Sleeping with the enemy…

Sometimes I feel like I am living inside someone else, or is it that someone else is living inside of me?  Hmmm…  I’ll have to really think about that one…

 Either way I feel like I am being carried around in this annoying vessel.  I am just shocked by what I can see out the window.   This morning for example, I awoke to a bedroom full of cups, saucers – no not saucers, I don’t use saucers, who the hell uses saucers these days?  ’tis far from saucers I was brought up – plates, knives, forks, glasses… 

I woke up to a science project that is the take away food I had a few nights ago and passed out before it got polished off, there it was, dangling from the top of my tv, surrounded by a mountain of dirty clothes.  Imagine the scenery!  I mean, would ya not clean up after yourself!?  I don’t want to be living in such squalor.  Not a single item of clothing was washed this weekend, no food bought- I spent about £7 on fruit last week, never eaten, they’re deflated and soggy and practically talking to me down in the kitchen as we speak…I’m just catapulted into the week without any preparation – well needless to say, civil war broke out this morning, me against you pal.  I’ve had it. I dwell inside this person who insists on giving me a bad name.  I’ve been dragged through the streets of London at all hours of the night. 

I didn’t really want to drink this weekend, but I didn’t have a choice it seems.  I went for what I was told "a social one" and another that I was told was "ah, one for the road".  This took place on an empty stomach.  I was starving.  So I got thrown a Burger King Fish Burger (Shock! Horror!) on the way home rushing through London Bridge Station…  I hate Burger King and every thing it stands for.  I scoffed it so quickly.  I literally opened my mouth and stuffed the entire thing down my oesophagus, had to sit down on a bench when I got to the other side and sort of stretch my stomach out flat so that it would pass, must have looked like I was having a heart attack.  I think it was indigestion. I am so frustrated that I didn’t get to do the things I wanted to do this weekend.  I wanted to read books, I wanted to paint, I wanted to write, I wanted to watch inspiring films, I wanted to buy the Sunday newspapers and sit in a coffee shop and read them over a cappuccino, I wanted to go for a nice long walk on Hampstead Heath. 

I should have at least done my laundry. 

I mean, who the hell is this person?

Cork..

Today is my last day in Cork. 
I’m just finishing a run of three plays that were put on as part of the New Directors Festival in The Granary Theatre.  It’s been a long six weeks.  I love Ireland, but only when it’s at an arm’s length.  I am dying to get back to London.  Among the highlights of my stay was when, on our first night of "Glassware", my scene partner & I got horribly confused with our lines.  Thankfully the piece was absurdist so our floundering and non sensical gibberish went unnoticed by the audience. 
Another interesting occasion was when I nipped in to use the toilet in McDonalds on Marlboro Street.  There was a scobe inside in the jax just waiting for an unsuspecting woman to enter for a tinkle.  I was she.  He had a good look over the top of the cubicle, God bless him.  I waited for him outside and confronted him.  He wasn’t the friendly type and it was an awkward encounter to say the least, so I let it go.  Maybe there is a need for a red light district in Cork.
There was another moment, a near death experience in one of the many spiral death traps that exist the length and breadth of Ireland, those are the roundabouts.  The roundabouts themselves are grand, it’s the lines painted in them where the problems seem to occur.  You have about five lanes starting off… then they bottleneck into about three lanes, and it’s a mad scramble for the diminishing lanes at almerciful speeds.  Road rage always ensues.  The county council are definately having the last laugh…
Anyway, here are a few of the many many pictures I took of my stay.