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 February 2008 Start spreading the news! Greetings from New York! Greetings from the Bora Bora Caves! March already! Hello mes amies, and here we are already in March, having been short-changed by February, who thought it could fob us off with an extra day this year, but we're not fooled. However, March can only be a good thing, with the days getting longer and lighter (for those of us in the northern hemisphere, my apologies to those of you south of the equator, I didn't mean to sound 'exclusive.') So anyway, I'm in New York, because as those of you who read last month will know, I've had the great good fortune to have been turfed out of the house in Dublin due to it being riddled with damp and overrun with builders and I was coming to New York anyway for Caitríona's special birthday (one with a nought on the end.) So to cut down on our carbon emissions, myself and Himself rented a flat for a month because we are lucky, lucky bastards. The cast of characters is as follows: My mother, my father, my brother Tadhg, me, Himself, Suzanne, friend from London, Eileen (Eilers) friend from Dublin and Siobhán, friend from Dublin. Actually now that I look at the list, it seems very short, it certainly felt like there were lots more of us when we were all together. Rita-Anne couldn't come because of being up the duff and Tadhg's partner Susan couldn't come either and both of these losses came as terrible blows because they are the only sensible ones in the family. 
Now about Siobhán. Siobhán and I have been friends since we were 14 (her brother was my first boyfriend and although he dumped me for a posh girl with big knockers, Siobhán and I remained friends.) It's one of those lovely friendships where we have absolutely nothing in common but we still love each other. She has 3 really lovely girls and a perfect home and perfect blonde hair and wears pastels without mysterious brown stains appearing on them 4 seconds after she's put them on. Nothing at all like me. And yet we are great pals and Himself and I are god-parents to daughter number 3, Emily.So we all had great fun for 5 days, then all the others went home and Himself and I stayed and our rented apartment is lovely, especially because unlike most Manhattan apartments it has a window, although we had to pay extra for that and the only fly in entire ointment is that on our first night here I was woken from my jet-lagged slumber by very, very loud music coming from the apartment next to the one we'd rented. Then on the second night I was woken from my jetlagged slumber by very, very loud music coming from the apartment next to the one we'd rented. Then on the third night I was woken from my sleep-deprived, half-mad slumber by very, very loud music coming from the apartment next to the one we'd rented. The walls were practically pulsing it was so loud and bassy - but wait till I tell you the most bizarre thing - it was a Cher song! A Cher song remixed so it had a dancey, bass-line but it still had that stupid, 'singing-into-a-plastic-pipe' wobbly singing bit. Talk about adding insult to injury! If I have to be woken in the middle of the night, I'd at least like it to be by someone good, like George Michael. There were so many things that were wrong about this Cher song that I hardly knew where to start. I decided that the fact that it was 2.30 in the morning was as good a place as any, so I lurched from my bed, Himself trying to restrain me, out into the corridor - where the music was so loud, the ceiling was crumbling - then banged and banged and banged like a mentaller on the door of the apartment where Cher was coming from. (Himself, still mostly asleep, was staggering around the bedroom trying to find a pair of jocks to put on to accompany me.) Afterwards when I was telling the story, many people expressed shock and said, "But this is New York, people have guns, you could have been killed!" but, mes amies, the way I was feeling I'd have welcomed it. I've have been delighted to have been shot! I need my sleep. I need an awful lot of it. I can't function without it. Eventually a young man, with curly neatly-cut hair opened the door and I nearly went blind from the force of the music but he didn't shoot me and instead found the whole thing wildly funny, which is probably fair enough, seeing as I was standing there in my nightdress, my hair askew and sobbing with frustration. After much negotiation and pauses for him to writhe with mirth he agreed to turn the music down. Every night since then, going to bed I've been clenched with fear, terrified to go to sleep because I'm terrified of being woken by Cher or worse. But in fairness, since the showdown it's been okay and my hatred for the Cher-lover has abated quite a bit. Although I know next to nothing about him, every time I pass his door I stare hard and 'feel' him and my imagination has conjured up all kinds of things, mostly based on the fact that he doesn't seem to have a job, because his telly is always on in the daytime and that he can dance his little hooves off in the middle of the night without any apparent worries about having to get up for work in the morning. Also that his apartment has a window, so he's no stranger to the finer things in