Vending machines are evolving and that’s no eggs-aggeration…

This week the world seems to have gone mad. Between a spate of toddler rapes in India alongside a convicted murderer, who then went through another trial only to be released, and has now ‘written’ a tell-all autobiography, the earth seems to have been turned upside down and shaken like a snow globe.

Perhaps I am just getting older or more jaded, but this week I am deciding to opt out of the horror and instead focus on the whimsical. In this instance  – an egg vending machine. You heard me right, across Ireland there are machines popping up, touting eggs with the frequency of Jedward in pantos.

Egg vending machine and hen

Seeing that vending machines have traditionally been used to sell over-priced Haribos and bottles of water, I wonder how someone made the leap to the humble but delicious egg. Was there a meeting at a farmers mart or a conference at a coop that brought this idea to the fore? Was there a conversation between a vendor salesman/woman and a farmer that went like this:

“You ever thought of trying to sell them in trays?”

“They are sold in trays.”

“Yeah, but I mean in a vending machine. Put a reasonable price on them, place them outside supermarkets and petrol stations and see what happens.”

Pause for a chew on a long piece of straw (because that’s what all farmers do don’t they?)

“So it would be a tray within a tray?”

“Exactly, 30 eggs on a tray delivered from a tray. It’s like slots of heaven for protein lovers.”

So the first one started and then it seems to have caught on; a virus for the egg world. Although saying that I have never seen one and am now going to go on a  hunt across Dublin to find one. It will be an egg hunt of a different kind without the bunnies and chocolate.

Egg vending machine

This strange new relationship between eggs and vending machines has got my mind a whirring – what other unlikely things should you ‘in a universe of anything is possible’ be able to find in a vending machine? These are my top 8:

1) Babies – Do all women really need to go through the pregnancy thing? Can fertile women not not have as many babies as they want and then put them up for sale? I mean its straight forward and transparent. They could come with certificates like the Cabbage Patch dolls did years ago with a brief synopsis of their interests such as badminton or caber tossing. I mean really its only the end result of  an egg so it has be be alright, right?

2) Drugs – I’m not talking the stick it in your arm and then remove yourself from the world type, but the milder more sedative type. Prescription drugs should also be in on that. No more disapproving looks from the chemist when all you want is a Neurofen to stop your tooth from shooting out of your mouth like a rocket. No more forced responses of “No I am not operating any heavy machinery this evening”. Marijuana would probably be the most popular choice and like the coffee shops in Amsterdam, you can choose the strength and get them already rolled in a spliff that rivals the Spire.

Marijuana

3) A Pedicure – When your feet are just aching from trekking around the place or a night out trying to walk in heels that “really don’t hurt” there is a machine with a pull out stool that you can stick you tired feet into. I don’t care if it’s fish down there, a pair of unknown hands or puppies caught out in a violent lick, I want it.

4) Politicians – As part of their contract, politicians should be obliged to spend one day a month in a vending machine. Based on a voting system some may be in there every month and others barely once a year. People should be able to pay for questions that are posed via a speaker and any political speak response will be punished with a sharp electric shock that makes the machine shudder. If that’s not democracy in action I don’t know what is.

Cartoon politician

5a) Falafels – for no other reason then I love them and would like to have access to the fabulous chickpea balls at all hours of the day. Along with the salad and garlic sauce of course.

5b) In line with the food idea the ingredients to a full Irish fry up in one handy pack would go a long way to making my mornings a veritable wonder.

5c) A picnic basket for those days when you just want to laze in the park and take in the sun. It should consist of deli products alongside a nice bottle of wine, blanket and all the necessary picnic utensils. A fly swatter could also be included for those time when midgies just won’t quit.

6)  Umbrellas – When you live in a country that only knows how to rain, a machine that spits out umbrellas would be a life saver. I cannot count how many umbrellas I have either lost, left on public transport or thrown into a bin in anger after a gust of wind turned the damn thing inside out. You can never have too many umbrellas.

