For Want Of A Play Review

On Tuesday evening my household had the pleasure of holding the monthly Justin Bieber Convention. To escape obsessed adolescents I decided to go see this.

And it was megaquarefuppinCLAAAASS so it was! Now I know today's, wha, Thursday, but it runs until Saturday so if you haven't seen it then just feckin go. Srsly. I won't spoil nowt for yis cause reviewing a play would seem too much like some sort of homework of the Junior Cert kind, a long buried memory of a yoke.

After a loffley evening stroll down the parade cause Becky and I weren't sure where we were getting collected, I returned to the eh...party, and so proceeded to drown my sorrows in Nick Drake, tea, and stolen Heroes from downstairs.

Yoghurt Makes The World Go Round

...And don't you dare contest that.


The smell of burning pig flesh doesn't really appeal to me in the mornings. Each to their own, but Monday morning, after a mega night of not sleeping and doing various activities including scooter races, cheese eating, intense teeth brushing and Romanian cultural immersion in that dodgy place about a 45 minute cycle away from mine which we refer to as "Gowran", I for one was not up for cremated sausages.

So after being bribed with a bag of jellies by Joseph I began the treacherous cycle home. A number of mishaps occured; rain, chain failures (which had to be fixed on the side of the Danesfort hill, morto.5 on the morto scale) , a minor (but incredibly graceful) fall into a ditch to name but a few.

Then, with one last final push along the main road I made it home, albeit completely bushed. Well you can imagine my delight when I discovered I had returned home to none other than a STOCKED KITCHEN!

All better.

The Very Best Of

...Nyan Cat.


Yep I may be 2 months late, but for me it stills holds an element of...wonder. Here are my top 5 Wonders of the Nyan Cat World.

Feat. The Annoying Orange 

Kids React To

Nyan Cat Game :D :D

Nyan Cat Jewellery?!

Um. You've to be in the right mood for this - aka. seriously needing to procrastinate!

Saturday night at around 1am, I found myself 4 feet in the air, eyes shut (in an intensely squinty kind of a way as opposed to sleepy), arms flailing, teeth gritted. No, I was not the victim of a bungee jump gone horrifically wrong, I was dancing. No surprise there, dancing into the early hours on a Saturday night, I'm hardly the only one eh? 


Thing is, I weren't gallavanting round Pegasus, I was in my front room. With Youtube as my sole companion. Oooh, dodgy territory here now. HANNAH'S A FREAK alarm bells ringing? Don't worry, I get that a lot too. 


But honest ta god it's gotta be the best feeling ever. Although shutting your eyes does help you to forget that you can't actually dance for shizz. Sure I did ballet from when I was 3- 12, and there was a bit of modern thrown in there towards the end, but now, well, I think the verb "flailing" summed it up nicely in that first sentence. 


I'd be willing to bet that I'm not the only one of yis who indulges in this...somewhat eccentric habit, and if I am then you haven't listened to these

Hannah's current top 3 lone freakout dancing tunes 

Fatboy Slim - Right Here, Right Now

Defies explanation.

Erasure - Sometimes

What can I say? I'll make no excuses for myself and/or undeniably odd music taste.

Rescue Remedy - Blues Waffle

Anyone who's seen these guys know it's impossible not to dance. It's an utter choon and they're well worth a looksee!

Tan...tastic?

Fake Tan is quite easily the worst thing to ever happen to this world (hey, there's nowt wrong with a bit of hyperbole). So much so that I'll often try to convince myself that "Pale is in! Pale is in! Look at my gorgeous pale le - GOOD GOD THE VILE PASTINESS MAKE IT STOP!". 


So with some degree of apprehension, the bottle is withdrawn from the second to last bottom shelf of me desk. Along with the mitt. Now, having shied well clear of the concoction until absolutely necessary, I'm glad to say that I've not experienced all the various forms of it. Mine is a Marmite-like goo. What am I saying, Marmite-like!? Sure it's quite obviously Marmite. Not a doubt. 

The perpetrator of the crime

As for the actual application of aforementioned gunk, well it's pretty much a "grit one's teeth and hope for the best" type operation. Just accept that your knees will be proper tangoed and you'll inevitably miss large patches on the back. Streaks just add to the effect. All in all, a good job done. 


Until you realise you'd kept your socks on and are gonna be wearing sandals. Anyone for tights?

