Thursday morning

My apologies for making people wait for me to get my ass in gear and start copying up entries from my paper journal -- I hope I haven't built it up too much, because it's really not that detailed or interesting. It's also edited in places.

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Thursday morning, 11 am

I'm sat in a strange girl's bed, in Ireland. I'm hungover, tired and eager to see what is out there. I've tried climbing on the bed to look out the skylight at the city, but I think I might fall off.

The worry that whoever this girl is whose bed I slept in might come back and find me here has mostly dissipated now I'm dressed. I guess that she has probably gone home for Easter, wherever it might be for her. (note -- I did not sleep with her, just slept in her bed. Have not so much as met her at this point)

Everyone seems nice. I hadn't known what to expect, but it's good -- they are all good people. I'm a little concerned that [blank] doesn't like me, however. But as San would no doubt tell me, 'they' don't know me yet.

[blank] is a hottie, and I had no idea. I know, it sounds shallow, but it's true. Am I surprised? I don't know, I didn't know what to be expecting. But 'they' are an incredibly nice person, too. What's weird is how platonic I feel. I like that way though.

[blank] seems oddly familiar. Quiet, easy-going, and laid back -- perhaps to a fault. But I could be basing that more on [blank]'s rants than on anything else. 'They' seem kind, loving and generous -- although perhaps without any great convictions.
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That is where the first day's scribblings end. I've removed individuals names and am going to refrain from any retrospective analysis of personalities, mainly because that's better left to my private thoughts. I don't want to have to choose my words carefully for potential readers, either, although I wouldn't ever have anything bad to say about the people I met. Just the same, I've tried to disguise the identities of people mentioned here.

Since this was so short, I might later on write some blog-style ramblings about the first night itself -- much like my entry about the Wednesday. We shall see. Maybe I could host a poll about it?

Start at the end

Despite that there isn't a time difference between England and Ireland, and with it no jet lag, I'm still a little out of it today. I might as well start at the end, and then write up the bits and pieces from my paper journal over the next few days.

My flight was at 9.20pm, which meant that the airline had 'recommended' I check in two hours before, which seemed unnecessary for a flight that was just under an hour long. Dave and I got to the airport around 8. We'd left the house in plenty of time, stopped at a bar for a drink, continued to the bus station, checked what time the airport bus was, went to another bar for another drink, and got to the airport for 8. I checked in and no problem so far. We got something to eat, and -- yes -- went to the airport bar for more drinks. I wanted to squeeze out the last of the time I had left with Dave.

I remember at some point over drinks telling Dave that out of principle I had decided that I wouldn't board the plane until they were prepared to ask for me by name. I was joking, of course, but even though there was one announcement which prompted Dave to ask me if it was for my flight, I ignored it. I told him we had plenty of time yet. I guess he must have heard where it was going. Only when we were finishing our drinks and thinking it was about time I got over to the departures did I hear them call me by name. It makes you feel kind of special.

Security seemed in too much of a hurry to get me through to bother checking me too thoroughly -- I set off the metal detector as always, but that could have been the coins in my pocket, my belt buckle or my steel toe capped boots. On my journey out at the airport I had been made to remove my boots and x-ray them, because security said they were large enough to conceal something in. In Cork, they just patted me down and made me empty my pockets.

I was personally escorted across the runway to the plane, whereupon in the driving rain the zip on my rucksack broke open, spilling cds and odd socks and spare t-shirts across the floor. But I managed to stuff it all back in, get the bag shut and get onto the plane -- where I shrugged my shoulders and grinned sheepishly at the other passengers. I don't think they were aware that it was my fault they were still sitting there and not in the air -- but dammit, it wasn't even time yet.

In some karmic law-of-the-universe way, I waited an hour at the airport in England for my taxi to turn up. My plane was due to arrive at 10.20pm, and I'd told the taxi to pick me up at about 11 -- since I figured planes never take off on time, and there would probably be delays and I'd have to wait forever for my luggage, and all the rest. The plane was early, my bag came out almost right away, and when the taxi driver arrived at 11 he couldn't see my flight number on the tv screens because by that time it had been and gone. So it was closer to 12 by the time he found me, I'd been wandering about with my bags on a luggage trolley trying to look as best as I could like someone waiting to be picked up.

I got home, called San because I had missed her all week, and went to sleep. My brother woke me up with a text message at 8 am, asking me to call him. I went back to sleep after talking to him, only to be woken up again an hour later with a phone call about a shirt I'd bought from a catalogue but returned because its colours didn't match the pictures and I didn't like it. I was groggy, but I think what they told me was my shirt wasn't defective but, yes, it doesn't match the picture and they'd give me a refund. I don't remember why they said it wasn't the same, but I'd rather the cash.

And so here I am. I've found that I missed the deadline for submitting my music reviews to the student paper, and I've got shedloads of work to do if I am to stand a chance at passing this damn course.