7) Dinosaurs – Yes I know they are extinct, but how cool would it be to have a T-Rex displayed in a vending machine? His small hands waving and huge array of teeth gnashing. Of course I don’t actually know of any metal, plastic, glass or element known to man that could actually contain a dinosaur, but it’s still on my list.

T-Rex image

8)  Robots – this has be robots that do things, like a perfect replica of you that goes to work or to a meeting you really don’t have the energy or motivation to go to. Or ones that run around the house like fast electric turtles and clean while you put your feet up and watch TV.

There are probably many more, but I fear I am being driven to a silly place so will stop there. Now, off to find those wretched but intriguing machines that sell eggs.

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There is a man…and then there is a drill

Hand drill

Yesterday my boyfriend bought a drill. He wanted to get into the DIY spirit of things and offered to use his new toy to put up my blind for the impending renters. As we met for a post-work drink he pointed at his purchase nestled in the bag. It was housed neatly in an army green box that wouldn’t break if dropped from the Empire State building. This drill was obviously hardcore.

After I did the appropriate amount of oohing and aahing I let the drill talk slide and got onto other things. But as the drinks and the sun went down, the word’ drill’ or ‘drilling’ was mentioned a number of times with the type of vigour normally reserved for someone after a snort of cocaine or psyching up for a marathon. He was clearly excited.

When we got home the drill was unveiled. A massive thing with not one…wait for it…but two chargers. After jumping around with the instructions he plugged the battery in and then watched it. As I made dinner and occasionally glanced at the TV, his attention was on the plug point and the blinking yellow light. Unable to sit still he went into the bedroom  to investigate the blind situation. I heard mutterings from the other room, mufflings of discontent.

“You’ll need to get it cut to size. That’ll need a saw.”

This line was delivered with disappointment, the tone of a man denied. He slumped back to the couch again.

Dinner came and went. I was satisfied and he was angtsy. With “it must be charged by now” he sprung up, inserted the battery into the drill and pressed. ‘Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz’ cut through the flat. ‘Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz’. As he tried different variations my teeth started to rattle, vibrate in my head as if loose. Over the z’s I asked him to stop. With a frown he looked around. He wanted to drill and was going to find something that required holes, whether I liked it or not. He surveyed and frowned again. Then there was a shout, a eureka moment that required a carton lightbulb to hover above his head.

“I know I’ll get the screwdriver bits out.”

drill bits

Apparently this machine could not only drill, but also screw. All the bits came out. A hexagon of metal parts that could be used as torture devices if required. They were lined up like little families from big to small; little twisty metal families. After picking one he jumped up, higher and faster than I ever seen him go. He disappeared into the bedroom and went ‘Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz’. After a few minutes he reappeared, the ends of the previous blind that were attached to the window frame cupped in his hand.

“Boom, this thing is amazing. That only took a few seconds.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, it is. I’ll be drilling all over the place.”

“You’re loving this thing.”

“You bet I am!”

I laughed and turned back to the TV trying to figure out what Michel Roux Jr. was doing with a rabbit and some prunes. Then something caught my eye. Clutching the drill he was posing, the drill pointed out in the stance of Bond holding a gun. I started to laugh and the poses got more exaggerated, an comical assassin seeking out targets for his new drill. He pouted and strutted, the drill now an extension of him. Minutes passed and he was still at it.

“Sit down will you.”

“Fine.”

With a clunk the drill was plonked on the table and he slumped onto the couch like a scolded child. On the screen the rabbit was now a cellophane turd that nobody should want to eat.

“Ugh that looks disgusting. Who would want to eat prunes anyway?”

My question went unanswered, the cogs turning in his head. Then he turned and looked at me, his ear boring into my cheek. I looke around with a ‘what is it?’ look on my face.

