It Never Rains in Dingle….not outside anyway
I must get something off my chest. I cant keep it bottled up inside any longer. These sorts of traumatic experiences have a tendency to scar one for life if they’re not talked about. So consider me the patient, and you the psychiatrist. How to begin…. Well, it all started one night in Dingle. Easter Saturday was just as beautiful a day as Easter Friday. Blue skies and all – it never rains in Dingle. I spent the day out by the wharf, hanging out with Aussie Dylan, checking out the shops, and not doing much at all really. That night we met up a couple of German lads Ollie and Greg from the hostel. The Rainbow Hostel by the way is great. Its about a 10 min walk from town, and very homely with a great big kitchen, long benches and a NZer on reception which is always a bonus.
Anyway, we all went out for the night, first to a pub that doubles as a shoe repair shop in the daytime (!? theres also a hardware/pub in town aswell) then met up with Lex and Co in a pub creatively named The Dingle Pub. It was an excellent night with live music and a variety of crazy antics. Everyone had a gay old time. I think the Germans may have been a little scared by the amount of gayness – scared or intrigued – hard to tell.
So anyway we head back to the hostel at what ended up being 2.30am because of daylightsavings (of which we were all unaware until the early hours of the morning) and settle down in bed. Two lower bunks they were, Aussie Dylan in one, myself in the other with obviously, two top bunks above, both occupied – also about a metre apart. These details are very important if you are to understand what is to follow. And I will revel in imagining you grimacing in disgust as I elaborate further into the more spinechilling details. At aproximately 6am in the early hours of the morning I am awoken from slumber by the sound of falling water….and find my bed becoming increasingly wetter with an unidentifiable liquid. Is it raining inside? Oh how I wish it was. I jump out of bed as does Dylan with a shout. Under closer examination by the light of a cellphone we find the unidentifiable liquid (its nature will soon become clearer) pooling in a growing puddle on the ground about 30cm from my pack – which I very promptly moved. By scientific calculation we determined it had shot across from one top bunk to hit the other before submitting to gravity and soaking into both of our nice dry clean beds…. well I wasnt sticking around to perform any tests but I think you may have some idea as to what the mystery substance might have been. May I add that the occupant of the top bunk was male.
So we ended up dragging a duvet that hopefully was out of the line of fire, into the hallway and spent the rest of the morning shivering in horror and taking turns in the corner to rock back and forth, trying in vain to get to some happy place, some little cupboard of the mind unsoiled by the traumatic experience. I must say I did feel sorry for the culprit as morning came. I didnt actually see his face, just a lump under the blankets, because he stayed in bed until the room was clear..and I dont blame him.
And just telling you has brought it all flooding back – nay dribbling back. I think I’ll have to go lie down. Preferably on a top bunk.
But before I go, just so you know, Im in Doolin. I love Doolin. I want to marry Doolin. Except that Doolin has only one internet cafe that takes extreme pleasure in that fact by charging exorbertant (spelling?) prices. So I’ll fill you in hopefully in a couple of days – Doolin’s worth the wait.
Tags: Into the Wild Wild West
Em
Yo Emidread.
Wot can I say. I’s read your epiphany and me was shocked. Dazed and confused stunned and….But then me got to thinkin – look on the bright side – at least you wasn’t pissed off.
But it sure is a variation on the sort of people who thinks they’s in yer barfroom when they’s actually in the wardrobe waterin yer clothes.
And then I done me some more thinkin (it hurts) and I’s thinkin yeah -its like universal kharma, like sublime interperception. Like all those times you’d be watering yer tomatoes and suddenly swing the hose round and squirt the living daylights outa me.
As for the spelling – break it down, break it down its x-or-ba-tent
xorbatent OK? But yeah traumatic, totally.
While we is speakin bout puddles and shiverin and spelling, I’s needs to apolamagise to Nadz bout the slip of the ‘h’ but its just like surf rap man
like no peps is gonna go “we had a jolly good surf at Papamoa the other day” Theys gonna say “we dropped into some filthy pits at Paps” An the locals from Taranaki will always be ‘Naki boys’ an Gisborne’s always gonna be Gizzy – if ya get my drift. But you’s right it’s time to put the ‘h’ back in Whanga.
Well keep smiling and if you have another night on the turps might pay to take an umbrella to bed.
Take care and luv
Andi B
I was beginning to think everyone was too grossed out to even comment. Dadster your much awaited comment will be gladly received by your hordes of fans. Seriously, Ive had requests (at least two). Im not sure why, but some people actually think you’re funny….;-)
no harm the dadster…
yes, would like to say also, that I too enjoy reading “the dadster” comments… that makes three 🙂
Um no I think that still makes two. I was just exaggerating to make him feel good.
The Dadster is cool so it really does make three now.
Please dont encourage him.