Collections in the Triggs/Read Household

      You may have noticed me mutter an expletive in yesterday's post, and this is because I kicked over my sugar packet collection. I'd like to defend that, and say it's not as bad as it sounds, but in fairness, it's probably worse. Collections are pretty odd. I mean, why bother? Well, okay, in all honesty who doesn't want to be her? ↓
  

I figured I can't be the only person who has a collection, and to prove this theory, I undertook a bit of a not-so-shnakey investigation into the collections of my family members.

First up, Clodagh. Her indulgence? 

Justin Bieber Memorabilia, circa. 2011.

No, that's not upside-down, he's invaded the ceiling too.

All in all, I counted a grand total of 77 Justin Bieber faces staring back at me, not to mention JB phone charms, elastic bands, t-shirts, magazines, CDs, annuals, cinema tickets, concert tickets etc. etc.

 And I was like, Clodagh, Clodagh, Clodagh NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Next contender? That'd be Mum/Mummy/Mam/Mammy/Mother/Parental Unit #1.

Yep, you guessed it... 

Egg cups!

Top 5 IMHO

We've come a long way since first trawling that dodgy antiques shop on Rose Inn Street, so much so that the egg shelf was recently extended. My all-time favourite is a Dalek one, but apparently it's too gaudy for the shelf. 

Dad? This was the best I could do to assure myself that everyone collected things. 

Computer Programming Manuals

Anyone up for some visual C++? 

Investigation complete, it was time to come clean.

My name's Hannah, and I collect sugar packets.

Strictly speaking, this 52 is incorrect, as I found another under my bed this morning. I'm welcome to donations by the by, although all packets are individual, from as far as Vietnam to as near as...Esquires...

Wake up in the morning feeling like a Disney Princess

A Day In The Life Of a Competitive Swimmer

Yeah, I'm one of those. Those being people who get up when you're going to sleep to go and do two hours of strenuous exercise, sechsmal in der Woche. It's not too infrequently that I get asked "How do you do it? Where do you find the motivation? You go to bed at WHAT time?! Is it hard to get up? Do you get used to it??" etc., etc. Well, here's my secret.

Yours truly

(4.45AM: Woken up by a flurry of bluebirds, deer and various other cute woodland creatures. Catch sight of myself in the mirror. My, I look ravishing. Must be because I went to bed at 7pm the night before. 

GET IN MAH BELLEH

5.00AM: After pulling on my gown and painting my toenails, I float downstairs towards the smell of warm porridge - those shnakey bluebirds have been up since 3! What are they like, eh? 

5.15AM: My swimming bag has been 

packed since the night before (I like 

to be organized) and I've even bought

 nice shampoo and filled my water 

bottle with Robinsons - summer fruits, 

what else? 

5.20AM In my 1902 State Landau, a present from the queen upon my birth in 1995, I enjoy the peaceful journey to the swimming pool. I like to wave at the European Courier Service lorry drivers as they drive past.

5.25AM Arrive at the pool. Usually

 we'll play on the slides for the 

duration of the session, pausing 

occasionally for a dip in the jacuzzi. 

Now and again Ill play water polo 

with my chums.)*

*Dramatization, courtesy of the bluebirds.

LUKIN GAWJUZZ IN DA PROFILE PIC

Take 1: In which Hannah figures out how to work the camera.           

Take 2: In which the camera cuts out just as Hannah was getting into the swing of things

 

Take 3: In which Hannah tries to get to the point

O Sacred Brick Of Nokia, I Place All My Trust In You

     The other day, I went to see the Arctic Monkeys in Sheffield (Big shout out to Daddy for that one). And they were absolutely a-fuppin-mazin'. It was easily the best gig I've ever been to (okay, it's not hard, considering that hopping a wall in Thomastown to go see David Kitt is my second best). However, this ain't about the Arctic Monkeys, cause I've no pictures. Zilch. Zero. Nada. And you wonder "WHY IN MATT HELDERS' NAME WOULD YOU NOT BRING A CAMERA WHEN YOU'RE GOING TO SEE YOUR FAVOURITE BAND YA FOOL", and although this is quite an acute observation, I did bring a camera. It was just too big. 


     Ah sure, not too big a hiccup. Everyone has cameras on their phones, I can always get some crappy ones to remember it by. S'yeah, Arctic Monkeys are all being awesome, and I'm all being fair walloped about the place by shirtless scumbags and so to capture the moment, I whip out me trusty Nokia, and bash the up button - sure tis the shortcut to the camera dontcha know.


And nothing happened.


...


So I tried again.


...


No blurry lcd viewfinder.


...

BUT OHMYGOD THIS PHONE HAS A TORCH ON THE TOP!

CLASSSSSSSSSSSSS!

