BOOZED AND CONFUSED

When I met Clara again last weekend, she had already had a full day. That is to say she had got up, gone to the Jameson Distillery, had got drunk, had slept, and had a hangover. Bleary-eyed and confused, she looked vaguely bewildered in the hostel reception, and I saw a shadow of tired annoyance fall across her face, as I wasn't in the first direction she faced. That's it, just ninety degrees to your left, more, more, there I am! now that wasn't so hard was it? She sat down in a swoon after that monumental effort of finding me in a room in which a flea would get Deep Vein Thrombosis. Then Kim, another delightful Canadian (yes, another bloody one!) and an Aussie (yes, another one) - who looked a little bit too much like Joe Mangel from Neighbours for my liking - went out for a few beers. Well I went out for a few beers; since they had all been fecked courtesy of Jameson's, I went to the bar in Bruxelles and requested, with the highest level of mortification, "A pint of Carlsberg and three waters please," feeling the eyes of the big smelly butch goths drilling me with contempt. And when big smelly butch goths look down their noses at you, you know you've sunk to a new low.

So I let them go home to bed, and I caught up with Crapman in the Longstone, along with the Crapmum and Diarmuid. Having arrived without Clara, Crapman arms-foldingly and eyebrow-raisedly refused to believe that she existed. We then got very sozzled, and the conversation got very blue; I would say that it was frightfully inappropriate in the presence of the Crapmum, but she was spouting the worst of it.

Sunday saw my first ever trip on the LUAS! How very exciting for me. I even got to see someone being busted for not paying their fare. I welcomed the drama since I don't have a telly at the moment, it kicked The Bill's arse. As I pulled up towards Collins Barracks I saw two Canadians waving frantically at me; I reluctantly left my live version of CSI:Dublin and joined them for a wee walk through the Phoenix Park. Enjoying the intermittent non-commital Irish sunshine, we strolled towards and sat by the Wellington monument, or as Clara called it the "phallic monument". If this is her idea of phallic, I'm in for some stiff (ahem!) competition.

Now, Lent is doing me nut. I had resolved to give up Coke (that's the drink) for the 40 days, and I half-arsedly considered extending that to all fizzy drinks (excepting beer, naturally). I made the mistake of mentioning this to Clara, who now won't let me drink anything fizzy, not for any moral reaon you understand, just to confound me. "You're breaking your bond with God!" she cries in earnest whenever I reach for anything bubbly, ignoring completely the fact that she's an atheist. So, after some merry boozing in The Brazen head, I had to settle for a tacky St. Patrick's milkshake in McDonalds. I hope God is reading this. What am I saying? - He sees all and reads all.
Man, he must HATE the internet.

"Do you SLAG me on the internet?" I just remembered Clara asking me politely not to defame her character on the Flog.
Oops.