So tomorrow it's friday and I decide whether or not to bid higher on the house. And it's the start of my glorious 10 days without work. The adventure begins with the train to Dublin. Apparently there are new trains on the route. But my exasperated friend recently got one and described the traumatic experience thus:
"Well, even though it's a new train, the only way I can describe it is to imagine you're in the holodeck on the starship 'Enterprise' and you say 'Computer, run program Cork-Dublin Train 2006', well it's just like that, it's all there, the old man coughing a lung up beside you, kids crying, the train shuddering and rattling even though it's new and that all-pervading smell of grease everywhere. It's all there, like it's stuck in a time warp. And on the way back it's exactly the same, but in reverse and there's an old woman coughing a lung up beside you instead of a old man." Then he sighed heavily and told me he'd left his notebook on the train. I advise him to get a blog that he can never lose. "What and have all my inner thoughts and ideas and bitching on the internet for the world to see?"
Well, yeah.
I'm all excited, what? it's going to be just like Star Trek!? I can't wait!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
What Truculent Did Next
Having spent all of Wednesday lying in bed, in the bath, on the couch or on the deliciously cool hall floor (I was sick) I barely had time to do any more To Do stuff. Oh, except for avoid boys and spend no money. I tried not to think about donkeys at all as it is best not to think of donkeys while sick. I learnt my lesson after that time I left that donkey-covered ocean rock of Inish Maan with pneumonia and in the haze of my fever kept seeing, at my bedside, a good-natured donkey with a basket of grapes balanced gingerly on its rump.
I also managed to have a chat with my lying bastard estate agent, William, while I was naked in the bath (well I didn't want to miss the call) 'Ah I see' ... splash splash... 'a higher bidder' ...splish splash... try to balance on elbow... 'right, let me get back to you on friday'. You lying bastard. I think of the absurdity of this and then I think how if I get this house there'll be no baths, no showers, no water.
I also managed to have a chat with my lying bastard estate agent, William, while I was naked in the bath (well I didn't want to miss the call) 'Ah I see' ... splash splash... 'a higher bidder' ...splish splash... try to balance on elbow... 'right, let me get back to you on friday'. You lying bastard. I think of the absurdity of this and then I think how if I get this house there'll be no baths, no showers, no water.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Truculent's Exciting To Do Update
Wow mondays are exciting aren't they? And I have made great progress with my exciting To Do List.
1) I have spent NO money and even made a fiver when a colleague realised he owed me. The satisfaction of spending no money was well worth having a cold hard boiled egg and a tin of soup for lunch at work. But I fear that, like our oil consumption, this technique may be insustainable in the long run.
2) I have totally failed to avoid all boys and men as there is a load of them at work these days. So I have modified the action point. The revised version reads: 'Avoid all boys and men, after dusk'. Genius. This is when they are at their most tricky.
3) I have totally failed to order Brennivín online but my revised action point reads: 'To tackle your addiction do not order Brennivín online. And drink the rest of the bottle asap'.
4) I didn't wonder about my estate agent's morals at all but boldly rang to ask 'what the state of play' was with the house. In a very grown-up manner I might add. The 'state of play' is that I am still the highest bidder. But for how much longer?
5) I have decided that looking into the costs of donkey herds is jumping the gun, as is dreaming about in which bit of the tiny house I'm going to place my eclectic collection of books about snow, books set in snow, books written in snow, books with many pictures of snow and books written by authors who live in snowy countries. And that archaeology book.
6) I totally forgot about the lotto.
7) I have not yet emailed any of the practically forgotten far-off friends but instead wrote a lengthy treatise to my far-off soulmate who I email nearly every day. We needed to clarify some points which came up in the hour-long phone call the day before.
8) I have brushed my teeth once.
I could get into this To Do List stuff.
1) I have spent NO money and even made a fiver when a colleague realised he owed me. The satisfaction of spending no money was well worth having a cold hard boiled egg and a tin of soup for lunch at work. But I fear that, like our oil consumption, this technique may be insustainable in the long run.
2) I have totally failed to avoid all boys and men as there is a load of them at work these days. So I have modified the action point. The revised version reads: 'Avoid all boys and men, after dusk'. Genius. This is when they are at their most tricky.
