I spent some weekends past at offset in Dublin's Grand Canal theatre (pretty). How very cultural of me, I know. Anyhow, my inspiration was undermined by the dark cloud hanging over me having essentially crashed the company car earlier that morning. It's a long story, one which (incase anyone from work ever comes across this) I refuse to make any further comment on until I see my lawyer. Oh fuck it. Here goes.... The main thing you should know is that I made it to my destination alive, but not before proving how utterly incompetent and generally mentally unstable I am.
The actual incident itself is pretty unmemorable, the bottom of the car was hanging low due to absolute negliance of a company pool car, this coincided with the sheer hard luck of a slow puncture meant the damn thing would not clear a speed ramp coming up to a roundabout. Some spine chilling screeches later and I have essentially torn off the bottom section of the car. It looked pretty bad- some little black wires, the lights and small springy bits jutted out from underneath adding to the "holy fuck" factor. That's about as much technical information I can give you.
So I'm sitting awaiting my brother to my rescue with a hammer, or a wrench or something from a tool box and I'm feeling useless. I decide my flat buster tyre, broken lights and hanging off bonnet are not enough to be concerned with and 'feeling sorry for myself' should get a look in too. So I have a good cry to myself, demolish a pack of Mega Monster Munch and shamefully half a packet of malteasers someone had stowed away in the glove compartment for god knows how long (they were slightly chewy).
I soundtracked this eating/weeping fiasco with some Johnny Cash on repeat. "Hurt" was particularly poignant because my pride was so very hurt-ed. I was beginning to enjoy the drama and melancholy of it all when I realised I'd probably flatline the battery. iPhone to the rescue, I found the ultimate power ballad- featuring Bonnie Tyler and Meat loaf (WOW)- wait for it "Have you ever seen the rain". Power ballads are so empowering (hence the name I suppose). About 38 secs into the track I realised Bonnie was talking to me and no sooner had I realised but I was imagining myself as some kinda of tragic heroin from a movie who would despite everything would over come all the odds before being carted off by a handsome prince on a white steed.
So I'm sitting awaiting my brother to my rescue with a hammer, or a wrench or something from a tool box and I'm feeling useless. I decide my flat buster tyre, broken lights and hanging off bonnet are not enough to be concerned with and 'feeling sorry for myself' should get a look in too. So I have a good cry to myself, demolish a pack of Mega Monster Munch and shamefully half a packet of malteasers someone had stowed away in the glove compartment for god knows how long (they were slightly chewy).
I soundtracked this eating/weeping fiasco with some Johnny Cash on repeat. "Hurt" was particularly poignant because my pride was so very hurt-ed. I was beginning to enjoy the drama and melancholy of it all when I realised I'd probably flatline the battery. iPhone to the rescue, I found the ultimate power ballad- featuring Bonnie Tyler and Meat loaf (WOW)- wait for it "Have you ever seen the rain". Power ballads are so empowering (hence the name I suppose). About 38 secs into the track I realised Bonnie was talking to me and no sooner had I realised but I was imagining myself as some kinda of tragic heroin from a movie who would despite everything would over come all the odds before being carted off by a handsome prince on a white steed.
I can recommend this little trick to any emotionally unstable ladies out there. Suddenly your situation is less pathetic and strangely epic. Thankfully this is the point, where imagination and reality would have collided. Patrick, said brother arrived and sorted everything out. Not silently of course. He moaned and groaned, because he's my brother and I'm an idiot. Thankfully I've mastered the technique of selective hearing learned from my father and his instruction to "drive very slowly on the motorway" as I had "a temporary tyre on and it was very hazardous in the wet conditions" was absorbed and all other lecturing dismissed.
Off I headed chugging along through the apocayltic rain at 40KM per hour down a MOTOR-WAY. It took about 6 minutes before it dawned on me that he was actually trying to fucking kill me. Motor-way's in torrential rain at 40mph per hour are not a safe place, let me tell you. I guess this was his pay back for all those years spent torturing him, hogging the front seat, making him play Flower Fairies, calling him out on a Saturday morning to come and rescue me from a motorway with a flat and a busted light. That type of thing. People are crazy fricking drivers now a days. One truck practically forced me of the road, this is fact. I wish I had evidence apart from 01-DL-1962, just kidding. I've no idea of the plates I was too busy trying to save myself from imminent death. It wasn't all bad though, I quite enjoyed when speeders let me know I was only doing 40km in my tricycle by sitting on the horn whilst rearending me for 99.9% of the journey. That wasn't stressful at all. When I arrived in Dublin, 3 hours later I realised I should probably have put on my hazard lights. Let's never speak of this again.
All this trauma made it difficult to concentrate on offset, which is a shame. I will say though that Chris Haughton was my highlight and Gary Baseman was my lowlight. You can see an interview with the lovely Chris here. And hopefully never ever have to endure Basemans creamy love without previously consenting to it.
Off I headed chugging along through the apocayltic rain at 40KM per hour down a MOTOR-WAY. It took about 6 minutes before it dawned on me that he was actually trying to fucking kill me. Motor-way's in torrential rain at 40mph per hour are not a safe place, let me tell you. I guess this was his pay back for all those years spent torturing him, hogging the front seat, making him play Flower Fairies, calling him out on a Saturday morning to come and rescue me from a motorway with a flat and a busted light. That type of thing. People are crazy fricking drivers now a days. One truck practically forced me of the road, this is fact. I wish I had evidence apart from 01-DL-1962, just kidding. I've no idea of the plates I was too busy trying to save myself from imminent death. It wasn't all bad though, I quite enjoyed when speeders let me know I was only doing 40km in my tricycle by sitting on the horn whilst rearending me for 99.9% of the journey. That wasn't stressful at all. When I arrived in Dublin, 3 hours later I realised I should probably have put on my hazard lights. Let's never speak of this again.
All this trauma made it difficult to concentrate on offset, which is a shame. I will say though that Chris Haughton was my highlight and Gary Baseman was my lowlight. You can see an interview with the lovely Chris here. And hopefully never ever have to endure Basemans creamy love without previously consenting to it.
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