NORTH COUNTRY FAIR

Nothing to do with Charlize Theron or Bob Dylan.

Name:
Location: Norwich, United Kingdom

Keep on Truckin'.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Ich Bin Ein Dubliner

I spent most of today trying to sort out my photo-set from Dublin on Flickr, though I'm sorry to say to you all that there is a distinct lack of snapshots of either top-bunk lewdness or Guinness-fumbling, which is largely due to there not being any, at least on my own account. Things with the (I discovered) not-so-young-man (32!) were absolutely non-awkward and I had remembered him accurately as the perfect gent. However the weekend was fairly eventful and was distinctly marked by the following, in no particular order:

Vomit (from 80% ethanol)
Stolen perfume (boo!)
A vacuum-cleaner cupboard mistaken for a water closet
Vomit at the check-in desk (from motion sickness)
Champagne at the bus-stop (oh, and maybe from that as well)
Panoramic Guinness
A giant spike
Men in kilts
Mancunians

There was an incredible buzz to the City on Saturday afternoon, when Ireland played Scotland in the Six Nations at local stadium Landsdowne Road which is, apparently, now closed after 128 years (making it the World's Oldest International Rugby Stadium™). However, weep not, fact-fans, for they're just moving the pitch around 90°, for reasons even Northamptonshire County Council would be pressed to justify. As well as making much merriment, the fans' awe-inspiring turn out provided myself with a considerable amount of oggle-action, thanks to the self-explanatory appearance of the World's Greatest Garment (™), the Kilt. Goodness knows I have tried to fight my obsession for years, but seeing literally hundreds of them per square metre was as a red rag to a bull and I ended up taking many gratuitous and voyeuristic photos of them for my own, erm, personal collection.

Freud et al, say what you will about me drooling over what looks with squinty-eyes like a man in a skirt; I'm happy just to have this image in my life (I'm thinking of the man on the left, despite the afro-wig).

When I finally returned to Norwich last night, I went out for a few drinks (again) with Mr. Jay. Despite four such dates there has still been no locked-lips and, with continual interrgation from multiple parties as to mine and his every movement, I am considering opening a seperate blog I can update on the move. Please let me know if you'd be interested in reading more of the following, which is a sample of this potential diary, sure to stop the world from spinning on its axis, at least temporarily:*

12.08: Read e-mail. No kissing.
12.09: Scratched nose. No kissing.
12.10: Weird feeling. Is it thirst? It might be thirst. No kissing.
12.11: Considering a glass of water. No kissing.
12.12: Glass of water. No kissing.

P.S. It appears that this is only my fifth post in four weeks, and It's not like I was even trying to cut down for Lent, either. B+, will try harder.

*Apologies. Enjoying a very bad mood. Need another holiday.

1 Comments:

Blogger Kirsti said...

Hey, blogging is all about quality. Not quantity. That's my excuse. This title really made me laugh

1:22 AM  

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