3) I have totally failed to order Brennivín online but my revised action point reads: 'To tackle your addiction do not order Brennivín online. And drink the rest of the bottle asap'.
4) I didn't wonder about my estate agent's morals at all but boldly rang to ask 'what the state of play' was with the house. In a very grown-up manner I might add. The 'state of play' is that I am still the highest bidder. But for how much longer?
5) I have decided that looking into the costs of donkey herds is jumping the gun, as is dreaming about in which bit of the tiny house I'm going to place my eclectic collection of books about snow, books set in snow, books written in snow, books with many pictures of snow and books written by authors who live in snowy countries. And that archaeology book.
6) I totally forgot about the lotto.
7) I have not yet emailed any of the practically forgotten far-off friends but instead wrote a lengthy treatise to my far-off soulmate who I email nearly every day. We needed to clarify some points which came up in the hour-long phone call the day before.
8) I have brushed my teeth once.
I could get into this To Do List stuff.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Truculent's Exciting To Do List
While I was languishing today I also had plenty of time to formulate my exciting To Do List for the week ahead.
1) Withdraw no money from the bank, instead live off the 17 euro I found in my bedroom, in order to fool bank into thinking I have more money than I really have and thus trick them into giving me huge mortgage that will never ever be able to pay off.
2) Avoid all boys and men, just in case. You just never know when one of them is suddenly going to jump on you, snog you, break your heart, manipulate you or invite you to the cinema. Will just avoid all of them to be on the safe side. Even the gay ones.
3) Tackle my new Brennivín addiction by ordering it in bulk online.
4) Wonder whether my estate agent is a liar. Probably yes. But deserves more thought.
5) Find out the cost of purchasing and maintaining a small to medium-sized donkey herd. 'Buy and Sell' probably the place to go for this.
6) Play the lottery. All the lotteries.
7) Reply to all the emails from far-off friends who probably think I have forgotten them or am trying to cut them out of my life. (Just read my blog damnit!)
8) Continue those good teeth brushing habits I've maintained since childhood so do not end up with ginger-vitis like Annie Rhiannon.
1) Withdraw no money from the bank, instead live off the 17 euro I found in my bedroom, in order to fool bank into thinking I have more money than I really have and thus trick them into giving me huge mortgage that will never ever be able to pay off.
2) Avoid all boys and men, just in case. You just never know when one of them is suddenly going to jump on you, snog you, break your heart, manipulate you or invite you to the cinema. Will just avoid all of them to be on the safe side. Even the gay ones.
3) Tackle my new Brennivín addiction by ordering it in bulk online.
4) Wonder whether my estate agent is a liar. Probably yes. But deserves more thought.
5) Find out the cost of purchasing and maintaining a small to medium-sized donkey herd. 'Buy and Sell' probably the place to go for this.
6) Play the lottery. All the lotteries.
7) Reply to all the emails from far-off friends who probably think I have forgotten them or am trying to cut them out of my life. (Just read my blog damnit!)
8) Continue those good teeth brushing habits I've maintained since childhood so do not end up with ginger-vitis like Annie Rhiannon.
A Day of Languishing
I had a wonderful day of doing nothing. I reckon I deserved it after my traumatic and impetuous suicide attempt last night which involved drinking three shots of slushy Brennivín in rapid succession. Out of a glass eggcup in the shape of a hen. We don't have any shot glasses. Or perhaps I was drinking it for the taste. Yum.
Within my day of languishing I did manage to do one, yes ONE, constructive thing. I put a fresh quilt cover on my quilt. And I can tell you I felt pretty pleased with myself afterwards. I'm actually an expert at this particular domestic chore thanks to my days as a chambermaid at Hotel Holt in downtown Reykjavík back in the summer of 1996. God, those were heady days. Iceland had recently discovered draught Guinness, Damon Albarn had recently discovered Iceland, and Hotel Holt had recently discovered that I could not be arsed hoovering under the furniture. These days, every time I deftly grab the corners of the quilt and shake it into its cover I am transported back to a room on the first floor of Hotel Holt, standing there in my wine coloured dress and white apron. And of course I'm daydreaming, staring out the window instead of hoovering under the furniture. Wierd how vivid memories are.
