Welcome to my latest blog experiment in which I attempt to balance my neurotic privacy with the perfectly formed indifference of the blog’s readers. All..erm.. dozen of them.
Got a question you’re not fussed about knowing the answer to? Throw it out there.
Thank you for not caring
department of speculation 
I think there’s nothing worse than asking a question on my blog and being met by a resounding silence. What do you think there’s nothing worse than?
I think there’s nothing worse than skiving off work with a hangover and hiding my car out-of-sight from my employers only to discover I blocked another car in process. The discovery being made two hours after I’ve been ignoring my phone ringing. That this happened 10 years ago is neither here nor there. I hope this satisfies your need to not know. Thank you.
I once accidentally locked my bike not only to the lamppost in Rathmines Main Street, but also to another bike that was reposing against it. I arrived back just in time to stop the irate owner from sawing through either my lock or my bike frame.
This is not actually like your story, but it reminded me of it.
Which is why these ridiculous posts have a purpose. How else would I have been able to hear this wonderful tale that gave me a chuckle? It reminded me of the time my friend was merrily cycling along in Cork, took a 90 degree turn, and slap(stick) bag headfirst into a skip. No, wait, I lie, it’s when my friend (not the same one) was breezily cycling round Connemara, bumped into a stranger by a lake (a Frenchman, of course). There was an instant attraction and barely a nanosecond passed before they got it on then and there. I’ve probably forgotten one.
LOLing right back at you.
Mmm. What is your party piece?
My disappearing act. Leaving discreetly without anyone noticing. Alternatively, I’ve perfected the art of dozing in a corner for most of the evening before demanding anyone thinking of leaving to stay put until 5am.
What about yourself, tric? Do you break into the butterfly stroke after a few pints?
If you had just completed your leaving cert, what would you chose to do? (BTW i’m only borrowing Tric’s identity)
I would drift differently. Farther into more exotic shores. With a loose sense of purpose rather than none at all. You?
What piece of advice would you most like to give to your one-week-old blogging self?
Never blog after drinking Jeyes fluid on an empty stomach, and only remember your log-in password on Thursdays.
Please, you’ve got to share yours with the group, Tara. OK, with the three of us.
I have several. To wit:
1. 4 out of 5 followers will never read your blog.
2. Don’t forget the reason you started blogging in the first place.
3. When you’ve forgotten the reason you started blogging in the first place, remember the reason you started blogging in the first place, and go and publish a damn book.
Howzat?!
Wise. I don’t think I nailed number 2, which makes 2 & 3 difficult, and contributes to 1. In all seriousness, I would’ve regulated the posts to once a week, or bi-weekly. It would’ve avoided the abundance of filler.
I often thought that, but then I reckoned blogging more often in the beginning was necessary to gain the sort of momentum needed to keep going. After that slowing down is the key. I may be slowing down even more over the next while, given that I’m in the middle of a reprioritising epiphany.
Yup. Cannae argue with that, I initially set myself a goal of keeping a blog for 100 days. And promptly lost the run of myself.
I like the sound of your reprioritizing epiphany. I hope it involves turning pages. I wait with eager anticipation to hear more down the line. May the page rise to meet you etc.
If I’m creating this much suspense with nothing to show for it, imagine what it’ll be like if I do. Carnage, probably.
I hope. Just remember to stick me on the guestlist for the launch party.
All right. I suppose I can stretch to 7 people. Better than my last party.
I applaud your party piece/s, Dept. The only thing worse than announcing your imminent departure at a party, thereby diverting everyone’s attention towards you and then having to endure multiple salutations, is actually being at the party in the first place.
Party exit attitudes tell me everything I need to know about a person.
“We MUST meet again soon” Translation: We’ll not see each other again until we’re condemned the same gathering. “I must get your number” (while keeping phone firmly in pocket). It’s enough to make me hungry.
Who knew that such a random cartoon of penguins could spark such witticisms in the comments. I do apologise for arriving five days late for the party, but I was in another country and wifiless. In fact I feel a bit adrift; that way of arriving at the party at one thought would befashionably late but misjudging how far ahead everyone would be in their drunkeness. And yet still they ask “so what do you do?” I don’t like parties. I don’t mind making small talk with strangers on the top of mountains, although that can be a bit disconcerting. There you are, discovering you like the same TV when you can’t remember where a series was filmed and the Other Person whips out their smart phone to Google it. Mind you, I was in a country where they have a cafe and a train going up their Capital Mountain.
May I do that Thing when someone is itching to know something based on the intriguing details provided and ask.. Where the fuck have you been? Also, was the answer Co. Clare? What was the food like? And did you depart the party with any phone numbers?
So many questions, so little coffee. Please see below for answers:-
1. Do you mean in Blogosphere or Real Life?
(i) Up my very own backside of lethargy.
(ii) North Wales by the sea in a fancy pants apartment which didn’t come with the promised wifi.
2.The food was fine, I cleared my plate every time – particularly fine Indian take away.
3. Nope. I’m not interested in having their numbers. Heck, I even bumped into a long disconnected friend while crossing the street last week and I still haven’t texted her my new address. This is fine by me, because it was through the grapevine that I heard she had moved.
There now follows the answers to questions you didn’t ask – because you deserve to know.
1. You’re only stuck with people on top of a mountain for five minutes and they’re not talking drunken gibberish. TV we all liked was The Fall. TV we thought could have done better was One of Us.
2. Of course I took my running gear to Wales – I can now run for half an hour.
3. I found it strangely compelling.
The Fall. Yes! (sorry about the exclamation mark. Got carried away there. But it’s your own fault for buggering off). Word reached the cave yesterday that it was starting on Mainland TV. A good job since it started on Spud TV last Sunday and we all know what happened with my spoiler last time round (precisely nothing, since you were too polite). Anyway, since I’m out this Sunday evening, we’ll be united on either side of the same language at the same point from next week on. Are you excited? Me neither.
Wales sounds tremendously civilised. Business or pleasure? Did you meet the Jones’s from Carmarthen?
F***. Please may I do that Thing that people do when they’ve been too quick to press ‘send’ on their texting machine and they immediately text back to correct their grammatical/prescriptive text/thumb slippage errors???
That Thing as is… roaring FUCK at the top of your tonsil? OK, birdie. I’m listening. Take it away there like a good woman…
Should this be a question about you or just any question in general? There’s one right there, but, coincidentally, I just asked some questions in my comment on your last post. Although that post was about your darling little colleague, Vincent, (for some reason, I see Vincent as a person of short stature, with pale skin and large eyes, and dark, curly hair…hmmm, I think that’s Elijah Wood playing Frodo), my questions were about the evolution of Human Resources departments, and the current whereabouts of Aquaman, topics that an unkind person might say were almost totally unrelated to your post about your colleague. To make matters worse, now I’ve just talked about your colleague Vincent, in a comment on a post that was not about him! (and used an exclamation mark.) Anyway, all in all, it would be annoying of me to ask you even more questions here, so I’ll just wait for the answers to my earlier questions, which were written at least a good 8 minutes ago now. No reply yet, but I’m waiting……(*goes straight to bed*).
Out of blog reply:
I am currently out of the blog. If your message is urgent, please contact Vincent on tel. 1800 ANNOYING BOLLIX and leave an abusive message otherwise I will contact you upon my return from the 19th century that speaks in weird out-of-office auto response language.
Regards
Dept. of Speculation
Please note: Vincent is closer to an angry leprechaun (apologies to any leprechauns reading)
Making him even smaller than an angry hobbit!
Haha well observed