Everything I grow

"Round and round and round she goes, where she stops no-one knows..."

Spideog did text me last night, with a "How are you young lady". I didn't know how to take that. I had been in touch with Fairy who was meant to come over and couldn't, and they were working together. It occurred to me he might have contacted me out of guilt because she had mentioned me. It turns out it was just a coincidence, albeit an odd one.

As usual the messages were curt enough due to his being at work and monitoring the bands that were on, but they were immediate replies. Piscin was having dinner with me, and I blurted out all my paranoia to her. I hate wondering what's going on and feeling loyal to someone who owes me nothing. I am not even sure myself how I feel about him, but my automatic pilot makes me want to know what is going on and be in touch all the time. My clingy side is not healthy.

I decided to ask if he wanted to come over for dinner some night. No,he answered, a polite no. He doesn't eat out. I felt an eejit to have asked. I feel like I have to chase him, and for someone who does not chase and never asks people out, this is a terrifying prospect. No, I decide, I can voice things, but I have to keep reign on myself. Let me know what you are doing later, he texts. I ask is it because he wants to go out? Maybe, is the reply. I feel annoyed, and possibly my pride is dented. I know he will decide not to, not least because it's pissing rain.

I head down the road to an open mic night, where I am so nervous that I cannot keep still nor stumm. I rewrite my song "Good Girl" as a shameless song about a girl who tells her ex who has come back to her that she is gone past any idea of loving sex, and now sells herself for anything, and that he could never satisfy her anyhow. I wonder will I be brave enough to sing it, because I can be quite prudish...

An old friend appears into the night. He still has it in his head that I fancy him. His white bulk in even whiter shirt puts the fear of god into me. I have told him straight that I am not interested, several times. He is the image of a typical beef-farmer's son : liver-lipped, big and both fat and muscle-bound, balding and sweaty, pasty, and earnest. He is clearly dressed to the nines and I squirm at the knowledge that it is for me and I don't deserve nor want the attention. It is all I can do to be civil, but luckily another mutual friend arrives and I can joke normally with him and relieve some tension. I play my songs well, and escape when I can. The lovely lady behind the bar, who is desperate to get rid of us as we have kept her back late, stops me on the way out, and inflates my ego dreadfully by telling me how much she enjoyed the set I played. I am very moved, and pleased.

I debate whether to go home or head into town. I want to phone Spideog and tell him to rescue me from the clutches of another, but I know that is just my stupid attention-seeking side. Spideog does text me that he is going home, but for once I have pre-empted him as I am home already. I phone him. He is clearly uncomfortable. I tell him I hate texts as they make me paranoid, and I am calling to see if he's ok. He knows I am not and asks what is wrong but I know myself well enough that these issues have little to do with him. I just want him to know that if he is feeling uncertain that it is okay and it's no big deal. I tell him he has to text me next time he has time as I don't like feeling like I am constantly rejected, and yes, that is my problem, not his. He feels things are complicated. I remind him of the day we hung out and just had a laugh. That is what I want, I say - just to hang out and have fun. It sounds in my ears like I am avoiding commitment, but I know I can't say "and anything else is a bonus" because it reveals how desperate I am.

I finish the call, and straight away have to send a text message. It reads: Sorry, one more thing. Please be honest with me. Thanks.
He replies: I am/will.X
It is a kiss at the end of the message that I won't see until the morning.

I have it in my head that I need to just forget about all this because it will take over my life otherwise. I tend to drop everything so easily. I know I like Spideog, I know I barely know him, I know I can't afford the emotional difficulty of someone else's problems affecting me, and that I should just do my own thing and if he comes around then great. But my loyal side wants to play with him only, and help, and be there. I cannot do this again. As it says in "Good Girl":

I want to whisper
This line
-Make you Listen...
I don't understand
Don't understand what is happening
Or Where I am
What is it You Want from me?
Everything I grow
Is for the New Me as well.

