I Need This Week To Be Over…
…and next Monday to roll up just so I know I actually get there okay.
There’s been too much head-in-hands, cringing glumness already and no doubt there’s more to follow.
Sometimes nothing goes to plan, it’s out of your hands and you’d best deal. I tried to do that on Saturday, when my daughter went off with a friend without telling anyone where she was and we spent four hours searching from her, getting more and more panicked. When dinner was ready at five I went looking for her, to no avail. Toni arrived at 6 to get ready with me and a bottle of champagne in the fridge saved for a special occasion was popped. It got flat fast when the minutes ticked by and there was still no sign of Saoir. By 9pm, droves of people were knocking on doors ’round our way, driving the streets, enquiring after a little blonde girl. Not icy water down the spine, nor creeping nausea in your gut or spiders in your brain can describe the sickening feeling of all the stories in the news haunting not knowing where she was in the darkness outside. We eventually found her; she’d lied to her friend’s parents that she’d asked my permission to play. I couldn’t even feel angry because I was just so relieved she was okay!
Everything was ready for the kids to go to Mum’s and in between all the worry I’d polished off the champers and broken into the Smirnoff. She whisked the chisellers away and left me to let my frazzled hair down. Trying to make a judgement call, I envisioned the Alexander Hotel full of calm-faced, wine-sipping literaries who would undoubtably refuse entrance three hours late to this gold and houndstooth, half-cut rapscallion with delusions of rugby-player tolerance. I wish I didn’t make judgement calls. My judgement sucks.
Instead of going to It’s A Buffalo or LaRocca we went to Whelans. The only reason being that in my befuddled state I thought Chequerboard was launching Penny Black.
No. Some feckin ska band and loads of Ben Sherman. And a total letch who stood gawping everywhere I turned.
The night descended into a pitiful mess. I got seperated from Toni and wanted a Roma but ended up going homa on my owna.
(Puns are all I have right now)
*groans*groans*groans*
All I really wanted was to be shooting spit pellets at Tim, RP and Aoife Indie, catching up with Lili and grilling Una on her choice in jeans (they were purple and looked like fun up there on that table) and oh, the buzz of anticipation as the winners were announced. I wanted to bite my nails, jump out of my chair and run screaming congratulations to Nialler9 when I didn’t win and challenge the PopCulture Vultures to a Shakin’ Stevens dance-off.
And at least then if we all ended up talking shite it’d be bloggy shite, as useful as Rosicrucianism in the real world but gospel to believers. Start off Sunday with some wi-fi worship.
Reading everyone’s posts about the night…it’s actually kinda hard and I feel so shallow getting miserable about what is basically another party, of which there’ll be a dozen more along the way. I’m so glad everyone had a good time, the smiles and dodgy props in all the pics just prove bloggers do it better!
But you know, I’m quite hard on me. I scold me when I write about my feelings but…I guess sometimes there’s room for leeway if it’ll make you feel better. The whole week was very overwhelming: Choice was amazing and so much fun, am really happy with my pictures and won a fortune on SEBP (which was drank!)…then Childline was a bit stranger, the Academy is an odd venue I’ve never felt at ease in…(reminds me of dodgy taste in music a few years ago). On Friday I was hoarse and jaded from working all day, meant to go to a friend’s leaving party and later to The Kinetiks but was gripped by a writing idea at 6pm and stayed up burning midnight oil, inspired by a feeling of validity as everything at work and home balanced, the planets of Nay aligned. Feel so lucky and privileged to be here, making a decent fist of things, all just because of a whim one morning, marching into FAS and proclaiming
“I wanna change my life!”
(”Next hatch, luv”)
resulted in actually learning wtf this black box covered in glass and buttons does. And then being nominated for it? Mega..
Ohhh. I need a moan and a bath and a Lindt chocolate egg. I have the egg, a shower will do and thanks to you, I got my moan.
Promise that’s the last one.
7 comments March 3, 2008