“Now” he said “about that saw…”

10 things you should be allowed do in public

10 things you should be allowed do in public

I am loving this new viral that’s going around showing people dancing in public as if they were in a nightclub or in their front living room. Some of them are being coy, a waggle of the hips or stolen punch in the air and then there are those who want to be seen, share their erratic sways and lunges to the world and don’t really care what people think. They could be mad, possible escapees from the nearest mental home, but hopefully they just have thrown off the shackles of society’s unsaid rules and are doing what they want to do, when they want to do it.

Dance like nobody's watching

I for one am too aware of the people around me and what they might think. I am a wound up ball of decorum and awareness that even a lion would have trouble unravelling with a few paw swipes. So to celebrate them and their brave maddery I decided to list (and I do like the odd list) ten things that we should be able to do in public without shame or repercussion.

1)      Wear pyjamas to work – This would be luxury. Imagine sitting at your desk warm and snug in flannelette pj’s? No more tights, skirts/dresses that ride up or trousers that are just getting too intimate. Instead you could be there working away with a cup of tea and slippers. I concur that this may not be great for some jobs such as a fireman (due to the flammability) or a policeman (due to the fact they would be laughed out of the place), but if we all get on board pyjamas would be normalised and nobody would blink an eye.

2)      Use all the rides in the playground (as an adult) – I have done it, but only at night when all the kids have gone home. Why is it when you reach a certain age having fun on a horse that throws you back and forth is no longer allowed? Slides and seesaws are devices created for fun. They shoot you to the ground and launch you into the air for God’s sake, what isn’t there to like? Adults should be allowed to have a go on a merry-go-round on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Kids or no kids.

Slide

3)      Eat dinner with your hands – What’s all this knife and fork thing about? If it’s good enough for people in India to eat with their hands then, it’s good enough for me. I’m not talking about laying into a three course meal like a polar bear, but utensils can be annoying and clink a lot. I think there is a niche in the restaurant market that is severely lacking  – a hand only buffet with free bibs. Who’s with me?

4)      Hopscotch across cobblestones – All cobblestone areas (and Dublin has a lot of them) should be marked hopscotch only zones. Large blocks and numbers should be drawn across them with a Frisbee as the marker. Failing to do would result in a punishment such as having to rub your stomach and head at the same time for two minutes.

5)      Pole dance – Similar to the hopscotch zone there should be a pole dancing zone, preferably near water or docks so the wind helps swinging. Clothes should be greatly encouraged. In the snow they can be used to string a web of Christmas lights.

pole

6)      Pick your nose – I know it’s gross, but people do it. I have seen them trying to cover it up with a cupped hand or tissue, but we all know what’s going on under there. I’m not saying we should suddenly all embrace our noses and poke around in them while at a meeting or interview or start dining on it like whelks at the seaside, but it’s just green goo, your green goo.

7)      Have outbursts – Whether that be a quick joyful squeal or irritated grunt, venting is okay, healthy even. Violent outbursts I am not for and should be restrained with handcuffs or a whack to the head with something heavy but soft.

8)      Walk away – By this I mean if you are dying of boredom in a conversation or just having to put up with someone being offensive or letchy you shouldn’t have to stay and be polite. Leave that person there like a fish seeking water, let their mouths flap to themselves. Perhaps your move would make them revert to point 7 and get it over with. JUST. WALK. AWAY.

Bus

9)      Throw an item out the window that takes up a seat  – This is a personal annoyance. People that put all their bags onto a seat as if it needs one. Unless there is a child in it or an ill puppy take it off and put it on the bloody ground. All forms of transport should allow the chucking of seat hogging items and windows should open sufficiently to allow it. That or just have a button you can press that allows for this type of emergency and chuck it out the door. I think it should be purple with ‘IGNORANT’ written on it.

10)   Read out loud – Some books are too good to keep to yourself. If it’s funny or powerful we should be able to share it with the world. Pavements, transport, restaurants should all become places that allow and embrace the spoken word even if there is no real audience and no mic.

And to think I was going to write something on Maggie Thatcher today! Is there anything you would like to do in public, but feel is too out there? All additions to my list are welcome!

