Schull 3 - The Turning of the Clocks

It's gone for another year. Finally starting to feel slightly human again. I had a small bowl of dry noodles for dinner today, and I didn't finish lunch. Haven't finished a meal since The Return actually.

Vague memories of things I used to know well are slowly returning. When I got back and first sobered up I realised that I didn't know the words to my favourite songs, or how my favourite movies ended. I got a call from my oldest freind and didn't recognise his voice.

The clean up operation begins now, both cleaning myself and the mild trail of destruction behind me. Luckily that extractor fan went back on, but it took a lot of swearing to get it to fit again. Didn't have to wipe the Helmans mayonaise off my sheet, but that was Ross's fault though, thank God Gainne was there to save me from the full extent of Ross' rath. Fuck, the more I think about it the more I remember. The conversation I had with the localsin "Drink, Drink and more Drink" in which I described that fact that we were on a holiday to celebrate that our freind Simon was getting divorced. I did this only as a post mortem to a story I told 2 years ago, when we went there on Simon's stag. I told them how Simon was getting treated so badly even before they got married an I, unlike his other freinds, told him not to go through with it and how now, less than 2 years later, here we were ... except for Simon, who himself couldn't face it.

I told the story of Simon and Valerie going to Paris and they were appauled. Of what she did in his absence when Simon was in hospital after being in a car accident. They hated the girl and demanded more gossip. Even when I admitted that everything I'd told them was complete fiction and there was no such person as Valerie and Simon was single, they still demanded that I tell them more, to the extent that they wouldn't let me go to the next pub after my freinds had left for it. The shit we can talk sometimes.

I remember chatting to the musician in Hacketts, playing for booze (in a way I was too), about the getting barred from the pub next door because I'd taken milk out to put in my tea, then getting back in when I hugged the bouncer.

Don't remember anything from the house really, or anything on Friday night or Sunday and Saturday daytimes ... or Sunday night.

Wonder if I'll ever remember,
wonder if I'll get my keys back,
wonder if they'll bar us next year,
wonder if I'll be sober by then,
wonder if the bar girl in Hacketts will ever be my wife,
wonder if my camera will recover,
wonder if Con will ever forgive me, or if he'll ever come back,
wonder what would have happened if that wave was a bit bigger and i'd fallen off the rock into the harbour,
wonder what would have happened if Simon was down (FUCK!),
wonder if I ate during the weekend,
wonder if I'll ever meet that man in Bray.

I hope not.