I'm not in school, so I didn't think of a day off, and unfortunately if I don't work I don't get those euros that the newspeoples are all on about.
So off towards work, hangover in tow, following a heavy-duty narcotic-filled poker night which saw me end 3e down after 6 hours of play. However, considering I won the last hand of 9e, I considered it a victory - much like a child who has been beaten up by a bully, but then sees a grown-up fall over on the footpath.
Incidently, a lot of grown-ups are falling over on footpaths. Despite being wrapped up like stylish Scandanavians, it is impossible to ignore the walking styles of Dubliners. They walk in snow the same way I reckon Ryan Turbridy chases a football. Rigid, constantly aware that the everyone around is an enemy, and absolutely terrified of the ground that usually aids footing.
Working in Dundrum now, it's nice to see how the other half live. I thought the other half lived in Ballsbridge, but I saw a beggar there last week so obviously not. They, in fact, live in Dundrum. For those who haven't been, Dundrum shopping centre is a nightmare of incestual proportions.
Walking around the centre is like playing a computer game that everyone else has cleared, but playing it for the first time, having seen or read nothing of it, after having your hands eaten off by a giant beetle.
And to make matters worse, Dundrumians were unaware of the march in Dublin, which is where I thought everyone was, alas not.
Hangover work was followed by drinking back in town. Heavy duty, it featured a snow fight, an unfortunate failure to summon up urine for a piss in the snow, my warm snood, alot of shots, and flagging a lift for the last 100 yards to my apartment.
Sunday was remarkably similar - although it included militiant snowballers marauding the demilitarized zone around Parnell Street - but unfortunately I had to work in the rough Ballsbridge, I miss when it was the better half...
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