Seachain an duine a bhíonn ina thost

Poor Goldie had his hair cut today. Apparently he got hot spot because he was too hot in the warm weather lately, so he needed a bit of a haircut. He doesn't seem to have enjoyed the experience at all: he was quaking when we came to collect him, and couldn't leave quick enough. But he does look lovely. And dogs don't hold grudges. He's wandering around perfectly happily now.

We'd never taken a dog to be groomed before, and had sort of vaguely expected that it might take an hour. But it takes about four hours, and you don't stay and look after the dog. So, not being there, I can't say for certain how well Goldie was treated. But I could certainly see the difference between the groomer's and the vet. The vet made a fuss of Goldie as soon as he got there, instantly making him relax and feel pretty happy. Even when she shaved a small patch of his fur, which he didn't much like, she reassured him so he was wagging his tail again merrily within seconds. The groomer didn't seem to make much of an effort to befriend Goldie while we were there. Goldie's a sociable kind of dog, and he finds things much less upsetting if he's being reassured, patted, admired. The groomer told us Goldie kept lying down, saying that was only to be expected in old dogs. But we know Goldie: if he doesn't like what's going on he'll refuse to take part by lying down.

Anyway, he looks lovely and he's been spoilt rotten since he got home, so he's happy again now. And Pippa got our undivided attention for several hours, so she's happy too.

And now Dad's cooking a big going-away meal, which I'm very much looking forward to (see his blog for details). So I'm going to go be sociable. Oh and I had a nice nap again this afternoon.

Build Portmeirion in Lego.

I had a bad dream last night. I dreamt that I ran the most rubbish Welcome Week ever. It was awful! I spent the whole thing rushing around trying to carry people's bags and didn't organise any events or anything.

In fairness, the University made it difficult for me by allowing 12-year-olds be first years. They need much more minding than 18-year-olds. I also probably shouldn't have tried to be a peer guide for every single first year. Realistic targets are key, I feel.

So I rang Schuh today to arrange the return of my wellies. Galway's about two hours' drive from Limerick, so there's no chance of me being able to visit the shop in person before returning to Wales. But as we all know, when there's a fault with a product, it is the shop's responsibility to look after the customer and rectify the problem. My receipt was stapled into one of those fancy little booklet things, so I had a little read of their 'service policy' before phoning, to see if it said anything about returning items by post. It didn't, so I presumed that wouldn't be a problem.

I rang the Galway branch. I was told that they don't normally accept returns except in person, but gave my phone number so the lady could check with the manager. She rang back to confirm that, explaining that they needed to see the shoes before they could offer me a replacement or refund. I pointed out that they would be able to see them, because I'd be sending the shoes to them. Then she said the manager would need to talk to me about them. Couldn't he do it over the phone?

Anyway, I was getting nowhere, so I rang Schuh Customer Services (01506 468 733). The man seemed more concerned about whether my shoes were broken enough to warrant a replacement, which I thought was a pretty futile concern since we were speaking over the phone, so I ignored that. But he said it was Schuh policy not to allow postal returns to shops (funny it wasn't mentioned in the service policy) because I'd need to sign something, and only Head Office could override that. He said I was welcome to send them to Head Office instead, and they might even cover my postage costs.

Instead, I have opted to call into Schuh in Dublin on my way back to Wales. I persuaded the customer service man to reserve a new pair in my size for me, so there's no chance of them not being in stock.

I'm quite annoyed though. That was ultimately the most convenient option for me (returning to Head Office would probably take weeks, whereas I was hoping Galway could get the shoes back by Friday), but it's still a complete nuisance. And why such arbitary rules on returning items? Couldn't they just forge my signature or something? I really felt they weren't doing anything at all to make life easier for me. The girl in Galway apologised a little, but the manager didn't and neither did the customer service guy. I'm not going to buy shoes from them again.

Oh I don't know why I'm so annoyed. I just think that when they've sold me a product that's so clearly faulty (shoes shouldn't break after half a day of wearing them) they should be making more of an effort to put it right. Anyway, I feel better having ranted.

