Hey hey I had the most brilliant birthday and I’ve got to tell you about it while it’s fresh now and before a single blip of it is lost in the dank recesses of my memory because it was all so wonderful and I don’t wanna forget any of it. No time for mincing words, come on come on come on, let’s GO! Continue reading
Hey, not written one of these in weeks. So, to get back into the swing, what’s the most pretentious and annoying way to begin this article? Like this!
A way a lone a last a loved a long the riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. Continue reading
(From the 6th of Feb. My opinions have changed somewhat since writing this; the city and I have made friends again, but what I’ve written here was true once, and so it stays.)
It’s Monday morning and I’m feeling wretched, and so the only time I can write this is right now, as my wretchedness may well be due to chemical deficiencies that will have righted themselves tomorrow. But perhaps not. Continue reading
I’m English, which means I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving and don’t really know what it’s about. Hang on. Let’s educate ourselves. Right, you wait here, and I’m going to trek to the mystical land of Wikipedia in search of answers. If I’m not back in three paragraphs, assume I’ve failed my quest, give me an honorary funeral (Viking style, please), and move on with your life. Promise me, if I fail, you will try to learn to love again. Promise me you will find another blog filled with stupid drunken travelling stories. You promise? Okay. Here goes.
I wrote an article for Unilad a while back, which you can read here, if you fancy. It’s an abridged version of the account of the virtual reality orgy thing I went to a month ago. I was paid £120 for writing the article, however I was told it could take up to 30 days for the money to go into my bank. This wouldn’t usually be too big an issue, except that for the past fortnight I’d been living off around €20. Continue reading
The sun rose on Monday morning, and gentle rays of sunlight drifted in through the curtains. The old schoolteacher who lives upstairs was practising the piano again, and the notes floated down to me like snowflakes. I lay sprawled in bed fully clothed, hanging, desperately dehydrated and unable to move, but I was happy. The weekend had been a heavy one. Mike Skinner, Kater Blau, Slaves, all brilliant. There was but one last gig to attend. Continue reading
After the Mike Skinner gig came the weekend. It was Friday night, and although many friends of mine were heading out and my phone was buzzing like a rampant rabbit on meth, I tore myself away and stayed home, applying for jobs and writing. I know, right?! It’s almost as if I’m becoming a proper adult – although not really, because the real reason I couldn’t go out was that I had a friend from home visiting early the next day and I didn’t want to be deathly hungover. Continue reading
Holy FUCK I’ve been here a month. Continue reading
I Googled ‘The Berlin Diaires’ yesterday afternoon, trying to find my own blog, and it turns out The Berlin Diaries is also the name of a harrowing account of Second World War Germany, which makes my own Berlin Diaries seem rather unimportant and petty in comparison. So I’ve decided to cease writing it.
Nah just kidding let’s carry on talking about all the weird shit I’ve seen. Continue reading
Today was awful. Just, awful. I lay on the sofa half-drunk for most of the day, groaning quietly, unable to sleep on the uncomfortable chairs. People came and went into the hostel, happy and healthy, going about their days, and I was just strewn across the room like a plaster floating near the drain of a public swimming pool. Alcohol can fuck you up. Drugs can make you a mess. But lack of sleep dissolves the very fabric of the universe around you and renders you a manky, gibbering globule. Continue reading