For the record I got SIX rude words printed in the end. The five below and also Turrdz. I managed the last three after the events detailed by the Daily Mail, during which time I was so well known to Selfridges I had to evade VERY ACTIVE surveillance whenever I entered the store.
My Nutella shenanigans did mean that a corporate spokesperson had to issue this statement about me, which was such a life highlight that it has now been my banner picture for almost five years.
Also sorry not sorry but they used a super cute photo of me for their hit job so I'm kinda ok with it
I still have these five jars, although they are now so out of date, to consume them would be taking your life in your hands. My then 5yo niece ate Arsemuck (with great delight) and Backdirt was given to my dear pal @chewerson.
An archive shot of @hughcooneys inspecting the goods at the time.
I'm not going to link the article, but the comments are precisely as wonderful as you'd expect. It was the privilege of my live to arouse so much anger, in so many people, about so many jarringly unrelated things.
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Want to hear a funny story about something that happened to me this weekend? It concerns the internet, elephants, and the absurdity of online nostalgia.
So, Naomi Wolf was getting pelters from me and others for having said that non-5G Belfast had the “calm” of the 1970s, (despite Belfast *having* 5G and the 70s not being the calmest of times for Belfast). It was really... something.
As a result, people in my mentions and throughout the wider web shared similarly “calm” photos from 70s Northern Ireland, rebranded with the stock phrases of those inane “Remember The Good Old Days?” memes. It was very funny.
It's not conscious I know, but I've always found it odd to hear English people using the bastardised Irish surname "Hooligan" to decry their fans' worst behaviour. Every tournament. For days on end. While Irish fans sing songs and make friends without thinking of attacking anyone
Like the worst thing an English fan can be is a hooligan. And it's not a nonsense word to Irish people, it's a very recognisable corruption of names like Houlihan and Olohan. Because we're violent and disorderly. Irish people. Compared to...???
This would still be weird even if Irish football fans HAD a reputation for violence. But we don't. We're almost professionally sound. To the point were nearly sick of the mildly patronising coverage of us as happy, smiling chimps who are shit at football but make everybody smile.
Here. Since @EmmetKirwan and @dave_tynan's unmissable DUBLIN OLD SCHOOL has now dropped on Netflix, anyone wanna hear how a small part of it is based on me, very high, mending a hole in a wall at a birthday party using only newspaper, plaster, an XtraVision card?
APRIL 2010. TEMPLE BAR, DUBLIN. Ordinarily the part of Ireland used to keep the geordie hen parties and American football fans away from the rest of us, tonight it is host to young Emmet, celebrating his 30th in a simple but spacious apartotel rented for just the purpose.
It was a weird time. The economy had shat the bed but we were still too numb to really deal yet. Everyone was either minimum wage or on the dole, and all social expectations on young people collapsed, and since we were stupid, this freed us instead to get extravagantly high.
Jesus. It's been a year since I told you about my worst ever workday. Which, eventually led to enough writing work that I quit my job and begin writing full time. It's not an exaggeration to say it completely transformed my life, so thanks be to Ketamine, Mary, and you all. xx
I will say there’s something very nice about being able to credit practically every good exciting thing in your professional career to this one very stupid thing. That I might not have posted. That might have sunk without trace. I can't take it for granted. It's liberating.
Also, and I know it is a horrific teasing kind of a thing to do, but anyone who might like the idea of a star-studded visual treatment for this story might wanna WATCH THIS SPACE for v exciting news ok thank you please no follow up questions at this time
Because it's 2019, I am reading a letter Uri Geller has written to Theresa May. It is, of course, a document of almost quantum nonsense, in which every single line is somehow madder than every other line. And I will have forgotten this happened in a week.
I
SHOWED
YOU
WINSTON CHURCHILL'S
SPOON
ON
MY
CADILLAC,
WHICH
I ASKED
YOU
TO TOUCH.
Heaven's in the bent spoon on my cadillac,
Let us touch it there.