The Plumber Relay

Earlier this week I had issues with my boiler. The water was coming out, but in a reluctant dribble. It was not providing a shower but more so a drizzle. The kind that feels like rain, but you’re not quite sure. I sat there after the plumber left, another company’s number in my hand to call as he couldn’t sort out the issue and wrote this poem.

Leaking pipe

The Plumber Relay

He came with tools

the promise of a fix

new tubes and pipes

amongst his box of tricks.

 

Noises were made

the oohs and ahhs of broke

as water dripped

and gurgled with a croak.

 

As minutes passed

your hopes began to grow

that dreaded block

was finally set to go.

 

But then he said

“There’s nothing I can do”

with hands held high

“You’ll need another crew.”

 

So you are left

the water weak and cold

to scorn and curse

the fixing put on hold.

 

And still you wait

the heat and shower still

for more to come

and take away the chill.

 

So swathed in clothes

I will the phone to ring

and try to block

the pong of sweaty zing.

I cleared, I painted, I realised my flat was full of Ikea

Paint

I cleared, I painted, I realised my flat was full of Ikea

I spent this weekend painting. It is the first stage to moving out of my flat and into the domain of co-habitation. It started off well. I felt energetic moving possessions from one room to the other while covering furniture in discoloured sheets and blankets. While he went to buy the paint – or more so exchange it due to me buying magnolia, a colour that was quickly guffawed at with a “you’re not planning to put that on the walls on are you?” I never realised that magnolia was the leper of the Dulux world. Lesson learned.

So I moved and shoved, packed and wrapped. As furniture was dislodged from its home for 5 years what was under it wasn’t pretty. Dust had given birth to children that procreated to produce grandchildren. It had become a Brady Bunch collection of dust balls. I still have no idea where all the bloody dust comes from and how it accumulates so fast. If anyone does I would love to know. Please just put me out of my misery.

Anyway, when the paint arrived we got tucked in. It became a rolling mania of white matt proportions. It was satisfying, covering up the strange hue of yellow that had somehow gathered without me noticing. He tackled the high bits and me the low ones. It was team work in stripes. An hour later the walls were covered. It was a paint scented brightness that I had not seen since the day I moved in. The flat was new and shiny. We were dentists and the walls were the teeth, but without the bad breath.

Then the ceiling was mentioned. A feat that seemed past my weary arms and hands. Who knew you could cramps from holding a roller too tight? Thankfully he offered and I happily announced I would clear the kitchen for the next whitening experience.

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The ranter went relentless and it wasn’t pretty

This weekend I was coined as relentless. I nagged and didn’t seem able to stop while being unaware I was doing it. This was not good. It didn’t help that I was irritated and had a lot on my plate but – relentless –  is not a word I want to be alongside, never mind crawl all over. On consulting with my good friend dictionary.com I found out its many meanings and started to feel worse.

re·lent·less

[ri-lent-lis]

adjective

that does not relent; unyieldingly severe, strict, or harsh; unrelenting: a relentless enemy.

Origin: 
1585–95; relent + -less

Synonyms 
rigid, unbending, obdurate, adamant, unyielding. See inflexible.

Antonyms 
merciful

So not only am I unrelenting, strict and harsh, but according to its antonym I am unmerciful. I have subjected my boyfriend to a day and a half of pecking like a dominant bird in a nest that doesn’t want its sibling to live so it will get more food. It was a revelation to me. I started this blog because I like to rant about things that matter, silly things I notice and people or events in everyday life that are just irritating. But I never wanted to become a nag. A relentless nag at that.

Bird pecking

So at what point does ranting become henpecking? How do you know where the line is and how not to know to cross it? I just thought I was giving out a little bit at the weekend. Perhaps giving out a little bit too much ‘I know more than you’ advice. But when I sat back and thought about it he was right. I was being relentless. It was as if all the things that irked me slightly all came to the forefront like a mob being let through the doors to buy a new iPhone. The clambered over each other and wouldn’t relent until I expelled them from my rapidly moving mouth and eye rolls.

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