Dreadful Nonsense

Hello again.

I'm cheating by fixing the time on this blog to pretend this was still written on Friday, because in actual fact it's just past midnight on Saturday morning, and by rights I should be tucked up safely in beddy byes watching Fist of Fun with Susan and the cat tucked up beside me, purring. Yes, both of them. But I'm not. Instead, I'm here blogging and waiting for the retarded printer to print off copies of my first, best psychology essay, for which I have a class very early tomorrow morning. If I had any sense, I'd be either bunking off the class tomorrow and out drinking tonight, or I'd be tucked up in bed with the other two purring beside me, getting ready for another challenging day tomorrow. I'm doing neither, of course.

I went in to UCD today to do aptitude tests in preparation for my landing on top of the world of psychologists next September, when they inevitably pick me as one of the chosen, golden few to do the HDip in Psychology I've been blathering on about for so long. What with how important all of this is to me, you'd presume that, with such a big test ahead, last night was spent on the net trying to practice these standard tests and getting a lot of rest and water and dark relaxation so that I was on top of my game when test time rolled around. But no, no, no, no. I chose to spend the time shaking, grinning, singing at the top of my croaking flu-infested voice and then dancing about like a lunatic at Whelans instead.

That's right. Aqualung were in town, and we made sure they knew we were also in town, and also in the same building, and at times in the same room. Following on from the disastrous David Gray gig in London last week, we were very pleased to find that Matt Hales had willingly leaped in to the hole in our hearts that once held Mr Gray in such huge esteem, and has filled our minds, spirits and vocal cords with his fine melodies and lyrics. The gig was special in many different manners, and myself and Susan kept finding that our faces were strained with the force of having to express such great pleasure. It really was great. We liked it, sometimes a lot.

After gig, as is our tradition, we mugged some roadies for set lists and then beat a retreat for the backstage area, that I am already very familiar with thanks to my previous stalking tactics of Glen Hansard and pals. Matt Hales was kind enough to invite us through for drinks and a chat, and he congratulated us on our singing accompaniment, telling us that Dublin, unlike many of the British cities, was very much in tune. Dublin, give yourself a nice pat on the back.

So this morning when JC rang to tell us his latest news (he had a hangover), I was in the middle of a strong coughing fit that was threatening to bring back up the chips we had unwisely purchased on our way home last night. And getting to UCD for 1pm proved nearly impossible as my body refused to move as quickly as my brain was asking it to. Even so, I think I did fairly well on the aptitude test, since it turned out to be one of those multiple-choice mensa-type things, and I'm quite good at them. I've a recorded IQ of 131, you know. I'm not sure I've mentioned that often enough.

This entry was posted on 12 March 2004 at 11:59 pm. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

0 Comments:

Recommended Reading

Archives