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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

I've taken to almost pathologically taking photographs of everything that happens around me. Unfortunately, my not-really-very-expensive camera died a while ago - it refuses to recognise batteries as anything but it's worst enemy, and so won't switch on (or if it's on, won't switch off) even with the freshest of batteries inserted. It breaks my heart, because that was quite a good camera, if not-really-very-expensive. I'm faced with the thought of having to buy another not-really-very-expensive camera in time for our trip to Germany, all the better for taking photographs of He Who Only... staring at various things with great Nazi significance, while I wonder what next to buy with my credit card.

This is a photograph of my view of the large screen in the Irish pub down the road from us while watching Ireland play England. Not in view: He Who Only, desperately trying to remember that, while in this pub, he is supposed to be an Ireland supporter. He did quite well, flinching only once when a decision went Ireland's way when it should have been awarded to England, and managing not to cheer at all when England made some ground. Thankfully for him, Ireland rang absolute rings around England, and so he didn't have to suppress cheering very often. Also not pictured: the hideous cloud of smoke that descended about 10 minutes into the game and wouldn't leave. As an ex-smoker, I used to get my thrills and nicotine-enrichment from standing near (or sometimes right on top of) smokers and dragging down lung fulls of second half smoke, because that in my mind was not cheating. These days, I can't bear it if someone lights up half a mile away from me. The pub got so hot, crowded, emotional and smoke-filled that we actually left at my request at half time and came home to watch the second half in the Nest'O'Love.


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