the big fat wank

Since no-one else ever posts anything...

2006-11-06T14:03:00.000+02:00

...I'm just going to go right ahead, as usual. Especially because I have some urgent phonology homework to do. My work is spiralling out of control so rapidly that sometimes it's all I can do to suppress my screams of terror. So in the meantime, here follows an excruciatingly-detailed rundown of my weekend.

What can I tell you? Spent Friday standing on a street corner trying to get passing Brits to sign petitions to lobby parliament for improved anti-retroviral access. Newsflash: the poms don't give a flying fuckeroony about Aids. And generally, the only people willing to stop and listen to your shpiel are homeless loons. Oh well. A signature's a signature. And it felt great to be back in the activism saddle.

Friday night was our college guest dinner, to which you invite friends, and then dine in Harry Potter-esque splendour. Bec came, and Seth bussed in from London. My lowest point of the evening: Bec and I get inroduced to this American astrophysicist. Clearly, I have nothing to say to her. The conversation goes as follows:
Her: Oh my god, it's just so great that you guys are both called Rebecca! It makes it so easy!
Us: Yes.
*deafening silence while we all stare at each other*
Me: [in total desperation] So, do you find that you meet a lot of other people called Lydia?
Her: [icily] My name is *Lindsay*.
Me: [total panic] Oh ja ja, I know that! I'm just asking, you know, out of interest! Lydia isn't a very common name! I study names!

It went downhill from there.

Saturday night was the occasion of the 'Hallowqueen' bop, which sounds promisingly gay, but is actually just an excuse for straight guys to wear a dress, because you know they just can't get enough of that shit. Simone came down for the evening, and we had decided in advance that we would go as mummies. (After I rejected Sim's first idea, which was to tie dolls to our asses and go as 'babysitters'. Oy vey.) When it came to the crunch, though, and Bec saw how totally ridiculous and skanky Sim and I looked wrapped in bandages and nothing else in hypothermic conditions, she 'drew the pretty line' and went as a man instead. Just for the record, though, the mummy costumes were bitchin'. In a last minute genius amendment, we wrote 'thank you', 'a million thanks', and 'i owe my life to you' all over them and went as -ta-dah! - the Grateful Dead. Genius, I tell you. Genius.

Sunday (aren't you glad we're almost through?) was pretty uneventful. I saw Borat: The Movie, which was so pantie-irrigatingly funny that I struggle to describe it. (Just WAIT till you see the scene featuring 'The Running of the Jew'. And is there anything on earth funnier than some good clean gypsy jokes?) After which, we attended the South African dicussion group, which happens every Sunday evening, where a motley assortment of South African students at Oxford meet up in a pub and someone leads a discussion on a relevant South African issue. It's a sweet idea. This week's topic was 'same-sex marriage'. Interesting. Some super-religious folks who you could see were struggling to stay vaguely liberal-sounding, and some total jocks (Sample quote: 'Hey okes, did you know that some female dolphins use each other's flippers as dildos?'). It felt just like home.

I do hope you guys have an excellent week. I'm going to at least *attempt* to start this homework. Keep your chins up in the madness of exams, farewells, etc.

Love you lots, and so excited to note that 'll be home in almost exactly a month!

Bec does London

2006-10-21T13:36:00.000+02:00

Yo chaps. I'm in London for the weekend. Good to have a change of scene. This is me in Camden. Hilarious ne? (I promise I'm going to stop posting wanky pics of myself quite soon.)

Love, love, love,
me

One of Oxford's stranger traditions...

2006-10-17T22:45:00.000+02:00

...is to get your photo taken after matriculation (the ceremony where you get officially admitted as a member of the university) with a giant chicken, banana, potato and gorilla, on the steps of the Sheldonian Theatre. So here I am, with my postgrad mates. Don't we look like a bunch of twats? Thank God the gorilla is obscuring me. Have a good week, guys.

What's Crappening?

