Week 42 - Laura - debate

To get a fringe or not? It really is one of the great debates of our time. Or maybe just my time. As in my time right now. Today. This minute.

I’ve finally broken up with Mark, and I’m determined to rubberstamp my decision with a brand new hairstyle. Sure, it’s clichéd, but it’s effective. And even though I’m pretty sure it’ll end in disaster, I’m thinking of a fringe.

The funny thing is every girl who gets a fringe knows she’s going to end up hating it. She just doesn’t know when. Maybe she’ll love it for a couple of years. Maybe she’ll get sick of it in a month. That’s the magic, and the mystery, of a fringe. Much like the magic and the mystery of Mark, now that I think about it.

I suppose, technically, it’s not the fringe you end up hating. It’s the thing the fringe becomes when you decide to grow it out.

Fringes seem to need trimming every twenty minutes or so. Weirdly though, it takes about a hundred years for a fringe to grow out. And in the meantime you’re stuck with in-between-y strands of hair that are neither short nor long and are only good for looking crap.

“So, what’s it to be?,” my new stylist asks as she eyeballs me in the mirror, scissors at the ready. I swear she's laughing at me. Probably because she knows the internal argument I've been having with myself for the past five minutes word for word. And she knows how it ends too.

Feck it, for better or worse, I’m doing it!

Week 41 - Andrew - Dinner last Friday

Lunch

The day was bright and blue. As we passed over the Samuel Beckett bridge, I picked out the sunlight on the water. It is that memory I will take with me when I no longer work here. The taxi driver was giving me feedback on my directions. I could save myself money by taking a different route.

'If he stops talking' I thought 'I can save money by not vomiting on his taxi'.

I had been drinking, and heavily. There was prosecco, and cocktails, and whiskey, and vodka - straight, and a bottle of cider. and some champagne and lots of all of it. There wasn't much food, and even less thought as to how I would manage to survive.

The office was quiet with people, but loud otherwise. The noise was loud, even from the ground floor. The lift opened on my floor. There were maybe a hundred people there. Men and women, twenty five, thirty and forty years old.

It was eleven in the morning, and they were dancing and drinking. A sales manager had set up a PA system, and it was banging - LOUD. Two directors had set up a bar on a desk, and were racking up STRONG bloody marys in red solo cups.

I stepped backwards, and the lift doors shut, to take me away, to a toilet cubicle.

The rest of the morning passed in a sweaty montage of conversations, retching, solpadeine and Todd Terje's greatest hits.

Lunch was healing. Salty chips and hotdog sausages. We sat, the survivors, staring at each other. Asking the same questions - "Did that happen?" "Did we really see them do that?" With each second, with each grain of salt, everything became easier to handle.

Dinner

The clear day had given way to a freezing black evening.

Two hours face-down on the couch, I was surprised I couldn't see the imprint of the cushion etched red on my face. More Solpadeine fizzing through my blood, nominally curing my headache, but mostly acting as a security blanket against a harsh and unfeeling world.

Comfort was easy at dinner. Hot food, good company and clear, pure sparkling water. Soft music and easy conversation. Trust and fun, nonsense arguments and acceptance.





P.S. - Esprit de L'Escalier

People probably take drugs because they're fun.

There are probably points on the spectrum between 'no drugs are legal' and 'there is no law'. I am advocating in favour of one of these points.

People should take pride in their work, I enjoy restaurants, I have tremendous respect for the people who work there. It's just unusual to start cleaning away plates when someone at the table is still blatantly eating.

Just how many Solpadeine would I have to take for it to be an addiction? Fizzy water is massively improved by the addition of codeine.

Week 41 - Laura - dinner last Friday

What’s my greatest skill as a waiter? Oh without a doubt it’s keeping a pretty believable smile on my face and remaining outwardly pleasant to you diners while inside I’m having a good bitch and moan session about you all.

So I took your friends’ plates away before your wife was finished. Honestly, I’m finding it difficult to give a shit. It’s just dinner, for God’s sake; I didn’t murder anyone. Although right now I can’t guarantee that won’t happen before the night is out.

It’s not just you being a pain in the hole tonight. Oh no, you’re in good company. Your man over at the table by the window insisted on speaking to a manager because of the wait for his dinner. Clearly he missed the hundred or so other people here tonight. All being taken care of by Kim, yours truly and the manager whenever she can be arsed getting down off her high horse and pitching in. I no more believe it’s the ‘flu keeping Kevin and Stace off work tonight than I believe in the Easter bunny.

Bloody etiquette. I read somewhere the French just came up with the whole idea to stave off boredom. Well thanks to them, and you, staving off boredom is about all I’ll be doing on my day off tomorrow, because your little outburst means I won’t be getting my hands on any of this evening’s tips.

Do you really think I’m doing this job because I’m passionate about serving food to people? That’d be a no. I’ve more passion for the old woman with the blue rinse next door who smells like she hasn’t washed in six months than I have for this. And that's no passion at all, just in case you're thinking I'm some sort of perv with a blue rinse/BO fetish.

Roll on Christmas, and a break from this kip. And New Year. It's time for a few resolutions.

