Last night I went out to meet up with a friend. It was a lovely evening, still light out and still quite warm. As I sat at the bus stop waiting, I decided to put on a little lip balm. Rooting around in my handbag, I fished out my “make-up” bag and rooted around in that until I felt the little pot-shape of my Blistex Lip Conditioner with SPF 20. I was kind of in a daze at this moment, for no reason really. At this point, I hadn’t actually looked into my bag to see what I was doing, as this was a routine that I am well accustomed to. I unscrewed the lid and dipped my finger in – the lip balm felt funny so I looked down to see what I was doing – oh, I had opened up a pot of loose eye shadow and plunged my finger into it, which sent it everywhere. Green sparkly dust settled quickly, coating the interior of my handbag, the exterior of my make-up bag, my hand and fingers and my lap. Of course it is at this moment when the bus comes hurtling down the road so in a hasty bundle I gather up my things and step onto the bus – laughing at myself while trying to find my bus pass in my now green sparkly bag. The driver must have wondered what I was laughing at, since he wouldn’t have seen the mess I’d made from behind his little door. Just one more crazy lady for him to ignore.
I met my friend without further cosmetic incident at Piccadilly Circus. We wandered around for a good 10 minutes in search for a cash point (which I find ridiculous and incredible as Piccadilly is one of the busiest tourist spots in London). Having found one in Leicester Square (the one I was robbed at last year), he lifted some money and we were off again. We hit a pub for a drink. The doorman wouldn’t let us in until my friend took off his hat. We decided to go elsewhere. The next pub was quite busy but we snagged a seat and blethered away for a good 20 minutes before a bouncer came over and asked my friend to remove his hat (please note it was not a baseball cap or a balaclava rolled up onto his forehead – it was a dressy kind of hat – not sure what the proper name for it is – anyways) So he took off his hat, we stayed for another drink then left for Bar Rumba. There was a massive queue outside and my heart sank – I HATE waiting in a line. But my friend sauntered up to the front of the line, spoke a few words in the doorman’s ear and the man unhooked the rope barrier and let us through. It’s good to have connections. The night was drum and bass – the place was heaving – it was hot and dark. We stayed for a while. I went to the toilet and when I was undoing my belt it got stuck. It is a canvas belt – the kind you used to have when you were a kid where it’s has a buckle on one end and the other end you simply slip into the buckle until it’s the right fit then slide back the little catch on the buckle to hold it in place. Not sure how one goes wrong with something as easy as that, but I did. I wrestled with it until I was sweaty with effort but to no avail. I left the ladies room forlornly with my belt sagging in an attention-grabbing loop around my crotch. I left a short while later, with the belt folded up as much as possible into the belt loops on my jeans.
Waiting for the bus to take me home, a drunk man staggers my way, asks if I’m waiting for the 144 – I say I am. He asks if I’m from Spain. I shake my head. In quick succession he asks if I’m from France, Switzerland, Sweden, Italy or Belgium. I shake my head continually. He says “ where are you from then?” and I reply with “keep guessing”. He says “where’s that then – is that in Europe?” I say, “no, Canada”. He nods sagely – “Near Toronto, eh?”. I grin. The bus pulls up, he gallantly lets me on first and I head for the back. The bus lurches into motion as the drunk makes his way toward the seats next to me, which throws him off balance, which isn’t good to begin with in his state and he falls in front of my, hitting several poles and seats on his way to the floor. I bite my lip and cheek trying not to laugh. We chat for the few minutes we’re on the bus together – I could tell he was a friendly sort who meant no harm. When he was exiting at his stop, he said I should pop into his local and ask for Bob. Bless. 5 minutes later I was home.