2006-10-17T22:24:00.000+02:00

Hey gals!

So what's happening, seems we're all a little wanked out for now! Life in CT has been hectic, burning the candle at both ends a bit through the weekend but there should be a little break over the next few days. Things are pretty much on track but there are certainly some adjustments to make before we go back to client Thursday after next.

To wank where the wankin' is free: My role in this project has been that of a strategist. I've been championing this role with a buddy, Stephan, and we've been working closely with the rest of our team. The project is going well, but the one area that they keep wanking is for is our solid, incredible, watertight strategy. Back of the net!!!

Can't wait to hear from you all soon. hint, hint - can you actually just...

K-dog, your nizzle, fir shizzle

My big gay night out

2006-10-10T16:28:00.000+02:00

I write in the throes of one of the worst hangovers of my life. Despite the fact that I am on a postgraduate scholarship to freakin' *Oxford*, I apparently continue to behave as if I'm a 2nd-year at Rhodes. What self-respecting Oxford postgrad, let me ask you, goes out till 3.30 on a Monday night, gets so fucked she can't walk or talk, and then proceeds to sleep straight through all classes the next day? Yup, folks, that's me. Impressive, ne? Especially on the *second day* of seminars. I have yet to discover what kind of disciplinary action may be taken against me for missing class, but I strongly suspect that such behaviour is, well, frowned upon. Or maybe, alternatively, there is no disciplinary procedure for such a situation because I'm the first person in the history of Oxford postgrads to miss a class. I wouldn't be surprised Man, I'm a fuckup.

Oh well! It was a kak fun night.

So, the LGTBQ drinks. For a start, I'd put in a good three hours of solid drinking in advance, and so had my wingman Konstantin. (K is as straight as it is possible to be, but decided to come along anyway.) So we walk into this room, and there are so many people in it that you can't breathe, and the queues to the bar are worse than some of the busiest Cape Town nightclubs. And they're all men. Okay, let's be fair: 95% men. All very young, very camp, and many of them are absolutely fucking gorgeous. Kirbs, you woulda creamed your broekies. The women (all ten of them)..well, some of them are obviously gay, the rest uncertain. Maybe bi-curious, maybe faghags.

So we start drinking, and man, do we drink. Konstantin, my pimp, recruits this weird Morticia Addams-lookalike to join the group. She's 'on the lesbian end of bisexual'. K keeps hissing 'what do you think?' at me. What I think is that I wish she'd take her freaky goth ass elsewhere. (Actually, that's really unfair. She was perfectly normal looking. I just had more interest in drinking.) Andrew, my other pimp, takes me on a tour of the floor, to scope out the talent. There is none. I meet another young fag, one of Andrew's friends. He says: 'You're really going to struggle at Oxford.' I say 'Why?' He says [and I don't mean to rate, but this is actually what he says] 'Because you're really fit and all the lesbians at Oxford are morbidly obese.' One walks by at that moment. I see what he means.

Then we meet yet another fag. He meets me and squeals 'Oh my god, you’d be *perfect* for my friend Trish!' Excited discussion ensues, with all and sundry concurring. Trish, it emerges, is some bisexual chick who 'much prefers a fannying to a cocking'. I have Trish pointed out to me from a distance. Guys, she was definitely the prettiest woman there. She was very pretty, in fact. Half Chinese, long hair, wearing a nice frock. But she was just…so girly. She was like a poppie. And I know that some of us are quite into the poppies (take a bow, P), but I’m just not. She did nothing for me. Maybe if I’d spoken to her she would have wooed me with her wit and charm, but I just couldn't be bothered. So I called the whole deal off, much to the disappointment of the fags.

And so the evening continued. K pointed out every woman who passed, and said '*I'd* do her' about every single one, until it dawned on me that K is obviously a huge manwhore with absolutely no standards whatsoever. [That's harsh. He's not really. He was just trying to be encouraging.] Eventually, when we were fucked off our tits, the entire gaysoc transferred to this club called PoNaNa, where we proceeded to dance the night away until closing. I didn't speak to a single person other than Konstantin and Andrew, but boy did I have a good time.

