On the bus to Derry now. No waiting for some more hours before eventually going off for a change. Ok, last time in Edinburgh at least could update some stuff of the show I definitely couldn't manage doing earlier. (As if this would't sound only too familiar more or less always.) Also am still bloody knackered though better yet, actually almost human again but still not exactly as productive as I feel I should be, shame, shame, shame.
Still was pretty cool, nice people and no trouble sleeping'n'getting help regarding daily desinfection of the lumpies etc, thx guys! Shows fine except for the 2nd one stoopid, stoopid me left the adapter 'at home' like a real pro, and of course my posh 2nd hand powerbook's battery didn't really make it through all of it cause the HUGE screen and the lotsa legwork on the drive for all the clips'n'stuff just drained it like gulp-gulp-gulllllllp'n'gone. Think people still got the gist, though missed the fun parts I always save for last (and of which only a small fraction is online, sorry). However, exchanged some clips and info both times. Even got some dosh even without insisting. Far from covering my actual travel costs but still nice n better'n nothing at all, you bet.
Btw this brit company my swiss mobile ultimately is operated by doesn't seem willing or able negociating any contracts with a local irish one. So much about globalised capitalism knowing no borders, ha. Meaning my prepaid credit's worth sugar, all that works is receiving texts. Which isn't actually grave but kinda took some time till it sunk cause never experienced nor expected anything like that before. Not in the whole 9 or so months I got a mobile to be precise (now that's been a man of principles, now wasn't he?). So at first thought the problem being me doing something wrong, but as usual in the end just never underestimate 'bugs as usual' indeed (unless I'm doing the pro like above, that is).
Definitely less fun learning 'bout how the local coppers do treat not only the people regularly ending up dead after having had a close encounter of the abusive kind in e.g. one of Store St Garda Station's 'suicide proof cells', but also how they deal with the bereaved in case these're too stubborn to comply with a fairly unambiguous brush-off without further ado -- but actually dare asking the same annoying questions again instead! Imagine, the cheek of them! Cheeky, cheeky sc*mbag b*stards!
No wonder the guards have to make a point and make it very clear indeed. Though far from reaching the cutting edge death toll of their UK-mateys, in the aftermath probly acting out even bolder. Still reckon learning to pretend more convincingly soon enough.
Friday, September 29, 2006
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