I want you to understand
I have New Needs now -
No More Selfless Love
No More trying to Fit what it is You're thinking of -
I've given All I had
And now I am a Barren Shell
Everything I grow
Is for the New Me as well.

I will Take You Home
Let You Bite my skin
I'll accept Your Bread
Unlock the door and Let You in...

No Job, No Spanish, No Money and No Sense!

There is an unwritten rule that if you do not express interest that things will come to you. Monday night was enjoyable in a more surreal and more quiet way than normal. Lir spent the next day sending me messages telling me how great I am (and I love it). Duff practically sat on my knee the whole night and was more hyper-active than a cat on speed. I think he doesn't know what to do with me - always a disheartening realisation. But I hung out with my flat mate (and Duff) and tottered about delightedly, for some reason giving Crow a massage which he says nearly crippled him, which is a compliment seeing as how strong he is, the ox.

Ah I miss playing hurling.

The days are clearing up a wee bit, with one of our first "warm" days at oooo nearly 14 degrees today! That means only one jumper! I got my shoes back from the shoemaker, and now I have a great selection of cat's paws to wear, as my friends call them. Apparently I have feet like a cat. Neat and tidy. I think it is the whole Pisces foot thing you see.

I booked my ticket last night to go to Spain. At 5pm in work I was feeling antsy and I just called Piscin and said - lookat. Everytime we meet we end up getting drunk rather than discussing our plans. Will we just book for Barcelona? Okay, she grinned (I could hear it on the phone). How about.....*searched for cheap flights*.....the 23rd? Of May? I heard the grin stretch. WOOHOO! We're off to Barking Lonely! And I don't care that we've no jobs, no spanish, no clue, no money, and no sense!

Today I went around pleased as the Cuban Rum I bought in Duty Free. Mmmm. Cuban....

I also found a minder for Kaptain Kat. Now all I have to do is clean my room.

On a minus, I have decided to wait for Spideog to contact me next. I'm not playing games, but I don't want to be clingy and I know that I am. Or tend to be. He has not contacted me. I don't know what is going on, but when Fairy, our mutual friend, asks if I kissed any Italians, it means either she STILL doesn't know (unlikely) or she knows it wouldn't matter to him. Unrelated to him, I am meeting her tonight for a session and perhaps a gig. I turned down a gig on Saturday cos I want to work and earn a few bob....

Venice in Spring

It is warm and sunny in Venice. You can smell some salt on the air, but the breeze is still fresh and the air still cool. Midday brings sunshine that will warm up your evening enough to allow you to leave your coat at home, but not enough to parade around in a vest. Unless you are northern European, of course.

I left late because Meep offered to mind Kaptain Kat and give me a lift, and arrived late. Spideog had stayed the night and we had a pleasant morning where he informed me that up until the night we got horribly drunk together, he had been seeing a Polish girl, one he was intent on marrying. The problem? She is only 18, and then on top of that he suddenly met me. I told him he was being silly and what the hell was he doing messing around with me if he intended on marrying her? Age is largely irrelevant. I informed him unequivocally that I do not share.

But he is a rare breed of man that approaches a relationship with some intention of commitment. Himself and the Polish girl are no longer seeing each other it seems. I stressed I did not want to feel obliged. He stressed that he did not really look forward to me escaping to Venice as he has been usurped by Italians before. We laughed and agreed to be honest with each other as we could, and that we have not to make any decisions just yet either way. After all, we barely know each other. Spideog remarked, upon kissing me goodbye, that he is fractionally taller than me in barefeet. I gently commented I'd already noticed.

Our first full day in Venice took in the Doge's palace, a labarynth of gold and oil rooms, and claustrophobic dungeons. Everywhere there are French and Spanish students, and the seafront is crawling with them. The stone of much of the buildings here is a faint pink, with streetlamps in green and pink on the corners. Bridges encompassing many shallow steps up and down adorn the streets to every side. Venice used to once balance glass craft with fishing and trade. It seems now to be tourist only, but beautiful nonetheless.