And that, folks, was my night.

So, what have I learned about Oxford's gay scene? That it is extremely young and almost entirely populated by men. And as fun as it was, I don't think I’ll be going to another of these shindigs. I'm clearly going to have to start making weekend trips to London to pull.

Oy ghods...

2006-10-10T04:22:00.000+02:00

I am much too drunk to blog. Tomirroq.

Much scarier than syntax seminars...

2006-10-09T17:43:00.000+02:00

....is the fact that I have just allowed my very camp new friend Andrew to guilt-trip me into accompanying him to the LGBTQ Soc drinks tonight. Oy vey oy vey oy vey! I promise to report back in full.....watch this space! And pray for me!

2006-10-09T16:45:00.000+02:00

You guys are like totally the coollest cleverest people in the like world. Please help me, and think of a super cool and anti-lame new slogan for SHARC. Thank you friends.

Who brought the cat?

2006-10-09T01:23:00.000+02:00

So I made it through a whole week in Oxford, and I didn't cry once! Isn't that something?

But talk to me tomorrow after my first syntax seminar and things may well be different.

Am going to bed now - sober, for the first time since I arrived.

Have an excellent week, chaps.

So Skrunkenated!!!!

2006-10-08T11:23:00.000+02:00

If I get this right to post this message, ya’ll neeed to have a little silent applause, because SHIT it is taking allllllllll my energies!!!! Mikes and I have discovered the venue for the romantic summer I imagine… the one where we all recreate Gayzania like it’s never been known before. Said venue is called the “Waiting Room” and is owned by and exists above Café Royale on Long Street. It is so fucking cool I could eat my shorts. The likes of Goldfrapp meet the pixies only to party with The Violent Femmes when its gone daddy gone, love is gone… It’s just the best. So prepare yourself so squeak some serious takkie! Your correspondent in the city by the mountain, Kirblestien von Winkydink, singing out….. (out for the count that is!)

P.s. okat so as this stands circa 1:36am on Sunday morning October 8th, my internet is down. Chances are I’ll post this tomorrow morning. But I vow to change nothing. Let it be a true testament to my drunken state… (1 snack later..)

Oh annie! you came and you gave without taking

2006-10-06T15:12:00.000+02:00

ok I know I am posting twice in one day but this news is worth it...as many of you may recall or simply have heard the urban legend, or seen in detail (sorry kirbs it was for a laugh and ghods was your face funny!) my poor Annies radio died a tragic death somewhere in the middle of a lot of things…the night, the monument, concsiouness and LAST YEAR. Now, a lot of people would point fingers and blame certain other people for abuse and misuse of my vehicle, or of my fragile person but lucky I’m a forgiving sort and not one of those pointing-finger-blame types. So, it is only fitting that on today of all days (the day to be proud of our friend bec) I have finally received my radio code and my darling, my love, my symphony on wheels, my maroon opera, my sweet enigmatic lady of the night...annie has kicked back into life. The moral of the story is if you see me drive past wave cause I certainly wont be hearing you screaming.

Its Friday and officially Bec Day

2006-10-06T13:03:00.000+02:00

OK since bec phoned me last night and expounded on all her Oxford bravery I have decided to officially celebrate today after her and her newly acquired semi grown up ways...well done beecky. Now you just have to turn up to one of those there parties...In honour of your pluck * love that word* I am going to purchase a bottle of our mutual friend tass and nurse that babe till she is emptied, right and proper and then proceed to create absolute havoc for the rest of the night...

Being Corrine Cooper's bitch is a sad life...

