Captain Purplehead

I mzt abologize for my absinth… Ahem… I have been quiet of late as I have switched Broadband providers. My experience with Eircom was less than satisfactory, to put it ridiculously mildly. Y’see I hardly ever look at through any bill that is sent to me. At the behest of a friend of mine, who had just left Eircom, I decided to look through my Eircom bill and guess what I found out? Yep, they had been over-charging me for seven fucking months. I was being charged for both broadband and dial-up.
The first time I called Eircom about this, I was put on hold. The horrible hold music was punctuated by a crisp voice. “Thank you for calling Eircom. All our customer care agents are currently attending other customers. Your call is important to us. Please hold and we will connect you to an agent as soon as possible.”
“Fair enough.” said I, settling back in the Captain’s chair.
“Thank you for calling Eircom. All our customer care agents are currently attending other customers. Your call is important to us. Please hold and we will connect you to an agent as soon as possible.” the voice repeated itself.
I decided to put the phone on loud speaker and go about my business, polishing trinkets, administering twenty lashes to a seemingly kleptomaniac deck hand and all other manner of chores that are the hum-drum of pirate life. All the while, that message kept repeating itself ad-nauseum. My patience was wearing thin but that voice sounded so reassuring I just knew that they’d get to me soon. They had to.
“Thank you for calling Eircom. All our customer care agents are currently attending other customers. Your call is important to us. Please hold and we will connect you to an agent as soon as possible.
I was just winding up for the eighteenth lash when the pattern was broken. There was a longer silence. “FINALLY!!” exclaimed I. I gave the deckhand one more good lash and a decent kick in the bollox and ran to the phone in time to hear a new message.
“Thank you for calling Eircom. Our offices are now closed.”
“FFFUUUCCCKKKKK!” Roared I, “Leave that scurvy-ridden wretch tied to the yard arm.”
After I calmed down, I came up with a plan. Why not get them to call me? So I put the bill in the drawer, called my bank and cancelled my direct debit. Lo and behold, two weeks later my phone rings.
“Hi, this is Mark from Eircom. We just wanted to remind you that you have an outstanding bill.”
“Thank you for calling Captain Purplehead. Captain Purplehead is currently unavailable. Please hold and he will deal with your query as soon as possible.” Said I, before putting the receiver beside the radio, which was playing Orinoco Flow.
I headed to the local shop for a packet of fags, had a brief chat with Lady Purplehead and finally went back to the phone where, amazingly, Mark was still waiting. I decided to have a little customer care battle.
“Thank you for holding, Mark. I’m sorry for the delay.” Said I.
“That’s no problem, Mr Purplehead. I understand.” replied Mark in a respectful tone.
“Thank you for understanding, Mark. How can I help you.”
“Well, we have sent you a ….” Mark began politely.
“Sorry to interrupt you there, Mark, but do you mind if I put you on hold for a tick.” interrupted I.
“That’s no problem, Mr Purplehead. Would you like me to call back at a more convenient time?
“No, that’s fine. Please bear with me a moment.” chirped I before replacing the receiver beside the radio which was now playing If You Leave Me Now.
Off I went to the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. When I returned, Mark was astonishingly still there but the chirp had gone from his voice at this stage.
“Sir, if there is a more convenient time for me to call back, I’d appreciate if you’d let me know as I have work to get through here.”
I relented. “Mark, I’m sorry that you had to be the one to get the brunt of this but I have a gripe with your company. I know that you’re not personally responsible for this gripe but I had to have my revenge. Now that I have had it, I would like to ask why I have been over-charged for the past seven months.”
After going through everything on the bill, Mark accepted that there had been an oversight on my account. This meant that I was in credit but, as I have signed up with another provider, they promised a cheque. Not one cheque has come yet but at least I know that Eircom are only a phone call away.

I am one of those insufferable people who loves both the Beatles and the Stones. Not one to sit on the fence, I prefer to admire both sides of the …. ok, maybe in this one I do sit on the fence but here’s a true legend of Rock.
I give you…….. Eric Daly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Legend!

