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Electricity
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Mowl
Member
It's amazing the difference hair (on the head, that is) makes on a woman
Or doesn't.
To a gay bloke like you.
Mowl
Member
Jaze, I must pay more attention to things. I haven't even bothered to look up the previous year, never mind this one. Much as it'll grate on you to know it, Finland was again voted 'World's Happiest Country' for the seventh time in a row - that's from 2017 right through to today. I was still trying and succeeding to wind you sad bastards up about us winning it five times, but it seems I was so happy I missed two more years of the same.
Happiness among the EU member states really ought to be rationed. Ex-Prime Minister Sanna Marin promised to tell the OECD people not to award Finland with the honour again, but it seems she may have lost her phone while out clubbing with her girls and drinking more champagne than she ought to. So just for the craic, here's a picture of Sanna heading out to party:
Seven years. It's a long time. You'd think standards might either slide a little or improve a little, but no: of all the countries in the OECD lists, we're consistently awarded the first prize. There are of course many reasons for this, but suffice it to say that when the Mowl arrived into Helsinki into the waiting arms of my then beautiful lady friend, I brought with me many things that the Finns of today think wonderful. Like inclusivity, one of my better traits. It's not difficult, all you need to do is be nice to people. Greet them warmly. Ask how their day is going. Hold that door open, there's a little old Lady behind you. And don't fuck them unless they ask you to, instead - make love with them. They like that much better. The fucking can happen later, rest assured. Also, dressing in a clean and ironed white shirt over pressed black slacks and a clean-shaven face with fixed and waxed hair is what you wear for your office job, plonker. Be a fucking man. Stand like one. Don't give any fucks like one. Dress like one. You don't have to buy her a drink to talk to her, and you don't have to excuse yourself about it either. They don't mince their words so quit mincing your own. You can wear sneakers and shorts in any club if that's your thing, just don't show up looking like you're there to ask legal questions or to present menus.
Ireland's best effort was seventeenth place, and that was a good few years back during the Celtic Mutt days. At the moment you sad twats are rock-bottoming out like you have done since forever. You live in the most expensive country in the entire EU zone, and look at the fucking state of the place? You have your masses of homeless people, of homeless and hungry children, bums and junkies galore, Roma people hanging around and stinking the place out. The Irish walking dead along O'Connell Street is NOT a good look for visitors, you dopey fucks. You've gone and let the migrants take over, haven't you? You watched them walk in, demand all manner of shit, get it, throw it back, ask again, receive it again, and fuck it up again. It's nobodies fault only your own - you let this happen on your watch and believe me when I tell you: your kids aren't just going to hate you for it, they're going to vote for freedom of euthanasia, and guess who the first up against the wall is?
That's right, suckers: you and yours, and by the time the next two or three generations have a look at what you lot did, burying your bodies after a nice singsong and funeral mass in wooden coffins isn't going to be allowed. They're going to vote to burn you and have your ashes added to the cement mix for whatever they decide to build to replace your main street syringe/needle. Your generation are by far the worst Ireland has ever seen. Your ancestors weathered all manner of dodgy situations and they came out on top. What has yours done? Whine on chat boards about the 'good ol' days' and cry into your tins of cheap imported Dutch and German lager and pils while snorting up 6% cocaine cut with 94% rat poison. You fucking deserve to be euthanized, you lazy, useless, uneducated, unworthy, fucking scum. You were handed a country with massive potential, an island nation who could have had it all: a place for yourselves alone in an ocean of unlimited opportunity and total autonomy. But what did you do with it? You let scum like Charlie and Bertie set you up and then take the legs out from under you. You watched as all that lovely money fell from the sky and like kids in a candy-shop, your eyes were bigger than your belly. Now you're all looking for someone - anyone - to blame.
Lads, you are where you are because you all partied, and don't be trying to deny it either. I watched complete fucking knackers walk in to five star restaurants and swallow their meals whole, shoveling the foie gras down your necks like it was a bag of chips. Driving cars you could never afford, borrowing, spending, three meals out a week, two summer and three winter holidays. Silk suits and handmade shoes. Kids with state of the art telephony. You even had all these beautiful eastern European ladies serve you your coffee, lunch, dinner, taking your cash at the tills, cleaning up after your company bash. Now your kids work for them, scrubbing their floors, serving their foods to their own people over to visit from Poland and Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. And your kids are wondering why they can only make it a few rungs up the ladder from abject poverty to assistant manager without ever getting to run or direct anything. They're fucked. They know it. They're eyeballing you lot - especially you lads and lassies who love to gossip on thepolitical discussion boards laugh-ins for Mowl to giggle at. Your debt stands at €234Bn and counting and you have a gross population of 5.2Mn people, of which around 48% are either kids or pensioners. Think about that. Then think about why your government can't open the doors wide enough to the homeless of the world. It used to be:
'If you're Irish, come into the parlour...'
Except now it's:
'Oh, landlord how could you treat me so cold, you've got a mortgage on my body and the key to my soul...'
You stupid, stupid cunts.
Last night I went downtown and as a result of a confluence of seemingly unrelated phenomena, I didn't get home until dawn and didn't once put my hand in my pocket. Drinks, food, taxis, the works. I met a few people I hadn't seen in a while and we crashed two parties in downtown venues and then another house party after that. Lovely weed, there were other things on offer but I don't use them. In fact, here's a little story about a moment I had in the studio with the guys:
I said that I have never tried heroin, meth, crack, or any other super-strong drug and would like to try a few of them even once before I die. You know what my mates said to me? 'Yes, I can get that for you - but I won't'. I asked why not: 'because you're too special to us, we aren't going to let you do that even under our supervision. So no, not now and not ever'. I replied that if they wouldn't get it for me, then I could go to the streets for it. They replied: 'stop kidding yourself, you wouldn't know who to ask or where they are, and chances are they'd probably think you're a risk because you're foreign and alone'.