And that, my friends, is the beauty of a Nokia. Here are the pros and cons of all my Nokias through the ages.

1. Cons: Cracked screen, no camera, 

    no bluetooth, no infrared, no gallery 

    (so no music, no pictures, no picture 

    messaging),  no internet.

    Pros: THERE'S A TORCH! IT HAS 
    THE ORIGINAL BOUNCE GAME! 
    IT TEXTS! THE WALLPAPER IS 
    PURPLE!                                                                                      

 

2. Cons: I've lost the phone part

    

    Pros: I carved the word BUM into the back.

  3. Pros: It took good photos, the 
      buttons were quiet, it was quick,

      it had backgammon, bluetooth, 
      space for a memory card, nice 
      weight due to metal back

     

      Cons: One day it decided not 
      to wake up.

 4. Cons: The back no longer stays on, 
     it didn't take well to being used in 
     the shower

     Pros: The battery sellotaped 
     in looked well rugged innit.

5. Cons: The buttons went walkabouts. 
    Like serious walkabouts.

    Pros: I can't even remember, but I 
    must've loved it...to bits.

Plenty of Nokias were harmed in the making of this blog

No one does Bric A Brac like Bennettsbridge does Bric a Brac

On Sunday, from around 2.10 - 5.10, I attended the world renowned Bennettsbridge field day. If you haven't heard of it, well wow. That's awkward. Someone's been well and truly kicked out of their loop!


Basically, I got a pleading message off of this wan (ain't she gawjus?) telling me to get me arse over there. So I did.


Now for those of you unfamiliar with rural South-Eastern field days all must contain at least 5 of the following

• Under 3s hurling matches (all players must have oversized matching gaa gear, doting parents and wishes to annhilate the opposition)
• Bric a Brac (eg. the most hideous lamps you've ever seen, ditto mirrors, candle holders, clocks, useless kitchen implements - however, somehow among all this dismal clutter, we managed to find a miniature hurl with the words "KOME ON DA KATZ" emblazoned on both sides. It was quite simply stunning, and only 50c!)
• Mice in a plyboard circle with numbered holes around the outside. This kind of gambling is almost as good as spending a tenner on penny pushers in Tramore.
• U8, U10, U12 and U50 three legged races. Time of event not specified anywhere.
• Sponges, plyboard with cut out faces. Nuff said.
• Burgers. With onions. And cheese. And mayonaise. And ketchup. And salad. And have some more onions, ah yeah. Ah go on. 
• Soft toys that you yourself donated when you were in primary school. The very same purple (now a bit of an off white) duck with the yellow bow. And that demon eyed rabbit.

So's y'all know your way there next June!

AH GWAAAAAAN YOU'LL HAVE SOME MORE ONIONS WONTCHA

Apologies for lack of original photos, we were having too much fun. Also, neither of us had a camera.

Nerd points +1

Becky wanted me to do a post about the time we made Butterbeer. I make it sound like it was years ago. It might be a little less mortifying then, and a little more cute, like making mudpies, or convincing your younger sibling that salt was sugar and force-feeding them and - ok, praps that was just me. In fact, it was..Saturday night.

1. Butterbeer recipe, from none other than every potterhead's favourite website. (Nerd points +1)
2. Realise that this recipe includes that wonderful (but unobtainable in Ireland) drink, Cream Soda.
3. Cream soda recipe/substitute! (Skip the long one that takes up to 48hrs, there's a shortcut below)
4. WRECK THE KITCHEN!

Here are some photographs of our endeavors.

Sugar syrup attempts

Leaving it to cool in the fridge. We managed to wait about 5 minutes.

Toffe sauce TO THE BRIMMAGE

Bubbly microwaved sugar-y gunk. And cheeks, always the cheeks.

Adding toffee gunk to the improv cream soda

Frothy deliciousness

Yer wan

I went to the gym yesterday so I did.

Before: 

The Gym is a magical place where dreams come true and wishes are granted. Well, sorta. Y'all know the routine. Dig out that oversized grey t-shirt that you one day plan to cut up and turn into some kind of incredible fashion statement. Dig out those not quite hotpants not quite surfer shorts shorts. Those Asics runners which make your feet look like large marine creatures. You scrape back your hair into the least flattering way possible. 

It all sounds quite horrific. 

But somehow, in a very strange and overpowering way, you feel, well, let's not dodge around the issue, SEXY. 

...Until you're standing like a dope at the door to the stairs up to this magical land cause the people on the desk forgot to give you the code.

