unironedman

IN WHICH THE OLD YEAR IS POSITIVELY LOCKED UP WITH OUR TRADITIONAL COMMUNAL RUN ALONG THE CANAL BANK, THE BAND PERFORM A MUSICAL VERSION OF D-DAY DOWN IN PORTLAOISE, AND THE NEW YEAR STAGGERS IN LIKE A DRUNK UNCLE AT A WEDDING AS IF TO SAY ‘WHAT? YOU THOUGHT THE NEW YEAR WOULD BE DIFFERENT? HA. NO CHANCE. IT’S JUST THE SAME AS THE LAST ONE, ONLY WORSE!’

Lock Up The Year seemed to really catch the imagination this time around. I’m guessing last year’s event had a bearing on this when our hand was forced and we had to move the location, opening it up to a wider audience. It has always been an informal run along the canal, and the most ‘organised’ it ever became were the years when we would be bussed out to the start lines of the full and half marathon. I think there is a certain joy in running back to the finish line in one fell swoop. For the last number of years, we’ve kept it to an out-and-back, as this makes the arrangements considerably easier. Then again, the downside is that you have put in turn point markers. And then collect them the following day.

Even though Gary and I know where the turn points are, within about 50 feet, we still went out two days before and measured the routes. I tied a piece of string to the branch nearest the spot, but funnily enough, the one I tied for the half seemed to have vanished the following afternoon when I returned with the signs. No complaints from the runners, thankfully, and we seem to have measured everything to satisfaction. Fair play to Gary, too, as he was in work on New Year’s Eve and couldn’t join us.

By my rough count, just glancing at the group photos we took before each race start, we had about 145 souls all told for the marathon, half and 10k, and a smattering of runners who just wanted to do about 5k. I managed about 52 minutes for the 10k, but the impressive result from the morning was the young lad who knocked out a 2.59 marathon. Some going.

One of the reasons for the drop down to 10k (when I normally do the half) was that I had a gig that evening down in Portlaoise, and it’s a fair spin down in the car, not to mention the loading up of gear at one end, and the setting up at the other, in a crowded bar. So it was going to be a long night, and I needed to conserve some energy. It’s a classic bar gig, so you are on the floor with no stage, between the front door and the bar. When it gets busy – and it does – there is nothing between you and chaos.

As the night wore on and the vodka and tonic kicked in, waves of mostly young wans threatened to storm the beaches like a scene out of Saving Private Ryan. The singer had get a bit verbal at one point, speakers were nearly toppled, and the bouncer had to intervene on a few occasions to point out the non-existent demarcation line beyond which punters should not stray. All in all, great craic, and we all escaped unscathed, and made it home in one piece. A good result all ’round!

(I feel I should explain ‘young wans’ to readers from beyond these shores. Consider this tongue-in-cheek Irish Film Classification definition, from this website…
G: Grand
PG: Mostly grand but sure you know yourself
12: Might be a bit of shifting
15: Shifting, implied riding, lads getting a box in the mouth, a few bad words
18: Riding, young wans in the nip, heads blew clean off, and the LANGUAGE out of them
— Damien Owens (@OwensDamien) December 31, 2018)

(Though it may raise more questions than it answers!).

As we nodded off and the great world spun into a new year, we all awoke, groggily, and peered out from under the duvet. If we were hoping for peace, love and understanding, we would be bitterly disappointed. The current US government decided to bomb Caracas, the capital of Venezuela, and capture Maduro. No saint, that fella’, but the reasoning behind the illegal invasion is all bunkum. Colombia, their neighbour, is the world’s leading producer of cocaine. No suggestion, as of yet, that they will effect regime change there. In their own words, the US have said they will ‘run’ Venezuela. Here are some of the Trump’s reactions to Operation Absolute Resolve:

“It was an incredible thing to see,” Trump said on Saturday. “If you would have seen what happened, I mean, I watched it literally like I was watching a television show. And if you would’ve seen the speed, the violence… it’s just, it was an amazing thing, an amazing job that these people did.”

