I woke to a beautiful, bright July Saturday morning and as usual went went down to have the breakfast in the kitchen with my Mam and the auld fella.

“Did he tell ya that he has to go down to the Garda Station”

“No, why?” she said looking at me half interested.

This was an excellent time to gauge what she really thought of me.

“Guess,” I replied, “maybe it’s for murder or drugs or being a pimp.  You have so many options, maybe even fraud or racketeering.”

“I don’t know.”

Then I explained to her that the Gardai were having an open day and I was heading down as it might help with the novel I’m writing.

“Oh,” she replied somewhat disappointed.

Half an hour later, I was down at the station with the Da.  In truth it was not what I expected ; I expected to see big, brawny, ugly Gardai, who would put the fear of God into me.  But they looked like ordinary people, except in uniform.  Some of the female ones looked quite pretty.  There was a carnival atmosphere, with lots of kids running around and their helicopter being the star attraction.  I just don’t how this was going to deter the kids from criminality, they looked way too happy.

I went over to have a gawk at the helicopter, always good to do a bit of reconnaissance.  It was impressive but they’d never get me and the wheelchair into it, I can now sleep that bit more soundly at night.

They had a riot stall where they seemed to be trying to teach the kids about where to hit them, when they were in full body armour.  It was nice to see them giving the future hooligans a bit of an education.

Then it was on to the drugs stall where I have to say they were so helpful.  Since college, I’ve lost touch with the drugs world.  But they had each of the drugs there and what they were called, it was just a pity I didn’t bring my gun with me and I would have been minted.

So, I learned that if I want to become a drug dealer I need to learn about this thing called “bitcoin”, which you can use to buy the drugs on something called the dark web, wherever that is.  They even told me that there’s not much fentanyl or crystal meth in Ireland, so there is huge growth potential.

You also need a good mix, as seemingly you need both uppers and downers.

They said they would need legal advice about whether a warrant would be required to search a wheelchair for drugs.  I was explaining to them that wheelchairs have improved so much, it would be a great way to transport them.

My Da then asked useful questions about the heat required for the hash.  Fair dues, he always was a bread and butter man.

The only thing that was missing from the open day was a pimp and whore section.  I’m sure they could give out lots of advice about that too.  Maybe I’ll write in to them with the suggestion..

Till next time.

With such busy lives, it is in ways no surprise that down time or solitude has become revered and something to be cherished.  In particular, concepts such as “mindfulness” have become mainstream.

People even go on retreats to be one with themselves.  But has it now not all gone too far.  Like everybody will surely have enough time with themselves when they’re dead!  They’ll have eternity to do absolutely nothing; guess there is a heaven for some people after all.

But that all being said, I guess everybody needs a few moments to themselves even me, I just don’t go on an expensive holiday to do so.  No, I just go and sit on the toilet.  It really is one of life’s great pleasures.

While there, you can dare I say contemplate the issues of the day, such as global warming.  In this case you can even add to the global problem at the very same time.  Oh, the simple pleasures.

If your in a civilized household you should be left in peace during this precious time, kind of like a holiday time.  If not stand your ground and defend your territory.

Another thing that has been on my mind recently is this Women’s World Cup.  Unfortunately, it appears men are not even the best at football anymore.  Well, not as good as the American women anyway.  No wonder the men don’t play it over there, they are too afraid.

I fully expect them to beat the Netherlands, just hope they are not in tears at the end like the Thai’s were.

Till next time and don’t forget to check some of my previous blog posts.

Well the day finally came and I have now passed over the 40 threshold.  There was a time and not too long ago when I considered 40 to be positively ancient and part of me still does.  Like imagine I was born forty years ago before even Sky television, how did I even survive back then?

I often heard people say 40 is the new 30 and smirk quietly to myself that those people were utterly delusional and just trying to make themselves feel better but now I’ve got my comeuppance!

Somewhat somberly, when I heard about gangland shootings and people over 40 died, it was like “ah well”.  This has to change.  Like an epiphany I now realize 40 year old lives do matter, much more than I would have previously thought even a week ago.  Young people need to care!

The day itself went well, I have all my photos ready for “Instagram” but will anybody bother to look at them?  Like I don’t think I ever “insta’d” the photos of someone that old.  Something has to change but I just can’t put my finger on it.  Maybe I should go naked in them or something.

At least we’ve had a bit of good weather recently.  I hear they’re complaining over in France.  Like honestly a bit of heat never killed anyone; guess they just love to complain.  Bring on the global warming I say, I can’t wait.  Just so long as it stays under 27 degrees celsius, of course.

Anything hotter and I just don’t enjoy my vodka..

Till next time – Leave a message with your email if you wish to subscribe!