I have returned from a lovely weekend of visiting relies with my brother. We spent Friday with Gran in Dublin: she fed us and bought us books and was delighted when I chose a pattern and some wool for a jumper which will keep her occupied for a couple of days in the winter (she's a very fast knitter). She worried about Ian not eating a balanced diet, and told him he should get an engineering degree and a job in the civil service because they have very good pension schemes (he's 17). We had such a lovely relaxing day, reading books in the sunshine and chatting away. Oh and looking at her photos of Italy; I'm so jealous.

On Saturday we headed north, meeting The Uncle Pat in Newry. We were talking directly to Niamh and Pat's massive new mansion, all beautifully kitted out with Ikea furniture (I can't wait to go there on Sunday!). It's a zillion times bigger than it was before (no exaggeration).

Niamh and Pat are probably my most left-wing relatives, so we had loads of fun sorting out the world's problems over dinner each day, debating (for example) whether or not it's a good idea to go build houses in Indonesia or to force Fair Trade suppliers to set aside 10% of their land for growing food for themselves. So they think Ian should study some kind of -ology, not engineering.

I may have overdosed on Jane Austen this week. I read and watched Pride and Prejudice, read all of Emma and am halfway through Persuasion (should be done by tomorrow). If I don't stop soon I'm in danger of speaking and writing in an 18th century style, and of marrying the first man to ask me if he had any chance of ever succeeding in winning my hand, a la Messrs Darcy and Knightley. I shouldn't be at all surprised if the same thing happens with Captain Wentworth. I'm not sure which heroine I like the most yet. Possibly Elizabeth Bennett, but Emma isn't quite so conceited by the end of the book, and Anne is so charmingly understated. Oh I just don't know.

Oh and I visited the Sonic Arts Research Centre (SARC) in Queens. I'm so very impressed with it and the brand spanking new SU building (nearing completion) that I have half a mind to go do an MA in Music Technology in Queens instead of Radio Production elsewhere. I'm trying to persuade Ian to study there too (BSc) but he's got his heart set on Huddersfield so far.

The best thing to do wellie-wise is just to go to the Schuh website, choose 'Kickers - f' from the drop-down brand menu, and they're the 'Kickers Curly London' ones. Except I'm a bit annoyed with them because one of the seams is starting to come undone ALREADY. Which makes them not waterproof. So I'm going to send them back to Schuh and demand a new pair. I still love them though.

My wellies.

One more thing. Having trouble understanding the Bible? See it explained in Lego.

Today we went to Galway (so Ian could go to a back specialist) and I got NEW WELLIES! They're super-cool. I'll take a picture of them next week so I can show everyone. Oh they're so cool. They're quite soft, so you can wear them like normal shoes all the time.

I also found my new favourite brand of shoes. It's quite possible that I'll never buy shoes from anyone else ever again. And now that I've found a website that sells them, I may develop a serious shoe-buying problem. Go look at LetsBuyShoes.com and click on 'Irregular Choice'. Oh they're just so beautiful! I nearly bought a pair today, but they weren't available in my size.

Goldie had to go to the vet yesterday because he developed something called 'hot spot' (I think). It's basically a nasty cut-like infection thingy under his left ear which is apparently quite common in long-haired dogs in hot weather. Luckily, Ian spotted it quite early so it won't take too long to heal. But Goldie was scratching it and reopening the wounds, so he's wearing one of those big plastic collars. When he stands in long grass he looks just like a delicate flower, but he's not impressed. So we got him some yummy sweets today and now he's feeling happier. He just persuaded me to hand-feed him his dogfood. Entirely unnecessary, since he managed to eat it on his own just fine yesterday, but today he was pretending he couldn't, and barking at the bowl, so I fed him. If he had a little finger he'd have me wrapped around it. Poor Pippa was most distressed at being left out, so I fed her some too.

Going to Dublin tomorrow to visit Gran, then to Northern Ireland on Saturday to visit aunt and uncle. Back Monday, stopping by the Sonic Arts Research Centre in Queens to persuade Ian that that's where he wants to study. And also because I want to snoop around. It sounds amazingly cool.

Sam, what kind of bags is it you want? Some kind of special bags or just normal bags?

Had a nice girly evening last night. Went to Hickey's (a pub in the village) to meet the Castleconnell Crew: Maeve, Maebh, Sinead, Aisling and Triona. Maebh works in Hickey's these days so wasn't too impressed with lurking there on her night off. So we went to Maebh's house (very swanky) and watched Pride & Prejudice while drinking peach schnapps and orange juice. It was so very girly. And sort of cultured too. More girly evenings are in order, I think.

