Saturday, March 03, 2007

It's a Goat Send

I've been watching Irish TV. There was just some author on talking about his book being a 'goat send.' I think he meant god send, but he said it three or four times, and I just can't shake the goat. It has been raining all day. Welcome to Dublin, Asshole.

Speaking of which, that reminds me of a funny story. When I was 15 or so I bought a record by the band Pigface (bits of Skinny Puppy, Ministry and such) called 'Welcome to Mexico, Asshole.' I left it in a cardboard box with some other cds and books in Jersey when I left to go to college. I was recently back at my mom's house and had noticed that she had dug through the garage and not only claimed my old stereo as her own, but had also been listening to the 'Welcome to Mexico, Asshole' record. Amazing. It's not even that good.
I had a nice little Sunday here in Ireland. I requested a copy of The Guardian (paper) when I checked in and was pleasantly woken from a deep sleep this morning by someone feeding it, section by section through the slot between the door and the floor.

It was the Sunday paper, so it was a hefty amount, and took some time to make it all into my room.

I don't know how up to date you are, but during my hellish flight from Manchester to Dublin I read an article in Q about the upcoming Phil Spector trial. Holy hell this is going to be OJ on 11. If you're into that sort of macabre, fallen star-type melodrama then let's hang out because it's going to be crazy, and I'm not even talking about the man's haircut. These directions for proper lifting were on the wall at the theatre in Manchester. You really do want to be careful these days.

Whoops. See what I mean?

I had a long day of set up and programming in Dublin today. First show of the tour is tomorrow at the Olympia Theatre.

The last time I was here it was for this show.

And now...

At least I'm not the only one who is feeling completely exhausted by jet lag and cold, miserable weather.

I generally am not a fan of Dublin. Last night the flight from Manchester was packed with fans from the Liverpool-Manchester United game that afternoon. It was brilliant. Most of them could barely stand up, let alone negotiate security and customs. It was also Saturday night which means that everyone drinks until they collapse. Sunday morning the streets are literally lined with vomit. The worst offenders are generally groups of English women out on hen nights. They often dress up in bunny ears, matching hats or minstrel face paint (joke). It's nature's way of saying run, fast and far, in the opposite direction.

I'm warming up indoors at the moment. Thinking of going out for curry, but at the moment I am diving into a cup of tea. I stopped drinking caffeine (coffee really) almost a year ago, but you can't deny a good tea in a swank gold cup. If only it were resting next to a scone with cream and jam. Alas, no.

And So It Goes

Just another cog in the machine it would appear.