Holy smoke! It’s been over a month since I’ve posted anything and so much has happened! Well, let’s see. The week after my last post was boring and uneventful. I was counting down the days until my family arrived in Scotland for a wedding we all went to in Ireland. On the morning of the 25th, my cousin and his girlfriend came to pick me up as we were driving over to Swansea in Wales, to catch the ferry which would take us to Cork, Ireland. The drive to Swansea was pleasant, as it was in the middle of the afternoon, so there was little traffic and the sun was shining. When we arrived in Swansea, we headed for the port, found it with a minimum of backtracking and joined the queue of cars all waiting to board the ferry. Once we had checked in, however, we were not permitted to leave the premises. Argh! There was nothing in this parking lot except public toilets, and we were hours early! Luckily I can entertain myself, and eagerly went exploring the small strip of greenery next to the big fence that separated the dock from the parking lot. I discovered a black box nestled in some long grass, and went poking around it, only to find that it was a big rat trap! I skedaddled back to the car and waited impatiently for the boat to arrive. It did. The crew on board were very efficient loading the cars into the hold and in no time, we gathered our things and headed up to the passenger decks where we would be for the next 10 hours – yes, it was a 10 hour ferry ride, overnight. As all the rooms were booked up by the time we bought our tickets, we had to make do with sleeping in the lounge. Make do means sleeping fitfully on vinyl horseshoe shaped couches underneath a blasting air conditioner. I’ll say no more. We arrived early hours on the Friday morning, into the beautiful harbour of Cork. There were millions of purplish/pinkish jellyfish swirling around in the water, which was unexpected but interesting. Again, the crew had us off the ship in no time, and we were on the road for the third leg of the journey to Killarney, where we were staying for the wedding. Upon arrival at the Killarney Heights Hotel (gorgeous, great service etc etc) (around 8:30am) I left the happy couple to amuse themselves while I ran up to the room where my parents were staying and chapped on the door. My dad opened it with slightly bleary eyes and a slightly stunned expression on his face – “Room service” I shouted unoriginally and jumped in for a hug. We had a giggle and then my mum appeared, rollers in her hair, amidst me excitedly chattering away (I had been up for a few hours at this point). More hugs and laughter. I showered and changed and we went down for breakfast. On the way, I went to surprise my brother and sister in their room. We enjoyed our first meal together as a family in 9 months. It was grand. Blah blah blah, town of Killarney, beautiful houses, gorgeous scenery, blah blah, bought some jewellery, blah blah blah. We were the first to arrive, so we spent the day wandering around. Other relatives arrived later in the day (there were MANY delays, car problems, road works etc for those who had flown to Dublin from Scotland then drove down south (roughly 5 hours, more in most cases). Friday night was a piss up in the hotel bar – everyone was drinking heavily (as the family does) and enjoying the start of the wedding/holiday weekend.

Saturday morning, the day of the wedding, saw some tired faces, and told tales of those who hadn’t held their liquor (heehee – happy to say I was not one of those people). We were all loaded onto 2 coaches and set off for the town of Macroom, where the ceremony was to be held; the town where the bride is from. About 45 minutes later, we pulled into a colourful village, which was quite bustling. As we traipsied up the hill towards the church in all our finery (everyone looked smashing) a funeral procession was leaving the church, so we cast down our beaming faces so as not to appear too inappropriate. Once the funeral mass had emptied, we filled the hall of the church. As the weather wasn’t ideal (it was a bit grey and slightly breezy) I stepped inside before some of the others and had a nosy – one small chamber held stacks of small candles, and a coffin. I left rather quickly, and my dad closed the gate behind me when I told him what was in there. The actual wedding went smoothly – not too long and boring and before long we were piling out onto the coaches again, headed for a pub. Ostensibly we went there as that’s where the wedding pictures were to be taken, against a backdrop of leafy ruins, but really it was to get the ball rolling. A couple of hours (and drinks) later, we were on the buses again, heading back to the hotel for the reception and dance. The meal was wonderful, and plentiful – the servers continually circled the hall with seconds and thirds for the guests. The speeches were perfect – they were funny and touching, just the right length, and the speakers addressed everyone, acknowledging the great lengths that people had made to be there that day. The one person from our side of the family missing was the groom’s brother. His girlfriend had had a baby the week before the wedding, and he decided not to go – which was a bit of shock, and a bit sad for the family, but there was nothing to be done about it and the replacement best man was highly entertaining. After the meal, the tables were cleared and the hall was set up for the evening’s festivities. A band appeared upon a small stage and proceeded to play an incredibly wide range of songs to suit everyone. They had the clans up dancing all night, and when they were through, a DJ came on to pick up where they left off. Fantastic. My cousin, the one I travelled with, and I are quite close as he lives near London. Throughout the night if we bumped into each other, we engaged in play fights, as we do. Little did we know (I blame the alcohol) that we put on a show for the crowds and the next morning, I was covered in bruises. He came running up to me on the Sunday apologising and hugging me – apparently he punched me in the mouth (accidentally) but all was forgotten thus forgiven – ahhh, youth. Sunday morning was allotted to recovery for those who needed it but come 3 pm, the coaches appeared and we trooped back to Macroom for a day of sitting in a pub, drinking and generally enjoying the company. The best man, at about 2 pm, was pale and sweaty looking. He said he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to get on the bus, and he looked at the pint of Guinness in his hand with some trepidation. Moments later, as he took a swig, his liver/stomach decided against that mouthful, and out it came, right in front of my grandma!! She just laughed at him. I love my grandma. Of course, he felt much better after that, and settled in for an afternoon of boozing. Bless. So – in the pub – there was a lot of musical chairs going on as it was a pub that had several rooms, none of which were big enough for all of us (90 representatives of the fam and friends from Scotland and Canada). At one point I found myself next to my gran, who was a bit tired from all the running around and late nights. She saw one of my cousins across the room, smoking. She says “is that Sarah having a cigarette?” I says “yah, she smokes”. She says “do you think she can get me some hashish?” I says “Pardon?!” (note here that in the United Kingdom, hash and weed are the same thing - pot) She says “I have a pain in my head and I’d like to try smoking some marijuana to see if that helps” Mouth open, eyes popping, I turn to look at my grandma – and she bursts out laughing. I couldn’t believe her! How funny. She was only joking, but still – it threw me for a loop! Sunday afternoon turned into Sunday evening and I’m not sure when but we rallied back on the buses one last time. En route back to the hotel, however, someone decided to have a go at karaoke. The microphone on the bus was pulled out and the men took turns singing rebel songs while cans of cheap cider were passed out.
