Fate? He inquired. Actually, it’s Faith, said I. So began our first date, a rendez-vous in Temple Bar…tourist heaven. And he was a tourist, blown all the way in from Turkey. A fine young Turk. In Dublin for 7 nights only & raring to see the sights & taste the nightlife. Let’s get the fuck out of Temple Bar, I suggested. It was Friday night, getting late & the revellers about the place were getting seriously messy.
He was a fine strapping young lad…well turned out, tall, dark & somewhat handsome. I felt zero chemistry between us but hell you could take him anywhere, or so I thought. We headed south towards 37 on Dawson Street. I was game for a night on the tiles & so was he. Skipping our way to the top of the queue, we sailed into the club & hit the bar. 2 shots of tequila & the cocktail menu por favor! He declined the tequila so I downed both of them myself. Screw the cocktail, enough was plenty. My companion of the evening settled for an Irish whiskey on the rocks & indeed we were ready to rock!
The dancefloor was already heaving. As usual, the club was jam-packed. I was dressed to thrill in my gladdest of glad rags…hot pink lycra mini-dress & seriously high studded platform shoes. And seriously high I was about to get. The tequila had gone straight to my head. You wanna bump? Some young guy had sidled up to me & was kindly offering me a hit of his coke. Sure do! I replied, eager as always to enjoy the high life. He ever so discreetly handed me a key loaded with sniff which I quickly snorted. Now I was loaded. I was gonna have a good time!
I turned to see how my date was doing on the dancefloor & saw that he was stock still, whiskey in hand, staring at me in horror! What’s up? I asked him. What’s up your nose? He replied. I howled with laughter. Want some? He was not impressed. Bloody bollox. Our first date & he was coming over all controlling & overly concerned. Looking like this would be our last date, I was thinking. Fucking killjoy! I was freshly free from my latest sentence of psychiatric incarceration for my sins, the crime of consuming copious quantities of narcotics…to the point where I was fit to be tied up in a strait-jacket! Now that I had been freed once again from the clutches of psychiatry, I was in no mood for anyone trying to curb my enthusiasm! Seriously, I’ll never learn. My diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder is a trumped up charge against me. I’ve said it before & I’ll say it again: Bipolar Order! Proper order.
The music was thumping & so was I. More whiskey? I asked of my not so hot date. He nodded. The bar’s thataway! I laughed & pointed towards the exit. My not so delightful Turkish companion threw his whiskey tumbler to the ground, ice cubes flying everywhere & stormed to the bar. Make mine another tequila! I yelled after him. That was the last I saw of him, thank goodness for small graces.
Mmmm, Turkish delight? I don’t think so!
Faith In The Ripple Effect 