The weekend just past I took a cross-ferry coach from Belfast to Glasgow to see the Paul Draper gig at King Tut’s Wah-Wah Hut. The night before I left I only had two and a bit hours sleep and had a long day afterwards. On the coach from Cairnryan to Glasgow – en route to Edinburgh – I was sick on the twisty cliff roads heading to Ayr. I went to the toilet to be sick and lost my balance. The coach driver was pissed off at me – wondering why ‘A Grown Man’ would leave such a mess – but at Ayr a woman getting off there let me have the rest of her water bottle so I could get a Co-Codamol in me. That – plus frantic prayer – got me to Glasgow without barfing again.
The main issue was eating too much on the ferry. I had a fish supper, plus a few other nibbles. But on the way home I only ate a light breakfast; granola with yoghurt and milk plus a cappuccino. Also, I bought two bottles of water for Co-Codamols and I didn’t barf yesterday at all.
On the way over at Saturday morning, I spoke to a guy from Lisburn who is heading to Ayr to star in a pantomime. We had a good conversation about how the British mock our Northern Ireland accent whenever we head there. Also, I was talking to a couple from Leicester on the ferry to Cairnryan on Saturday and they met Mark Selby – the World Snooker Champion from Leicester – and showed me a picture of him on their phone.
Also, there were quite a few from Quebec who went on the same coach from Belfast on Saturday as me, then on the ferry back to Belfast, I spoke to another couple from Quebec who rented a car from London and were driving across Britain and Ireland. Plus I got to see the last twenty-odd minutes of the All-Ireland Final. Heartbreak for Mayo; what’s new?
The gig itself went well but left early due to having a long day. But getting sleep on Saturday night really lifted my mood on Sunday morning.
I have realised that we must all suffer at first to live a fulfilling life in the end. Diamonds are simply million year-old trees. It seems that artists in particular – be it painters, writers or creative types in general – have a pretty tempestuous life. But we come out stronger.
Yesterday I drove to Plumbridge as a trial run drive in preparation for a job I applied for to see if I would go for at least an interview. But I was going through a road past the Sperrins I had never been on before and was so consumed by fear; driving new places these past few years has been a forced exercise for me. But in the end, when heading back, I realised that driving on a road I wasn’t comfortable with for a part time job wouldn’t be worth it. The juice just isn’t worth the squeeze.
However, today, I went to the place in Magherafelt I used to live at and went gardening this morning and early afternoon. It was good to muck about with my old posse. I even heard from the gardening expert there that the soil contains serotonin. No wonder I felt better. 🙂
Now this evening I’m not attending the art class. I need to slow down the pace a bit. My uncle had a suspected heart attack and is in the Royal Hospital in Belfast. My health is my wealth, for now.
Yesterday I was sick when driving and was so desperate to get my laundry done that I forgot to take my smartphone out. (d’oh) However, god willing, the account that gran has in Monaghan will soon be closed as she now has a PPS number and my brother will send it to our solicitor in Cookstown. Hopefully I can sort out a new smartphone and clear off my debts. 🙂
Gran was mad looking home yesterday, but the doctor says she may need to spend a few more days in hospital. Tomorrow I’ll be heading to Rathlin Island for a trip with my posse. Without a smartphone I am kinda tied up with progress on gran. God willing, it will be sorted out.
Still have a sore throat. Back on the Co-Codamol. :S