A Bit of an Aul Rant

Just letting you all know, I am still here. And I am reading your posts. And I am even reading your posts even if WordPress no longer, for it’s own oddball reasons, features you in my Reader.

And I have being hitting the ‘like’ button. Though only if I truly like your posts-I don’t get  equate ‘like’ with ‘read’ or even ‘saw’.

And I have been commenting.

But it isn’t until tonight that I realised my last comment appeared to have been twelve days ago. I checked a couple of comments I’d made this evening but they weren’t showing. And then when I checked the ‘Comments I made’ section it said my last comment was twelve days ago on Jenny Pellett’s diary.

Good Lord. I am very certain I made lots of comments since.

So. I tried to comment again on several diaries. They would appear to post and then, suddenly, pffft! Like some evil fairy(okay, maybe she was a good one) had whipped them away.

Well, you can imagine how frustrating that is.

I feel like there’s a zillion conversations going on all around me at a party and I cannot break into a single one.

It’s like being invisible.

But it helps me imagine Jan’s frustrations at not being able to hear conversations.  Losing that two-way communication can be difficult for all concerned and luckily, Jan’s story has a very happy ending.

And it helps me realise that I moan, of course, over the most trivial little things while others soldier on through pain and difficulties that we cannot begin to imagine.

While for others in life, resolution of their difficulties never happen in their lifetimes but may happen for the succeeding generations.

Much though I prefer to blame wordpress for this impasse, I do believe it’s me.

It’s not you, WordPress, it’s me.

And the me is in the form of a substandard internet service but one which is very much par for the course if you live in rural Ireland. (See, I can blame someone else after all!)

It’s been dropping and picking up signal like, well, (insert your favourite metaphor here)______________. But keep it clean, please.

But, really, I am enjoying raspberry scones and church views. And dreaming about going to coffee shops and Anne Frank’s house and the Van Gogh museum again one day.

Or maybe I’ll go even further afield and follow my penchant for a good graveyard prowl all the way here?

Of course, my pedalling continues, though I don’t get to cycle quite as much as Katie. And my running’s been grand this week and my poppy hunting too, though not as good as Sharon’s. And I’d never match this guy for all the running, coaching and writing he does.

It’s my ISP that’s my downfall though. We’re working off a teeny tiny bandwidth at the Chook House. Which cuts out constantly. It’s a bit like having a trickle in your garden hose for watering a vast lawn(i.e.Three Teens on a multitude of wifi hungry devices). Suddenly the trickle stops and you shake the house(i.e. hit the modem off the wall) but the trickle will only start again in its own good time. If at all.

Insert random curse words here and don’t bother keeping it clean.

(                                                                                    )

The good news is that I’ll soon be able to compare it with the quality of wifi off the coast of Africa!

Yep, I’m flying due south on these crappy li’l wings of mine, friends. Just scoping out some new territory specially for this blog. The Canaries, doncha know. Well, where else would a bird go?

And I hope to check out the wifi too.

What are the chances of rural Ireland’s wifi being worse than the signal blasting off the coast of Western Sahara? It would surely give this pair something useful to rant about besides a has-been C&W singer who will/won’t/will play Croke Park.(Just kidding, folks…)

And maybe, when I’m back, I’ll be ranting too. Or maybe even before that. And, better still, on all of your blogs.

And even better still, maybe the Chook House wifi will be up and running at full speed when I get back. At the ‘up to speeds of’ bandwidth that those ISP people hook us in with.

Yeah, maybe… yeah, right.