I suppose it's about time, isn't it? I have plenty of guts to spill, I can safely confirm that life has never been so full of upheaval, and stress, and wonder about what the future holds, as it is now.
Such times are not a bad thing, necessarily. Too often the blanket of the comfort zone has cosseted me and made me complacent. I can't be having that. Perhaps better to be in turmoil, out of the shreds come a new design. Or some such bullshit.
I've been drinking too much. The warming splendour of the pub has left me powerless against its allure. All except last night, where the sheer busy-ness of the Odeon divorced me from my pint early and took me back to Charleville Road via Zaytoon.
Vik's stag, it was, but the lad was suitably oiled not to notice my departure, while apologies go to the rest of the boys for my defection.
As pubs go, Bowe's has my heart at the minute. I see it as a 1920s IRA hideaway, centred in the city but dwarfed by Doyle's beside it, a pleasurable annex with uncomplicated aleing and witty banter much of.
In other news, it's back to Radge circa January - May 2007. I've promised Julie I'll curb the braggadocio that those months saw born in me, I'm a far tamer beast in this day and age. I'll leave all cockiness to the regular Odeonites.