The next film evening I have lined up is my Into The West evening with Shane and Steve when I get back to Bangor. Into The West is an atrocious Irish film, probably about 15 years old by now, which makes it just the right age for us to be properly nostalgic about it. I was sent home with orders to buy Taytos (the best crisps in the world, made all the more pertinent by one of the main characters in the film being called Tayto), Moros (no, they're NOT the same as Boost bars) and red lemonade. Or maybe Club Orange. But I think red lemonade is better. It's going to be a proper little Irish evening.

Today was disappointing. I went into town to get some lovely shoes I saw when I was shopping for heels last time I was home. But they only had one pair left, and they weren't in my size. I'm so incredibly disappointed. They're wonderful little shoes: white, with multi-coloured sequin-type things on. Okay, that makes them sound hideous, but they really are lovely. Even Ian liked them. Galway had better have some exciting shoes to sell me or I'll stamp my feet. OH! I've just remembered there's a branch of Schuh in Galway. So I'll probably find some nice shoes after all. Hooray hooray hooray!

I went to Monthly Meeting today for the first time in ages. In fact, I haven't been to Meeting in Limerick at all for ages. There were so many people there I didn't know: very odd. In fact, Limerick Preparative Meeting has expanded so much that there was discussion at MM about letting Limerick be a Monthly Meeting (this is all Quaker lingo).

Anyway, one of the Waterford Quakers ministered about the swarms of American troops one encounters when passing through Shannon Airport. And I'd spoken to two other people in the room about this before. Which got me thinking about the phenomenon.

Ireland is supposed to be neutral. But not in the way, say, Sweden is. It's more that we tend to avoid participating in conflict. A mechanism called the 'triple lock', which consists of .. ugh .. is it the Dáil, the Seanad and the UN Security Council .. could be wrong about the Seanad. Anyway, all three of those institutions have to agree to go to war before we can go to war. As a result, Ireland has not been in a war since the Civil War ended in 1922.

But that hasn't stopped Ireland getting involved in conflict. 'Peace keeping' forces (i.e. people trained to kill other people) have been sent to Lebanon, East Timor and Liberia. And, the bit that's irking me today, we allow the US military to use Shannon Airport as a stopover on their way to Iraq.

Now there is some unofficial precedent here. During World War II, for example, British planes were allowed to use our airspace. Should they accidentally land in Ireland, they were sent home. But German soldiers who ended up here were interred. This was partly because British servicemen could claim to be on other business in Ireland and get away with it, but it was pretty unlikely that Germans who ended up in Ireland were just there to check the border was secure or something.

Wikipedia has more to say on this:
While most neutral states do not allow any foreign military within their territory, Ireland has a long history of allowing military aircraft of various nations to refuel at Shannon Airport. Under the Air Navigation (Foreign Military Aircraft) Order, 1952, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, exceptionally, could to grant permission to foreign military aircraft to overfly or land in the State. Confirmation was required that the aircraft in question be unarmed, carry no arms, ammunition or explosives and that the flights in question would not form part of military exercises or operations. In September 2001 these conditions were "waived in respect of aircraft operating in pursuit of the implementation of the Security Council Resolution 1368" (Minister for Foreign Affairs, Dail Debate 17 December 2002). Irish governments have always said that allowing aircraft to use Irish soil does not constitute participation in any particular conflict and is compatible with a neutral stance, instancing the transit of German troops between Finland and Norway through neutral Swedish territory during World War II.

There's been quite a bit of debate on this in Ireland. A peace camp was set up outside Shannon, where protesters could monitor the to-ing and fro-ing of American planes, until it dissolved in a viscous stew of in-fighting and legal challenges from the State over who owned the land they were camping on. In the height of the campaign fervour during the official Iraq war (is it really over?), it was the main issue campaigners yelled about. One of the chants widely used at the time went:

"No guns, no blood for oil
No U.S. military on our soil"

But US troops have continued to land in Shannon. And until I used the airport last September I didn't realise just how many troops there were going through the airport each day. Swarms of them, all in their khaki uniforms. I found it really disconcerting. They were everywhere. I didn't think it'd make me feel so odd, but it really did. I didn't want them anywhere near me but they were everywhere. The other Quakers I spoke to felt the same. Now I know we probably over-reacted, being the crazy pacifists we are, but it was still incredibly odd.