Week 40 - Laura - drunk

The word ‘drunk’ is so boring.

Going forward I’m going to try use some of these alternative words or phrases instead:

I was Moulin Rouged

I was pixelated

I was overcome

I was jiggered

I was pickled

My head was full of bees

I was cabbaged

I was boiled as an owl

I was on a toot

My wits were muddled

I couldn’t see a hole in a ladder

I couldn’t lie down without holding on

I was measuring paths upside down

I was three sheets to the wind

I was drunk as a wheelbarrow

I’d taken off my considering cap

I lost my rudder

I had my wobbly boots on

Week 40 - Andrew - Drunk

It's very difficult to write about drinking. 

Here are the things I've started to write, and why I've stopped writing them. 

1) The story of Dirty Friday, a memorable night out - god, why would you write that, binge drinking is a serious problem. Also, you're 32 years old, for God's sake! You shouldn't be talking about that! 

2) Fun stages of drunk, like how my wife and I, after two bottles of wine, will inevitably talk about starting a Fleetwood Mac Tribute band - Two bottles of wine doesn't sound good. That might be too much. That's a bottle each. 

3) Descriptions of my favourite drinks - Mist on the side of a perfectly clear vodka martini? The salty tang of a bloody mary? the richness of a deep burgundy? A crisp white, with some grilled fish? What are you, the alcoholic observer food section? 

4) A serious paragraph on the relationship with alcohol you naturally have as an Irish man.  Youcan't write that! You hate pints! Don't even like guinness...

5) The enduring seductive power of oblivion, and altered states in general - Really? That's stuff you should probably be telling a counsellor. That goes nowhere good. I mean, it's absolutely true that no-one can live in a world with homebase, and sales quotas, and buzzfeed, and not want to catapult their consciousness into a beautiful plane of existence full of laughter and song. You can't say that though - maybe there are people who don't think that. 

6) A list of things I do better drunk than sober - that's something you wrote on an old blog, a long time ago. You don't play pool any more, and you've realised that you have more social competence, if not confidence when you're sober rather than drunk. 

7) Great Drinking Stories (tm) - The anecdotes I trot out that everyone around me is sick of hearing. Trains in Russia, Upstairs in Doyles, etc. etc. etc. Sad, just sad. 

In conclusion, this has made me consider my life more than most other Thing a week entries. I hope you're happy, past me! 

Week 39 - Andrew - Dear Diary

December 2015 

Dear Diary, 

My life is different this year. A lot changed, a lot stayed the same, but writing this entry, I’m pleased with all of it. 

First of all, the big change. I finally got it together and lost the weight. I don’t worry about it as much now, and I feel a lot healthier. I regularly run 5ks around the neighborhood, and occasionally run 10K. I’ve become more active in my hobbies as well. Aoife and I took an active holiday this year, and went hiking in the Alps. 

Long walks and hot tea have become my favorite things in the world. 

I dress better. 

Aoif and I are better than ever. We’re more present for each other, and we continue to talk about things immediately, rather than letting them sit. We travel more together, and we are more in control of our time than we have ever been before. 

Professionally, I continued to see good results, and reap the rewards. This year, I haven’t yet begun to study for an MBA, but I am in the late stages of starting to do it.  I broadened my network, and have raised my profile outside my own company, in the wider industry. I regularly take on outside speaking engagements. 

We’ve continued to save money, and are in a position to spend a little bit on ourselves, as well as putting away for the future. 

We’re closer to our friends. Our lives are different at the moment, but we haven’t let that become a barrier. In particular, I’ve been guilty of not prioritizing friends, and letting my work dictate my schedule. A few years ago, I undid the worst of this, but this was the year I finally achieved work-life balance. I still work late, but I am less flexible with my personal commitments. 

I was supportive to my family during a transitional time, and we remain close. The time we all spend together is relaxing and enjoyable. 

Week 39 - Laura - Dear diary

When I was young I kept a memory book. A memory book, for those who don’t know, is like a diary for the lazy, with only sporadic entries required or expected. I dug it out yesterday. I didn’t write it to be entertaining, but how I laughed reading it. Kept mainly in my early teens, unsurprisingly it’s mainly a record of unrequited crushes and worries about kissing boys. I also recorded a few of my (undated) feelings about my mam becoming pregnant when I was 15...

“The way I feel now is...weird. Mammy is going to have another baby. When it’s my age I’ll be 30. Ugh! It’s so weird. WEIRD!”

“We’ve decided on names for the kid.

Boy - Marc

Girl - Averil

I’m not so keen about Marc, but still, it’s better than Evan.”

“Mammy went in to hospital at quarter to five. I feel so confused. It’s the end of all the familiar stuff. It’s not a cousin, it’s a brother or sister. HELP! The world is so full of hassles. I hope I don’t cry in the hospital.”

“It’s a girl. Born at 1.27pm on Sunday, 30th June, 1996. Avril Victoria Francis. She’s gorgeous. I cried when I heard. I’m such a wreck!!! She’s home now. She is sooo cute.”

That’s all the mention you get from those years Avril. Sorry for being a bit uncertain about you at the beginning. Eighteen years on though, and I wouldn’t swap you for the world!