That was the end of that.
No fucking wonder we're so happy.
Now look at yourselves?
You stupid fucking cunts, you're all dragging each other down, day after day, the incessant whining and griping never fucking ends.
You have no one else to blame but yourselves, you twats.
The best part?
The worst of it is yet to come for you dopes, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.
Not even being an island you could build walls and fences around is gonna save you.
Because you're fucked up from the inside out - not the other way around, you fucking losers.
Even Stig's laughing at you:
Happiness among the EU member states really ought to be rationed. Ex-Prime Minister Sanna Marin promised to tell the OECD people not to award Finland with the honour again, but it seems she may have lost her phone while out clubbing with her girls and drinking more champagne than she ought to. So just for the craic, here's a picture of Sanna heading out to party:
Seven years. It's a long time. You'd think standards might either slide a little or improve a little, but no: of all the countries in the OECD lists, we're consistently awarded the first prize. There are of course many reasons for this, but suffice it to say that when the Mowl arrived into Helsinki into the waiting arms of my then beautiful lady friend, I brought with me many things that the Finns of today think wonderful. Like inclusivity, one of my better traits. It's not difficult, all you need to do is be nice to people. Greet them warmly. Ask how their day is going. Hold that door open, there's a little old Lady behind you. And don't fuck them unless they ask you to, instead - make love with them. They like that much better. The fucking can happen later, rest assured. Also, dressing in a clean and ironed white shirt over pressed black slacks and a clean-shaven face with fixed and waxed hair is what you wear for your office job, plonker. Be a fucking man. Stand like one. Don't give any fucks like one. Dress like one. You don't have to buy her a drink to talk to her, and you don't have to excuse yourself about it either. They don't mince their words so quit mincing your own. You can wear sneakers and shorts in any club if that's your thing, just don't show up looking like you're there to ask legal questions or to present menus.
Ireland's best effort was seventeenth place, and that was a good few years back during the Celtic Mutt days. At the moment you sad twats are rock-bottoming out like you have done since forever. You live in the most expensive country in the entire EU zone, and look at the fucking state of the place? You have your masses of homeless people, of homeless and hungry children, bums and junkies galore, Roma people hanging around and stinking the place out. The Irish walking dead along O'Connell Street is NOT a good look for visitors, you dopey fucks. You've gone and let the migrants take over, haven't you? You watched them walk in, demand all manner of shit, get it, throw it back, ask again, receive it again, and fuck it up again. It's nobodies fault only your own - you let this happen on your watch and believe me when I tell you: your kids aren't just going to hate you for it, they're going to vote for freedom of euthanasia, and guess who the first up against the wall is?
That's right, suckers: you and yours, and by the time the next two or three generations have a look at what you lot did, burying your bodies after a nice singsong and funeral mass in wooden coffins isn't going to be allowed. They're going to vote to burn you and have your ashes added to the cement mix for whatever they decide to build to replace your main street syringe/needle. Your generation are by far the worst Ireland has ever seen. Your ancestors weathered all manner of dodgy situations and they came out on top. What has yours done? Whine on chat boards about the 'good ol' days' and cry into your tins of cheap imported Dutch and German lager and pils while snorting up 6% cocaine cut with 94% rat poison. You fucking deserve to be euthanized, you lazy, useless, uneducated, unworthy, fucking scum. You were handed a country with massive potential, an island nation who could have had it all: a place for yourselves alone in an ocean of unlimited opportunity and total autonomy. But what did you do with it? You let scum like Charlie and Bertie set you up and then take the legs out from under you. You watched as all that lovely money fell from the sky and like kids in a candy-shop, your eyes were bigger than your belly. Now you're all looking for someone - anyone - to blame.
Lads, you are where you are because you all partied, and don't be trying to deny it either. I watched complete fucking knackers walk in to five star restaurants and swallow their meals whole, shoveling the foie gras down your necks like it was a bag of chips. Driving cars you could never afford, borrowing, spending, three meals out a week, two summer and three winter holidays. Silk suits and handmade shoes. Kids with state of the art telephony. You even had all these beautiful eastern European ladies serve you your coffee, lunch, dinner, taking your cash at the tills, cleaning up after your company bash. Now your kids work for them, scrubbing their floors, serving their foods to their own people over to visit from Poland and Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. And your kids are wondering why they can only make it a few rungs up the ladder from abject poverty to assistant manager without ever getting to run or direct anything. They're fucked. They know it. They're eyeballing you lot - especially you lads and lassies who love to gossip on the
'If you're Irish, come into the parlour...'
Except now it's:
'Oh, landlord how could you treat me so cold, you've got a mortgage on my body and the key to my soul...'
You stupid, stupid cunts.
Last night I went downtown and as a result of a confluence of seemingly unrelated phenomena, I didn't get home until dawn and didn't once put my hand in my pocket. Drinks, food, taxis, the works. I met a few people I hadn't seen in a while and we crashed two parties in downtown venues and then another house party after that. Lovely weed, there were other things on offer but I don't use them. In fact, here's a little story about a moment I had in the studio with the guys:
I said that I have never tried heroin, meth, crack, or any other super-strong drug and would like to try a few of them even once before I die. You know what my mates said to me? 'Yes, I can get that for you - but I won't'. I asked why not: 'because you're too special to us, we aren't going to let you do that even under our supervision. So no, not now and not ever'. I replied that if they wouldn't get it for me, then I could go to the streets for it. They replied: 'stop kidding yourself, you wouldn't know who to ask or where they are, and chances are they'd probably think you're a risk because you're foreign and alone'.
That was the end of that.
