I got a bit drunk last (Friday, I'll have you know) night, and invited everyone over here from Facebook to carry on partying into the small hours.
So it was with a bit of trepidation that I opened up this morning, expecting to find a few strangers lying face down on the carpet, but I needn't have worried. My followers remain at a steady 145. Oh, wait a minute - I have blocked anonymous comments. Maybe they're all hiding in the cupboard. I'll have to go to stats and see if there is a peak in the graph around 1.00 am.
The trouble with being a gobshite is that Facebook doesn't have enough space to really let rip, and even if it did, you would be breaching some sort of unwritten protocol. As far as I can see, Twitter is for Trappist monks, or Haiku writers.
Anyway, I have taken Shawn's advice - if that's what it was - and deleted the invitation, limiting it to a handful of people who may have stumbled on it last night or this morning. I'll try and keep this blog exclusively for all you old people who have nothing better to do than read it.
So here's a belated review of Father Ted, 20 years too late.
The first episode has far too much canned laughter at far too high a volume, but they corrected this in time for the rest of them. My favourite one was when the priests of the area all dressed up and did a turn on stage, compered by an alcoholic minor TV celebrity. Parts of that had me laughing out loud.
Three Billboards ( Spoilers) - I first became a fan of *Frances McDormand *after I saw her play wily old police officer Marge Gundersun in the Cohen Brothers' black comedy *Fargo *back ...
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