HOLY MARY, MOTHER OF GOD.

I cannot even believe that match. What a fucking game. Jesus.

The first half was all OMG AWESOME!

The second was partly OH SHIT and partly FUCK YEAH, C'MON!

AND THAT THAT LAST KICK. RONAN! WHAT DID YOU DO?!?! DU-UDE. I CANNOT ARTICULATE MY FEELINGS ON THIS *FLAIL*

I basically have spent the last ten minutes sitting on my bed yelling at the computer whilst not clapping my hand over my mouth is shocked anticipation.

RUGBY! WHAT DO YOU DO TO ME?!

EDIT: Okay, turns out I'm pretty heartbroken about this. Damnit.

Can someone do me a favourite and try to join the Walter Skinner fanlisting (I'll delete your application rather than adding you, nath)? Someone sent me an e-mail saying they're getting errors with it but when I joined with a different e-mail address it worked fine :/

I BOUGHT TWO 650ml BOTTLES OF HEINEKEN AND NOW I AM GOING TO DRINK THEM AND WATCH YESTERDAY'S LIONS MATCH!!

I JUST WATCHED THE FIRST LIONS TEST MATCH AND OH MY FUCKING GOD.

ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?!

OKAY, WE LOST BUT IT WAS SO CLOSE AND NEXT TIME WE'RE GOING TO FUCKING KILL THEM.

Interesting that the Lions don't have a song. A little bit disheartening but the main point here is OH MY FUCKING GOD! WHAT A MATCH!

I'm currently downloading the first Lions test match to watch when I come home from work tonight, since it wasn't available yesterday. What do we think are the chances that I can make it through the whole day without being spoiled for the result? I'm thinking slim to none but I will FREAK THE FUCK OUT if I find out the score before I watch the match. THIS IS TRUE.

(Lots of kids cried at the Dr. Who exhibition yesterday. And one let a huge piece of wood whack her in head before throwing a fit which was hilarious. stillxmyxheart, I picked up a guide thing for you and will get your stuff sent out on Monday or Tuesday. Sorry for the shocking delay!)

So, that outside jazz with added beer goodness I mentioned? Yeah, not so much. Due to the gloriousness of Scotland's take on bank holidays, it's a four day weekend here (Friday was a public holiday for the Queen's birthday. Not this Queen. Or even the one before that. For Queen Victoria.) and there are a couple of festivals on, including the Subway Festival. Which involves the subway and the areas directly around subway stations. In their nice booklet was advertised jazz! In a park! With beer! With a note that if they weather was crappy it would be moved inside. Fine, understandable. And, yes, the weather wasn't great but it was only overcast. Not a drop of rain all day. But it was inside. And not all jazz. There was weird vaudeville, cabaret, mime singing. Then some jazz. The more of the vaudeville, cabaret, mime singing. Which I might have enjoyed. Had I not been promised JAZZ damnit.

Holy broken sentences, batman!

Anyway, we made it home in time for the second half of Canada v. Ireland but since RTE are being fucktards, I'm listening to it on some Canadian radio station. Oh, Canada. I often forget how much I enjoy the Canadian accent but this is bringing it all back. And reminding me of that time I spent far too long watching ice hockey because I was both intrigued and appalled by the Canadian commentary. One of the accents of the commentators for this game wasn't sitting quite right with me, though, and it's taken me twenty minutes to realise that it's because he's from NEW ZEALAND *headdesk*

01. It's the British AND IRISH Lions, New Zealand commentator.
02. Peter Stringer cannot (well, should not) be knighted, Canadian commentator. Because he's NOT BRITISH.
03. Fairly shit game.
04. One of them just said 'loosey goosey'. Ha!
05. I really hope I misheard them saying that 6000+ people was a huge crowd.
06. I am confused as to what the name of the stadium actually is.

I might actually stop being freakishly rambly and try to get some sleep after this match. 6 hours of sleep over 2 days has sent me slightly loopy.

Paul O'Connell has been named as captain of the British and Irish Lions squad to tour South Africa this summer.

The 29-year-old edged Ireland's Grand Slam-winning captain Brian O'Driscoll in the race for the most prestigious job in British and Irish rugby.

Holy shit! Go Paul O'Connell. So many Irish players made the squad and I'm really pleased to see some of the other choices. Bring on the summer, baby!

To elaborate somewhat on my earlier 'punctuation appreciation' post (as dubbed by veraxia and understood only by f4l):

Ireland won the motherfucking Grand Slam yesterday, people. We fucking won. For the first time since 1948 and bugger me it was beautiful. We were treated along the way to the bizarre sight of Prince William singing the Welsh anthem while Gavin Henson seemed to refuse to, Donncha O'Callaghan freaking out and starting a fight for very little reason at all and England somehow coming second. The pub was freaking heaving and completely understaffed. I drank a pint and a bottle every 45 minutes. I screamed, I sang, I cheered and, at the end, I hugged anyone within hugging distance. I ended up incredibly drunk and unbelievably happy, and on the way home I bought some KFC. Fifteen minutes ago, I woke up, my glasses still on, and my first thought was 'OMGWEWON'. Fucking yeah!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have comments and the like to reply to, but all I can say right now is:

WE'RE GOING TO WIN THE SIX NATIONS! Who's going to win? NOT YOU!

