001084698609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2010/01/me-myself-and-birds.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/4749600001084698609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/4749600001084698609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2010/01/me-myself-and-birds.html' title='Me, Myself and The Birds'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-8455529159017924759</id><published>2009-12-31T15:56:00.004Z</published><updated>2009-12-31T16:20:58.226Z</updated><title type='text'>Painting The Town Red</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I went out last Sunday night. Why should I care I hear you ask. Well you see, for me to go out, takes an awful lot these days. Mostly because money is so bloomin' tight that I literally cannot afford to get in the mouldies in a pub or club. So I made myself look even sexier than I usually do and I headed into town to meet my friends. It was actually a pretty crap night. We went to a few different pubs and all that was there were middle aged men with beer guts. Like EVERYWHERE. Suppose we should have gone out on St. Stephens Night but we were all just exhausted and stuffed with food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ended up in a "gay friendly" bar. I have been there once or twice before and never really enjoyed it. But these days it's the place to go for all. There usually is more straight people there than gay's but what the hey off we went. The girls I was with ordered a bottle of presecco and we succeeded to down that between us all fairly rapidly. Just before I was finished mine I got a text from another friend asking me where I was as I hadn't seen him in ages and said we'd meet for a scoop that night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the bar and ordered another bottle of presecco and as I was waiting for the bar man to bring me the bottle my friend (who texted a few moments earlier) was standing beside me and chatting away. So we were having the well like. Chatting away goodo. So I said I better get back with the drink or I'd be murdered like and I'd bump into him later. And with that, I felt a hand on my ass. Now a hand on my ass is fine. I have no problem with it normally. BUT this hand was not placed on the outside of my jeans. Oh no. It was inside my jeans! So I was like squirming trying to get his hand out of my jeans and trying to not drop this bottle of presecco. He goes "Wha?" And he acting all innocent. So I said "Stop it now. You're embarrassing me". See it wasn't as if the bar was a dark and dingy one. Far from it. It was bright as daylight in there so all could see. Scarleh wasn't the word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back to the table and told the gang about my being mauled at the bar. Sure they thought it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. The fuckers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a while, a fella came up to one of my friends and started talking to her. He was bending down to her so hadn't a clue who he was. I was fairly well oiled at this stage so I was kinda not noticing things as much as you do when your sober. After probably ten minutes I noticed a hand outstretched in front of my face......followed the hand up the arm, across the shoulder and to the face. Sure it was only my friends ex who we had first met in Dingle during the summer. Now talk about a hottie. We were mad about him then and I had a few suspicions but said nothing. So I got a big handshake and nobody else did. Then another friend procedded to put out her hand for an aul shake from the hot guy. Well what ensued after that was possibly the most mortifying thing that I have done whilst drunk in many years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Myself and the other friend who got both our hands shaken by the hot ex of our other friend started to giggle and whisper about how he looked even hotter than he did in the summer and here he was  in a gay bar. THEN my friend goes to me, "He touched me more when he shook my hand". To which I kinda shouted "He did not. He gave me a double handshake". This went on for the rest of the time that the hot guy was standing there talking to his ex and it also continued on for the rest of the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now if this wasn't embarrassing enough, see he may have just thought we were on about something else, his ex went and told him what we were saying. Well if the ground didn't open up and swallow me it never would. Talk about morto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the upside, he just accepted my friend request on Facebook. Watch this space....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BTW I don't particulary like New Years time of year. I find it blasé and uber depressing so I tend to just ignore it but...Happy New Year folks! All the best for 2010!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-8455529159017924759?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/8455529159017924759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/12/painting-town-red.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8455529159017924759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8455529159017924759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/12/painting-town-red.html' title='Painting The Town Red'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-2775832798811622737</id><published>2009-12-15T11:12:00.002Z</published><updated>2009-12-15T11:33:51.213Z</updated><title type='text'>Oh How We Laughed</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I headed into town yesterday to finish off my Christmas shopping. And I got it all done successfully and now I have all my Christmas presents bought I can sit back and relax and enjoy the run up to Christmas. First year I have ever been organised so early!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday was an extremely funny day. I don't think I have laughed so much in an age.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a big pedestrianised area in the middle of town. There are shops surrounding the square and several different streets lead onto the square so it's always rather busy. There were a good few people about doing their Christmas shopping and quiet a few mothers with their children around the place too. I saw this little boy running along beside his mammy and he had a balloon tied around his wrist. I reckon he was only about two or three years old. He was punching the balloon with the hand it was tied too so it was bouncing back at him and he'd punch it again. This was not the funny part. He kept punching it and punching it and each time to balloon bounced back once it could go no further. Then he gave it a really big punch and lo and behold it burst. Now I even jumped with fright I got from the bang of it bursting. And the square is rather sparse so that made it even louder and the echo was fantastic. Well the child got such a fright he fell backwards and he screamed crying. This is when I started to laugh. His mother picked him up and carried on walking with the child screaming. And then he did something that made me laugh even more. He was looking at the ribbon tied around his wrist and the withered balloon hanging off the end of it. What did he do? He tried to punch it and sure god love em he hadn't a hope cos the balloon was just trailing along the ground. Oh the hilarity of it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was in a department store and a lady, probably in her fifties I reckon, was about to climb the stairs. Well if she did, she missed her footing on the first step and went flying forward. Bags akimbo and her two hands outstretched to save herself she landed on all fours half way up the stairs. And you know it's the moments when you are not supposed to laugh that are the funniest. She looked like a toddler trying to negotiate a stairs for the first time coupled with shopping bags galore. How could you not laugh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then yesterday evening I was babysitting my niece for an hour or so. She is only 16 months so she is exploring everything at the moment and she had great fun running around the house and disrupting my Christmas decorations. I was getting her ready to go home and I put her coat on her and left her continue on her investigating. Then I had her teddy bear whom she cannot go asleep without - I didn't want her to forget it! So I decided I'd put the teddy bear into her hood for the few minutes before she was picked up. Well lads, the funniest thing happened. After a while she was turning around to gibberish at me and she saw the teddy in her hood. She plopped down onto the floor and immediately started turning around on her arse with her hand back over her shoulder trying to get the teddy. The exact same as a dog chasing it's tail. I nearly wet myself with the laughing. The more I laughed the more frustrated she got. I left her like that for about ten minutes. Just for pig iron.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then last night I tuned into the final of The Apprentice on TV3. Now you all know what I am going to say about this one so I shall say no more except for this, Michelle Heaton. It nearly finished me off. Especially when you can hear her thump of the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="500" height="405"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QeGIMwgm_Zc&amp;amp;hl=en_GB&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;amp;color2=0x999999&amp;amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QeGIMwgm_Zc&amp;amp;hl=en_GB&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;amp;color2=0x999999&amp;amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Oh how we laughed!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-2775832798811622737?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/2775832798811622737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/12/oh-how-we-laughed.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/2775832798811622737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/2775832798811622737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/12/oh-how-we-laughed.html' title='Oh How We Laughed'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-900170157452276867</id><published>2009-12-13T13:14:00.002Z</published><updated>2009-12-13T13:46:44.215Z</updated><title type='text'>My Annus Horribilis</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;As the Queen of England once said in a speech, "1992 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure. In the words of one of my more sympathetic correspondents, it has turned out to be an &lt;i&gt;Annus Horribilis&lt;/i&gt;." Yes, I too, have had an Annus Horribilis. 2009 has by far been the worst year of my life, in all my 25 years of living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have learned one very important trait about myself this past year. I discovered something that I never knew I had. And I am grateful for that discovery. This year has shown the amount of inner strength that I possess. It had been lying there dormant for many years and it finally reared it's head just when it was absolutely needed. Without this inner strength I fear what might have become of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost 12 months ago, the day before Christmas Eve in fact, I was in work and I was called into the managers office. I had been working on a maternity cover contract for the previous nine months and the lady who was on maternity leave decided not to come back to her job as the manager was making life way too difficult for her to be a mother and an employee. So I assumed I had the job for keeps. I was wrong. The meeting turned into a bit of an argument and before I went home that evening I cleaned out my desk and went out on sick certs for the remaining 3 weeks of my contract.  I was better than that job. Best thing I ever did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;St. Stephens Day arrived and I got the most acute form of tonsillitis that ever existed. I was actually sick for about 6 weeks with it. Eugh. It really knocked me to the floor and zapped me of any energy or fight that I had left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Years Eve came. I usually hate New Years Eve. It's not a particular time of year that I enjoy. I couldn't care less if I was in bed asleep for midnight. I much prefer Christmas. Anyway, the phone rang about 10pm that night and it was news to say that my Great-Aunt had passed away at 93 years of age. I was particularly upset by this as she was very nice and very close to my mother and grand-mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three weeks into January another phone call came. My grand-fathers last surviving sibling had died after a lengthy battle with cancer. Another funeral to go to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After this, my grand-father himself started to deteriorate rapidly. A sufferer of Alzheimers for several years had taken it's toll on him. Meanwhile I was applying for every job I could find but to no avail. Money was tight. Social life had gone out the window. Everything seemed dark and dreary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My grand-father eventually passed away the first week in May. A happy release we said. Still didn't make it any easier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June came and my recently bereaved grand-mother called to say her dog had to be put down. You may say oh it's only a dog. It wasn't to her. He was company and a companion and an excuse to go out and talk to people. A little joy came in June with the birth of my cousins first baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought nothing else could go wrong. How much bad luck can one person have? My dad's job went in July. Ha. At this stage all you could do was laugh. It was either that or cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got a brainwave in August. I decided that I couldn't take much more of this sitting around waiting for a job and more importantly I couldn't bare the thoughts of sitting in the house for the entire winter when it's cold and miserable. I needed to get out and do something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought about doing voluntary work with a charity. But I'm not a very charitable person and then how would that benefit me in terms of gaining experience to get a job, eventually. And there it was. My brainwave. Why not approach companies and ask them to take me on, on a voluntary basis, in order to get some experience. I sent out one email to one place in particular. Went in for a meeting with the manager and I got 1.5 days a week work! Still not getting paid for it mind but I LOVE it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I look back now over the last 12 months, I wonder how on earth I kept going. The above events aren't all the bad things that happened throughout the year. There are loads more and I'd be here for the day if I were to list them all off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things are starting to look up about with the last month or two. Let's just hope that 2010 is a much better year for the entire population of Ireland. We can't have another one as bad as 2009 I reckon. One thing is for sure, things can't possibly get any worse. I hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the first time in my life, I am looking forward to the New Year this year. I can't wait for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2009 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure. In the words of one of my more sympathetic correspondents, it has turned out to be an Annus Horribilis!