No fucking wonder we're so happy.
Now look at yourselves?
You stupid fucking cunts, you're all dragging each other down, day after day, the incessant whining and griping never fucking ends.
You have no one else to blame but yourselves, you twats.
The best part?
The worst of it is yet to come for you dopes, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.
Not even being an island you could build walls and fences around is gonna save you.
Because you're fucked up from the inside out - not the other way around, you fucking losers.
Even Stig's laughing at you:
Mowl
Member
Further to my consideration of moving to a smaller apartment, I spotted this one in the recent listings and it's available immediately. So I have to decide quickly to get a place on the list of interested tenants. It's a refurbished old block that's been thoroughly renovated and brought up to scale and the extras that come with it are the same as I get here, ie: free laundry and drying, sauna, garbage disposal, a parking space (I can gift/lease it to another tenant) bicycle lock-up and winter gear lock-up, two storage spaces (one heated, the other cold) and lots more lovely stuff. One bedroom, two balconies, fully fitted kitchen with dishwasher, own laundry machines can be fitted to the bathroom, thirty-eight square meters (this one is 50sqM - so 20% less space) and the only thing I'm not liking about it is the lack of windows as large and south-facing as mine. I have a big sky view here that's just magnificent: the birds in chorus all day, swooping and diving on the air currents of the courtyards in the evening, and I can see Kalasatama and the new Redi neighbourhood clearly on a good day. At night it's even more spectacular.
The rental is for the new apartment €570 per month and the deposit I have on this place can be transferred instantly.
Lovely area with all services to hand, nearby the forests and parks, and a short hop to city centre via multiple transport options. Brand new interior, first letting, minimum contract is one year and maximum not defined, so the option to stay for a few years is wide open. I was reading this morning that there are currently forty-odd available rentals in Dublin with long lists of potential tenants who likely won't even see the place before deciding to rent it, and if they do then the rent's going to fucking cripple them. But that's Ireland for you.
This is Finland - and this is how we do things:
Cover pic:
Plan:
Thoughts?
The rental is for the new apartment €570 per month and the deposit I have on this place can be transferred instantly.
Lovely area with all services to hand, nearby the forests and parks, and a short hop to city centre via multiple transport options. Brand new interior, first letting, minimum contract is one year and maximum not defined, so the option to stay for a few years is wide open. I was reading this morning that there are currently forty-odd available rentals in Dublin with long lists of potential tenants who likely won't even see the place before deciding to rent it, and if they do then the rent's going to fucking cripple them. But that's Ireland for you.
This is Finland - and this is how we do things:
Cover pic:
Plan:
Thoughts?
Mowl
Member
Helsinki €570 per month: 38SqM, all new including one bedroom, sauna, storage, balconies, fully fitted kitchen, wooden floors, secure lock-ups, etc, etc.
Dublin €750 per month: 9SqM, single room, used bed, used table, used chair, one window, one door, own rope and roof to hang yourself from.
'Notable increase' in the proportion of students paying more than €750 a month in rent - report
The University College Dublin Students’ Union has called on the Government to carry out their “duty of care” to students.
www.thejournal.ie
Man, it must be shit having no options at all in life.
Up here I can get what ever I want, wherever I want it, at half the price and ten times the quality. You suckers really are a fucking hoot. Whenever I think it couldn't possibly get any worse for ye, you all show me just how much worse it can get within moments. Life must be a fucking misery between the expense, the shit quality, the miserable fucking weather, the endless rain, the junkies, the homeless, the whole fucking shebang.
It's so much nicer up here in the world's happiest country (seven years, Jimmy - seven).
The chicks are hotter and far prettier, the sun's blazing down, I have a choice so far of around six addresses I may/may not move into depending on location and the layout of the space. They're all well within my budget and five out of six haven't even been lived in yet. They're all city owned apartment blocks that have been renovated from top to bottom. The quality you can see for yourself.
Compare that to the shit you have to deal with?
Pahahahaaaaaaaaa - no wonder I'm so happy, no wonder we're all so happy!
Got your slab in for tonight's aggro, Shay?
Lump of soap bar?
Skins?
Frozen pizzas?
Good man.
Electricity
Member
Why are you moving to a smaller place? 
Did they cut your dole, HAP (or whatever it's called in the Frozen Wasteland)?
Did they cut your dole, HAP (or whatever it's called in the Frozen Wasteland)?
Mowl
Member
Because I have far more space than is needed and the apartment really is designed more for a couple than one single person. Because of apartment life, we all tend to move around for a variety of reasons: mostly it's down to parents, needing (let's) say three bedrooms. One for themselves, one for the boy(s) and another for the girl(s). But then when the kids finish high school and complete their national service, they'll move into their own little place and start their own life.
The parents will seek a two-bedroom apartment and remain there until the last of the kids have graduated, served their time (they get three weekends at home during the nine month service period so no point in keeping an empty room) and found their own little place to start their own lives. So it's after graduation that the parents prepare for: seeing available options, swaps, etc. Within the city-owned and operated blocks like mine, tenants can trade within the same block or any other block under the same city ownership to swap out their apartments.
The city offers two options: say a person dies/moves out of a city owned address and there isn't anyone moving in directly: the squads move in and renovate and redecorate it and bring it up to scratch. Then the shots are taken and ads are put out on the website for persons on the registered waiting lists to view.
Option two: If two tenants in city apartments want to move from one side of the city to another, then they can eliminate the squads coming and either do the redeco themselves, which in the long run is the cheaper option. Fresh white paint only: no colours, stick on wallpapers, or permanent artworks applied directly to the surfaces. Once the apartments are redecorated, they schedule the moving day so that they can use the same two trucks both ways, cutting down time and effort.
