'We have absolute freedom in what we're going to write like.'
Saturday: Killarney.
Fine food was being had in Mac's in Killarney (hake to be specific, with cheese potatoes, yum.o) When Chris texted, 'Austin and I are coming down, for want of anything better to do.' Joining us several hours later in The Plaza, they were welcomed most ceremoniously by my beaming entourage. The night was torn apart in various stages - one of which involved céilí dancing around the streets of Killarney - until we found ourselves drifting off on the kitchen floor, to the sombre sounds of Conor J. O'Brien. There was a somewhat less romantic epilogue to this, however, as we were shortly relocated to a bed already overflowing with sleeping figures. They had, presumably, not been lulled to sleep by some idealistic tune-spinner. Songs about bus strangers on buses had not been catalysts for their sleep.
Next day was boring.
Next day was Monday and we were Limmers-bound. The Limerick leg of the trip was to entail a visit to an art exhibition, where a friend had some work on display. This would perhaps be combined with some light merriment, with the closing destination set to Costello's, described in my own words as 'a fine dancing establishment'. As it turned out, the art students at the helm of the exhibition desired to start partying a little earlier than the opening hours would've liked. As a result, when our small band arrived at 10:00pm - a whole hour before it was scheduled to close - we found the final security guard carrying out the final operations for a most lonely shut down. In my defiant state, I was not having this. 'Wait!', I said, 'we will ask him if we can look around'. The others looked at the pavement in embarrassment. Sure enough, my efforts proved fruitless. There seemed to be no choice but to drown our sorrows in dancing, although I might add, the music, while 'full on' to my own taste, did not bode so well for other members of the party, namely: Austin, Jack and Chris.
There were many beds available at my house, so we dispersed ourselves accordingly upon arrival, to prepare for each of our morning plans. Jack was getting an early bus to Dublin; Chris and Austin would be following suit later in the day and Ciara would spend Tuesday cleaning and doing the final moving out of Limmers before returning home to Cork.
This however was not to be the case...(palpable ominousness etc.)
Tuesday:
Jack will take the narrative.
I awoke, agonising over our seemingly inevitable bus trip, which would take up to four hours on bumpy hung over roads. Austin, who is so much cooler than me, woke soon after and said 'Let us take action in avoiding a bus trip, and trick Ciara into thinking it would be a good idea to drive us to Dublin'. Me, having such fierce admiration for Austin, agreed with no hesitation. 'I will drive you', Ciara said, 'if we can go to the exhibition we missed last night', in a childish stupor most unbecoming. With a frown, we agreed to her dogmatic terms. The exhibition was very nice. I have been trying to think of a better way to describe it than 'very nice', but being Jack Higgins, I suffer from poor use of words and stuff. We got done our photo taken of our friend's work which was nice on the wall with us in front of it and the camera taking pictures. The most best picture is now available on the internet for your perusal. Ciara had parked in a loading bay. Having so much contempt for everything Ciara does, I asserted, 'Hey Ciara, I do not know who you think you are, but I am not getting a bus after you have agreed to drive. Move your keester, before your car is freaking towed, you awful person'. She, submissive as always, scurried pathetically back to the car, with us in tow. Do you get it? There was a threat to the car - it might have been towed. Then, I have just now described the situation as us were being in 'tow'. You may learn a lot from me about writing and whatever. Ciara had chips for breakfast because she is coeliac and weak.
Chris Schafroth writes the next paragraph:
In the car, on the road. Bant in the car. I love the word 'bant'. I wish Ciara would use it more often. I wish of it great things. We passed the turn-off for Moneygal, where Obama would later visit. Isn't that cool. I am easily impressed. We got to Dublin. I was hoping someone would ask me to fix a computer or something. No one did. We thought there would be some hassle as a result of HM. There wasn't much hassle because we (me) were great boys and navigated Ciara, whom I think is just lovely, to Jack's house. Ciara, can I just say, is the most devilishly talented driver one might encounter across these seven seas. When people are driving me around to fix their computers because I will be too lazy and/or uppity to drive myself, I doubt a lot of them will be as good as Ciara. At Jack's house were lots of people and not much sitting space, which made things squeezy when we first arrived. If there were less people, there would've been more sitting space. I think it is interesting to think about these things: sometimes one would like more sitting space and sometimes more people. Jack, Austin and I cooked mouldy pizzas. Ciara, due to her awful condition (with which I sympathise greatly) had two baked potatoes, which were childishly dubbed 'tough titties'. She didn't like them. I wanted to write more but Austin insisted on taking over. He gets impatient. I sometimes think of him with contempt, but I would never show it. He will read this later and may bring it up. I certainly wouldn't. We will see. I'm not sure if I could handle such a conversation.
Austin:
We left the house after I changed into my red pants. My red pants and other people's less remarkable legwear walked with me and with them to the bus, where we travelled to the city centre in anticipation of good things. We are young and hopeful. I will skip some stuff here, but essentially we met Ciara's other buddies [the word buddy was chosen by 'Ciara'. Were I choosing the word, I may have chosen 'buddies'. I may not.] and were put to the task of waiting outside the venue for two people to arrive to sell Jack and Ciara their respective tickets. Jack's came fast. Ciara's lingered. While waiting, a small man passed into a quiet street. 'There's Sufjan', said Chris, in the most infuriatingly non-chalant noncommittal noncaring way possible. 'No it isn't', we - Jack, Ciara and I - echoed maybe in unison. We weren't really sure of this, however, so, following the figure down the street, we primed ourselves for a more detailed look at his composition. It was him. Nonchalance was to become a theme of the episode: Sufjan Stevens looked utterly content with being unremarkable and unnoticed. I approached the bench. 'Uuuuuhh...could we get a...picture?', I inquired with such confidence. He seemed to hesitate. He seemed to wonder what was going on, or where he was, or who was I or what was I. 'Alright', he finally replied. Ciara took the picture while we lined up. That was fun. I was kind of shaking after. Very hasty parting, with some trite words exchanged. That was fun.
'Gig was epic. What more could be said'. That's how Ciara would have described the gig. I don't know if I agree. Maybe I do. Sufjan spoke whilst on stage of the futility of words, a theme touched on in his most recent work. Sometimes, when you experience something that's better than most other things, it's had to make words work properly. Use of adjectives like 'amazing', 'brilliant', or even 'great' is so frequent that they become devalued. When a situation arises where they are really called for, then, they tend to be less effective than they should be. There should be sanctions on when such words an be used. You should be punished in some way if they are misused. I feel this way because I cannot justify how good this gig was in simple explanation. Maybe I can though. I don't want to sound so dramatic. It's hard to make people care about good stuff you encounter. People often don't care. Maybe I wouldn't care.
Breakfast Wednesday morning was had in the drizzle in Blackrock, gazing out across the waters of Dublin. It was fun. We sat on some grass. We looked around UCD. We drove home. We paid two tolls. We went via Fermoy and drank 'green juice'. Maybe if we had recorded more details it would've been nice, as other funny stuff happened that we all forget, and that's not a pleasant thought, maybe.
Thank you and Goodnight.
c and austin
x