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-900170157452276867?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/900170157452276867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-annus-horribilis.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/900170157452276867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/900170157452276867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-annus-horribilis.html' title='My Annus Horribilis'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-1491562343577323796</id><published>2009-12-02T15:17:00.002Z</published><updated>2009-12-02T15:33:05.275Z</updated><title type='text'>12 Days of Christmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It's that time of year again where the decorations are taken down from the attic! And you know that the Christmas Tree lights from last year won't work and it'll take hours and hours of checking to see which bulb has blown. You finally get them working and set about decorating the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now some people, who shall remain nameless, love to have a house which looks like Santa exploded in it. Every corner is decorated and the house just looks like Santa's grotto. We all know someone like that and let's face it, it's lovely to make such a big effort. And it does look really really well. However, I'm too lazy to do that as that would require putting all the decorations up, looking at them for a few weeks, and then taking them all down again till next year. It's the taking down part that I cannot abide. The effort of it like. I much more of a Christmas Tree and a few other bits around the house sorta guy. Works wonders for me anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also know them type of people who have all their Christmas shopping done by the 1st of November each year. These people make me sick. Sick with jealousy. No matter how much I say I'm going to be better prepared next year, I will still be running around the town like a heifer in heat come next Christmas Eve. Why do I do that to myself? Why? Every year I swear it'll be different. And it's not. I hear people at work and in the shops saying "Oh I only have to get one more present and I have all my shopping done for Christmas". At which point I could just hurl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"&gt;&lt;span class="" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_JustifyFull" title="Justify Full" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 13);ButtonMouseDown(this);"&gt;&lt;img src="img/blank.gif" alt="Justify Full" class="gl_align_full" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do love seeing the town all done up for the festivities, along with offices and schools etc. I think that they really set the mood for a good Christmas. I was working up until Christmas Eve last year (on the day before Christmas Eve I was told I'd be finishing in January) and this was my first and last Christmas in that job (thank God). But there was no Christmas atmosphere in that place. In any other job I had, the place would be buzzing on the run up to Christmas. But not in this shite hole. The boss had nothing on Scrooge. Never in my life have I met one so horrible and cold. But that's a blog post for another day. I made last Christmas a great one in spite of all that happened on the run up to it! Go me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, I'd like to say that I have no Christmas shopping done yet whatsoever and it will stay like this up until the week before Christmas at least. Ha! I shall leave you know with one of my favourite Christmas songs....Enjoy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="500" height="405"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/vboS71GsTcQ&amp;amp;hl=en_GB&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x5d1719&amp;amp;color2=0xcd311b&amp;amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/vboS71GsTcQ&amp;amp;hl=en_GB&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x5d1719&amp;amp;color2=0xcd311b&amp;amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-1491562343577323796?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/1491562343577323796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/12/12-days-of-christmas.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/1491562343577323796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/1491562343577323796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/12/12-days-of-christmas.html' title='12 Days of Christmas'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-6400182149621801303</id><published>2009-11-22T13:43:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-11-22T14:25:23.657Z</updated><title type='text'>My Shopping Adventure</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Last Wednesday evening I had a look inside the fridge and I thought that it looked rather empty. Knowing that the weather was about to take a turn for the worst over the coming days I decided to skip along to the supermarket and buy some essentials and some treats for me too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called my friend and I asked her if she wanted to come with me. Just for the spin like. So I picked her up and we headed to our local superquinn. Now my friend only moved back to Ireland this July having been living in America for the past two years. She was rather amazed at the fact that Superquinn offer a self scan service. You know the one where you swipe your club card and you get a hand held scanner and scan all your own products and pack them away in your shopping bag as you shop? She could not comprehend how they would trust people to scan all the items. I explained that they do random scans every so often. She still couldn't get over it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, we strolled around the aisle's picking items off the shelves and scanning them and putting them in my shopping bags. I had the usual stuff, pasta, carbonarra sauce, flour, raisins, bread, lettuce, onions, lemonade, coke, etc. I had them all packed away neatly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went up to the superscan till and paid for my shopping and left the store. When we had enetered the supermarket at about 6.30PM there was no wind or rain. It was a pleasent enough night. But when we were leaving at just after 7.00PM the wind had really picked up and the rain was belting. So my friend, being the girl that she is, ran to the car screaming that her hair was getting wet. I was left pushing a trolley over to my car and I got soaked in the process. Off I was trotting to the car when a big gust of wind came.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next events all happened in slow motion. I had a newspaper under my arm. I had both hands firmly gripped to the trolley. I looked down at my shopping. I had placed a head of lettuce on top of one of the bags so it wouldn't get squashed. I was just putting my hand out to push it down a bit when the gust of wind came and blew it out of the trolley. It was gone like a rocket hurtling across the car park. I could hear my friend laughing in the car. Bitch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I chucked the rest of the shopping into the boot and my friend was saying to leave the lettuce. I couldn't. I needed it for my lunch the next day. At this stage the lettuce was gone half way across the car park and it was still rolling. I chucked the trolley back into the trolley bay and ran after my lettuce.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I battled the wind and the rain. It was trying to beat me back and it nearly succeeded but I wasn't going to let it beat me. I had to get my lettuce. It had travelled for nearly a mile. Well it felt like a mile. I eventually caught up with it. It was under a parked car. Right behind the mud flap. Grabbed it and ran back to the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was soaked to the skin. My friend was saying I was mad. It's a head of lettuce. You could have bought another one tomorrow, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I NEED IT FOR MY LUNCH TOMORROW&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-6400182149621801303?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/6400182149621801303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-shopping-adventure.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/6400182149621801303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/6400182149621801303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-shopping-adventure.html' title='My Shopping Adventure'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-4376216612314221724</id><published>2009-11-17T13:10:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-11-17T13:40:30.821Z</updated><title type='text'>FML</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Alrighty then folks. This is gonna be a long one. Pull up a seat and get yourself come coffee. Get comfy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's only 1PM and today is already turning out to be the worst day of my life. I got a letter last week from the dole office stating I had to attend the Local Employment Office to discuss my employment opportunities, CV layout, training courses, etc. It's a standard thing so that wasn't a problem. My appointment was for 10.30 this morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got up at 8.30 to get ready and do a few other bits and pieces. Had my breakfast. And then I went to shave myself so I'd be looking all respectable for the Local Employment Officer. I dropped my razor and broke the thingy that holds the blade onto the razor itself. Couldn't shave myself so I had to go scruffy looking but at least I was showered and smelling lovely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I decided that I would print off my CV to bring it with me. Just in case they wanted to look at it. When I got to the printer the only paper that was in it was pink. A pink CV? I think not. I decided to print it out just to have it in case they asked. I broke the printer. No CV. Not even a pink one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left the house and stopped at the post office on the way to pick up my wages for the week.  I went and got diesel in my car. Filled it up and when I took the nozzle out of the car a few drops of diesel blew off in the wind and straight onto my jeans. Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally made it to the retail park where the Local Employment Office is located. Then I realised that I forgot the letter that they had sent me. I probably didn't need it anyway but I'd liked to have had it. I looked around the retail park and couldn't see the office anywhere. So then I was wondering if there was anything else on the letter...another name perhaps...or a unit number..anything. Tried to remember what was written on it but I couldn't. I whipped out my mobile and went on the mobile internet and googled the Local Employment Office. Guess what? It wasn't called the Local Employment Office. It was called Obair. How in the name of god was I supposed to find it based on the information given to me in the letter from the dole office. Saps the lot of em.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went in and was handed a form which already had some of my information printed on it and the lady in reception told me to go to the waiting room and fill in the additional details on the form. I was eventually seen by another lady at 10.50am. She looked at my form and said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"So.....accounting...there is not much jobs in that at the moment. Now two jobs are there this morning.  One is receptionist/bookkeeper and a bit of payroll." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I don't have payroll. I am considering doing a course in payroll soon but the cost is too much for me to afford."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Ok. Well there is another job here for a secretary/office admin. Doing things like answering phone, data input, deal with international clients etc. They want someone with a good look. You have a good look."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I suppose I would consider it anyway - based on my good look of course!