A summary... 2007... in full.
So I sat thinking to myself, 2007 was a very busy year! I decided no better than to bloody well rant about all the things that have killed and scorned me over the past year, and I'll try and level it out with all the good things that happened too...
Beginnings are a good place to start, so alas, I will start there. My first few thoughts of the year were 'All men are self indulgent pigs that deserve nothing but to be hit with the trough they drink from'... Turns out, I can be quite the little bitch myself. Anyone who's anyone should know, that if the words 'I can't see you anymore because I'll be focusing on my work too much,' they should realise I am an out and out liar, that won't lift a finger for an exam and never have, so basically it's just a 'Fuck off, I don't like you anymore.' I'm lazy and care more about the koala bears in Cambodia than anything educational. I'm not so sure there are koalas in Cambodia, but it sure makes a sounding alliteration if any.
So during an epiphany in reconstructive surgery, when the lovely Gwen Stefani was evident on the radio, I knew exactly what I wanted to achieve this year. It was a very short epiphany as they knocked me out a few seconds later and I carried on dreaming of fluffy dogs and pink elephants, before being awoken a few hours later for more morphine. My first feeling here... 'Ouch.'
Morphine is fantastic. I know how people can get addicted. It lasts for days and days! Maybe because I moaned so much that they just kept the stuff flowing, or maybe my body likes me and kept a hold on every last drop until it couldn't anymore. I had to worry about more things. Bigger things... The BBC were arriving again to finish the programme. And I had got fat. In the space of one week, I had ingested more calories than Vanessa Feltz does in a year. I had a proud little tummy, that I hadn't seen since my puppy fat days. And I hated it. Out of routine from the regular sport, and how it would remain for the next 3 months, I knew this was the start of what we call 'curves'. Shit.
The BBC came and went, and then, arrived the screening. One word. Embarassment. I sound awful on TV, I really do. It came across wrong, and although people said it didn't, it was a patchwork quilt of about 4 takes. And then arrived the confrontation of school. You know what it's like, you get a tattoo and you get the 'Did it hurt?' and the 'How much did that cost?' and even more 'Where did you get it done?' This was rather like that. And all you want to say is the following:
'If it hurt, would I have let them do the other one?'
'I don't know how much it cost down to the last penny, but it's your taxes, so suck on that'
'I got it done in a back alley for a fiver, what do you think?'
People show their stupidity at times like these, and all you want to do is hit them over the head with something very hard and say 'You absolute wanker, do you know what you just said?!' I still get these questions when people ask me 'Are ye dat one wiv da boob/bap/tit jab leek.' Please...jog on.
In the next two weeks, I realised I was a bitch. Getting a lot closer to achieving my 'goal' of the year, that one person I liked more than I had liked anyone before, edging even closer. All that stood in my way was a greasy mop head with the wrong intentions. I have the tendency to make a lot of mistakes and just sleep it off. This I couldn't. This thing stuck. I had a lot of guilt, don't get me wrong, but it was exciting. It was a platonic affair, and I loved every single second of it.
So away with the obstacle and it was a clear run through the rest of the course. At the end, there was Glenn. A 6'3 brunette with dazzling green eyes, oh my. He made my heart beat faster, and with a heart condition, couldn't be worse. I remember the first night we kissed. I had ordered him to attend the Beach Club, and he agreed. Brilliant. The only thing was, I wasn't 18 and was using an ID that didn't look unlike me, but still didn't look like me. My initial feeling...'Oh god this could be embarassing.' Cheers to the bouncers, they saved me from it. So there was he with his friends, and there was me with... well, half the year. It was someone's 18th and although I was there on alternate business and didn't join their company, but yet the interruptions were coming in thick and fast. I was joined by the one person who had known all along I'd liked him for a steady few months, the one person who knows me inside out and back to front, and I'm sure she could tell I wasn't best impressed. The more I had to introduce him as my 'friend' the more I got frustrated and started to think 'Oh god, he thinks of me as just that, he hasn't made a move'. So I brought out the big guns. I perched myself on his knee and kindly joked that there were no seats and had to settle for second best. We sat for a short while longer, and amidst my daydreams and looking around wondering things like 'Why is she dressed all in green, St. Patrick's Day isn't until next week...' and 'God learn when to stop on the fake tan, David Dickinson', I felt a tap on my shoulder and low and behold, he went in for the kill. Cue the clichés. Fireworks! Sirens! Bright light! All going off in my head. It was brilliant. All doubt in my head, gone. For a while at least, until alcohol set in and I began to think, 'What if he thinks of it as a one night thing?!' and 'What if he thinks I'm a bad kisser?!' Then, looking in the mirror, I realised, whilst starting the night out half decent, I now looked like a crack whore.