Saw things so much clearer

I really should award stickers for one thing or another every entry -- whether it be for being able to correctly identify where the entry's title comes from, or just some obscure reference in the entry itself. Last entry's sticker was won in record time, so I'm interested to see who will win this one.

There's not a whole lot to say today. After all my sulking, I'm actually sorta glad to be back in Leicester. I like having the space to myself, I like cooking for myself when I feel like it, and I like just lying around on my bed listening to music or reading. I found I could plug my computer's speakers and sub-wooofer into my cd-mp3 player, so with my newly burnt cd of epic length I am just enjoying doing nothing.

After I got out the pool yesterday and dried off I found a worrying red rash over one arm. I got chills as I examined it and remembered photographs of the rash that comes with meningitis. But I lacked all other symptoms, so I just got dressed and ignored it. Since I am not dead today, and the rash has gone away, it was probably a reaction to the washing powder or something. The strange thing about me is that I have a kind of death wish. If in the shower I come across what can only be described as a lump in a place guys dread, what do I do about it? Nothing. If I come out in a rash which could mean that I have developed meningitis and without medical attention could be dead in days, what do I about it? Ignore it. But it's a nice day out, so let's not dwell on that.

The sun is shining and it's warm out, and for what I have of the day I'm trying to get a few jobs done before the taxi picks me up for the airport, and my trip to Cork. All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go (and no, you don't get a sticker for that reference), and I guess this is my way of saying that if you don't hear anything from me for the next week, that's why.

The last day

Once again, it's my last day 'back home' before I return to Leicester. I can't say I desperately want to stay here, for a small town this place has more than a fair share of trouble and violence. But I miss my friends, and I miss the cat, and I miss not living alone. Just the same, you face forward, or you face the possibility of shock and damage (in the words of Emma, whoever knows what that's from gets a sticker).

This afternoon, after perhaps too much wine at lunch, I took a nap on my bed with the cat. Actually, the cat was already asleep on the bed -- but he was willing to share with me, if I didn't take up too much space. Which was good for him.

So it's back to Leicester I go, for all of about a day and a half, before I fly off to Ireland for a week. It's about time that I went somewhere new, digged stuff, had an adventure. Dave is letting me sleep on his couch, for which I am eternally grateful, and armed with a camera and a notebook I shall see the sights and... well, dig stuff. I'd take my battered copy of On The Road or The Dharma Bums, but perhaps the books I read when I travelled across the USA don't have the same relevance in Cork.

Outside it's a bright spring day. The sun is shining, but the air is still cold -- and I'm grateful that I didn't have to work today.

-- and as a post-script to this entry, I'd like to point out that my diary-x email is now rejecting all mail, because someone out there is using it as their return address for all kinds of shit. So for now, you have to use the comments box if you don't know how to reach me any other way...

Must see

As you might have noticed, this new layout didn't really give me the opportunity to list my favourites -- or 'required reading'. This is a shame, because unless I make a point of saying "Hey, go look at the links!" I don't think anyone does, and these truly great people go unread. I might make a separate special entry of good reading.

This is on my mind, because I want people to go read Kara's blournal. I'm not actually sure how she would like to be known, so don't be surprised if that link's name changes.

Having left d-x in favour of writing on her own domain, Kara is now writing sans inhibitions once more in a new setting, and I wanted to take this opportunity to refer you kids to it. Because she's damn good, and a cool person to boot, and should not go unread. ever.

Also, she is currently taking suggestions for aquatic pets if anyone has any ideas. These pets must like playgrounds, and slides if possible. And be well-tempered.

Getting along all right

Once again I spent a week working for a newspaper without pay.

You know what, though? It wasn't so bad. I hate the first day, but it was the morning that sucked really but it put me in a mood until about Wednesday. I'm like that.

Once you -- or, I, in this case -- get used to getting up in the mornings and wearing a suit and stuff you come to appreciate that the job isn't all that bad. It's not the best job in the world, and for the most part, yeah, it does feel like work. But like my profile says -- for now, this is who I am and this is what I do.

Working for a daily paper is a little more fast paced than a weekly, but not massively so -- you just tend to finish things by the end of the day. I didn't think I'd ever say it, but I miss going out on my district and finding news -- it isn't the same working with a desk, a phone and a computer. Not that I ever found much good in my district, but that isn't the point.

I know I can do this. Once or twice I was told by staff that my writing was good, and nothing was ever given back to me with instructions to change it completely -- like it was last summer. I may not get the best grades, I might not be sure I can pass the course, but I can do the job. And it looks like with a little bit of luck I probably will do the job.

There's little else to say. I've not seen San in a week, since I've been here and she's been in Leicester, but I'll see her tomorrow in London like old times.

Other than that, I'm tired and I'm moody -- which I've got to snap out of soon -- but I'm getting along alright.