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I'll print that off for ya outside in reception"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Grand. now look into a payroll course and I'll see will the DSFA give ya some money towards it"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Yeah grand I'll email ya later"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Bye"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that was that. Less that 10 minutes later I was out in the car park thinking what a waste of time that was. Since it was early and I was in town I decided I'd make a run to Penneys and see what their slankets look like and also have a look at some gloves for myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I parked up and went into Penneys. It was a lovely bright sunny day. Had a quick little browse around and it was lovely and quiet in there. No mothers and buggies and clothes strewn all over the floor. Makes a change. Anyway, I wasn't at all impressed with the slankets or the gloves so I went back to my car. Now my car wasn't parked too far away but half away to the car park the heavens opened. It was the heaviest shower I have ever seen. And I was stuck in the middle of it with nowhere to hide. I got soaked. Soaked to the skin. My coat was so wet that the steering wheel, gear stick, hand brake and seat were all soaking wet too. I went straight home to change into dry clothes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to post off a copy of my drivers licence and proof of my address to my car insurance company so I decided I'd do that. Put it all in an envelope and then I remembered I had a stamp somewhere that I could use. The sticky was gone off it so I decided I'd put some gloy gum on it and stick it to the envelope. Big mistake. The gloy gum was all after closing up the applicator thingy so I decided to take the lid off. Oops. It went everywhere. Fingers. Kitchen table, work top, phone, laptop and all over the envelope. I should have paid more attention to Make &amp;amp; Do all them years ago on RTE2.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I eventually cleaned up all the gloy gum and went off to the post office to post my letter. I put the letter on the passenger seat and when I went around the roundybout my car keys slid across the seat and on top of the envelope. Now they were covered in gloy gum too, as was my car seat. So I posted the letter and then I said I may aswell get something for my lunch in the adjoining shop. I bought a floury bap and put it in the plastic bag provided. The flour went everywhere. When I got to the till to pay I noticed all the flour had stuck to the gloy gum on my hands so now I looked like I had leprosy or some other god awful disease.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came home and made up my lunch. Went to get some coffee to go with it. Cos it'd be a bit dry without it like. I spilled hot water all over the work top. I went to the milk in and when I opened the carton a load of milk splattered out onto my jumper for some god unkown reason. The milk carton has never done that before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's now 1.40PM-ish. I'm wondering will I just go to bed and hide until the morning before anything else happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just one of them days!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and I got a Christmas card from a friend in the post this morning........WTF? It's the 17th of November. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-4376216612314221724?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/4376216612314221724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/11/fml.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/4376216612314221724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/4376216612314221724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/11/fml.html' title='FML'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-2348251942118065747</id><published>2009-11-13T00:15:00.003Z</published><updated>2009-11-13T00:24:27.708Z</updated><title type='text'>The Green Dot</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I log in more regularly. I immediately go to see is the green dot there beside the name. Several times a day it is. Several times a day it's not. When the green dot is there, my heart pounds in anticipation. Shall I start a conversation? Shall I leave it to the other person to start the conversation? Either way I know it's going to be a conversation which will make me smile and think of what could be. And then there is the flirtation that ensues. Oh how we flirt. But I am now getting the feeling that the other person is talking the talk.......but has yet to walk the walk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When there is no green dot I feel disappointed. Gutted in fact. Should  I whip my phone out and send a text? Would that look desperate? Did I text last or did the other person text me last? Maybe I will leave it to tomorrow. And wait. And see. And hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whole situation is starting to consume me and my thoughts. As for that green dot. It shall be the ruination of me! This is all well and good at the moment as we have only been talking a week or two now. I ain't gonna be a fool for nobody. Just hanging in there to see what will happen cos I have nothing else to do!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-2348251942118065747?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/2348251942118065747/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/11/green-dot.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/2348251942118065747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/2348251942118065747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/11/green-dot.html' title='The Green Dot'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-4113427813889274948</id><published>2009-11-02T20:08:00.002Z</published><updated>2009-11-02T20:25:23.119Z</updated><title type='text'>Big Brother is Watching</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;OK. So I'm sitting here with my foil hat on in case the aliens are listening in and reading my mind. Well not really but I feel like that at the moment. I'm full of the paranoia of late. But my paranoia isn't about the little green men in outer space. Oh no. It's a far greater being than any before. And that being would and could only be, Google.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a gmail account. I use google as my main search engine. I use blogger which is google. Basically, whether I know it or not, I'm using google on most online things. But this is making me a little bit uneasy of late. I accidentally clicked on google history last week and I was quiet shocked to see my entire browsing history all recorded over the past 12 months and beyond.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now with the introduction of google wave just around the corner I fear google's positon on the inter webs is about to get a whole lot stronger! Now I do feel like the mad men in the street shouting about the end of the world or some other mad shite but this is really worrying me. I think google have too much information readily available about all of us and I don't like it. Not one little bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am looking forward to the launch of google wave just as much as the next person. I just want to see what it's all about more so. But I think we should all be wary of what information is being recorded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Failing that, you can make a tin foil hat similar to mine from 10 square meters of foil rolled into a triple reinforced helmet to keep them out. I'll post a diagram and picture of mine at a later date! HA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-4113427813889274948?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/4113427813889274948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/11/big-brother-is-watching.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/4113427813889274948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/4113427813889274948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/11/big-brother-is-watching.html' title='Big Brother is Watching'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-1951368734734784786</id><published>2009-10-30T22:20:00.001Z</published><updated>2009-10-30T22:21:20.055Z</updated><title type='text'>Copy and Paste</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;This is the most hilarious blog post I've seen in ages. I'm afraid I'm a geek for laughing at it so much though. Eeeek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.geekologie.com/2009/10/aha_so_thats_how_twins_are_mad.php&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-1951368734734784786?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/1951368734734784786/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/10/copy-and-paste.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/1951368734734784786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/1951368734734784786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/10/copy-and-paste.html' title='Copy and Paste'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-1226690032278278640</id><published>2009-10-19T19:51:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T20:02:43.046+01:00</updated><title type='text'>You've Got Mail</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.teslasociety.com/pictures/ChristmasX.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 204px; height: 239px;" src="http://www.teslasociety.com/pictures/ChristmasX.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I got such a surprise in the post this morning. There was two letters from my bank, nothing new there then. But there was a small white envelope with my name and address hand written on it. Hmmm. I threw the bank letters to one side and ripped open the little white envelope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a page inside, torn from a spiral notebook and folded in three. Oooh it was a letter. Not only was it a letter but it was a letter from an actual &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;person!&lt;/span&gt; I unfolded it and started to read. Took me a while to figure out what it was about and the person sending it had made a mistake and signed &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;my&lt;/span&gt; name to the end of the letter so that really confused me. At first I thought it might have been someone with the same name as me trying to form a secret society of all people with the same name. Buy alas, it was not. Ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was from a girl that I went to college with. We remain extremely good friends several years after graduating. She has never been the most computer minded person in the world so she was never and will never be on Facebook or the likes. Anyhow she just wanted to let me know that she had lost her phone and had gotten a new number and would like me to give her a call or text with my number.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't very exciting but it was, in a way. I started to think. I had never received a hand written letter from a friend before. Nor had I ever received a letter from any friend. Such a strange thing. I never thought before that I had grew up in such a high tech age but thinking back, I had a phone at 15/16 and computer from an even earlier age. Now of course, I didn't have bebo, facebook or twitter when I was growing up but still it just felt very odd to have never received a letter like that before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it was such fun. Now get writing and get to the post office!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and I would write back to my friend but I don't have her address......says it all really!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-1226690032278278640?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/1226690032278278640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/10/youve-got-mail.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/1226690032278278640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/1226690032278278640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/10/youve-got-mail.html' title='You&apos;ve Got Mail'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-8584826490743770315</id><published>2009-10-15T19:42:00.009+01:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T20:15:25.678+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Wanderer Returns</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I is back!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had a great time in England. Spent a day or two in London. Loved it. Spent what little money I had on clothes on Oxford Street but man did it feel good! Went to a place called Watton-At-Stone and went on a little hike across the fields and walkways on Sunday. It was lovely scenery and very relaxing. Then I went to Cambridge on Monday. Now that was a treat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never in all my life seen so many bicycles in the one place before. As you know, Cambridge is a University town. It has several Universities which make up the city. Most of the buildings in the town itself are owned by the various Universities and are then leased out to tenants and companies which just adds to the millions of pounds that the Universities make each year! However, it's a town of such beauty. Lovely old buildings and a lively place with loads of hustle and bustle. Students, workers and just normal people all cycle around the town as its a mostly flat area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I am going to post some of the best pictures that I took for you to enjoy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy-8jguZI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/uqqXv_U6W7c/s1600-h/DSC01342.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy-8jguZI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/uqqXv_U6W7c/s400/DSC01342.