Thursday, 17 November 2011

The green mile.

She's asking for them boots to be nicked
I love coming home to Dublin.  I love getting off the 41 and strolling down to my house.  I love looking around, taking in the surroundings and feeling comfortable and safe.  But what I don't love about the trip back is getting up at 3.30 am and walking through Derby City to get to the bus station.  My flight this morning was at half six.  So to get to the airport on time I had to get the Skylink bus at 4.20 am. Now, I don't have a problem with getting up early, that's easy peasy.  My problem is that Wednesday night in Derby is student night. So on Thursday morning the place is scattered with half cut teenagers, falling out of bars, trying to find their way home. When you're glaringly sober and have to zig zag your way through drunken mobs at four in the morning you tend to feel quite nervous and intimidated by it all. I try my best to avoid big crowds of people; cross the road when they're approaching or just keep my head down and walk as fast as I can.
This morning I legged it to the other side of the road when I saw a group of lads shouting and pushing each other around.  One of them had a dog and was threatening to set him on one of the blokes: "Get yer dog off me" " 'es not on ya mate, not yet."  Ah Derby, where being stabbed in the belly is all part of the student night experience.  Then I turned the corner to see two policemen struggle with a middle aged man who was shouting: "I've done nowt, get yer 'ands off me, I've done nowt." They pushed him against the wall and handcuffed him.  His friend stood by the whole time, trying to convince the cops that he had indeed: "done nowt." Then there's all these girls, dressed up like extras from TOWIE, looking preened and primped to page three perfection. I'm in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, head like Wurzel Gummidge on speed, thin layer of cheap makeup that's failing miserably in it's attempt to cover the splattering of acne on my chin. I stick out like a sore and slightly scabby thumb. Which brings me onto my last experience on the 4 am walk.
Me this morning; at least I put some eyeliner on

I was bombing it down the road, thinking I was gonna miss the bus cos I'd left the house a bit later than usual, and I pass this girl in a black mini, lace top and long, perfectly straightened hair. Fag in her mouth, no coat on (coats don't exist in England past 10.00 pm) The girl looks at me as I pass and says to her friend: "That's hideous."  I flinched, ouch! THAT'S hideous. As in, not SHE'S hideous, no cos that would imply that I am a woman or a girl or in the very least, human.  But, THAT, like I was some sort of animal; a mangy dog escaped from the pound, sniffing out discarded kebabs and chewing on unwanted pizza crusts .  I didn't say anything back to her, just kept walking. Cause let's face it, I was looking pretty rough. I couldn't blame her for thinking it and then it probably just slipped out, a case of: " Did I just say that out load?"  Still, I felt a bit down about it.  It was still on my mind when I reached the bus stop. I walked over to sit on the bench and took my bag off my back, plonked it beside me and that's when I realised my mistake.  She wasn't talking about me!  Well not my face or me as a person.  She was referring to my schoolbag. My old reliable, purple and not quite mint green, straps hanging down all over the shop, gigantic, Sporthouse schoolbag.  It belongs to my Mam and by jesus does it looks like it belongs to my Mam. This thing is monstrous; big, ugly and unashamedly proud of it. And on my back, clashing with my long red coat it looked even worse than usual.  I calmed down after that. Note to husband - buy me a new bag for Christmas, please!

Am getting husband to take a pic of it on my back with red coat and all for the full effect so will add it later to the post!

I think he means trousers
On another note - Fair play to the Irish students.  15,000 of them protested outside The Dail yesterday.  (They'd do anything to get out of a lecture, the lazy bastards!)  Not congratulating them on the protest mind; it's the clever banners and posters that I'm celebrating.  They ranged from the very serious and boring: "Stop fees and save the grant", to the mildly amusing: "Drug dealer or student; it's your choice", and the putting it bluntly: "Fuck the Fees", to the hilariously funny: "If we had €3000 we'd have decent signs" and my personal favourite: "Less Fees, More Gees."  Brilliant.


  1. *Waits impatiently for pic of horrendous bag*

  2. see comment above! I don't have a charger for my camera and my husband broke our other one when we were on hols. So annoyed but i am going to try try tyy to get a pic up!

    BTW - love those shoes you had up on your blog. Wish I had the cash to buy em :(