There will be more!
I park the car outside the house because I can see her brother’s over and, again, taking up me driveway. Lime green he puts on it, brand new Opel, lime green he puts on it. The right front tire crushes the brown and grey pile of what’s left of the snow and I set the hand break. This yoke’s new enough too. Six month I have it and the interior already resembles me state of mind, mad it is. I stare at the scattered collection of crumpled and saliva shiny wrappers from Refresher bars and realise they’re the same colour as me brother in law’s car and I tell meself “his car is rubbish too” and I laugh and make a note of it in me phone in the “Material” file. I stumble backwards when I exit the car and have to catch meself between the door and the car. I look down and…
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It’s past midnight. I’m lying in bed, in a darkened room, tears rolling down my face, my sobbing quite audible. My parents suddenly burst into my room, a look of worried concern on their faces.
“Rob. Rob, are you okay?”
I take the earphones out, looking at them, momentarily confused by the question.
“Yeah, I’m good. Was just listening to Billy Connolly.”
Relieved, they leave, and I go back to crying my little eyes out at this man’s comedy genius. A grown man, making this 17 year old, on his own, laugh like a drain.
October, 2017 (30 years later, maths fans):
I’m sitting in the rec room of a treatment centre, with about 10 other recovering drink and drug addicts. Billy Connolly is on TV, doing his thing, as brilliantly as he did 30 years ago. Everyone is laughing. Everyone except me. I’m sitting, completely ambivalent about what I’m watching, at first, then steadily getting more and more down. I go for a walk around the grounds.
‘Shit. Fuck. Shit.’ Continue reading
Hello. How’s things? You good? You LOOK well. Well… You could probably lose the nose ring, it’s not really you, but, no no… it’s your choice, I know! Anyway…
It’s been a while since my last proper blog, about 7 months. Last July I went into an alcohol treatment centre, for a 3 month program, and would go on to stay another 2 months. It was… an experience. WHAT I experienced I’m not quite sure of yet. A very religious heavy recovery program, it had its up and downs. And I WILL go into it properly one day, just not right now. I currently live in an ‘after program’ halfway house, probably for the guts of this year, so I wouldn’t be in a position to write of my life in ‘The Village’ (as I’m now referring to it) honestly enough yet. Suffice to say, although I carry resentments towards some involved, I haven’t fallen down a religious path (some of my friends nearly thought I would. C’mon. It’s Me!) and I at least picked up some carpentry skills on the way. And yes, it kept me sober. Still have a head full of shite though, as the picture down below details roughly. Continue reading
Here ya go:
I’ll follow up with a PROPER history of live Irish comedy some day soon, but this is the general gist.