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392905504531986834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Roof of Claires Church, Cambridge&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy-hjoFaI/AAAAAAAAAUI/bVzoOFm9YPg/s1600-h/DSC01341.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy-hjoFaI/AAAAAAAAAUI/bVzoOFm9YPg/s400/DSC01341.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392905497284711842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Punting on the river at the rear of Kings College, Camrbidge&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy-NNj2DI/AAAAAAAAAUA/UsHbsXrmVQ0/s1600-h/DSC01340.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy-NNj2DI/AAAAAAAAAUA/UsHbsXrmVQ0/s400/DSC01340.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392905491823450162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Court yard at rear of Kings College, Cambridge&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy9pwwwRI/AAAAAAAAAT4/VttFsUWizuc/s1600-h/DSC01339.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy9pwwwRI/AAAAAAAAAT4/VttFsUWizuc/s400/DSC01339.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392905482307420434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Church at Kings College&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy9djd_aI/AAAAAAAAATw/eQ-G_SlRXnk/s1600-h/DSC01337.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy9djd_aI/AAAAAAAAATw/eQ-G_SlRXnk/s400/DSC01337.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392905479030439330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Church at Kings College&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdyhfD6RuI/AAAAAAAAATo/nAz4qpB6gz4/s1600-h/DSC01333.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdyhfD6RuI/AAAAAAAAATo/nAz4qpB6gz4/s400/DSC01333.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392904998398609122" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Church at Kings College&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdyhLoDRxI/AAAAAAAAATg/BQ6N044I3Wg/s1600-h/DSC01330.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdyhLoDRxI/AAAAAAAAATg/BQ6N044I3Wg/s400/DSC01330.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392904993181484818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Bicycles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdygtF2IyI/AAAAAAAAATY/oj-Px9rW7EQ/s1600-h/DSC01331.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdygtF2IyI/AAAAAAAAATY/oj-Px9rW7EQ/s400/DSC01331.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392904984984953634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Trinity Street, Cambridge&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdygFrpo4I/AAAAAAAAATQ/1pQp7B48Z1Y/s1600-h/DSC01329.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdygFrpo4I/AAAAAAAAATQ/1pQp7B48Z1Y/s400/DSC01329.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392904974406099842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Trinity Street, Cambridge&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdyf98ZbdI/AAAAAAAAATI/yr4WxvZuHiQ/s1600-h/DSC01328.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdyf98ZbdI/AAAAAAAAATI/yr4WxvZuHiQ/s400/DSC01328.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392904972328857042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Trinity Street, Cambridge&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdxXaMxk4I/AAAAAAAAATA/0sfgvseylpw/s1600-h/DSC01325.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdxXaMxk4I/AAAAAAAAATA/0sfgvseylpw/s400/DSC01325.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392903725783290754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Watton-At-Stone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdxW1GADlI/AAAAAAAAAS4/CPKtStNDQn0/s1600-h/DSC01322.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdxW1GADlI/AAAAAAAAAS4/CPKtStNDQn0/s400/DSC01322.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392903715822767698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Stile&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdxWuyfhaI/AAAAAAAAASw/TWUMIAdtsdw/s1600-h/DSC01319.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdxWuyfhaI/AAAAAAAAASw/TWUMIAdtsdw/s400/DSC01319.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392903714130331042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Waterfall&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdxV52RsDI/AAAAAAAAASo/GwTgTGlS01Q/s1600-h/DSC01318.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdxV52RsDI/AAAAAAAAASo/GwTgTGlS01Q/s400/DSC01318.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392903699919122482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Wheel&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdxVhyrk3I/AAAAAAAAASg/OmSsOn69P-0/s1600-h/DSC01313.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdxVhyrk3I/AAAAAAAAASg/OmSsOn69P-0/s400/DSC01313.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392903693461590898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Woodbury Hall, Watton-At-Stone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdwqFGNFHI/AAAAAAAAASY/iGEOjPHQA5k/s1600-h/DSC01312.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdwqFGNFHI/AAAAAAAAASY/iGEOjPHQA5k/s400/DSC01312.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392902947024475250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Woodbury Hall, Watton-At-Stone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdwpvCdueI/AAAAAAAAASQ/lbpo4SCv5tA/s1600-h/DSC01302.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdwpvCdueI/AAAAAAAAASQ/lbpo4SCv5tA/s400/DSC01302.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392902941103208930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;London&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdwpL9ckLI/AAAAAAAAASI/Ay6hyLsxUgs/s1600-h/DSC01295.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdwpL9ckLI/AAAAAAAAASI/Ay6hyLsxUgs/s400/DSC01295.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392902931686920370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Big Ben, London&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdwox3qc5I/AAAAAAAAASA/ntXne85SgBc/s1600-h/DSC01290.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdwox3qc5I/AAAAAAAAASA/ntXne85SgBc/s400/DSC01290.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392902924683342738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;London Eye&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdwoXq3ITI/AAAAAAAAAR4/dCaPaQfDbvY/s1600-h/DSC01279.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/StdwoXq3ITI/AAAAAAAAAR4/dCaPaQfDbvY/s400/DSC01279.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392902917650325810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Hyde Park, London&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdvy85DSoI/AAAAAAAAARw/i9kVsE6QO80/s1600-h/DSC01277.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdvy85DSoI/AAAAAAAAARw/i9kVsE6QO80/s400/DSC01277.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392901999929019010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Marble Arch, London&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-8584826490743770315?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/8584826490743770315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/10/wanderer-returns.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8584826490743770315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8584826490743770315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/10/wanderer-returns.html' title='The Wanderer Returns'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/Stdy-8jguZI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/uqqXv_U6W7c/s72-c/DSC01342.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-520691337925495351</id><published>2009-10-08T21:24:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T21:30:15.178+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Winding Up Big Ben</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://greggayden.com/europe05/Big%20Ben.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 465px;" src="http://greggayden.com/europe05/Big%20Ben.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm off for a little while folks. Heading over to the ever lovely London. Haven't been there in a good few years and a fantastic opportunity came my way this morning which I couldn't refuse! What would that be I hear you ask? Well it's none other than a &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;FREE&lt;/span&gt; trip to London for me, me, me! I'm so excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will have loads to blog about when I get back, hopefully!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-520691337925495351?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/520691337925495351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/10/winding-up-big-ben.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/520691337925495351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/520691337925495351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/10/winding-up-big-ben.html' title='Winding Up Big Ben'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-2151882892609022935</id><published>2009-09-30T21:58:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-10-01T00:01:30.981+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.......</title><content type='html'>It all seems rather dead in the blogging world of late. I'm running short on inspiration myself lately too. And I don't like it. Any suggestions?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-2151882892609022935?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/2151882892609022935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/09/zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/2151882892609022935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/2151882892609022935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/09/zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.html' title='Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.......'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-6817806052346068526</id><published>2009-09-24T20:00:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T20:12:47.061+01:00</updated><title type='text'>New York, New York!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;If anyone hasn't heard of &lt;a href="http://www.palomafaith.com/gb/"&gt;Paloma Faith&lt;/a&gt; over the past summer, then where were you? She is a pretty new music artist who is from the UK and has had good success with her debut song &lt;a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=29zumqpqFLM"&gt;Stone Cold Sober&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=Ki0xBb2wbr4"&gt;New York&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whilst I was mooching around on YouTube the other day I stumbled across some songs of hers which haven't been released yet but are &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;very very good&lt;/span&gt;. One is called Broken Doll. Now the best video of this song was recorded at the &lt;a href="http://www.ica.org.uk/"&gt;ICA&lt;/a&gt;. Well I think it is safe to say that I fell in love with both her and the song after watching this video. She is an extremely pretty lady and such a good and naturally entertaining performer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I came across a rather funny video. It's not professionally shot so it looks a bit shoddy but it's very entertaining really. It's called It's &lt;a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=jD3p2z9nBGY"&gt;Christmas And I Hate You&lt;/a&gt;. Made me laugh anyway!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Check her out. I hope you're impressed as I was! Check out the video to Broken Doll below....enjoy folks!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="445" height="364"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GwmpL8ehETQ&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0&amp;amp;color1=0x2b405b&amp;amp;color2=0x6b8ab6&amp;amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GwmpL8ehETQ&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0&amp;amp;color1=0x2b405b&amp;amp;color2=0x6b8ab6&amp;amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-6817806052346068526?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/6817806052346068526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/09/new-york-new-york.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/6817806052346068526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/6817806052346068526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/09/new-york-new-york.html' title='New York, New York!'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-748813174431996471</id><published>2009-09-21T18:59:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T19:50:54.260+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Why can't I stop spending?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Things are slowly getting back to normal for me. Having been in Spain the week before last, and being as sick as a small hospital last week, I haven't really had much time for the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;aul&lt;/span&gt; blogging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a bad case of gastroenteritis last week. Probably due to something I had eaten or drank in Spain. Took a bit of time to go away too which really annoyed me. I even went to the doctor on Friday morning as I was feeling so crap. I just had to wait for it to go the doctor said. Thankfully I'm 100% better since yesterday. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Yay&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only problem I have now is that my tan is completely gone. I am really not impressed by that. All that sitting around by the pool in the scorching sun went to waste as nobody got to see my tan when I was upside down in bed for the week! At least I have my Spanish memories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now to the point of this post. Why can't I stop spending? I live for my Tuesdays. That's when pay day is. All 204.30 glorious euro of it! Ha. Except it doesn't go as far as I would like it to go. In fact, by Wednesday it's gone. Eek. Mostly on a car loan which I'm stuck with but hey it could be worse. I am surviving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spain wasn't even an expense. It was the cheapest holiday I have ever been on. And it was all the best and the most &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;relaxing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My problem lies in little luxuries. For instance, there was a perfectly good and nice duvet cover on my bed. I got an idea in my head on Saturday that I would like a new one. So off I popped to Hickeys Home Focus (I think that's what it's called) but I didn't see anything I liked there. Then I went into Harvey Norman saw a beautiful duvet cover there. Asked had they got it in King Size and he came back with this huge big clear plastic bag. He was talking to me but all I saw was the price tag beaming at me............&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;€220.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Can I not just buy the duvet cover and the two pillow cases?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No it all comes as part of the seven piece set, sorry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;What else is in it?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Duvet&lt;/span&gt; Cover, two matching pillow cases, two fancier pillow cases, a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;roundy&lt;/span&gt; cushion thing and a huge fancy luxurious throw.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh right, I think I will leave it. Thanks for your help. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Well I got into the car and I was gutted. It was just so nice. I went into the city and had a look in another shop and saw some duvets which were equally as nice, I suppose, but I just wanted the €220 one.&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Then I got an idea. There was a furniture shop in another town about an hour away which I knew from before had the same products as many shops in my town but much cheaper! And as luck would have it, some of my family were going to that town on Saturday evening. Made a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;phone call&lt;/span&gt; and we left at 2.30.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Got to the shop and ran upstairs looking for my duvet. They had the same brand as the one I wanted but I couldn't see it. After 10 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;mins&lt;/span&gt; of searching the place (It's huge!!!) I found it. The style I wanted. The size I wanted. Perfect. Now the price. Panic set in looking for the price tag. It was actually staring me in the face but I was so excited I didn't even see it. Eventually I copped it, €160. How bad? €60 less than my town. Went off downstairs with it to pay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The retail assistant asked me if I was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;OK&lt;/span&gt;. Probably because I had a big stupid, smiley, fools head on me. Then I said something which I have never ever ever said before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Can you do any better on the price of this?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;He looked at me.&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Hmmm&lt;/span&gt;. Any of the older stock take your fancy? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No not really. I want this one. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;OK. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Took out his calculator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Now I was expecting him to say €150. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;€120&lt;/span&gt; is the best that I can do, is that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;OK&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh yes certainly and I will take your hand as well while I'm at it! Ha.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;It looks fantastic. I love it. And it was €100 less than I could have paid a few hours earlier. But I really didn't need it. I really couldn't afford it. It's more than half a weeks wages!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just have no willpower! &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Am I alone in my weakness? ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-748813174431996471?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/748813174431996471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/09/why-cant-i-stop-spending.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/748813174431996471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/748813174431996471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/09/why-cant-i-stop-spending.html' title='Why can&apos;t I stop spending?'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-3091889176607151771</id><published>2009-09-16T14:01:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T14:05:56.099+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Back With A Bang</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I was in Spain for a few days last week. It was absolutely gorgeous. Weather was fantastic. Food was nice. Poolside was quiet. Most relaxing holiday ever!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I came home. Went to my voluntary job on Monday morning. That was fine. Came home and had my dinner. Didn't feel so great. Went to bed. Woke up suddenly at 4am and started vomiting. Didn't stop until late last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haven't got sick all day but my stomach feels the most dodgiest it has done in years! At least there are no flu symptoms or I'd swear I had the swine flu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talk about back with a bang. Less than 12 hours after getting off the plane and I vomiting my guts up....repeatedly! Damn Ryanair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope y'all didn't miss me too much! ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-3091889176607151771?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/3091889176607151771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/09/back-with-bang.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/3091889176607151771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/3091889176607151771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/09/back-with-bang.html' title='Back With A Bang'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-6241853476019595224</id><published>2009-09-06T14:54:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-09-06T15:23:56.579+01:00</updated><title type='text'>To Whom It Concerns...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://newsfeed.tcm.ie/media/images/R/RyanTubridy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 160px;" src="http://newsfeed.tcm.ie/media/images/R/RyanTubridy.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;OK so, like the rest of the nation I tuned into &lt;a href="http://www.rte.ie/tv/latelate/"&gt;The Late Late Show&lt;/a&gt; on Friday night. I had never been a fan of Pat Kenny as host. He was too cautious, too afraid to ask questions, terrified what a guest may say and just made the viewer feel uneasy. That's my opinion on Pat Kenny as a presenter.  So as you can see, it was with great relief that I heard that he was to retire and there would be a new host for the popular Friday night show come the autumn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cue Ryan &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Tubridy&lt;/span&gt;. Now in the beginning, I was quiet a fan of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Tubridy's&lt;/span&gt;. I used to tune in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;religiously&lt;/span&gt; to his early morning breakfast show on &lt;a href="www.rte.ie/2fm"&gt;2FM&lt;/a&gt;. It was a great show and he was a good presenter. Then he started to annoy me. Soon after he was moved to RTE Radio One. I never followed him to Radio One. Then he also got a Saturday night prime time TV show. I hated it. It was old fashioned, dark, dreary and just boring. I was dreading what he was going to do to The Late Late Show. Although, I was looking forward to seeing how different it would be from when Kenny used to present it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First show of the season was on last Friday night. The opening credits were good. I liked having the old theme tune back. Then &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Tubridy&lt;/span&gt; walked out and the set looked rather budgeted. He did his usual &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;chitter&lt;/span&gt; chatter and announced the first guest. An &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Taoiseach&lt;/span&gt;, Brian &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Cowen&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really don't have many political views. I do have a slight interest in what goes on in the country and even more so the last few years so I am by no means on Brian &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Cowens&lt;/span&gt; side or any other political person for that matter. The way I see it is, that the country is struggling and no matter what the other political parties say, they still won't be able to turn it around if they are elected. It's going to be a slow process no matter what party is elected. We just have to ride it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, back to The Late Late Show. The interview that I was about to see both shocked and appalled me. Kenny, as previous host, always skirted around issues. And, yes, the show did need someone who wasn't afraid to ask questions and just get stuck in and interact with the guests. But &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Tubridy&lt;/span&gt; just launched straight into a vicious, malicious, string of quick fired questions. One after another, bang, bang, bang. I could not help but feel sorry for Brian &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Cowen&lt;/span&gt;. Nobody should have been treated like that on a TV show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really do think that he should not have been asked questions about his personal life. Especially about his alcohol consumption. I am sure the man likes a drink, just like the majority of the country, but he is by no means an alcoholic. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Tubridy&lt;/span&gt; over stepped the mark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having met Brian &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Cowen&lt;/span&gt; and his wife, Mary, at a few occasions I can say that he has a lovely family. He is a very down to earth man. And more importantly, a very honest man. I do not think it was fair the way he was treated by the RTE "presenter".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could see that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Tubridy&lt;/span&gt; had listened to the masses and decided that he would not be afraid to ask questions to guests but this was ridiculous. He should have been ashamed of himself. He was clearly trying to make a name for himself with this new format.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would also like to point out how brilliant Brian &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Cowen&lt;/span&gt; was in answering &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Tubridy's&lt;/span&gt; questions. He responded the minute &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Tubridy&lt;/span&gt; finished asking the questions. He did not flinch. He did not stammer. He spoke clearly and concisely. It really does go to show how great a leader Brian &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Cowen&lt;/span&gt; really is. I think it is more a case of bad timing for him to be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Taoiseach&lt;/span&gt;. Had he been elected five years ago Ireland would love this man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would hope that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;Tubridy&lt;/span&gt; realises the error of his ways after this weekends interview(s) and steps up his game next Friday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should add that he also made a fool of Bryan McFadden, formerly of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Westlife&lt;/span&gt;. Again this was uncalled for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't help but think that Miriam &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;O'Callaghan&lt;/span&gt; or Gerry Ryan would have been a much better host for the show. I know Gerry Ryan is not without his faults either but I think it's safe to say that he has great respect for his guests and would not treat them in the same regard as &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;Tubridy&lt;/span&gt; treated his guests.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only time will tell what the future has &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;in store&lt;/span&gt; for both &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;Tubridy&lt;/span&gt; and The Late Late Show!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-6241853476019595224?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/6241853476019595224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/09/to-whom-it-concerns.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/6241853476019595224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/6241853476019595224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/09/to-whom-it-concerns.html' title='To Whom It Concerns...'