Friday, November 30, 2007


Despite my boarding school analogy of this week, alcohol and I met up yesterday evening and had a fine old time, the results of which are doing the cha-cha and the tango about the sensitive parts of my brain this morning. I started sensibly enough, drinking japanese beer and trying to pick up fiddly bits of duck with chopsticks, but somehow more beer did come and less food made it into my mouth, so eventually I was tispy and my friend well on the road to flat out drunk.
Naturally we decided cocktails were the way to go.
Then, after leaving the restaurant and dragging my girlie friend up the bloody street to get her opinion on a dress I've already decided I will buy,( thank you Palesa, it was your suggestion) we had the misfortune to run slap bank into a vengeful French Gay.
'Errr, 'look-ed- what ze cat, she dragged-ed in and spitt-ed out.'
'Are you dressing ironically these days?' I said. 'Or are you an actual pirate?'
'Beeeech.' he said.
'Hello French Gay,' my friend said, but prettily, for she is very pretty and a real lady. Why she hangs around with the likes of me I'll never know. She has probably been in work since eight this morning where as I and my pained head have just rolled out of bed. Frankly I'm guilty m'lud, of leading her astray.
'ello, iz zat Chanel?'
'Eeets beautiful.' He swiveled an eye in my rather Chanel-less direction 'This iz very good to finz you'- he pointed a gallic finger imperiously, 'I am calling in ze favour.'
Now this left me very puzzled, what favour was this? But before I could ask he said, 'I 'ave been invite to a weeding.'
'A weeding?'
Images of wellies and gardening gloves flooded my feeble drink sodden mind. How bo-ho. How chic! Turning gardening into a party, maybe the invites were printed out on dock leaves, maybe-
'You will go with me. Eet iz in Sleego.'
Suddenly a dark cloud descended over me. Daisies and buttercups exploded, not a weeding...
'Oh now wait a second-'
But the French fancy was having none of it. There is a wedding coming up, one of French Gay's dreadful clients is getting hitched. It's in the middle of nowhere, down the bloody arse end of nowhere to be exact, French Gay has to go and now I'm being made to pay for some previously awful karmic sin I didn't even know I'd performed by accompanying him.
This is ghastly. I mean I'm already going to a wedding in December, and my oldest friend will be setting a date for next year too. isn't one a year enough?
And Sligo? SLIGO? Who gets married in Sligo? Why Sligo? Where is Sligo? Oh don't give me that, I know roughly where it is, but really... Sligo? With French Gay and a whole slew of people I neither know nor care a fuddler's curse about.
Why couldn't it have been a weeding, that would have been fun.
Why did I then decide cocktails in the Fitzwilliam was my only hope of dealing with another wedding.
Will I never learn?
Probably not.
Sligo. Jesus.



Anonymous stipes said...

if I get married and invite you(you don't have to come) will I get rum as a prezzie?

11:05 a.m.  
Anonymous sheepworrier said...

I was in a wee village in sligo a few years back. It had 2 shops, one was called 'shop' and the other 'the shop'. Father Ted or wha?

11:08 a.m.  
Blogger The Bad Ambassador said...

Ahhh I don't know birthplace of W.B. Yeats and...... 75% of Westlife.... yeah I think I'd take my chances with the bad karma to be honest.

11:29 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Stipes I firmly believe ALL occasions can be much improved one produces the rum. So yes.
SW, you're scaring me now.

11:30 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

And BA, you've just topped off my terror. The Westlife connection...what if there's more of them down there. Or is it up there? Oh Christ.

11:32 a.m.  
Anonymous nonny said...

Sligo rocks and Strandhill is the best place for surfing. I will lend you my board and wet suit. I shit you not it is the coolest thing.

11:51 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

I don't want a board or a wet suit. I don't surf, I don't like to be cold and I don't like deep or rough water and I don't swim well. I don't want to go to Sligo either.
Also I detest hangovers.

12:07 p.m.  
Anonymous nonny said...

Okay. My apologies just thought you might have been interested.

12:13 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

I'm interested in nothing this morning. Even the Daily Mails hasn't sparked my ire.