Last week one of the cleaning staff working in the Airport spotted a passenger in shackles on one of the planes and reported it. While the government allows US planes, transporting prisoners is strictly forbidden. It has been smoothed over as a blip in an otherwise happy arrangement, but how many other prisoners have passed through, not spotted by airport staff?

I don't like this namby-pampy approach to neutrality. In fact, I'm not even sure that neutrality is a good word. Do we want to just sit back, saying we don't want to get involved? I'd like to see Ireland taking an active pacifist stance. We should be actively campaigning for peaceful resolutions to conflicts, not merely not sending troops to somewhere like Iraq (fat lot of good our teeny army'd be anyway). Military action is the lazy way out. I firmly believe that peaceful resolution is always possible. People dismiss me as being naive and idealistic, but I'd much rather strive towards achieving my ideals than accept the status quo.

Sorry for writing such long posts.

My favourite joke this weekend:

David Hasselhoff is feeling a bit worried about his image. He's noticed people aren't really taking him seriously anymore. He thinks perhaps it's time for an image change. So he phones his manager.

"From now on, I want everyone to call me 'The Hoff'," says Mr Hasselhoff.

"Sure", says the manager. "No Hassel".

Hahahahaha.

And here's one I got in exchange (don't you love swapping jokes?):

Why does Cinderella hang around the Kodak factory the whole time?

Because one day her prints will come.

Oh my feet hurt so much. My muscles ache, and I'm sunburnt. But I've been having fun.

On Thursday I went water-skiing for the first time. It was so much fun, way more fun than I expected. And much easier too. I fell over on my first attempt, having tried to stand up too quickly. The second time I managed to stay up, but didn't stay up for long because I'd straightened my arms too quickly.

But after that I didn't fall over at all. I learnt how to swerve in and out of the boat's wake, how to lift on foot out of the water, how to take one hand off the tow-y thing. Apparently the only thing left to learn on two skis is how to jump. Andy says he'll take me wake-boarding over the summer. He says it's even better fun.

It's incredibly tiring though. That was two days ago and my arms and legs are still aching. You couldn't do it for long.

Waterskiing took longer than expected. It's run by two lovely people from a very nice steel boat called Tubal above the bridge in Portumna. They're chatty, and we ended up sitting chatting while the man finished his lunch (so he could take us back to the harbour). They're so nice, you couldn't be nervous around them.

Anyway, yes, it took longer than expected. We had to dash home so I could leap on a bus to Dublin. I showered in double-quick time while Ian ironed my dress and Dad cooked me a steak and mushroom sandwich. Mmmmm. It turned out that the rush was somewhat unnecessary, since I had to wait for twenty minutes when we got to the bus stop. But one never can tell with Bus Eireann. One never can tell.

I stayed with my aunt and uncle in Rathmines on Thursday night. We had a lovely summery salad, bread and cheese meal while we watched the Sweden vs Paraguay match. I slept soundly, but woke up with aching muscles. Time for Bloomsday celebrations!

I thought a link to the Wikipedia article on Bloomsday would save me having to explain what it is, but clearly I was mistaken. So I'm not quite sure where to begin.

Erm. So James Joyce, right? Wrote Ulysses. Set in Dublin on June 16th, 1904. The day he met his future wife, Nora. The book is based on Homer's Odyssey, with each chapter corresponding to an episode in the Odyssey. Each chapter is also one hour in the main characters' (Stephen Dedalus, also found in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and Leopold Bloom) day. Each chapter is also written in a different style (or technique), for example first person narration or stream-of-consciousness, and (according to Linati and Gilbert, who proposed differing thematic correlations) focuses on a colour and an organ. And perhaps other things, but I can't remember. For example, Chapter 11 corresponds to the tale of the Sirens in Homer's Odyssey, with Bloom watching two attractive barmaids while dining at the Ormonde hotel in a chapter full of people singing and musical references.