My favourite bridge is rapidly becoming the wooden bridge over Accademia. It is running up this with my brother in high spirits, that I meet a gentleman with a gentleman's overcoat hanging upon his shoulders. He compliments us as "the happy couple" and I know for once I look half-way elegent in a puffy black skirt and my pea-green soldier's jacket. I am a sucker for a gentleman that is not pushy. He invites me to join him, and I don't. He invites me to a party on Saturday regardless, but i will forget the name of the place where. After I refuse to give him my phone number, he merely chats to me, and then before taking his leave, compliments me again. No "why not"s or "go on"s or anything - a civilised chat and a "nice to have met you", the sincerity of which leaves me realising I have been an idiot. People will tell me all Italians are charming, but this man was one apart. Later this week I will regret my usual impetuous side had not more control over me.

In Venice all the trees are the dirty brown green that I used to associate with old paintings in the National Gallery. The lack of cars will not hit me til I return home, as I do not like them at the best of times, and it seems natural to me that they should be gone. The islands and boats keep me content as though I were on a cruise through the Antartic. The food is pretty much exactly what I eat at home, and not for the first time do I wonder where I got my cooking habits from. My father's family are Spanish but that is not quite the same thing.

We pass a hotel with a ship outside it several times before I realise what it is that bothers me about it. I had a dream about six months back, which I had completely forgotten, in which I get lost on this hotel. I am to move to Madrid, but I am engaged in a tour around this hotel which eventually goes on fire. Or something to that effect. I remember the place, and the sense of urgency in my bones that I have to move to Madrid. I remember looking for a loved one. All this rushes back as I walk past and turn to stare...

The man in the Hotel Art Deco is from Sicily. He sounds rather like a guy I used to work with, and is equally forthcoming with his opinions and information. Antonio never cared if you agreed or not because he was always right, and knew more about women than anyone. Well this young man is not so contentious, but he is very friendly and I think a little sorry not to be returning with us. It seems living and working in Venice is both a holiday and a job, but that real life and real friendships are made in colder less hospitable climates. I am not sure if I agree or not, but I will let you know when I move to Spain.

Meanwhile my sister has caught the eye of the young man in the cafe on the square, who has pronounced her Gentle. In a predictable move of commiseration, my mother announces I am only getting attention because my sister wears a ring. She is missing her boyfriend hugely, though she keeps to herself. Nothing highlights the gap between us more than her nightly conversation with him which consists on ".... not much..... yeah.... wha'?...... mmm.... mmm.... hehe... hah? wha'?... nah..." I couldn't deal with that level of conversation, and I am reminded that I am an intellectual snob most likely (or unlikely depending on how it is perceived), and I am single.

You can tell the churches apart easily, not least because they are huge and decorated by flying angels and statues of every virtue, but also because they are grey and the focal point of every square. One of my brothers traipses around translating the inscriptions in Latin, not bad for a 14-year-old. The other, who is getting given out to more than his due, comments negatively on all that we see. I think he is a bit bored. He is the type of kid that if you told him blue was a girl's colour he would never wear it again. He is the most sensitive and often most sensible of the lot of us, but his extreme carefulness makes him stumble and irritate where it is not intended. I suspect that we are harder on him than we realise, and he is a sweety. But even still, it is the other twin whom I choose to keep company with. Being culture vultures, and of indomitable expression, we are more similar.

I am so paranoid, that upon returning and texting Spideog, I want to see him immediately. I get worried when he does not text back, when really I should remember not only does he not owe me, but I don't owe him. Afterall, I know in my heart that despite a great affection for him, that I am unwilling to lay down a commitment with him. He knows that, for Chriat's sake. So after reaching home and thinking about it, I let it go, and resolve to not pull one way or another. Tomorrow is another day.