The end of the night drew in unfortunately. March isn't a warm month at all, and Carrick isn't a warm town either. So seeking refuge in a bus shelter until a taxi arrived was our last hope. It also meant the night lasted that little bit longer. The next morning, a headache occurred... and no message since the night before. Uh oh. I refused to give in. Hours passed until it got to around 4 oclock, and my hopes of future Mrs Justin, shattered. Until, message tone. Seems this ones lazier than me.
A brilliant week lay ahead, until I was off to Newcastle on Sunday. Coincidentally, so was he. He left on the Friday to stay with a friend, keeping me updated on their antics until they eventually slept. Saturday was St. Patrick's Day. I've never celebrated it before, but I agreed to attend the concert at New Spot, it was a Saturday and I had nothing else to do. It was a fulfilling day apart from the rugby. Bloody french. Night drew in and I got exceedingly excited for my 6.00am alarm to go off to be dragged to the airport. 9.50pm on Saturday, a discussion was held on how we were still being referred to as friends which was odd. And there was the question, and the answer...and the couple. It was inevitable I'm sure, and I had hoped it would have been more spectacular, but I just couldn't wait to see him the next day.
Unfortunately, Easyjet hates me. There was snow everywhere and we were delayed by a rather nasty four hours. For a smoker on a school hockey trip, this means sneaking around just to get nicotine. But then the flight time came. Cabin pressure and silicon don't mix at all. No, they don't explode, but it hurts... a lot. So Newcastle arrived, and already it was brilliant. I met up with him at 4 and didn't return to the hotel until 6.30, and then we had to go for dinner at 7, and I was less than sober. So dinner was difficult as I can get quite giddy. Leaving a few people needing stitches in their sides with discriminating videos of my antics with a pile of peas and some tapas, I was given permission to go and see Glenn for 2 hours at the most. That meant being at the hotel for 11.30. We hit the Geordie version of the Beach Club, and because we were from N.I we were instantly labelled VIPs and given a lot of free champagne. So 11.30 came and went, and so did every piece of my sobriety. At around 1.30, Glenn carried me the rather short distance to my hotel. All we needed to do was cross a bridge. This was difficult as we stumbled the majority of the way, and when we got to reception, both landed on the floor, giving the receptionist a scare. After 15 minutes of attempting to get up, I went upstairs. Morning came, and that meant breakfast with two very unamused teachers...and a very very bad hangover. I couldn't face it and stayed in bed. The rest of Newcastle was the same. It resulted in shouting at foreigners, drinking the next day from 3.00 until the next day by making a well needed trip to Asda, dodging many cars on the way, and not playing any hockey at all because of the snow and my boobs hurt aka, I'm very drunk. We also spent a night in a strip club in Newcastle in the company of Johnny Evans and a few other past pupils. The antics continued, and I made sure I slept on top of the bed tonight instead of under it.
We all got home in one piece, and one thing was waiting for me at home. Glenn. Weeks passed, he had his 19th birthday and I had my 18th, and the honeymoon period was still going strong. I saw as much as I could of Glenn over my exams, and it worked out fine because I never intended on working for them from the start. In August, I got results and found out I was off to Coleraine university. Good and bad. I had put Queens as my first choice, but never wanted to go, so really I dodged a bullet when they refused me. But Coleraine, it was 60 odd miles away. Glenn could now drive, but that wouldn't make things better. And it was supposed to be very very cold. We hit an iceberg in the last few days of August. Glenn was going to Ibiza for two weeks. He left and I cried for days and days. We'd seen each other every minute of the day when we could, his work permitting, and now, cold turkey for two weeks?! It dragged in, and I missed him so much. I had no doubts when he was there, he's not a cheating guy, he wouldn't have it in him. He's been brought up well and wouldn't lie. So when he came back everything went back to normal, and it was great. There was one thing hanging over our heads. On the 16th of September, I was moving away. A day before our 6 months and everything.