2006-10-04T12:46:00.000+02:00

SO>>>I'm DJing at the Nelson Mandela Hall Ball, I am wearing a new white suit and I'm mixing my music at dangerous levels... I feel like a rebel, I feel hot and I feel dangerous. This might seem like I'm about to wank about what a hot DJ I am, which I really don't mind doing but what I really am about to do is explain why I am now Corrine Cooper's BIATCH! She now is able to use and abuse me as she pleases (no not in that way, Bianca) I have to work for her for free... What a fuck up!
So back to the hotness at the ball; I am playing some Hip Hop (Becs do your dance) and suddenly the speakers cut and basically blow. These speakers, as Corrine says, are her prized and most expensive speakers which she only trusted them with me, because I have never blown a speaker or wrecked her equipment... WELL THAT WAS A MISTAKE! Never in her history, she says, has someone blown all four speakers at once... I fried them completely... oops.
The damage amounts to over four grand but she says I have to pay her only half of that which I cannot afford all at once. So I have to work for her for free and all fees I get for DJing have to go to her until I pay off the debt. I'm thinking of seducing her and playing her off with sexual favours instead of paying it in cash, what do think?

if you think your pic is bad...

2006-09-28T14:31:00.000+02:00

click on your face

The Photos

2006-09-28T12:57:00.000+02:00

Did I hear a call for photos? Here are some of, what I deem, to be the memorable moments of the captivate weeekend.

1. Meeting Jacq, formerly known as Jacques Terre'blanche, 3rd runner up in the 2003 Idols competition, renound for whipping his top off on stage. The evening started off with a dare for our new friend Liz to get him to sing "Paradise Road" which he did with our favourite Munt, Chipolaba. Great duet. All that was missing was a sign languager interpretor. And so the evening progressed. After coming up and whispering in my ear that he was drawn to my energy (you'd think that having a mother like I do I might fall for this one), what I mistook for a drunken disrespect of personal space was verified as a definite lunge by disgusted onlookers. Finally Bianca was dared to suck his ear lobe, you can see her strategising her attack in the above picture, which she managed to do for a whopping 10 seconds before he actually realised what was going on! She then gave him a much needed wank - I didn't click who he was even when he told me that he was a 'musician' - telling him just how great she thought he was, how he should have won idols, and how she was considering giving up on her quest for a politics doctorate in order to be his full time groupie.

2. A definite harken back to the good old days: Kirby Cent lovin the ladies!
Between bumping and grinding on the dancefloor and relationship proposals from Jabu, you'd think the boy was up for it all over again.
But look closely for the clues which are a dead giveaway. Yes that most certainly is a 'rust' scarf. And, in picture b, his stiff, flat palmed hand shying away from any grasping of flesh most certainly does not match the lecherous 'i wanna eat you out' look in his eyes.

3. Last but not least, always a truly photoworthy moment, the walking man dance. A pair of moon boots and a mop of unwashed hair was sorely missed.

Queer Outreach

2006-09-28T12:35:00.000+02:00

Since our beloved beecky has gone off to Oxford, we thought it only fair that we at least try and help her out the best way we know how, from here. She has lived the life of a sexually repressed hermit for far too lon...it is now time to get some action and fast. Especially since you have about two weeks before your new boudoir begins to look like a bec style "home"... then aint nobody comin round. You aren’t a lecturer yet so you don’t have the opportunity to prey on students. I suppose you won’t be tutoring there either so that puts pay to that line of attack. You no longer have the power of a KirbaMeal to win your way into their hearts through their stomachs, so after much deliberation and arguing we have come up with the 5 hotties you should pursue. Criteria range from financial stability to the health of their livers (we figured these were far more relevant categories, since you have been arm wrestling in caves with hairy sheep scented shepherds for 7 month...I cant imagine looks count for much right now). These are the categories that we deem essential, the most important category being the "love for kylie". If they don’t have an affinity for a certain very special celebrity look alike, the one and only Kylie Minogue (aacording to your american tourist friend and who are we to disagree?), well then, they aren’t good enough. Feel free to print out our very succinct notes. Good luck and keep us updated

What's with my picture, no seriously?

