August 22nd, 2005

sympathy, brief encounter

saturday night and sunday morning

Oooof. I'm tired. On Saturday night, Patsington and I were entertaining (in the verbal sense, not the adjectival sense, although doubtless we were that too as the night wore on). We had two friends over for dinner, but in a fit of madness Patsington bought about five bottles of wine and somehow they were all consumed. Patsington also bought a bottle of cognac, which was also consumed (although not by me THANK GOD). So it's not surprising that we both felt a little unwell the following morning. Oh, why do I ever drink wine? It's too easy to drink too much of it, and it's responsible for the worst hangovers I've ever had. I have to say that I didn't really drink all that much (although those who witnessed me waffling on and on and on about god knows what on Saturday night may dispute that. Of course, those who have experienced by slightly drunken self before know that it takes about a glass of wine to get me waffling on and on, so that doesn't mean much), so I didn't feel too awful in the morning. In fact, I think most of my unwell-ness was caused by smoking ten cigarettes along with the wine. And my ability to actually get up and move around and consume edible substances was a good thing, because I'm writing a piece about the Dublin Unitarian church and I had to get up at nine in the morning and go in to the service. Oh, yes. I had to get up on a Sunday and GO TO MASS. It was like old times.

Except it wasn't, of course, because it wasn't a mass and in fact, I rather liked it. The church is absolutely lovely - the Victorian stained glass depicts Christopher Columbus, Florence Nightingale and William Caxton instead of Mary and a bunch of saints (they represented discovery, love and work respectively), and the atmosphere was very cool and serene. It was also strange to go to such an informal, unritualised religious service - I'm just used to Catholic masses and a few CofI services (which can be so like a mass it's hard to feel the difference), so it was weird not knowing what came next, and in fact it seems to be different every week. There were a couple of readings - one of which was a column on science and forgiveness from my own employers (at the risk of sounding like the Daily Mail chuntering on about crazy Guardian-reading liberals, YOU COULDN'T MAKE IT UP), another of which was a Gerald Manley Hopkins poem - and a genuinely interesting sermon. Oh, and there was the Our Father, but that was the only reference to God in the entire thing. There's no altar; in fact, there weren't even any crosses. Even the hymns (which were sung with great gusto) were unlike typical Christian hymns - the final one was 'We Shall Overcome'. It really did feel like organised liberal agnosticism, which I suppose is why I liked it, being a liberal agnostic myself.

However, I wish I hadn't been suffering from hangover-clumsiness throughout the entire thing, meaning that at the tea-and-custard-creams session afterwwards, I nearly spilled tea over about five Unitarians. And then I was meeting leedy and our youngest sister, Planet of the Apes, for a post-leedy-birthday lunch. But I had forgotten my phone, and we hadn't arranged a definite meeting place, and of course in this modern age I don't know anyone's phone numbers any more, so I had to ring my sister at home (the family palace - I should hope I could manage to remember that number, not least because it was my own until I was 23) and pray that she hadn't left the house yet. Which she hadn't, because she was driving in, so I met her and leedy and leedy's beloved and sadly not jane_the_23rd, who had said she might join us, because I didn't have my phone to ring her and tell her where we were going in advance. Japanese food was eaten and afterwards I waddled off home, full of tofu, to find Patsington had overcome his cognac-hangover and had, like the angel he is, actually DONE THE HOOVERING. He admitted that he had spent most of the day lying feebly in his dressing gown, but his helpful productivity made up for his sloth.

Alas, I still feel slothful now myself. Even though I went to bed at eleven last night and got up at nine this morning. So forgive this rather rambling entry. In fact, just think of it as a (sober) taste of what I'm like when I've had a glass of wine...
rock and roll, musical

(no subject)

I've been tagged by both daegaer and barsine, so how can I resist the lure of the first-twenty-songs-on-your-iTunes-random-playlist meme?

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Actually, it's pretty indicative of my general tastes. Well played, iTunes Party Shuffle!

In other cultural news (ahem), I followed wonderlanded's lead and bought the House of Eliott DVDs from, which arrived this afternoon. Why did I not know about's free shipping to Ireland? And why did I not know about their huge discounts? I will buy all my DVDs there in future. Anyway, I used to love THoE when I was about 16, and I was pleased to see that a lot of YOU share my secret shame (actually, when you think about it, it's not really surprising that so many of us felt drawn to a pseudo-feminist glorified soap with lots and lots of pretty '20s clothes). So I felt vindicated in buying it. Although it has already proved itself to be terribly distracting - I just watched the first episode when I should have been working and now I just want to curl up on the couch and watch the entire thing in a nostalgic haze....