So if I give this one up, they'll advertise it straight away on the swap options and anyone interested can ask for more shots and maybe a call to discuss details.
If they have a nice and suitable place and we agree to the swap, we both have to sign over our previous addresses (witnessed by a staff member) at HQ.
Then we start shifting our stuff the same day as agreed with two hired teams halving the time and labour.
In any city where apartments are standard and houses rare, this is how things are done.
In Ireland it's simply varying degrees of losing on the private rental market, and guess what else?
All of the state-funded and planned DCC estates are fucking kips.
Every fucking one of them.
And you dopes are shouting at them to give you more? have you ever been to Ongar or any of those other newish satellite towns? Get up to take a piss in the night and the entire house squeaks and the pipes rattle for hours afterwards. Those places are designed to become, in the long run, more working class kids in the making. Once the locals cop on and move out to something/anything better is when the real working class move in and redecorate the whole estate like the locals in Clondalkin traditionally do: robbed and burned-out car shells, garbage and trash everywhere and walls half plastered in tags and shitty graffiti, the bottom half bleached bare by the endless numbers of drunks pissing on it.
Apartment life is an acquired skill: if you're lucky enough to be in my shoes (the number one most desirable Helsinki city area) then the choices are wide. Because I'm taking up far more space than I really need, I know a young family would be happy here: they have the sea, the forests, and everything else they could possibly need. It's a very friendly area where everyone is bright and chirpy and far more sociable than they would be had they still lived out in the wilds. That's the thing you need to bear in mind: city life is what it is, but rural life is where the true Finnish spirit and soul really is. This is why Helsinki is empty every summer: off up north to the lakes and forests and all its denizens.
People idiots in Ireland thought they were rich when they bought and sold each other crappily built houses in the middle of fucking nowhere. Look at them now? Look at those lucky enough to own a house: they think they're fucking royalty. Then look at your high streets and recall what Lenihan Jnr/Bertie/BIFFO and all their mates said wasn't coming down the line. A 'soft landing' they said.
Now look again at the Irish on your streets with their kids eating off sheets of cardboard outside your GPO.
Those are the children of the same idiots who splurged money like there was no tomorrow.
And guess what?
They were right - they never had a tomorrow - the nightmare is ongoing, solutions are few and far between, and they're breeding more now that it's summer.
Soon enough, you're going to see a whole new class of Irish poor and very poor people, with kids in tow.
Don't pretend to know anything about how real countries provide real options and securities to their people.
Yeah - people just like me, you dumb and permanently fucked-up little cunt-bucket of spew and vomit.
Learn to love that little box you call home, Jimmy: chances are the cells in Mountjoy are bigger and better built.
The parents will seek a two-bedroom apartment and remain there until the last of the kids have graduated, served their time (they get three weekends at home during the nine month service period so no point in keeping an empty room) and found their own little place to start their own lives. So it's after graduation that the parents prepare for: seeing available options, swaps, etc. Within the city-owned and operated blocks like mine, tenants can trade within the same block or any other block under the same city ownership to swap out their apartments.
The city offers two options: say a person dies/moves out of a city owned address and there isn't anyone moving in directly: the squads move in and renovate and redecorate it and bring it up to scratch. Then the shots are taken and ads are put out on the website for persons on the registered waiting lists to view.
Option two: If two tenants in city apartments want to move from one side of the city to another, then they can eliminate the squads coming and either do the redeco themselves, which in the long run is the cheaper option. Fresh white paint only: no colours, stick on wallpapers, or permanent artworks applied directly to the surfaces. Once the apartments are redecorated, they schedule the moving day so that they can use the same two trucks both ways, cutting down time and effort.
So if I give this one up, they'll advertise it straight away on the swap options and anyone interested can ask for more shots and maybe a call to discuss details.
If they have a nice and suitable place and we agree to the swap, we both have to sign over our previous addresses (witnessed by a staff member) at HQ.
Then we start shifting our stuff the same day as agreed with two hired teams halving the time and labour.
In any city where apartments are standard and houses rare, this is how things are done.
In Ireland it's simply varying degrees of losing on the private rental market, and guess what else?
All of the state-funded and planned DCC estates are fucking kips.
Every fucking one of them.
And you dopes are shouting at them to give you more? have you ever been to Ongar or any of those other newish satellite towns? Get up to take a piss in the night and the entire house squeaks and the pipes rattle for hours afterwards. Those places are designed to become, in the long run, more working class kids in the making. Once the locals cop on and move out to something/anything better is when the real working class move in and redecorate the whole estate like the locals in Clondalkin traditionally do: robbed and burned-out car shells, garbage and trash everywhere and walls half plastered in tags and shitty graffiti, the bottom half bleached bare by the endless numbers of drunks pissing on it.
Apartment life is an acquired skill: if you're lucky enough to be in my shoes (the number one most desirable Helsinki city area) then the choices are wide. Because I'm taking up far more space than I really need, I know a young family would be happy here: they have the sea, the forests, and everything else they could possibly need. It's a very friendly area where everyone is bright and chirpy and far more sociable than they would be had they still lived out in the wilds. That's the thing you need to bear in mind: city life is what it is, but rural life is where the true Finnish spirit and soul really is. This is why Helsinki is empty every summer: off up north to the lakes and forests and all its denizens.
Now look again at the Irish on your streets with their kids eating off sheets of cardboard outside your GPO.
Those are the children of the same idiots who splurged money like there was no tomorrow.
And guess what?
They were right - they never had a tomorrow - the nightmare is ongoing, solutions are few and far between, and they're breeding more now that it's summer.
Soon enough, you're going to see a whole new class of Irish poor and very poor people, with kids in tow.
Don't pretend to know anything about how real countries provide real options and securities to their people.
