Fuckin' flies. I'd close my window but it's too warm.
Howayis? I'm enjoying the second of two consecutive days off in Dublin for the first time in months and months, spending it indoors despite the splendour of the outside, but that will be rectified this very evening when I greet Denise for lager beers.
I'd like to take this moment to apologise to Anne and Emma for my months of carping about them not calling in to see me at Charleville Road. They rectified the situation last evening, but lawyers prohibit me from getting into the rest of the evening's events. Suffice to say I promise the two girls I'll be a more hospitable host next time.
Just four more days until I fly the Setanta coup, with my return currently scheduled for late September. The plan is to doodle around here for the month of June before heading off on my travels for two months. Europe? Bring it on. I suspect visits will be paid to 5x in Paris, Stef in Germany and Michelle in Geneva. Who knows, I may even make it to Malmo.
The finer details, nay, ALL the details have still to be worked out, but I'm looking forward to it immensely.
Upon finding out my plans, 5x gushed: "Do you KNOW how much sex you're going to have? DO YOU???"
Going by my current leg-over-value ratio, yes I do - none of - but we'll see if the lusty fields of Italy, Slovenia et al might get the juices flowing.
Me? I'm just looking forward to the food. I undertake to sample all the local delights, and if anyone has suggestions as to where I should place my hat, it will be gratefully received.
I had a depressing dream last night, or this morning as it was. I didn't rise until midday. I was at my own book launch, each of my peers paying homage to my first tome. "I just wanted to get it written before I was 30," I said to nobody in particular. Then I woke up, realising I have, oh, six months to complete my task.
Anybody have a spare thesaurus?