Isn’t it great?
It’s approx 11:52 in the pm. And I’m still sweltering. I must have drank about 3 litres of water today. Cycling 20 odd miles and playing football for 2 hours will do that to a man. Must get me some sunblock tho.
I’ve just noticed that my stat counter’s gone through the floor. Must be due to people finding a world outside their window and deciding to go play. But that’s all good. You will all come back tho right?!?
Motivation to post is low but these halcyon summer days must surely provide inspiration on greyer days around the corner? But fuck it let us not speak of such gloom. For the sun is due to shine again tomorrow. And heaven knows we all need these glorious days. Good for the soul.
So hurray for the sun. Long may you continue to shine. You make Dublin a better place to be and that can’t be bad.
A rainy night in Dublin…
I’m just in the door. It’s a dirty aul damp night out there. But that’s okay with me.
Tonight I spent the evening with my immediate family. Nothing formal. A pleasant, unremarkable time of it. The men spoke of football, watched football and drank tea. The women spoke of cervical cancer, didn’t watch football and drank red wine.
Later we discussed the merits of Appetite For Destruction by Guns n Roses. It made my sister feel old to realise it was released in 1987.
When I got around to putting on my coat to leave my mother wished I’d take a taxi, due to the weather and the lateness of the hour. I insisted I’d prefer to get two buses and walk a bit in the rain. She even wanted to give me money for it. I couldn’t accept it even if I wanted to. I told her I have a good raincoat. Thankfully I do, for as Billy Connolly once remarked, “there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing”.
So why not get a taxi? Well because sometimes I like to be out in the rain. Not for too long. And only if I know I’m on my way home and not to work or out. Plus I like the air when it rains in Dublin, and the atmosphere. It awakens the senses. Everything changes. In a good way. It clears the streets. Kinda like that “real rain” Travis Bickle spoke of.
Plus I don’t like being in taxis unless I really need to be. Least of all when I’m sober. And I don’t need to pay twenty quid to hear how the world is broken, that United got out of jail or that Fianna Fáil are cunts. I can keep my money and know that shit anyway.
So I walked up a very wet O’Connell Street with Sigur Rós in my ears, enveloping my brain, taking me home, while transporting me to another place. And that’s all good with me.
You blow out candles, you kindle fires…
Yes you may well blow the answer. And you may very well bring change. But you left me with enough grit in my eyes to fill a pothole. And you damn near flung me off the East Link Bridge.
See today I cycled to work against your wall of wind. A wall of wind I tell you! It made every pedal an epic, blustery struggle. Moreso you made me late and flustered me up.
I love you wind, but damn you can be so stubborn sometimes. And like Charlie with the mega beard, I don’t think I’ll ever know what colour you are.
Snow v slush
I love the word snow. How it sounds. All it evokes.
I love the look and feel, the crunch underfoot as you walk on freshly fallen snow.
I fucking hate slush. How it looks, how it feels, the slop underfoot. The way it gets into my shoes. Bastard slush.
Although I do think it would win in a fight with snow.