Yeah - people just like me, you dumb and permanently fucked-up little cunt-bucket of spew and vomit.
Learn to love that little box you call home, Jimmy: chances are the cells in Mountjoy are bigger and better built.
Mowl
Member
Helsinki's breaking a few of her own records with temperatures up to 28 Celsius and a gentle balmy breeze cooling the skin out here on the balcony. I can smell Autumn coming, we all can. Summer days and long evenings are very precious moments in Finland. Around fourteen weeks from now we'll be armpit deep in snow, so we gotta wring all the fun out of the days we can to keep the soul fed during the winter months.
School started last Wednesday, so the päiväkoti downstairs is full of excited kids playing in the yard and singing songs from 0800, one more of the things I love about this neighbourhood. I looked at a few other apartments last week to see what's available and whether I'll downsize or not. They were all nice places in terms of space and layout, but none are near where I am now and I'm loathe to move out of Arabia at all. Maybe next year, we'll see.
The trees are heavy with apples, pears, and conkers. Soon they'll begin to fall and the city's jack rabbits will have their annual feast.
I love this time of year: within a month all the leaves will begin to turn and they'll make the city look absolutely gorgeous. Browns and yellows, gold and jet black. Piles of leaves making little tornadoes when the wind boxes them into the corners of the blocks. The birds will be hungry looking for winter strength to fly south so my balcony will be busy.
Finland's fucking awesome: I love it up here.
School started last Wednesday, so the päiväkoti downstairs is full of excited kids playing in the yard and singing songs from 0800, one more of the things I love about this neighbourhood. I looked at a few other apartments last week to see what's available and whether I'll downsize or not. They were all nice places in terms of space and layout, but none are near where I am now and I'm loathe to move out of Arabia at all. Maybe next year, we'll see.
The trees are heavy with apples, pears, and conkers. Soon they'll begin to fall and the city's jack rabbits will have their annual feast.
I love this time of year: within a month all the leaves will begin to turn and they'll make the city look absolutely gorgeous. Browns and yellows, gold and jet black. Piles of leaves making little tornadoes when the wind boxes them into the corners of the blocks. The birds will be hungry looking for winter strength to fly south so my balcony will be busy.
Finland's fucking awesome: I love it up here.
Mowl
Member
Twenty-five on my balcony today, and it's the weekend opening up nicely for the last of the public festivals in the city for this year.
Bands on every street corner and junction, all bars with street furniture and huge umbrellas for some shade.
Blue skies, a gentle breeze, and I can hear the sound checks in the distance - thump/crack, thump/crack - drums first, vocals last.
Bands on every street corner and junction, all bars with street furniture and huge umbrellas for some shade.
Blue skies, a gentle breeze, and I can hear the sound checks in the distance - thump/crack, thump/crack - drums first, vocals last.
Mowl
Member
After two days of cloudy skies, the sun's back with a vengeance giving us plus twenty-five degrees in September. Beautiful weather, it'll stay with us for the next week which means this weekend's kind of like a late summer gift. Fresher's week at the universities sees loads of students out and about earning their badges for all the different societies they joined. The parks are full with them getting up to all sorts of shennanigans.
Boobs are being flashed to passing trams - truth or dare, I guess.
Live jazz on the terrace later this evening down by the seashore at Hakaniemi from The Copacetic Brothers.
Another steak supper tonight after last night's feast. I did my mushrooms a new way: pick the biggest and hardest mushrooms, wash them, slice them in half, then place them flat side down in virgin oil and cooking cream, and when they begin to bubble, throw in a half a measure of white wine and some ground black pepper and let them simmer for ten minutes. Absolutely fucking delicious.
I only mentioned it because: https://www.thejournal.ie/weather-forecast-thunder-hail-6479173-Sep2024/
Must be crap having to be in the endless pissing rain?
Boobs are being flashed to passing trams - truth or dare, I guess.
Live jazz on the terrace later this evening down by the seashore at Hakaniemi from The Copacetic Brothers.
Another steak supper tonight after last night's feast. I did my mushrooms a new way: pick the biggest and hardest mushrooms, wash them, slice them in half, then place them flat side down in virgin oil and cooking cream, and when they begin to bubble, throw in a half a measure of white wine and some ground black pepper and let them simmer for ten minutes. Absolutely fucking delicious.
I only mentioned it because: https://www.thejournal.ie/weather-forecast-thunder-hail-6479173-Sep2024/
Must be crap having to be in the endless pissing rain?
Mowl
Member
I've seen some really amazing mökki belonging to wealthy Finnish people who want designs that are truly sunk into the environment they're built in. One place was really amazing: they dynamited into some rock cliff face overlooking a lake and built a three storey house into it with its own power generators sunk into the earth nearby to reduce noise etc. The kitchen balcony overlooked the lake which was surrounded in thick and very old forest. The interior is super modern and self sufficient recycling its own water and any combustibles used domestically to reduce its carbon footprint.
They had an old wooden sauna from up north taken apart and brought to the site and rebuilt offside the main house. A lot of the wood used in the building of the house was also recycled from old mökkit built of massive logs from the local forests. They also bought an old and condemned church site and recycled everything from that to build the roof and body of the structure. The finish of the interior was truly gob-smacking, and the exterior even better.
This sort of thing:
Except even more discreet. If you didn't already know it was there then you wouldn't even notice it.
I also attended a wedding on an island in a lake up north called Pielavesi. Again, the family who built it bought an old church, stripped and numbered everything and shipped it down to the island where it was carried to the island piece by piece and rebuilt for living purposes. That one has no electricity supply (though you can bring a generator) and no running water, so everything's done according to tradition: hunting, fishing, smoking, barbecuing, and keeping things cold by using net bags sunk into the lake on long poles for easy access.