Election time is here again. That wonderful time, when politicians tell you that they’re going to be giving you more money and everything is going to be rosy in the emerald garden. We will be paying less tax, pensioners will be getting €300 per week and they will be giving free penis enlargements to anyone who has suffered the side effects of steroids. Frankly, it makes you wonder why they didn’t do all these great things during their term in office. The stuttering buffoon, known to many as Colin the performing monkey but more commonly as Bertie Ahern is talking up all the great things that Fianna Fail have done for us. I’ll sum it up for you in two single syllable words for you, Bertie - FUCK ALL.
This government has had more money to waste than anyone else and they have done just that. Our health service is a fucking joke. We have classes that are bulging from the over-crowding of kids in them and your average Joe can’t has about the same chance of buying a house as a mouse has of surviving five minutes in Linda Martin’s knickers. We have a serious crime problem in this country that seems to have been completely ignored.
Here’s the thing; politicians will always promise to cut income tax but they have to make that back somewhere so they will add tax to other things that are essential for us to survive. What would be more helpful is to stop putting things out of the reach of ordinary people. I’m quite fucking happy with the money I earn. I’d be more encouraged if the government put a stop to the senseless hikes in prices that have gone unchecked in this country for too long. House prices are going to rise by 3% next year. To put that in context, a €250,000 house will become €257,500. Might not seem like a lot but when you consider that stamp duty on that house will also go up, you’re talking about taking out a €300,000 mortgage before you even think about furnishing it. Now, that still might not seem like much to you until you consider what kind of house you can buy for that €300,000. The house you can buy for that money will probably have two usable bedrooms, one box room that will barely be adequate as a study, a small living room, a kitchen and a downstairs bathroom. You will also have a square of grass that the builders will have been kind enough to have dumped blocks and concrete under so, unless you want a gravel back garden, you will have to get it dug up, levelled and reseeded. If you have kids, you will not be able to live comfortably in this house because there is no storage space.
So, all that aside, you move into your house in a housing estate for around €340,000 - if you put basic to reasonable furniture and appliances in it. Happy fucking days. You’ve put down roots and you will spend the rest of your life paying through the fucking nose for them. Along comes Stevo, the happy burglar. He breaks into your house, you tangle with him, you’re stabbed and he gets arrested. You sit in court as the judge gives him a two year suspended sentence, as it’s only his twenty fifth conviction. You can no longer work because he has severed a nerve that puts you out of action. You become bitter and turn to drink. Five years later, you’ve defaulted on your mortgage and you are due to appear in court. Stevo is walking out of the court as you walk in after receiving a three year suspended sentence. You get six months in prison and you’re now unemployable. Such is the way justice is served in Ireland.
When you are making your merry way to vote in the upcoming election, don’t vote for anyone. Spoil your vote because there isn’t a single party running that has any intention of improving things. They are overpaid and underworked. I advise you to put a large x right across the entire card. Create a hung Dail because it is the only way you can be guaranteed that they will keep an eye on eachother.

Whilst grimmacing at the ineptitude of the Irish team last Saturday, tearing the arm off the couch in blind rage, I thought of the genius that was Alan Latchley. In doing this I thought of my blogging colleague, Bock The Robber. Alan was manager of Scunthorpe, Bock’s favourite soccer team and I believe that the interview below will serve as a lesson for Steve Staunton. This is for you, Bock.
I give you Alan Latchley - aka, Peter Cooke.

Dear Stan,
As a Villa fan, I have many great memories of you as a player. I remember the goal you scored against United at Old Trafford when Villa really were a force. Paul McGrath, Ray Houghton and Andy Townsend made up the rest of the Irish contingent at Villa Park and all bled for club and country. Those were great days indeed.
Do you remember when the Irish back four consisted of you, McGrath, Moran and Irwin? What am I saying; of course you do. That was when we had a defence that was the envy of most. McGrath and Moran were an intimidating presence whilst not being intimidated by anyone. Both yourself and Irwin were great dead ball specialists and we were a threat going forward. Ok, not a huge threat but a threat just the same. We were resolute in our approach.
Back at Villa Park, you were putting in solid performance after solid performance. Again, that sweet left peg of yours provided plenty of dangerous crosses and curving set pieces. It was a great time to be a Villan. Those days will come again but, for now, we look back with the utmost fondness to the days when Dalian Atkinson was beating eight Wimbledon players before chipping the keeper for the best Premiership goal ever, Dean Saunders chipping Kevin Pressman from inside his own half - long before Beckham did it from closer range, Kevin Richardson breaking down every attack in midfield, Paul McGrath and Shaun Teale leaving very little for Nigel Spink to worry about and, of course, Earl Barrett and your good self piling forward and putting genuine pressure on the opposition flanks.
It is for these reasons that it hurts me more than most to see your reputation tarnished by people who believe that you are doing a shite job as manager. Fuck em, Steve. If you want to play a championship midfielder who is about to be relegated to league one instead of the few decent players you had at your disposal, that’s your decision. You’re the manager. Why would anyone question you? If you wish to leave a player who can attack like Stephen Hunt on the bench, that’s your decision. You brought him on with ten minutes to go, didn’t you. What do these fuckers expect? Fuck em, Stan. Fuck em all.
I mean, who would have the fucking cheek to question you when you leave Kevin Doyle on the Bench and play Duff up front? Not me, Stan. Not fucking me. You pick the team because you’re the fucking manager, Stan. These fuckers who are saying that you’re a fucking clown who couldn’t manage a skid mark after a ton of curry don’t pick the team. You do, Stan. Fuck em. That’s what I say.
So what if the first soccer match to played at Croke Park in one hundred years was like watching paint dry! So fucking what! We won, didn’t we. As you quite rightly pointed out, we came for three points and that’s exactly what we got. Who cares if the standard of football marred this historic occassion? Fuck em, Stan. Fu uh uh UCK them!!!
Ok, the clocks went forward on Saturday meaning that I had an hour less that day and that match was - if I’m honest - another two hours that I feel I’ve lost but you’ll get there, Stan. When? Who cares when! You’re the manager and you know best. So what if you don’t practice set-pieces. You were good at them so everyone else should be. Fuck em if they’re not, Stan. Fuck em all.
I think I know what the problem might be. You feel that you are undervalued and so do I. I think you should approach the FAI and ask them to double your wages. Tell them that, if they truly do support you, then they’ll dig deep. Ok, maybe they’ll sack you but don’t let that put you off, Stan. Just tell them to go ahead and sack you. If they still don’t cough up, fuck em, Stan. Fuck em all. Tell them to go fuck themselves. After all, given John Delaney’s clearly questionable aethetic attributes he probably has no recourse but to self entertain. Fuck em.

