A complex complex
I spend a lot of time staring at these neighbors across the way.
The top left have a dog who likes to look over the railing. The ones below have a fancy fridge that glows. The top right have people over sometimes and they smoke on the balcony. The ones below are boring and nothing ever happens.
And they all go to bed at absurd hours, like before 10 or 11pm. Weirdos.
2:45am is the more reasonable bedtime.
So, there is a trip being planned that could see me in London AND Dublin this year, and the only thing I can think about is being able to see ocean at the end of the lane. Can you imagine? CAN YOU EVEN JUST IMAGINE? I have no idea if it will still be running then, and if it is, how easy to get tickets. Like, maybe it’s how it was for Hamilton on Broadway, you had to have money and be extremely super special to get tix (shocking fact: I meet none of these qualifications).
I’m afraid to do any internet investigating, in case I find out disappointing news and then I will just be depressed for the rest of my life.
Thank goodness I have my newly-received Rick Steves European travel collection, courtesy of rocky mountain PBS. I have DVDs and books and pamphlets and even a Christmas music CD. What a good little tourist I will be.
Maybe I stay there forever and never come back.
Ooohh, I should start learning the languages now. Listen to this. “Blue is my favourite colour.” “You are bloody mental, you are!” “Me thinks there be tree or four lads in that pub who can help me with my flat tyre.” Petrol! Kilos! Queue up!
Trolleys, lifts and loos, oh my.