The best one though, is the lake that has an island in the middle of it, and that island has a lake of its own too.
Ahh, if only I had a camera with me.
Some of the buildings in images above are based on old Finnish traditions including the preservation of foods which are kept in small mökkit set atop long poles which are tough and strong and sunk deep into the ground. A rope ladder is used so that bigger creatures like bears and moose can't get to it. It can also be used as a hideout if the area has a herd of moose wandering around and loping into anything that gets in their way.
Like the historic island of Seurasaari:
This tiny island is actually within the city limits and is serviced by multiple buses and trams. Free entry via a gate and long wooden walking bridge, no private vehicles allowed, you visit on foot or by bicycle. As you can see, the tiny mökki is a larder. It's so deep into the rock that not even a bear can knock it over. Use a rope ladder to climb up and now you're as safe as can be from any attack.
Here's a wiki link if you're interested: https://fi.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seurasaari
They had an old wooden sauna from up north taken apart and brought to the site and rebuilt offside the main house. A lot of the wood used in the building of the house was also recycled from old mökkit built of massive logs from the local forests. They also bought an old and condemned church site and recycled everything from that to build the roof and body of the structure. The finish of the interior was truly gob-smacking, and the exterior even better.
This sort of thing:
Except even more discreet. If you didn't already know it was there then you wouldn't even notice it.
I also attended a wedding on an island in a lake up north called Pielavesi. Again, the family who built it bought an old church, stripped and numbered everything and shipped it down to the island where it was carried to the island piece by piece and rebuilt for living purposes. That one has no electricity supply (though you can bring a generator) and no running water, so everything's done according to tradition: hunting, fishing, smoking, barbecuing, and keeping things cold by using net bags sunk into the lake on long poles for easy access.
The best one though, is the lake that has an island in the middle of it, and that island has a lake of its own too.
Ahh, if only I had a camera with me.
Some of the buildings in images above are based on old Finnish traditions including the preservation of foods which are kept in small mökkit set atop long poles which are tough and strong and sunk deep into the ground. A rope ladder is used so that bigger creatures like bears and moose can't get to it. It can also be used as a hideout if the area has a herd of moose wandering around and loping into anything that gets in their way.
Like the historic island of Seurasaari:
This tiny island is actually within the city limits and is serviced by multiple buses and trams. Free entry via a gate and long wooden walking bridge, no private vehicles allowed, you visit on foot or by bicycle. As you can see, the tiny mökki is a larder. It's so deep into the rock that not even a bear can knock it over. Use a rope ladder to climb up and now you're as safe as can be from any attack.
Here's a wiki link if you're interested: https://fi.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seurasaari
The Chinese want their pandas back.
abcnews.go.com
A zoo in Finland with financial woes is returning giant pandas to China
A zoo in Finland has agreed with Chinese authorities to return two loaned giant pandas to China eight years ahead of schedule because they have become too expensive for the facility to maintain amid declining visitors
abcnews.go.com
Mowl
Member
I consider that really good news: declining numbers of visitors means less money coming in. I know of nobody over the age of fifteen who visits any zoo in Finland. The island zoo of Korkeasaari is a place I've walked the edges of but never entered the gate to pay a toll to get inside to see so many miserably sad animals at their most vulnerable. Zoos are an outdated social habit and ought to be banned, along with animal fighting in general.
The site of the zoo is rather spectacular, but it's only the island I'm interested in, not the zoo in or of itself.
It's about a ten minute cycle from here to the walkway onto the island, but you can also arrive by public transport sea-boat which costs the same as any other ticket but features a lovely old boat with a fitted bar selling alcoholic drinks to tourists. I've never taken the boat as it would depress me even further to meet drunk people on their way to gawp at animals behind bars. The walkway is free, historic, offers amazing views of the sea port which houses many wooden ships being preserved as museum pieces. Tall ships, sailing ships, huge rowing boats, etc. No yachts, speed boats, or motor boats. The island is within city centre limits and it's mainly used (as far as I can see) for school trips and weekends visits for families with young kids.
As a child my parents took us to the zoo lots of times, but never after age 12 (my Old Man's rule) and only for educational purposes. The rest of the time he'd sit me down to watch David Attenborough's BBC series of documentaries with him and he'd tell me all sorts of interesting things about wild animals. We'd watch The World At War together too, and again he'd explain things to me as to why their were all these piles of bones and skulls all over eastern Europe. One learns a lot more a lot faster when it's your experienced elders you're listening to.
Zoos are not healthy places, not informative places, and certainly not places of entertainment for any responsible person.
Finland's best zoos are actually our own landscape: head up into the wilds if you want to see animals in action. Stray off the pathway in deep drifts of snow and get lost in their territory: now you'll see real wild animals do what they do best, survive - by any means necessary. Instead of throwing peanuts at monkeys, you'll be trying but failing to scarper from a hungry bear or wolf, both of which can make better ground than you can so no matter how fast you run, you're dead fucking meat anyway. Good enough for you too: animals are not our personal possessions. We have dominion over them in captivity, but not in the wilds. That's their territory, it belongs to nobody else.
Dogs and cats in the home are treated far better than any wild animal in a cage. They get a name, a place in the pecking order, food and drink, a warm bed, love and comfort, attention, daily walks, petting, training, etc. No matter how cute a name you give a panda in a cage, it's still a wild animal. Yeah, they look all soft and fluffy, but as an almost extinct animal of the wilds, we ought to protect them, not put them on display and gawk at them.
The site of the zoo is rather spectacular, but it's only the island I'm interested in, not the zoo in or of itself.
