dooblin

Aye!  It has been munths.  I am sorry, really, I thought I was writing it all in the journal, but I was just writing it in the Notebook, and that's not quite on the internet.

Trouble is, I been away from the internet a bit.

Last night (I just tell you last night)
I was outside a poob, in Dooblin Town, and some lads come up to me, calling me Jesus, you know, because the beard has gotten long, and then they offer me to drink a pint, called a pinta, and invite me out like, only I can't go out dressed like Jesus or they wont let me into the bars, see, but I didn't have any extra close is all, so one of them lends me his heavy leather jacket and I tell the bouncer that I am just going 'out with my lads' and I get to come in alright.

So it was what Isabelle would call a real European Experience, although not the sort of country town down home one I prefer so much.  This was more a big flashy bar and all the girls dressed like popsicles sort of thing, with the drinking and the shouting over the music so popular 12 years ago.  Like Spice Girls, yah?

Really, it was great, I enjoyed myself tremenssly.  The boys I was out with were top notch blokes, and I met some other ones, raving about the goodness of woman and the stupidity of man.  Two fellows, one pretty young like, and the other pretty strong jaw'd.  First one says to me

"you look like a really peaceful type, right?"
and I nod my head and say Yes I Am, but my words get smashed and crushed by the music from the amplifier, so I just nod the old head more vigorously.
"not me" he says "I've got this rage inside me, and its like a whole different side of me, and when it gets pushed, I turns on and I can't stop it" and he shows me by puffing up his chest and his arms.  Thats how he gets.  All puffed up like that.
So I tell him thats just his nature, let it be, to know his self is good.
"like maybe in a past life I was oppressed or something, and now whenever I feel threatened I just...I'm Free!"

and then we clasp hands like old brothers, him and me, and get to the talking about women, like this.

"so what do you think of the irish girls?"
Aye me, what can I say?
I can see some of them, maybe those are irish, under the popsickle suits...but it is undeniable, the truth...

"they're beautiful aren't they? Even the fat ones."

Yes.  They are beautiful.
So we talk women like this for a moment, how blessed we are to have them, and the beat goes on.

And I walk home to the hostel, feeling a little bit like a celebrity, with everybody calling me Jesus and shaking my hand.