Woke to find a dead spider on my pillow.
All crushed and broken.
At first I thought Paddy Pup had done it. He's well capable of munching a spider and leaving the remains beside me. Just for a larf.
But unless he's learned to shut my bedroom door as he leaves, it can't have been him.
Removed the spider glumly enough. I consider spiders to be honorable creatures and will not willingly harm one.
Wandered into the computer room to check the emails. The spammers have been busy. They seem tremendously concerned about my bank account and the size of my manhood.
As long as there are such caring people in the world, we're all going to be alright.
Met up with the Malteser for coffee.
Great fun. I've finally figured her out. As long as I don't stay with her for more than two hours, everything is okay. Anything over that time period and the odds increase steadily that I'll fall afoul of the famous Maltese temperament. Think Italians and multiply by ten.
As we left she suggested we meet next week for lunch and a visit to the Chester Beatty exhibition at Dublin Castle. In a moment of weakness I agreed. I suppose if I keep her moving we might get through lunch and the exhibition in two hours.
Met the poet Paddy Finnegan outside Trinity College. A month ago he was the homeless guy I had ignored and hurried past for ten years. Then under the influence of the Nicola effect I made a donation. Now I've learned his name and that he's a poet with a collection of verse on CD, as well as being a true artist, and guardian of the soul of the city of Dublin.
Bought a good luck card for Lu Yi who started a new job today.
Rendezvoused with Villainy Angela for an Italian lesson. Still the best teacher of Italian I've ever had. Still wouldn't turn my back on her for a second.
At one point she told me she was going to have next week's lesson in her apartment and that she would prepare Italian food for me so that I might get some idea of the cuisine.
It was quite a struggle not to say what I was thinking.
Never in a million years will I ever: (a) be alone in that woman's apartment, or (b) eat food she has prepared.
Phone call from Hoddlebun. Quite innocuous after Angela.
Note to self: Stop meeting women you think are trying to kill you.
Evening coffees in Barnies Cafe on Westmoreland Street.
Doodling in the notebook.
Trying to summon up the spirit of poetry again.
Back to the chateau around midnight. Paddy Pup nearly knocked me over in the hall.
Found the Mammy in the front room watching a programme on fembo commie pinko Channel Four.
It was called 100 Greatest Number One Hit Pop Songs Of All Time.
I joined her to watch.
In the midst of an argument with the Mammy about the merits of Jason Nevins version of the Run DMC song It's Like That, where I contended Nevins had done a great job and should have been thanked, and the Lildebeest insisted Run DMC had done all the work and were right to say Nevins had done nothing except add a back beat, in the midst of this fairly heated argument with a 78 year old woman about Jason Nevins, Run DMC and the merits of rap over techno, in the midst of this I tells ee, I suddenly realised... the richness in my life.
Walked Paddy Pup beneath the stars.
Thought of Divya.