oh how the wild wind drove her…
Well I don’t know where it goes! The time, that is; although as I am currently confined to base (more than likely for the rest of today) waiting for Citylink’s second attempt at collecting a parcel they were originally due to pick up almost two weeks ago but didn’t quite manage it for reasons of not bothering to turn up, the hours are stretching out nicely, having already had breakfast, prepared my mini suitcase for tomorrow morning’s jaunt to Edinburgh, put away all the washing from last week and pottered about tidying the living room and fishes in preparation for an afternoon on the couch riveted to Don’t Tell The Bride until the green and yellow van arrives. Assuming it does. I wonder at what point it would be appropriate to start invoicing them for lost earnings?
As everybody can see from the pictures, the lovely spring sun was shining in Douglas and my brief stopover on my way to Dublin was as lively as ever – the Isle of Man and it’s menfolk are something of a favourite of mine and I will be back as soon as I can figure out a date that fits around the TT; finding accommodation during the event of the year is no mean feat, but never say never! Dublin, no thanks to Escort Ireland who couldn’t be bothered to post my (expensive) ad until I emailed them in a panic at midnight on the day I was due to arrive, was as hi-octane as ever by contrast; fun, exhausting, frustrating and fabulous all at once. I did (only slightly deliberately) miss an opportunity to see Gunther Von Hagen’s ‘Bodies’ exhibition in favour of some much needed fresh air and a leisurely stroll around St Stephen’s Green on Friday afternoon, the culprit for my weakened state on this occasion being a nothing-short-of spectacular eight course dinner at Thornton’s restaurant the night before with some delightful company, fortunately for both of us as the procession of ever more jaw-dropping courses lasted some four hours. Cue adding ‘sea urchin’ to my ‘Things To Eat Before I’m Forty’ list, just so that I could cross it off again…
The Irish punters’ collective fixation with ringing purely to say ‘hotel or apartment?’ is one I will never be able to fathom, partly because the answer is fuck all to do with anything unless you’re planning an attack or a robbery (assuming, of course, your social circle is not liberally packed with Eastern European housekeepers) but mostly because my ads VERY CLEARLY, and in a wholly unsuccessful attempt to thwart the question and save everybody’s time being wasted, say Hotel Incalls. I can only imagine that the price of spectacles in the capital must be as prohibitive as those in other shops would suggest – I write whilst sporting a nice new spring dress which I happened across in a Dublin boutique last week – said dress arrived this morning after I ordered it on Saturday from the UK store, where it cost a perfectly serviceable £72. The Dublin price was €99 or roughly £83 – you know you’re in trouble when the souvenir stuff in the airport shops starts looking reasonable (specifically tea brack, soda bread and both black and white puddings, all of which survived the journey home from Manchester Airport admirably well and have been fortifying both I and the fishes since my return). And luckily, after all that (and bearing in mind that my BlackBerry’s blocked caller list for ‘DUB’ is longer than that of any other place in which I have ever set a six inch heel) those Dubliners who do read the ads, book, turn up and behave themselves are some of the nicest punters I have met anywhere in the world…
Back to sunny Scarborough, and the lovely weather has meant a busier than usual few days – as previously mentioned, the remainder of today is to be usefully employed getting ready for tomorrow’s trip and my first proper break in a good long while; I will be attending the Dead By Dawn horror festival in Edinburgh for the first time in eight years, and four days of normally-off-limits curry and beer, scruffy comfortable *cough* clothing and the extremely therapeutic effects of virtually non-stop unmitigated on-screen carnage with an equally intrepid pal in tow will be just the ticket. I will have neither my work phone or computer with me, but proper emails (advisedly or otherwise depending on the cumulative effects of such delights as Puppet Monster Massacre, as well as a welcome second chance to see Juan of the Dead) will be answered daily. Woohoo!
More in a bit – Citylink’s finest (the criteria is not strict) have miraculously turned up a scant hour before end of play, and the fresh air and lovely sunshine beckons. I do hope it keeps up over the weekend; we’ll be able to talk about it whilst we’re spending ten or so hours a day sitting in a cinema in the dark…
Back on Tuesday!
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