Within my day of languishing I did manage to do one, yes ONE, constructive thing. I put a fresh quilt cover on my quilt. And I can tell you I felt pretty pleased with myself afterwards. I'm actually an expert at this particular domestic chore thanks to my days as a chambermaid at Hotel Holt in downtown Reykjavík back in the summer of 1996. God, those were heady days. Iceland had recently discovered draught Guinness, Damon Albarn had recently discovered Iceland, and Hotel Holt had recently discovered that I could not be arsed hoovering under the furniture. These days, every time I deftly grab the corners of the quilt and shake it into its cover I am transported back to a room on the first floor of Hotel Holt, standing there in my wine coloured dress and white apron. And of course I'm daydreaming, staring out the window instead of hoovering under the furniture. Wierd how vivid memories are.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
I'm In Love...
And I'm putting an offer in tomorrow. Okay, so there's no running water, bathroom or kitchen. But the walls are a metre thick and there's room in the field for a fair few donkeys. Or for a greedy developer to build a small housing estate. I've got to be realistic my friends tell me.
They see houses. I see donkeys.
Monday, October 16, 2006
A Perfect Day
As I sit here on this monday night the rosy glow and debris of satur-day and satur-night still surround me. Turnips, carrots, empty beer bottles, spare sleeping bags and quilts. And a large stuffed bear hanging from the landing ceiling by his hind-paws. It's been one of those weekends.
It all started on saturday morning. After a restless sleep I woke in the city feeling utterly miserable and thought 'I must go to the countryside'.
I decide that now is the time to visit my favourite colleague for brunch in his new house deep in the rolling hills of East Cork. And it's all lovely, the rolling green hills, the sea in the distance, the homely house. And the rashers. I eat one with my bare hands, it's my first rasher in about 18 years. Feeling better and better and with me still buzzing off eating a tasty slice of pig's arse, or wherever it comes from, we decide to visit an elderly distant cousin of mine unannounced who I haven't seen since I was about six.
Bringing my colleague anywhere is like being followed around by a large friendly and excitable Newfoundland dog. Who talks. And who gets let into pubs. And who takes a lot of photographs. So I know he's going to love it. On the way there we realise we're accidentally and identically dressed in hiking boots, jeans and red t-shirts. This is gonna confuse them. I have to ask in the post office at Ballymacoda where the house is and when we find it, it's, amazingly enough, just like how I remember it, a tiny cottage surrounded by a tiny garden overflowing with plants and flowers. She knew my grandfather well and immediately knows who I am. She's the kind of woman who's got a serious twinkle in her eye and while my colleague, the Newfoundland dog, eats dog biscuits (no, really) and tries on her 84-year old boyfriend's hearing aid ('oh my goodness, that's amazing, do you want a go?') we hear about the time my mother fell off their donkey a week before giving birth to me (explains a lot) and how my grandfather rang her up when I was born, proudly shouting down the phone 'we have a Cork woman!' We visit Princess the pony, meet Spot the dog, see all the hens and the cockerel, hear about the girl lambs and the boy lambs and how difficult it is to get size 5 wellies. Of course I know, because I take size 5 wellies too. Everyone's delighted, especially Spot who's the kind of dog who looks like he knows exactly what everyone's saying all the time. He even poses for photographs, resting his arm, I mean paw, on the side of the couch. My distant so many times removed cousin slags me off, tells me I'll find a Cork man now that I'm back where I belong 'Sure you might even get a culchie if you're lucky' and all in all we feel like some American tourists who've wandered into an episode of Father Ted. Except it's way more surreal. The walls are covered with photos, pictures of the pope and loads of stuff. And a lot of clocks, all tick-tocking away. Then, just when I think it can't get any more surreal, she takes out her address book, a battered thing with a holographic Jesus holding a lamb on the front. I've never ever seen one like it before. Except for the one I have. Because I have the exact same one. 'My friend gave it to me' we both say to each other.
