Monday, June 07, 2004
Swept away into Womanly lycra-clad sweaty heaven, i feel inspired to write maybe my first genuine blog entry, with real paragraphs and all that fancy punctuated shit
I leave the flat for a coffee up the road, walk out of the drive and find 40,000 women walking quickly past my door. That's not a wild guess, some exaggeration - it's the offical figure. My unoffical statistics agency would have to put the total number of humans to at least 45,000 since, although it turns out I'm trapped within Dublin's Womens' Bank Holiday Mini-Marathon, there are many men participating. ALL OF WHICH are dressed as women. A good many nuns, some tarts, a nun-tart and a majority of lumpen-breasted patchy-wigged tranny-lites. That's unintentionally done i hope, since the event is mainly to raise money for breast cancer and equally worthy women's causes.
Personally i'm an arse man but since they don't get the publicity of breasts, and presumably are less susceptible to the dreaded canker, i'll happily give spare cash for my next favourite area of feminine flesh protusion. There's nothing worse than losing your mammaries.
Meeting at a cafe right in the centre of the action, a friend tells me that we're watching one percent of the entire country jog past us. That means 2% of the entire female population of Ireland. Therefore 4% of the entire population of Dublin and so an incredible 8% of Dublin's female population. All choosing to spend their bank holiday running 6 miles through town for charity and a laugh. Not that i've observed many marathons but im certain that it's not usual to see so many of the participants eating crisps, licking ice creams, smoking and drinking beer along the way. They know how to have fun here.
And I get to confirm my theory, which is that Ireland has some of the most shockingly, heart-breakingly, crotch-touchingly beautiful women in the world. And many, many of the ugliest.
Today is supposed to be a break from banking in Ireland so I can't even... Oh shit, here comes the wife.
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I leave the flat for a coffee up the road, walk out of the drive and find 40,000 women walking quickly past my door. That's not a wild guess, some exaggeration - it's the offical figure. My unoffical statistics agency would have to put the total number of humans to at least 45,000 since, although it turns out I'm trapped within Dublin's Womens' Bank Holiday Mini-Marathon, there are many men participating. ALL OF WHICH are dressed as women. A good many nuns, some tarts, a nun-tart and a majority of lumpen-breasted patchy-wigged tranny-lites. That's unintentionally done i hope, since the event is mainly to raise money for breast cancer and equally worthy women's causes.
Personally i'm an arse man but since they don't get the publicity of breasts, and presumably are less susceptible to the dreaded canker, i'll happily give spare cash for my next favourite area of feminine flesh protusion. There's nothing worse than losing your mammaries.
Meeting at a cafe right in the centre of the action, a friend tells me that we're watching one percent of the entire country jog past us. That means 2% of the entire female population of Ireland. Therefore 4% of the entire population of Dublin and so an incredible 8% of Dublin's female population. All choosing to spend their bank holiday running 6 miles through town for charity and a laugh. Not that i've observed many marathons but im certain that it's not usual to see so many of the participants eating crisps, licking ice creams, smoking and drinking beer along the way. They know how to have fun here.
And I get to confirm my theory, which is that Ireland has some of the most shockingly, heart-breakingly, crotch-touchingly beautiful women in the world. And many, many of the ugliest.
Today is supposed to be a break from banking in Ireland so I can't even... Oh shit, here comes the wife.
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