fight the good fight, finish the race
Destiny is calling

things keep happening

but in an inconveniently unrelated way, which makes it hard to weave them into a narrative. So, let's forget coherence and logic and just leap straight in:

PART I
Bit of a Blast from the Past this weekend, in the shape of OldSchoolFriend. Ah, OldSchoolFriend! She was my constant companion for all our school and college days, and then she moved to Surrey, married a local chap and had a little boy. (Well, naturally he was a baby at first. Over time he became a boy). Her brother (incidentally the lucky man who took me to my Debs dance. Ooh! *blushes at memory*) now lives in Dublin and so it was we all met up for a dinner in D*nnybrook. We ran into another Old Friend, D, there too.
Time was, in the late 80's, we all used to go out together on Friday nights, to the local pub, which was then called the L*rds Tavern, and is now defunct. There'd be an amount of drinking and late night carousing, all fairly normal studenty stuff.
D, though, couldn't get enough of anything, ever. He never knew when to stop. You know those people? He'd always be looking for more booze, more smokes, more all-night sessions, and so more drink-driving, more reckless mad behaviour.
Cut to 20 years later: and predictable as taxes, though sadder, last year he got throat cancer, and it was quite bad, I gather. He was treated and last winter got the all-clear. I remember at the time wondering with the JB if D had been scared straight, or not. Well, the answer, as so often, is kind of.
He has given up smoking, but that was only because he had no choice whatsoever, but he is still drinking like a maniac. Not surprisingly he hasn't anyone in his life, because he would drive anyone barking mad in 5 minutes. He has to be all outrageous ALL the time, you know? Maybe it's an Irish alcoholic thing, this need to be a mad character. You can't have a normal conversation with him, because he has to be wracking his brain all the time for the next CRAZYMAD thing he is going to SHOCK you with. As soon as he saw me, I knew it was coming:
Got any kids? You better get going you know, TICK! TOCK! biological clock! Getting on you know!
And there it was.
I couldn't work up a rage though, although it was indeed totally outrageous. I knew he didn't really mean anything by it, for one thing, it was just the MAD D talking, and for another, I couldn't help but remember how sick D really was last year. I don't know how fertile he could be either, after all his chemo.
His battles have been so much harder than mine, for all that he doesn't seem to care to acknowledge them.

PART II
Addiction to Internet - discovering exact severity thereof.
Last Thursday our internet connection slowly failed. Since then, like a vampire hanging around blood banks, I have been skulking around libraries, colleges and cafes, and even have ventured bravely into McD*nalds in the hope of picking up a stray signal. One night found me in the NoddyCar on the dark street outside the local library, furtively checking my email.
(Sorry, any passersby who may have been alarmed by the sight of a woman in a car, illuminated by a ghostly blue light. I wasn't up to no good, I promise.
Though I couldn't claim to be up to any actual good either).
A man representing Major Irish Telecommunications Corporation rushed over urgently, (within 3-5 business days), to check our modem.
Ah, she's dead, he said. We look at the modem with one light blinking sadly. She'd crashed.
(Modems, like ships and cars, are female, in case you didn't realise).
My new she-modem will be couriered across the city, (in 3-5 working days).
This is because my business is important to Major Irish Telecommunications Corporation.

Your appropriately reassured
Twangy

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