Image via gillianberger at Flickr

In which case, yesterday was in no way wasted. A trip to the Maser exhibition kicked off the afternoon, in what can only be described as a trendy squat above an Asian market, was where it all began.

Random aside – Hipsters do love faux poverty don’t they? And, the exhibition, while great, was a total hipster magnet. I overheard two blokes talking about art, artists and those “cats” that imitate them and ride their coat tails to success. I wasn’t really listening as the combination of their corduroy jackets and moustache wax was distracting, but I heard enough to be blown away by the term “cats”. Especially when used in a non-ironic way. Another C-word sprang to my mind when I heard him, I’ll be honest.

Anyway, I went to the exhibition with a relatively new friend; we each giggled a little at the hipster dudes, bought a print & then wandered up to the nearest cafe for a catch up natter. And a plethora of belly laughs.

I’ve not laughed that hard in ages. Candid conversations laced with raucous laughter should be prescribed by GPs, so restorative they are. The people of Smithfield, and possibly a few neighbouring areas will have wondered what the hell was going on; two mad women let loose and apparently gone quite insane.

And so, we ended our guffaw-a-thon as we each had plans for the evening. Firmer friends than before the day had started, complete with a shared joke; funny to nobody but the two of us.

And oh, what a lovely afternoon. More of those please.

Even better was a post-night out Skype to The Boy, who, 7 hours ahead, was still fast asleep at 9.30am (local time) when his laptop auto answered and he sleepily asked “Why are you in my ears? I’m sleepy, and you’re in my head. What’s going on? How are you in my head?” All very reminiscent of  David After Dentist, but what I like to call, Billy After Drunk Sleep.

Needless to say, I responded romantically with “Are you sleeping with your headphones in, you knob?” and a hearty laugh, before signing off to get some shut-eye myself.

So, by E. E. Cummings’ standards, Saturday was in no way wasted. Boo ya!*

Not had a minute really. It’s been a mad few weeks. Work’s busy, which is great. But outside of work I feel like I’ve largely been drunk since the end of February. What with Six Nations frivolities with Jules, complete with the now infamous DonnchaPants; Paddy’s Day, Twestivals, Blog Awards, Leviathan, 30th Birthday parties, a visit from The Cousin & other random, impromptu nights out, my poor liver’s begun to audibly wince whenever boozing is mentioned.

I’m beginning to feel a bit frazzled to say the least. Not that it’ll stop me, I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Besides, the parents are over this weekend and there are more festivities planned for that. So, for now, I shall continue to burn the candle at both ends, like thus…

That’s a visual metaphor of me, burning the aforementioned candle, at both of the equally aforementioned, ends. NOT setting fire to my own farts. To be clear. I don’t do that, because, well, I’m, not four-fucking-teen for starters.

Don’t light your own farts kids. It’s not big, it’s not clever and there’s always the risk that if you try to hard to fart you’ll shart and then we’re in a whole other world of pain.

I’ve gone off on a tangent, but fuck it, my point stands. Whatever it was.

And it’s going to get better. There’s so much cool stuff coming up in the next few weeks for me to look forward to, it’s hard not to be a giddy kipper really. What’s on the agenda you ask? Well…

Rugby with Jules next Saturday, in our specially made T-shirts. Pictures of which I shall furnish you all with at some point I’m sure; so that you may revel in their majesty. Even Grace is going to be doing her bit for the Cork contingent & wearing hers too!

Given that one of us ended up vomiting blood & the other got knocked off a stool and subsequently, a concussion after the last match, we’ve vowed to avoid the shots this time though… yeah.

St Patrick’s Day, obviously. Always a giggle

Dan‘s birthday. *bumps* A shoe-in for a fun night.

Then it’s the Blog Awards over in lovely Galway. Which I still need to sort out a frock for.

A visit from my cousin, Nicola.

Last time she came over we danced the night away to cheesy 80′s tunes and laughed like the drunken twats we were, in no small part because of this guy either…

So that’s bound to be a giggle. Girls, you shall be rounded up to join us for some sherbets that weekend!

Then the weekend after, my ma & pa are heading over to see me. I won’t have seen them since Christmas and am already well overdue a dose of parental TLC. By, “parental TLC”, I mean chatting about anything & everything over several pints of stout.

And then, finally at the very end of April, Jules & I are at it again. This time perving over, ahem, I mean watching the rugby down at the Kinsale Sevens. Rugby & seafood & boozing, oh my! There’s rumour of another shirt being acquired for the trip too.

So, yes, lots to look forward to. I’d promise blog posts about it… but I have been unashamedly shit at updating my blog of late, so shall make not guarantees. However, if there’s news that’s worth sharing and which I can share without fearing the wrath of anyone, then I’ll do my best.

