Went to bed really late last night.
I just had to finish binging through the fifth (and final?) season of Love/Hate, that Dublin Mob TV Series on Britbox.
It was worth the effort. Absolutely awesome right to the end. This has everything dear to the Celts, drinking, church, wakes, IRA, fighting, funerals, fucking and even Travelers. Rumor has it they are bringing back another season.
You see, tonight I am babysitting my grans as part of an overnight event here at Casa Claire, so the TV will be commandeered by a plethora of children’s television shows that make me want to drink battery acid and my attention will remain on watching the feral little creatures to make sure they do not burn the house down.
I think back to those halcyon days when my brothers and I threw a blanket over my poor Uncle Tommy’s head, then tied him up and left him on the bottom bunk in my younger brothers’ room until my parents returned home from a New Year’s Eve Dance at St. Maggies.
We were worried when Uncle Tommy’s blanket-muffled threats turned into wheezing and then snoring, but the crime had been committed so there was no going back. Ultimately the pint of whiskey he had been consuming before being waylaid and the warm burka night goggles we wrapped him in broke down any resistance and he succumbed to Morpheus. Out like a light.
Those same dark genes flow through my Aussie/Brit/Mick (and let’s not forget the Latina) grans, so I must keep my eyes open and a sharp knife handy (to cut the blanket bindings) during this ordeal.
I take on this obligation with great trepidation, committed to months ago, given that I am flying solo, as Lisa does not return until tomorrow afternoon. And it’s a full moon. I’m screwed. I should have checked my calendar.
Alas, Staycation is over. Glad I got my binging done.
Well, after waking up at my regular 2 am hour, letting the dogs out, putting out some crackers for Claire and Honey and getting a little first night of the Strawberry Moon grounding in under the Old Man, I forced myself back onto the couch and fell back asleep. The good news is that these extra two hours of kip should keep me awake long enough tonight to slip shackles on the children as soon as they fall asleep. I must remember to hide the magic markers to avoid the possibility of waking up farkled.
If I do crash before the urchins do, I’m hoping that my guard dogs will not sell me out for a cookie bribe. All McCaffreys, including the furry ones, have a sweet tooth. And we are easily talked into anything that provides shits and giggles.
Well, I have to get moving and hide all the sharp objects, binding agents and incendiary materials. I may have to slip bells around the grans’ necks so I can hear them coming. Especially this one.
You fine, five readers, put on you skates and get over the hump. Friday the 13th is waiting gleefully, just over Thursday’s shoulder, for your arrival.
I will keep you posted. Of course, there may not be a blog tomorrow, if I cannot free my bindings.
Either way, let all of us embrace our Wednesday with open arms, and let’s make today a great one.
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Cute little girl, with her “Wake Up Grandpa” stick.
“Hit me with your rhythm stick…Hit me…”