The Hoar Of Ages
Monthly Mumble.

Entry 5 of me Monthly Mumble…and its about feckin' time I hear you say! (Turn yer speakers on!)

Dear Pigeons!

Speakin’ of the ‘darn dreadfuls’, I have decided to convert the back shed into a pigeon loft. Thing is, havin’ a flock o' pigeons about the gaff is a bit of a 'rump-rouser' for Yours Truly…all that cooin’ and flutterin’ of wings…gives me the willies it does…flusters me up good and proper-like…whips me gills somethin’ awful!

So, off I’ve been to every feckin’ do-it-yerself shoppe in Dublin this last week to purchase meself the works….timber planks for the full conversion, yeller plastic gruel-trays, and even a stretch of bright crimson carpet for the loft floor! Every week I can give the rug a good scrub-down….keep the pigeon loft from smellin’ ‘fowl’. Of course, I do have ‘plans’ for these birds…and at the heel of the hunt, if me plans to train the feckin’ pigeons to post letters fall on stony ground, sure I’ll nay be stuck for Sunday grub-fixins’, for those birdies that don’t pass the postal test are doomed for the platter. All I can say is…that if I were one of the seven filthy birdies I’ve already abducted from a grassy knoll in Shepherd’s Bush…I’d start versin’ meself in ’ a few postal techniques! Do a civil-service course or somethin'!

Now, I have not been about the place since February or thereabouts, and ya may or may not have noticed. At this rate…sure I might as well call my Diary somethin’ like the Monthly Mumble, or The Lazy Ledger. So I've decided to change the name, see? You’ll probably think "She's a bit loose with the head", and yer probably ‘too close to the quick’ with that thought, but the fact is…Freake and Kildare are planning a little RE-LAUNCH of DearVampire.Com and the two have been puttin’ their lovely, lifeless heads together on concepts for a sister web-shite to be known as Real2Real.TV  !

“What’s that?” I hear you mutter, with yer fingers in yer nostrils. Well ‘tis a simple enough gesture from The Vampires to provide you with various and sundry film footage of their escapades...frolic-filled snippets of their feverish antics that will run live over the web as small video vignettes..."snippets of time, captured for all eternity" sort of thing.

This ‘plan-in-the-works’…(which will entail me working double-shifts up at The Office cuttin’ and pastin’ film-footage of Freake galavanting about in New York and Kildare striding about Dublin on his nights out), will result in monthly films being broadcast in 'streamin' media' at DearVampire.Com’s new sister shite…Real2Real.TV

So, just when ye thought The Last Remaining Vampires On Earth were dozin’ off in some hell-hole at the back of various run-down theatres somewhere, the feckin’ thing is just heatin’ up!! I have news from New York that Caspar Freake is due to post his long-awaited letter to be published in the LETTERS OF THE UNDEAD once it is firmly away from Kildare’s mauling mits. Then, as ye now know, the publication of Freake’s letter shall be followed, in swift bowel-movement-like pursuit, with the re-launch of DearVampire.Com and Real2Real.TV

I’m up the walls…to be honest…and me nerves are getting the best of me about the whole launch of Real2Real.TV. I haven’t slept one wink with all the comin’s and goin’s of these tradesmen tramplin’ about The Office puttin’ in fixtures and fittin’s for the new film studio for Kildare. A similar studio is being erected in New York at an undisclosed location, for Caspar Freake's presentations. Havin' tradesmen knockin' about the Office 'does' have it's advantages though...and this girl’s work is never done! 

Freake and Kildare have conveyed, through me, an exuberant display of gratitude to ye all for keepin’ a close eye on DearVampire.Com over the past year. As they say themselves, ‘twas always and indeed remains their wish that (and I quote:)

“DearVampire.Com continues to serve as a portal to humankind, a window through which The Mortal and The Last Remaining Vampires On Earth can continue to gaze at, and ponder over, each other.”

Now, getting back down to street level and into the gutter that is MY FECKIN' LIFE…here’s the scam and scandal for ye:

The hair-raisin’ bastard that kept on comin’ about me gaff in Dublin for sugar-sessions has finally let me be, by flingin’ himself off Baggot Street Bridge into a great big body of water beyond the slews-gate, managin’ somehow to save his miserable life after flaying about in the mire for half an hour, and eventually been dragged to dry land by some pink-faced slut-in-heels who’s apparently got her own feathered nest up on Leeson Lane! Imagine that, being dumped…for a hussy! And me? Well after runnin’ down the edge of the feckin’ canal after him, I ‘accidentally’ impalled the butt-end of my left elbow in some geezers fat round face, and ended up never getting’ to the Bridge itself, but instead found myself knee-deep in an assault charge fiasco. Being that it was after 4.00 am in the morn, things got rather ‘shifty’ altogether, and I lost me marbles completely with the fat-faced fecker who then summonsed the Gardai to our location on his bleedin' mobile phone-thingy! (I feckin’ ‘hate’ those damn things!!) A squad car came soon after, at which time I was rumbled quite 'pleasantly' into the back of the auto, and was later charged with a public disorder offense down at the local Garda Station!! Hand-cuffed I was! And a photo taken! I must add though that the Gardai were extremely pleasant to me, and even offered me a cuppa tea, which I downed to drown the whif o' gin on me lips. Next day…I was all over the local newspapers! I must remember that one…when next I need some publicity!
 

Anyway, not all is lost, nor has the ‘story’ ended…for your Hoar Of Ages has bounced back and has since put the ‘feelers’ out on a most charmin’ fella from the country who’s even got his own feckin’ farm! The Wellington on Baggot Street, and many long evenin’s in situ there, have finally divvied up the goods for me, and I shall be headin’ out tonight with a sharp heel or two to the ground and a bra full of fivers to enjoy a sordid ol’ time of it with this ruddy-faced bog man!

I hear tell, from sources close to this particular jaw-in-a-jumble, that he has more than a few shillings to his name, and a member the size of an exercised cucumber! He can’t string two words together, poor divil, and he reeks of vermouth all the time, and he even has a nasty ol' habit of tellin' the same shite jokes over and over again, but these are ‘details’, and I’m a big-picture sorta girl, at heart. So…take a drink in hand, raise it atop yer noggin’ for me, pass a gaseous emission, and toast The Hoar Of Ages, for I’m just about to land meself a Feckin’ Farmer!

I’ll tell ye all about it when next I rumble in me Monthly Mumble…in the meantime, have a great Saint Paddy's Day, enjoy the puke-green soup, and don't forget to climb Croke Padraig on yer hands and knees 'till yer bones are bleedin'! (yeah...right!!!)
 

The Hoar Of Ages

Dublin, Ireland. March 12th 2002.