I am currently reading a book by a brilliant cryptographer called Leo Marks. Entitled "Between Silk and Cyanide" it is a facinating and extremely readble account of his experience as a code-breaker during the forties in Britain. It is, in a strange way, reminding me of what is important for me, and that my freedom is not an issue. Staying true to myself is not synonimous with staying true to others. And often what I consider a normal level of loyalty is unrealistic.

Tonight will be Monday night, which I know from experience, is a Free Night. In other words, I am bound by no-one and can do anything I like because I owe no-one. Although the fact that my face is slightly red due to mild sunburn is an irony that hasn't escaped me.

REAL men & Putting It Out

All sound engineers would appear to be slight. I have started my own collection. I am flattered that I am deemed musical enough to be spoken to - hehehe.

I went to work at 9pm on Saturday evening, and as usual I had a great time. Seventeen was on, and ended up leaving early. He is hilarious. He was bullying our manager, Wrong, who just picked him up by the ankles and threw him over his shoulder flat out onto the floor behind. The boy who works in the bar where I work, who has a similar name to Duff, and who I shall call Spideog, was hanging round the end of the bar, half chatting, half refusing to chat. Where I work if you look at anyone (especially as the new girl) you get accused of chatting them up. They are so bloody nosey!

After work I had a few drinks with Wrong and Spideog. We were horribly nasty about several politicians, and surprisingly uncouth and disgusting about several things. Normally I am not one for the sexual innuendo but By God was I on form! The worst part was that so was Spideog and he would raise an arm and then say " when it's....oh no...I can't say that" and we would explode in laughter cos I knew exactly what filth he's just stopped himself saying. We discussed normal things like Spinal Tap and Father Ted (Telly? Chewing gum for the eyes Dougal! Ah no thanks Ted, I've got crisps here!) as well as the more lewd. Anyway, by the time I got home it was 7am, and I was hyper and couldn't sleep and decided that maybe in Spideog's case I might bend my rule about heights.

Sunday morning arrived despite my protestations and I went for brunch with another co-worker. We ate a greasy platter meant for 3, and we ate all of it, as we watched the rugby, like the REAL men that we are. Spideog is a friend of this fairy woman, and of course he came up in conversation. I said that I reckoned he's too short for me. Fairy didn't even let on that she knew he liked me. We discussed her ex for most of the time, and then went our seperate ways.

Later that night I went into the bar because Fairy got a last minute slot. Of course I just fecking missed her cos I'd been drinking with Heathcliff who laughed really hard at my latest stories of fucking up. He reckons I should "put it out more" as I am too much of a lady! I didn't listen, I swear I didn't....but by the time I left my bar I was getting a bit drunk. I ran over to Spideog who was working, and told him I might see him down at our Sister bar later, as there was a staff party on. Well he did ask me where I was going!

I ran off with Fairy as I had a gig to play. By the time I played it I was truly elated and truly blocked. I played very well, surprising myself, and obviously the audience too. Afterwards, a sound engineer (yes another one!) came over and talked to me, and eventually rounded up by offering to record me. I texted him my number today. I was deadly delighted, and bounced with Fairy all the way to our Sister Bar.

The party was desperate, but sure enough, there was Spideog at the bar. Oblivious to the world, we chatted exclusively with each other and bit by bit everyone left until it was just me, Spideog, Wrong, and the staff of that pub and assorted friends and relations. Wrong decided that he would be DJ for the night, and encouraged by Spideog, proceeded to crank out the tunes. Some Croatian guy was banging away at my guitar, and I just went dancing by myself. Two gorgeous ladies came over to dance, but I didn't want to dance with anyone, and so did a run/dance/hide that I do so well, and I had a ball. 7am came along very quickly and, still oblivious to how it would look, we left together. Well at this point it was obvious that we were mutually interested in each other, and (slightly relieved that he was taller than me)I offered that he stay in my house as I lived up the road, but stressed that I intended to sleep.