So every June 16th (since sometime in the 1950s) 'Bloomsday' is celebrated in Dublin. People roughly follow the book's action, with noted events including eating "the inner organs of beasts and fowls" for breakfast:

Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liver slices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencod’s roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine. (Ulysses)

Accordingly, I made my way to Sandycove/Glasthule yesterday to have this yummy breakfast. But I got a bit muddled, and thought I was going to Sandymount (Bloom thinks smutty thoughts on the beach in Sandymount later in the day). So I got a bus to Sandymount and walked to the nearest Martello tower. But it wasn't the one. So I kept walking south. And then I realised that the Martello tower would have to be near the Forty Foot, which is near Dun Laoghaire, which is a long walk from Sandymount. And then John sent me a text saying he'd meet me at the DART station in Sandycove. And I realised I was in the wrong place (thankfully I had nearly two hours to kill between stepping off my bus and meeting John). So I asked some women if I was heading the right direction for the Sandycove DART station, and they said I was but there was no way I'd manage to walk it. How right they were. I got on a DART in Booterstown instead, and it was about five stops to Sandycove. I'm glad I stopped to ask.

Anyway, I made it to Glasthule in plenty of time. People in Edwardian costumes sporting boaters were everywhere. It was all quite jolly. So we had the 'Joyce Special' in Juggy's Well. It was surprisingly tasty. There was a woman painting people's faces. I really wanted a moustache, but I was too afraid to ask for one. We wandered around Glasthule for a while, waiting for John's friend Dorothea. We tried to get breakfast for her, but it was going to cost €18 and consist of four courses which seemed a little excessive. So she popped into Caviston's for some gorgonzola and bread, a little ahead of time but a sensible choice.

We strolled along to the Martello Tower (the right one this time) and debated whether or not to go inside. It cost €6 and we weren't entirely convinced it was worthwhile. We flipped a coin which told us to go in, but we still weren't convinced, so we went and sat on some rocks instead. That was lovely, probably the nicest part of the day. The rocks were covered in very sharp barnacles, so we didn't clamber too much, but when we were leaving I persuaded John to climb back the long way over some exciting rocks with me. It was good. Since we didn't think we'd fit in a trip to Sandymount to think smutty thoughts, we thought we could do it there and then. In the good book, Bloom is fantasising about a girl he sees on the beach but is shocked when she stands up to leave, revealing that she is a cripple. So you can imagine our surprise when a man arrived to sit on the rocks and proceeded to take off his leg. What a co-inky-dink.

We got a DART back into town, where we popped into Trinity so Dorothea could return a book to the library. We sat on the green waiting for her, and also Claire (my friend from school who has been travelling the world), Stephen (a friend of mine from years ago who John still sees a lot [as an aside, it was his birthday, hence the name 'Stephen' and the middle name 'Stanislaus']) and John's friend Michio [sp?] and her friend Emily.

Suitably bolstered, our merry band proceeded to Davy Byrne's for a gorgonzola sandwich and a glass of burgundy. Unsurprisingly, it was packed, so we got some nice bread in M&S and some nice gorgonzola in a cheese 'emporium' around the corner (the shopkeeper asked us if it was a literary tribute). We had our glass of burgundy in Davy Byrne's, then traipsed to St Stephen's Green to eat our bread and cheese. Not a Joycean destination, but there we are.

That was pretty much the end of our Joycean tribute. We didn't come across people doing readings, unfortunately, but I got the feeling that the day was somewhat subdued because so many scholars were rising and following Charlie's funeral cortege. Or perhaps not. I don't know, I don't have another Bloomsday to compare it to. We went to Kristen's new apartment for a little while, then I headed to Busaras (via Lush to get Mum some bath ballistics to get her through her last two weeks of work) to get a bus home.

Blistered feet, sunburn from sitting on the rocks by the sea, and aching limbs from waterskiing. But it was fun.

Charles Haughey died today. Taoiseach for three terms, he was one of the most corrupt Irish politicians ever. For example, the Moriarty tribunal found he received £8million in personal donations over 18 years. Money raised for Brian Lenihan, a former government minister and supposed friend of Charlie Boy, and intended to pay for his liver transplant, instead mysteriously ended up in Charlie's bank account and was spent on fancy Charvet shirts. He also managed to have a 27-year affair with gossip columnist Terry Keane, who announced the affair in 1999 on one of Ireland's most popular TV shows, The Late Late Show. A bit shocking for Charlie's poor family. He still owes shedloads of tax. No doubt his estate will settle the bill by selling his private island.

