A quick catch-up:
#168
Another day spent unpacking boxes and a rather stressful tutoring session was totally overwhelmed by arriving home to find one of my best friends sitting on the doorstep!
Tony made for the wild blue yonder of Birmingham over a year ago and is still there now awaiting the start of a PGCE in Art (masochist). We had chips by the sea and lots of great conversation. Midnight arrived all too quickly. As a single girl I’m grateful for one of the few uncomplicated male relationships in my life. And for the many gifts a decade of friendship has bestowed.
#169 School continued to be busy. I spent much of it lamenting that I was so unorganised for my weekend away. A hen party in Bundoran, were the highlight was to be surfing ,left me without any sense of anticipation. But by the time the bus had left a sunshiny Belfast and the wine had begun to flow my attitude was re-adjusted.
Sixteen very ‘up for it’ girls made for a great night’s craic. We danced and sang, to a very talented band in a very Irish bar and headed for bed after 3am. After the stress of work a weekend of female company and too much wine was the escape I needed.
#170
A Morning spent in the gorgeous house in Bundoran. Time to drink coffee, read my book, chat with the girls, the sort of Saturday that has been too absent from my life recently. The only black spot on the bright horizon was the surf lesson (the reason why Bundoran was the location of choice) looming all too near.
But time and tide wait for no woman….
It was as feared: Girls with my curves should not wear wetsuits (think sweaty 10pin bowling shoes that have been on too, too many smelly feet, except apply the concept to your whole body and multiply the ick factor by about one million.) I pulled a muscle in my whiplashed neck just carrying the board to the beach, by the time we hit the part of the Atlantic the surf dudes (one annoyingly arrogant, the other quiet, brooding, tall, dark and incredibly sexy, with a spine tingling New Zeland accent just to add to the appeal) wanted us to dance with, I already fallen in twice and knew that standing on the board: so easy upon the sand was never going to be struck of my ‘Things to do before I die list.’ My technique was all wrong: my total lack of balance and co-ordination once again belittling my sporting prowess.
But there was a moment: the sexy surf dude; held my board, told me exactly where to position myself on the board and I caught a wave. As children my siblings and I had loved the waves of Benone and Downhill during our North Coast Sunday adventures but this was something else. The sexy surf dude laughed at my delight at something so simple. So a surf chick I will never be, but with practice, a kick-ass body boarder may be an addition to my CV.
Saturday night we spent having yet more booze in a karaoke bar in which everyone who got up could actually sing. At 1am we changed location to Jumping Jacks: I did query where all the drunken people so absent from this quiet seaside town during my walk that afternoon, but now doin’ their thing on the dance floor had appeared from.. but after yet another 4am rendition of ‘The Soldier’s Song’ we headed home…
#171
A Sunday spent semi-sleeping on the bus and an evening spent giggling to myself about the antics of the weekend. And enjoying the delights of my ‘own’ sleepy seaside town and an early night spent in bed with Gavin and Stacey.
So here’s to Bundoran and to Surfers’ Cove holiday village, here’s to drunken snogs in the rain with a cute Derry boy you’d never recognise again if he fell in your front door, and here’s to friendship and hen parties and all the craziness they bring.