After leaving, our arms full of carrots, onions and turnips, we drive to Ballycotton village for the infamous ONE pint. Before I've hardly taken a sip of my Murphys I'm accepting a fag from a new pack, like a naughty school girl, like a vegetarian eating a rasher, like an ex-smoker smoking. And so the tone of the evening is set. My excitable Newfoundland dog doesn't smoke either so it's with a conspiratorial air that we puff away in the beer garden. 'Mmmm, smoking's cool'. 'Mmm these are very moreish aren't they'. He texts his wife, who's away 'ps we're not having an affair'. The pint is so nice that we have another, and another cigarette and then find out a friend's band is playing near another village so we decide to go there. Stopping to try and eat some food at an Indian in Castlemartyr on the way, my excitable Newfoundland dog wants everything on the menu explained. And then orders two sausages. I get chips.
Of course by the time we arrive at the venue our friend's band have just finished and it's nearly 10 O'Clock. We smoke some consolatory fags outside the bar and I have a brain wave 'Let's go to Cork!' and we agree that the best thing to do is to drive like lightning to the city, dump the car in town and hit the pubs of Cork. 'Yeah!' says my easily led Newfoundland dog and we tear off. I specify that we must NOT stop at my house so that I could brush my teeth, wash off the smell of Spot the dog, or even apply some red lipstick (I'd have to steal it from my housemate anyway) before going out as this would cause us to lose momentum. I urgently text my friend, my Bay of Biscay cabin buddy, and within 10 minutes we've a plan: Mutton Lane Inn. The bright lights of the 'Port of Cork' sign above the harbour beckon us in to the city centre, we quickly dump the car, I zip up my lopapeysa and we're off. 'Where are we going? Muddle Lane Inn?' asks my large friendly talking dog looking at the reflected city lights dancing in the river Lee with wide-eyed delight.
And the perfect night begins.
It all started on saturday morning. After a restless sleep I woke in the city feeling utterly miserable and thought 'I must go to the countryside'.
I decide that now is the time to visit my favourite colleague for brunch in his new house deep in the rolling hills of East Cork. And it's all lovely, the rolling green hills, the sea in the distance, the homely house. And the rashers. I eat one with my bare hands, it's my first rasher in about 18 years. Feeling better and better and with me still buzzing off eating a tasty slice of pig's arse, or wherever it comes from, we decide to visit an elderly distant cousin of mine unannounced who I haven't seen since I was about six.
Bringing my colleague anywhere is like being followed around by a large friendly and excitable Newfoundland dog. Who talks. And who gets let into pubs. And who takes a lot of photographs. So I know he's going to love it. On the way there we realise we're accidentally and identically dressed in hiking boots, jeans and red t-shirts. This is gonna confuse them. I have to ask in the post office at Ballymacoda where the house is and when we find it, it's, amazingly enough, just like how I remember it, a tiny cottage surrounded by a tiny garden overflowing with plants and flowers. She knew my grandfather well and immediately knows who I am. She's the kind of woman who's got a serious twinkle in her eye and while my colleague, the Newfoundland dog, eats dog biscuits (no, really) and tries on her 84-year old boyfriend's hearing aid ('oh my goodness, that's amazing, do you want a go?') we hear about the time my mother fell off their donkey a week before giving birth to me (explains a lot) and how my grandfather rang her up when I was born, proudly shouting down the phone 'we have a Cork woman!' We visit Princess the pony, meet Spot the dog, see all the hens and the cockerel, hear about the girl lambs and the boy lambs and how difficult it is to get size 5 wellies. Of course I know, because I take size 5 wellies too. Everyone's delighted, especially Spot who's the kind of dog who looks like he knows exactly what everyone's saying all the time. He even poses for photographs, resting his arm, I mean paw, on the side of the couch. My distant so many times removed cousin slags me off, tells me I'll find a Cork man now that I'm back where I belong 'Sure you might even get a culchie if you're lucky' and all in all we feel like some American tourists who've wandered into an episode of Father Ted. Except it's way more surreal. The walls are covered with photos, pictures of the pope and loads of stuff. And a lot of clocks, all tick-tocking away. Then, just when I think it can't get any more surreal, she takes out her address book, a battered thing with a holographic Jesus holding a lamb on the front. I've never ever seen one like it before. Except for the one I have. Because I have the exact same one. 'My friend gave it to me' we both say to each other.
