I have had a lovely afternoon in the local pub eating a delicious lunch, and then lounging in my cosy sitting room with my handsome companion, so you can expect a blog entry filled with vitriol and ranting and so on. Welcome.

I am so glad that I bagged a man before the age of texting. Yes folks, there was a time when none of us reading this had mobile phones. It was a time free of panic when we left the house without a portable telecommuting device. It was an age of innocence, before text-bullying and porn-pic texting. It was a time when there was no risk of sending a dirty text message meant for your husband to your friend Karen. But onto my gripe: there seems to be so much panic nowadays in new relationships about the meanings and timings of text messages. K and I used to say to each other, "I will ring you tomorrow." Then with the old-fashioned telephone (now known as the "landline") we would ring each other as promised, and then there would be no more contact until the next call, which was usually 24 hours later (or more). It was quite exciting, waiting for those calls. But now, it's all CANT WAIT 2 C U AGAIN THX 4 GR8 NITE LOL XXXX and YE ME 2 HAD LOTS OF FUN SLEEP WELL XOXOXOXOX and NITE NITE BABE SWEET DREAMS XXXXX and everyone's panicking if they don't get their replies within fifteen seconds. I have advice for you all of you Desperate Texters^TM. Your lovely cacks? Determinedly relax them. Take drugs if necessary. I may even have some left over from last night's Daft Punk gig. It was not K's cup of tea, nor his mug of hot chocolate, nor his bottle of Coke, but he dutifully danced and shouted and waved his fists about and generally made me proud. It rained a lot and the crowd was drunk and high and hyperactive. All in all, frightening and enjoyable. Like my marriage.

The night before was spent listening to Michael Knight and Mumblin' Deaf Ro in Bewley's (wonderful) theatre on Grafton Street. Frankly, we were blown away. K wrote a nice review here. He does them a little more justice than I can.

NEURONEWS

So I bought a micro-brewery to make home-made beer. I can't wait! Soon we will be almost entirely self-sufficient, weaving our own clothes and drinking out of jam jars. Then there will be no need for me to find a job. I can just grow all of our food and develop a wormery. It will be great. I will wear woollen jumpers and sit by a fire, keeping a diary made from recycled paper and eating a bag of seeds. Plus we will be locked out of our heads all the time.

Still no words, of rejection or encouragment, from Desirable Company^TM. Sigh. I am obviously not an exciting candidate. I spent a lot of time this afternoon on puclicjobs.ie searching for gainful employment that I am capable of and I found one, but the software for its application form was broken, so I couldn't apply for it. Is nature conspiring against me? Although it might be pushing it to consider technology part of the forces of nature.

I went to yet another wedding last Sunday, and the last one of the season is tomorrow. Hallelujah. If I have to listen to another couple declaring their eternal love for and commitment to one another I will...be very bored indeed. Ah I cannot lie. I cried during them all. I won't be crying tomorrow though. Why? Because I do not know the couple. What I do know is that one of them is English, and even though this is reason enough in itself to cry, it would be tears of a more bitter sort than previously. No, I am merely a servant of the wedding. It is my first professional gig. I am a solo soprano in a small assembled choir for the occasion, singing the (rather stunning) compositions of a friend of mine. Calling it my first professional gig is only undermined by the fact that we are not being paid a sausage. The couple getting wed did pay for food and drink at our last rehearsal on Thursday night but alas I had other things to do (at Bewleys) and did not stay for the festivities. I can't wait til it's all over.

neuro-praxis -- Nobody's Child