As you can probably tell, I'm not the biggest fan of Charlie. But there have only been 10 Taoisigh in the entire history of the state, so clearly he's quite an important figure in Irish politics.

But WHY do they have to bury him on Bloomsday?

Bloomsday at the Joyce Centre 2006

Owing to the death of former Taoiseach Charles J Haughey, and the state funeral on Friday 16th June, all Bloomsday events at the James Joyce Centre, 35 North Great George's Street, Dublin 1 have been cancelled as a mark of respect. The Board of Directors and the staff of the James Joyce Centre offer their condolences to the family.

Thankfully, the wonderful thing about Bloomsday is that it's not organised by any one organisation. So while it's a shame the James Joyce Centre won't be participating, the other festivities will (hopefully) be going ahead.

It'll be my first Bloomsday, and I'm planning on getting properly involved. Starting the day with a nice offal-based breakfast. Perhaps buying some lemon soap. Maybe a swim in the Forty Foot. Burgundy in Davy Byrne's. And we may even use the state funeral to our advantage, allowing it to fill the role of Dignan's funeral. Although he's not being buried in the same graveyard, so the route will be all wrong.

I still need to find an Edwardian costume.

Today I've decided to travel the world.

I'll get around Europe by picking fruit. I'd like to spend a bit of time in France; I like France. And visit Scandinavia.

Then I'll go do some volunteering in Africa. I'm not sure whether I'd like to do aid work or conservation work. One of them. As long as I get to see elephants. No snakes though. I don't want to see even one snake. Although maybe exposure to them would help me be less scared. I don't like being scared of things.

I think I'll give the Middle East a miss. Although visiting Israel and/or Palestine would be interesting. Just a quick visit. I could get some nice olive oil.

Then over to Asia. I don't know what to do in Asia. I've never really thought about it. I don't know, maybe I could do some rebuilding in Indonesia, although I don't know if they'll still need help rebuilding by the end of 2007. Maybe there'll be a new crisis to help with by then, although I hope not. I can't even decide which countries in Asia I'd like to visit. Vietnam interests me a bit because my cousin is from there and they have nice hats. China would be nice too. Perhaps I could head for Hong Kong and venture inland a bit from there. Perhaps India too, but it's such a big country. I wouldn't know where to start.

Australia and New Zealand next. I'll get a crappy (and illegal) job for a few weeks to top up my travel fund. Australia is only mildly interesting, but New Zealand is supposed to be lovely. I'll go look at something scenic there.

Then across the Pacific to South America. I'll skip Hawaii: I'm only mildly interested. I'll already have done Cuba by then, so I think I'll skip Central America. Rio de Janeiro would be great. I'd kind of like to go to Venezuala too, just because America says it's Bad. Not Colombia, that's a bit scary. Oh and definitely Cusco to see Machu Picchu. My friend Karen (of the party) spent some of her gap year volunteering at Machu Picchu. I'd like to do that.

The only thing I'd still like to see in the USA is Yellowstone Park. But I'll probably give the whole country a miss. They might interrogate me a bit too much if I have Cuba and Venezuala on my passport. Canada'd be nice next. I don't know where to go though. Quebec? Toronto? Vancouver?

My final stop is quite an exciting one. Iceland. I'll go bathe in hot springs and search for Bjork and Sigur Ros. Then back home to earn a load of money and do my MA.

But WHERE am I going to get the money?

WikiTravel is a wonderful resource. Although some of its pages are mildly inaccurate. I got to correct the entry for LlanfairPG which said it was on the train line between Bangor and Chester. I feel useful.

We haven't gone to the boat this week after all. Guess which part is broken? Yes, you guessed it, it's the alternator. It has to be my favourite part of the boat's engine. I suppose it's the constant sense of anticipation and awe, wondering when and how it will stop working next.