But sure hey. Life isn't easy.

Minor obstacle overcome, it's time to hit the bike. After much jiggling around with the seat (and your arse) you manage 4.67K around that island track before getting bored of your POWERGYMTUNES playlist (includes The Prodigy and Fat Boy Slim. Duh). 

Then to the cross trainer, via a scrawny 15-year-old bench pressing 2kg when he thinks you're looking. It may be tempting, but don't stare - it's rude. Also not really worth it. 

Then the cross trainer. Sure there's nowt wrong with that. You're there powering along, level 7, arms going like crazy. All well and good until you glance into the midget polish beast beside you's screen and he's on level 37. 

You want to run a bit, but you know deep down that you'll be longing to burst into an impromptu baywatch moment. So you bury your heart's greatest desires and shuffle over to the water dispenser to drown your sorrows. Trying to figure out which tap is super cold and which is normal cold will usually take your mind off things, or so I find.

After:

*

*Results may vary

Coping Strategies

Woke up yesterday morning feeling absolutely bejaysused. Which I knew I would, seeing as I went to bed feeling fairly rotten. Snivelly nose, puffy eyes, it's a good look.


My initial reaction when this happens is to curl up in bed and groan with self pity for as long as I can manage - because I wake up crazy early this only lasted until about half 8.  (Coping Strategy #1)


Tar éis all that, I trudged downstairs, dragging a couple of blankets, a hottlie wottlie bottlie and my self pity. Set up camp on the couch. (Coping Strategy #2)


Then to the medicine press. *chorus of angels* LEMSIIIIP! Right, so the box is empty. I'd drink that stuff all day if I wouldn't have to get sent to l'hopital. Now for the next best thing *encore angels* HOT RIBENA! For those of you who have never sampled this glorious brew, well you're missing out. Tis divine. Also ideal for long walks with dodgy flasks, cause if it goes cold while you're walking well...then you've Ribena! None of this cold tea/coffe business to deal with! Leaves fairly dodge stains in the mug though. (Coping Strategy #3)

(Excuse stubby nails)

Mug in hand, it's heartbreaking BBC period drama time! A usual favourite of mine is my prized 4-hour Tess Of The D'Ubervilles DVD (starring a certain Eddie Redmayne's arsecheeks) but I decided to break the mould and went for The Duchess. Muchos crying to be had but somehow other people's plight seems to help you feel better amidst the sniffles. So there you have it! (Coping Strategy #4)


Happy summer colds everybody!

The Sugar Connoisseur Extraordinare

I pride myself on being quite a foody person. 

I don't do the whole sun dried shrimp liver pate on seaweed biscuits with a gratin of cherry sprouts, but I do do sugar. And lots of it. Here is last week's cinnamon pull apart bread. [Recipe] Excuse the Arctic Monkeys CD, that's a little something I call (epic) product placement. I force fed Joe and Dad a bit, but ate the rest myself. Some people just can't appreciate the beauty of uncooked heart attack. Nomnom. Good with a glass of milk. Adding raisins next time.

 And to continue with my sugar connoisseur - ing, here's a fake oreo. Superquinn's best. 

They shouldn't exist.

 ∴ the horrified orangutan.

Don't shame yourself by purchasing them. 

This has been a public health warning from Hannah.

Surname: Twiglet Given name(s): Soggy

So, soggy twiglets. This is a twiglet.

 

And this is a soggy twiglet.

Quite similar. The only difference is that one comes from an opened bag which has been left on Hannah's windowsill for quite a while, and isn't quite as crunchy as the bag prides it on being.

So to make quite a dissappointing Twiglet into something I could be happy with, I decided that 

BAM! INSPIRATION BLOG NAME!

was the best I could do. You know. To help this Twiglet make something of its wasted life.

I'm considerate like that.

Here goes nuttin'

I made this blog for Kate Holland. And Mrs McGrath. Because they told me to. Technically they told me to make it for when I go to THE PLACE THAT CANNOT BE NAMED BUT IS SPELLED *whisper* h-o-n-g k-o-n-g.


But I got impatient. Because I quite like to be pretentious. And how better to express my pretentiousness than a blog?


I'll be posting about things like...well, food. And the bruises I pick up on my summer travels (that's always a good one). And maybe music? You'd have to be prepared for a bit of White Stripes spam and Antony and the Johnsons shite. I'll post about reading 1984 and completely missing the political undertones. Whatever. Praps I should just let y'all look forward to the mystery of it all?

Also,  unattractive genius photobombs (my speciality) are a given. Enjoy, bitches.