Saturday, March 04, 2006


Last night was grand.. I went to the launch of the twenty-first issue of 'The Stinging Fly', a Dublin magazine featuring new writers.

At some stage like many of you, if I get my s*it together, I would like to be a new writer from Dublin, so it is only fair that I support anyone who already is.

It was interesting and good fun, so I was full of beanieness and free wine, and went to bed happy and cosy. Only to be assaulted by bad dreams...

I happen to be reading this book called 'The Historian' which is a real page-turner. However, be warned fair reader, you may have unwholesome dreams as a result...

The subject matter happens to be Count Alucard, or to any of you non-backward readers Dracula, but don't let that put you off if you're looking for a big book to take on hols that is light enough to romp your way through and dark enough to hold your interest with its mystery.

I'm wondering though if the horrible dream I had last night about my leaving cert Irish paper was inspired by reading a bit of a horror? Or am I like Wallace, eating too much cheese before bedtime.

Even this morning going about my business, I had a bad taste and the fear of Gaeilge, which is strange as I went to an all-Irish school and normally I find these nightmares are about maths anyway.

Bad dreams are so weird.

This afternoon, full of plans after a busy morning down at the radio station, I read a little more of the tale of bloodlust before falling asleep on the couch. I found myself taking my friend to a match in Croke Park in a rush to get there on time. She kept saying 'hurry, hurry, we're late' and I kept saying, 'it's fine, I know this secret way'.

I found this door at the top of some stairs (I find lifts, stairs and these type of useful upward perambulators spooky under the guise of sleep), and was all, 'see I found it, we're fine'. But as I went to open the door, the handle came off in my hands. Just before I woke up I got the handle back on and opened the door, but the damage was done.

My mobile phone was ringing and I had a chat with a friend, so I'm now full of plans and intent for the evening, but that bad dream is casting a shady sinister shadow over me.

Of course, I might just be having a scary dream before going to see the Dubs play tonight in Parnell Park, I often fear these events - not to say I ever (ahem) lack confidence in the boys in blue.

I guess I've just got time for an hour more reading about the vampire search before another spooky nap and then the match and pints. Lord only knows what my crazed irrational mind will conjour up tonight - Stephen Cluxton not saving a goal, an enormous pint of Miller chasing me down the road - I doubt it will involve vampires though, my mind, while distressingly literal seems to be avoiding the obvious.

My mood is one of sheer confusion - pass the wensleydale Gromit.

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