I remember that day. I'd tried to make out the scrawl that was my new housemate's signatures, and made out a Sarah and a Claire. I passed a skinny blonde girl on the stairs and we said a hollow hello. I was petrified, she didn't look like anything I would take to. As me and Mum set up my mould ridden room, that had a sink in it? A stout ginger girl piled a TV into the room opposite me. My mum ran in to tell her the fridge didn't close properly. My Mum is an embarassment sometimes, but I love her for her erratic behaviour. One room was left unoccupied, and I began to think maybe there was only three of us. Everyone elses parents had left, and so did my mum, with a quick hug and a 'Call me later' off she set all bleary eyed, god bless her, and I went to meet the housemates. What do you say? You have to live with these people for a year, you can't exactly ask for their life story. The first girl I came across was Sinead. She was full of questions. Then the other girl came in, the skinny blonde one. I embarassed myself by saying 'Ah you must be Claire' No, she wasn't. She was Chloe. She said it cheekily, and I had a right mind to say 'Well your hand writing looks like shit.' Within the first five minutes, she established she was a mega god botherer a good few times. This year would be fun. So where was Sarah? I was informed she had gone for lunch in the dingy town of Portstewart. So the three of us talked for a while, trying to figure out just what the tricky bastards at Student finance had established us all with for the beginning of the year.
I was looking forward to Glenn arriving that night. Two reasons, 1. We forgot to pack a duvet and he needed to deliver it, and 2. He needed to save me. As we inspected all the nooks and crannies of the house, the question came up 'Do you smoke?' 'YES!' I exclaimed in sheer delight that someone else could wake up in the middle of the night to calm themselves with nicotine sticks. Turned out, I was their worst nightmare. Well, Chloe's anyway. She was strict in her religion, no drink, no fegs, no sex. How very dull she was. Not because of this, because really, she had the personality of my wall, and my wall is cream, and cream is a very dull colour indeed. It turned out Sinead's boyfriend smoked, so she didn't have much objection to it.
So the two of them went for lunch with their parents and I pottered about waiting for Glenn to arrive. It didn't take him long to get lost. It was time though. Time for me to make my first meal...ever. I never took to cooking. For god sake I put salad in the toaster on one occassion. I will never be a cooking housewife. Not in all my days. As we sat down to bog-standard pasta and sweet chilli sauce, Sarah arrived. She had a very broad Dublin accent and she seemed really nice. I didn't get to talk to her much as she was heading out again with her sister, but there were plenty more encounters to be had.
That day went well, I suppose. The first month did, so did the second. We all seemed to gel quite quickly. Chloe never came out with us. Christian duties etc, and although Sarah was also a christian, she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty in sinful things. Glenn would come up as much as he could, but it hurt more and more each time he left. I was blessed with a three day timetable, which meant I could endure the long train home on a Wednesday. Drunken nights at the Anchor were top notch. The people who lived in the halls were all well up for it. Some of them needed and still need a slap up the bake, but don't most people. There was a fair share of drama in Cromore. It's got out of hand now, most people have calmed down, but one or two...well one, will still pull a knife on the warden more than once.
November arrived. Coleraine...is cold. Cold and Rainy, just like the name. But I had thought of bigger things. I hated Chloe. Because of messy Tuesday nights, we were left to a lot of cleaning. By 'we', three of us were. Three of us not including her. It wasn't until now that I realised, Sarah and Sinead felt the same. Quite recently, it has become more evident. When we challenged her about the fact she never cleans and only buys things for herself in our house, you would expect her to take note. No. One thing we made an example of, was the disgusting job of clearing the hair out of the shower plug. I had done this when we had lived there for a month. And I wretched. Sarah and Sinead had both done it. And they wretched. It's not pleasant but it needs done. So before the break for Christmas, she said she would do it. When me and Glenn arrived on New Year's Eve to find out the shower could now substitute for a bath because it was blocked, I hit the roof. I was sick of that girl, and can't wait to get my hands on her when we return at the end of January. She makes me so angry. It was funny however, when I asked her does she ever buy milk, she said 'I buy my own milk.' She then admitted that when her 'own milk' runs out, she isn't a stranger to using the milk that someone has bought for the rest of the house. It's about sharing. If your mum or dad had bought food for just themselves all these years, you'd be quite stuck wouldn't you?