It's about a ten minute cycle from here to the walkway onto the island, but you can also arrive by public transport sea-boat which costs the same as any other ticket but features a lovely old boat with a fitted bar selling alcoholic drinks to tourists. I've never taken the boat as it would depress me even further to meet drunk people on their way to gawp at animals behind bars. The walkway is free, historic, offers amazing views of the sea port which houses many wooden ships being preserved as museum pieces. Tall ships, sailing ships, huge rowing boats, etc. No yachts, speed boats, or motor boats. The island is within city centre limits and it's mainly used (as far as I can see) for school trips and weekends visits for families with young kids.
As a child my parents took us to the zoo lots of times, but never after age 12 (my Old Man's rule) and only for educational purposes. The rest of the time he'd sit me down to watch David Attenborough's BBC series of documentaries with him and he'd tell me all sorts of interesting things about wild animals. We'd watch The World At War together too, and again he'd explain things to me as to why their were all these piles of bones and skulls all over eastern Europe. One learns a lot more a lot faster when it's your experienced elders you're listening to.
Zoos are not healthy places, not informative places, and certainly not places of entertainment for any responsible person.
Finland's best zoos are actually our own landscape: head up into the wilds if you want to see animals in action. Stray off the pathway in deep drifts of snow and get lost in their territory: now you'll see real wild animals do what they do best, survive - by any means necessary. Instead of throwing peanuts at monkeys, you'll be trying but failing to scarper from a hungry bear or wolf, both of which can make better ground than you can so no matter how fast you run, you're dead fucking meat anyway. Good enough for you too: animals are not our personal possessions. We have dominion over them in captivity, but not in the wilds. That's their territory, it belongs to nobody else.
Dogs and cats in the home are treated far better than any wild animal in a cage. They get a name, a place in the pecking order, food and drink, a warm bed, love and comfort, attention, daily walks, petting, training, etc. No matter how cute a name you give a panda in a cage, it's still a wild animal. Yeah, they look all soft and fluffy, but as an almost extinct animal of the wilds, we ought to protect them, not put them on display and gawk at them.
Mowl
Member
Finland’s prime minister Sanna Marin files for divorce
Marin filed jointly with her husband of three years, Markus Raikkonen, they announced on Instagram
www.theguardian.com
Sanna Marin, the world's youngest ever prime minister, has - along with her husband of three years Markus Raikkonen - filed for divorce last Monday. The couple remain very close and their daughter's welfare is their prime concern. Marin famously, deftly, and carefully circumnavigated the period of Covid19 while the national and international media remained focused on her age, appearance, style of dress, and personal life. The infamous leaked video of her partying with her friends at her private residence went viral across the globe and in doing so, divided opinion on her actions with the majority of females standing by her and condemning the red top media for harassing her. Marin remained calm, aloof, and composed. She answered every question put to her consistently and thoroughly, putting the Finnish rags to shame after the tried to lionize her for going out with her friends at all. Marin continues to make front page headlines in the Finnish red tops on a daily basis, they can't seem to let go of her, but then again they can spot a quality cash cow when they see one.
Marin and Raikkonen met at a young age and began their relationship twenty years ago, choosing to marry after their daughter was born. They entered their teens together, then adulthood, and eventually public life when Sanna was voted in as the centre-left's coalition head of operations. Her timing was crucial, the Covid19 lock-down hit Finland pretty hard at first. Finland is a huge country with the majority of her 5.6m population living in the southern regions. Those further up north also suffered during the early stages of the lock-down, but in time all corners of the Finnish countryside were catered for and we weathered the lock-down in our own rather Finnish way. The Finns aren't exactly your most party-hardy population and the older traditions of an isolated life deep in the countryside from just two or three generations back stood to us when the virus shut (most of) the planet down. So it wasn't that big a deal for us: we're used to being alone, we don't generally deal in small talk, and we don't give a shit what anyone thinks about it. Life went on pretty much as normal for the majority of the population.
Marin's future plans remain in the spotlight, but the worst that could happen is that the red tops might continue to pursue her.
She makes for good copy.
Plus she's hot:
Meanwhile, over in Dublin..
That's
Of course we have more than a few more munters wandering the halls of the Dail these days. Gone are the charming and fancy days of Joan Burton screeching and howling with her nasal whine, or Fats Harney being given the brief of
Or even better: your minister for justice: yeps, it's little Mrs black holes for eyes, Helen McEntee - the delightful young daughter of some culchie politician who necked out so she took up his mantle, and the sheep of Ireland voted her in straight away. Proper order, right? Except for the fact that that woman is dead inside. Looking at her when she speaks reminds me of Quint's soliloquy in the belly of Orca about the delivery of the Hiroshima atom bomb. She's the shark, and she doesn't seem to be living, until she bites you:
Which she did only last week with her late-night creeping around Leinster House, rousing the sleeping culchies to vote her Hate Speech Laws into legislation. I mean, it's not like she was hiding it from ye, now is it? None of you want it, but she does, and she got her way. Which means you gotta swallow the Kool Aid too, you spineless lazy fuckers. McEntee is Irish politics/people 1:01. And if you couldn't spot that much about her, then you fucking deserve everything you get.
Meanwhile, Sanna's still awesome, and currently available on the late champagne supper scene, which means I have immediate access. Finland remains the world's happiest country according to the OECD, and here I am - smack dab in the middle. But thankfully this year we likely won't receive the award, mostly because we don't want the attention that comes with it, and we're bored with it, but also because Peteri Orpo is a cunt: an enormous foul cunt hated all across Finland by every class of Finn we have. Me included. But still, even if we only come in in second place, it means that you too still have a chance to grab the trophy. Y'all seem to think I'm a cunt and Finland's shit - so let's see what you've got? Reckon you might make the Top Ten? Okay, silly, I know. How about Top Fifty? I mean, you have all these foreign and muscular young men of fighting age living in your ear, sleeping along your canals, their wives and children long since fucked away, just like their IDs. Surely you can put them to some use while they're waiting for their free council house/flat/modular home and maximum welfare allowances? Simple jobs, like learning about cleaning up after themselves? Like learning how to use a western world toilet pot? How to make a cup of tea and a sandwich for themselves instead of relying on their wives and mothers to do it for them?
