Crane Lane and The Huge Red Spot

Last weekend, Truculent and The Huge Red Spot On Her Face went to explore Cork's newest night spot, Crane Lane, with her excitable friend Sarah. Since then, Truculent has just been playing the tortured artist game again and apologises for the lack of spicey updates.

Crane Lane
The bouncer immediately recognises six-foot Sarah from the night before. 'Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on her' I assure him as she bounds up the steps with glee. 'You better keep that one on a leash' he growls. I try but she's too strong and escapes while I order the drinks. Waiting for painfully slow Murphys at the bar a locked guy chats to me. 'Well Yvonne, I was just in a car crash and I've dislocated my shoulder' he tells me, getting a puppy-dog look in his eyes. I'm very sympathetic and have to humour him for what seems like an eternity while the Murphys settles. Then he tells me what really happened. 'My twenty stone friend came running out of a strip club in Manchester and jumped on me'. 'Is that a chat-up line - I was just in a car crash?' I ask him. 'Well, it's FINE for YOU, you just have to stand there looking beautiful!' he yells, quite truculently. My Huge Red Spot and I grab the Murphys and go on the hunt for Sarah in the next room.

I like Crane Lane, I'm not sure why. At first I think it's just like any late-bar superpub type thing but it's not. Three big rooms, a nice smoking area, a huge mix of people, background music and loads of conversation. It's grand actually.

Before I know it I've been engulfed by another boy. When he finally believes I'm an archaeologist he asks if I've ever 'dug up any big chests of treasure and stuff like'. I disappoint him but he wants to meet my Huge Red Spot and I for lunch anyway. 'You're hard work Eva' he tells me like he's doing me a favour. But I see a friend in another room and escape with the cries of 'No Eva! don't go, you seem sad!' echoing in my ears.

Phew, I gallop into the smoking area where my Huge Red Spot and I get stopped by the Boy From Another Planet, who at least knows my name. 'Truculent, go out with me' he says abruptly. 'No' I say and trot off home alone under the frosty stars at the end of the night.

Nearly a week later and the Huge and Seemingly Attractive Red Spot has all but disappeared. Maybe I'll get another one soon.

The Classic Text Blunder

You know the way, there you are, on the train from Dublin to Cork on a Sunday night, exhausted, fighting off the Sunday night blues. So you're having a text conversation with your equally sunday blue friend who's on the Dublin to Galway train at the same time. There you are, texting back and forth, ignoring the impending doom of monday morning, trying not to think about how sad you feel.

There you are text, text, text. 'What's your fella like?' your friend asks. Text text text, you text him back, he's this that and the other. You use the word 'wonderful' but apart from that it's not too gushing, control yourself woman.

Then the delivery report comes. 'Message delivered to THE WRONG PERSON, AS IN THE PERSON IT WAS ABOUT at 21.45 you big feckin tool, oh my God, I can't believe you just did that, jesus christ, damn damn damn, you're so stupid, quick explain yourself, shit'.

So you're falling off the train, scarf all over the shop, bag dragging behind you, texting like a teenager.

''Unusual' is a compliment. A big compliment' you text and hope for the best.

My Heart is a Small Woolly Jumper

This is what I thought when I woke up on sunday morning. Which strikes even me as more than a little odd. It's the loose pieces of wool here and there that are the problem, they catch on things, mostly another person, and before you know it the whole heart is unravelling.

So I went to Dublin for the weekend again. Turns out I enjoyed the 'Cork-Dublin Train 2006' holodeck experience so much last time that I just couldn't wait to do it again. It turned into one of those crazy weekends and I feel totally spaced out today, carrying round my unravelled heart in my pockets hoping no one will notice. I'll spend this evening knitting it back together again in my sleep and all will be well.

It will won't it?

I'm going to ask Debbie Harry to adopt me. We can sit around talking about our fragile hearts of glass and wool. 'So Debbie, do you think it's worse having a heart of glass, or one of wool?'

And Not Forgetting The Dog

Although we didn't manage a beach walk (which I felt very guilty about) we went on very romantic (even though a cat tagged along) wander down a grassy country lane in the gathering darkness. High stone walls and leaves still clinging to the trees all around and threatening rain overhead. It was one of those evenings when you know winter is on its way. There's something about it, the early darkness, the silence, just cold enough to put your mittens on, something quiet and still and almost magical. Something strangely comforting in the air.

