Sunday, October 10, 2010

I was never the something after that fateful something

In the absense of anything interesting or, more to the point, printable, I'll try to remember Saturday in a vaguely interesting way. As this day only happened to me yesterday, its recall should not be too great a stretch.

9.35am: I wake to an immediate work or teaching panic. As a cloudy remembrance of Brogan pints, whiskey and a stolen piece of cardboard hits me, I reach for an empty plastic bottle of water and finally come to realise that I'm off for the first Saturday in an aeon. No football has its plus points.

10am: After lying for twenty minutes, trying to figure out what film I've seen Don Draper's rival creative director in before, I give in to the need for a piss and clean my teeth.

10.10am: I see Wardrobe Girl having a smoke on the balcony opposite. I name her Wardrobe Girl because she never appears in the same garment twice, throughout a day. I think there may be six of her.

10.10am - 1.20pm: I watch recorded Masterchefs from the week, cultivating blog ideas, as well as the end of the bespoke episode of Mad Men. Better than last week's. Betty has gone from an 'I would' to an 'I mightn't after all.'

1.20pm: I wonder what the smell is. The smell is me. I shower at length.

1.22pm: Well, at length for a boy, like.

1.40pm: I walk across the river and buy a sandwich from the girl with a bad limp. I feel sorry for her because she looks utterly, painfully miserable.

2.05pm: The LUAS to Abbey St, where I pass the Octoberfest. Or is it Oktoberfest? I decide I don't care. Many drunken heads.

2.20pm: Cinema. 'The Town.' It occurs to me I haven't been to the cinema since seeing the old women from Offaly, which I didn't like as much as I was supposed to. 'The Town' is very good, reminds me of 'Heat' and 'The Departed.' It's not as good as the former but better than the latter.

4.30pm: Leave cinema. Walk home, except for the fact that I actually get the LUAS again, rendering the words 'walk home' as a lie. I pick up the kind of fish and chips you throw in the oven, as opposed to a fat bastard's fish supper.

6pm: Realise I've just spent the last hour looking at, and for, nothing on the internet. The internet has taken a day off save for Status Updates from people I wouldn't have in the house.

6.04pm: Discern her whereabouts. She's in a taxi on the way to County Swords, as it's now called. She likes her taxi driver. He doesn't like County Swords.

6.20pm: Eat dinner, and come to the realisation that I'm as bored writing this post as you will be reading it. And there are still five hours until bedtime.

Highlights of the rest of the evening: American Beauty ("Something tells me you're going to remember me this time.") - The word 'bawdy' used for its own sake - Wardrobe Girl entertains a young man, though I think it might be another version of her - I eat the forgotten Magnum in the freezer - I note countless references to something called a 'Mary Byrne' on Facebook - I remember I forgot to buy the new Empire - I take up the whole bed.

13 comments:

Dot-Com said...

I'd prefer Wardrobe Girl to Ugly Almost Naked Guy on the balcony across from my apartment. The joys of people watching!

Kath Lockett said...

....and we have Nail Clipper Bloke who leans out over his balcony to clip his fingernails (I've ducked inside when he seats his arse down on a chair, presumably to settle himself for doing the toes) which then fall on the parked cars below....

And 'she' is....?

Radge said...

Such shrapnel is not good, Kath.

'She' is responsible for scaring the bejesus out of me.

Holemaster said...

The IFSC area is an odd part of town. It's like a storage place for buildings, ready to sent elsewhere.

Radge said...

It's a bit otherworldly, like something from a Pixar film. And not in the good way.

Holemaster said...

I found this stuck to my shoe:

'be'

Radge said...

Took me ages to figure out what you meant, but I eventually got there.

We are hostages to typos.

Conan Drumm said...

Who's 'she', the cat's mother?

McMuck and the Mystery of the Kuúgleflarg said...

No mention of that half-hour you reserve for self-abusement?

Annie said...

^ what Conan said

Radge said...

Annie and Conan - 'She's' catless, which is a good thing as I don't trust them. That's no kind of answer, really, but I'm hungover.

Mook - That was inferred. Or something.

Annie said...

Don't give too much away, Radge, she might recognise herself!

Radge said...

Oh that ship has sailed, Annie!