Catch up

Whew! Well, it's been an eventful week, that's for sure. I'm back from Holland since monday, and have now moved all my stuff home from Dublin, so I'm gone from there as well. This is the first time I have been based at home for years.

It's been a good 7 days all in all, and to do them justice I'll have to deal with them separately. Be warned, this is a long one.

Wednesday 25th (picking up from the last post): The job finished well enough. At 5:30 I said my goodbyes with company-wide e-mails and left. I was joined in town at about 6:30 for drinks with people who wanted to give me a bit of a send-off. As it was a Wednesday, it understated enough, but it was a nice touch. Thanks to Denis, Pat D, Linus, and Mary for turning up. My plan was to leave at around 9, but the lads told me that when they had said this to the others in the office, a gale of laughter blew around the room. Given that I ended up leaving at 12, I can kind of see where they're coming from now....

Thursday 26th: Vile. I got up reasonably early and got ready for the trip to the airport. The plan was also to fill out the third-level grant application form before I left, but boy, did that idea go out the window. At 11:30 at the house, with everything packed and checkin in 1 hour, I discovered my wallet had gone AWOL. I had very cleverly packed it in the bottom of one of the bags, and it took me twenty minutes to find it. I was a ball of sweat at this stage, and there were hardly any taxis to be had in Rialto. One cabbie who was waiting outside the hospital for a client took pity on me and brought me to the airport. Once I was checked in, everything was cool.

The flight itself was fine, cheap and cheerful, with a company called Basiqair. As usual, my discomfort of flying was present. I can't work out when this came about, as I always had a problem with heights, but as a child we used to fly to Holland and it never really bothered me (apart from the bloody ear-popping), but somewhere along the line, flying became an uneasy experience for me. Now, I always try and get an aisle seat, and if I'm next to a window, that motherfucker shutter is going down! I think there was a long gap between my last flight as a teenager and my first one as an adult, and that was where the worry set in. By the way, I love the manner in which pilots deliver the final announcement, 'We are now preparing to land' which should actually read, 'Please prepare yourself while we simulate an extreme crash landing'. I swear, we must have bounced along the runaway about three times.

Having got into Rotterdam, I didn't have much of a problem finding anything, as almost all of the Dutch are pretty much bilingual, with English being almost second nature. They don't even need explanations. Consider the following conversation, where I was looking for directions at Rotterdam Centraal train station:

Me (at information desk): Excuse me. Platform twelve?
Woman (regarding me with curiousity): What?
Me (pathetically attempting Dutch): Spoor twelf?
Woman (quickly becoming irritated beyond belief): Yes, but what is your question?!

Once I had randomly pressed a few buttons on an electronic machine (it was all in Dutch), I had my ticket and headed off.

Got to Deventer and was then trying to ring my mother but none of the phone numbers she had given me were accessible from my phone while it was on a foreign network. Eventually I got through to my sister, and my lunatic drinker of an uncle-in-law (Joop) was dispatched to collect me. An hour and a half later, I was shaking hands and triple-kissing the aunties and uncles. A lot of them hadn't seen me since I was seventeen, nor I them, so it was nice to catch up.

I got settled at my cousin's apartment who was living there with his girlfriend (no brother yet), and was surprised to learn he was only paying 350 euros for what was a very nice place. It was subsidised, being a council house, but it was in a different league to the council houses here. I tried to make friends with their cats, but they seemed more interested in clawing the furniture and they flounced out of the room anytime I started talking to them. Well Shimmy and Epa, that's just fine by me!

Friday 27th: Slept until 1 (well, wouldn't you!), and then got up and visited my parents and brother-in-law and sister, who were stationed in self-contained apartments. Then we went shopping. I couldn't get over how cheap everything was. It really was a revelation. My parents bought fourteen bottles of decent wine for 118 euro. My sister did a big shop, some of which consisted of alcohol, and it came to 40 euro! She just laughed and said that there must have been some mistake. Then the cashier laughed and said no, there wasn't.

Later, my brother arrived with his girlfriend, and they got settled in the room down the hall. Most of the weekend we actually got on fine, mercifully enough, although there still arose the odd occasion where I wanted to stuff him in a blender and hit 'Purée'. But not all that often, relatively speaking. I still think I won't be visiting him that much in London while I'm in Brighton though. It would need to be kept to a minimum, I feel.