life, like natural Manhattan daylight. I know for a fact that a windowed apartment costs more than a non-windowed one, so where is he getting the money from? Daddy, is my (admittedly insane, baseless) conclusion. Now and again he gets late-night visitors (other nicely-turned-out young men) who bang on his door and say, "Yo! Open up, man!" and I lie in my bed and curl my lip and repeat, "Yo!" with great scorn, because the young man is very young (about 15) and his haircut is most definitely not the haircut of a "Yo!" kind of person. Strangest of all, New York is a really noisy city, but I've no problem being woken by police sirens or cars beeping or disembodied voices shrieking, "You didn't do that motherfucker, you DID NOT DO THAT!!!!" But still, a teenage youth, who likes nothing more harmless than dancing around his apartment to Cher in the middle of the night can reduce to me lunacy. So what else? Himself's mother had her operation on Jan 29th and it seems to have gone okay, nothing else terrible was discovered, and she's starting a 3 week course of radium treatment on Monday so fingers crossed that she'll be alright. Just like her last operation, she was an absolute trouper about it all, she checked out of hospital (is that the right phrase, 'checked out'?) almost as soon as she came round from the anaesthetic and once at home, wondered if she should take some of the painkillers they'd given her! Er, yes, you've just had a major operation, I should think so! Especially as they were lovely codeine-based ones. Now, wedding dresses! Caitríona is getting married in August and a lot of my time in New York has been spent in specialist wedding dress shops, looking at Caitríona in the most beautiful dresses. I don't know if any of you have done the 'accompanying-a-loved-one-as-she-tries-on-wedding-dresses' but I think I've found my niche, my hobby, my passion, call it what you will. I LOVE it, I find it endlessly absorbing, soothing, exciting, enjoyable, it completely takes me out of myself. I have a terrifyingly short attention span (most films over 90 mins make me want to cry with boredom) but I could look at loved ones trying on wedding dresses forever. Sadly (or maybe not, it couldn't have gone on forever) she has actually found a dress, stunning, fabulous and really special but we'll have to wait until August until I can give you the full details. Maeve Binchy once wrote a short story called 'The Woman Who Walked into Weddings' about a woman who gate-crashed weddings because they made her feel so good. Maybe I should start hanging around bridal shops and infiltrating dress-viewing parties of women - there are usually so many people present that I should be able to mingle unnoticed. Speaking of films, we went to see There Will Be Blood - have you seen it? So brilliant. I drink your milkshake! (I'm sorry, unless you've seen the film, that'll make no sense at all.) Also we went to see The Seafarer, a play by Conor McPherson, who is an absolute genius. It stars Jim 'Bishop Brennan' Norton and Ciarán Hinds and they were MAGNIFICENT. Other good news - my poor mammy's facial eczma has cleared up, she finally got her appointment with a dermatologist who - just in case this is of help to anyone - approved her use of Dermalogica products. Everyone is different and Mam tried several different skincare brands while she was waiting for the appointment, none of which helped but some of which had worked for other people. I'm not saying - and I'm terrified that it'll be interpreted that I am - that Dermalogica is the cure for everyone. All I'm saying is that if you have a similar problem to the one my mother had, my heart goes out to you and I hope you find something that helps. Finally, where am I? Last month I told you that Himself was worried about me going public about not being at home, thereby giving the green light to all Dun Laoghaire-based burglars that there was nothing to stop them hiring a lorry and emptying the house of its contents. Therefore I am obliged to continue being mysterious about my whereabouts. I could still be in New York, or I could be back home, or I could be… well, just about anywhere! That's all I meant by putting 'Greetings from the Bora Bora caves' at the top. In this touchy, politically correct world, I suppose I'd better make it clear that I'm not comparing myself, in any way, to Osama Bin Liner. I can just see the headlines.  AUTHOR COMPARES HERSELF TO MADMAN. Can I just tell you about having my legs waxed - by the only blind leg waxer in New York. Even in a city full of gimmicks, this is going too far. I don't think the poor woman knew she was blind but I kept having to point out patches that she'd missed and now that I've got my legs back to the apartment and am examining them in the light shed by our expensive (but worth it) window, my legs look like a field of crop circles! Nevertheless, if that's all I have to worry about, I'm doing okay. As my mother would say, at least I have legs. 
Altogether now, DO YOU BEEEELIEVE IN LIFE AFTER LOVVVVVVE.I hope you have a lovely, optimistic March. Spring, spring, spring. Daylight, daffodils, easter eggs, green beer, etc. Happy Saint Patrick's Day! Lots of love Marian |
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Photo © Neil Cooper