Hump

You may be wondering why the title of this story is the word hump. It all started last night after returning home from the 5th bar quiz. I was, it should be mentioned, a little drunk. In the words of Catriona I was "talking bollocks". The one overriding memory of that conversation was a 5 minute rant about Michael Flatley and his magic feet of destiny. I don't really remember why but I just went off on one about him. I can't stand his smarmy, Celtic, new age prancing and that he seems to think he is a god of men, although I must admit Riverdance isn't bad. This naturally lead me to the one other celebrity that fills me with rage. Damien Rice. God I hate those songs. They're whining bags of tripe with lyrics that make me want to puke. Float like a cannon ball, aghhh!

Back in reality ville, that was the precursor to my morning. I woke up with a slight hangover and a terrible feeling of anxiety. It was the Michael Flatley induced nightmare that I've always dreaded, exacerbated by Damien Rice nausea. I think they have Nightmare on Elm St, Freddy Kruger like powers and invaded my dreams. In future I will be watching you very carefully boys!

The moring feeling was so horrible I texted Catriona for some comfort. Like an angel to my rescue she rang me for a chat. We talked for some time, it was very nice to hear her voice, but as my Flatley fear subsided I mentioned to Catriona that it was one of those mornings, that if she was laying next to me I'd put my arm around her and say "let's go back to sleep," to which she replied, "don't talk shite. If you were here you'd poke me until I was awake and then try to hump me!" We erupted into laughter. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. I laughed so loudly that my left ear popped. We were both on the phone in hysterics simply because Catriona was right. If I'd been there that's what I would have done.

Oh, the joy of laughter. Now I was wide awake and realising that I had to go to work. Time to get busy. I had a wonderful idea about making tea. Usually I'm not able to do it because I am half asleep even as I'm walking out the door and totally unable to function well enough to operate a kettle. This morning, when I walked into the kitchen, right before my eyes was a bowl of noodles being prepared. My flatmate Geoff has an obsession with Japanese noodles, he eats them morning noon and night. He once had them instead of a cup of coffee because there was no sugar in the house. Like a 3 year old I wanted some too so I grabed a packet and fired up the kettle again. After an agonising 4 minutes of having to wait for the noodles to soak and soften I wolfed them down like I hadn't eaten in years. They tasted good. Really good.
I told Catriona about wanting to write about the experience but I was disappointed at not being able to write a backwards d like child's writing. She pointed out that a backwards d is a b.

I think it's time for a three year olb tantrum!