We went to the pub later. We said it would just be for one. We ended up staying out until past one. Maybe that was what was intended, by someone somewhere. Somehow the subject of my taste for men came up in conversation with Claire (brother's girlfriend) and Marion (Mark the cousin's girlfriend). Marion was cool with that, but Claire, being a bit of a drama queen, thought I was going to announce that preference tommorrow when I said I wasn't going to lie about not having a girlfriend. I said I wasn't going make any such announcement, as it was my aunt's day. It was cleared up.

Once again, Dutch prices were highlighted. 1.75 euros for a bottle of Grolsch at the bar on a Friday night. Note to readers: If you live in Ireland, leave. If you don't, don't bother your arse coming on holiday, or if you do, bring a huge suitcase of money and be prepared to kiss it goodbye before the end of your soujourn, no matter how short that is. This country is a black hole for money and we are being ridden bareback.

Saturday 28th: Dragged myself out of bed at 10 to get ready for 11. It wasn't pretty, with my hangover, but I managed it. It still went the usual way, I was in the shower and my brother was annoying me with cries to hurry up. Yeah, like that's going to help!

We got to our venue, and met the rest of the aunties and uncles. I wasn't feeling the best but the good-time uncle Joop solved that by practically pouring beer down my throat. It worked, sort of.

The day overall was great. We had a meal, and then met some people and then the party kicked off at about 8. The coffee and beer was served by a hot, corn-fed fresh-faced waiter called Marcel. I want to disrobe him, and run my hands all over his naked body, and grasp his firm buttocks and...... Oh, calm DOWN, Denis......The great thing about the beer was that as soon as your glass looked half empty, a waiter would bring you another one without even being asked. It goes without saying that we were all blotto at the end of the night. Sample dialogue between me and my sister:

Seána: You hide it well, but you're a bit of a cutie.
Denis: When the bloody hell have I ever hidden it?

I also got talking to the one Dutch uncle-by-blood that I have, Gerrit. I always thought him fairly dour and he is a fairly depressive person, but he's actually got an understated, dry, sense of humour and the fact that he is completely unable to schmooze makes him a genuine person. Now that I'm older, I can understand him better. His wife's a cutie too, and she doesn't hide it either.

Afterwards, we went across to the bar and were greeted by a group of people singing Karaoke. As soon as they heard we were Irish, they started singing Boyzone. Christ. We had a couple of drinks there, and met Marcel, who had retired for a few. I shook his hand and said goodbye. I exercised restraint as I felt he was straight, and I was right. Claire indignantly pointed out that I should chat him up in preparation for Brighton, and when I refused, she went out and did it on my behalf, in spite of my instructions to the contrary.

He turned out to be straight, and wanted to get his hands on her! HA HA HA HA HAAAAAA!

Sunday 29th: Slept until all hours. Bliss! Got up and went to have a meal in a restaurant. We had what I think is called a 'chef's menu' where you don't actually order anything. The chef decides and brings all the courses out to you instead. We also had champagne and lashings of wine. I would heartily recommend this place if I could remember the name of it, but all I recall is that it has two michelin stars.

One disconcerting thing that I noticed is that red wine can induce some really anti-social feelings in me, and that happened today. I'm blaming the red wine because it happened before that I felt really angry for no reason, and it was after red wine as well. I was on such a hair-trigger temper that I had to walk to one of my aunt's house while everyone else drove. Overall, sometimes it can be a combination of the wine and being around my immediate family (in particular my brother and sister and her husband) that can do it. It was the only flaw in an otherwise great evening, which I still enjoyed. We all congregated in a sitting room while I moaned about having to leave. The cutie aunt-in-law told me I should simply put everything off for a year and live in Ruurlo. I was tempted.

Before bed, back at Mark's house, I attempted to make friends with the rabbbit. He wasn't having it either, and when I picked him up, he struggled like his life depended on it. Maybe he thought I was looking at him with rabbit casserole eyes. I got a picture of him with the camera anyway. I'll stick them up here at a later date.