Well we went home, and being a good girl, I cuddled up and fell asleep, for a whole hour. But never ask me to call into work sick, because I will. I was wide awake and convinced that I would be wrecked at work if I went in, so I called in sick at Spideog's request. Of course then I couldn't bloody sleep. And to make matters worse, Spideog was really sick. Really sick. Like he was going to explode from the inside. And there was nothing I could do to help him. He started trying to drag himself up to go home, and I told him not to be an eejit. He said he felt in the way. I know that when you are feeling terrible sometimes you just need to be alone, so I set him back in bed, got some water, had a shower, and went out for a bit, leaving a note for him to call me if he wanted to go(my door has only a mortice lock). He slept. I had olives and tortilla and a phone call from the sound engineer from Wednesday night. Asking me out for a drink. Nice man actually. But I had to laugh at the irony of the situation. All either sound engineers and/or called "Duff".

When I returned later, Spideog was still asleep, so I sat down and started crocheting by the heater. He woke enough to say hello, and bit by bit was getting better. Then I started getting paranoid because of how I was being looked at, but it turned out he was just cranky and sick. Funny kind of cranky. He didn't say anything nasty at all, but then probably doesn't know me long enough. Then the phone calls started. Everyone we work with started calling and texting asking what had gone on. We discussed the situation and came up with a very simple plan:

1. Be honest with each other
2. Deny everything to everyone except fairy who knows us too well
3. No commitment, no discussion of anything else about seeing each other

I like it! So Spideog proceeded to lie very capably to a bunch of people, leaving me slightly paranoid that he had lied to me. But I remember a conversation 2 weeks ago where we talked about people cheating on each other and all that, and I remembered then not to worry. He's not as hard as he makes out. Just got a silly sense of humour.

Eventually at 7, he levered himself out of my house, and then I told him I wouldn't see him for two weeks. Why not? I am off to Venice. Oh yeah. When am I back? I'm back on Sunday. Well he might give me a call then. That was nice, because suddenly it didn't seem so stupid. Okay, so I broke several rules, especially the never touch someone you work with one. But it had a reason, and at least I reckon we can be friends.

I really wanted to curl up and die then, I was that tired. But I had a poetry reading to go to with Piscin, so I went. It was fucking brilliant. For Seachtain na Gaeilge (irish week). And I won a lovely bottle of red wine! Brilliant! I fell into bed and slept 6 solid hours before work this morning.

Take ish all...

Oh dear, another week, another person. I don't know how I do it. I hope I'm not wasting my chances!

On Wednesday I played my gig and it went well. I made it in plenty of time for the sound check, and the sound engineers remembered me from before. Apparently my sound check was like a comedy show because not only did I insist on sitting on a tiny chair in the middle of a huge stage, but I couldn't tell what was going on, had too much coffee AND too much beer, and I thought the soundman called me frigid and halfway through i belted out "FRIDGID?!" and well everyone fell over laughing and I explained what I had thought I'd heard and well....the show was kind of the same. Afterwards one of the bands told me they'd enjoyed the music and the "comedy". Oh god.

The place was pretty empty though, and sure enough, soon me and Piscin were up and dancing. By the time the last band came round at 2.30 there were only 6 people left in the venue, and two of them were running around like looneys dancing (ie Piscin and meself). The boys doing the sound were sound and I'd great craic laughing and joking with them so when I one of them asked me "Can I phone you to go for a drink?" I thought, no harm. There was no reason to say I wasn't interested, because although he is great fun and really just interesting and amusing, I was not sure yet if he meant a drink for the craic or for something more. Anyway, he is a big boy and can figure that out for himself. So I am on for a drink but no more. Several reasons why, not least of which is that I am taller than him. Sorry lads, but women don't like to feel like elephants. Skinny is fine, but small is not.

