I'm Grand

What a fucking joke, the doctor laughed at me. As soon as I said the words 'lung cancer', he broke his shits laughing. As he was examining me he was giggling in my face. I felt like a dickhead. Isn’t this what you’re supposed to do when you feel something is wrong with you? Isn’t this what they tell you to do on Ireland AM when ever you feel like shit. . . . . . . . . . . Okay I deserve to be laughed. But, anyway, it ended not being cancer, it had nothing even remotely to do with cancer at all. All it was was a mild form of Bronchitis and Asthma and that I cut the inside of my throat coughing. I was literally ten minutes in the office, a quick examination, check the chest, check the mouth, check the ear and sent on my way with a proscription in my hand, that will 55 bills, adios amigo!

I ended up heading up to the chemist to get my shit and it ends up costing ninety fucking squid. I have to head back out to my oul'fella who is chilling the car waiting for me, still pissed off coz he can get the internet working on his relic of a laptop, you should see this thing, its got Windows 98 and you need a wireless card to put into the thing to get it going, which he just bought and can't get working. He sorts problem and we head home and he proceeds to lets rip down the phone at some poor unfortunate customer service person from NTL probably taking it out on him for the fact that he just shelled out for me. 'Yes, but I already did that, I don't know why you don't make it more simple . . . . . . . . . Yes . . . . . yes . . . . . . Yeah, I. . . Have . . . already done that . . . and it isn’t working. Which one is the modem?' Myself and my brother, Max, look on in amusement.

So 145 yo yos and off I go, I got to stop freaking out, I am the biggest hypochondriac on the planet but, fuck it, at least I'm aware of shit going wrong with me. I don't just ignore it, when it happens for real, I can guarantee I’ll catch what ever it is in time. Although, how the fuck does he know there is nothing wrong with me if he doesn't give a blood test, yeah, fucking hell, he didn’t even check my blood pressure, Jesus! What if. . . . . . . . . . . I got to get a grip. Has anyone got a smoke.

Now that I read back the post I put up yesterday, it is quite mental how fucking freaked out I got. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm turning 29 today . . . . . . . . 29, one more year and that’s the twenties gone. Gone. I don't know why I have an issue with age, maybe it’s for the simple fact that I don't have my shit together yet and I always said that I would have my shit together by the time I was 30. I think everyone has that milestone in their heads that 30 is the age where you get some sense, you are officially an adult, you change your mentality all of a sudden, you traditionally start to think very seriously about shit like kids, career and other stuff that you weren't really thinking about before or maybe it's a fear of actually becoming an adult, a fear of arriving at an age where you remember your oul'pair being that age and they were a lot more together than you are now, a fear at becoming that bloke at sessions that everybody is pointing at and saying 'Who brought the oul'fella?'

Remember those haggard oul'lads that occasionally turned up at parties and at first everyone is trying to be sound to them but it always ended the same way, everyone ripping the piss out of him. There is nothing that will anger me more, than if I end up back at some cunts gaf, I'm dancing in the kitchen, I'm 45, I've got a bottle of bucky and nicely madge and there is a load of little wankers giving it the fucking big boy shit, taking the piss out of me. . . . . . .I can see myself getting very irritated in my old age, I'm already getting wound up by young people. Whenever I hear them being load and horrible, even walking down the street, I just want to walk up and go - 'Shhhhhhhhhh! Just stop, Just stop talking.'

But when I say your mentality changes, it does, slowly. I used to be hell bent on the session. Without fail, I would be there representing myself with proud gurn, my sweaty head held high, talking shite for about 60 hours a weekend. Any word of a decent session, I would be there. Now, I just couldn't be arsed half the time. Don't get me wrong I'm not turning Amish or anything but I'm changing or maybe the sessions are changing, they just aren't as good. Yeah, fuck that, it has got nothing to do with me, there is very little crack anymore that’s the problem, all you cunts that are throwing these parties, come on; get your fucking act together. Take it from this oul'fella on his birthday - 'Ye's haven't a clue!'