mdm

Something about a suitcase I think ........... Having torn a page out of my passport in my cups to give a stranger my phone number, and thus rendering it null and void, and a moot point simultaneously, it came as a complete surprise that I could not actually use it when needed. The Skin & Blister had booked herself, the Quiet Leitrim Man and the child into a villa in Southern Spain and I was all over it like shite on a blanket. I let them get a good run at it by allowing them 3 days grace before I rocked up figuring they would have sussed out what the Jackanory was by then and allow me to get in like Flynn as soon as I stepped off the plane into a hot smell of Marlboro.   - “ What do you mean you have no passport??” the Skin & Blister asks with one eyebrow up in her hair. I drew a veil over the more outrageous truth and she informs that I may take myself to the city and join a throng of desperate hopeless people in a crush with their faces pressed up ...

3 days before I launch my book I am sitting in the Doctors surgery. Again. "I'm exhausted and wore out" I tell her as I slump across the desk. "I've the flu and the galloping consumption, I've the black lung, I've the cold sweats and I haven't slept in weeks" says I rolling my eyes like a nervy horse. She remains unmoved. "You may give me an anti-biotic and a few inhalers, and throw in a few sleepers, or at least some steroids" says I, imagining how quickly I could clean the house on a cocktail of the above. "I need to be at the top of my game, the papers have been alerted, the wine has been ordered and there are even women coming from Cork who will expect me to be hilarious, girl." 30 Deltacortil ought to do it. My Doctor calmly watches me. When the room has been filled with my rushing words, so many that they are trying to escape out the vents, she responds with a few of her own. They include denial, delay...