Powerful dryin' today. Could rain though.
Yeah yeah, I've been a useless bloggist lately, but I'm here now, am I not?
In the middle of my time off work, doing my utmost to stay sane and avoid the pub at the same time. I find these pursuits to be at odds with each other. Still, I persist in the hope that I'll better my situation through penmanship.
I am a penman.
Since waltzing away away from Setanta Central last Sunday and straight into the bosom of the Palace Bar and later Bowe's, I've been to Limerick and back for a visit to the medic and little else. Oh the fun of sitting in a GP's waiting room for two and a half fucking hours.
I got through three 2006 copies of Four Four Two magazine, replete with World Cup preview material, and a full hour and a half of Pat Kenny. That I didn't mind too much, but when Ronan Collins came on, with the two small children tearing said waiting room asunder, I thought of breaking into the surgery and demanding something lethal. A vial of smallpox to take the pain away.
That didn't happen though. He ushered me in with a frank apology and all I could reply was "ah that's no bother, felt like five minutes." I've always made a point never to argue with a man about to extract blood from me.
Moving on, it's Good Friday today. The lads have been trying to decide where best to get drunk, seeing as the pubs and off licences are closed and that. I don't understand. Were it a normal Friday, there would be every possibility of heading straight home from work and settling for tea and multiple episodes of whatever E4 + 1 are showing but no, not today. The compulsion is to drink because it's not allowed, a giant fuck you to a church that's largely irrelevant anyway. I do feel sorry for the alcoholics, hope they stocked up on WKDs or whatever it is they're drinking nowadays, but for folks like myself there's no harm in sitting in, switching on the kettle and...
...I'll let you know how the drunkening goes.