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23 August 2004 @ 07:39 pm
Had one hell of a lovely walk today. There is absolutely no point in straightening my hair - even swathed in a hood like an Iraqi woman the moisture STILL got in and frizzed up my fringe. Due to the tailend of Hurricane Charley, or just your average Irish summer weather, the river Mum and I have to cross was flooded so she took me over another way, via a bridge. I was like, ‘What the hell?! There was a bridge all this TIME?!?!’ However, I have since come to the conclusion that the rope-jump-from-one-slippery-bank-to-another-over-small-waterfall is infinitely preferable. With a swaying wooden bridge it was far too much like Donkey crossing the river of boiling lava in Shrek 1. (It probably shouldn’t be called Shrek *1*, but having a Shrek 2 leads to this sort of confusion.)

Then, joy of joys, we found ourselves in a marsh!! Yay!! Knee-deep in reeds and cow-shit. And there were cows in the field too. I’ve never run so fast over a bog and my vault over the metal fence would have done me proud in the O.G. Cows, they are scary creatures, I kid you not. I reckon they can smell fear, like dogs. And we emerged into the *safety* of the boreen only to find my mother’s half-monkey cousin hunting cows there too! She stayed behind to help him but I hightailed it back to the house. The delights of Irish rural life. I tells ya.

And yesterday my Discman-radio officially died. It got wet when my mother made me go for a seven km hike in a torrential downpour. I managed to dry out the CD and the CD player but clearly the battery bank is nuked. Sigh.

Last night I stayed up till 2am reading Adrian Mole and eating Milk Tray one of my aunts had presented me with, as a results reward. I have made eighty euro in results tips also, but sadly too many of my relations like to pretend I don’t exist for the prospect of more to become anything like a dead cert. I demolished an entire tray between the hours of 1 and 2am. I seem to have become a compulsive eater without my knowledge. It felt faintly criminal to be eating without cleaning my teeth afterwards, but I like to live dangerously. Snh, snh, snh.

Adrian Mole is depressing in the extreme. I have only read the Cappachino Years up until now. That book is funnier because adults living in a chaos of their own creation tends to be amusing and not tragic. Not so with From Major to Minor. I was sitting there feeling sick for the boy for having such parents - there really should be a test for prospective parents, and yeah, ‘passing the practical does not suffice’. They really didn’t provide for him at all. Not that Adrian himself engenders much direct empathy, mind you: he’s pig-thick but thinks he’s an ‘intellectual’. Keep dreaming, son. All in all, it’s a pretty sad reflection on life in the 1980s. I’m glad I was only just born then.

In other news, I think I’m a scopophobic.

Last night I was reckless
Didn’t brush my teeth
And went to bed tasting
My dinner all night.

And it tasted good.

Pete Brown - whoever you are - I salute you.