 

I’m sure that everyone in the world has heard of the January blues, but in Mullingar we have the June blues.  Every year without fail we look forward to a nice long, global warming helped thing that we call “summer”.  A mythical concept around here but it really did happen once or twice in the past, we’re told.

But what we get the vast majority of years is something completely different.  It’s like the apocalyptic world portrayed in the Matrix where the sun has been permanently blocked by heavy cloud cover.  But even there, it wasn’t raining all the time!

This naturally leads to depression from the June gloom as we call it.  The only cure is to leave Mullingar and go anywhere else.  It’s the foreigners I feel sorry for; they must wonder where things went so wrong.

It is now the 15th of June.  The most exciting thing about today is that there was briefly sunlight for like a whole five minutes.  The excitement was somewhat tempered when someone from Costa del Roscommon told me they have had lovely weather all week, only an hours drive away.  That was what I really needed to hear..

The Mullingar weather station is the coldest in the country, I checked.  The best way to survive in a place like this is to learn to enjoy other peoples’ misey.

This is almost certainly my last post before my fortieth.  As you all know in the social media age, it’s all about projecting the right image.  So for the next few days, I’m going to be busy setting up fake facebook accounts so I can send myself hundreds of happy birthday messages.  Remember these days, it’s all about quantity.

Then there’s the “party” that I need to document, which was always going to cause problems but I have a plan.  There’s now a place in Dublin to do “fake” parties for social media.  You have a few beverages beforehand so that you look appropriately jarred, head into this place where strangers take photos with you.  It really is a beautiful world.

Till next time..  Mullingar I love you really (or at least I stayed).

Well readers, it’s been a while, so I decided I better give you a quick update.  So I’m now over 20,000 words into my novel “The Irish Ripper”.  I would have liked to be a bit more into it but such is life.  Still pretty sure it will be over 50,000 words by the time its finished, such a long way to go..

Still haven’t completed my application form for the job opening.  There are just so much more interesting things to do in the world.

The weather is lovely here at the moment and it’s only April, this global warming thing is great altogether.  I might finally get that Meditteranean climate I was promised all those years ago.  So remember everyone, keep burning that coal, go on unnecessary drives and chop down those trees!

Love them or hate them, interviews are now part and parcel of modern life despite all the studies that have shown they are a waste of time and just promote narcissists.  Just like The Kardashians.

Nowadays because their flaws have become so widely known, they’ve become an even bigger pain in the ass.  There was a time when you could do up a CV and send it in to different jobs.  But that just doesn’t cut it anymore.  Now the application form is intrinsic to your future, still hypothetical interview.

Yes you might have guessed it readers (depending on your intelligence level), I’m going to apply for a new position.  So, I won’t get fired or whatever, I’m not saying where (see I’m so smart, sort of).  This necessitates me filling in the application form.  No, a CV is not acceptable – it says so.

The first part is fairly bog standard.  Like where you say you have this degree or that one.  Whatever comes to mind really.  Just buy the diploma for whatever they want over the internet.  Why do they even bother?

But then they want you to write essay type answers about how you managed people bla bla bla and other such things.  At least my creative writing skills will come in handy.  Only 200 words each though so kind of like writing flash fiction except much more boring.

My real problem is after all this effort, you’re not even guaranteed the job!  I should know, this has happened me a few times.

Like what a waste of time.  Maybe they just like my stories too much.

Till next time readers.

I was watching a very interesting youtube video the other day.  Something to cheer me up on an otherwise dreary and depressing day.

There are an estimated 15,000 nuclear warheads in the world.  That’s three nuclear warheads or bombs for every city with a population of one hundred thousand people or more.  Roughly half of the worlds population would be immediately obliterated.

I know what your thinking readers – so, not too bad then.  I do feel sorry for all the people with disabilities that would die.  That would be a tragedy.

But Mullingar would be just fine.  In fact, the sky would be filled with pretty colours.  I used to worry about a nuclear winter but apparently the world would only get one or two degrees cooler for a few decades.  Global warming would be solved!

There would of course be dead zones for a few thousand years but I could take or leave Dublin anyway, no real loss.

But then during my pleasant daydream I felt something uncomfortable.  Would my PAs still show up for work in the apocalypse (worrying times indeed)?  It dawned on me that I may be the first ever person to think of this problem.

Like, who would get the charred bodies out of my way?

Fortunately, I have a solution.

We could insert something into their brains that will cause them immense pain if they don’t show up.  I’m such a genius, I will immediately write to the Taoiseach.

Till next time

 

 

Well readers, I do hope you are all having a good weekend.  I’ve spent it watching the very successful Irish rugby teams and working on my novel.

On a high note my blog has now almost reached five hundred views, which isn’t too bad I suppose.  Be great if it was five hundred every week lol

For those with Netflix I strongly recommend watching “The Highwaymen”.  It was the best film I’ve seen in quite some time and tells the story of former and now quite old Texas Rangers that are sent on the hunt for Bonnie and Clyde.

