can't can't catch catch

For the past month or so, I've been bugging myself about finally getting around to writing an entry, but all the things I'd write about happen too spontaneously and too close together. I'd say that's a good thing, seeing as I'm finally getting out there. You know, out there. It's as if life as I know it is slowly being taken over by life as I wish for it to be. Dreams come true, what the fuck.

Yemen Blues - "Trape La Verite"

While shelving all these mental reminders, though, one thing I kept coming back to was getting anxious on public transport. Just as a good starter, something to get the words flowing, so I might as well. Think of an overcrowded tram - picture the awkward shuffling, the accidental brushes, the stress of trying to manage, (without excessive use of your elbows) to get out, get out, get out. There have been times when I just stand there, squeezed in between a pole and someone's backpack, resisting the urge to scream PERSONAL SPACE. Trying to ignore the creepy middle-aged guy "subtly" shuffling closer every once in a while. Yegh. I need to get a bike.

Though that's least interesting thing that's happened to me of late. I'm in fucking Edinburgh, for one. We're flying back tomorrow, Edgar, Paulie & me. It's been great, obviously. I love this place. I love the weather (you know which murderous wind I'm talking about), the funky people with their blunts and dreadlocks and crazy wedding plans, and their accent, god fucking damn it, that beautiful, beautiful accent.

It was an adventure (and a crash course in getting to know Paulie) to get here. Turns out air travel doesn't have to be all that scary. Except when you have to choose food or a place to sit and you've got two people who don't know what they want, who're used to going with the flow that's led by others. Highly amusing, I say. Had a very nice time.

Yesterday evening the three of us were sitting at the table with Edgar's flatmate Matt, who'd invited two of his slack-lining friends over: Tom, who's french, and Simon, who's polish, but everyone thinks he's french. We were having a joint-effort dinner consisting of two impressive omelettes (one of which was devoid of paprika and celery, the consideration warms me wee heart), some really good salad, and home-made bread made by a friend's bread machine. It was an unexpectedly family-like moment in between all of the general "chilling out", and I believe that feeling right there is why people love to travel.

Jeez, all this awesome bullshit we three have been up to. Happy Emma is happy. The alternative title to this post was "broforce", that' s the level of sap I am capable of. I really suck at the game, though.

If I could, I would definitely stay here for longer. Maybe end up like Ance (suprise latvian), who planned to stay for six months, and has now been here for nearly five years.
Plenty of incentive to go back, though. Bands, all the shit at home to sort through, Max in the hospital. I'm scared for him. Probably more than he is, ma says he's pretty cheerful. Living with one lame eye isn't the worst thing that can happen to a person, but, shit, he's my brother, it hurts. The sight he lost may return, though, so I'm hoping for the best.

I can't put all of my experiences to words, there are too many. Serves me right for ignoring this place for too long. I may elaborate at a later date, but, for now, shortly -

I Love You All #Frank