30th November, some goon blessed me with a driving licence. In fact, I'm quite sure I've been done by speed cameras already. Doing 80 on the motorway when you're restricted to 45 is brilliant fun until you get caught. PSNI, I await your letter of you taking my licence off me. You cunts. I have my own car, which is brilliant. It's only 7 years younger than me, but it does the trick in the end.
I left Coleraine for Christmas on the 12th of December, a Wednesday. I was getting excited about Christmas. It was mine and Glenn's first one, and I'd bought him a trip to Manchester. He's an avid Man United supporter, so I thought I'd struck gold when I thought of it. December didn't go according to plan...
On the Saturday, we had plannned to go into town to go to the continental market, I would pick him up and drive there. He text me saying he didn't feel so well and had bad chest pains. I went to his house and told him he was being taken to A&E. He was lunched over, colourless and finding it hard to catch breath. I must admit I was really scared. Whiteabbey A&E and I were acquinted a short while ago when I had a dodgy ankle. So dodgy I couldn't walk, yet they refused me crutches. So I bore a grudge. That grudge has been dropped. They were quick to his aid and it got to the part we'd been awaiting for. The diagnosis.
In waltzed the doctor to proudly say 'You have a collapsed lung.' Not expected. They planned to take him into theatre to drain air out of his lung. I couldn't believe what I was hearing! They took him into theatre and a short while longer he was ready to be admitted. His lung collapsed again during the night and he was given a chest drain. I was really scared on the day he got that drain in. He looked so uncomfortable and so lifeless. A collapsed lung isn't life threatening, or wasn't in his case, but this was my Glenn! He was shortly moved to Antrim. I hate that hospital. It's a shithole. The doctors do nothing, in his ward anyway. In one case, an X-Ray was done at 2.30pm, and wasn't looked at until 4.45pm the next day.
Glenn was told he would be out by Christmas Eve. Everyone was pleased. Unfortunately, people in Antrim Hospital lie. So on Christmas day, after doing the morning rounds to the Golf Club and my goddaughter's house, I set off to Antrim Hospital to try and bring some cheer to him. Unfortunately, we both knew he wouldn't be able to fly to Manchester. He was released on Boxing Day evening after a lot of confrontation. Now maybe we could have a proper Christmas, or what was left of it.
That Saturday, he spoiled me. A trip up the North Coast, to a place we had claimed as ours with a picnic and a pricey bottle of bubbly, it was perfect. Everything I had ever been mad at him for had faded. Even the time he met up with a girl he used to have a thing with. And I was steaming mad at that. Things that Glenn do and have done for me over the past ten months of our relationship, make me wonder why I have paranoid spells. He's showing that he loves me and all I do is doubt him. It makes me feel wick. That girl was nothing but a friend to him. He loves me, i know he does. I suppose from being hurt so much in the past by 'that wanker' and 'that other wanker', has turned me into someone that takes over from time to time. All I have to say is fuck you. I will have my happy ending, and I hope that you're the villan who dies at the end. I'm sick of letting my mind take over when really I should let my heart. If I carry on the way do, I'll lose him. This is what I realised at the end of 2007. I quit smoking on Christmas Eve. It's easy really. My New Year's resolution was to be less paranoid and a better girlfriend. I get under his skin a lot. But he gets under mine. f we didn't it would get boring. But let's be serious, if he can stick me for ten months, he's doing well. He must love me afterall. I'm at the stage where I know I can trust him. Not think I can, I just know. That's a lot for me considering some things I've been subjected to.
Glenn was re-admitted to hospital on Thursday. He spent one night in Whiteabbey and was reacquainted with his friend, the chest drain. He was then moved to Antrim on Friday. On Saturday morning he went for an X-Ray, and they still haven't looked at it. God I hate that place, and parking is a nightmare. And, in fact, it was on my way there today that the speed cameras were evident on a bridge. Fingers crossed they missed me. At least it wasn't yesterday when it was 100 and would be classified as 'dangerous driving'. Oh well.
