Encouraging reports greeted me online not 15 minutes ago, when I tore myself out from under the comfort of eleven hours' sleep. Unbroken. Fuck but I was tired.
Anyway, let's see what happens.
This morning I'm partaking of my own version of the office shitstorm, milling around Dublin trying to secure funding for the weekend upcoming. My sister's getting married. T'other one, not the one from last September, t'older one, t'one that used to fight me in my grandmother's sitting room.
We were the precursors to Gladiators, the UFC had nothing on us, until we got to college and realised we were a far greater force as allies than as enemies. She had the looks, I had the hair.
Well, I no longer have the hair, and she's kept her looks (the bitch), and she's marrying the boy Erf in Wicklow.
It's to be an outdoor affair so I want you all kneeling to the sun gods, we don't want a tempest that mirrors the nature of our childhood tete-a-tetes.
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Utterly unrelated, but I watched 'The Wicker Man' last night. The original version, not the remake starring Nicolas Cage.
Oh my, what an odious piece of filmmaking that was.
At one point, Edward WoodwouldEdward decides to leave the island and, as he's being rowed out to his seaplane, he tells the harbourman (like the rest of the locals, clearly insane) that "you people are all mad, I'm going to leave this island now and return with some more officers of the law."
What did he expect them to say?
"Ah yeah, no bother, work away chief."
Crap. I came very close to throwing my Winter Warmer Soup at the television. At least he got his at the end, though.
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I'll be back on Tuesday.