An update.... since then there's been steak and beer.
Once again, I'm typing on a train. I'm starting to think that the only way I will get my never-to-be-written novel so much as begun would be to take a trip across australia on a train. That's not to say that I do my best writing on a train, but definitely my only writing, these times.
It's hard to say what else I actually do, aside from the usual 'very little'. There are all these plans, not even at the embryonic stage... just the whisper of a promise of an idea, that never get anywhere. And I've got very little to show for the time I do spend doing whatever it is that I do.
That said, work seems to be going well at the moment. I could be wrong, but I'm feeling a lot more comfortable and confident in what I'm doing and how I'm doing it. I deserve my paycheques, dammit. And I'm going to use those paycheques to move somewhere nice for a while. Well, somewhere nice within the confines of Limerick city. The Castletroy game has been getting old all its life and it's time to be callous and kick the entire suburb to the kerb.
So, fingers crossed, in a couple of weeks I'll be living in high-rise luxury down the Dock Road. Believe it only when you see it.
Last time I was near this thing, plans were afoot. Well, those plans are now afinger - the long finger, this time... but we're still going to go, it's just that now the whole thing is over a year away so it doesn't feel real. Hopefully I'll get to continue doing what I'm doing for the moment, and gathering money for the great escape. Just between ourselves, I've been keeping an eye on the jobs page in Radio New Zealand... while it's probably a long-shot that something would come up, a few years back in the Land of the Long White Cloud would be a welcome break from the land of the unending lumpy grey pissing clouds that we seem to have gotten lumped with as a result of the ultimate misnomer (global warming).
And as I typed that, there appeared in the sky just enough blue to patch a Dutchman's trousers... a saying that I found in a story years ago, anyone else remember it, or is it just me? I'd fancy some nice weather for the weekend. I am working Friday, but would quite like to actually get up to something on Saturday, and whatever it may be, I'd quite like it to be one of those things that only happen with the permission of the glorious (and somewhat bitter and vindictive) weather god. So I won't propose picnics or parades, because sure as eggs are bird's periods, the weather god is reading over my shoulder and flexing his (her?) thwarting muscles, just for kicks. But, you know, if such things could chance to pass, would you be game?
Ah, yeah. You're probably at Oxegen getting pissed on and set on fire. Ah sure, what harm. You're only young once. And my advice is make it last as long as possible.