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-3115332077686708017</id><published>2009-08-31T20:19:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T20:29:59.587+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Growing Up....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I feel rather upset/emotional today. But in an extremely good way, if you know what I mean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While at college, I formed friendships wiht a lovely group of people. We all remain extremely close several years later after graduating. We have all had our respective boyfriends and girlfriends and ups and downs through the years. The usual frienship stuff. Nothing too serious. Just a lot of laughs and hugs!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well today I got a phone call from a female friend of mine. I'm closer to her than anyone else in the group for some reason. Anyway, she said she had news for me and asked to meet up. Two things ran through my mind. We met up and she told me she was pregnant. She has been going out with her boyfriend for near on ten years so I was delighted for her. Ecstatic in fact. So happy for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then I felt such an overwhelming rush of emotions. I couldn't help but start crying. I just felt that she was the first of us to "grow up". And she is so little and cute and she is going to have this baby. I just wanted to help and protect her but didn't know how. I just want to mind her. I know her boyfriend will but I just feel so overwhelmed by it all. I can't believe it. I can't believe she is growing up so fast and having a baby!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It truly is great. I can't wait for her to give birth. It's going to be great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-3115332077686708017?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/3115332077686708017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/growing-up.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/3115332077686708017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/3115332077686708017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/growing-up.html' title='Growing Up....'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-4015648985630346236</id><published>2009-08-27T21:23:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-27T22:04:40.412+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Working 9 to 5, What A Way To Make A Living! Or Not, In My Case!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://radsite.lbl.gov/mgf/gif/office.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 208px;" src="http://radsite.lbl.gov/mgf/gif/office.gif" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As of the 21st of August I am officially unemployed with seven months! The time has really flown by. In the beginning I spent most of the day trawling through recruitment websites desperately searching for a suitable job. It turned into an obsession. I felt I had to find a job and find a job fast. After two months of unemployment, in a cold, damp and dark two months I may add, I decided that I needed to get away on a cheapo holiday! Cheap as chips was the motto. And it was. But it was ideal. Just what I needed. It gave me time to think and with having no internet connection I was cut off from the world and unable to search for a job. Bliss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when I came back I didn't bother looking for another job for a couple of weeks. I had enough of the searching. I'd have a look every few days. Just a quick look really. Spend 10 or 15 minutes looking at the various recruitment sites. I found other ways to occupy myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would meet friends more regularly. Babysit my baby niece. Visit my heavily pregnant cousin and help her out. Visit my grand parents. Prepare lovely meals. Gardening. Things like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in effect, I was fine from April onwards. I was busy and enjoying the Spring/Summer and the long bright nights and more importantly, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;the warmth!&lt;/span&gt; Around the end of July I started to dread the Autumn coming. The nights would be drawing in. Weather would be getting colder and wetter (if that's possible). This really started to bother me. I couldn't face a long cold Winter stuck in the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A light bulb went off in my head one morning. I decided I was going to do some voluntary work. At first I was thinking of doing some work with a charity of some sort. I'd have a big interest in counselling/psychology/addiction studies, which is not even my field but I was still trying to think of places where I could work voluntarily. Then I thought why not do something to add to my work experience and do something within my own field, being finance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sent out a few emails and I started today for 1.5 days per week until January. I'm working in the Finance Department of a large organisation on a voluntary basis. They don't even like having me there voluntarily as they don't think it's fair that I do not get paid but they want to give me some experience that I can use on my CV. I am truly grateful to them for taking me on. It's great to be finally back in the workforce and talking to people and to just be in an office environment again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm chuffed with myself for having had the idea in the first place. Ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now let's all hope one of the nice ladies that I will be working with will get pregnant and I can get a maternity cover job! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-4015648985630346236?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/4015648985630346236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/as-of-21st-of-august-i-am-officially.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/4015648985630346236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/4015648985630346236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/as-of-21st-of-august-i-am-officially.html' title='Working 9 to 5, What A Way To Make A Living! Or Not, In My Case!'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-8196169165966514088</id><published>2009-08-25T20:54:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T21:01:06.019+01:00</updated><title type='text'>There Is Nothing In A Catterpillar That Tells You It's Going To Be A Butterfly</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;OK. I fear I may be getting old. I just watched the below video and I can't help but feel I am growing more mature and appreciating the finer things in life! Maybe it's part of the maturing process I have been experiencing lately.......I will blog about this at a later date. Maybe my next post!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, this is a video with a very nice piece of music and there are "smoke signals" synched to the beat of the  music. Watch out for when the strings start to play. Wow! Very pretty indeed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy folks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="400" height="225"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=6045312&amp;amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;amp;show_title=1&amp;amp;show_byline=1&amp;amp;show_portrait=0&amp;amp;color=&amp;amp;fullscreen=1"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=6045312&amp;amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;amp;show_title=1&amp;amp;show_byline=1&amp;amp;show_portrait=0&amp;amp;color=&amp;amp;fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="225"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/6045312"&gt;let yourself feel.&lt;/a&gt; from &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com/estebandiacono"&gt;Esteban Diácono&lt;/a&gt; on &lt;a href="http://vimeo.com"&gt;Vimeo&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-8196169165966514088?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/8196169165966514088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/there-is-nothing-in-catterpillar-that.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8196169165966514088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8196169165966514088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/there-is-nothing-in-catterpillar-that.html' title='There Is Nothing In A Catterpillar That Tells You It&apos;s Going To Be A Butterfly'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-5968431745306936028</id><published>2009-08-24T10:46:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T10:52:59.117+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Builders Are In!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;We are building on a very small extension onto the house at the moment. Its near finished, after four weeks of work so far. The builders themselves are extremely neat and the mess is all contained in the immediate area where the building work is taking place. Unlike most builders who would just throw rubble and dirt all over the house and garden so I am very impressed with these builders!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However. I hate having anything done in the house. Does anybody else find that no matter what is going on the house itself, every single room in the house is disrupted? It drives me mad. I like everything just so and then there is turmoil in all my rooms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's so stressful. Now that the builders are nearly finished, probably in the next day or two, I'll have to wait for tilers, carpet layers, etc. So this disruption can go on for another week or two yet!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does anybody else feel like this? Or is it just mean being a freak as usual? :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-5968431745306936028?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/5968431745306936028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/builders-are-in.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/5968431745306936028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/5968431745306936028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/builders-are-in.html' title='The Builders Are In!'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-8971563942007413934</id><published>2009-08-18T12:47:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T13:09:17.570+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Weekly Trip To The Post Office!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://newsfeed.tcm.ie/images/people/anpostboxPATGOOD.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 142px; height: 162px;" src="http://newsfeed.tcm.ie/images/people/anpostboxPATGOOD.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Every Tuesday I diligently scamper off to the local post office. All happy and excited about getting "paid" for the week. I really do enjoy the build up to going to the post office. As much as I would love to be working, there is nothing like getting money for nothing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This excited feeling that I experience doesn't last long. It usually turns into anger the moment I set foot inside the post office itself. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Why? &lt;/span&gt;I hear you cry! Well when I get to the door of the post office there is usually one person, sometimes two, in front of me in the queue. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;That's not bad!&lt;/span&gt; I hear you say. Well actually it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, today I entered the post office at around 12.10pm and there was a middle aged lady at the counter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;He lost his card and it's from some new system that Royal Liver are putting in. I have an account number.  &lt;/span&gt;She said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'll try that and see if it works. &lt;/span&gt;It didn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;What am I going to do? I really should ring the comany and get a new one sent out. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Yes, you should. Otherwise we can't make your payment for you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Now I dont usually make this payment at all. It's for my uncle. Is it made up of two payments? €7 and €15?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No it's one single payment of €22 per week. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It has to amount to €22 per week. It must be €7 and €15.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;At this point the girl behing the counter was just bewildered and beaten down by this woman. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Erm...7 and 15 is 22.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh right. I see. So will I ring the company and get a new card?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'd say that would be the best to do as otherwise we can't make the payment for you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'll do that later on. I have to go into town and look at some curtains in the sale. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I'm sure the post office teller was bothered about the woman's curtains! &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Now, the pension book is done in a post office in the city and I want to get it changed to here. Can you give me the form?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;There isn't a form. You fill in the back of the book itself and send it back and then they send it back to here for you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;That doesn't make sense. Sure, I won't be able to get the pension then for a few weeks when all that is going to and fro in the post!