Anyway, just had to write all that now before I forgot. It is the weekend, and we are going out for drinks now for one of the girls who is leaving. The people at work don't realise that all of the girls bar one, have decided they are leaving. They will find out over the next few weeks. And I am getting my hair cut AFTER the drinks - I can see it now:
"take ish...hic....take ish AAALLLLL offfff....yesh....hic...byoowshiful....hic....AAAALLL offff"

Footnote: For the record, I did end up getting pished, and doing exactly what I said and getting my hair cut VERY short...

Holy smoke

Once, I used to think that arresting people that supply cannabis was mean-spirited and harsh. But just because I believe the drug should be a choice, and renders people mellow, doesn't mean that the people supplying it are mellow. These are people who have to plan and evade the law. People who are taking risks. People who are diddling the actual growers out of money, and then extorting more again from their customers. People, who the higher up they are on the ladder, become quite involved in the world of "crime" in general, for a living. I would think that if you supply cannabis on a large scale, that there would be a good chance you supply other drugs also.

I still believe small charges are petty and should be ignored, as I believe cannabis should be legalised. But I can see why the charges get trumped up. Nice hippies taking drugs doesn't mean nice people supplying them. You know what I mean.

Daydreams crashing down

Spring has arrived I think. The daffodils are overcrowding and the tulips are starting to unfold cautiously. And I am off to Spain.

I met with Piscin yesterday in order to try and plan how we are getting there, what we will do, and what we want to do. I met her in a pub. Bad move. She was accompanied by three lads she worked with so I'd a great time, but we didn't actually get anything discussed.

So we went home, and I fed Kaptain Kat who was ecstatic to see me, as I had abandoned him in favour of minding the terrible twins for the weekend. We headed out shortly afterward to The Middle Ground, where we went all out, or into the NAaighttt, as Piscin would say. I danced my socks off, and sang a few times and drank too much.

Duff was there, the boy from Lithuanian ancestry. I think he's a big ride, as the saying goes, so I decided Better Out Than In, and for the first time in my life, went up to him and said "while I'm still sober I want to tell you that I think you are a very good-looking individual". Why so formal? I have no bog, suffice to say, I was being cornered by some eejit who's idea of chatting me up was to argue with me about my name, and I hate that kind of thing cos my name is hard enough without people telling me I have it wrong! Anyway, that gave me the kick up the bum to actually go over and say it. Besides he was watching your man to see how I reacted, so I suppose I felt braver then. Anyway, that was a big deal for me.

The nice part is that straight away I was told that I am a beautiful woman, which even if it's a reflex, it made me feel warm. The bad part is that I followed it with "And that's all!" in a final, closing, turn and walk forward to see who's on stage kind of way. However there is something there, and we'll see what happens. We shared pints, and talked and laughed. I am cripplingly shy at the best of times, and if he can't or won't make the next move, then it's not worth the trouble. Because I can't do anymore right now.

Piscin is a dote. And a beautiful lady. We headed after all this home, and on our way we met some Russians who invited us back to their house. They live with an Irish guy, whom I played music with initially, but who kept pestering me about my age (he's 22, and didn't like it when I said I was older), and then about which of my songs was the best. I was tired, and though it's no excuse, after the third time of him telling me what me best song was, I said "I don't care!". Well of course it sounded arrogant. It wasn't meant that way. I was playing badly, I was tired, it wasn't my best song, and I didn't think before I spoke. Deep down I am someone who cares too much, so I need to shut off. I fear rejection. Criticism is something I don't deal with well, and though I'm trying, it makes me feel like a failure, so my reaction is to get defensive. Not caring is hoping things will go away.

Of course, straight away I was told I should leave. Only the Russians didn't like that. It took me a while to realise what was going on because I was feeling deflated anyhow, and when I asked him, the Irish guy said I'd been very rude. I apologised and tried to explain where it'd come from, but he didn't want to know. I fled. The Russians tried to keep me there, telling me I'd a great russian accent, something that would normally delight me, but I pulled away and ran. Piscin came running after me and she was lovely. All the you-did-nothing-wrong and all that, even though I had.

