Last year the glory, fun, and stupidity of St Patrick’s Day rather passed us by. We were all sat boozing in The Font on Upper Chorlton Road and wondering why so many idiots were wearing great tall green hats and it was only the next day that we realised we’d missed the most important event of the drinking man’s calendar. Not that we really cared, we had a great time anyway.
This year we’ll be a whole lot more sorted. We’re going to catch the action across as many nights as we can. Having got my act together and had a look I can now see that Manchester goes for it big time with a proper Irish Festival that has already started back on the 7th and goes right through to the 17th – that’s a lot of Guinness in demand!
I’m going to buy a one week tram pass so that I can come and go as I please. I just need to be more careful over falling asleep that I have been in the past, it used to finish at St Werberg’s Road, but now it carries on all the way to East Didsbury. Being woken up there by the guard would be rubbish, you’d have to wait for a bus I guess.
While I think about it – I have an interview with the Coop for the driving job. I don’t know why I have to be interviewed to see if I can drive or not, but anyway, that’s tomorrow morning so I’ve read through my CV to make sure I know what I have written down, and I’ve rehearsed the way I’ll tell the story of driving for Jon and how I’ll make that sound a bit more legitimate.
I’m actually hoping I get it now.
I’ve got a great pick up later this morning. I need to make a collection of some pieces from a cool looking Moroccan furniture range at a place called Bay Tree Interiors in Harrogate. I’ve had a look at the website and there is lots of stuff there that I know mum and dad would like, and in fact I’m rather partial to myself.
I sent dad a link to a picture of a Marrakech mirror that I know would make a good present for mum. If he pulls his finger out I could get it today, bring it home, and he could stash it at work for a few weeks. I was hoping he’d be impressed with my fore thought too.
Right now I’m sitting in a lovely deli cafe type place called Weetons as I arrived stupidly early. I’ve walked along The Stray, the nice green bit down the middle, where at the moment all the crocus are out and a few thousand mini daffodils. When it opens I’ll be in the bike shop just down the road too. It’s a Specialized Concept store, which I’m sure will temp the new credit card from my pocket.
The furniture there is all pretty funky covering shabby chic, limed oak (that looks nice and is heavy too) some French country styles and all sorts, but it’s definitely the Moroccan style that caught my eye.
On Saturday I was down in Truro, the only sort of city in Cornwall, and it had gone quite mad there.
It turns out that today, 5th of March, is St Piran’s Day, their saint’s day, and they go to town celebrating it on the Saturday before.
In honour of their saint I stopped off for a pasty, and would have liked to have had a few pints of local ale too, but as ever I was on a job and although it was a drop off and I was going to hitch hike back up north, I didn’t want to be getting into someone’s car and scaring them with stinking beer breath.
I had to deliver the smartest car I have ever driven to date, it’s a Porsche 911 with a GT2 in jet black. It was amazing, but scary too as I have never felt the weight of responsibility so heavy on my shoulders, while most of me wanted to stamp my foot to the floor, I actually remained very steady and didn’t break any speed limits (though I did get up to the limit rather quickly at times).
I had to deliver it to a place called Richard’s Specialist Cars. The guy, Richard, seemed like a decent fellow, but he did have some bloody awful little dogs in his office, he dropped me down into town and offered to take me to the station, but I couldn’t admit that I was going to thumb it home.
Right now I’m sitting in Gordano Services having got here on one ride after another drop off in the west country, Plymouth this morning. A quick sandwich and coffee in Starbucks and I’ll get back to the entrance and hope to get north soon. It’s not even mid day yet. Sometimes it’s easy!
Well, the short version of the story is that she didn’t show up.
It would be easiest to end the story there.
At least I wasn’t dumped, or couldn’t even get to say hello.
At least I wasn’t laughed at by the girl I’d set my heart on getting chatting to, even if I didn’t get off with her.
And I suppose I ought to be grateful for the fact that I didn’t get completely legless and offend my parents again.
Bit that’s no consolation when you’re seriously pissed off, or gutted and aching and all sorts of other shit emotions.
That’s why tonight it’s a Sunday in with my new friend Faustino.
I went down to the Co-op and bought two bottles of gorgeous Faustino VII for just £7 a bottle, I know there was wine there for a whole lot less, but you’d pay more than that for a large glass in a bar.
So tonight I will be mostly sitting here feeling the angst and listening to the most melancholy tunes to sink me as deep into self pity as my mental elastic will allow me to stretch.
Look, I know nothing went wrong. But I am deeply upset. I know my stupid oh so smug married for a century parents would laugh at me, but they can do one. The very fact that they have been together forever just proves that they have no idea how shit I feel right now.
Tomorrow will be, as they say, another day, and tomorrow, as I say, will be another hungover day!
Oh no, what’s happening?
I have ridden my bike just three times in well over a year, my arse hurts like hell to walk, to sit down, and another ride is beyond consideration for at least another couple of days.
And yet here I am spending loads of time looking at bikes online.
In the past you’d only come across the potential of a new bike when you passed a shop (OK, I admit, you’d engineer passing the shop a lot more often than you needed to, but still, it might only be a couple of times in any given month), or perhaps if you were feeling profligate, when you bought a bike, or cycling magazine. For me it used to be mountain bike mags, especially the one with the amazing Mint Sauce cartoons in.
Now, you can just log on and get lost in a world of lust. And right bang up to date now, my lust is this baby:
It’s a Charge Plug. It’s a kinda of fashionista’s bike, but only on the basis that it’s the most elegant thing out there on two wheels, and at less than five hundred quid it’s actually ridiculously cheap, even if that does put it way beyond my means.
The fact that I’m avoiding while banging on about the bike that I fancy is Sandy.
She didn’t show up last night.
Not that we’d arranged anything, i was just hoping to see her. I had my lines prepared, I was calm, while obviously a bit excited. But as the evening wore on I gradually got the sinking feeling that you get when you know something isn’t going to happen.
In the end I went home just after ten, having only had three pints of 1664. At least I could greet the old man civilly when I got back to the house I suppose.
Tonight? Let’s hope.
I haven’t seen Sandy all week.
How the hell are you supposed to just bump into people?
I don’t want to Facebook her as it seems a bit nerdish and the last thing I want is for her to think that I’m an idiot before I start.
Instead of being nervous about what I’m going to say, and how I’ll hold off from having too many drinks, I’m now nervous about whether or not I’m going to see her at all.
She’s usually in the Fighting Cocks at the weekends with her friend Sarah and so I’ll make sure that the lads go there too. I don’t know whether to tell them that I want to see her or not.
On the one hand they will take the piss something rotten, but on the other that very fact might stop me from chickening out of talking to Sandy.
My parents had it so easy – they were girlfriend and boyfriend from the very start of what was then their grammar school. Dad claims that he’s inexperienced as a consequence, but they seem to be really happy together still, and they haven’t wasted all their money on divorce either.
It’s all down to tonight (well, then tomorrow night if I don’t see her this time).
Please tell me what to do someone? I have my spray ready. It doesn’t smell bad either – I’d love to know if it’ll help, but it won’t help me stop being a dork!