Vulgarity

The recent YouTube video of a woman launching a racist diatribe on a London tram has shocked and appalled most who’ve watched it. Secretly filmed, the woman can be seen abusing and ranting at fellow passengers on the tram, many of different ethnicities, and blaming them for the downfall in Britain’s fortunes. It is a disgusting display of bigotry and ignorance which I won’t link to here because it doesn’t need any more exposure.

While the hate filled woman spouts her small minded, verbal diarrhoea, a small child sits on her lap. Whatever about her wanting to voice her hatred for other ‘non British’ races surely she should be concerned about the language she is using in front of what she says is her child. Cursing and swearing in front of her offspring is hardly good parenting (I’m aware, neither is being an ignorant racist. You need a licence for a dog but anyone can have kids.)

Unfortunately I’ve had a real life example of children exposed to inappropriate language on public transport. Only in this instance, it was the cute and innocent 5 year old boy who was walking up to passengers on the 150 bus Monday evening and telling us all to ‘Fuck off.’ If it had been a Roddy Doyle book it might be amusing but in this case the aggressive tiny tot was a little uncomfortable.

The toddler was marching up and down the upstairs aisle of the bus shouting at the other passengers while the person responsible for him sat down the back laughing and telling him he was ‘the best boy’ and ‘he could say whatever he wanted.’ She was about sixteen so I’m not sure if she was the child’s mother but it did seem that way despite her lack of concern for the kid’s behaviour. Actually that’s not entirely true; she did make sure he blessed himself when the bus passed a church.

I enjoy a good curse. I can ‘fuck’ ‘bollix’ ‘wank’ with the best of them, but I would never have dared to curse in front of my elders and most definitely not my parents. You can say a five year old knows no better, but whose fault is that?

The first time I swore in front of my mother was in 1984 when I said shit. That was only after seeing Harrison Ford say it in Temple of Doom. If it was ok for Indiana Jones surely it was ok for me. It wasn’t. Then there was the time I got grounded for a week for telling James Cooper to ‘Fuck off.’

We were playing with our toy cars on the street outside his house, which was three doors down from mine and we were wheeling the Corgi James Bond Lotus Espirt to each when James wheeled it too hard and it bounced up and hit me in the face. Shocked, in pain and forgetting where I was I screamed at him using language fitting of a docker. A couple of moments later my Dad, who was never shy of choice vulgarity himself, appeared at our front door and beckoned me.

“Did I just hear you telling James to Fuck Off” he asked.

Well what could I say? I hadn’t actually realised I cursed, it just came out. I was told to come in and that I wasn’t allowed out for a week. In fairness the grounding probably lasted for the rest of the day. If I’d been smarter I could have argued the hypocrisy of my dad scolding me for swearing. But I was 6.

Kids these days are a lot smarter. And vulgar.

Transport

Public transport is never the most pleasant of experiences. Fellow passengers can be smelly, germ ridden, inconsiderate or just downright annoying. Drivers can be impatient, rude and obnoxious. But it is a very necessary evil especially to those without a car.

So far this year, I have been forced to sit on buses for longer than I’d expected because of floods, snow, fallen trees, broken down bin lorries, livestock, Queens of England and Presidents of the United States of America. There is no more frustrating waste of time than to be sitting on a large people carrier surrounded by angry commuters who just want to get to where ever they are supposed to be going.

I’ve also just moved house and my new bus routes seem to go the longest way around to get to any point. Through various housing estates and up and down the back roads, it ensures a journey that should take twenty minutes actually takes twice as long. That is a lot of me time that I’m losing out on.

So I’ve come up with a plan that stops them stealing my time and it keeps my brain occupied. I’ve started a new blog. Yea, another one. It’s called Bus-To-Move (inspired by the Young MC 1989 hip hop classic.)

It is yet another collection of my yammering on about the random shite that enters my head but this one is slightly different to the anthology you are currently perusing. The newest blog has certain rules that have to be adhered to.

