Tuesday, April 13, 2004

my god... he's full of booze...

Dublin is bad for my health. Flying visit for a mate's 30th birthday, turned up Thursday last week, left Saturday. 2 days. Can't do much damage in 2 days, surely?

Thursday night, turned up in the middle of Emmet's gig at a local pub, put him off in the middle of a song (hehe) as planned, had a great night, stayed up boozing and smoking till 5am. Next day, him and some friends had put together a Rage Against the Machine tribute band, and demo'd their first gig to 30 invited friends, and it rocked the house down. Scarily accurate, fucking genius. I've always been sad that I'll never see Rage live - but now I feel like I have. And it was better, cause the lead singer was my best mate. Anyway, back to the flat for a major party, stayed up drinking all night. Someone at one point said "fuck, it's 12 o'clock" - and it had gone way past 4am, so I knew it wasn't midnight. It was the morning. I had my last drink, said my goodbyes, and decided that if I went to sleep now, I'd miss my 5pm flight, so I went for some breakfast in Dublin. Strolled around, then realised that I was absolutely shitfaced, staggering all over the place. Had a long walk around town, looking at everything that had changed, realising that it's not the same town I left in 1996. Got maudlin. Cheered myself up taking photos of skateboarders skating by a "skateboarding prohibited" sign (it was my idea, I egged them on - fuck The Man, man!). Had breakfast, staggered to airport, starting to get hungover, and flew home, to meet Jo at Heathrow, who was unpleasantly surprised to meet a smelly drunk who could barely speak. She got me home, at arm's length, like a shitty-nappied baby, and looked after me beautifully, god bless her. Thanks, honey.

Swore off alcohol (yet again). That lasted until today. I swore off it last weekend, after my sister's birthday party. One of these days, I might even mean it...

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