So here's to 2008, and let's hope his name is mentioned in next year's update, too.
Beginnings are a good place to start, so alas, I will start there. My first few thoughts of the year were 'All men are self indulgent pigs that deserve nothing but to be hit with the trough they drink from'... Turns out, I can be quite the little bitch myself. Anyone who's anyone should know, that if the words 'I can't see you anymore because I'll be focusing on my work too much,' they should realise I am an out and out liar, that won't lift a finger for an exam and never have, so basically it's just a 'Fuck off, I don't like you anymore.' I'm lazy and care more about the koala bears in Cambodia than anything educational. I'm not so sure there are koalas in Cambodia, but it sure makes a sounding alliteration if any.
So during an epiphany in reconstructive surgery, when the lovely Gwen Stefani was evident on the radio, I knew exactly what I wanted to achieve this year. It was a very short epiphany as they knocked me out a few seconds later and I carried on dreaming of fluffy dogs and pink elephants, before being awoken a few hours later for more morphine. My first feeling here... 'Ouch.'
Morphine is fantastic. I know how people can get addicted. It lasts for days and days! Maybe because I moaned so much that they just kept the stuff flowing, or maybe my body likes me and kept a hold on every last drop until it couldn't anymore. I had to worry about more things. Bigger things... The BBC were arriving again to finish the programme. And I had got fat. In the space of one week, I had ingested more calories than Vanessa Feltz does in a year. I had a proud little tummy, that I hadn't seen since my puppy fat days. And I hated it. Out of routine from the regular sport, and how it would remain for the next 3 months, I knew this was the start of what we call 'curves'. Shit.
The BBC came and went, and then, arrived the screening. One word. Embarassment. I sound awful on TV, I really do. It came across wrong, and although people said it didn't, it was a patchwork quilt of about 4 takes. And then arrived the confrontation of school. You know what it's like, you get a tattoo and you get the 'Did it hurt?' and the 'How much did that cost?' and even more 'Where did you get it done?' This was rather like that. And all you want to say is the following:
'If it hurt, would I have let them do the other one?'
'I don't know how much it cost down to the last penny, but it's your taxes, so suck on that'
'I got it done in a back alley for a fiver, what do you think?'
People show their stupidity at times like these, and all you want to do is hit them over the head with something very hard and say 'You absolute wanker, do you know what you just said?!' I still get these questions when people ask me 'Are ye dat one wiv da boob/bap/tit jab leek.' Please...jog on.
In the next two weeks, I realised I was a bitch. Getting a lot closer to achieving my 'goal' of the year, that one person I liked more than I had liked anyone before, edging even closer. All that stood in my way was a greasy mop head with the wrong intentions. I have the tendency to make a lot of mistakes and just sleep it off. This I couldn't. This thing stuck. I had a lot of guilt, don't get me wrong, but it was exciting. It was a platonic affair, and I loved every single second of it.
So away with the obstacle and it was a clear run through the rest of the course. At the end, there was Glenn. A 6'3 brunette with dazzling green eyes, oh my. He made my heart beat faster, and with a heart condition, couldn't be worse. I remember the first night we kissed. I had ordered him to attend the Beach Club, and he agreed. Brilliant. The only thing was, I wasn't 18 and was using an ID that didn't look unlike me, but still didn't look like me. My initial feeling...'Oh god this could be embarassing.' Cheers to the bouncers, they saved me from it. So there was he with his friends, and there was me with... well, half the year. It was someone's 18th and although I was there on alternate business and didn't join their company, but yet the interruptions were coming in thick and fast. I was joined by the one person who had known all along I'd liked him for a steady few months, the one person who knows me inside out and back to front, and I'm sure she could tell I wasn't best impressed. The more I had to introduce him as my 'friend' the more I got frustrated and started to think 'Oh god, he thinks of me as just that, he hasn't made a move'. So I brought out the big guns. I perched myself on his knee and kindly joked that there were no seats and had to settle for second best. We sat for a short while longer, and amidst my daydreams and looking around wondering things like 'Why is she dressed all in green, St. Patrick's Day isn't until next week...' and 'God learn when to stop on the fake tan, David Dickinson', I felt a tap on my shoulder and low and behold, he went in for the kill. Cue the clichés. Fireworks! Sirens! Bright light! All going off in my head. It was brilliant. All doubt in my head, gone. For a while at least, until alcohol set in and I began to think, 'What if he thinks of it as a one night thing?!' and 'What if he thinks I'm a bad kisser?!' Then, looking in the mirror, I realised, whilst starting the night out half decent, I now looked like a crack whore.
