Fortunes

So, Bepe and I decided to hold our Hallow'een party on Friday instead of Saturday, because we both want to go out (separately of course) on Saturday. Because our place is so small, we can only invite a maximum of 20. With us, his girlfriend, and the neighbours on either side so's they don't get too annoyed by the noise, that's already 8 people! You can get up to 20 pretty fast.

As he's a chef, I passed him on the recipe for Barn Brack (again, how do you spell that thing? I keep forgetting. I got from the lady in Fresh Cafe. She said it was her mom's and that it was really easy and sure enough Bepe seems to have done a good job. He made it this evening. I sneaked a taste. A bit more bread-y than cake-y, I should say. Not bad. I never cease to be amazed by people who can cook. Are they born with an extra gene of some sort? There I was on Monday feeling pretty good about myself for having added some fresh vegetables to a can of Campbell's Tomato Soup, and there's Bepe knocking out cakes. Well, he's a chef I suppose. So that's all the food we're offering. As there'll be a good mixture of Italians, Irish and miscellaneous foreign students and other people, I'm hoping we'll come up with some fun. I bought the drinks and, guess what, my sister sent me some Screech in the post and it actually made it on time.

Now I'm saying I don't appreciate Jameson but Screech is special. Not only is it rum, which I love, but it is Newfoundland rum and while I don't drink it that often back home, it does the trick when I am having a moment of homesickness.

I got a call from Dublin Tourism today. They wanted to know if I would go to the wax museum and write about it if she gave me free tickets.

"If it's free, I'll do it," I said.

"Be honest," she said, "but only if you like it." Ha, ha.

I have never been to a wax museum before, although I have a feeling I might've read an Edgar Allan Poe story about one. Or was that someone else? Sheesh. I may be striving to become World's Greatest Expert on Nineteenth Century Gothic Literature but I do tend to get my ghost stories mixed up.

I rang my new pal, the former beautiful PhD student, who is still beautiful but has been officially demoted since he told me that he's too busy being a single dad to want to Get Involved with anyone [sigh]. So I am going with him and his kid and some friend of the kid's from Kindergarten. If anyone had told me as recently as a few weeks ago that I would spending one of my precious weekend afternoons with a kid or two, I'd have laughed. Could I be mellowing? What does it mean?

Well it's late. Late for dinner that is. I'm gonna crack open a couple of cans (of spaghettios, while Bepe sneers at my bad eating habits and inability to cook) and have an early night.

Goodnight!