I love crime dramas and films set in the 1920s and 30s.  There is something so romantic about that time period just before technology really took off.

Now for the end of the short story.  Remember to look at previous posts if you wish to read from the start.

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The last thing Garda Niall Griffith had expected first thing in the morning was a call from Detective O’Callaghan.  Once he heard his voice, a small shudder went through his body.

“Meet me at the house in a half hour to carry out out an arrest.”

He tried to interject but the line went dead.  He thought to himself that this was to be another wasted morning.  There was just no way it was the husband that did it and he hated the thought of bothering him once more.  But O’Callaghan was the Detective and he had little choice but to do as he was told.

So into the Garda car and off he went.  He was surprised to find O’Callaghan waiting outside for him in his wheelchair.

“Is he here?” asked Niall.

“He who? What are you on about?” said O’Callaghan before reaching up from the chair to reach the buzzer.

After a minute, the Filipina nanny opened the door looking somewhat shocked.

“He’s not here.  It’s just me and the baby, whose asleep.

“Probably best you ring him straightaway.  I have some questions for you,” O’Callaghan replied tersely.

She immediately phoned him to tell him to come back from work before they all went into the sitting room, closing the door so as not to waken the baby.

O’Callaghan got straight to the point.

“Mary,  I know your name from the files.  I do have to him admit this case had me flummoxed for quite some some time.  This was a brutal, impulsive crime of passion.  But when that which appears to be most obvious is ruled out, whatever is left no matter how improbable must be the truth.

That’s what turned my attention to you.  Unlike Garda Griffith here, I have all the time in the world to look into things, so I did.  I found your photo on a dating website, from at least a year or two ago.  You didn’t mind if it was a man or a woman.  Then I found out from your neighbour that you were not at home as claimed on the day in question.  You were lovers weren’t you.

But something went wrong and you couldn’t take it”

Mary sat down on the couch and began to cry.

“I loved her, I really did.  She promised to leave that fool but what you call reneged that day.  She turned her back and I just grabbed the closest object and began to hit.  She told me I was the love of her life, I couldn’t stop.”

With that Garda Griffith slowly walked over and put the cuffs on her before leading her away; leaving O’Callaghan to explain things to the husband when he arrived.

Well readers, just as well nobody read my previous post about Irish soccer.  It turned out to be quite a good match and I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed it.  Let us hope Mick McCarthy can keep it up.

So, I decided to take today off.  I guess you could call it “Mark’s Day Off”, but it might be just a tad too boring to get that title.  They definitely couldn’t make a film about playing chess (Lost – hate that) and writing all day.

Going to watch “Bohemian Rhapsody” later.  Apparently it’s quite good.  But I always wonder about these so called true or biographical stories.  Like for a start it’s made for a mainstream audience, so there is loads of things that are just not in it.

Bet your thinking when does Part III start, will this guy stop waffling.  I have loads of time.  So much better than having to rush everything.

I decided on a name for my story – The Iron.  I know, not exactly the greatest title but look it will do.  It obviously relates to the murder weapon.  Always open to suggestions though.  Remember to read Parts I and II first, if you haven’t already done so.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

“Where the fuck is he?”  That was what Niall thought as he anxiously waited outside the front door for Inspector O’Callaghan to show up.  He was already ten minutes late.

Then just as he was thinking about ringing his mobile, the inspector’s specially adapted car pulled in.  There was a torrential downpour occurring so he went back into the house to borrow an umbrella for the Inspector.

He shouldn’t have bothered for all the thanks he got.  By the time he had found one, O’Callaghan had already managed to get into his push wheelchair and looked indignant at the suggestion he might require assistance.  Niall wouldn’t bother next time.

They immediately went into the sitting room where the husband was waiting.  O’Callagan took center stage and started asking questions.

The husband was hesitant at first saying that he had already answered everything.  Niall now spoke up for the first time saying O’Callaghan was the best detective in the force, which brought about a quizzical look.

“It’s the clothes isn’t it.  This fine Garda here beside me in his immaculate uniform and here’s me in my wheelchair in shabby clothes looking like perhaps I should be out begging in the street.  Do you know why that is?” O’Callaghan said sincerely.

The man said nothing but shook his head perhaps instinctively.

“It’s because I’m prepared to get my hand dirty.  I used to dress like him but had to keep throwing stuff out from getting blood on them.”

That seemed to settle things down and he began to answer.

O’Callaghan spent a good half hour questioning him before he broke ashen faced into tears.  He had been happily married with two children, quintessentially upper middle class with a nanny to boot.

No sexual problems, perhaps even better than usual and no enemies.

O’Callaghan barely said goodbye on the way out.  Niall had heard he didn’t like a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

 

 

Till next time