Does that make me a stalker?

My dashing PhD student and new crush was walking down Dame Street yesterday. I spotted him while I was waiting to cross the road, and all of a sudden realise that I had to go the same way.

I'm so ashamed. I followed him down the road and into Dublin Castle. I saw him meet up with a smartly dressed older lady (his mom? His Mrs Robinson) at the cafe of the Chester Beatty library.

At that point, I sorta shook myself and realised that I had just FOLLOWED HIM DOWN THE ROAD like a stalker or something and hastily rushed upstairs to examine the manuscripts on display to retrospectively justify my excursion into creepiness by turning it into a trip to the museum.

"Ancient Middle Eastern Manuscripts" are likely not the first words to spring to mind when you think of Dublin, but they sure have loads of them here. I spend an hour there to confirm, at least to myself, that I am not a creepy stalker but actually a serious person and a scholar.

Know what I'm thinking? I need some exercise and fresh air. So my mission this weekend is going to be to go blackberry picking in Phoenix Park. that will also have the added bonus of getting me out of the house and away from Bepe's girlfriend who is coming over. I might rent a bike as it's a big space and I don't have one right now. I was thinking of getting one but I'm not sure how confident I feel about riding after all these years (it's been a while) so an hour or so on a bike might help me to make up my mind.


Festivals on top of festivals.

This weekend there's an International Puppetry Festival on, which sounds intriguing. Plus, it's on in one of my favourite parts of Dublin, Monkstown, a fancy Victorian neighbourhood on the sea. Obviously, I have no kids to take about but there are several shows just for adults, which is even more intriguing. I've never been to or even heard of a puppet show for grown-ups before. What do you think? Should I go? It's that or eating this weekend, and I could probably stand to lose a kilo or two.

SPEAKING of puppets, guess who's back?

Bepe's girlfriend, that's who. They had split up and she'd gone back to Italy but now she's here again and they seem to be back together.

This is so bad. I hate her and her tiny butt. And he is such a nice guy, he deserves someone better. Sure, she's pretty, but really...

Apparently, she's doing some kind of a course. And there was me thinking she didn't have enough brains to worry about more onerous things than handwashing her tiny underwear and hanging it on MY shower rail. And poor Bepe, the fool that he is, is her puppet on a string. Tsk, men.

It's none of my business, right? But he IS my housemate and I do feel that I should say something to him before he gets too involved. But how? And when?

And more to the point, is she going to be round my place ALL THE TIME now, or what?

So I'm a bit depressed and considering how hard I've been working today, I think I deserve something tasty and greasy to eat. I'm gonna head downstairs to the Epicurean Food Hall to see what's cooking.

Zocorro is hot!

I've found an idol to worship.

...Wow, I wish I looked like Zocorro. She's the Fringe Fest gig on in Bewley's Cafe and she rocks. I think some of the show was above my head, or possibly had too many local references (?) but she's a total freakin riot. Plus I love the venue. How cool is it to have teeny theatres all over the city? I keep coming across them in all sorts of unlikely places. This one is in an old, elegant cafe (I have actually had an Irish Breakfast there -- it is not nearly as expensive as it looks) on Grafton Street.

I feel really lucky to have had these free tix to the Fringe Festival. Thank you, Dublin Tourism!

In more news, work is building up steam at college. And I'm building up steam every time I see my new crush. Sigh. Of course, I haven't spoken to him, as he is a lofty PhD candidate and I am a mere MA underling. But gosh. When Irish boys are hot, they are totally rocking.

Mostly, I'm quite happy to be tall. I'm a blonde gal and I'm quite tall, like my hard-working outport forebears. And there's something that makes me thing that Mr Gorgeous would like a waif to toss over his shoulder. But I don't know. What to do? How to impress? I'm way too tall to be winsome, so my best chance is to impress him with my exotic origins (well, exotic-ish) or get Bepe to preprepare something to and make him thing I'm a fabulous cook or... suggestions welcome please.

I have casually broken into loud conversation within earshot about my recent exploits at the forty foot, so here's hoping he'll be won over by my impressive sea-swimming feats.

I do have one more set of free tickets to use in the Fringe Festival but can't quite figure out how to a) introduce myself or b) invite him out.

All suggestions welcome thank you!

September melancholy

Something arrived in the mail today and I had to go downstairs to get it from the mailman; partridge berry jam, sent my my mom, made by my aunt.

Now I'm sure that there are some great jams in Ireland, but I can't imagine that they compete with the magic of partidge berries. Maybe it's the knowlege that I won't be home for Christmas this year, but I'm having a little seasonal homesickness, for the salty coldness of the clouds on an early Septmber morning before the Fall really sets in.

But enough of that. The real news is that I think I might've replaced George, my erstwhile handsome librarian from the National Library with a PhD candidate I've seen in the library at TCD. I don't know what department he's in but he's totally rocking the "dark Irish" look, rather like Daniel Day Lewis back in the day .... I guess maybe 25 years ago? This also means that I now share my mom's taste in men, which is a bit too icky to explore in detail and which I won't ponder on for too long.

But how to get this Celtic Adonis to notice yours truly?

Meanwhile, I've got a couple more free tickets to Fringe events and will be going to something tonight and then again tomorrow, of which more later.

the scrotum tightening sea

That's how James Joyce described the Irish Sea. Someone posted a comment on here recommending that I try a swim at the "forty foot" in Sandymount as as the weather is so amazing that's what I am going to do today, so I will see for myself. Or, to be more precise, I'm dragging Bepe along so HE can see for himself. He'll be going to a craft beer event in Phoenix park this pm, for professional reasons being a chef 'n' all so I guess it'll be good for him to work up an appetite. Not that he ever gets drunk.

Apparently, the forty-foot (no doubt I will find out later why it's called that) used to be the only spot where male nudists could go for a legal naked dip, but now women go too, and everyone keeps their kit on (whew). I'm guessing Joyce must've gone there himself back in the day, to know about the interesting effects of the sea on the male anatomy. That's really pretty cool--getting changed and going for a swim in a place that has been made part of one of the world's most famous books. I've never managed to finish Ulysses, but perhaps after today I will be inspired.

After the dip, I'm meeting up with Saoirse, who is having lunch with her FAMOUS ROCK STAR COUSIN who lives not all that far from there. I would totally love another invite but don't want to look like a doofus and actually come straight out and say it, so let's hope they loved Mom's bottled moose (my picturesque gift, the time I was invited over) and are dying for seconds...