But despite that I'd a good night. I have something to distract me a little, and daydream about. I wonder if it'll crumble quickly or actually come to anything?

A Crispy Day

Well the good news is I'm not pregnant. The bad news is I feel sick and tired (haha). But seriously, my bastard always seems to be accompanied by pretty extreme nausea. Guess what is preoccupying my mind on this crispy day...

On Monday Meep came to visit me with my present which was a photo of a Santa-painted log in Joshua Tree Park. It's lovely, and apt, as it was snowing. We went for a drive through the night along the canal and amongst the industrial estates, but I felt so sick. At one point I asked her to change direction as I felt we were going Widdershins. I got home and crawled straight into bed, half-clothed, so sick was I.

The following day Stefan came for a practise session. It always rains when he comes over. We headed into Wanker's pub where we played a few tunes. It is dark and cold there, as the gig is in the dungeon . The songs went down particularly well, and I can't wait for Stefan to move up here so we can play more regularly. He's a gas lad. I ended up walking home with Setanta who I met outside, who is clean 7 weeks now, but still completely bonkers. For some reason he trusts me, though. I think it's because I am honest with him. He is one of the few people I know who is able to take criticism, and I admire that because I can't. And who knows...maybe he is who he thinks he is. Maybe not. I've said that to him also. He bought a huge knife at a raffle, for cutting bull's heads off in one swoop, he said. He was carrying it like a baby, with the grip of one who has found diamonds.

Wednesday started out with meeting my father for a drink. I'd asked him to get cat food for me, and he'd tried and I'd reacted badly to something unrelated and completely taken for granted that he went out of his way to look for me. I did apologise, for once (I can be bad like that because I usually have a valid reason to be angry and forget that the apology is for the anger, not the reason). It was nice to see him and my uncle though. There were some dutch people sitting next to us, so we started speaking dutch as we left to make it clear we'd understood everything they'd shouted whilst we were there.

I walked home and made Chicken Tikka which I then accidently dragged across my bed (I have no chairs) and the cat's head. I then dragged myself(smelling of curry) to an open mic night down the road, which was great fun. I met a bassist I'd met before, a Brazilian who is only here for a month, and my fellowband member, who sang with me and I with him. It was Anti-Semite that ran the gig, and he was after being up several days in a row as he had assignments to hand up for school, and also has a night job working with patients in care. His client yesterday spent the day flinging shit at him.

When we left, Anti-Semite asked me to wait for him, which I did as I enjoy his company. As I waited, himself and the barman hurled abuse at each other with venom, apparently, a sign that they are friends. We found Anti-Semite some food in a place with the strangest logo I've seen in a while. It resembles a neon man holding his arse up for the world to see, only it's not that clear. I dunno what it's meant to be in real life. Anti-Semite said "So can we go home now?". I laughed and inquired "Are you coming to my house?" to which he replied thanks for the invite. I explained there'd be a price, and we agreed on a contract written in blood (I didn't think Jews were meant to go for that kind of thing). I don't mind him staying because he does not wreck the place, and he is quick-witted. All that ever happens is that we curl up and sleep and talk and sleep. I can manage that.

This morning there was snow on the cars but the ground was clean and the sky fresh and crispy. As I turned the corner to get the bus Anti-Semite said "Thanks very much. That was fun!" That's how these days always begin.

Take me to the Island...

I went out to the Fairground on Friday night with Piscin, where we proceeded to get hammered and dance. It gets so packed in there but we didn't care. Elbow joined us after a while with a lovely practical Swedish lady who reminded me of my cousin despite the metal in her chin. Elbow said he wasn't sure if Swedish people could dance, and I said to him that they are some of the most comfortable dancers, what was he talking about! Being a woman, I was of course right.