Auntie Truculent Goes Home

Songs were composed in her honour as The Small Relations jumped up and down on the windowsill, eager to catch the first glimpse of the arrival. When Auntie Truculent did arrive, a little late, she was mobbed before she could even get in the door. She was seated between them at dinner so that each could bask in her truculent glow and pat her hands whenever they wanted. After dinner, they performed cartwheels and handstands on the rug for her amusement, and clambered on her knee for bedtime stories. 'Whoever is gettin the story read gets to sit on her knee' said the eldest firmly and gave her a homemade fairy umbrella as a present. When The Small Relations went off to bed the grown ups did what grown ups usually do - things involving beer and music and chat and slagging and using bad words. Auntie Truculent decided she may as well have a sleepover and in the morning The Small Relations found her and jumped up and down on her bed delightedly. Then the eldest read her story after story and finally went quiet and brushed her hair with the tiniest star-shaped brush, as though she were a favourite giant doll. In the meantime the youngest tried his best to improve her scanty knowledge of the GAA. As if all this adoration wasn't enough they then suggested that The Brother and The Sister-Out-Law provide breakfast in bed for Auntie Truculent (who was by now feeling like an over-rated celebrity). And so she was brought breakfast on a tray while the others sat around the bed. Auntie Truculent was by now so confused - was she an invalid, a giant life-like doll, a celebrity, royalty or just an Auntie?

It was all so much that she had to leave and go back to the O'Truculent parents who had conveniently just cooked a roast chicken.

Dog O'Truculent

I'm off to Galway to visit Dog O'Truculent for the weekend. We'll go for long romantic walks on the beach. And look into each others' big brown eyes.

Five Days In Iceland

The trip to Iceland was one of of those rollercoaster rides that life takes sometimes. So much happened over five days that the only way I can possibly write about it is to compile the best and worst bits into my newly beloved list format.

The Good Things

Meeting Björk on the way over
Okay okay, I didn't quite meet her but she was on the same flight, in economy class, and if she hadn't been surrounded by a host of famous musicians and friends and cool people who would have smoked at school I would have definitely said something to her. Something amazing like 'em em, I really like your em music and songs and your em lyrics and stuff you know especially the one that goes like a killer whale trapped in a bay, yeah and the one where you're thowing stuff off a mountain, I feel like that, oh can you sign my Tove Jansson book please?'.

Walking from the Bus Station to Annie's house late at Night
It felt like coming home. Which is how it always feels these days when I arrive back in Iceland. Plus I must have woken quite a few people up in 101 as I pulled my little suitcase on wheels behind me. Clickity clickity clack clickity clack over the paving slabs. Not to mention my own hooves making an awful racket as I trotted home. Yes, I'm back.

Climbing into Bed with Annie
And getting tangled up in her ridick new mosquito net, which she has to make her feel like a princess, then whispering excitedly to each other.

Going to the Hotpot
And feeling all at home again.

Having a Romantic Dinner with Annie
And talking about just about everything that comes in to our heads.

Meeting Kathryn and Joe in Kaffibarinn
And then dragging them to Sirkus where I bump into Urður and meet some other new people and get over excited.

Driving to Vík
On friday evening and leaving the city just as it's getting dark. An almost full moon appearing out from behind clouds and lighting the way. Feeling overwhelming contentment as I see the road stretch out ahead.

Giggling in the Back of the Car
From Kathryn and Joe as I drive over the pitch dark hills behind Vík in lashing torrential rain with waves of water blowing up off the road in the manner of an ocean. Their giggling makes me feel safer. If they're not worried I'm not worried though in the inky darkness I misjudge where the edge of the tarmac is round a steep bend and for a split second one tyre is floundering in the gravel.

Arriving in Vík
Just in time for dinner with Wies and his family and predicting that when we go back to the bar after midnight 'there will be five people there and at least one of them will be crazy'. When we go back to the bar later there are five people there but I never get to find out which is the crazy one because I have my back to them. It's all in the eyes.

Kathryn and Joe's Mysterious Friend
Who Annie and I watch walk with them to the beach in the rain. They never notice their new friend but he turns up on their camera afterwards.

Being Accused of 'Iceland Fatigue' by Kathryn
When Annie and I decline to get out of the car at Skógafoss. I don't know why this is a good thing but it made me smile mostly because I was quite happy to sit in the warm dry car while Annie made a playlist of songs 'that tell a story but don't have speaking in them' just to please myself, the truculent driver. Then I got out anyway.

As I Drove in Hazardous Conditions Annie Saying
'I wish you were flying the planes, then I wouldn't be scared to fly'. 'Yes but I would be' I replied. I wouldn't mind but I'm not really that good a driver. Perhaps I'm better in hazardous conditions than when I'm sailing through red lights on sunny days in town.

Strokkur
Taking me by surprise with an unexpected eruption just when I thought I had the worst 'geyser fatigue' ever ('It's just a hot upsidedown waterfall' I told the others). I actually let out a little scream. I am embarrassed to admit.

Getting back to Reykjavík
Without having an accident and even with time for a sleep before dinner and a typical Saturday night out.

Going to Dillon
And hanging out until 3 AM with a plethora of people, including Urður, tank-top wearers, Granny Rock and a collection of the most bizarre hairstyles ever. My two ponytails feel right at home.