• The Blog will run for the month of November 2011 only.
• All bus journeys will be chronicled unless I have company on the bus.
• All entries must be time stamped with the same details as the bus ticket.
•    All entries have to be written while on the bus with the use of blogger on my HTC phone.
• They can only be as long as the journey takes (in the interest of logic the very last sentence can be completed after getting off.)
• All thoughts have to enter my head while on the bus. They cannot be thought about previously.
• Editing and proof reading can be done at a later date but the content of an entry cannot be changed
•     Suitable photos, videos or links can be added at a later date

In case you were worried I might start taking over your Facebook news feed or your Twitter timeline, whoring each entry, you can rest easy. I’m looking at this as a project, which you are welcome to look at if you like, but I’m not going to be pushing it.

Last November I was working on NaNoWriMo and it felt like I should do something this year to keep me busy. So it was either that or grow a Movember. And I think I’ve made my feelings clear on that topic.

So I’m only going to be doing Bus-To-Move until the end of November. I’d appreciate anyone who wants, taking a look at it then, but if you want to check out the progress as it evolves, you can find it here.

Commuter

Regular readers might remember that a I wrote a piece a couple of weeks that started off situated at bus stop. Without wanting to come across as devoid of ideas or something of a self parody, I’m going to start this one at one of Dublin Bus’s sheltered pick up points too. Don’t worry, I mean The Hangover and Leaving Las Vegas were both set in the same place but had very different outcomes.

Is there any more basic, per functionary place than the bus stop. No one ever visits there unless they are waiting…for a bus…to stop. Its more straight forward than Ronseal. Surely romance could never blossom at one of these plexiglass coverings, could it?

Taking my usual route through the park which is situated directly between my estate and the place where I get my bus to the city centre, I was on my way to work. As I got closer to my destination I saw one person already there. They were walking back and forth from the little bench that some of the bus stops have.

When I reached the stop I could see she was a very pretty girl. In her twenties. Dark hair tied back in a thick, neatly groomed pony tail. She wasn’t wearing a lot of make up, so her skin was clear and bright. She was wearing a blue wool coat over a short skirt with dark tights and knee high boots.By now, she’d stopped walking and her big brown eyes scanned the printed time table on the back of the shelter.

Failing to garner the necessary information from the printed rota she turned to me.

“Do you know what time the 19a usually comes at?” she pleaded with me.



I didn’t really have a satisfactory answer for her. My attitude to time keeping means I rarely look at something as Orwellian as a timetable. I’ll get there when I get there. I told her that there was usually one every twenty minutes or so. This did not seem to provide any comfort to my fellow traveller.

She continued her desperate pacing. She really was very attractive, her legs drawing most of my attention.

For the sake of openness I should admit, I;m a big fan of the boots tights and skirt ensemble that is in style this season. Actually if I’m completely honest I LOVE this look. Its incredibly sexy and it appeals to certain fantasies that I have….. Too much information?

Anyway, like the cliché of an expectant father in a 1950’s movie she strode up and down, constantly looking in the direction that our bus was due to come from. When she wasn’t searching the horizon she was look furiously at her watch. I’d never seen anyone in such a tizzy over a bus.

Not only was she beautiful but now I was intrigued. She could not stay still. It was as though, in her head, every step she took would bring the bus closer. Each stare into the distance willing her big yellow rescuer closer. There could only be two possible reason for such nervous fretting.

Concluding that she was either late for an interview or alternatively late for work and on some kind of warning for tardiness, I had to know.

It also seemed like it would be a bit of an ice breaker. A charming fellow such as myself taking in interest in her unfortunate predicament. If I’ve learned anything from watching romantic comedies over the years well then a stranger striking up a conversation in such unusual circumstances could only lead to wedding bells .

“ I think they normally get here on the half hour. What time do you have to be in town for?” I asked.

“Ten to. Will that get me in on time do you think? Should I get a cab?”

