Wobbly Gigs,Temper Tantrums and Graveyards

Lollipops are the theme I have chosen for my band's webpages, and I like the idea that they are like a brightly coloured mix of flavors, somewhat like our music. I also like writing that if you are not dazzled by us, then get blind drunk and look again. Thing is, the music is not moving. We play in a week, on Saturday the 25th, and our bassplayer is still in England, returning on Thursday. He is looking for studios in London. Will I have to choose between him and my keyboard player? Will he still want to play when he has a job as a hotshot? It's at times like this I wish ferverently that I had figured out how to do it all on my own.

I also have a hangover of a film I just watched - about Queen Elizabeth, with Cate Blanchett. My god, but she is a stunning woman. I have poise but I don't have her looks. It makes me crave being fair again, and want to dance again, and reminds me that it is hard to be a successful woman if you give in to your heart too much. Don't worry, I won't be marrying England anytime soon, but it made me pause for thought.

On a lighter note, my flatmate Patrick had his nephew over to visit. We ended up having a chat til 7am about quantum physics, Pat trying drunkly to explain the finer points of the superstring theory, and Ben befuzzling him with his engineering dictionary while I tried to clarifty for him what the hell Pat was on about(a book called the fabric of the cosmos). The wine was devine and we went out twice more during his stay. One of the times out I met my friend's husband, who I adore, and started again making comments about my eyes blah blah blah. I have blue eyes which only look big cos my face is small and they are always surrounded by big black hollows. Luckily he realised he was drunk and backed off, so I could take it as a compliment, but I suspect that they are going through a rough time. It might explain his delight to see me - I am "safe" female company. The free chupitos (shots) and rum colas certainly helped us enjoy the night.

I also ended up back in the Dubliner, the bar where I met that horrendous fellow from London. To be fair, I feel a bit sorry for the guy, but I can't learn his lessons for him. I just hope he wakes up to find himself in a boat and starts to paddle rather than leans out and drowns in 2 inches of water...Anyway Ben, Pat's nephew, was the perfect good example of a fun english person, and we met all the Scots all over again and had the craic, ending with the usual trawling around behind someone, looking for some place that is open. I wonder will I ever grow up? I hope not.

As for my ex-flatmate's visit, well it went very well. The only problem is she lives nextdoor to my ex-boyfriend in Dublin, and kept talking about him and his girlfriend and new baby and flirting...I wanted to be able to be normal about it, but I knew I was angry. Angry at him for lying to me, and his stupid comment about "oh I wanted to be the first to tell you about the baby" after I had contacted HIM. Stinky liar. And angry that I am still so hurt and not happily jumping in and out of my familiar messes. And angry that everyone knows I am still incrediblyu hurt and tries to pity me. But I listened and tried to stay quiet. So the next day in work when my boss came to me with a sheet of paper where I had ticked the wrong box somewhere, I completely flipped. I insisted I was stupid and would never learn to tick the right box, demanded they tell me I was useless, and finally burst out crying and ran into the bathrooms and locked myself into a cubicle. I cried and after about 2 hours they sent up the security guard to check I was still alive (I was horribly rude to him) and meanwhile I sat crunched into a corner plotting how to spend the rest of my life in that cubicle without having to speak to anyone or get up off the floor.

Eventually I came out, mortified, and they were really nice to me and said they understood why I'd flipped and that I was a perfectionist. I laughed and asked them to explain it to me cos I didn't understand it. I went back to my desk to find that the lads in england had looked up my myspace and band and I had reams of lovely pen-pal style emails, including one from a colleague saying "Have you left? I wanted to be first you stinky liar! If you haven't, better luck next time, even if I'm secretly glad". I thought that was lovely. I also had a visit from a very lovely Italian from upstairs who wants to make music with me (sorry, I had to make it sound cheesey, but I wouldn't mind). So it worked out in the end.

For the rest, I am panicked as all hell about my gig, and really suffering from exhaustion exacerbated by the fact that I can't eat much and am smoking too much (cigarettes). But I am in good form, certain that I cannot return home yet, certain that like a circling tiger I am somehow creeping forward and snaring my prey, certain that I have something about me which is not all bad, and if all else fails I can always become a physicist or an engineer.

And the weather is that autumn-scented wet-windy air circuling the streets, reminding me that nature can pierce this city's strangling embrace despite all the dusty streets and light the buildings without their consent. I love walking along in my long skirts and green coat and woolly scarf, the wind waking me from the outside in, the sun still setting the best part of the day alight, the mountains misty and watchful in the distance like mournful elms in a graveyard. And speaking of which, tomorrow I am finally going to check out the old jewish catacombes in the cemetry on Mont Juic. I can't wait! I love graveyards.