Monday, 6 July 2015

The Norn Iron Summer

I once suffered from Irish girl blindness.

Ever beg someone to keep their clothes on? I get that all the time but not because my skin colour can blind an airline pilot better than any laser pen can. 

Mother Nature likes to surprise the people of Northern Ireland, there are the false summer days in which the sun is shining and some photographer tries to remember if he knows any decent looking weemen. Maybe some young dumb aspiring models so he can rush them over to Brown's bay and tell them to put a bikini on and get into the water. 

Now frolic and look like yer enjoying the beautiful weather, when the Belfast Telegraph and the Ballymena Times buy my pics you'll be famous .... stap shivering yer harshing my mellow. Any chance of you getting wet? The Tele pays more if there's nipple.  Sharon stap crying, pretend yer in Spain.

That fresh Irish glow does pay off now and then. If a vampire attacks an Irish person at night they would be in for a surprise when they take the clothes of them. Ach sure if they did sink the fangs in the blood they'll get would be anemic and 100% proof. 

Fucking Paddies, why can't you be a wop? 

Irish skin should come with a warning label. One time Old Knudsen took his clothes off in a fitting room when he was trying to get a rhinestone laden jumpsuit like the kind Elvis would wear. I was standing there in me stained gunties and I felt kinda warm. Their was a full length mirror in front of me which baked me like a lobster. 
The glare singed me treasure trail and turned it into a dirt road. I'm no blessed with a manly hairy chest, being part rat on me Ma's side all that hair went to me back so thankfully no singed chest hairs though I haven't been able to braid my nose hair since and now I often snort boogers into me dinner as there are no hairs to catch them .....  I feel I can tell you anything, yer such a chum.

All I got from me manly little nipples for a fortnight was clotted glop, I ended up having to buy a bottle of milk for me tea, I don't like spending money, it hurts my chest. 

Ach it's handy for if yer lost at sea but not so much if yer a sniper. 

So you get yon false summer days and then from out of nowhere you get the 3 days that is our summer. You waste the first half of the day wondering what to do cos what if it rains? Was that a cloud? 
Everyone is wearing summer clothes but then again they have been since the start of spring, the hail stones didn't even stop them. 

You could go to the beach but you spend half of the day dithering and it takes hours to travel 20 or 30 miles over here and then you'd have no where to sit and drink because the bastarding families all had the same idea. 

Aye so you tell yer mates yer having a barbeque and you hoak out the wee disposable tinfoil one from last year .... cos it rained you see. 
Yer mates come round with their bottles of beat the wife and you put yer 3 sausages on the grill for hotdags except you only have sliced bread. 

Just fucken eat around it and stop being so picky.

You stand there taps aff staring doon at the wee tin BBQ on the grass like something out of Lord of the flies. We should get our boom bax out and play our 'Now that's what I call sounds of Ibiza 98' CD cos nothing says fun like a ghey disco for everyone to hear. If it's sunny yer music has to be louder and outside, it's in the Bible or something.

So the hot dags end up tasting like lighter petrol and dead mouse but it's the memories that count.... assuming you do remember. 
So once you've done all that yer pish poor til the end of the week and aching from sun burn and anyways it's too fucking hot to do anything, ah it's horrible.  

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