So far so good, in that she didn’t mace me or tell me that her boyfriend was in the Army.

“You should be alright. If there isn’t one here in ten minutes maybe get a taxi, but you’ve plenty of time.” I tried to sound as confident and reassuring as possible. It seemed to be working as she flashed me a smile. I’ve never found teeth so sexy.

She went back to her marching while I tried to think out a way to ask her to bear my offspring. Figuring I was getting ahead of myself I decided on asking why she was so impatient.

“So whats the rush?”

She stopped walking and there was that smile again. This was it. My whole life was about to change. Conversations like this always get the heroes in the movies laid. Don’t they? It’ll work for me, won’t it?

I don’t know. Just as she was about to reveal her innermost secrets and desires (and why she was in a rush,) a colleague of hers pulled in and offered her a lift. She lept at the chance, almost pulling the back door of the car of its hinges. She did turn and say goodbye before driving out of my life for ever.

Not exactly a Hollywood ending but then they rarely happen in real life. There is a Coke Zero advert which asks “ why do chick flicks give women unrealistic expectations?” I guess I fall into that category too. Kinda.

Wenceslas

“I just got Mam a bamboo vegetable steamer for Xmas. That’s a good present isn’t it?”

I overheard this particular piece of genius at around 3 p.m. last Christmas eve. I was standing at the bus stop and this person was talking on his mobile. He was a grown man so he couldn’t use youth as an excuse for such a preposterous gift.

I looked away to hide a smirk and I realised I wasn’t the only one. The other potential Dublin Bus passengers mirrored my look of bemusement at the ludicrousness of both the statement and the sentiment.

If I were to hand my Mother a kitchen utensil (regardless of whether it was made of a flexible wood or not) on the 25th of December, I’m sure I would left in no doubt that its more than just any thought that counts. There is also the strong possibility that I would be picking bamboo splinters from hair whilst having to clean up the debris.

Don’t get me wrong. I can’t say I find it easy shopping for Christmas gifts and I don’t just mean for my mum. My dad is just as difficult, I have no idea what my brothers are into and when I ask my sister what she would like, she smiles and says ‘I don’t mind.’ However, despite the nigh impossible nature of the task, I managed to complete most of my festive shopping for this year.

I just need to get one or two things for some children of friends and I’m done. It was actually relatively painless. I’m not overly enamoured with my selection, but faced with the budgetary constraints of a part time shop assistant, I did OK.

I went mostly with DVD’s, CD’s and books as token ideas. Stuff I know the recipient would like but I would have preferred to have given more personal gifts that required a bit more effort than just running to Tower Records and queuing.

Time was a problem. I’ve never been busier in the run up to Christmas. Writing books, working in Muji, meeting friends who I neglected to write books, going to gigs. All this has taken a toll on my seasonal Santa sponsored sharing.

Basically what I’m trying to say is, I’m really sorry. I didn’t get you anything this year.

That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten you. Oh no. I didn’t have time to get you all individual presents, but I did have time to speak to one guy for whom time isn’t an issue.

Dear Santa

Hi, how’s it going. Remember me. It’s Jayhaitch from Crumlin. You brought me the Casio keyboard in 87. It was great thanks a million…I really should have taken lessons, but I was always just happy to plink and plonk the keys. I don’t want you think I didn’t appreciate it.

I know I’m not supposed to be writing to you anymore. As an adult I’m supposed to pretend you don’t exist so that you concentrate on the younger kids.

That’s cool, I can dig that. But here’s the thing. I have actually been super good this year; I’ve cut back on the booze. I’m always positive and try to help people. I don't talk about people behind their back. Seriously….I’ve been a relative saint this year.

And it’s not even that I’m looking for gifts for myself. Honestly I’m fine Santa, I don’t need anything. But life has been super hectic recently and I haven’t had a chance to get anything for my friends. So I was wondering if you could help me out. Why don’t I give you my list and see what you can do. I don’t expect miracles or anything.

