Last week started out baddish, then got better mid-week, from which moment I was pretty busy. I’ve even gotten a one-time babysitting job for Wednesday morning. Let’s not talk about how I was looking for any job except babysitting and just revel in the fact that I’m once again getting paid to play uno for five hours.
So today I went to meet the family, who were perfectly charming, and did exactly what I’d done to get there in reverse so as not to get lost, the result of which doubled my journey home. I fucking hate Belgian roads.
So instead of the usual Glimmerlands update, which I haven’t been in the right mood/had time to write, I’ve decided (as in right now, on the spot) to talk about being Irish and why I’m both proud of it and not, and the identity crisis I’ve been having my entire life caused by the fact that the only country I really consider mine is the one I don’t even remember living in and know very little about, the complex guilt/pride I hold towards my Manchester accent, and the entrangement I feel towards a family I would so dearly love to become more close to…
Actually fuck that, have a clip of Dara O’Briain.