After leaving, our arms full of carrots, onions and turnips, we drive to Ballycotton village for the infamous ONE pint. Before I've hardly taken a sip of my Murphys I'm accepting a fag from a new pack, like a naughty school girl, like a vegetarian eating a rasher, like an ex-smoker smoking. And so the tone of the evening is set. My excitable Newfoundland dog doesn't smoke either so it's with a conspiratorial air that we puff away in the beer garden. 'Mmmm, smoking's cool'. 'Mmm these are very moreish aren't they'. He texts his wife, who's away 'ps we're not having an affair'. The pint is so nice that we have another, and another cigarette and then find out a friend's band is playing near another village so we decide to go there. Stopping to try and eat some food at an Indian in Castlemartyr on the way, my excitable Newfoundland dog wants everything on the menu explained. And then orders two sausages. I get chips.
Of course by the time we arrive at the venue our friend's band have just finished and it's nearly 10 O'Clock. We smoke some consolatory fags outside the bar and I have a brain wave 'Let's go to Cork!' and we agree that the best thing to do is to drive like lightning to the city, dump the car in town and hit the pubs of Cork. 'Yeah!' says my easily led Newfoundland dog and we tear off. I specify that we must NOT stop at my house so that I could brush my teeth, wash off the smell of Spot the dog, or even apply some red lipstick (I'd have to steal it from my housemate anyway) before going out as this would cause us to lose momentum. I urgently text my friend, my Bay of Biscay cabin buddy, and within 10 minutes we've a plan: Mutton Lane Inn. The bright lights of the 'Port of Cork' sign above the harbour beckon us in to the city centre, we quickly dump the car, I zip up my lopapeysa and we're off. 'Where are we going? Muddle Lane Inn?' asks my large friendly talking dog looking at the reflected city lights dancing in the river Lee with wide-eyed delight.
And the perfect night begins.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Truculent Horse Gets Sad
And Totally Loses Her Sense Of Humour
I started to write about a recent amusing evening in a quirky Cork bar by the harbour, but my heart just wasn't in it. Sorry. I'm afraid that, much to the dismay of those of you who would love to hear about a quirky Cork bar by the harbour, I find myself writing about a boy instead (sorry She-Wolf, I meant 'man'). As I can't afford counselling, 80 euro an hour apparently, this post will have to do. That's what blogs are for right? Publishing your self-indulgent nonsense? Venting. I guess that's what this post is. I'm not looking for advice, just trying to evacuate my heart.
See, The Boy, sorry I mean 'Man', From Another Planet has been making a reappearance in my universe lately. Much to my combined delight and despair. I both love him and hate him. Actually, that's a lie, I don't hate him at all. And though I keep sending him back to outer space as soon as possible (because We are impossible) he just won't stay away. From my mind or my presence. Hopefully this time he's gone for good. Or next time he tries to hold my hand I'm strong enough to run away. I'm doing enough practising. I mean it's fine, you know, most of the time.
But there'll always be those moments when I pause, when I'm not running, or drawing or socialising, or weaving the fabric of my life, or wondering when the Irish property market will collapse, or when my concentration lapses at work. And then all of a sudden I feel a snag on my heart, like when the sleeve of your jumper catches on a nail. And then I see there's a little rip on the left hand side of my heart and a flicker of desolation reaches up inside me towards my throat and almost consumes me for an instant. Mostly I catch the loose thread in time but today, it felt like my whole heart was unravelling.
But I guess it will pass. I'll just cop on. I mean I have enough to eat, a beer in the fridge, I laugh at work and I'll never yearn for diamonds.
There. Mission complete. Heart evacuated. Boy, I mean Man, on the way back to outer space. And since Pluto is no longer a planet he'll now be The Boy From A De-Classified Planet.
I started to write about a recent amusing evening in a quirky Cork bar by the harbour, but my heart just wasn't in it. Sorry. I'm afraid that, much to the dismay of those of you who would love to hear about a quirky Cork bar by the harbour, I find myself writing about a boy instead (sorry She-Wolf, I meant 'man'). As I can't afford counselling, 80 euro an hour apparently, this post will have to do. That's what blogs are for right? Publishing your self-indulgent nonsense? Venting. I guess that's what this post is. I'm not looking for advice, just trying to evacuate my heart.
