A break for the border

**********COMMENCING BI-ANNUAL REPORT FROM AIDOLAND*********************

Urg.... Memo to self, curry supanoodles are worse than bacon pasta n sauce... surely this makes them the worst food mankind has yet produced.

Greetings to you all, dear readers. You join me on a most auspicious day, for today I have made the fearful, yet inevitable transition from pedestrian to cyclist. Yes, for the first time I took on the morning traffic on it's own turf, armed with nothing more than a flimsy metal structure twixt my legs and a variety of offensive hand gestures. That I made it in to write this is a success in my book, so lets not talk of the carnage, lawsuits and psychological trauma I left in my wake from Rathmines to the city centre, eh? Doff of the cap to Bartley who provided the vehicle, and, in case I don't get to say this at a later date, if I do somehow wrap myself around the chassis of a bus on my travels, it is in no way your fault....

In arguably more noteworthy news, one more sister has joined the ranks of the matrimonial bliss-heads (and about time too Oliv), while yet another has been duffed (as in "up the"; not beaten) by hubby Joe (presumably, though we'll need to wait to the tests come back before we can be sure). Congrats all the way round and back again.

The social wheel in Dublin town continues to turn; no sooner has the lovely Gilmartin, McInerney and Farrell returned to the fold, than we lose resident loophead and roustabout Peter to the booming drugs capital of Berlin, ostensibly to "write his thesis". (har)

This weekend just gone, in a most agreeable turn of fortune, I found myself up to my arsehole in Priscillas. As those who know, know, they had been until this point mere internet-figments who replied to my occasional half-baked attempts at e-stalking through myspace. I was delighted to find that not only were they real flesh-and-leather people, but that they were (perplexingly) happy to spend a good deal of their weekend accompanying myself and various friends on the escalating sequence of disappointments that is the Dublin 'scene'. If you are reading this, apologies and thanks in equal measure, girls, and likewise to those good souls who accompanied me on my pilgrimage to The Voodoo Lounge to watch em play, particularly Ultan, who refers to the place as 'the belly of the beast', and Biggy- sober stalwart that he is. Truly you are the most open-minded soul in Dublin.

We were not the only ones partying till we puked this weekend however. Sunny B has been keeping the Nordie end up in London town, and in typical Bavalia fashion, this resulted in an eviction for him and his housemates. I empathise with your anguish, Bav's. I don't suppose this means you will take up residence in Church Lane towers once more? I could sterilize mo's room since he isn't in it, and we could forge a return to the halcyon days...

Shit, lunchtime is nearly over and I haven't had a fag yet. Where's me poppers?....

Aido "Space Librarian" Potato