So we're already five days into midterm. Nearly over now like. Haven't opened a single book so far, apart from attempting the maths papers in bed last Friday night. That was thrown by the wayside (i.e. under the bed) pretty quickly though. My room is an utter bombsite too. I've been out so much and stayed over at a friend's the other night so everything is kinda just fecked on the chair/desk/floor when I come in, and the prospect of having to tidy the place before I can start my homework is all too much, so I abandon the homework. I think it's a good plan of action.
The aunts are up from Kerry (pronounced 'Kyerray') anyway so we headed down to Kinsale today, five of us packed into the tiny Corsa because my mother is incapable of driving my dad's automatic. 'Twas a feckin' horrendous journey down, having to sit next to that irritating child that I am unfortunately related to. But we got there, and he fecked off with one of the aunts while the rest of us went for coffee. I had a damn good cappucino. As I sat there sipping my frothy coffee I gazed at a poster for a Cara O'Sullivan concert being put on my Kinsale Arts Week. And oh did the memories come flooding back. My summer spent between Short Quay and Guardwell running 9 days of gigs. Making arty musician types get on and off stage on time. Heading up to the Folk House and through the back to rob ice and bottle-openers from Bacchus nightclub. Stopping for a chat in the box office. Talking Boo for walks around the town. Freaking out when people didn't arrive. Going buying refuse sacks to pick up all the alcohol-related rubbish. Talking to nice people, and not-so-nice people. Falling in love on a few occasions. Talking to my knacker-culchie friends and making them fill out surveys for me. Pushing through the crowds in Jim Edwards to use the bathroom, or get a cork-screw. Ringing Ed in a panic multiple times. Going from the square, to the office, to the box office. Sitting on the landing outside the office as the Bangladeshi people changed their clothes and the children ran around the building. Keeping dogs away from the area where the dance group was performing, and trying, but to no avail, to make them go away. Getting lunch from the food stalls. Sheltering from the rain to avoid frizzy hair. Feeling oh-so-important in my KAW Crew t-shirt. The fluorescent-freaking-vest at Paul Brady in Charles Fort. Cutting every single chair apart and fighting over who'd stacked theirs in the neatest bundle. Stopping people from leaving via the shortcut. Making the man in the Internet café leave his Internet on all night so we could broadcast the DJ sets. Switching a record for DJ Juice when he had to pee. Trying to avoid a certain person. Curry chips from Dino's. O'Conaill's hot chocolate from Jo's. Flyering in the pubs with the 18-year-old South African who had just gotten here by sailing across the Atlantic on a randomer's boat. Pissing myself at the sight of what I thought was Caroline dressed up in a Maisy Mouse costume talking to kids (it turned out to be the hot French exchange boy). And of course, discussing in awe the amount of out-of-date drink in the Folkhouse. Serious good times. How I miss Kinsale Arts Week and stage-managing Sounds on the Square. The title of this post is no longer very appropriate, but I'm not going to change it, because it just underlines how the last paragraph of memories really came from the heart. CHEESE, I know.
My mother ended up getting a parking ticket for parking in a loading bay then. I was too busy studying the gig posters in the window of Londis to even notice. Whatever.
So back to what I was talking about. Mid term. No study done. Oh yeah, Chemistry study party in Hannah's gaff tomorrow. Aisling, Hannah, Liam et moi. How bad. And we will, of course, get so much Chemistry done...
It's now "Nosebag time" according to my dad. Dinner to you and me.
Later folks, and thanks for reading this. :)
The aunts are up from Kerry (pronounced 'Kyerray') anyway so we headed down to Kinsale today, five of us packed into the tiny Corsa because my mother is incapable of driving my dad's automatic. 'Twas a feckin' horrendous journey down, having to sit next to that irritating child that I am unfortunately related to. But we got there, and he fecked off with one of the aunts while the rest of us went for coffee. I had a damn good cappucino. As I sat there sipping my frothy coffee I gazed at a poster for a Cara O'Sullivan concert being put on my Kinsale Arts Week. And oh did the memories come flooding back. My summer spent between Short Quay and Guardwell running 9 days of gigs. Making arty musician types get on and off stage on time. Heading up to the Folk House and through the back to rob ice and bottle-openers from Bacchus nightclub. Stopping for a chat in the box office. Talking Boo for walks around the town. Freaking out when people didn't arrive. Going buying refuse sacks to pick up all the alcohol-related rubbish. Talking to nice people, and not-so-nice people. Falling in love on a few occasions. Talking to my knacker-culchie friends and making them fill out surveys for me. Pushing through the crowds in Jim Edwards to use the bathroom, or get a cork-screw. Ringing Ed in a panic multiple times. Going from the square, to the office, to the box office. Sitting on the landing outside the office as the Bangladeshi people changed their clothes and the children ran around the building. Keeping dogs away from the area where the dance group was performing, and trying, but to no avail, to make them go away. Getting lunch from the food stalls. Sheltering from the rain to avoid frizzy hair. Feeling oh-so-important in my KAW Crew t-shirt. The fluorescent-freaking-vest at Paul Brady in Charles Fort. Cutting every single chair apart and fighting over who'd stacked theirs in the neatest bundle. Stopping people from leaving via the shortcut. Making the man in the Internet café leave his Internet on all night so we could broadcast the DJ sets. Switching a record for DJ Juice when he had to pee. Trying to avoid a certain person. Curry chips from Dino's. O'Conaill's hot chocolate from Jo's. Flyering in the pubs with the 18-year-old South African who had just gotten here by sailing across the Atlantic on a randomer's boat. Pissing myself at the sight of what I thought was Caroline dressed up in a Maisy Mouse costume talking to kids (it turned out to be the hot French exchange boy). And of course, discussing in awe the amount of out-of-date drink in the Folkhouse. Serious good times. How I miss Kinsale Arts Week and stage-managing Sounds on the Square. The title of this post is no longer very appropriate, but I'm not going to change it, because it just underlines how the last paragraph of memories really came from the heart. CHEESE, I know.
My mother ended up getting a parking ticket for parking in a loading bay then. I was too busy studying the gig posters in the window of Londis to even notice. Whatever.
So back to what I was talking about. Mid term. No study done. Oh yeah, Chemistry study party in Hannah's gaff tomorrow. Aisling, Hannah, Liam et moi. How bad. And we will, of course, get so much Chemistry done...
It's now "Nosebag time" according to my dad. Dinner to you and me.
Later folks, and thanks for reading this. :)
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