2006-09-28T12:28:00.000+02:00

I understand that we are all striving for anonymity (none more so than me, now that I am a bookwormish Oxford postgraduate and have shed my former self altogether) - but really, could ya not have chosen a slightly more flattering photo of me? As soon as I figure out how to do something about that, I will. Oh, and another thing - 'The Stoop'? What's that about? Is that some kind of ingroup offensive nickname I know nothing about?

So enjoying your spoodges. Amazed to hear about Tianka's yoga prowess - although, Faisch, I am coming along fast, as I can now touch my toes for the first time in my life, thanks to my Highlands bootcamp. Kirby-cent - what did you mean when you wrote that we will all be in CT for MCQP? What about Faisch and Tinksie' s overseas travel plans?

As for MCQP costumes - I had coffee in London the other day with my dear friend Gail, who suggested, in a moment of unparalleled brilliance, the 'PowerMuff Girls'. I love it.

So I now live, permanently, in Oxford: this is my first morning of waking up in this city. Fortunately reality has yet to hit, because I have been struck down by a devastating bout of bronchial pneumonia, so all I think about is how sick I feel, and it creates a nice fuzzy edge to my experiences. [In layman's terms, my 'bronchial pneumonia' is your 'common cold', but I'm a total wuss and deserve more sympathy than everyone else.]

Am learning more about my college of choice, Wadham. It's the largest in Oxford (which explains why I get lost every time I leave my room; am yet to develop a coherent mental map of its labyrinthine sprawl); it's the only one in which women outnumber men; and it's also the only one in which state-school students outnumber private-school students (thank fuck).

I still have yet to actually meet anyone (apart from Borat) - there was some social event last night but I had to give it a skip because (a) my ill-health made it inadvisable; and (b) I knew it would take me three bloody hours to find the venue.

Tomorrow night I shall have to bite the bullet and face some post-grad drinks in the bar, though; but at least I can escape early because am rushing off for Ye Grande Reunion with Bec and my friend Sim. So that's a relief (although in a certain way I'm not sure which option is more nervewracking).

Anyway, I'm quite sure that I should be doing all sorts of important things, like registering at the library, etc, so I must buzz off now. I hope you have beautiful days. xxxbec

MCQP Costume Crisis

2006-09-27T23:36:00.000+02:00

Right: MCQP

So glad that we'll all be there rah rah... Onto more serious business. Costumes.
Our costumes have to be bangin'. Now, it's a fine line we need to tread. We have to go all out and we need to attract the right, er, crowd. Thus our costumes have to fill the following essential criteria:

They need to be obvious (none of that guess who I am, it's so fucking abstract and up my own arse... Thing is if we can't come right with the clever kids, we need our costumes to be accessible by the hot but stupid. To that effect I propose that a willing jock be selected at Rhodes by whom to pass costume ideas, if he gets it, it's a keeper. If he doesn't, we move on...)

Having said this they need to be clever. The theme is 'Comic Strip'. We can't just go as comic characters... need to think a little outside the box here people... I predict there'll be loads of "seX Men"...

We need to form a group. It's important that we maintain the solidarity of the core...

Lastly and most importantly, we need to look f%^king hot! It's going to be hard to overcome the inherent goof embodied by the theme, but I feel we can all pull through together on this one.

So host brainstorming sessions thinly guised as dinner parties, monitor your dreams, Google, do whatever you have to... Just get us some costume ideas! I've even considered investing in a sewing machine for this very purpose (serious). Think I’d be able to learn to sew before December?

Hurrah!

2006-09-27T23:11:00.000+02:00

Hurrah for a forum in which to wank freely, although I fear this blog may have just rendered my personal one redundant… Oh well, wanking in groups is supposed to be more fun than wanking alone (so they say).

