Interlude: Flaithulach

Day 61. 157 pages, 78,748 words.

Bear with me, I’m out of practice when it comes to Chucky Reports. So, I thought that maybe I had invented the term “bworst”, but a few seconds on Google convinced me that no, it was already a thing. Friday night, regardless, was a great example of one of the bworst company social events in living memory.

We’re reducing our office space and moving a lot of our folks to the home office cloud, so as a result decided to throw a little party to say farewell to the Piisp and reminisce about the many happy years spent between its walls. I was, for some reason, prevailed upon to provide a little bit of video entertainment once again. I did so, but it’s all confidential stuff so I can’t share it. I do happily acknowledge that I am rather proud of my efforts even though they make me a terrible person.

Delicious meatballs and salads were provided, and at the end of the night we were instructed to take it home lest it go to waste. I was very pleased to finally be able to bring home something from the office with which to feed my family.


I was also able to bring home a game that had for some reason been in the office game cupboard for years, and was now free to take from the office “if you want it, it’s yours” table. Unopened once you got past the scuffed-up outer box. Score!

There was also some cider, lonkero and wine, and I provided a bottle of choc-minttu to general approval. Mr. Fahrenheit was back, Gerry put in an appearance, even Mr. dreameling showed up for a while out of his paternity prison. Jarmo was in excellent form as always, and in general it was a good night. Sad, as it was Taija’s final event with us, but there will be other times and she seemed to enjoy herself a lot. Post-maternity drinking is a ruthlessly efficient process. Also, she bought a copy of my book, which paid for my bus tickets to work and then home. Either I need to raise my prices, or HSL needs to lower theirs. Preferably while dying in a fire.

Call of the night would appear to belong to me (I say in all modesty), with my answer to the question “so Gerry, how did you come to be in Finland?” with an award-winning “She walked across when there was a land bridge.” Although the near-synchronous “are you my mummy?” delivered by Gerry and myself when looking at the gas masked kids in Queen’s Radio Ga Ga video has to be a close second.

My own videos, as mentioned, were well-received. Apparently some people even had trouble telling that the recording was me. Which is great, because I hated hearing my own voice on that recording. Some rave reviews included, “Thank you for your critical videos,” from our HR manager, and “At first I thought, ‘should I be getting upset by this?’ Then I realised ‘no, because it’s all true’,” from our country manager.

So, that was basically the night. A bunch of folks did go on to visit a selection of pubs but I have yet to hear back from any of them. I took my big pile of loot and headed home. And on the subject of “bworst”, let me say that opening up that double whopper with cheese and stuffing four chili cheese bites into it on my trip home was one of the bworst I’ve done to my mouth in a long time.

On the bus on the way home I started talking ranting on my phone to Mr. Brkn, missed my stop and ended up in the dark back-woods. So I got a nice little hike back to the relative civilisation of Sotunki.

So what’s flaithulach?

Look it up.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy.
This entry was posted in The Chucky Report and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Interlude: Flaithulach

  1. thelinza says:

    When we skype next, you need to demonstrate the appropriate pronunciation of Flaithulach. I stopped trying to use phonics on Gaelic words after ‘Dun Laoghir’ or what the hell ever Dublin’s secondary port is called.

    • stchucky says:

      Danged if I remember how it’s pronounced, Gerry’s the Irish one. I do know she had a Hell of a time spelling it for me when I interrupted her anecdote with “that’s such a cool word, write it for me so I can use it in my book.”

      Then I googled her attempt at spelling the word, and found this flaithulach that seemed to be the end-spelling.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s