Gross! People! Hide, quick!

Mairead, Marie, Gra, Jen, Rois, Brian, originally uploaded by Harriet Vane.

Well, because I know you've all been waiting, here there are: the photos from Saturday. Calm down! I know there's an upsetting lack of photos of Yours Truly but hell, cool it. It was Mairead's camera so they're nearly all through Mairead's eyes. And of Marie's chest. I'm sayin' nuthin'!

I took this one, so that's the closest you'll be getting to me anytime soon. Anyway, look at the people, see how they laugh! They are laughing at something hilarious I just said, I'm sure. I like to break the tension and shout something witty before photographing people: usually 'Nipples!' or something. God, I'm funny. Although maybe Roisin is laughing cos she's about to get felt up by Brian. Oh no, wait, he's doing that mock I'm-about-to-drop-the-hand move, isn't he? That's good. That always makes me laugh, anyway.

Who am I kidding? I'm heartbroken about not being featured in any of the pictures. I think it goes without saying that I was the hottest person there. Says who? Says me, shithead. Who owns this blog anyway?

Baby, I love you

Dear terrorists,

I'd be more particular in addressing you but, hell, I don't watch the news. What are you guys up to nowadays? Keepin' busy anyway, I hope. I'm just writing to ask a small favour. Tiny thing really, won't put you out hardly at all. Thing is, I was just wondering if you wouldn't mind cancelling any air attacks you might have planned for Friday. It's just that the my wee sister, Sal, is coming home from New York and the mother is getting awful antsy. You know how she gets, right? At the moment she's just faffing about waving her hands and worrying but, you know, it'd be great if we could put her mind at rest over this. So: no crashing of planes on Friday, k? That'd be great. I'll even let you come to the welcome home party! It's BYO&LB obviously (Bring Your Own & Lucy's Bottle). But you guys are smart, bet you could have figured that one out.

There she is, the one for who we do this, on location in Wildwood NJ, earlier this summer. What? Yes, we are very proud.

Love & Kisses,

Lucy

My dinner this evening

Gross, you may say, tongue poking sympathetically from your gaping mouth. It is not my fault. I am on a diet. Not because I am fat mind, because I think we can all agree that I am most definitely the purest example of sex itself, but because Mags and Marie said they were doing it and I hate to be left out of anything. Dismiss the fact that Mags weighs about two stone nothing and will need to be hospitalised by tomorrow evening: this diet is only three days long and makes you lose ten pounds immediately. Get that? Immediately. Ignore the fact that I had two slices of turket and some boiled carrots for my tea, point is: I will be so skinny by Saturday. Try and recognise me if you can; I will be the reed-like one getting drunk on half a bacardi breezer. Cos the thinnies can't hold their drink, don't you know.

Ew

Just...ew.

Joey's Birthday, Sunday night

You can't really see it, but you're looking at the interior of the glorious Baldy Man nightclub, Tramore. Wow, you say: are those lights? Yes, my friends, disco lights. We have all the greatest stuff in the Baldy: lights, music, tables, pints in ACTUAL glasses, er,walls. Also pictured, Dave's leg. Sex.

Mags et moi, in Joeys house. Mags took this on my phone, and also four pictures of an ashtray and Sarah's leg to warm herself up to the camera. You want to see those four? Tough. You don't get to call the shots here. I also think Mags photo-shopped that horrendous snout onto the front of my face. It does not look like that, like Santa's fucking nose, all the time. I think. Not that I know, a full-on picture of my face has blinded everyone else up to now. From the glare of my wonderous beauty, I like to think. But check your corneas, just in case.

Mags and Mark. Mark has left us and got himself a REAL job. I know, tragedy. I thought he was going to be a tragic idler like me forever but twas not to be. I must idle alone.

The view from Joeys house as we left it. I'd show you his ACTUAL house but it doesn't exist anymore. We razed it to the ground through three hours of competitive singing along to all his records: Rod Stewart, Westlife, Elton, Rod Stewart, Chris Doran. Yeah. I know, okay? Joey's ancient, like forty, and you can't mock the aged. Not until the battery on their hearing aid gives out anyway.

What? You want an explanation, an actual story, a link between these intruiging yet unresolved photos? I don't think so. It's late and I am really tired. I have two jobs you know. Or have I mentioned that already?

All sparks will burn out in the end

Dude, Fenor is on FIRE! Oh, no wait it's not. Oh no, it is again! No, it's definitely stopped now. Phew! We love Fenor!