Tianca, this blog is beautiful. We are all so talented and intelligent. Not to mention devilishly good-looking. Although, on that note, I’m not altogether sure how happy I am about my “the Core” pic. In fairness I was moments away from a hearty vomit when that picture was taken. We can hardly call it ‘my best moment’. I’ll forward you something a little better when I find one I like.

On a serious note, girls, thank you so much for a truly wonderful weekend and for all the support through this tricky time. I have drawn so much strength from your kindness. I really appreciate you all.

Things this side are still a little raw. She was such an amazing woman, who touched so many people. There’s a memorial here in Cape Town tomorrow at noon in the gardens of the Mount Nelson.

Being in Grahamstown was so wonderful. It was so great to hang with my girls again. Bec, you were sorely missed. P, Binx, Faichie, thanks for all the chats and of course the bangin’ couture!

I long for December: That smooth comfortable feeling of the days sunshine still washing over our skin as the familiar ‘warm fingers’ of a glass of icy white wine start to gently stroke the top of my brain. Roxette is blasting in the background and I’m feeling hotter than magma, because I am, and we keep telling one another how exceptionally hot we are. Naturally we’re sharing tales of the fallen (those who are in love with us, but just won’t ever get any…) and the shrieking tones of Penny impersonation are abounding. Ah! A land of lighters on chains, stimulating conversation and, of course, plenty of ‘walking-man’ dancing… This before a few rounds of ‘Avenue Q’ and, lest we forget, Chris de Burg. Table Mountain will never have known a party quite like this one!

Can anyone confirm rumours that Nancy is now engaged to a wealthy Texan Oil Baron she found in Peru? Sounds like a bit of a tall tale, but hell, there’s nothing I’ll ever put past that babe. Please can someone (Bec, I feel this’ll be you) send me her email?

Also does anyone have some cool photos from the weekend?

The Buddha of Backwater

2006-09-26T21:31:00.000+02:00

THE BUDDHA OF BACKWATER

Bored of being beaten at arm-wrestling and scolded for picking up stray cats, I suggested we try some new age lezza activity - yoga - thinking that if anything it would be entertaining to watch Bianca doing the cobra stretch while simultaneoulsy chanting "OHM" in a sea of middle aged women in leggings and tent tops. Things were going according to plan-Bianca almost opting out after not being able to locate a pair of tracksuit pants and then finally admitting that she actually didn't own a pair (are you hearing this Bec? You obviously never taught her anything!). I felt assured of a few hearty guffaws. However after trying to coax my unyielding muscles (the 60 yr old crone in the corner could,standing up, lay her hands flat on the floor while mine flailed about uselessly at knee level- the floor like an aspiration to a child living in Poffadder) into compromising positions all named after animals, I was starting to feel rather inept, if not completely spastic. This was in no way assisted by Bianca's displays of flexibility which could easily extinguish rubber man's self esteem, nor the beseeching 'Salad Fingers' type looks I was receiving from the gawky, giant foreignor across the room. Bianca then, now revealing the true reason for her being here, effortlessly got herself into the 'lotus position' (as pictured above) without EVEN BEING ASKED TO!! On seeing this, the teacher almost catapulted herself across the room on a tsunami of spooge! "You must have been born in the lotus position" she said, blood rushing to her head, "I can't even do that and I have been doing yoga for umm (pupils dilating, mouth dry, battling to concentrate) 50 yrs". Guess what I got? "For those (ie me, the youngest person in the room!) who can't get their hands to the floor when bending over, you can rest your hands on your knees" Thanks, just spare me the shame and pack me off to special class. So if you're wondering "Could it be true? Is our skull loving, big biceped gal perhaps a truly spiritual being?" - well Trish never mentioned anything, but who knows? I'll start getting worried when she no longer finds enlightenment in the bottom of a hunter's dry bottle.

Yeah for us!

2006-09-26T16:42:00.000+02:00

My first official post will be up tomorrow just checking why we cant comment?

