What a weird day. That was overheard in a bar as I had wine with Joe after dinner.
Some 24 year old rich kid art school drop out was chatting with his coked out friends just behind us and since the conversation was at an obvious lull he turned it to his hook up that included being tied up before I started giggling and grabbed Joe’s knee and stopped listening. Who uses that material for conversation filler?! Other than boys in the gym? And when the hell did it become pick-up line material? Because he was chatting up a group of women when he said it. Really, who wouldn’t pass up that prize?
I woke this morning to a phone call from a friend and then did absolutely nothing, because I’ve earned the right to do nothing after months of guests and tour guide services and early starts. After yet another breakfast of coffee and cookies, I launched myself quite slowly off the sofa, and I tried, rather unsuccessfully, to catch the train to Malahide to meet Tracey for rugby. I like rugby and this is the World Cup, Irleand v Argentia for a qualifying position in the semi-finals. Very important match for us since we’ve been sucking hard and it was do or die time. I missed the train by 90 seconds. The next one wasn’t for another hour, which put me in the pub at half time. Not willing to miss that much of the match, I veered into the Palace to watch the opening while friends decided where to meet for brunch and hair of the dog. It was Feargal’s birthday last night and while I prudently left at 230am, the boys stayed up drinking and chatting until 7-something this morning.
So I went to the Palace because I knew they’d be showing the match and I knew I’d be ok to sit there for a few minutes by myself without feeling like bait. I needn’t have worried; the rugby was on and the bar was filled with grandfathers. One even bought me a sparkling water after I corrected him. Turns out Sparkling Water in an American accent sounds deceptively like Scotch and Water to old Irish menfolk.
Ireland lost. I just can’t even bring myself to discuss it. I’ve never been in a quieter pub in my life. I will, however, attack any of them I run across it the next weeks, however. My press clipping will be interesting at my funeral: Crazy American Attacks Irish Rugby Team, Offered Place on Squad.
Joe joined me for the last few moments of the match and then we went for dinner to discuss our holidays. I went to Florence with my mother and he went to Tenerife with friends. We both had quiet holidays, mostly devoid of alcohol but mine was certainly more story-filled than his. That happens when you travel with friends to what amounts to a retirement village. After dinner we went to a favorite pub for a glass of wine and got quite a show. We’ve been going to this pub for a few months now and no none of us can quite peg it. Normally, we meet in the afternoon for pies and a few beers before heading home to an early bed. The crowd on those occasions is pretty chilled and we can chat like the normal half adults we are. But as soon as the sun goes down, it’s a crap shoot for crowd types. Tonight it was coked-up-rich-kids-just-back-at-college night. It was interesting. I felt old. And terribly unhip. And amazingly sober. I could have crawled out on all fours and still have passed with a lower BAC than those kids. Ah, who said higher education was wasted on the wealthy?
So here I am, wrapped in a blanket, watching House and marveling at the accent on Hugh Laurie, who I only just realized was an Englishman, and typing up my day of nonsense for your amusement. In the coming days, I’ll post tales of shepherding my relatives around Dublin’s cultural sites against their will and kidnapping my mother to Italy, kicking and screaming all the way. You’ll love the pictures.