So, we were driving home on Friday night after a hard night spent eyeing Scottish bar-managers (you know who I'm talking about. Roaaar.) and what do we see over the brow of the hill, but flames. I was all for ignoring them 'cos, Goddamnit! I had a can of Fanta to drink, but Ross was in lifesaving mode and sped swiftly through the darkened countryside in search of the fire. Jenny rang the guards while I pooh-poohed the whole thing and recounted my hilarious fire story when my entire family spent half an hour looking for a fire in Garrarus which turned out to be the lights from the driving range. In Newtown. So, yeah.

Anyway, we got as close to the fire as the road-blocks would allow (yeah, road-blocks. And swarms of Gardi and fire-engines. At three in the morning. And Lucy still drunkenly maintaining that it was probably just a golf-course or something) and Ross, overcome with the drama of the situation, did what any brave young man would do. Jumped out of the car to take pictures with his camera phone. Of course, I hate to be left out of anything so I jumped out to do the same. What you see here is what I took. Or else it could just be two black squares. You decide.

So that's it. Fenor was set on fire Friday, burning almost two acres of forest, was still smoking on Sunday, and started again on the other side of the hill on Sunday. Unsubstantiated chat in the library tells me that Cullencastle and Annestown were also set on fire on Sunday, helped no doubt by the frankly uncommon NINE DAYS OF NO RAIN. Wow. Anyway, there's an arsonist in the South-East. Frankly, I blame the terrorists. First Heathrow, then fizzy drinks on flights, now Fenor. I adore Fenor. I worship and love each and every one of the seventeen farmers that live there. Sometimes, physically.

MUST YOU TAKE ALL THE GOOD STUFF, YOU BASTARDS?

On Pattern Day...

Take heed, farmers. This girl has good milking hands. As recommended by a man in the know...

Justin Timberlake: Sexyback

Have you seen Justin's new video? I have. Cos I live for MTV, man. I can give you expert opinions on all of Beyonce's outfits in Deja Vu if you so wish. I have studied up: they are all gick. But her hair is nice. But enough about me. Let's talk about the video.

No, I don't know what it's about either. He looks really pretty in it though. What I have issue with is the taping up of the door. Hello!? I did that when I was eight and I had just finished The Usbourne Guide to Being a Spy and was vacillating between a life as a spy or one as a detective. Or a mermaid. As you can see, it's tough to tell which won out. I mean, I smoke a lot and associate in darkened rooms with loose women (detective), but also I like lurking (spy) and combing my hair (mermaid). Yes, it's true, I am living the dream.

Good news!

LUCY: So, Yankee-
SHONA: I'm from Toronto.
LUCY: Yeah?
SHONA:... That's in Canada.
LUCY: [Smiles benignly round at assembled friends to emphasize Shona's stupidity]
Riiiiight, you're "Canadian". Silly me. So anyway I have a question.
[Picks up pack of cigarettes from tabletop and waves these under Shona's nose]

SHONA: Uh, yeah?
LUCY: What do these say to you?
SHONA: You will die before me?
LUCY: Wrong, Yankee, wrong. What do the particular brand say to you?
SHONA: Marlboros? I haven't a clue.
LUCY: Think, American, think! They're Marlboro RED, my friend. Does that particular brand say anything to you AT ALL?
SHONA: ...

LUCY: Cos I've been on the internet and they seem to have a bad rep.
SHONA: A what? I'm lost.
LUCY: [Sighing loudly and rolling her eyes to a painful degree] Okaaaay. The internet tells me that... I'm not sure I can say. It's kind of, um, petty. And bitchy.
MARIE: What's the matter? You never have a problem being a bitch the rest of the time.
LUCY: [Smacks Marie down and grinds her skull with her heel] Well, the internet, he tells me that...
SHONA: Yes?
LUCY: That Marlboro have a certain...connotation.

MARIE: A what?
SHONA: A connotation of what?
LUCY: ...Lesbians.
SHONA: Ah.
MARIE: What?
LUCY: So, yeah. I'd really like to know, and seeing you're from the States and all-
SHONA: Canada.
LUCY: Whatever, seeing as you're from the States, I thought maybe you could fill me in. ON THE CONNOTATION I MEAN, NOT ANYTHING RUDE OR ANYTHING SHUTTUP AND STOP LAUGHING.
SHONA: Oh. Ohhh. No, I don't think so.

LUCY: Really? I thought it was a well-known fact that lesbians smoked Marlboro? That's what the internet tells me.
SHONA: Well, segregation really isn't encouraged nowadays, Lucy.
LUCY: Yeah but...If you saw this really hot girl (ie. me) smoking a Marlboro would you think 'hmmm, lesbo?', or, like, not. Think that, I mean.
SHONA: I would think 'hmmm, cancer in a stick'.
LUCY: Fuckin' Americans.