With drink and Claire in the equation, we got back to the topic of Denis digging men. Mark is a nice guy, and maybe I'm a bit jaded, but his protests of how it didn't change his opinion of me were very pronounced. Maybe he just felt he had to be emphatic. I just feel that it is something that doesn't need to be said by someone who knows me at this stage. Nevertheless, as it was pointed out, in time all my relatives over in that neck of the woods will find out, and when I come back there it should be a better experience for it.

Monday 30th: Had to get up at 5:45 in order to leave the house at 6:45. My uncle-in-law Wim drove a little less quickly than Joop and by the time we got to Deventer, the train I was supposed to get was pulling out of the station. I got the next one with Paul and Claire, which was an experience. We were probably still pissed from the night before from all the wine, and in the middle of all the commuters myself and Claire had a gigglefit at our inability to find decent seats. At 8:15 in the morning. With hangovers.

I had to change trains twice, at Amersfoort and at Utrecht, but I still managed to make the flight back to Dublin. On the plane, I was seated next to what one presumes were a married couple. Everything was cool until the little brat they had started screaming and wriggling. Then the little girl two rows up from us took her cue from him and did the same. Christ, I like children most of the time, but a chorus of caterwauling in a confined space is more than I can stand. The landing wasn't too bad this time, at least.

On the bus back into Dublin city, I noticed a hot bear guy sitting near me. I ogled him all the way into town, thinking about what I wanted to do to him. I wanted to feel the heat of his naked body next to mine. But I erred on the side of caution. It was only when we got off the bus at the last stop that I noticed the bear paw symbol tattooed on his hot, muscular (enough!) calf. I wanted to run after him but it would have been too obvious on O'Connell Street. Oh missed opportunity!

I went back to the house in Rialto and got some much-needed chill time. Then I went to Sarah's house for a bite to eat and some wine as I hadn't met her out on the Wednesday, but not before buying new runners in Schuh to go with the t-shirt I bought over the internet. My shopping habits have gone kinda gay lately, with all my worry of accessorising, but what the hell. The meal was nice anyway, and Sarah and me had hugs and kisses at the end.

The rest of the night was one of the worst, most stressful heart-attack inducing nights of my LIFE! I got back to the house at 8:15 with the intention of leaving that night for the 9pm train (my bed had been taken over by my replacement) so I brought all my stuff downstairs (8:30) and then got a taxi (8:40). Finally got to Heuston at 8:50 and had to buy my ticket AND get two trolleyloads of stuff onto the train. I also had forgotten my new shoes, but thank God Kieran had driven after us and brought them to me.

The journey home was quite shit as well, as all ten/twelve bags were piled against one door, and depending on whether or not that door faced onto a platform as it pulled into a station, I had to move them across the other door on the other side. At one point some woman moaned that she couldn't get out through the blocked door. I volunteered to wheel her suitcase down the length of the carriage to the next exit, just to shut her up. After, she thanked me. I think her gratitude should have been for the fact that she was still alive. Also, my parents had to go to bed because they were shattered from the holiday, but they booked a taxi for me before they headed off. I tried to ring the cabbie to explain that he would need to be on the platform to meet me and help me with my stuff, but the coup de grâce: my phone went dead. It also nearly flew out the window as a result, but I kept my head. Finally, I texted him.

At 12am Tuesday morning, I was home with all my stuff.

Tuesday 31st (Today): Didn't do much. Looked at some porn on my parents computer, which is what I am typing on now. Bed now.

Looking back, maybe I should have stayed on the couch in Rialto until Tuesday morning, but I had it in my head I was leaving and I wanted my own bed. A shame, as I never got to find out about Sinéad's weekend with the Scottish guy, and tell them about mine over in the Netherlands, but oh well. I might see them again, as I still have to go up and collect my television (no WAY was I attempting to bring that home as well!). Bloody hell, I'm almost sure I'd be beating myself up if I had decided to go the next day. I need to stop criticising myself needlessly.

So that's it. Dublin and flat over. Four years of testing finished. It feels strange looking back on it, now that I finally have time to breathe. I'll soldier on. It needs to be done. I still have to revise that A-level chemistry.

Thank the Lord for that holiday though. It was just what the doctor ordered.

Now I'm definitely going to bed.