These are the reactions of a man who has clearly never had a proper adult in his life to say ‘no!’ at critical times. Or indeed, at any time in his life. And he has surrounded himself with equally spurious sycophantic lunatics. Venezuela may not have a democratic government, or indeed an issue with fentanyl production. But it does have the world’s largest reserves of oil. At least the US government aren’t bothering to hide it anymore. From CBS news:
“We’re going to rebuild the oil infrastructure, which will cost billions of dollars, it will be paid for by the oil companies directly. And we’re going to get the oil flowing the way it should be,” President Trump said in a public address on Saturday following the attack.

‘The way it should be’ is an interesting phrase. Full of connotations. Full of promise (for some) and mostly threat (for others). Suffice to say the world is currently a dangerous place. Indeed, it feels totally unhinged, as if the lunatics are gloating following their not-quite bloodless coup d’état of the asylum we call Planet Earth.

Not that my Auntie Mamie would give a fig. She passed away on Christmas morning, before Operation Thingamajig – months in the planning – was put into play. She had reached a grand old age of 95, losing her lifelong husband Brian, my Dad’s older brother, back in 2017. It was a cold but sharp morning yesterday when we gathered for her funeral, and she was buried in the same plot as Brian, much as Saoirse’s Dad was laid to rest with his wife this year.

Gary and I knocked out a 14k this morning along a frosty towpath; the partially frozen canal offered some nice photographic moments, though the swans were less impressed.

In other news, Pantone’s Color of the Year for 2026 is Cloud Dancer (PANTONE 11-4201), a soft, airy off-white chosen for its symbolism of calm, clarity, and a fresh start in an overstimulated world, marking the first time Pantone has selected a white shade, representing quiet reflection and a return to intentional simplicity. This is the blurb from their website anyway.

As a graphic designer and chief editor of this blog, I feel suitably qualified to add my own alternative:
Unironedman’s Color of the Year for 2026 is Ask My Bollix (PANTONE ref unavailable), a rather depressing grey with a hint of shit-brown like the skid marks that just refuse to wash off your jockey Y-fronts. It is the grey of a butchered elephant, killed for nothing more than the tusks that can be sold on the black market to be ground up into some snake-oil nonsense that promises to give a wealthy Tokyo businessman a once-in-a-lifetime erection; it is the grey pallor of a dead man’s skin when they have been unearthed from under the rubble of a bombed-out building in Gaza; the grey of the clouds of dust left over after a storm of aid trucks trundles into yet another UN refugee camp somewhere in the world. It symbolises despair, obfuscation and stasis in an overstimulated world, and is as welcome on a sheet of pure white paper as a speckle of blood on a hanky, or a shadow on your lung x-ray. It marks the first time I’ve made any comment on this absolute pile of crap from Pantone, who should, quite frankly, seriously reflect on this grotesque marketing bullshit. I’m sure they won’t, though…

The universe has rewarded me with a cracked windscreen for my temerity in the face of such benign and cheery capitalism. Ho, ho, it said, as I was on my down to a funeral at the end of last year. Here’s a wee pebble to chip your windscreen, which has turned into a crack which is slowly snaking across my field of vision. I have been in touch with the insurance company to arrange a replacement, but it will be a week or two. Now the fun begins; will the windscreen last until then? I’ve watched the movies. I think you just have to punch it out if that happens, and keep driving. What could possibly go wrong…

Anyway, here’s a Primrose from the weekend. Far too early, of course…

And heres a photo I found whilst cleaning out my office over Christmas. It’s my old band from about 1987, possibly, but definitely on the back of a trailer in the Maynooth St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

And here is the bike shelter I built last week. I shall supplement it with bike covers. The two ‘good’ bikes will live in the shed.

And now for some cows…

And now for some doggos…