Lots of all of these at work today...we did finish early, though. Realised at lunchtime that we weren't going to get any more rootstock in to cut up before the weekend and said to John, "If we finish that early, can we go home?" A little light dawned in his eyes and we all worked a lot faster and went home at four. Nice, it was. And I dyed my hair blue-black. I also dyed the bathroom walls blue-black, after the style of Pollock. Tomorrow I am buying Jif and steel wool.
Date with self last night went well...got to bar, sat down, got chatting to middle-aged gent who turned out to be record exec and needs trumpet player to record a little on debut album of next nz pop princess. Said, "I don't suppose you're a trumpet player?" I lied and said I was. On that note, Ryan has offered me a big band gig. This would be more exciting if I wasn't so suck!
Claire wants to be mentioned in my blog! Perhaps every day I shall Feature a Friend.
Claire is my one and only Irish friend. She lived in the backpackers with me and sent some fabulous txts.
"just been sick & trying to put sock on. v difficult. 5 mins."
"jacob turner has longest tongue in the world! this has flustered me greatly," and so on.
Also we had a bad habit of going down to Murphy's of a Friday night (Claire sweeps into the Lodge, does a circuit of the tv lounge, and says "Ally. Want to go for a pint?") 'just for one,' and still being there hours later, totally pissed and attempting to chat up the band while dancing badly and cackling like elderly spinsters. I miss Claire. The other day I had to sit soutside Kitty's on my own and have a glass of wine! It was all wrong. Also, Claire always gave me cigarettes, back in the day when I had no savings and always ran out by Sunday and spent the next three days annoying the shit out of her by begging cigarettes during the ad breaks in Dr. Phil. I am going to GO TO IRELAND soon(ish), and once again the pubs will ring with the sound of us singing along to U2 tracks, played by an average pub band, while totally wankered, waving our arms about and trying to catch the eye of the most shaggable man in the band (who isn't actually very shaggable.) Then stumbling home via BK, complaining about things whilst finding them very, very funny. Then having a wee vom, going to bed, and waking up at some ridiculously early hour, feeling like death, to have another vom and do a postmortem on the night.
Claire! I miss you! You never screw the crew or shit on your own doorstep (it's just not nice). Sorry you weren't mentioned better, but it is late and I must go out drinking. I may mention you again tomorrow!