12:15 p.m.  
Anonymous Shebah said...

But it's an excuse for another outfit! Somebody sent me the Girl's Prayer this morning - here it is:

Dear Lord

So far to-day I am doing alright.

I have not gossiped, lost my temper, been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish or self-indulgent. I have not whined, complained, cursed, or eaten any chocolate. I have charged nothing on my credit card.

But I will be getting out of bed in a minute, and I think that I will really need your help then.

12:24 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

I'm going to have that printed up and embossed.
It's Sligo Shebah, Sligo. I will probably have to stay in a 'guest house' or B&B or something. I don't like that at all.
Oh cry cry. I am wreaked this morning. Honestly I never get hangovers from rum, oh blessed rum, how could I have forsaken you.

12:46 p.m.  
Anonymous Babs said...

If it's in Slogo town stay in the Clarion, it's in a really old building converted, I think possibly a convent or maybe not, good rates and if you want it El Cheapo they have cool apartments to the side which have a little kitchen area and a living room and these are somehow cheaper than the normal standard room, they also have a spa, but I don't recommend it as they unfortunately ruined my weekend there, but the hotel itself is really nice.

1:12 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Cheers Babs, I'll try find out exactly where it is. Oh please let it be near a town.

1:20 p.m.  
Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

Sounds like a rum gig to me.

1:21 p.m.  
Blogger grimsaburger said...

The Clarion wasn't a convent, it was the district lunatic asylum for counties Sligo and Leitrim, opened in 1855.
Ok, now guess who's working on a PhD thesis on the 19th-c. Irish lunacy service?

1:35 p.m.  
Blogger grimsaburger said...

Also, it's smack dab in the middle of Sligo town.

1:37 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Oh Sam, it's sure is.
A lunatic asylum? Home away from home so.

1:59 p.m.  
Blogger Medbh said...

I hate, hate, hate B&Bs. Give me a big and anonymous hotel any day over the bitter old women barely diguising their contempt shoving a plate over over-cooked eggs at me in the morning.

That's a really big favor he's asking. Will he pay your expenses?

2:06 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

He'll pony up for whatever digs we're in. But really, this totally sucks the big one. I too hate B&Bs, there's something very Royston Valley about them.
Oh Le fucking sigh. Chumlie Finn is sitting on a plane right this second being whisked off to an island. There will be sun and sand and hooch and afternoon naps and probably lobster.
As I gaze past the Marklar's wide load to my rain sodden garden I am filled with un-friday like melancholy.

2:13 p.m.  
Blogger gimme a minute said...

No! No! Be of good cheer, Fatmammycat! Beer o'clock beckons and 'tis the cure that will cure you!

And there is a particularly wonderful six mile run in Sligo if there's any chance of you having the time or inclination to do such a thing..

2:52 p.m.  
Anonymous sheepworrier said...

Isn't it true that they kill foreigners as a right of passage to man/sheep/womanhood in sligo?
And by foreigners I mean anyone not from sligo.


3:11 p.m.  
Anonymous Shebah said...

I love weddings - no matter who is getting married I always cry - it's that hope over reality thing, believing that life will be happy ever after. I love the complete mish-mash of people's relatives, and I always end up having slightly drunken conversations with the most unlikely aunties and dancing with whiskery uncles!

3:59 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Eeeek. I hope not. Maybe that's why FG wants me to go with him, he's probably suspicious there could be a Wicker Man type of set up. Oh this does not bode well.

Gimmie you are -as always -quite right. I probably just need a rum and diet coke to set me to good cheer.

4:01 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Shebah, if that's the case I'll give you his phone number and YOU can go with him.

4:02 p.m.  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I visited Sligo once, once only mind, it was there I met the entire cast of Deliverence. Charming people

9:18 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Oh for the love of...Piggy? Squeal Piggy squeal?
I am slowly shredding my nails to the quick.

12:41 a.m.  
Blogger Conan Drumm said...

Ah, I see a sojourn in Markree Castle (a megalith of dripping limestone) at FG's expense, with as much rum as you can hold to get you through the night.

1:08 p.m.  

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