The end of the night drew in unfortunately. March isn't a warm month at all, and Carrick isn't a warm town either. So seeking refuge in a bus shelter until a taxi arrived was our last hope. It also meant the night lasted that little bit longer. The next morning, a headache occurred... and no message since the night before. Uh oh. I refused to give in. Hours passed until it got to around 4 oclock, and my hopes of future Mrs Justin, shattered. Until, message tone. Seems this ones lazier than me.
A brilliant week lay ahead, until I was off to Newcastle on Sunday. Coincidentally, so was he. He left on the Friday to stay with a friend, keeping me updated on their antics until they eventually slept. Saturday was St. Patrick's Day. I've never celebrated it before, but I agreed to attend the concert at New Spot, it was a Saturday and I had nothing else to do. It was a fulfilling day apart from the rugby. Bloody french. Night drew in and I got exceedingly excited for my 6.00am alarm to go off to be dragged to the airport. 9.50pm on Saturday, a discussion was held on how we were still being referred to as friends which was odd. And there was the question, and the answer...and the couple. It was inevitable I'm sure, and I had hoped it would have been more spectacular, but I just couldn't wait to see him the next day.
Unfortunately, Easyjet hates me. There was snow everywhere and we were delayed by a rather nasty four hours. For a smoker on a school hockey trip, this means sneaking around just to get nicotine. But then the flight time came. Cabin pressure and silicon don't mix at all. No, they don't explode, but it hurts... a lot. So Newcastle arrived, and already it was brilliant. I met up with him at 4 and didn't return to the hotel until 6.30, and then we had to go for dinner at 7, and I was less than sober. So dinner was difficult as I can get quite giddy. Leaving a few people needing stitches in their sides with discriminating videos of my antics with a pile of peas and some tapas, I was given permission to go and see Glenn for 2 hours at the most. That meant being at the hotel for 11.30. We hit the Geordie version of the Beach Club, and because we were from N.I we were instantly labelled VIPs and given a lot of free champagne. So 11.30 came and went, and so did every piece of my sobriety. At around 1.30, Glenn carried me the rather short distance to my hotel. All we needed to do was cross a bridge. This was difficult as we stumbled the majority of the way, and when we got to reception, both landed on the floor, giving the receptionist a scare. After 15 minutes of attempting to get up, I went upstairs. Morning came, and that meant breakfast with two very unamused teachers...and a very very bad hangover. I couldn't face it and stayed in bed. The rest of Newcastle was the same. It resulted in shouting at foreigners, drinking the next day from 3.00 until the next day by making a well needed trip to Asda, dodging many cars on the way, and not playing any hockey at all because of the snow and my boobs hurt aka, I'm very drunk. We also spent a night in a strip club in Newcastle in the company of Johnny Evans and a few other past pupils. The antics continued, and I made sure I slept on top of the bed tonight instead of under it.
We all got home in one piece, and one thing was waiting for me at home. Glenn. Weeks passed, he had his 19th birthday and I had my 18th, and the honeymoon period was still going strong. I saw as much as I could of Glenn over my exams, and it worked out fine because I never intended on working for them from the start. In August, I got results and found out I was off to Coleraine university. Good and bad. I had put Queens as my first choice, but never wanted to go, so really I dodged a bullet when they refused me. But Coleraine, it was 60 odd miles away. Glenn could now drive, but that wouldn't make things better. And it was supposed to be very very cold. We hit an iceberg in the last few days of August. Glenn was going to Ibiza for two weeks. He left and I cried for days and days. We'd seen each other every minute of the day when we could, his work permitting, and now, cold turkey for two weeks?! It dragged in, and I missed him so much. I had no doubts when he was there, he's not a cheating guy, he wouldn't have it in him. He's been brought up well and wouldn't lie. So when he came back everything went back to normal, and it was great. There was one thing hanging over our heads. On the 16th of September, I was moving away. A day before our 6 months and everything.
