I rolled over this morning in a desperate search for the cool side of the pillow and found my hangover snuggling up in the bed beside me, waggling his eyebrows and poking me in that soft spot under my ribs. Fuck off, hangover. I'm feeding him apple & beetroot juice (which he loves) and other people's blogs (but only the ones that tickle him; Saturday mornings are no place for seriousness). He'll eventually start whining for breakfast and I'll have to rouse myself and scrub him from my skin with a shower set to "boil wash", because I was in RíRá's last night.
Yesterday was a game of two halves - I spent a pleasant day playing tourist in the Boyne Valley, trying to be sweet, charming and knowledgeable ("well, I do have a degree in archaeology...") but really just prattling at my indulgent audience of one. I wore myself out with all my bullshit and teeth-gnashing every time a guide said "celtic" but a quick nap on the bus home saw me right. My efforts to impress him further saw me whipping up some vegetarian pasta (because I too can be indulgent) but my mad kitchen skillz were slightly hampered by half a bottle of wine, and I set the place on fire. Luckily the Leitrim Lady was paying more attention than I and spotted the melting chopping board which I had placed firmly on the scalding hot hob. She left me this morning to go travel the world until October so if any of you would like to come babysit, I could probably do with being watched.
Having fed my charge with everything green in the fridge (including the Heineken) we tipped off down to Neary's to meet the Jock, the SWF and other assorted odd-balls and end-offs. Neary's has an upstairs, did you know that? A lounge, with tables, chairs, toilets and service. It puts one rightly in the mood for the weekend. On to RíRá then to see The Glitch Mob, but in true Rosie style I was out by a week on the dates, so we got a couch in the corner and hit the Jaegerbombs instead. The barmaid was less than impressed with my bombing technique; it seems that dropping the shot glass into the larger one before you've poured the Red Bull in just smashes the glass all over the bar. I had a second go, just to make sure. She was even less than less than impressed. There was less than impressedness all round when my playdate stood me up for more illustrious company - he eventually showed after they'd shut the doors and then sneakily disarmed me with sincere flattery after I'd snuck him in past the affable bouncer. Cheek. The end of the night saw some Brazilian dude playing the spoons on the bar to a rapt audience in the Globe, and the Jock and I trying to charm our way into the Odessa Club. No dice, and I can't say I blame them; my argument as to why the doorman should propose me as a member was not entirely convincing, and the Jock's insistent "but what time do you serve until?" betrayed our true intentions. Defeated, I headed home to the Leitrim Lady and a drunken Swede ("may I say, your eyelashes are lovely"). She woke me for a hug at 6am before she left, and I woke again at 10am with a vague recollection of it and a warm, fuzzy head.
Yesterday was a game of two halves - I spent a pleasant day playing tourist in the Boyne Valley, trying to be sweet, charming and knowledgeable ("well, I do have a degree in archaeology...") but really just prattling at my indulgent audience of one. I wore myself out with all my bullshit and teeth-gnashing every time a guide said "celtic" but a quick nap on the bus home saw me right. My efforts to impress him further saw me whipping up some vegetarian pasta (because I too can be indulgent) but my mad kitchen skillz were slightly hampered by half a bottle of wine, and I set the place on fire. Luckily the Leitrim Lady was paying more attention than I and spotted the melting chopping board which I had placed firmly on the scalding hot hob. She left me this morning to go travel the world until October so if any of you would like to come babysit, I could probably do with being watched.
Having fed my charge with everything green in the fridge (including the Heineken) we tipped off down to Neary's to meet the Jock, the SWF and other assorted odd-balls and end-offs. Neary's has an upstairs, did you know that? A lounge, with tables, chairs, toilets and service. It puts one rightly in the mood for the weekend. On to RíRá then to see The Glitch Mob, but in true Rosie style I was out by a week on the dates, so we got a couch in the corner and hit the Jaegerbombs instead. The barmaid was less than impressed with my bombing technique; it seems that dropping the shot glass into the larger one before you've poured the Red Bull in just smashes the glass all over the bar. I had a second go, just to make sure. She was even less than less than impressed. There was less than impressedness all round when my playdate stood me up for more illustrious company - he eventually showed after they'd shut the doors and then sneakily disarmed me with sincere flattery after I'd snuck him in past the affable bouncer. Cheek. The end of the night saw some Brazilian dude playing the spoons on the bar to a rapt audience in the Globe, and the Jock and I trying to charm our way into the Odessa Club. No dice, and I can't say I blame them; my argument as to why the doorman should propose me as a member was not entirely convincing, and the Jock's insistent "but what time do you serve until?" betrayed our true intentions. Defeated, I headed home to the Leitrim Lady and a drunken Swede ("may I say, your eyelashes are lovely"). She woke me for a hug at 6am before she left, and I woke again at 10am with a vague recollection of it and a warm, fuzzy head.