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;This went on for another few minutes. I looked at my watch. It was now 12.25pm. 15 mins of this. Meanwhile a hefty queue was building up behind me. She eventually cleared off into town to get her curtains. I went up the desk and what was sitting there on the counter? Only her keys! 15 seconds later I was done and out the door quicker than shite off a shovel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;As I walked out the door, in she comes saying&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, Oh I forgot me keys. I won't get far without them! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I got into my car and then she got into hers. I was pulling out of my space and next minute she whizzes out of her space opposite mine and she barely missed me. She should come with a warning sign on her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was traumatised after my visit to the post office today. Worse thing is, its like this most Tuesdays. Grrrr.&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I am sitting here now laughing away. Do you wonder why? Its because I am imaging her in the curtain shop as we speak...God Help Them! &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-8971563942007413934?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/8971563942007413934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/weekly-trip-to-post-office.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8971563942007413934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8971563942007413934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/weekly-trip-to-post-office.html' title='The Weekly Trip To The Post Office!'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-1898343744457603631</id><published>2009-08-17T11:24:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T11:47:27.702+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Life In Order</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;This weekend has been a very strange one indeed. It started on Thursday night and I was in a shop where I saw an item my sister was looking for so I phoned her to see if she still wanted it. Now my sister is the type of person that once they start talking they don't shut up. So here I was in a very busy store and my sister blabbing on about nothing really. Now, my sister and brother in law have an 11 month old baby and the three of them were heading to the UK for the weekend on Friday. It was kind of a trial run to see how the baby would get on in the plane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Out of the blue my sister starts telling me how scared she was of flying with her baby. My sister is well used to travelling but this was different. She was thinking what if the plane crashes and the poor little baby only starting her life and then it'd be over. Stuff like that. Here am I in a crowded shop and my sister talking like this on the phone. I just said to her that the baby would probably survive as they kinda bounce. Strangely, that reassured her a little bit. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;THEN&lt;/span&gt; she said something which stuck me to the ground. She told me that if anything were to happen to them that I was to look after the baby. I had never even thought about it before.  I suppose it'd make sense. I'd be delighted to raise the baby in that unfortunate circumstance which I hope never happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was 20 mins on the phone to her in the shop. People must have thought that I was mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came home and told my mother. She said she had been speaking to my sister aswell and she was told that in the even of an accident that we were to go to my sisters house and remove all items before my brother in law's family got there. As if that would be the first thing on our minds but anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They came home from the UK yesterday and the baby was brilliant on the plane. Not a sound out of her. So all is well there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then yesterday morning I was in my grandmothers house. We aren't a huge family but its mainly my parents and my sister and I who visit my grandmother and who do most of the work for her. My grandmother called my father. She told him she is putting €1,000 in an envelope with his name on it and that we will find it when she passes on. He just laughed at her and told her not to be stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you say in a situation like that? Thanks very much. That'll be great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My other grandfather done something similar a few years ago. We are his only grandchildren and at Christmas he gave us an envelope which we thought was the usual Christmas card but it turned out to have €5,000 each in it. Again, he wanted to thank us for all we did for him before he died.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate the morbidity of this weekend. I know its inevitable but I really don't like dealing with things like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It certainly makes you wonder, what exactly it must be like for elderly people as they get older. What goes through their mind etc. It must be frightening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There seems to be a lot of talk of death the last few months. Probably since my grandfather died in May of this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope things are starting to brigthen up now though. Since my grandfather died I have only ever seen one magpie. This happened on a daily basis. One little magpie sitting in the garden.  Until Saturday afternoon. I looked out and saw one magpie. I then moved over a bit and saw another one. Two magpies. I have never been so glad to see two magpies in all my life!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Strange.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-1898343744457603631?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/1898343744457603631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/getting-life-in-order.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/1898343744457603631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/1898343744457603631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/getting-life-in-order.html' title='Getting Life In Order'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-5972125704416749608</id><published>2009-08-14T11:06:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T11:47:31.316+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello! Is There Anybody Out There? Just Nod If You Can Hear Me!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;What will they think of next?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stumbled across a website this morning. It's a little bit &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;out there&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But for the heck of it I said I'd let ye have a laugh with it. You can send text messages to the nearest &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;planet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; to Earth! Total madness. But fun. I imagine a little green alien with all the old Nokia 5110's that the &lt;a href="http://www.jackandjill.ie/"&gt;Jack and Jill Foundation&lt;/a&gt; get and he laughing his little alien ass off at all the mad texts he is receiving. Of course, he'd be on the &lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.meteor.ie"&gt;Meteor&lt;/a&gt; network. Naturally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.hellofromearth.net/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(&lt;a href="http://www.jackandjill.ie/"&gt;Jack and Jill Foundation&lt;/a&gt; are a great chairty and should be supported)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-5972125704416749608?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/5972125704416749608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/hello-is-there-anybody-out-there-just.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/5972125704416749608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/5972125704416749608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/hello-is-there-anybody-out-there-just.html' title='Hello! Is There Anybody Out There? Just Nod If You Can Hear Me!'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-5834553440531993237</id><published>2009-08-10T12:34:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T12:58:07.836+01:00</updated><title type='text'>I Would Walk 500 Miles</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://web.me.com/mattatar/Site/Podcast/Entries/2008/12/16_Episode_116:_Jumpin_at_the_Treadmill_files/man_on_treadmill.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 316px;" src="http://web.me.com/mattatar/Site/Podcast/Entries/2008/12/16_Episode_116:_Jumpin_at_the_Treadmill_files/man_on_treadmill.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;A few weeks ago I decided to get my bloods checked at the doctors. Purely just to check everything was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;OK&lt;/span&gt;. A few days later the nurse called from the doctors surgery and she told me that my cholesterol had risen to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;6.7&lt;/span&gt;. I was so extremely shocked. I am gone so much more healthy in the last two years that I thought the cholesterol would have dropped! Not the case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went rooting about in my files and found my results from the last time I had my bloods checked. That was in late 2007 and my cholesterol was &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;4.9&lt;/span&gt; then. Which was very good. At that time, I wasn't the healthiest eater. And yet my cholesterol was fine. Two years on, I am a very healthy eater and I always go for the healthier option and rarely eat take away food. What the hell is after happening my body?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nurse told me that I have to do 30 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;mins&lt;/span&gt; exercise five times a week. And not just a leisurely stroll around the place but harsh exercise....to get my heart pumping and bust that cholesterol out of my body. Now I do admit, that although I eat very healthy, I do very little exercise at all. So it must be the exercise, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the area where I live the council have closed off most of the roads due to the construction of a new by pass. Its now near impossible to even go for a walk near my house as most the roads are dead ends and I don't particularly  want to walk on a motor way! Plus the weather in Ireland makes it hard to go for a walk as most of the time its sunny for 10 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;mins&lt;/span&gt; and rains for 20 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;mins&lt;/span&gt; or at least the weather would make it hard to fit in five days of exercise a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I bought a treadmill. I used go to the gym a few years ago and I loved the treadmill. I looked into buying them in Ireland and found a supplier in my local city. €800 including delivery. Then I found a supplier in Cork and they were €600 including delivery for the same treadmill! In the end I bought if from an English website for €630. Delivery was free and I also got a free protector mat which was worth between €70-€100. Pays to shop around I tell ya.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Treadmill arrived three weeks ago. It took two hours to assemble and it was more awkward than hard. Instructions were very good. Surprisingly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been using it the past three weeks since its delivery. I feel much better. More awake. I don't use it weekends. Monday - Friday is all that I'd use it for. This morning though, before I got ready to go on the treadmill, I thought to myself "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Eugh&lt;/span&gt;, do I really have to go on this thing today?." Oh I hope its not the start of me being lazy and not using it. I need to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, that's me in the pic above running on my treadmill this morning. Running? Are you serious? I'd collapse.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-5834553440531993237?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/5834553440531993237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-would-walk-500-miles.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/5834553440531993237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/5834553440531993237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-would-walk-500-miles.html' title='I Would Walk 500 Miles'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-958056933024981452</id><published>2009-08-07T15:58:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T16:15:09.936+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Celtic Tiger</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.civitas.org.uk/eufacts/graphics/euro.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 234px;" src="http://www.civitas.org.uk/eufacts/graphics/euro.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was having a little clear out today and I stumbled across something which really made me think. You see, I was bored this evening and avoiding doing something more meaningful so I decided to have a little root through some old letters etc. which have been lying around the place for years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found an envelope with my name on it and "private and confidential" written across the top of it. The envelope was bulging. I first thought that I had put a couple of grand into an envelope and forgotten about it. But then I realised I never had a couple of grand to forget about. So I opened it up and pulled out the contents. What was in it? All my payslips from my very first job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at the date on top of the first pay slip. 14&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; October 2000. So it was nearly nine years ago when I started my first job. I was a bit of a nerd back then and kept things like pay slips and bank statements etc. Don't ask me why. I still keep stuff like that today but to a lesser extent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I looked at the final pay on the pay slip. I was shocked at how little it was. Then I looked at the hours worked. I was even more shocked at the large number of hours I had worked to receive such a paltry wage. So out came the calculator on my phone and I worked out that back then, in October 2000, I was working for IR£4.44 (€5.64) per hour. And if I remember correctly that company paid a little bit above the minimum wage!