!!!!!!

I cannot articulate my feelings about yesterday's match without indulging in a lot of wild gesticulation. Sadly, such gesticulations would not translate well over the internet so you'll have to make do with the following:

One point?! ONE POINT?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?! HOLY SHIT! Ronan O'Gara, what are you doing to me?! But - BUT - we're top of the table. By a huge margin *dances* Oh, rugby!

Yes, so, I finished work just after 5pm yesterday, which gave me just enough time to hotfoot it down to the pub and get some drinks in before the anthems. A group of people from work came, as well as a Canadian girl I met on my induction last week (prompting my flatmate to ask me what was with me and Canadians, to which I could only reply that it's not my fault I attract cool people), and there was much imbibing of the alcohol. Much imbibing. (Of Heineken, even, since we were in an Irish pub) I met a guy from the same village as my Dad and generally talked, I have no doubt, an awful lot of shit. Then, on my way home I bought chips and curry sauce which I appear to have eaten very messily since there's sauce all over the coffee table in the living room and three of my fingers are stained fucking yellow. And it's not coming off.

To summarise: Beer + Rugby = Win. Curry + Fingers = Fail.

Holy. Mother. Fucking. Shit.

I can honestly say that I did not see the France v. Wales result coming. Ireland had better not fuck up tomorrow!

A few days ago, I received a text from my Mum informing me that one of my cousins is turning 21 on March 21 and having a party which she'd love to me to come to. Sounds like an excellent plan, I'm thinking to myself as I start looking into it. Alas, my diary reveals to me that March 21 is the last day of the 6 Nations - a day for which I have already made plans involving copious amounts of alcohol. Damn. Oh well, I'll just have to tell Joan that I can't do all the drinking because I'm going to be in Donegal. Which presents another problem, because the only suitable flight is on Friday and I'm supposed to be working on Friday. Right, so I'll ask for the day off. But, then, if I'm going to watch three rugby matches and drink whilst doing so, will I be in any fit state for a party? These are the questions that plague our times, people.

This morning, whilst watching Hancock, I receive another text message, followed by phone call, from my mother. Initially, she spent some time implying that I shouldn't fly back for the party (and I still haven't quite figured this out). Then, upon hearing of the rugby, she insisted she would watch with me and that we would only be able to drink for one, maybe two games. I'm 25, so I can a) drink by myself and b) control my own drinking, thank you very much Mum. We're at a bit of an impasse when, for some reason, she mentions March 28. Which is when the party is. Not March 21 like she initially told me. She then spent about ten minutes trying to convince me to fly into Derry and out of Dublin so that I could spend a few days at home in Sligo, completely contradicting her earlier 'maybe you shouldn't come' murmurings.

To summarise: I now get to have two weekends of super-awesome-fantastic drinking and my mother is a crazy person.

Gavin Henson's indie rock haircut freaks me out.

That is all.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

FUCK!

EDIT: A penalty try? What?! WHAT? I mean, yay, but how fucking aggravating!

EDIT 2: BRING IT THE FUCK ON!

I went out last night to watch the rugby, and I'm not even going to talk about the actual match because, seriously, what is wrong with this World Cup? What I am going to talk about is the fact that I appear to have come home without my wallet and phone.

Now, I think I put them in my friends' bag last night. I never carry a bag and the fashion industry doesn't think I deserve pockets what with being a girl and all, so I often dump my stuff in someone else's bag when I'm out.

I hope that's what happened. Otherwise, I just don't have any stuff. I had to convince a porter to give me a new room key last night and I was fairly inebriated at the time, so god only knows what I said. On the upside, he did give me a key, and, when I was undressing, I found a fiver stuffed down my bra. Why was there money in my bra? I don't know. What I do know is that I'm going to use it to go buy some coke, because I'm thirsty.

Wow, I'm so interesting.

Good lord, it's after 5am. How did that happen? One minute I'm trapping daddy long legs under glasses, whilst watching Point Break and packing and the next thing I know it's six hours later and I've not actually achieved much of anything.

Not been LJing much since the dissertation of doom was finally handed in. In summary, I have spent my time:

• Drinking
  
• Sleeping
  
• Packing
  
• Watching the Rugby
  

I hate packing. Mainly because I can never bring myself to part with any books so my boxes are always insanely heavy. Also because it's a pain in the arse. I like sleeping and drinking and I like watching the rugby, although the World Cup has been fairly disappointing so far. On the plus side, I got a bunch of free stuff while watching the games in the pub last Satuday.

Yeah, that's about it. I should probably go to bed and stop arsing around.