Sunday, February 24, 2008
I object to the word 'bird'. But not the word bird.
Bless me readers for I have not blogged for a fortnight.
I had two long weeks of eating sub-standard pasta from the Centra across the road from work, watching Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman tackle the roads of Mongolia in, surely, one of the best travel documentaries ever committed to videotape or whatever they're using now, drinking sporadically but in large quantities, tackling a new system in work, plotting Johnny's demise, seeing Juno on Valentine's evening with the very-much-taken Mirabilis (cheers Jimmy for letting me borrow your bird), enjoying said film, drinking peppermint tea, free writing and tackling a bastard of a cold that lasted a week.
I broke my rule of never running for women or buses too, and the result was costly. Last Tuesday or Wednesday it was, with the roads covered with a thick frost and black ice. I saw the 121 and decided to make a dash for it as I wanted to avoid the old woman who always stations herself beside me at the stop blowing Woodbine smoke in my direction.
I ran through a wet patch not realising it had frozen over in the chill and went slap down on my arse, cursing and blinding in the aftermath. I wouldn't mind but the driver just looked at me, laughed and drove off in an act of utter cuntishness. I can still feel the stiffness in my shoulder and neck but thankfully no longer term damage done.
Man's ability to get up from such public embarrassments and pretend nothing has happened never ceases to surprise me. I just dawdled on acting as though someone else entirely had just gone arse-over-tit at the hands of Mother Nature, the scrapes on my bleeding hands the only things giving me away.
Also, this week, I made my Diceys debut.
I'd heard terrible things, and going there from a sober perspective I would have retched at the besuited bestiality of the place, with chickenheads and cocaine princes everywhere. However, I was drunk up on Stella before I made my entrance for Denise's birthday drinks, and revelled heartily with Ollie and Melissa and the quare one's work friends. A fine night. I also took a tour of the beer garden and can see why it's been dubbed a smoker's paradise, with those in thrall to nicotine gaspering happily in a back garden that could happily double as an airport hanger.
I don't remember leaving or arriving home though I think I paid the Fish Bar a visit for a quarter pounder. It always comes back to the food.
Anyway, back to sobriety with me for a few days while I recover from that and the previous nights ales in Nearys and Kehoes with Elayne from Ballyfin. I'm down in Limerick housesitting for the folks who have just headed to Kilkenny for a couple of days.
They did the decent thing and left me a steak. I have to go to the shop for bread myself though.