Back at the hotel, we waded into the bar one last time to spend the last of our Euros. It was another late great night. I sensibly went to bed at midnight, as we had to head out by 5:30 am to catch our ferry at 8am. A knock on the door at 5:40 awakened me – my alarm had gone off at 4:45 but in my semi-consciousness, I turned it off. It was a mad dash for my sister and I to get ourselves up and out. (I was bringing my sister back to London with us for a couple of days as she had never been.) I was in a bit of a panic because I didn’t want us to miss the ferry – there is only the one – so I was shouting at her to hurry up and she swanned about the room, putting her earrings in and taking time over things that could have been rushed. For her part, she largely ignored my rantings (I was mad at myself for not having thought to have a wake-up call) and in the end we stumbled out into the dimness of the morning 20 minutes later. I should add here that since we weren’t technically checking out, I had money for the room to give to my brother for when he checked out (he had stayed in another room that night) I shoved it into an envelope and scribbled his name on it. Then thought – he might not think to look in this (it was his birthday the day before and there were quite a few envelopes lying around with his name on them). So then I wrote frantically the amount of money in the envelope and was going to leave it on his suitcase, then had a flash of London paranoia that it would be stolen –if there was going to be a theft that weekend, you know I would be the victim!! I sprinted up to my parents room and fired the envelope under the door, feeling much better about leaving the money. Ok – back on the road. My sister had been sleeping quite peacefully next to me in the car for about an hour. Then all of a sudden, she sat bolt upright and said “I think I’m going to be sick”. I asked my cousins girlfriend (who was driving) to pull over. She said “what?” and in a more urgent tone, I said “Pull over!!” as there was no traffic on the roads, she pulled to the side quickly, my sister jumped out and vomited a few feet away, on the pavement. A lone pedestrian was making his way up the street and we all smiled apologetically at him as we sat with the car door open. He grinned and said triumphantly “I’m crossing the road”. She got back in, I gave her some tissues, she cleaned herself up and we were off again. She slept the rest of the way to the ferry. Once back on the boat, we secured a horseshoe seating plan for ourselves again, and waited to get going. It was a much bumpier ride than our voyage over and within minutes of us setting off, my sister asked where the toilets were. I pointed her in the right direction and off she ran. She didn’t make it. This happened a few times over the next couple of hours, and it got so that if a member of staff saw her, they would give her a stack of sick bags – I found it highly amusing. She blamed it on the cider. The trip back wasn’t so bad as it was during the day – so I spent a lot of time outside getting fresh air and some sunshine, and maybe I had a beer too. Uneventful drive home. Everyone was shattered. Oh – we stopped for petrol and a cup of tea, and while we were sitting in the little café, I saw at least a dozen rabbits out frolicking on the grass behind the buildings. I was entranced. No one else really cared.

The next couple of days in London were a whirlwind of activity as I dragged my sis all over town, showing her all the big sites while packing in as much shopping as possible (it was the end of the sales – what could I do?) We went looking for the Globe theatre which is near the Tate Modern – I had to pee, it started to rain – so I suggested going in for a minute while we tried to work out exactly where the Globe was. We went in, used the toilets, strolled through the large gift shop, bought some postcards and left. On the way out, I asked my sister if she wanted to go back in and actually look at the contents of the Tate. She said “can I take pictures inside” I said I wasn’t sure, but probably not. She said, “well, I have the postcards – lets just go”. I laughed pretty hard.
We found the Globe but unfortunately there were no shows running that week. At that point the rain started bouncing down, so we decided to have our lunch. The meal was delightful and we plodded out of the restaurant with full tummies. I had booked cheapie flights for us back up to Scotland (where she was flying home from) which meant ungodly hours at the airport. Our flight was at 630 am but the airport is an hour by train away from my house, but the trains don’t run all night, so we left my place at 11, to catch a train which got us to the airport (stupid Stansted in the middle of stinkin nowhere) at midnight. The place was heaving! We were lucky to find two seats together in the waiting area, which of course had immobile armrests so we couldn’t lounge comfortably in them. She ended up sleeping for a while on the floor, while I tried to curl myself around the armrest. It was a wearisome night. But we landed ok at Glasgow Prestwick (another airport in the middle of big fat nothing) and spent the rest of the week/weekend relaxing with family. I’ve only been back for a week today – seems like it all happened ages ago.

I gave my notice here at work yesterday - 7 weeks to go!!!