I Must Walk Where Squirrels Scamper


Work arranged for Republic Of Loose to play a gig for us in the canteen the other day! There was free ice cream, the sun was shining (the gig was out on the 5th floor balcony-decking-style thing) and their set included a zippy rendition of Michael Jackson’s Human Nature. Best work lunch ever.

My French lecturer (in both senses of the term: he is French and he teaches French) emailed me this afternoon to tell me I passed the Diplome de Francais des Affaires exam I did in May…with a Merit. Oh yes. I’m hoping it comes in handy soon…

Having watched the enjoyable Red Eye and chilled chez moi watching the 100 Greatest Pop Videos with K and C, I stayed up til 3 watching Fear. It’s a guilty pleasure movie and I loved it. Stumbling on movies late at night often increases the enjoyment for me; I feel like I discovered it or something.


Commenting this afternoon on the heaps of salad I frequently take with my lunch, M remarked “man, you really take the piss with the salad”. In my head I heard it as a wonderful alternative to ‘rough with the smooth’ and laughed and subsequently choke-coughed on my couscous. As a matter of fact I normally take aggressive objection to people commenting on the food I eat, it really grinds my gears. Particular hatred is reserved for:

What’s that? {I reply} Oh, I really don’t like that.

Eeeew, I can’t stand [food I’m eating]! How can you eat that!

You got enough there?! [To which I reply, “Oh don’t worry, I’m bulemic!” and leave soon after to go to the bathroom.]

1. I never take objection to the food you eat
2. I wasn’t going to offer you any anyway
3. No-one asked!

I still harbour some painfully vivid memories of lunchtime at primary school when kids used to grab my sandwich, open it, peer inside and erupt a passionate “eeuggh!” at the ‘horrors’ inside: usually cheese or egg or tapeworm or something.


I went to visit a friend in Milltown last night and, man, Temple Road may well be Dublin’s Sweetest Street. Marred only by Temple Square (a generic double-click estate that simply does not belong there), the road is lined with huge, overhanging, deciduous trees, and is home to some severely impressive red-brick mansions with large driveways with names like Rockford and Lonsdale. It’s also rather quiet and even pleasant to walk down. But I bet its residents are snotty middle-management types who enjoy the street purely for its exclusiveness. What a cheap shot. I’m gone.

stigmund – Works In Seconds. Lasts For Hours

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