Not yet a man

WELL I have further displayed my ignorance of all matters construction by failing to realise that on occasion builders can be unreliable. While this may have been common knowledge to some, it came as something of a shock to this still unemployed goon.

Two weeks after I was meant to start work, my Batman-reminiscent utility built is still hanging unutilised in the closet, I'm still as ignorant as ever about how houses are made, and my hands have become almost as soft and tender as they were during my tenure as a journalist.

The last fortnight has been a series of last-minute postponements by my future employer who says that he can't take me on until he is finished roofing his last house. I can't blame him in fairness, I wouldn't like to starting training some gormless immigrant from atop a roof either.

It's been a glowing, bulbous, throbbing pain in the arse not knowing from one day to the next if I'm going to be working any time soon but thankfully he has promised me that I will start this week. Fittingly, this week sees the start of the two-months-late Canadian summer so once I get on site I'll be addressing my dual problems of being broke as a beggar and pale as a pint of milk.

I'm closing in on two months without regular employment now and it's not at all been the joyride I expected. Apart from having the financial clout of a patch of moss, not having a job has also had the opposite effect on my creative juices than I expected.

For quite a while now, I've been mulling over the idea of trying to write a story, be it in the form of a novel or a script. While I have quite a few ideas committed to a notepad, nothing has developed in the way I'd hoped and I reckon it's to do with my lack of human interaction during the day.

Don't get me wrong, landscaping was about as mentally stimulating as a sleeping pill but at least I was interacting with people a lot more and I think therein lies the problem. Not being that interesting myself, I need to draw on the experiences of others as my source material.

Hopefully, that's all about to change though and by the next post, I'll be generating new ideas, funds and a nice even tan.

The Hoge's Lions XV

Right, I've been thinking on this one for a while.

Seeing as I eat, sleep, breathe, write and occasionally even play rugby with the best yellow and wine-jersey'd club in the country, I feel a weight of expectation on my shoulders when it comes to predicting my Lions XV.

Obviously no such expectation lies with Mr Chalkboard, however, who sees rugby as a town in Warwickshire first, and a sport second.

Viewing his Lions selection gives a whole new meaning to fantasy rugby (as in "You're on the kind of hallucinogens that induce intense fantasies if you think Rory Best is going to travel let alone start for the Lions. May I have some please?").

Judging by his team, Chalkey used a blindfold, darts and a dartboard covered in the names of every rugby player in Ireland, England, Scotland and Wales to make his selection.

I however have applied more stringent criteria. Some decisions have been agonised over for days, made me irritable, caused rashes, seen me wake up on the bedroom floor weeping my eyes out as I splutter snot-drenched apologies to all those players who have landed on the wrong side of a close call.

But after many sleepless nights, some consultation with friends (leading to the cessation of some friendships) and a liberal helping of medication, I have come up with my fifteen.

Before I name them though, I feel honour-bound to make apologies to John Hayes (the paddocks are too hard in South Africa for the Bull I feel), Luke Fitzgerald (it would be too much or a risk to have two slight wingers so Williams just about shades it) and David Wallace (Not a traditional 7 which we will need this summer, a genuine chance at 8 but Heaslip just about gets the nod).

I should also point out that I reckon the upcoming Heineken Cup games will have almost as much of an influence on the final tour contingent as the Six Nations tournament. But since I lost my powers of premonition many moons ago, I can only base it on what we have seen so far.

Feel free to comment or draw up your own competing selections.

1. Gethin Jenkins (Wales)

2. Jerry Flannery (Ireland)

3. Euan Murray (Scotland)

4.Paul O'Connell (Ireland)

5. Donncha O'Callaghan(Ireland)

6. Stephen Ferris (Ireland)

7. Martyn Williams (Wales)

8. Jamie Heaslip (Ireland)

9. Mike Blair (Scotland)

10. Ronan O'Gara (Ireland)

11. Shane Williams (Wales)

12. Tom Shanklin (Wales)

13. Brian O'Driscoll (Ireland)

14. Delon Armitage (England)

15. Lee Byrne (Wales)

A moral victory

"A JAAAYSUS there's mildew on these shorts Johnny, I can't wear them," said McGoo, as he peered into a bag of rugby gear that had last seen daylight during a game against Cobh in early January.

After a night of what one could fairly describe as less-than-appropriate preparations, an early morning seconds match was about as welcome to myself and my housemate as a very thorough colonic irrigation.

But guarantees had been made and promises had to be kept so the two of us tripped and stumbled around the house, picking up items of gear - some with mildew, others without - and cursed the Irish team for having an afternoon match with the Italians meaning our game would have to be played at 12 noon.

Twelve noon? For a rugby match? Only a few hours after you've finished up drinking, dancing, sleazing and sweating the night away at a ball in the Clarion which - in fairness - was in aid of charity and therefore could justify any amount of porter consumption?


You heard me right. This wasn't going to be pretty for anyone involved, particularly the unfortunate second rows packing down behind me for the next hour and a half.


McGoo and I left our bunker on Ballinacurra for what should have been the short walk to Greenfields where we were scheduled to play Young Munsters. Unfortunately our bearings seemed to have been still a little discombobulated when we set off and we ended up getting quite lost in Ballinacurra, looking for a rugby pitch that we've each played on maybe 20 times over the years.


Thankfully, before long we recognised the backside of the Catholic Institute on our travels which we then circumnavigated to get back on track. Coynie had rang us by this point to say that he was on his way and was feeling as fresh as a daisy because he'd spent the previous night at home, taking it easy. The degenerate.


Any hope myself and the equally red-eyed, dry-throated McGoo had of taking it easy on the bench vanished when we walked in the door to see that - including our good selves - there were only 13 players. One more was coming, we were told, and chances are we would have to play the whole game with just 14 men.


"The ref won't allow this, it's madness. Isn't there some rule about having to have a full team?" I thought.


Not so, as it turns out. The referee came over to us just before kick off to ask if we had any more players coming and, upon hearing our answer, let out a very audible snigger and a "fair play to ye lads" but did not call off the game.


Off he trotted to get things underway while I stood there just sneering at him, like he was the Governer who could have saved me from the chair but said he'd watch me sizzle instead because it'd be better craic. The monster.


So, like a heavily wounded and outnumbered army, we took to war with about as much chance of winning as Maggie Thatcher in a 12-rounder with Floyd Mayweather.


But, like a team of highly-motivated hobos, we hassled them like a persistent wife, hit rucks as if there was chocolate in the middle, and despite our numerical disadvantage stayed in touch - and for a while, ahead of - Munsters.


Now wouldn't it be lovely if this story finished with us achieving an impossible victory? Well, unfortunately it was not to be but a final scoreline of 33-26 wasn't too shabby at all considering the various numerical, organisational and sobriety issues on our side.


And if Munster's close loss to the All Blacks in November is anything to go by, moral victories are still hugely appreciated in these parts so we can hold our heads high. I just can't help thinking what we could have done with 15.