Gone to America

Well, I moved back into my parents house yesterday. They’re away at the moment, in France, and won’t be back until tonight. Thanks to my old college buddies Zaini and Daragh for helping me move stuff (college in this case being DLCAD, now known as DL-IADT, where we all studied film). Hiring movers was definitely a good idea. They were so fast! Now I just have to unpack.
After the move myself, Zaini and Daragh go along to a barbeque, thrown by Tom Johnson, his wife, industrial designer Jenny Stein, and chef extraordinaire (and occasional supervising sound editor) Patrick Drummond, to celebrate the last days before the premixes of Ella Enchanted start. Monday.
Beer. Meat. Sun. All good. Tom let us handle his Oscar™, which is always fun, and showed a quicktime movie he made for me. I’d put it up for download, but it’s over 10mb. It’s a homage to my fairly unusual car. Besame, Besame Mucho…
Afterwards, the three of us and Patrick Cutliffe, an assistant on Ella, head to Walter’s in Dun Laoghaire to wait for a party that’s supposed to be happening down the road. More college buddies, Ivan and Bonnie, flatmates. It’s Bonnie’s birthday on Tuesday. She’s all of twenty-five, working as a camera trainee on King Arthur.
We met up with Xanda Monteiro, yet another old DLCAD hand. She’s a photographer these days, travelling around the world photographing solar eclipses and sunrises (you can see some examples here). Walter’s kick us out while Bonnie’s crowd are still bopping away in 4 Dame Lane, so we get some cans and head back to Xanda’s place in Blackrock. Here we start to experience casualties. Daragh is the first to go, snoring loudly, stretched out on the floor. Next, Patrick closes his eyes, gently nodding forward in his seat. Sure, he’s only young, and he’s been listening to us reminisce about people he’s never met for nearly three hours now. Even Zaini is starting to feel the pull of gravity, and, perhaps more to the point, the effects of drinking beer for eight straight hours.
Ivan calls. They’re trying to get a taxi. It’s not happening. Xanda (who’s off the drink) drives into town to pick them up and deliver them out to Dun Laoghaire, then comes back to pick us up. She wants to go to Ivan’s because she thinks she’ll get a great shot of the sunrise from the roof of his building, and it’s the twenty-fourth anniversary of the first moon landing. One small step…
Decision time. Who’s going to Ivan’s? It’s just him and Bonnie now – everybody else has fallen by the wayside. I want to go (I’m not asleep yet), and as Zaini is staying with me, and all his stuff is in my house, he’s coming too. We put Daragh to bed, and Patrick stretches out on the couch, dead to the world.
We don’t know the code to Ivan’s gate, or at least we do, but it’s not working. I’m clambering over the barrier when Daragh rings. He doesn’t understand why he’s in bed, he wasn’t asleep (sure you weren’t, Daragh). He wants to know where we are. I try and tell him while my testicles are being slowly crushed on the metal bar. It’s quite painful. I hang up and, realising that there will be no dignity here, throw myself to the ground on the other side. I’m drunk enough that I don’t hurt myself.
Inside, and Bonnie is out cold on the couch, mouth hanging open in a very unladylike manner. Ivan is as hospitable as ever, despite the fact that he’s been drinking all night and needs to be in work in about four hours. We sit around, chatting and finishing off the last of the takeout, waiting for sunrise (which will be at 5:15am). I step outside, and my phone beeps. Message. Daragh’s been trying to call, but there’s zero reception in the flat and he hasn’t been able to get through. My strangled directions meant nothing to the taxi driver, so Daragh just got out. He’s been wandering around Blackrock, trying to get better directions off me and/or find a more intuitive taxi driver. I put him on to Ivan, who has a much clearer idea of where he actually lives. I still don’t understand why Daragh didn’t just stay in bed, and when he shows up about ten minutes later I’m sure he’s wondering the same thing.
5am. Zaini’s dozed off again, and Bonnie hasn’t stirred at all. The rest of us head on up to the roof, trying to walk softly so we don’t disturb the people in the penthouse. We’re pretty out of it, so it wouldn’t surprise me if we weren’t entirely successful. It’s an amazing view, looking out over Dun Laughaire harbour. It’s pretty cloudy, and the sky is turning red. Xanda sets up her camera on a tripod. She’s got a massive lens, real paparazzi stuff. Herself and Ivan try to pinpoint where exactly the sun’s going to come up.
Disaster! It’s behind another building! Xanda decides to head out to Sandymount and shoot it from there, but the clock is ticking… We bomb downstairs, rouse Zaini, wave goodbye to Ivan and clamber into Xanda’s car. I know there’s not a lot of traffic at 5am on Sunday morning, but Xanda’s cavalier disregard for traffic lights and correct cornering is a little nerve wracking, particularly as she’s more interested in keeping track of the sun’s progress than looking at the road ahead. At least she hasn’t been drinking.
We make it to the strand in record time, just before the sun comes out from behind Howth head, but it looks like the clouds are going to defeat us. When I say us, I mean Xanda, because myself, Zaini and Daragh don’t even have enough energy to get out of the car. Sure enough, she soon gives up. Never mind, Xanda. It’ll be the twenty-fifth anniversary next year, and that’s bigger.
She drops us back here, and we all fall asleep almost immediately. I suppose it’s been a gentle enough introduction to living in my parents’ house again, what with their being away, and my first night in my new bed (my old room is now my Dad’s office – I’m in the guest bedroom) not actually starting until six o’clock in the morning. I’m still a little fragile, to be honest, so I may just go for a wee nap now. I can unpack during the week…

On a side note, my fairly cursory account of my four days at the Galway Film Fleadh has led people to wonder if I’m perhaps censoring myself a little, perhaps leaving out a few interesting details in my posts.

Of course I am.