Assuming I’m still alive & not awaiting a liver transplant by the end of it all, that is

So, what have I been up to? Mainly just chilling out back in England with the family over Christmas and then ripping it up in Ireland with friends new & old so far this New Year.

Christmas was lovely – just what the doctor ordered in fact. After a pretty stressful end to the year, I was very much looking forward to getting home & back to Walker Mansions.

It was especially lovely to be met by my gloriously bonkers mother at Manchester Airport, hit the pub with her and my Dad, watch the snow fall & see my Sister and her boyfriend, along with my Auntie, Cousins & pseudo-nephew Dylan too and eat my (ever increasing) body weight in pork pies and red onion chutney. Good times.

Then, in stark, yet superbly enjoyable, contrast came New Year shenanigans. After landing back to a somewhat blustery Dublin (& by blustery I mean gale-force, but 2010 is the year of the understatement don’t you know) I caught up with my two favourite boys, Dan & Alan and my new favourite hearthrob Sam Worthington when we went to see Avatar (and yes, I am VERY excited at the prospect of seeing him in Clash of the Titans – hottie in leather, fighting - what’s not to love?!).

Then came New Year’s Eve, a trip to Funderland with John, cava with my aforementioned favourite boys, vodka, Panti Bar, lots of laughs, some dancing, kissing the bouncer (the only straight man in the village after all) a house party, walking in the snow, another house party, a Toulouse Lautrec impression, walking in the snow, more drinks & then finally, sleep.

After a day of enforced rest, due to the wintry weather we’ve been having of late and Dublin City Council not knowing their gritted arse from their ice-ridden elbow, I headed over to Kinvara to meet up with some of my favourite girls – shares a knowing smile with Caroline, Jess & Lisa.

Cue a night or two of showing the small, rural Irish town how four girls from a not-so-small English city like to throw booze down their necks. Apparently it was impressive as we made some more new friends – tips hat to Mousey, Ger, Tommy & Fintan. Thanks for the giggles boys!

Along with the visually pleasing calendar by the boys of Kinvara United FC (see below), getting said calendar signed, many pints of Guinness, way too many vodka & red bulls (and subsequent caffeine induced heart palpitations), lock-ins & moon-walking.

The rest of the story is embargoed, frankly because it’s more than my life’s worth to tell you. Needless to say, MANY laughs were had and stories will be retold and in-jokes referenced in times to come.

So, all in all a very good couple of weeks and just what I needed. Plus, now that my techno-pipes are working again & allowing me to commit my every mildly interesting thought & whim to cyber-paper, you’ll be hearing a lot more from me (& Dan can stop nagging me to blog more).

PS – Yes, I still have the calendar & yes, it’s getting pride of place dans ma boudoir.

PPS – Happy new year everyone Hope you have a good’un.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=fd1hqcbEuMM

Details are there, in all their glory, over at the Littlequiz site thus: www.short.ie/corkfood

We have to wear something nice too. ThoughI’ve somehow roped myself into wearing something with bells on it. But not in a Leper kind of way. In a totally sexy bell-wearing kind of way. Obviously.

Though my bells will make it heaps of fun when we do the obligatory dance. Like Jimmy Saville on crack perhaps? :-/

Anyway, be there or… be elsewhere but tragically missing out.

I always think you shouldn’t regret what you’ve done, but rather, what you didn’t do. It doesn’t always work like that though really. I have a few of both sorts.

Some of the things that I regret:

• Not walking out of a job when it was sucking the life out of me a few years ago
• Rolling my eyes whenever my sister tripped up or knocked a drink over*
• Watching Wedding Daze – 2 hours of my life I’ll never get back
• Simon
• Letting my insecurities get the better of me

Here’s some of the things I could, and very possibly should, regret, but don’t in any way, shape or form:

• Giving several years of my life to a man who was too ill to give me enough back
• Flashing a cab in Manchester just to prove that my boobs could stop traffic (I was 21, drunk, don’t like to lose a bet & they stayed in-bra!)
• Getting my tattoo
• Buying a house and then deciding to move to Dublin only 5 weeks after I moved into it
• Telling it straight. I can’t do it any other way; just doesn’t feel natural

Even the things I do regret I wouldn’t change. Like I said they made me who I am.

*My sister was diagnosed with an eye condition in 2007 that explained why she was doing all of those things

But both here, and in the UK, politicians are by and large just plain old fugly; I mean, can you imagine the spectre of Lord Mandelson or Brian Lenihan looming over you with that certain look? *shudder*

But there’s one thing that Ireland has which the UK doesn’t – Eamon Ryan.

"...and then Mary looked right at me and it shrank this much..."

