I had great plans for last weekend. Mainly due to the terrific stew I was in on Friday (itself derived from a hangover and other harbingers of misery) I took a notion that over the weekend I would:
1) Go swimming
2) Give up drink for a month
3) Reconsider my life options
4) Commune soulfully with myself
If you could just stop sniggering about the juvenile humour suggested by that last resolution, I'll tell you how it went, shall I? Horribly, in a word. 1) Went straight out the window when I realised I didn't own a swimsuit; 2) when my dad dropped over with a bottle of wine he couldn't finish because he was setting off on his hols with the little lady; 3) when I got drunk; and 4)...well, THAT wasn't going to happen, was it.
The weekend didn't turn out to be a total loss however. In the Vic (Tramore's just like Eastenders, so it is! 'Cept without the cockneys and all the murders) on Saturday I engaged in my first meet n' greet with my fans, hereafter known as 'the little people'. Stumbling up to the bar I was waylaid by young Cathy Burns who proceeded to extol the excellence of my blog to myself and to her bemused looking friends. 'Honestly, it's brilliant! Have you never read it? It's excellent! You're DEADLY, Lucy!' she gushed. Her companions just looked unnerved. They had no doubt witnessed me tripping over my shoe on the way over. Nice.
On my way back I was grabbed by an excitable (read: tipsy) Clodagh Power. 'OMG! I love your blog!' Thank you, thank you. 'Mention me in it, wudja? Say you were out in the Vic on Saturday and met the gorgeous Clodagh Power, k?'
Pah. Am I Larry-fucking-Geoghan now? I think not. I don't DO shout-outs. What I do do is fuck-ups. In future, if you want me to mention you here, fall over or something in my presence. By the by, it's Clodagh's birthday today. She's eleven, I think.
I swaggered back to the girls and slid into my seat. 'Where were you?' reproached Elizabeth, 'You were right behind me and then I turned around and you were gone.'
I smiled and looked away coyly, ensuring I had the attention of the whole table. 'I,' I announced magnificently, 'was dallying with my fans. You may have spotted the mucky handprints on my arm...'
Elizabeth sighed. Mags O'N raised her eyebrows at Jenny. Rachel sipped her drink pointedly. Mags O'B stared over my head. Then they all launched back into the conversation they had been having (about lipstick, or something. I really wasn't listening).
Thank fuck I have someone keeping my raging ego in control while Aoife is out of the country.