Rambles Whilst the Wimbledon Women’s Final Plays Out

I must be gentle and barely tinkle with the keyboard here as my head is currently making it’s way out of my eye, due to some hastily-arranged dirty pints with a work colleague last night, followed by gin and strawberry dacqueris (for her, not me, as I am too tough for girly cocktails).

I did not drink long but I did drink greedily, not having had alcohol in a whole seven or eight days, actually, now I think of it, it was five, what is wrong with me?  I find myself gulping a lot of alcohol on a regular basis, just as I am beginning to behave food and exercise wise.   Hmmmm.

Last week’s escapades led us to a local watering hole, where I was accosted by Lilsister and Scarydancer to ”get a life and go out” after telling them my plans to watch a Christian Bale film (dribble) and get my buzz on by draining my box of beers ever further.  Honestly, a box of 20 beers is so cheap right now, it’s almost wrong not to buy one isn’t it?

After a quick shower and the spraying of that shampoo in a can stuff onto my filthy hair (my GOD that stuff is amazing, it is HONESTLY like you ALMOST washed your hair!!!) I was out the door, to meet up with Lilsister’s old friend Creamer, and her new beau, HesEnglish.   We attacked the first local bar which had the ”three bottles of beer for 10 euros” promotion which seems to be springing up in all the classier watering holes in Dublin, and interrupted the deadest sixtieth birthday party I have ever had the misfortune to stumble upon.  A man, who looked ninety, stood alone and refused to dance to the twelve year old dj’s ”crap tunes” (the birthday boy’s words, not mine) whilst what I assume was his family sat on plastic chairs and drank dirty pints.  We also ended up sitting beside two Glaswegians who wanted us to dance before we were drunk (idiots) and who kept using Creamer’s phone to take photos of us, which I hate, due to my excessive ugliness and the fact that said photos appear on facebook within seconds.

Drunkeness eventually overtook us and we stole two of the ice buckets our beers had come in (Lilsister and HesEnglish) and one beer opener (me).  Scarydancer declared that his moves were ”endless” and Creamer had a smoke with the birthday boy who verbally bashed the dj again.  Eventually ”Moon River” was found on somebody’s phone and played, but the boring Frank Sinatra version, so I didn’t dance.  Birthday boy was pleased and we ended up in an Indian takeaway, being attacked by a girl in a blue dress who started a fight with HesEnglish because he was English, and then Scarydancer,  because he was carrying two ice buckets.  Creamer muttered to Lilsister that she was about ”ready to lambate that bitch” and wanted to know if Lilsister had her back.  Lilsister nodded curtly, and I told everybody to calm down, as I was too tired to kick the shit out of some faux posh cow in a silly dress in a rundown part of Dublin.   Then the bloke behind the counter started talking about what the English had done to India, and I put in an extra order of naan bread.

Last Saturday passed in a haze of headaches and shivering, and then we perked up again Sunday to watch our beloved Dublin beat Wexford in the Gaelic Football at the ever amazing Croke Park.  We played badly at the start, which I noticed coincided with my putting my hood up on my Dublin raincoat, so I removed the hood and put on my lucky hat, and wha hey, we started scoring points.  It would have been so much easier if it just hadn’t rained, but hey, it’s Ireland, it’s summer, so we’re all wearing rain gear.  Sigh.

Back to Baggot street for post match analysis, alcohol and singing, and for a change I gin and tonicked it for the night, getting a delightful buzz but without the headaches that wine and beer seem to give me.  I pretended I did NOT know the barman from last time, and when he asked me if I had made it home safely after our last session I stuck my chin in the air and said in my poshest dealing-with-the-servants voice that ”I believe I did,” before stomping off.  My family is now (loudly) convinved I am in love with this barman because he keeps smiling at me and I don’t hit him, but in actual fact he is laughing at me and I am too embarrassed to do anything about it.

I’ve also just realised that there is now a picture on facebook of me looking like I am falling into my gin, which of course, I was.  Oh dear.  This will not assist my husband hunting mission one bit.  I must go, and sigh.

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