This is for those of you who believe in secret intelligence within the Whitehouse…

Nah, nothing there.

You may think, by the title, that this is about Katie Melua’s next single but it’s not. I know there are 25 billion blades of grass in Croke Park because I fucking counted the fucking things during yesterday’s game. Well it certainly beat watching the fucking game. What was that? I mean, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT??? Soccer, played well, is the most beautiful game in the world. Soccer, played badly, is worse than having your bollox stapled to a horses arse before someone yells GIDDYYYYUUPPP!!! Yesterday’s game couldn’t even be described as “Soccer played badly”. It can’t really be called soccer at all.
“We came here for tree pints and dass wha we goh,” intoned the Ginger Plank during his post-match interview. So, Stan, you didn’t come to Croke Park to create history by managing the home side in the first soccer match to be played there. You didn’t come to Croke Park imbued with the sense of pride that the Irish rugby team gave the whole nation after demoralising the English? You didn’t, in fact, come to Croke Park to prove to your critics that you can manage a team capable of playing fucking football. You came to Croke Park for three fucking points… AGAINST WALES!!!! Are you the only fucking one who missed the point here, Stan? You could have sent eleven golden fucking retrievers out there and they would have got you three points against Wales. With all due respect to Wales, they are crap since Mark Hughes left.
The Ginger Plank, in his infinite ineptitude, chose to start with Leeds United’s Jonathan Douglas in Midfield. Yes, that’s the same Leeds who are in serious danger of dropping to league 1. He, of course, played Duff up front and left Kevin Doyle and Stephen Hunt on the bench. Hunt came on in the 80th fucking minute - you fucking moron, Stan - and seemed like the only player who seemed to remember the occasion. He should have been on from the start as should Doyle. I’m a fucking pirate and I know that, Stan.
Yes, we got the win but you are not forgiven, Stan. Beat Slovakia and you will still be about ten yards from the first rung of the ladder to forgiveness.

So the tension is building like the steam in a dodgy kettle with no element. The long awaited clash between John Toshplank and the Ginger Plank is at hand. George Hamilton is dusting off his favourite shitty metaphors in anticipation of the meeting between the two biggest footballing giants in… well… in… erm… Ireland and Wales… ahem…
Bobby Robson is expecting Wales to play offensive football. I fully expect that he’s right about that. In fact, both sides will play football that is offensive to soccer fans.
It seems that every Irish player is rushing to the defence of the Ginger Plank and why not. Someone has to support him but they can’t be really serious. Richard Dunne has said that he knows the players better than Brian Kerr did and that he knows when to give them an hour or so in which to relax. The problem with that is that Stan normally chooses this down time at around the same time as our games kick off. They certainly relaxed against Cyprus and San Marino.
Is anyone else sick of hearing the phrase, “this is a must-win-game for us”? I mean, isn’t the object of the excercise to always win? I suppose there’s something in it. Ireland MUST beat teams like San Marino, Cyprus and Wales. How about a new phrase? Steve Staunton is a “MUST-GO-MANAGER!!!!” We should beat Wales. There shouldn’t be even a modicum of nervousness about that but there is. There is the chance that we’ll go out and beat them but that depends on how badly THEY play.
I want Stan to prove me wrong. I would love you to prove me wrong.

Need I say more?

This is the second in a series of posts aided by You Tube. This one is an eye opener. I’ll be doing a few more of these before getting back to ranting like the mad pirate I am.

And here’s a clever one:

And finally;