I caught the eye of a spanish man who - shock! - looks like a fat version of my ex-boyfriend Apollo. Given that Apollo suffered from an eating disorder, this made him about average. Oh dear. Yes, sure enough, he came over for a wee chat. Upon seeing how distressed I was, his friend grabbed him by the arm muttering something in spanish about upsetting the poor girl. Then I felt terrible, and told him I was not being annoyed at all. Strangely, he took my telephone number, and walked off. Hmm. We'll see.

On our way home, I stopped Piscin by the canal to watch the water punch down into the blackness below. Suddenly we felt arms going around our necks, and I turned and pushed ready to defend myself. Two complete strangers stared back, astonished by our reaction. "I thought you were attacking us," I explained to their horrified faces. "Uh no, zat ees not...what....what izz zis h-you h-mean?"

Ah Frenchies. I see. Someone said once that like attracts like. When I asked why weird things always happen to me. I mean, what are the chances? Before we know it there are 12 french boys (well, maybe one or two can be deigned men) around us, and we have our back to the bridge and Piscin is mid-rant with one of them regarding the occupation of Ireland by the British forces. The poor unfortunate French boy has gotten his words wrong, and later we will learn that Piscin was in fact only stating facts he was trying to convey in his poor english. The man next to me with a 'fro of enormous (and strangely attractive) proportions keeps insisting that "zis boy 'ee ees very nice and maybeee wee shud take heem and h-you take heer and seperate!" But I just laughed and said they'd soon realise they'd made a mistake and were on the same side, and sure enough they did.

Saturday was lovely. I went in to meet my mother, who has to be one of the funniest people on this planet. She phones me everyday or emails me and generally the conversation goes:
"How are you? Mmm. Some fucker in work today GET OUT OF MY WAY YOU MORON JEEZ SOME PEOPLE HAVE NO CLUE HOW TO FUCKING BEHAVE IN PUBLIC anyway yeah he told some poor guy in Belgium to stick the printer in the FOR FUCK'S SAKE! I HATE FUCKING IRISH PEOPLE! SO FUCKING IGNORANT! his printer in the sink to clean it. Well of course he nearly electrocuted himself and I laughed so hard! Listen, I have to go, this is my stop. Say hi to Le Chat for me. Love you. Bye."

We browsed around the bookshop (she owns nearly every book there anyway and kept saying "Do I have this one? Oh yeah, I do.") She insisted on buying myself and the sister a book, as well as about 7 for herself, which is enough to keep her going for a day or two. We went mad then in the Health Food store, buying all kinds of things, I bought a skirt then, and some silly cards, and then we went for a coffee. In true my-mother-style, the day was punctuated by coffee. The dutch understand the importance of these things.

We went for a meal at 7, which was lovely, and my sister and brothers and sister's boyfriend and mother's husband all were there. I had to work afterwards and so had a drink and a read for an hour before heading to work, sweets in tow. It's tradition to bring sweets to work on your birthday you see. I had a ball that night despite a hugely ignorant crowd who kept bringing pints back and trying to exchange them for other things. Wallys.

Sunday I got up relatively early, and with Piscin, we headed into town to meet the crowd and head out for the Island. I really didn't expect so many people to turn up, but they did. We got a boat out, but it was too rough to land so we just watched from afar. It was great fun, accompanied by biscuits and cakes. This was followed by a trip to a bookfair, and then some hot ports and a rugby match. On my birthday it stood to reason we would have to beat England. Of course we did.

We made it home with only 15 minutes left to get changed and head out for drinks. I decided to wear my holographic dress, which later I found out stopped several people from identifying me and heading back home. Whoops. Normally I don't wear short strapless sparkly dresses you see. Anyway, baby guinnesses and bottles of Corona and Becks kept transmografying onto my table, and soon I was up dancing to the seriously shite reggae that was being played by a French DJ with no rhythm. Eejit. I made it home via the chipshop and some currychips relatively early for me.