Anyway, it's quite alright because we're going to spend the week boating anyway. Yesterday I spent most of the day getting my Europe ship-shape (although I don't think I'll ever succeed, it's just too damn dinghy-shape). It's lovely and shiny clean now. Dad and I also spent quite a while repairing a hole in the prow of the boat. Yep, I can now do fibreglass repairs.

Today we spent several hours strapping the Europe to the roof of the car. We looked so outdoorsy, with our dinghy on the roof of our Subaru Outback. Then we had a nice picnic in the harbour in Kilgarvan. Far too windy to go sailing though. Some people pulled up and launched a Topper, and the parents tried to tell me I was a wimp for not sailing, but the Topper woman got blown into the reeds even though she was in the relatively sheltered bay and had to be towed back in, so I think I made the right choice. I'll sail tomorrow.

This evening we're having a special meal with lamb and champagne and pavlova to celebrate me finishing my degree. Mmmmm. I'm quite hungry actually, having spent most of the day outside. That always makes me hungry.

 Read about Evan's fight for justice. I hate Dublin traffic. Home now though, and relaxing.

Awwww. 

Chris and Nick. I love my housemates. And how cool is the star thingy around Chris's head? 

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Degree over. I got my results yesterday: got a first. And, apparently, some class of a prize for my dissertation. I'm a bit hazy on the details, but it's called a School of Music Prize (creative title) and I get £50 but no certificate. I might have to make my own certificate.

It's eight o'clock and I've been awake since five. I just can't sleep when it's this bright outside. I'm planning on sleeping on the ferry though, and on the bus home. I'm quite tired again.

Moved into my new house yesterday. Gangs of people turned up to help me move (thank you!) so it was very quick. If anyone's looking for a man with a van I recommend this Sam person: £10 to move all my stuff in his big white Transit van. After the move we all sat in my new living room having refreshing drinks. I was quite chuffed to find that the only thing my guests could find to criticise about my new house was that there's an electrical socket too close to the sink in the kitchen. It really is gorgeous.

So I have quite a lot to do this morning, but I don't think I'll manage any of it until I've had something to eat. I hope Crumbs will open soon: they do deeeelicious bacon and sausage sandwiches. I'm a little stressed about my Uni email address vanishing .. Sam says this will happen very soon, but I want to keep it! Surely we need a Uni login next year?

Anyway, I'm going to go scavenge some food. Later I'm going to go to Ireland. Both fun things. I'll be spending a week on the boat, so I might slip off the blog radar while I laze in the sun. To keep yourselves amused while I'm gone, go have a look at reasons why Darth Vader is a loser. And other superawesomewow articles.

Bangor is frightfully relaxing when you've nothing to do. I've taken several strolls down the pier since I got back, and even watched TV. Mad. The journey back to Bangor was quite fun. I set off from home at 10:15 on Wednesday morning. Mum dropped me into Limerick to go to the dentist, but first I visited Lyric to drop off a copy of my dissertation. I ended up going for breakfast with the Lunchtime Choice team and sitting in on their production meeting. Liz, the presenter, is starting a blog and has been reading mine in preparation. How flattering!

The trip to the dentist was uneventful. My teeth are very good, which is always nice. Oral hygiene is important. The dentist is lovely. I'm going to marry his son, you know. I've never met him or anything, but we seem to be similar. We're always doing the same thing at the same time. For example, we both chose between studying Music and Theoretical Physics. He went for Theoretical Physics, though.

After the dentist I got the bus to Dublin, where my grandparents and cousin Phelie met me. I don't see my cousins very often, and Phelie and I get along very well, so it was lovely to see him. He had finished his degree the day before (despite being a year older than me: his was a four-year degree), his brother Mikey had finished that day and his mum has almost finished her MA, so there was a nice feeling of completion about the place. I spent the evening chatting to my grandparents (who seemed in good spirits, although Grandpa really isn't very well at all), wandering around the garden and in my cousins' house (they all live on the same piece of land). Phelie's going to Holland next year to play hockey semi-professionally which is quite an adventure, and his dad might be taking up a job in Canada. All change.

Thursday wasn't particularly exciting. I found the ferry journey incredibly frustrating: sunshine and water make the most wonderful combination, and I was itching to be outside, perhaps floating lazily across the Irish Sea in a dinghy. But no. I was trapped in a big ferry-shaped box. I went out onto the tiny cage-like platform at the back for a little bit, but the people I was sharing my table with didn't seem keen on minding my bags for too long so I didn't stay.

