Sometimes I genuinely believe there is a Sliding Doors parallel universe to my own life, in which Gwyneth Paltrow (for argument's sake) swans around doing all the things that I say I will. In this land, Gwyneth is taking Arabic lessons, eating more fresh vegetables and planning that motorcycling trip down the spine of South America, NOT sitting on the couch eating Cadbury's chocolate Mini Rolls and watching The Witches on TV3.
Witches: Gwennie wouldn't 'ave it.
This kind of unproductive behaviour is generally preceded by a previous nights liver excercise. Et tu, vodka and soda? And so, instead of "just staying in and catching up on some writing, I think" which is what I had said to a colleague during the obligatory 'weekend' chat (our weekends being Sunday and Monday), the alcohol Gollum in my brain lit the fuse of potential destruction for Saturday night plans. And there were options. The girlies would be drinking in Roisin's, watching the X Factor, Eabha would be local (only to ring me later - 'dude I'm at this Indian festival of light thing, it's crazy, but I'm not going into town'), Aoibhinn was up for a pint, the Killer was home from Barcelona going to Four Tet, Edel was playing a gig in the Hub, Tadhg was heading on the booze following a (what I hope was ironic) trip to 'Tubridy Tonight'. Gradually I settled for that old rationalisation, "well if I don't go out, I'll just regret not going out." Gwyneth wept.
Eventually, I smacked on the lucky leather pants and headed for the bus. It was an interesting journey, where I was engaged with a pleasantly tipsy girlie chat with a few chicks I took for in their mid-twenties.
Me: so what do you girls do?
Girls: we're in fourth year
Me: *gasp*
Girls: yeah, we're going to Wesley. What school do you go to?
I wonder if there's cosmetic surgery to make you look OLDER? Notox injections perhaps? I rang Meadzer as the Red Bull-swigging and bus-smoking 15 year-old adults tottered off the bus, and was directed to the Morgan Hotel (not Dandelion, too busy). Couple of voddy and sodas later, I was off to the Stags head to meet the Killer with the intention of going up to Dragon to meet Tadhg. The sliding door had different ideas, and I eventually ended up in Isaac Butt's at the Kid Koala Four Tet after party thing. Only an excruciating, and inexplicable headache (that still exists) sent me home.
So, today, instead of writing and going to Toys For Big Boys in the RDS with Lili (solely because, inexplicably, someone sent me - and just me - tickets for it in work. Weird), I've been vegging out, completely anti-productive, my sole achievements being reading the Times Style magazine, cooking spicy beef noodles and hanging up two jackets in a wardrobe. Actually, on second thoughts, that's not a day badly spent. As long as Gwyneth keeps things under control on the other side of the door.
listening to: Bloc Party - 'So Here We Are'
Una
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