I made the mistake of switching on the telly the other evening before heading out to my pub of choice, and there he was, the smarmy little git, slithering into somebody's half-built house with all his slimy blather.
Oh, hello there, Declan and Nuala. Is the kettle on?
Ah!, shout the two stiffs, obviously terrified, Hello Duncan. We didn't see ya comin'.
(Which, you have to admit, is fucking incredible, considering he brought an entire television crew in two forty-foot trucks).
So tell me, Nuala, says Duncan, what have you done since our last visit?
Now that's an opportunity for most sane people to reply, Well we got rid of you for a start, Duncan, you mad cunt.
But no. Instead, they show the mad bastard around their half-finished house while he points out things that would be painfully obvious to a retarded underpants.
Ah, right, Declan. That's the roof, isn't it?
'Tis, Duncan, you daft cunt.
And Nuala, if I'm not mistaken, that's the floor. Good choice of location for a floor, Nuala. Down low. Very good.
That's right, Duncan, you insane fucker. When are you going to fuck off out of our half-built house?
Indeed.
That wouldn't be too bad, if he'd just leave it with the tea and the bikkies and Declan and Nuala and all that shit, but no. He can't. Instead, he had to have a make-over.
Aw fuck off, you're joking!
I'm fucking not. I wish I was.
More Dublin fuckers. Come here a minute: is everybody in Dublin paid about forty-two times the wages of the rest of the country? I only ask that because firstly, RTE is concerned only with Dublin people (I know some of the rest of us pay the TV licence, but when has that ever been an issue?) and secondly, it seems to me from watching these programmes that everybody has a favourite little place in Dun Laoghaire where you can pick up a piece of ORT for about twice my annual salary.
Oh dear God!!
Tonight, they had two designers doing a make-over of a high-end property. (Note to outside-Dublin-people: a high-end property in Dublin is anything with its own toilet and more than one bedroom).
The guy was as gay as a badger, which is ok with me, except to ask, are there any straight interior designers in RTE-land, but we'll let that pass. He was a nice guy, and I liked what he did with the house.
The girl was going to do a house based on Feng Shui.
Aaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhhh!
What the fuck is this Feng Shui thing? Question number uno. Why do these fuckers insist on saying Feng Shway? Why? If the Chinese pronounce if Feng Shway, why do we write it to rhyme with Chop Suey? The Chinese don't write Feng Shui. We do.
Anyway, this woman is laying out chairs and tables , and you know, I can agree with a lot of the principles of Feng Shui. I don't much like clutter either, though it takes me several years to tidy any room that's gone a bit - you know. So there we are laying the whole thing out nice and easy and airy and feelgood, until the woman utters the dreaded E-word.
Shock. Anger. Offence.
What might the E-word be?
What? Oh, sorry. It's energy.
They say "energy" like they know what they're talking about. Even worse, they say "energies".
Your woman says, Oh, I like to choose different woods for the different units: it helps to offset the energies of the room.
Eh? Explain that.
Wasting your time asking.
And then the big poncing gobshite Duncan chimes in:
The energy of the room.
There they are, all dressed in reflective jackets and helmets like they're building the Eiffel Tower, and what are they really doing? Decorating a house.
That's RTE-land for you
Oh, hello there, Declan and Nuala. Is the kettle on?
Ah!, shout the two stiffs, obviously terrified, Hello Duncan. We didn't see ya comin'.
(Which, you have to admit, is fucking incredible, considering he brought an entire television crew in two forty-foot trucks).
So tell me, Nuala, says Duncan, what have you done since our last visit?
Now that's an opportunity for most sane people to reply, Well we got rid of you for a start, Duncan, you mad cunt.
But no. Instead, they show the mad bastard around their half-finished house while he points out things that would be painfully obvious to a retarded underpants.
Ah, right, Declan. That's the roof, isn't it?
'Tis, Duncan, you daft cunt.
And Nuala, if I'm not mistaken, that's the floor. Good choice of location for a floor, Nuala. Down low. Very good.
That's right, Duncan, you insane fucker. When are you going to fuck off out of our half-built house?
Indeed.
That wouldn't be too bad, if he'd just leave it with the tea and the bikkies and Declan and Nuala and all that shit, but no. He can't. Instead, he had to have a make-over.
Aw fuck off, you're joking!
I'm fucking not. I wish I was.
More Dublin fuckers. Come here a minute: is everybody in Dublin paid about forty-two times the wages of the rest of the country? I only ask that because firstly, RTE is concerned only with Dublin people (I know some of the rest of us pay the TV licence, but when has that ever been an issue?) and secondly, it seems to me from watching these programmes that everybody has a favourite little place in Dun Laoghaire where you can pick up a piece of ORT for about twice my annual salary.
Oh dear God!!
Tonight, they had two designers doing a make-over of a high-end property. (Note to outside-Dublin-people: a high-end property in Dublin is anything with its own toilet and more than one bedroom).
The guy was as gay as a badger, which is ok with me, except to ask, are there any straight interior designers in RTE-land, but we'll let that pass. He was a nice guy, and I liked what he did with the house.
The girl was going to do a house based on Feng Shui.
Aaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhhh!
What the fuck is this Feng Shui thing? Question number uno. Why do these fuckers insist on saying Feng Shway? Why? If the Chinese pronounce if Feng Shway, why do we write it to rhyme with Chop Suey? The Chinese don't write Feng Shui. We do.
Anyway, this woman is laying out chairs and tables , and you know, I can agree with a lot of the principles of Feng Shui. I don't much like clutter either, though it takes me several years to tidy any room that's gone a bit - you know. So there we are laying the whole thing out nice and easy and airy and feelgood, until the woman utters the dreaded E-word.
Shock. Anger. Offence.
What might the E-word be?
What? Oh, sorry. It's energy.
They say "energy" like they know what they're talking about. Even worse, they say "energies".
Your woman says, Oh, I like to choose different woods for the different units: it helps to offset the energies of the room.
Eh? Explain that.
Wasting your time asking.
And then the big poncing gobshite Duncan chimes in:
The energy of the room.
There they are, all dressed in reflective jackets and helmets like they're building the Eiffel Tower, and what are they really doing? Decorating a house.
That's RTE-land for you
