What I know About Badgers

Due to the title of my blog a few people (my mother) have asked for a post that actually deals with a badger… this is that post. Awkwardly enough I don’t know very much about badgers at all. I've limited the post to the five things I know best about badgers.

1. Badgers are nocturnal-man-eating-wilder-beasts – or at least that’s what I was told when I was four. I've tried to overcome the stigma but I still jump when I see a badger den in the woods. They apparently have talons and a temper. So I am prepared never to see a badger if it means staying alive.

2.  Cruella Deville's hair piece was actually made from badger fur.

3. If a badger dressed up as Elvis it would look a little odd and people might ask questions.

4. However if a badger dressed up as Lady Gaga nobody would think it was out of sorts. 

5. Badgers appear to spend much of their time being run over.

My Stint as a Serial Fish Killer

When I was seventeen I was chased from my own birthday party by drunken friends screaming at me to “put down the fish.” I was sober.

It was one of those giant- joint- parties where nobody knows who is being celebrated. I think perhaps three people knew it was my birthday and I spent most of the party in a corner nibbling a birthday cake I hadn't got to blow the candles out on.

About half way through the night two of my best friends presented me with a gift: a fish tank with three fish named in it.  I forgot the names instantly and stared blankly at the tank wondering what part of my teenage existence said “fish-girl.”

I didn't mention I was scared of fish, thought they were ugly and to the best of my knowledge didn't think they were all that durable. I just sat through the party feeling misunderstood.

Occasionally my friends remembered I was there and then they would look expectantly at me, “don’t you like it?” So I nodded, cursing the fact that I would later need to regale them with fun facts about the fish to prove my appreciation.

Anyway when I tried to leave early with the fish in tow I suddenly got noticed. Some drunk friends of friends thought I was stealing the family fish-tank and abandoned their alcohol fueled debate to chase me. I had to leg it across the garden precariously balancing the life of the three fish in my arms, as my mother looked on baffled.

“Are you stealing your friends fish?”

“No, why does everyone think that?”

“Well…”

“Just drop it,”

I spent the next two weeks doing everything I could to keep the fish alive. I fed them constantly, changed their water daily, and cleaned everything. I was not going to be accused of being ungrateful.

Then I woke up one morning and they were all bent funny and bobbing up and down in the water.

“Well you killed them,”

“Maybe they’re not dead?”

“They are clearly dead.”

The deaths were a relief really. The awkward part was telling my friends. I acted upset though so I thought I’d passed the point where they would ever discover my true feelings towards the fish. Then someone asked where I buried them.

“Oh you know I just flushed them down the toilet.”

Strangely Constructive Things People Yell at You When You’re Running a Race

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself and just run,” I wasn't feeling sorry for myself until you yelled out that little gem of advice. I was just running and now I am running and thinking (a dangerous combination). And all I can think is why don’t you get down here and just run.

“That’s the way to roll,” I’m sorry but this just makes me envision a bunch of  people having a tumbling competition down a hill.

“Suck it up,” What does this even mean? If I was in the water pit of the steeple chase maybe- and even then it’s probably contaminated water and therefore sucking it up is just advice.

“She’s behind you,” If she’s not in front of me. She’s clearly behind me. But you know what, thank you.

“Get On Your Horse/ Get Off Your Horse,” This was used interchangeably by one of our college coaches. The effect was that we weren't sure if he wanted us to speed up or slow down.

“Move your legs,” That my friend, is a great strategy.

The Twenty-Four-Year-Old I Was Supposed To Be...

When I was eight it seemed like I would have everything by the time I was sixteen. It was right there on American TV shows. Sixteen was the age you got a boyfriend, car, job and school became a side note that was simply hanging out with friends. Then by that same measurement twenty four appeared to be the age you got married, had some sort of puppy, baby, cars, and a successful career as a hip-hop dancer. I took sometime to take a look at my eight year old aspirations and cross-reference them with my current situation and well this is what happened....

1. Transport

2. Career

3. Marital Status: 

4. General Appearance: 

6. Child-Rearing Skills

7. Ability to Look After Other Organisms:  

I Will Be Champion of The Morning

Sometimes I decide that I will be a super-human and get up at five am and do one hundred things before the day starts. I snuggle up in bed and envision tomorrow. I think yes, yes, yes I will be champion of the morning.

But when the alarm goes at 5 am something a lot like this happens…

I reconsider and reset and then at 6 am when the alarm sounds again...

So I reconsider, recalculate how long it will take me to find my brain and reset the alarm, when it sounds again, this happens for a further forty minutes...

At precisely 8.40 am I realise things have gone too far...

And I become Champion of Multi-tasking...

And by 9 am I have managed to arrive causally at work and convince everyone but myself that I am indeed Champion of the Morning...

The Day I Killed my Childhood Hero

I’m a murderer of dreams. Not just any dreams, my own. I first came to this realisation at four years old when I found myself responsible for the assault and death of my, then, life long hero.

We were in the Killarney Ryan Hotel: one of those grey Irish establishments that promise you family-fun in the middle of nowhere. We were minding our own business eating dry-pizza or some other delicious cuisine deemed “fun” for under sixes, when the heckling began.

There were ten year olds near by and they were shouting abuse at an approaching figure.

I sat with my mouth hanging open as Barney the dinosaur shuffled forward, waving at everyone. It was like having a dream come true. My mother told me to go up to him but I was terrified that he wouldn't like me, shy of this giant dinosaur that cavorted across our TV screens on a daily basis.

He was making his way towards some steps. The restaurant was on two levels with a small set of steps dividing them. As he approached the step the ten year olds got louder and louder. Shouting insults at the poor dinosaur,

“You’re so big and purple.”

“Ha ha – I’m barney and I think I’m so cool.”

I was needless to say very upset with this behaviour so I decided to show Barney that someone still loved him. I raced forward and threw my arms around his legs to give him a reassuring hug. Only thing was that he reached the small step just as I hit his legs and went toppling over.

We both sat in the middle of the restaurant. I was blinking at a man in a purple dinosaur suit. The fall had caused Barney to lose his head.

“You’re not Barney,” I cried. Sitting in shock and wondering if Barney was all a lie. To make matters worse I was surrounded by ten year olds laughing hysterically and telling me how funny I was. I cried for a considerable amount of time. My parents would later explain that this was a pretend Barney, but nothing could take away the feeling that some part of my belief in that childhood hero had died.

Cake-in-a-Cup Fiasco

My sister and I were cold. It was a long Irish night and the heating wasn't working. We were curled up on the couch beneath duvets and hot water bottles moaning about how hungry we were.

But the kitchen was so far away and there was nothing particularly motivating about a tuna sandwich. In fact all we had was tuna, onions and ingredients for things that required effort to make.

Then we had a brainwave.
"Can’t you make cake in a cup in the microwave or something? "

We forgot everything about being cold and miserable and lazy; we rushed to the computer, got a Google recipe and started. We didn't have everything so we made a few executive decisions

Sure olive oil and vegetable oil are the same thing.

Isn't cocoa powder with yogurt almost the same as melted chocolate.

Raising powder is over rated anyway?

We got so excited we did a little spoon inspired dance.

When we were finished the cake wouldn't fit in a cup. We had to put it in a saucepan.

It took ten minutes in the microwave, the ten longest minutes of our life. We discussed the cake.

Then the moment came, we dug our spoons into the saucepan and breathed in before taking substantially large mouthfuls.

We sat a moment and considered the situation….

So we tried it again and simply resigned ourselves to disposing of the cake-in-a-cup. After all that we retired back to our blanket on the couch...