My return journey to Ireland was a pale comparison to my trip to Leeds. When I took it apon myself to ramble back to blighty, I also took the initiative to steal 4 bottles of good red wine, which I drank with vigour, only taking the odd break to either piss or mumble nonsense at my poor travelling companion, whom I'd conned into travelling friendship before the demise of my second bottle. The end result was when I finally arrived in the north, I was a whirling dervish of verbal confusion and physical contradiction. My arms and legs, devoid of orchestrated movement, my mind slipping in and out of lucidity, and everything I said was complete bollocks.
Sadly, due to the fact that I had my entire life, crammed into an ungainly rucksack strapped to my back and causing me to sweat, gasp and stagger without the aid of booze, even my LS6 renowned five finger discount abilities, couldn't mask my conspicuous personage. In other words, I stood out like a twelve inch erection in a girls changing room. Not totally unwanted, but easy to spot.
So, I took my twenty hour slog, through England, Wales and finally into Ireland with no booze, just two stolen sarnies, my book (Decline and Fall, by Evelyn Waugh) a rucksack as heavy as Jupiter and myself.
Of course I'd missed the morning train, due to my inherit disorganisation, and total devotion to my duvet, so I had to wait around for two hours in town. After this it was pretty plain sailing, I spent most of it asleep, and I found it funny as, at one point I was reading about school life in northern wales as I shared a train with a group of school children going through northern Wales. I listened to the 10 year old girls explain to each other that they were Goths because they owned a pencil case and a skirt with skulls on, watching them think of strange and transparent excuses to talk to blonde haired dopey boys, as the lads behind me compare fantasy football teams.
The ferry trip was a bit of a drag, I'd planned to half inch a bottle of Jamesons form the ferry shop, unfortunately the six foot security guard had me pegged from the minute I walked in. I had to take a tactical retreat, and was forced to watch the new Mr. bean film for entertainment. I don't think I need to tell you this, but for anyone who hasn't guessed. It's shit.
(Dublin)
I arrived in Dublin having missed my train. There's only two a day to Ballina, so I was bound to have missed it. I rang the Dublin contigent of Shell to Sea, Grainne and Keever, then after a landslide of directions, which I promptly forgot, I followed my crooked nose to their house, successfully backtracking from the last time I was there. I was pretty fucking pleased with myself I can tell you. The girls were excellent hosts, supplying a lake of tea, smiles and somewhere to sleep. you couldn't ask for more.
I missed the morning train again, bunked the tram fair and got to hueston station with an hour to wait. I was dangerously close to finishing my book, and had to resort to nicking, 'I am legend' from the Station's bookstore. I pretty much devoured it on the train, a tale about the last man on earth, surrounded by a world of zombie/vampires. It all seemed rather believable, watching the suited commuters blankly shuffle about to a fro, briefly stopping to purchase, caffeine free, orange mocha choca chino frappe's or whatever designer label drink has been recommended in last Sunday's lifestyle supplement. I munched on my Cornish pasty and read.
Four hours later I was being bounced around the back of the McGrath's bus on my way to the solidarity camp. I was suffering multiple anal fractures from the pseudo-road that was more like an endurance test than a fareway. Next time I'm sitting closer to the front, I swear. I arrive to a dark, electricity and friend free house, fall over , walk into a door, light a candle, talk to myself about my situation, before heading down to the camp on the beach, where I'm greeted with a gruff insult and get down to making dinner.
Pretty uneventful.
But that was just a journey.
After that it get's very interesting.
 | Currently reading : Complicity By Iain Banks Release date: 29 October, 2002 |
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