It was really weird saying goodbye to my flatmates yesterday. They were so great. We were all completely different, but shared a sense of humour. Just giggled all day long. I'll miss their silliness. At least Nick will be around in July; I think it'll be good to have someone to hang around with outside the SU. I might go a little crazy otherwise.

The ball was superb. I love getting dressed up in all my finery (although it's less fine now Sam has spilt wine on it: dry cleaners here I come). My gloves added a touch of class to the occasion, and my jacket was very welcome as the night got colder. My feet are still sore from my shoes, though, and I seem to have done something to my knee. It was a bit sore yesterday, and now aches quite a lot.

I spent most of Saturday afternoon getting ready for the ball. I went for breakfast in 'Spoons, then had a very pleasant stroll back down the High Street, waltzing to accordion music with Chris (it was just so French) and stopping in Thorntons for a delicious lemon and mint ice-cream cone. My dress need alteration (I've lost weight since I last wore it three years ago), so I spent some time getting that right. I think I did it quite well, although I'm going to go take the stitching out in a minute so the dress doesn't get marked. Gran could probably alter it better next time it needs doing. I taught Robbie how to use a curling tongs so he could do the back of my hair: it was far too complicated trying to do it in a mirror.

The pre-ball reception was lovely. A big buffet (always my favourite part), lots of wine and all sorts of people to chat to. I had a nice chat with the Vice-Chancellor about radio, then inadvertently called him old. Oops. I also spoke to one of the Pro-Vice Chancellors who seemed quite nice. We had an in-depth chat about something-or-other, I can't remember. Oh, Seren. He's a lecturer in the English department, you see.

The ball itself was a flurry of chatting to people, going on the big wheel, and sitting on the balcony while Sam fell over repeatedly. I stayed until the end, but felt quite zombie-like. Breakfast was disappointing: Mike's was full (my fault for being so slow and forgetting to get my bag from the balcony) so we went to Dylan's where we had a pretty boring bap with sausage and bacon. It was too boring to finish.

But this is something I want to rant about briefly. Ball night in Bangor is a pretty big night out. Like it or not, there are a lot of very drunk people and a minority of people taking drugs. There are drunken ladies walking through University Park on their own in the dark. All sorts of things. So what do Bangor police do with their van? They park it outside Mike's Bites to stop both Mike's and Dylan's serving hot food before 5am (they'd advertised that they would be serving food from 3am onwards, apparently a breach of their licence). Really now, who cares if they serve food two hours early? Isn't hot food a good thing to serve to people who are a little the worse for wear? And is that really, truly the best use of police resources on ball night?

My landlady came around last night with some of the Chinese students living in my house next year. The plan was that they move their stuff in today, but they turned up with a magical surprise: they're not just moving their stuff in, they're moving in too!

I'm finding this quite a stressful concept. I'm sad that my flatmates have left, but I'd rather be alone than live with four strangers. They stayed in the house for about half an hour after Ruth left, just nosing around, leaving the front AND back doors wide open. They didn't speak a word of English to me. It was really quite uncomfortable, just sitting on the couch, having strangers wandering around your house speaking a different language.

I was really very upset about this last night. I hadn't been to sleep properly since the ball, and hadn't eaten properly either: a winning combination. So I cried quite a bit, and tried to get hold of my new landlady to ask if I could move into my new house today. But I can't get hold of her, and twelve hours of sleep later I'm less bothered. I'm still not delighted about it, but I can cope with living with strangers. I did it in school, I did it in first year. It's only for a week, and I can shut myself in my room with really loud music on if I'm feeling irritated. Very loud music. I still haven't tried out my amplifier at more than half volume (that was last night: it rocked the kasbah). It would be so difficult packing all my stuff and moving out today; that would probably stress me more than just having people in my house.

At least I'm getting this week rent free. And some men just came to my house and scrubbed it from top to bottom. The cooker's clean. The kitchen floor's clean. The bathroom's clean (although I did that bit). And they took away my old monitor so I don't have to deal with that problem anymore. Oh, and they took away the rest of the smashed-up piano. The bits that weren't burnt by the frisbee team. Long story.