Going on to Kaffibarinn
And talking to a guy who's on a new Icelandic reality tv show which gets nerds to play football against professionals. At the start of the conversation he is scathing of my foreignness. By the end he says sadly 'You're more Icelandic than I am, you were going out in Reykjavík in 1995 (Yes I went to Bíóbarinn and yes, if only I'd concentrated more on my Icelandic back then and a little less on drinking vodka) and I wasn't even here, I was living in Sweden'. Then we meet a collection of memorable characters including some from previous adventures like One of The Tallest Men in Iceland who tugs my ponytail before he realises who it is (well he could only see the top of my head, from a distance) and his friend who doesn't remember me and can't understand how I know his name. He also thinks I'm 24 though I repeatedly shout 'THIRTY four'. We also meet the Boy Who Lived In the Dirtiest Apartment Ever, who we last saw three years ago. He doesn't remember us, probably because we brought a litre of vodka with us. (I however remember that night well, mostly because of the Russian novelist who touched my hair lightly and said wistfully 'ah you remind me of my ex-wife' and then darkly 'I want to KILL her'. We left soon after he shouted 'I will stab you many times!'). As usual we stay out way to early. Until 7 AM.

The Bad Things
Since the good things list turned out to be far longer than anticipated I'll just mention the last Baddest Thing. The Baddest Thing that happened was getting up at 5 AM on Monday to catch a flight to London which left fours hours late. Then the Baddest Baddest Thing happened when I rang Aer Lingus to change my flight from London to Cork (as thanks to Icelandair I was going to miss my connection) and they said that would be an extra 200 euro thanks very much. 'Don't cry don't cry don't cry' I told myself and I only cried a tiny bit. It took 16 hours to get home. But it's still better than getting a boat.

And Something Good Again
Then something good happened again just as I arrived in Cork airport. I got a text 'Hiya so you back yet?' Now, how did The Boy Who Loves Donkeys know we had just touched down?

The Adventure Continues

So I'm off to Iceland today, having taken a whole two days to get my head back together after the weekend in Dublin. Though I suspect that going out to 'The Oval' for a sedate pint on monday and ending up staying until closing time may have set me back a bit. Well, it was just all so nice and mellow and we had the best seats and the conversation was so sparkling that I couldn't tear myself away.

Right, so I should probably be packing now. No more adventure updates until next week I'm afraid. I know, I know, you must all be on the edge of your seats.

And Back Again

Wow, that weekend did turn out to be a bit of an adventure. A lot of taxi rides, a lot of Guinness, a lot of people called some variant of Kathryn, a lot of dragging my little rucksack round Dublin and then finding myself at 5 am, rucksackless, in a boy from Belmullet's place. It must have been his chat-up line 'I love donkeys'. Unlike some boys from the last year, he's not mean to me at all. What's this? And lucky him, he gets the infamous 'I'm not shagging you' line, before we go anywhere.

The next day, after some disprin and being taken out for breakfast by my new donkey-loving friend, I'm off again by 6 pm, hurtling through the streets of Dublin with the meanest taxi driver in the world, who dispatches me in the middle of a darkening Meath street, litter blowing round my ankles, dodgy characters everywhere, just because I'm not quite sure which is my turn. 'And keep the change' I inexplicably want to yell at him in disgust, but I stop myself just in time (I later find out that what he's just done is illegal). I get back to the house just in time for Joe, Kathryn and I to go out for our, I mean their, anniversary dinner. Kathryn sits opposite so she can stare romantically into all four of our eyes as I suspect she is more in love with me than Joe anyway (sorry to have to break it to you like this Joe).

Later the night goes crazy when more people turn up and I have a falling out with Kathryn which neither of us can stand so we make up as soon as possible and everything's fine again except that I slip into smoking at The Voodoo Lounge while chatting to various halloween costumes and two people called Kevin (it's been quite the weekend for same names, lucky me, I hardly ever meet anyone called Truculent Horse). Then the boy from the night before finally catches up with me. I'm really pleased to see him all of a sudden. And then I feel even more pleased. And by the time they're throwing us out I'm so pleased that I want to go home with him again. He seems pleased with this too. Even though I think I give him the infamous 'I'm still not shagging you' line.

The next day, after having a long goodbye with the boy who loves donkeys and hates 'Big Brother', I feel a little sad, but it's hard to know if it's from the exhaustion or because I wonder if I'll ever see him again. I get back to Joe and Kathryn (who makes me toast), decide to turn down an invite to Monasterevin (just like Galway and Cork, it too is the Venice of Ireland apparently) and get dropped at the train station.

When the Dublin-Cork train pulls in, only an hour late, I breathe a sigh of relief. This place must be starting to feel like home. I get the nicest taxi driver in the world to take me home and just as I'm formulating a Cork taxi driver = Nice but Dublin taxi-driver = Nasty theory in my head, he tells me he's from Dublin, Meath street funnily enough.