As politicians go, he’s a bit of eye candy alright. You can practically see Sweary Mary slide off her seat in the Dail when he strides in & was recently heard leering, “Ah shure, g’wan with yer fine self Eamon & let me ride yer face ya stud.”*

And really, who could blame her? There’s slim pickings to be fair. (Image credit)

But seriously, there’s something about him that means I very probably would. Wouldn’t you?

I tweeted about this last and it was possibly one of the most re-tweeted, er, tweets I’ve every had, which not only says a lot about the crap I waffle on about on Twitter, but also that I’m not alone in thinking it. Had a fair few people agree with me, but there were certain provisos that we came up with.

My initial caveat was that he wouldn’t be allowed to speak during “the deed” as frankly I don’t want hear any of his Green, spineless, u-turny nonsense when I’m in the moment.

So the rules are:

1. no speaking
2. any speaking will result in him being gagged
3. no pulling the freaky eyed stare.
4. any freaky-eyed stare will result in him being blindfolded

It’s starting to look a little bit kinky, this session I have planned with the yummy Eamon. Definitely going to need a safe word methinks, which shall be “fiscal rectitude” as suggested by Suzy. Because let’s face it, his party have already helped to f*ck the country up the ass, so some safety measures must be put in place.

But risks aside, just look at this picture that Damien brought to my attention… I probably still would (but not the ass bit, I’m a nice girl)

Raaarrrrrr!

Don’t get me wrong, this is a good thing. Having a little network of really close pals is great. However, it’s tricky when they mainly live in another country. It can get a bit lonely when the people you’re used to sharing stuff with with – laughs, adventures, heartaches, scandals etc – aren’t mere minutes away.

I’ve been in Ireland just short of 18 months now and in that time I’ve met loads of really fantastic people. It’s true what they say (whoever “they” are, and “they” tend to say an awful lot)… but yes, it’s true what they say about the Irish being very friendly. Indeed, the vast majority of people you meet really are very friendly; interested in why you moved here, how you’re settling in, what you think of it all so far etc. And there it ends.

Where it’s quite tricky is making the step change from someone who knows lots of friendly people, to someone who’s built up a network of lovely friends, including some of the really close variety (not that kind of close, dirty mind!)

For me this takes a bit of time. People don’t tend to know quite what to make of me when they meet me initially. I kind of stick out like a sore thumb for starters; I’ve never been very good at blending into the background. I don’t really look like most girls, I don’t talk like most girls (largely because I swear like a navvy!), I’m not particularly subtle (to look at or to listen to) and am generally a bit “different”. All of this can mean that I also seem to be unapproachable and a bit intimidating at times apparently.

The odd thing is that yes, while I appear to be all of these things, I’m also a  massive jumble of contradictions. Not in my opinions and the like, but in other ways.

So while I’m the loud, pint swilling, non-PC, potty-mouthed, joke cracking seemingly confident girl in the room, I’m also quite shy, self-conscious and bizarrely somewhat timid. I’ll happily be the performing monkey in a situation and make everyone laugh, because fuck it, I’m funny But it always shocks me when people realise that I’m quite shy underneath it all. I always think it’s incredibly obvious.

So, because of all of this, and no doubt a myriad of other factors, I don’t tend to make really good friends very easily. I don’t let a lot of people in you see, to get to know the real me.

But then every now and then I meet someone who just gets me. Who thinks I’m fun and funny, interesting and good company, yet sees the other sides to me and accepts them too. And in turn lets me get to know them a bit better as well.

Recently I’ve made two very, very good friends and I love them to bits. They’re as silly as I am which is a real bonus, but they also “get” the real me.

Which is why we get drunk & I let them do stuff like this to me…

Thanks boys. Love you loads! Mwah!

Further more, my memories of that weekend are seriously patchy in part, as my age is catching up with me and I now have a brain that turns to swiss cheese when I’ve been drinking. But here goes…

First of all let me introduce the key cast members*:

Fergie – Co-Lead

Martha – Co-Lead

Leona – Co-Lead

Anne – Co-Lead

Al – The Bar Tender

Lovely Jim

Noah – Boat builder

Hot Dude – a hot, er, dude

GAA Boy

Joe – GAA Boy’s Younger Brother

The Krankees – Teeny, tiny couple that we saw everywhere

The Captain

Rowley Birkin QC

The English Rose – Al the Bar Tender’s GF

*All names have been changed to protect the guilty

Now, I’m going to split this over a few posts because it’s just too long to put into one overall post – what can I say, we crammed a lot in.  The chapters will be thus:

Friday – It’s Groundhog Day

Saturday – Coo Coo Ca Choo Mrs Robinson

Sunday & Monday – 15 Hour Party People

Try not to judge… it was probably much worse than I’ve been able to relay here.