Hi from bec

2006-09-25T13:02:00.000+02:00

What an excellent idea! I am filled with pride to have such techno-savvy friends; friends, moreover, who use colour and pattern with such gay abandon.

I write from a wet but warmish Putney. Am hanging like a bitch (what's new) after a fairly epic binge-drinking sesh last night, which was necessary to deal with the stress of my first day at
big school. Yes, yesterday I made my first trip to my new home. It was a sunny day; Oxford was jampacked with tourists and a bit overwhelming. Found my way (thanks to the excellent map-reading skills of my partner-in-crime Tarry, who derived endless amusement from pretending to be my mother the entire day) to my college, Wadham, which is beautiful, ancient and enormous - practically the size of Rhodes on its own, and I'm not kidding. Picked up my key and ventured to my room, which is nice. Bright, spacious, a walk-in cupboard (highly unnecessary given that my three outfits will be perpetually strewn on the floor), nice big window, etc. So I was quite happy with that.

It was just a bit arb, though; no welcome from any kind of house comm or anything (not that I was expecting a red carpet, but just someone to say hi to) - the porter gave me my key and that was it. No-one was around, because most people are still away. I met one other person from my res, a Russian PhD Chemistry student called Yevgeny, or Borat, or summin' like that. He was friendly enough, and asked me to go for a drink sometime, but Tarry said he was wearing a wedding ring, so sadly no chance to pull. Gutted.

And then I went and had a very boozy lunch, came home to London and got shitfaced at the Slug & Lettuce in Putney. And that was my first day at Oxford.

It's so scary, guys. I can't even put it into words. Everything about the place is intimidating.

But enough about that. Had a brilliant time in Ireland last week - what an amazing place. I now clearly see where I get my wit, charm, warmth and beauty from, because the people were really special, and not in a spastic way. Stayed at my brother's hotel in a small West Coast town, and really got an incredible welcome. At the end of our first evening Tarry and I staggered out of the pub leaving four undrunk drinks each on the table, because we could not handle any more alcohol, and people just sent drink after drink over to us. The stuff of fantasies.

The only downpoint was an evening with my aunt, who I hadn't seen for fifteen years, and am quite happy not to see for another 15, because she was a big fat bitch and did nothing but slag off my family and say how happy she was that Pete was unemployed because finally we weren't the perfect family any more. Have you ever? I freakin' HATED her.

My other aunt, the raving dyke, and her partner (ex-army, 1000000-footer, stereotype to the maxo) were lovely to me though, although it dawned on me with increasing embarrassment throughout the evening that they assumed that Tarry was my girlfriend. They kept asking things like "Where did you meet?" and I kept hissing at Tarry to hurry the fuck up and mention her boyfriend, but she didn't. Oh well.

The other lowlight was at Dublin Airport, where I was cornered by a woman from the Tourist Board whose job it is to survey what tourists do while in Ireland. Oh, the embarrassment. This is how it went:
Her: While here, have you participated in any sporting activities?
Me: No.
Her: Not even walking?
Me: No.
Her: have you watched any of the Ryder Cup?
Me: No.
Her: Have you been to any museums?
Me: No.
Her: Any art galleries?
Me: No.
Her: Any sites of historical or cultural interest?
Me: No.
and so on, until, having exhausted every one of the options on her list, she said in total frustration: 'Well, what the hell have you been doing here then?' and I was forced to confess the truth: 'Drinking in pubs.' So she put that down as 'Irish music' and walked off shaking her head.
It did, momentarily, make me feel like I wasn't much of a human being, but fuck it. After 7 months in Kylesku, everyone deserves a bender.

Okay, I'm off to buy a laptop. Probably not the best idea in my current state of ill-health, but must be done.

Tell me your news! I love and miss you all very, very much.
xxxbec

blah

2006-09-24T16:27:00.000+02:00

blah