I remember that day. I'd tried to make out the scrawl that was my new housemate's signatures, and made out a Sarah and a Claire. I passed a skinny blonde girl on the stairs and we said a hollow hello. I was petrified, she didn't look like anything I would take to. As me and Mum set up my mould ridden room, that had a sink in it? A stout ginger girl piled a TV into the room opposite me. My mum ran in to tell her the fridge didn't close properly. My Mum is an embarassment sometimes, but I love her for her erratic behaviour. One room was left unoccupied, and I began to think maybe there was only three of us. Everyone elses parents had left, and so did my mum, with a quick hug and a 'Call me later' off she set all bleary eyed, god bless her, and I went to meet the housemates. What do you say? You have to live with these people for a year, you can't exactly ask for their life story. The first girl I came across was Sinead. She was full of questions. Then the other girl came in, the skinny blonde one. I embarassed myself by saying 'Ah you must be Claire' No, she wasn't. She was Chloe. She said it cheekily, and I had a right mind to say 'Well your hand writing looks like shit.' Within the first five minutes, she established she was a mega god botherer a good few times. This year would be fun. So where was Sarah? I was informed she had gone for lunch in the dingy town of Portstewart. So the three of us talked for a while, trying to figure out just what the tricky bastards at Student finance had established us all with for the beginning of the year.
I was looking forward to Glenn arriving that night. Two reasons, 1. We forgot to pack a duvet and he needed to deliver it, and 2. He needed to save me. As we inspected all the nooks and crannies of the house, the question came up 'Do you smoke?' 'YES!' I exclaimed in sheer delight that someone else could wake up in the middle of the night to calm themselves with nicotine sticks. Turned out, I was their worst nightmare. Well, Chloe's anyway. She was strict in her religion, no drink, no fegs, no sex. How very dull she was. Not because of this, because really, she had the personality of my wall, and my wall is cream, and cream is a very dull colour indeed. It turned out Sinead's boyfriend smoked, so she didn't have much objection to it.
So the two of them went for lunch with their parents and I pottered about waiting for Glenn to arrive. It didn't take him long to get lost. It was time though. Time for me to make my first meal...ever. I never took to cooking. For god sake I put salad in the toaster on one occassion. I will never be a cooking housewife. Not in all my days. As we sat down to bog-standard pasta and sweet chilli sauce, Sarah arrived. She had a very broad Dublin accent and she seemed really nice. I didn't get to talk to her much as she was heading out again with her sister, but there were plenty more encounters to be had.
That day went well, I suppose. The first month did, so did the second. We all seemed to gel quite quickly. Chloe never came out with us. Christian duties etc, and although Sarah was also a christian, she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty in sinful things. Glenn would come up as much as he could, but it hurt more and more each time he left. I was blessed with a three day timetable, which meant I could endure the long train home on a Wednesday. Drunken nights at the Anchor were top notch. The people who lived in the halls were all well up for it. Some of them needed and still need a slap up the bake, but don't most people. There was a fair share of drama in Cromore. It's got out of hand now, most people have calmed down, but one or two...well one, will still pull a knife on the warden more than once.
November arrived. Coleraine...is cold. Cold and Rainy, just like the name. But I had thought of bigger things. I hated Chloe. Because of messy Tuesday nights, we were left to a lot of cleaning. By 'we', three of us were. Three of us not including her. It wasn't until now that I realised, Sarah and Sinead felt the same. Quite recently, it has become more evident. When we challenged her about the fact she never cleans and only buys things for herself in our house, you would expect her to take note. No. One thing we made an example of, was the disgusting job of clearing the hair out of the shower plug. I had done this when we had lived there for a month. And I wretched. Sarah and Sinead had both done it. And they wretched. It's not pleasant but it needs done. So before the break for Christmas, she said she would do it. When me and Glenn arrived on New Year's Eve to find out the shower could now substitute for a bath because it was blocked, I hit the roof. I was sick of that girl, and can't wait to get my hands on her when we return at the end of January. She makes me so angry. It was funny however, when I asked her does she ever buy milk, she said 'I buy my own milk.' She then admitted that when her 'own milk' runs out, she isn't a stranger to using the milk that someone has bought for the rest of the house. It's about sharing. If your mum or dad had bought food for just themselves all these years, you'd be quite stuck wouldn't you?
