“What curious flamboyant floetry”, said the temperamental Mr. Phinty Snicklefritz between mouthfuls of cronut, as the lute played icicle chimes amidst a kerfuffle of cuticles and blather.


I’m sure you want to know the rest of what happened to Mr. Phinty Snicklefritz as much as I do, but we’ll leave his story for another time.

It’s been quite awhile since I have had an inclination to write anything blog like, either due to external obstaculature, or internal lethargy. I am almost incapable of forcing myself to write when not motivated, so I sincerely hope that I have moved past the goop of non-action.

I recently spent  four weeks “upskilling” in a group of 16 people. It was a time of laughter, groans, late nights, bleary eyes and coloured card. For a month, these people were my best friends, and more often than not, what helped me to make it to the end. They were, for the most part, some of the greatest people I have met in a long, long time. I choose not to use the word “nice”, because I find it trite and smarmy, and makes me think of Canadians. Sorry, Canada. They were/are great people, my little group of CELT course friends. We existed together in our own microcosm, holding the threads together as best we could. As the bond grew, and the end drew nigh, a lovely girl who was always tripping over me pondered: “I wonder if we’ll miss each other when it’s over?”  I answered honestly, because I knew the answer. Yes, we’ll miss each other, but it will pass. We’ll drift back to our real lives, away from each other, and at some point, will struggle to remember the names of those we thought we knew so well.

Now, perhaps this is too cynical. Of course some lifetime friendships might be forged. Of course a heart might beat a little faster, or break into small bitter shards. But for the most part, the quiet tide of each new day will put greater and greater distance between us. It’s sad, but it is true. Also, it’s possible that this is a good thing. I certainly will take only pleasant memories from my time with my temporary friends. I have nothing to regret, or grumble over. No-one hurt me, or let me down, and I hope this goes both ways.  I think it does. And within the experience, there were other fantastic moments. There was the Trinity fox, playing with the seagulls on the lawn. There was the analysis of terrible dress sense. Seeing the city before it got busy. Running into old friends. Getting unexpected compliments and warm handshakes. Watching the subtle changes in the leaves on the trees each morning. Eating Shawarma. Coloured card (I may have mentioned this before).  New slang.

Did I mention coloured card? Sweet.

I love and intensely dislike people in equal amounts. Thanks to those four weeks, my faith in humanity has been… (no it hasn’t been restored, don’t be absurd), salvaged. Somewhat. From the wisdom of  W.B. Yeats, I would love to retain the ethos of the following:  “There are no strangers here. Only friends you haven’t yet met.”

A noble idea.  I adore Yeats. And we should aspire to this. Why can’t we all just get along? It seems we just can’t. So be it.

But to my August friends above (see what I did there)…. a toast for happiness.




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