They are all great people. Some of them have young families or are having kids in the New Year. If you could see your way to making sure they are all happy and healthy that would be very cool.

I don’t know if you heard, but due some serious mismanagement by a series of incompetent buffoons, Ireland has been a bit economically unstable lately. If you could make sure none of my friends suffer because of this that would be great. I really couldn’t care less about bankers, politicians and fat cat businessmen. You can let them swing if you want, but if you could just make sure my friends are ok for work and can pay the bills, you’d be a legend.

Have you been reading Blog, Santa? Insertwittypopculturereferencehere? I think you’d really enjoy it. I really enjoy doing it. Being a writer is great. I have a few friends who are doing stuff they love doing too. It’s great to see them following their dreams. I’m very proud of them all. I know you’re something of a patron of the arts, so you should really make it so they do really well in 2011.

If you do that I promise I’ll be even better this year. I’ll even cut out the dubious 'relationship choices' … although I’m sure as a red blooded man you can understand some that.

I know not everyone can have a great year and there has to be sadness in some peoples life. If it’s a case that any of my friends have a tough time could you make sure they have support. If bad things happen, let them find solace somewhere. Can you make sure they know they can always talk to me if they want?

So you see Santa…Its not like I’m being greedy or mean or anything. I mean if you want to get me a publishing deal or a girlfriend who looks like Penelope Cruz, I’m very cool with that, but you should look after my friends first.

Yours sincerely

Jayhaitch.

So you see it’s not like I forgot about you guys completely. I’m sending you Christmas wishes and I’ve dedicated a blog to you. Surely that’s better than socks and Lynx deodorant box set.I can always get you a veg steamer for your birthday?

Headlights

"So you're leaving the country and you can't give me a lift to work anymore? You're actually going to let me get two buses every day while you go and live in some island paradise, walking around in your bikini, drinking mojitos and eyeing up tanned muscleheads? You Selfish Bitch"


This is not an actual conversation that I had. It could have been if I weren't so socially intuitive. I didn't feel it was the right place to express those feelings.


So here we are in the second month of 2010. February marks the one year anniversary of an occasion of mixed emotions for me. For it was this time last year that I was abandoned (that 'might' be a bit harsh) by a loved one. But I did get a car.


My best friend Lisa had just gotten a new job in the Cayman Islands and would be leaving the country. I was conflicted. I was disappointed to be losing my drinking buddy and confidante. I was excited for her wonderful opportunity. I was kinda wondering would she sleep with me before she left...youknowwhatimsayin... (I should point out that she didn't, she wouldn't, I never suggested it out of respect for our friendship and she is probably going to punch me for writing it down. ) And I was worried how the hell I was going to get to work every morning.


On top of being my go to guy (girl) for good times and laughter, for the past two years, more or less every day, Lisa had been giving me a lift to and from work. Unless she had a meeting or I was too hungover to get up on time, my good buddy Lisa B. drove me to work in the mornings and most days waited an extra 30 mins to give me a lift home. Now she was leaving? That was just...downright...inconvienent.

I don't know if any of you take Dublin Bus these days. It smells. Its dirty. Its full of people hacking and spluttering strains of germs that could lead to the type of global hysteria that you see nowadays when Miss Piggy gets the sniffles.

The latest phenomenon to hit Dublin Bus is two fold. Both of which lead to your aural senses being attacked by bad music being played on poor equipment. You either have the seemingly Eastern European with the incredibly loud, hardcore/electro/techno/noize (thats with a 'z' to emphasis its shitness) played through cheap earphones which offer no protection to passers by. Or you have the school girl in her fake Ugg boots minus the pyjamas this time, it is a school day, and Le Coq Sportif school bag, playing Rhinanna or Akon on their phone. Over and over and over again.

Either way, it's rubbish music, with rubbish speakers, making a rubbish noise, listened to by rubbish people on a rubbish bus.

