Yes yes, I know that the catholic church moved it this year. But when was the last time I listened to them? So… despite expecting some phone calls regarding a couple of very promising jobs – I’ve decided to celebrate St Paddy’s Day. Not sure if I should turn my phone off, or trust myself to answer appropriately. I seem to be going down the path of making that decision when it’s too late.
10:00 – after a breakfast of Guinness, I go to the supermarket. No boxes of Guinness left, so I am forced to purchase a tray. Along with the ingredients for irish stew. I also spend a very long time trying to find cans of irish stew, but end up with very sore arms from holding a tray of beer, and a couple of cans of “Highlander’s Broth” – with a description remarkably similar to irish stew. I suspect the english did the same thing to irish stew as the seppos did to french fries.
11:00 – get home, and take a couple of photos of my preparations for the day. Coffee table filled with Guinness, potatoes, ingredients for irish stew (including potatoes), Oscar Wilde’s Complete Short Fiction, and more potatoes. Start to drink more Guinness.
13:00 – 5 down. Hayden reckoned he was going to attempt a shot at his family record, or some such. Twenty-two, I believe. He’s actually got oirish ancestry, apparently – although I would have thought an irishman could do at least dirty-tree. Me – I’m just drinking coz I got nothing else to do. Oh, and joining with our fellow ‘colony’ oppressed by the evil english overlords. Especially after the bastards beat us at the Basin.
Hello especially to everybody at Finn McCool’s.
15:30 – 8 down, feeling fine. After considering the options, a decision was made that a Guinness is NOT a meal in itself, and some Highlanders Broth was had. Oscar Wilde confirms my initial impressions of being a less sarky version of Saki. (sarky – sarcastic, Saki – an author (pen-name), not the booze)
18:00 – starting to cook some irish stew for the old lady. Should probably try to compensate for the possibility that I may be rather intoxicated when she arrives home. A drunken attempt at cooking should do that. High risk, I admit. Especially with a gas oven, and fairly sharp knives. But, everything’s fine so far. Except my lining up a play-list of all oirish music – which I will listen to at random, even as Boyzone comes on (as Ronan is telling me, No Matter What). Why oh why didn’t St Patrick do something about Ronan and Bono? If there was a god, he’d let Paddy come back and have another go. 11 Guinness down by the way – starting to suspect my purchase of two doz was rather optimistic.
20:00 – Pen got home early. So I got caught drinkin’ me booze. Oops. Irish stew turns out remarkably well for being made by a chap who’s had 15 Guinnesses at this point. The late addition of kumara to make it kiwi irish stew nearly ruined thanksgiving – but all is well at the end. Pen demands television with dinner – so I managed to find some Black Books for our viewing pleasure. A welcome relief from Bono telling me how to live my life, and Ronan telling me how life is a rollercoaster.
22:30 – as expected, it’s not the chap who’s now got 17 Guiness in his belly, but the Old Lady who is the first to tip over the empty cans. And yes, it is a bit poseurish to set them all up together while I’m drinking it, but then again – what am I if not a poseur. A poseur who can back that shit up. And for the purposes of photos – for my old friends back in Quito – I do like to show off that I’ve got Guinness. And leftover irish stew. Hayden, if you read this before I can find you, gimme a call, eh?
11:59 -Well, the ‘day’ is nearly over. I’ve drunk lots of Guinness; I’ve eaten/drunk/cooked/brewed a fair bit of irish stew; I’ve talked to people in Quito – and cried like a little girl; I’ve tried to talk to people in Aotearoa, and failed like a little girl. Now I’m going to finish my Guiness. It would probably be best if I gave up like a little girl. But.
02:30 -Finally talked to Hayden. Sounded sober and back in control of the farm, not much time for drunken international phonecalls. Fairnuff. Several attempts at talking to Quito – foiled each time. Closest I got was talking to some guy (seppo, maybe canadiot?) – who went to find Ursula or Lee. And then I heard Ally find the phone unhooked, so she hung it up. Foiled. Earlier though – had managed in different calls to talk to Ursula, and Ally. Each time – tears in eyes. Possibly the first time I’ve ever felt homesick is when I left Finn’s. And I’m from Aotearoa – so that’s pretty bloody cool.
Ah – the Gonzo thing. Well, 22 beers down. Am feeling rather drunk – got to the point where I have to re-read things I’ve typed. And doubt my own judgement. But I’d still trust myself to mastermind an assassination attempt against Bono – just to solve the Troubles. Sure – just for that.
03:00 – I think I might be drunk. Clumsy fingers.
03:10 – Yep, a man has to admit when he’s drunk. And drunk I am. Another two Guinesses would be foolishness. So – I’m figuring that after this one, it’s all over. It’ll have been 23 Guinnesses, 9 unanswered calls to Quito, 10 unanswered calls to Reporoa, and 1 unanswered question.
03:50 – Right, I’m off. Had a chat to Heather back at home. Tears in the eyes while checking up on my god-daughter and might-as-well-be-god-daughter. So what? Got tears in the eyes – that’s gonzo. And that’s time for the night to finish. 4am – 23 Guiness down, and luckily(?) no calls from job-people.