You're up to your fucking necks in them - so what's the fucking story, lads?
Still planning on getting through the week picking Jambo's posts apart and ignoring the elephant in the corner over there?
Still entertaining (and loving) the dopiest cunt ever on any Irish board - Clark/Crumbly?
Still sitting on your holes waiting for someone else to start the ball rolling?
You deserve everything you get, you sad bastards.
Suck it up.
Mowl
Member
Sanna is such an angel.
That's almost as bad as the yoke Feeney married.
Still: Masterful artisan work on Norma Foley's gruig? Not even Michelangelo's David comes close. I bet when the wind blows not a strand of that hair moves with the cemented-in hairspray. The blushing red lipstick is almost sexy - to a much older man, mind you. I'd say it takes her a while to undress and go to bed. Layer after layer of chiffon, all stripped away and lying in the floor like the left-over plaster and marble of said David's creation period.
She reminds me too of Lisa Simpson when she finally grows up - but still favours grannies neck pearls.
I was looking at a few shots of Irish female politicians yesterday while sourcing for the previous post: Harney, Burton, O'Rourke, Zappone, Mary Coughlan (FF), Hanafin, Mary Mitchell-O'Connor (the minister for Dolly Mixtures), Madigan, Doherty, and so on. Not a looker amongst them, which will of course set some teeth to gnash over on the gay bar site. Poor auld Wooftie hates Ireland. Hates it. Hates Irish people too, thinks they're all wetbacks and sheep. I agree, but he doesn't. He's the sort who thinks that because I left I have no right to criticize anything about Ireland.
Sorry, Bud - the very things that drove me to leave are still all over the place.
If anything, ex-pats like myself have even MORE right to criticize what we see: we left because of the closed-minded twats who think only the Irish on the blighted rock have any right to call a spade a spade, and an immigrant an immigrant. I'm an immigrant. A very contented one too. Right now it's down to nine degrees outside, but the skies are stark blue and the sun rather blinding. In five minutes, the courtyard will fill with the wee ones coming out from day care down in the basement floors. Screeching and laughing, singing and holding hands, building sand castles and riding the see-saw. It's just wonderful to hear the joy and innocence ring out for half an hour or so until the parents come to collect them.
Kids aren't safe anywhere in Ireland, not even in the schools and definitely not in the churches. They have to be chaperoned everywhere they go. Up here you see loads of wee tykes walking home from school, their mobile in their hand and their Mam on the other end keeping score. You'll also see infant babies in their prams sleeping outdoors: wrapped up nice and tight, fed with warm milk, they snooze in the brisk air for an hour or so in the sunshine, but there's ice and snow under their pram. You'll see kids on the trams with their buddies, all with their phones to hand, all gaming and having fun. Mostly under ten years. The over twelves leave any time after 1400, depending on what's going on. No homework - it's against the law to give kids additional work outside school hours. The classes are mixed with boys and girls of different ages, but they all work together to bring the weaker/slower learners up to speed. This way the teacher isn't expected to cater for all thirty/thirty-five per class. It also teaches kids the value of being responsible from an early age, fully prepared for life after studies. We have the world's best education system - and Ireland refuses point blank to even countenance the idea of learning anything positive from it. Up here, teachers are highly respected, their qualifications are extremely difficult to attain, so only the best of the best make it.
In Ireland, a Finnish kid's way of life couldn't possibly exist. Imagine a seven year old boy/girl in Dublin walking along with a smartphone in hand, oblivious to everything around them, so much so that one sometimes one has to tap them on the collar to remind them the lights are still red? They'd be robbed, battered, raped, and left where they fall. No follow-up either. Then the moany-mouths are on the line telling Joe what a terrible world it is and how children shouldn't be given phones at all. Up here it's a security device, they can't use them in class either, they're all switched off at 0900 sharp. Any phones that ring during classes will be seized and given to staff for the parents to deal with. Up here, you're responsible for your kid's actions. If they keep fucking up, you'll pay the price until you teach them the difference between right and wrong. Whereas in Ireland, they're taught the difference between right and getting caught.
Different story altogether.
Irish kids aren't safe even IN the classroom: https://www.thejournal.ie/childcare-worker-accused-of-assault-on-toddler-in-creche-6526647-Oct2024/
The evenings are drawing in after the clocks shifted over the weekend. Fully dark by 1930.
But the sun still visits every day, and many records have been broken this year with the lead-up to winter. We're normally knee deep in the white stuff by now, but this year, we're not. Which is nice: it shortens the winter and features only the more extreme weather events. Usually snow-based. Lapland had their first snowfalls early last week. But they also had one of the longest summers in years, just like down here in the capital city. The birds are getting antsy: the evenings at sunset are a chorus of flocks of all sorts of wild birds, but the local geese are the loudest. There's a couple of thousand of them homed along the beach outside. Big black and white fuckers. When they drop a few chicks they all go mental, especially around evening time. I adore that hour: it's full of noise and excitement, it drowns out all the bad news on the telly at six.
Anyway, I need a laugh after that, so here's an Irish joke you've probably heard before:
Fats came out to Ballyer to dig the cornerstone for a new wing of the local school, and some local lady painted her with a small tin of red oil-based paint that needs strong smelling spirits to lift. She had a great shot too, right on the chin(s) and all. Man, imagine being a male hooker and finding out you've just been hired to give Fats Harney some decent what-for?
Shudders.
Shivers.
Vomits.
Leaves.
