Burt Bacharach

Raindrops are falling....

As soon as I think or say the words I remember Docherty Avenue, sitting in a hot tub. In fact, every time it rains I think of this song...

Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red
Crying's not for me
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complainin'
Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me.

... And I say this like it’s something new here, the raindrops falling that is. I’m not sure the streets ever dry. The whirlwind of my “settling down” involved a night in Dublin which resulted in a handprint shaped bruise on my ass. Could I expect anything less from the Irish lad I had been chatting up for over 5 weeks while I was in Poland? Funny how we have now ran out of things to talk about, the physical chemistry is there the depth is missing. But, there is something lovely about a simple man with simple goals, his happiness is easy to achieve. It’s just a bit dull for the likes of me who discusses politics these days, is it too much to ask for a beautiful man with deep thoughts? Could I be content without a real discussion? We did have a rather entertaining argument about pairing socks. The jury is still out.

Sometimes tinder produces some gems and sometimes it’s an overly awkward pint, and me trying to be polite about getting the fuck out of there as fast as I can. I have come to the conclusion I’m starting to like men closer to my own age now that I’m all grown up. *cough* But seriously, I feel like I’ve been dating 36 year old men my whole life. I guess I’m still trying to find the same man I dated all those years ago that intrigued me. Only, now it seems ten years later that 36 year old men are not the same as they used to be. Which is probably why I found myself changing my “discovery preferences” on my Tinder account yesterday. Maybe it’s just old men on Tinder that are weird? Anyway enough of that rubbish.

There is one Irish man in my life over the age of 30 but he is in a league of his own. Maybe it was him telling me all about the Irish independence while my mouth was full, or my reading of “A Little History of the World” to him whilst sitting on him, that put him there. Comfort in your own skin is not something to be taken lightly.

I have hap hazardously tumbled into this incredible situation. My house mate is this cluster of brilliant white light. With a never ending positive wave, a sheer inability to sit still and a genuine gratefulness for the world around her. Sometimes you meet people in life at the most brilliant times. She reminds me so much of Carebear, she almost laughs the same. I guess she has always said if she won the lottery she would get a live in chef. So, she thinks she has won the lottery, and I think I have because I ended up in this amazing place that is Galway; thanks to her. I feel like if I can capture just a little bit of her and carry it in me it forever; it will make me an infinitely better person.

The church bells are ringing, Mumford and Sons is on the CD player (yes a CD player, it also plays cassettes what are those eh!) The sun is peaking through the rain clouds and I am filled with overwhelming feeling this is where I am meant to be at least for the time being. Why Galway I will never know but I think I need to thank Randell for that one.

I haven’t even bothered to look for a job yet, maybe that can be my new year’s resolution. Always best to pick one you can keep! For now I pass my days in the kitchen, not getting caught up in the consumerism of the season. I have resolved to spend Christmas here with Tompers and he has not requested anything for Christmas, although I may try to find him a green geansai.

Oh mother dear, I'm over here and I'm never coming back. What keeps me here are pints of beer, the whiskey and the craic!

Sláinte!