Blimey, did some amount of shopping yesterday for the new flat. Lamps, cushions, an iron, a kettle, a George Foreman grill, cutlery, a bin, laundry basket. Not only that, but I know once I get back to Dublin I'll realise I forgot the most important item.
What was it? Shit shit shit.
A hammock. I need a hammock. Will pick one up in The Pale. Sorted.
So it's the sunset of my two weeks off. Feels like ten years since I last trod the boards of Setanta Central, so much having transpired since. Got the new place, moved in, over and back to Dorte's and the pubs visited like The Bank and The Stags and Cassidys and O'Briens and even Coppers and the Corkonian ones and Limerick with its own stresses and strains, such as the visit of the dreaded aunt.
This woman is a pokey, shrill and dismissive shrine to materialism and apathy. Tuesday in her company was a Tuesday sadly spent.
Still, she was gone by the time I awoke on Wednesday, and I have done nothing of note since, bar scan every football site for news of the final next week and annoy herself in Xerox with constant emails containing my thoughts for the day.
That all comes to a halt tomorrow with my return to Formula One duty, but I don't really mind. There's always value of a weekend in the Towers, and off again on Monday to get my house in order, both figuratively and literally. Actually, only literally.
Cheese of the week: Blue.
Things I don't give a shit about this week:
1) Over compensating.
3) Leaky roofs. Or is it rooves?
5) Stale bread.
7) The film 'Last King Of Scotland.' Overrated.
That's me for now.