Con'd

...yes yes, it was a horrible picture for a menu of course, as I was just saying there a few months ago, but after eating my pizza at the Bionic Bulimic Baby Bistro I nevertheless got totally fucking hammered and can't remember a blasted thing.

Sigh...it was a good night. You always know it was a good night when you can scarcely recall a single detail of the night itself, except for the southern comfort, a very drunk journalist from one of the country's flagship organs (ha ha, 'flagship organ', ha ha), a good band that had me singing along too loudly, a fatherly and stern sex talk from Johnny which was hilarious in its well-intentioned intensity, a few cigarettes (I don't smoke), and no ladies (I do ladies. Like the smoking it seems, only occasionally and accidentally).

It's all been a whirl. Work - phew - is now on the wind-down and me with it, thank Jeebus; I am between the temporary workplace I've just left and the permanent one to which I will return tomorrow, but thankfully, only for two days before I take to the skies (I'll probably do it in a plane, people just think I'm a showoff otherwise) for ten sun drenched days in Malta. At least they'd better be sun drenched because if I don't get some sun on my milky bits soon, I think I'll develop some sort of light-lacking depression and shrivel up all flattened out like a deflated sex doll.
Now I won't over labour the point about Ireland's weather this 'summer' (i.e. Irish summer, it happened on a Tuesday last year, no sign of it this year yet) but suffice to say I am giving serious consideration to throwing it all up and quitting this crazy town and moving abroad. That's as far as the grand plan has progressed like, but the longest destinations must start with a single step as oriental philosophy tells us, in this case the philosopher being weary Chang who delivers the Chinese takeaway at home.

I'm wracking my brains here trying to recall all the crazy shit I've been getting up to in the last few months. I recall falling in love twice back in Galway, the day after while relatively sober, once with the deadliest barmaid ever and then again with a diminutive nurse on the train home. The former being at work at the time, and the latter not being in Copper Face Jacks at the time, there was no dice with either. The lads (Johnny. Again.) were kind enough to show the barmaid my lovelorn texts about her after I left though. She laughed like a musketeer. Damn them to hell, all of them.

I've scarcely touched down in Cavan at all over the last few months. Flying visits, the odd Smithwicks, a good rant about our shite football team and then off back into the busy vortex with me. I'll be reconnecting with the source before too long.

Radge, meanwhile, has gone all continental on us, travelling Europe and having amorous encounters under umbrellas. There was a brief breakdown of sorts followed by a short Limerick interlude for a quick change of intestines, and then he was off again. Truly he is a but a butterfly flitting through all our lives. It was a good pissup before he left though, as far as sessions with butterflies go.

My home is now for sale. A good time to be selling, wha? I swear if I hear that once more I'll disembowel someone with a Stanley knife. IT'S A SALE OF CIRCUMSTANCE, NOT OF DESIGN, GEDDIT?

I've now got advanced forehead growth as well. Some call it receding hairline but I prefer to look on it in its positive aspect; instead of losing hair I am gaining face, which will be handy when I go bald and need to save face. See? It all works out in the end. My forehead has been steadily extending north for a few years now, truth be told, but it's really taking a charge lately. You know you're in trouble when the barber just clips the back and sides and then kind of playfully ruffles the thatch on top and smiles awkwardly, considering whether to do a few placebo hover-hair-cuts with the scissors just to make you feel better. Arrah whatever, I'm fairly happy in my skin anyways, sure now that I'm acquiring a bit more every day, I'm smug out altogether.

Also, I've changed gyms. I arrived at my old one a few months ago to discover they'd closed it, with little notice. I couldn't sit on my hands for three weeks and the thoughts of seizing up for an extended period and then having to snap the rust of my grating joints, well it was just too much to take, so I got the credit card out and joined another. I've now taken to hitting the gym about 7.30 in the morning and then going to work, something I thought I'd never do as I'm very fond of the duvet normally - (as the old saying goes, if my job was in my bed, I'd get out and sleep on the floor) - but it's actually a brilliant start to the day and the whole evening is yours after work. Plus, there's never any assholes there that early in the morning and you've a free run at the equipment. I will however, miss the sheer madcap comedy of Mad Lad but on balance it's the right thing to do. There's a swimming pool too which I will soon stop using as a window to look at fit ladies in bikinis (no really, I will), so I can fulfil a long standing ambition and learn how to swim. I've been kinda putting that one on the long finger though, I must admit...

God only knows what's been happening in the world of blog. I expect I've missed some excellent posts, but them's the breaks. I'll catch up with y'all later, just as soon as things calm down here and I can get back to my regular work where I've ample time for dossing on the internet. Jesus, don't you just hate it when work piles up at home?