30th November, some goon blessed me with a driving licence. In fact, I'm quite sure I've been done by speed cameras already. Doing 80 on the motorway when you're restricted to 45 is brilliant fun until you get caught. PSNI, I await your letter of you taking my licence off me. You cunts. I have my own car, which is brilliant. It's only 7 years younger than me, but it does the trick in the end.
I left Coleraine for Christmas on the 12th of December, a Wednesday. I was getting excited about Christmas. It was mine and Glenn's first one, and I'd bought him a trip to Manchester. He's an avid Man United supporter, so I thought I'd struck gold when I thought of it. December didn't go according to plan...
On the Saturday, we had plannned to go into town to go to the continental market, I would pick him up and drive there. He text me saying he didn't feel so well and had bad chest pains. I went to his house and told him he was being taken to A&E. He was lunched over, colourless and finding it hard to catch breath. I must admit I was really scared. Whiteabbey A&E and I were acquinted a short while ago when I had a dodgy ankle. So dodgy I couldn't walk, yet they refused me crutches. So I bore a grudge. That grudge has been dropped. They were quick to his aid and it got to the part we'd been awaiting for. The diagnosis.
In waltzed the doctor to proudly say 'You have a collapsed lung.' Not expected. They planned to take him into theatre to drain air out of his lung. I couldn't believe what I was hearing! They took him into theatre and a short while longer he was ready to be admitted. His lung collapsed again during the night and he was given a chest drain. I was really scared on the day he got that drain in. He looked so uncomfortable and so lifeless. A collapsed lung isn't life threatening, or wasn't in his case, but this was my Glenn! He was shortly moved to Antrim. I hate that hospital. It's a shithole. The doctors do nothing, in his ward anyway. In one case, an X-Ray was done at 2.30pm, and wasn't looked at until 4.45pm the next day.
Glenn was told he would be out by Christmas Eve. Everyone was pleased. Unfortunately, people in Antrim Hospital lie. So on Christmas day, after doing the morning rounds to the Golf Club and my goddaughter's house, I set off to Antrim Hospital to try and bring some cheer to him. Unfortunately, we both knew he wouldn't be able to fly to Manchester. He was released on Boxing Day evening after a lot of confrontation. Now maybe we could have a proper Christmas, or what was left of it.
That Saturday, he spoiled me. A trip up the North Coast, to a place we had claimed as ours with a picnic and a pricey bottle of bubbly, it was perfect. Everything I had ever been mad at him for had faded. Even the time he met up with a girl he used to have a thing with. And I was steaming mad at that. Things that Glenn do and have done for me over the past ten months of our relationship, make me wonder why I have paranoid spells. He's showing that he loves me and all I do is doubt him. It makes me feel wick. That girl was nothing but a friend to him. He loves me, i know he does. I suppose from being hurt so much in the past by 'that wanker' and 'that other wanker', has turned me into someone that takes over from time to time. All I have to say is fuck you. I will have my happy ending, and I hope that you're the villan who dies at the end. I'm sick of letting my mind take over when really I should let my heart. If I carry on the way do, I'll lose him. This is what I realised at the end of 2007. I quit smoking on Christmas Eve. It's easy really. My New Year's resolution was to be less paranoid and a better girlfriend. I get under his skin a lot. But he gets under mine. f we didn't it would get boring. But let's be serious, if he can stick me for ten months, he's doing well. He must love me afterall. I'm at the stage where I know I can trust him. Not think I can, I just know. That's a lot for me considering some things I've been subjected to.
Glenn was re-admitted to hospital on Thursday. He spent one night in Whiteabbey and was reacquainted with his friend, the chest drain. He was then moved to Antrim on Friday. On Saturday morning he went for an X-Ray, and they still haven't looked at it. God I hate that place, and parking is a nightmare. And, in fact, it was on my way there today that the speed cameras were evident on a bridge. Fingers crossed they missed me. At least it wasn't yesterday when it was 100 and would be classified as 'dangerous driving'. Oh well.
So here's to 2008, and let's hope his name is mentioned in next year's update, too.