So what i'm trying to say is, I don't like public transport. And as someone who lived in Harolds Cross and worked out in Citywest this was going to provide a problem. Someone who at 32 years of age had still not bothered to learn to drive.

Its not that i never bothered. I had tried before. But i just didn't follow through. And my confidence in my ability to master an automobile was fairly low. I could drive a car. I just couldn't stop, turn, park or reverse it. But when I weighed up the options there was only on thing for it.

The next time I went to visit my soon to be departing buddy, I presented her with my idea almost as soon as she opened the door. "Lisa", i said as i unveiled my brilliant concept. " I want to buy Doreen"




This is Doreen. She's 12 years old. She's from Waterford. She's smart, reliable, responsive and despite a bit of a rough start she generally treats me well. Which is more than can be said for most of the women in my life.

For the previous seven or eight years she had belonged to Lisa. First as a little run around in Tramore Co. Waterford before laterly being part of Lisa's move to the 'big' city for her new job and career in Account Management and Sales Marketing.

So from a Bumpkin-Mobile to a Sex and the City style runaround (Yes, I know those women didn't drive, but i'm going for a certain imagery people) Doreen had been good to Lisa and Lisa was good to Doreen. She christened her Doreen because she was green. And well, Doreen rhymes with green. It makes sense if you know Lisa.

However, as Lisa prepared to leave the Emerald Isle (not the Doreen Isle, you'll notice), she was faced with the harsh reality of leaving the most loyal dependable friend that she is ever had (not to mention me) behind.

She also needed cash. And fast. She needed as much start up capitol as she could lay her hands on before starting her new life in Grand Cayman, and while Doreen had been a companion, now she was an asset that needed liquidating.

So as she was starting to consider placing an ad in the Buy and Sell, and all the hassle that that entailed my idea to buy Doreen saved her a lot of hassle. The benefits for her in my purchasing were

She knew where i lived if there was any issue with payment.
I was willing to wait until she was actually leaving so she had a car up until her last day in Dublin
I was unlikely to sue my good friend if I wasn't happy with my purchase
I would continue to call her Doreen

The pluses for me taking it off her hands were

I knew the car. I knew she was generally reliable
I needed a car that i could learn to drive in. And while i hope to have Doreen for years to come shes a sturdy mature lady that doesn't need to rely on her looks to get by. The odd scratch her and there would not bother Doreen.
It saved me having to go to a dealer and pretend I have any kind of clue about cars. Going around kicking the tyres and tutting isn't fooling anybody
I would be doing my friend a good turn before she left me.
I would be able to call my car Doreen without anyone being able to question my motives. It had that name when I bought her.

So we agreed. I would give Lisa €1000 and for that I would take ownership of Doreen Greene (yes, of course she has a full name). A 98 Waterford reg Nissan Micra GX 1.1ltr engine with 70,000 miles on the clock. As a couple of bonus sundrys that came with Doreen I got, a functioning car stereo with CD player, a hands free kit and phone charger that Lisa 'forgot' to return to her old job, an in-car dirt devil vacuum and a bright yellow lock for the the gearstick/handbrake.

Oh...i've recently discovered that I also got an ashtray full of chewed gum, that the seller was supposed to clean out before she gave me the car. Luckily I don't smoke so I can forgive her. Besides she had other things on her mind.

Someday, I will tell you all about the stresses and strains of learning to drive, dealing with mechanics and clipping the side of a Bin Lorry. I might even tell you about saying goodbye to Lisa, tearful train station hug et al. But for now, I just want people to know. I'm on the roads.

So as the old sergent from Hill Street Blues used to say. Lets be careful out there.

So how am I doing so far. Are we all liking the blog? Well if so why not click on the follow button on the side there. As a reward when I get a certain amount of followers I will post a little short story i wrote. Its funny and gross. I can't tell you how many I need before I post it. Like George Clooney said in Up in the Air. "I have a figure in mind but I haven't hit it yet"

So follow me...please. I'm a very needy person