See, The Boy, sorry I mean 'Man', From Another Planet has been making a reappearance in my universe lately. Much to my combined delight and despair. I both love him and hate him. Actually, that's a lie, I don't hate him at all. And though I keep sending him back to outer space as soon as possible (because We are impossible) he just won't stay away. From my mind or my presence. Hopefully this time he's gone for good. Or next time he tries to hold my hand I'm strong enough to run away. I'm doing enough practising. I mean it's fine, you know, most of the time.
But there'll always be those moments when I pause, when I'm not running, or drawing or socialising, or weaving the fabric of my life, or wondering when the Irish property market will collapse, or when my concentration lapses at work. And then all of a sudden I feel a snag on my heart, like when the sleeve of your jumper catches on a nail. And then I see there's a little rip on the left hand side of my heart and a flicker of desolation reaches up inside me towards my throat and almost consumes me for an instant. Mostly I catch the loose thread in time but today, it felt like my whole heart was unravelling.
But I guess it will pass. I'll just cop on. I mean I have enough to eat, a beer in the fridge, I laugh at work and I'll never yearn for diamonds.
There. Mission complete. Heart evacuated. Boy, I mean Man, on the way back to outer space. And since Pluto is no longer a planet he'll now be The Boy From A De-Classified Planet.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Questions That Trouble Truculent Horse This Evening
Diamonds: What's this all about? Why do people want them so much? What's so great about them? Okay, granted they are shiny, old, special etc etc. But really, who cares? Am I missing something?
Dogs: Why do they die when they're teenagers? It seems so unfair. We had a scare with my old housemate/family pet/friend/confidante recently. She's fine but, well, she's more than ten and sometimes, when I lean down to whisper to her and her tail thuds steadily on the floor, I worry that I can hear her death clock ticking louder than my biological one. I'd much rather have this dog, this short-legged fierce protective tiger, who guarded me through every stormy night in Connemara, than a diamond.
Donkeys: Okay, pepperoni isn't really made from donkeys is it? Because then there would be donkey farms, not sanctuaries right?
Dogs: Why do they die when they're teenagers? It seems so unfair. We had a scare with my old housemate/family pet/friend/confidante recently. She's fine but, well, she's more than ten and sometimes, when I lean down to whisper to her and her tail thuds steadily on the floor, I worry that I can hear her death clock ticking louder than my biological one. I'd much rather have this dog, this short-legged fierce protective tiger, who guarded me through every stormy night in Connemara, than a diamond.
Donkeys: Okay, pepperoni isn't really made from donkeys is it? Because then there would be donkey farms, not sanctuaries right?
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Boys Boys Boys
What is it about them? Their stubbly faces? Their deep voices? Their ability to suddenly surprise you with heartfelt declarations when they're pretending to be so tough all the time? The way they suddenly confuse you, turn your world on its head, reduce you to a mess of heart-racing contradictions by just holding your hand?
Truculent Horse is the classic Fool for Love. It makes an eejit and a liar out of me. I am at the total mercy of its every whim. What never fails to surprise me is that over and over, with every dalliance, affair, relationship or sudden flurry, I turn into that fool again and again. And though every time I think 'You fool! have you learnt NOTHING!?' there is also a part of me that realises I am lucky. Lucky to still have my innocence, lucky to still be brave enough to wear my heart on my sleeve, lucky to still be able to take chances, lucky enough to be able to fall in love. Because, you never know, one day I might just fall for the right guy. Now that would really be something.
Looks like Truculent Horse and Kylie Minogue have something in common. Hmmm, just when I thought I was being profound.
Truculent Horse is the classic Fool for Love. It makes an eejit and a liar out of me. I am at the total mercy of its every whim. What never fails to surprise me is that over and over, with every dalliance, affair, relationship or sudden flurry, I turn into that fool again and again. And though every time I think 'You fool! have you learnt NOTHING!?' there is also a part of me that realises I am lucky. Lucky to still have my innocence, lucky to still be brave enough to wear my heart on my sleeve, lucky to still be able to take chances, lucky enough to be able to fall in love. Because, you never know, one day I might just fall for the right guy. Now that would really be something.
Looks like Truculent Horse and Kylie Minogue have something in common. Hmmm, just when I thought I was being profound.
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