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I worked with that company for seven years and I loved every minute of it. When leaving in the summer of 2007, I was earning €12.50 per hour. In the space of seven years my wages had increased by €6.86 per hour. That's such a &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;huge&lt;/span&gt; increase. It really shocked me. I didn't notice it increase while working. I suppose the hourly rate just crept up and up in line with the national wage agreements.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do wonder if the minimum wage was to decrease would it be better for companies who are trying to struggle? We all survived on a lot less wages in 2000. So why not survive on it now? Of course, the cost of living would also have to decrease in order for folk to live as they want to. Dare I say it? Are we, as a nation, getting over paid? Is it not just the fat cat bank officials &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;et&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;al&lt;/span&gt; who are earning above and beyond? Controversial I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-958056933024981452?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/958056933024981452/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/celtic-tiger.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/958056933024981452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/958056933024981452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/celtic-tiger.html' title='The Celtic Tiger'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-7292304180284865558</id><published>2009-08-05T10:10:00.005+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T11:18:44.658+01:00</updated><title type='text'>He Drives, She Dies!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://media.tribune.ie/site_media/photologue/photos/2009/Jul/18/cache/RSA_He_Drives_She_dies_2015_display.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 218px;" src="http://media.tribune.ie/site_media/photologue/photos/2009/Jul/18/cache/RSA_He_Drives_She_dies_2015_display.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Did anyone hear the new advert played on the national radio stations over the last few weeks? Basically its an ad where you hear two women "discussing" male driving habits. They are bitching about how men cause the most accidents on the roads.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I am aware of the statistics where the majority of female road deaths are caused by male drivers as can be seen in an &lt;a href="http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/breaking/2008/0630/breaking35.htm"&gt;Irish Times article&lt;/a&gt; from June 2008. But according to this advert, "if he drives, she dies". Fuck Off!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clearly men are going to be the ones causing the most accidents as there are more men driving than women driving on the roads. And why is that? Cos if women were good at driving then they'd drive themselves but instead they leave it to the men to drive. I think its safe to say that if women were actually doing more of the driving, then all the males in Ireland would have been killed in a car crash already or had a couple of near misses at least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have an idea for a new advert and the punch line of it will be, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"if she drives, you're all fucked"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-7292304180284865558?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/7292304180284865558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/he-drives-she-dies.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/7292304180284865558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/7292304180284865558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/he-drives-she-dies.html' title='He Drives, She Dies!'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-8385040042777067506</id><published>2009-08-04T13:58:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T11:19:20.399+01:00</updated><title type='text'>La Crise</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.streetsofberlin.net/wp-content/uploads/vive_la_crise.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 424px;" src="http://www.streetsofberlin.net/wp-content/uploads/vive_la_crise.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Like so many people in Ireland I am really pissed off with hearing about the "R word", I have elected to use the French version, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;La Crise&lt;/span&gt;, which sounds much much nicer. I feel victim to la crise in January 2009 and have had little luck getting any sort of a job. Would you believe I haven't even had &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;one&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; interview to date? Eight months now and not one interview. I choose not to think about it. I put it to the back of mind so it's not really happening you see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except it is. I'm skint. Skint beyond skint. Just about scraping by but I am keeping my head above water and I know there are many others who are even in a worse situation that I am so I am not going to be whining about it here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last March I went on a weeks holiday with family to Spain. It was so damn nice to get away from Ireland and its stink weather. But what was even more nicer than the weather was having a week free from hearing that whore of a word, that up until the Summer of 2008, I hadn't ever really heard much of before. Nowhere in Spain did they mention "la crise". No newspapers spoke about it. The apartments, restaurants, bars, nightclubs, airports, taxi's, etc were all thriving. I didn't notice much difference in the numbers on holiday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since then I have been wondering is Ireland talking itself into "la crise"? I recall one sunny morning last July or August and I was merrily driving along to work looking forward to the day ahead and on came the news. Some bright spark, someone like George Lee I assume, had declared that Ireland was in "la crise". And its true what they say, "from little acorns, huge oak trees grow". Well that morning was the first mention of "la crise" that I had heard and ever since then I have heard it at least a million times a day. I think its safe to say that its the biggest mother fucking oak tree ever that grew from a little acorn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So anyway, last week I was listening to the radio in my bedroom, as I have nothing else to do these days except scratch myself and listen to the radio, and on comes the news. The newsreader said that Ireland is coming out of recession albeit at a snails pace and will take longer to recover than other European countries. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Hooray! Finally!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think so. I only heard that once. Ireland, being its usual doom and gloom, is still focusing on "la crise".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why the hell can't we focus on the good news for a change? Why can't we make the biggest mother fucking oak tree ever out of the confirmation that its all about to get better? We can't. We can't because the Irish are the biggest bunch of self loathing, pessimistic, begrudging, assholes which ever lived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I love Ireland. It just needs a kick up the ass.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-8385040042777067506?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/8385040042777067506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/la-crise.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8385040042777067506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8385040042777067506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/la-crise.html' title='La Crise'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-5881713298043483317</id><published>2009-08-02T11:07:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T11:19:40.306+01:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hidden Costs</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Yesterday evening, after a few days of searching and debating over dates, I booked some flights to Spain. I tend to go away quiet regularly but its been a while since I booked flights and accommodation separately. The last time I was away it was with a package holiday and the time previous to that I was going to the US.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, this time &lt;a href="http://www.ryanair.com/"&gt;Ryanair&lt;/a&gt; were the cheapest airline and the flight times really suited me. It took a while to agree on dates with my friend and get time off from work sorted etc. All along I had been pricing the flights for one person as we'd be paying separately. I finally got the go ahead to book the flights yesterday evening and the price of the flights had actually gone &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;down&lt;/span&gt; since the day before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I put in the details for me and my friend.  Added on €20 each for bags. €10 each for web check in. No travel insurance required. Filled in the address details and the other standard info. Then I got to the payment section. This is where I got annoyed. As I said, all along I had been pricing the fligths for one person, so when I was pricing them I added on €10 for credit charge fee. However, this time the increase was €20 for the handling fee. Now I can understand the €10 charge as most places add that on but I think €10 each is a bit much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Therefore if ten people were flying on the one booking the handling fee would be €100. Correct me if I'm wrong. Even if ten people were booking the payment is still being taken from the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;one&lt;/span&gt; credit card so why then is it €10 each? It really doesn't make sense to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong. I think &lt;a href="http://www.ryanair.com/"&gt;Ryanair&lt;/a&gt; are a fantastic company. They changed the whole airline industry for the better. They brought competition to an otherwise stagnant market. They made air travel extremely affordable by stripping things down bit by bit. Michael O'Leary is one the most innovative people in business today. But by doing things like enforcing a credit card handling fee on a per person basis are &lt;a href="http://www.ryanair.com/"&gt;Ryanair&lt;/a&gt; going to bring the cost of air travel back up?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-5881713298043483317?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/5881713298043483317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/hidden-costs.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/5881713298043483317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/5881713298043483317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/hidden-costs.html' title='The Hidden Costs'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924654384268212175.post-8464196970275620667</id><published>2009-08-01T16:10:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T11:19:55.627+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome to me!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Hello and welcome to you all!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my first stab at blogging. Its been on my mind a while now to get this off the ground so today I decided to set the ball rolling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not sure yet what direction this blog is going to take. Its sort of just going to make its way along and find its own little place in cyberspace. It could be a ranting platform for me to vent. It could be a perverted, dark and twisted corner of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;inter web&lt;/span&gt;. Or it could well be a happy, informative, friendly little place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The future remains to be seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Que &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;sera&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;sera&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8924654384268212175-8464196970275620667?l=theravingdave.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/feeds/8464196970275620667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/welcome-to-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8464196970275620667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8924654384268212175/posts/default/8464196970275620667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theravingdave.blogspot.com/2009/08/welcome-to-me.html' title='Welcome to me!'/><author><name>TheRavingDave</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01366288121542400028</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V0MP0164YNk/SpVRHIcbcXI/AAAAAAAAAQw/s1L_rxyZK38/S220/blogger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
