Showusya flute! Jeanette erects a statue in honor of Nicky. It just happens to look like the statue of Bulgaria’s famous flautist. But don’t let that fool you.
I head out again, this time in search of more leva. I run around madly, to no avail, as the only ATM I find is "temporarily unavailable to process that transaction". Hilariously, when I tried my Australian account, and forgot the pin number, the message on screen apologises: "That is the wrong number, please excuse us"!
I also want to pop in to see Marianna again, to help me write an appropriate "Vulgarian" response to Nicky’s note! Not only do I run out of time, but I run into BH himself, who says, "I thought you were coming to dinner with us." When I say I’ve just eaten, he invites me along anyway. Hmmm, I don’t exactly know the "Northern gals" who are accompanying them and I don’t feel that comfortable, but I accept. The hilarious dinner conversation teeters from toilet to gutter, which is always appropriate whilst digesting, and I rapidly discover that while BH might have impressive appendages, there ain’t as half as much goin’ on upstairs as there is down! Ahem.
We get back to the hotel, separate and BH says to call him later. I exchange some Irish pounds with Dave and, surprise surprise, head straight to Dak’s!
Again I’m greeted with big smiles, handshakes and "Whahey, here she is!" from Balam and Vesko. There’s no sign of Nicky. Oh no! I stick with red wine and say, rather bluntly, "Where’s Nicky?" but it goes unheard. Surely he can’t be having a day off on "my"’ last night! Moments later (Patience is a virtue!), in he walks. Oh, and how he walks so well! Very normally actually, but I’m the author here and am abusing my poetic license to the full!
Another hello, big smile and handshake later, I tell him I want to respond to his note. Thinking I missed my translation last night, he says, "Yeah I know, gimme the piece of paper!" "No," I reply, "I already know what it says!" "Oh," he says, a "caught-out" mischievous look suddenly plastered across his (ever-so-snoggable) face. I give him the original note back so he can keep "his" copy (as I had circled and explained some of the meaning of words like "craic", as he’ll be needing it for all the Irish tourists). He asks if I’ll be here for New Year’s Eve and when I "break it to him" (ha!) that tonight’s my last night, he wanders off. He come backs, saying, "Here is my present to you," and hands me another note "For Jeanette" (spelt correctly an’ all!), "Here’s my email address, just in case you wanna stay in touch." Aah, how sweet. BUT, "stay in touch"? I wanna bloody shag! (I think to myself!)
The night follows its usual course: messin’ with the lads, lapping up my one-on-one service and tonight’s feed – orange segments! How sexy is that!? There’s something very sexy about being fed across the bar by a very sexy man! I was off cocktails, but Nicky diligently decorated the rim of my wine-glass! Ah. I keep the Bulgarian flag – seemingly the only local souvenir I’ll be taking with me.
Lou and Joanne arrive and tell me BH has said to call him later on. Lou again notices the rapport I have with Nicky and suggests I ask him when his break is, but I elect not to. I write one last note saying, "Can I please have Sex on the Bar, I mean, Beach?" I eventually hand it over and see his smirk. Mind you, he doesn’t make me a cocktail – I don’t know what he had in mind! He eventually returns and says, "just the one?" I enjoy my last SOTB and decide to split. So I can bid the boys farewell, I grab Nicky’s attention by waving both hands in a "birdie-dance-like" fashion. Another quick thankyou, to which he replies, "It’s been my pleasure," a hug and a kiss, which manage to go beyond the cheeks this time, contrary to my wish to a little more "pleasure" than that, and I see the back of Dak for the last time. Shame. And yes, to everyone else who’ve reacted to this sad, sad, "unconsolidated" union, I agree with them: I can’t believe I didn’t bloody shag ‘im either!
We’re Leavin’ On A Jetplane
Fortunately, I used a bit of foresight and packed the night before. We all have breakfast together and all is well. There’s an "odd" air between BH and me, but it’s "do-able." No pun intended! As we approach Dublin, it looks white, with loads of very low clouds. Oh my god! As we lower and finally touch down, the whole plane screams – at first, with laughter, which rapidly changes to frustration! Dublin is covered in snow. It looks like a scene from an American Christmas movie! In fact, the country hasn’t seen snow like this since 1982 for fuck’s sake! Oh god. Words, for once, cannot describe our communal disappointment! It was one thing to "hear" about it having snowed over Christmas, but another thing to actually SEE it!
Once Dave removed all the ice from his car (which had been sitting in the cold for a week) and poured boiling water over the radiator, he drove me home. I’ve never seen Dublin look so beautiful, and particularly the way our housing complex is, it was like a Winter Wonderland! Gorgeous. When my flatmate saw our faces as we walked in, she thought "’something" was up, but it was completely inconceivable that we’d had NO SNOW! She was in even more disbelief than we were! Typically, the snow is due to thaw overnight, so I insisted on having a play amongst it. And indeed we do. Fortunately I take a few snaps and we frolic around, and more fortunately, we take a stomp in the snow to the ever-fabulous "offy" to purchase our usual bottle of Baileys and sit by the fire consuming it. Ah, all good things come to those who wait!
New Year’s Eve "morning," I optimistically leap out of bed – er, well, peer over my duvet to see if there’s even a hint of that the white blanket of snow that was Dublin. Needless to say, I see only a dull grey sky and undecorated pavements of concrete. Fabulous. Chestita Novo Gedina, no less!
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