youngraven: (whack-fol-lol-de-ra)
...and so is my Mallory!

We met the fellow who's had her since December at Gilligan's tonight. He refused the reward. On his shirt read 'What part of "repent" don't you understand?' This amused me.

But, she's back, and none the worse for wear. Here's to hoping I never see this fellow again.
youngraven: (in flames)
The green bits below were written on 2 May.

This mad bloody weather has got to go. I mean, I don't think weather itself should go - 'cos we'd all die if it did. But rather this sort of weather - the violent bloody inland hurricane sort that sends me scarpering into Starbuck's when the sirens sound. Sigh, this is the second time in as many weeks that I've tangled with a storm far bigger than my wee self. Oish.

In other, stranger news, a Crazed-Sounding Fellow phoned me today to confess that he had my Mallory. He's sure that I want her back - and lest I misunderstand him, he and his mates are All On Drugs. His very words. So, when can we meet, sez he - 'cos obviously, he thinks me that much a fool. Sure, right mate. I'll pop right round. Oh, and since you've clearly scorched your brains beyond all comprehension of clever, let me sort out the tricksy business of finding a suitable hiding place for my corpus delicti. Yeh, best you don't even try to spell that, Timmy a mhic.

So, the police were phoned, I've gained a new level of distaste for the civil service... and I suppose we'll see, won't we? It's odd, only Tuesday night, I was thinking to myself she's out there. And, truth be told, I don't think Grainne's terribly fond of me.


So, I've phoned and phoned and emailled the detective on the case (say that in your minds with a bit of an ironic lilt, please)...and thus far I've got no response. As I'm off to the Bay Area early tomorrow morning and I'll not be back till Wednesday, I'll have to phone him today. I hate this, you know. It's foolish that I've got to bargain with this cretin, to fetch back my Mallory. Regardless of any sort of drug-induced delirious spin his put on his tidy wee tale, she was stolen - not 'found'. And he's had her for six bloody months. Sure, he never found her. Gobshite. As I said to [livejournal.com profile] typsygypsy, perhaps I'll knock the dust off my witch's hat and put a geas on the money that I give him - such that he's made to clean up his life and become a motivational speaker.
youngraven: (orion rising)
Earlier this year, [livejournal.com profile] shaddowshoes unearthed our sunroom, and we transformed it into the pub we now call 'Margaret Murphy's'. We held our first party in it last February, and it was a grand success. So, here are a few photos from Margaret Murphy's.

Witty cut tag here )

The truth?

Dec. 12th, 2006 01:48 pm
youngraven: (whack-fol-lol-de-ra)
I'm not exactly over the loss of Mallory. Or rather (we'll have done with the anthropomorphising for the time being), I'm not over the loss of my unique creative outlet. It's as though some vital part of me is missing. Curious, innit? It's a thing, after all, and I can't count the number of things I've lost in my life - nor do I even remember most of them.

This one, however, is proving more than an annoyance. I've got beyond the lunatic notions that my bodhrán is huddled shivering and cold in a creepy, dark alley. In all honesty, I really only entertained that notion briefly (when it was snowing). I haven't lost that much of my grip on reality. But...I suppose I feel sort of suspended and useless. I'm even questioning my standing in the community, which I'm sure is madness.

'Grainne' (in theory) will be here by Thursday. Her case and cipín (which actually means 'twig') have already arrived. The tipper (which doesn't mean 'twig') is heavier than I'd thought it would be. This means I'll have to go and find Mr Alfonso (thus risking a punch in the mouth - I'm joking, of course, he'd never dare), rather quickly. Since I've now got a tipper, I considered bringing Duncan (my old bodhrán) to seisiun tonight. He's got rather a nasty gash in his head (plastered with duct tape, 'cos that's classy), and...he's big, and a host of other excuses which all sum tidily to 'couldn't be arsed'. Actually, he's a big fellow (18"), and I've since grown unused to playing a drum that large.

Still, I'm really tempted to race home and fetch him, just to see...

So, in short, I'm feeling a bit out of sorts. Sure, that's as angsty as you'll get from me here. Enjoy it whilst you can. ;)
youngraven: (whack-fol-lol-de-ra)
I'd given Mallory a week to turn up someplace. That week ended Tuesday night, so yesterday, I sent for her replacement. Said replacement, which I'm tentatively calling 'Grainne' (for my grandmother, in a sense), should arrive before 23 December. I'm glad I didn't wait, as we've got a show at Trinity Hall on the 29th. Sure, I could borrow a bodhrán, but my friends mostly play Alfonso drums, and they are entirely too heavy for the likes of me.

I bought a case and a cipín as well.

Sure, it's a drag, but it's sorted out now, and thus it's time to move on.
youngraven: (Oops)

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?!1!

I turned my back on her for a moment, and she scarpered. I'm sure she had assistance, as bodhráns (being inanimate objects) haven't got legs.

So.

So, I'll be lurking about in pawn shops near to Gilligan's with the hopes that the bloody moronic crack fiend thieving amadan poor unfortunate soul who saw fit to borrow her decided that she'd be happier at one of them.

:(

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