In the middle of the... I go walking in the...

It occurred to me as I was trying to decide whether I wanted to write about a couple of strange insomniac hours, or the events surrounding my purchase of a baguette today; that my blog is essentially frivolous.

Then it occurred to me that this thought itself was something of a folly, so here’s a bit about what I got up to at 2am last Tuesday, and a bit about the guy in the SPAR on Grafton street:

I usually sleep. On Monday-into-Tuesday night I had the unexpected and unmistakable sensation of consciousness. Now we could go into the ins-and-outs of what was keeping me up, but this is (if you can believe it) less important than the up-ness itself, and it comes down to dull physiological rather than juicy psychological influences anyway.

I was reluctant to engage that effective sleep aid that boys learn (and utilize to great effect – some, I believe, to a quite a degree of artistry) at some stage in their puberty. And so I considered other options and thought that some water would help. So I went down stairs with my lucky pint glass to obtain a portion (well, a pint to be exact) of said liquid. At the sink, I noticed that I hadn’t put my bike in the shed as it had been locked when I arrived etc… so I went out anyway, scantily clad as I was, and was very surprised that it was such a mild evening given that this is January and Ireland, and me – with my sinewy but ever-so-attractive (but much under-appreciated) body.

So I had a bit of a walkabout, paid a visit to the chin-up pole, did a few chin-ups, reacquainted myself with the garden bench and that type of thing before finally realizing that if I were seen I would no doubt be sent for psychological assessment. Of course I would explain the physiological factors in all their dullness then, given that they would now be of immense and persuasive importance, but perhaps it would alas be by then too late.

Being out in the garden in the middle of the night reminded me of the first of two times in my life (and they happened within a few days of each other) when I went sleep-walking. In the autumn of 2000, I woke up out in the rain naked (and if truth be told somewhat aroused). True story. Kinda scary. Interesting experience.

Then I retired to my room (lest there be confusion, not in 2000 – though that’s what I did then as well – I mean on Mon/Tues) and listened to an M Ward CD and it was just ahhhh. Lovely. I also wrote a letter to someone who lives very far away, and by the end of the album I was then quite satisfied that I had lulled my body into the requisite relaxation, hydration and fatigue to invite imminent sleep, and also deciding that I had quite enjoyed my insomnia and it’d be a nice affliction to have once every couple of months – if it could be handled so gently. I still couldn’t sleep though, so it’s a good job* there was a plan B to hand*.

Well enough of that! Moving hastily along…

[Those of you who have lives or sense should probably stop reading now. The rest is just about a peculiar sandwich vendor]

I’ve been going to SPAR on Grafton Street for salmon baguettes lately. I don't know of anywhere else you can get salmon Baguettes for 3 euro something.

When I went yesterday, there was this dude who I've seen there, but hadn't ordered a sambo from before. He was washing something and was visibly annoyed that I had come in. We stood then making prolonged eye-contact with one another. I was waiting for the perfunctory invitation of a "What can I get ya?" as one does. It was not forthcoming so I just piped up to bring the staring to a conclusion.

He asked me how much I usually pay for this sandwich, and I thought, "Oh-oh, there goes the cheap salmon sandwiches," but said, "blah blah blah." He told me that because i interrupted him, today it would cost 4.50. I laughed. He said he wasn't joking. I nodded with a furrowed brow, wondering if I should take a confrontational or a jovial tone. At which point he informed me that he was joking and told me that he had been trying to make people angry all day. I enquired after his success. He said it wasn't good, and that vegetarians were particularly hard to piss off. He just didn't seem to have that natural sense of PR that the rest of us have picked up by osmosis. I turned down the opportunity to tell him that he was lacking in this area as he was kind of scaring me at this point. I expect he'll be manager by next week.

The whole thing made me so uncomfortable I didn't ask for cheese. And that my friends, is the gratedest God edam traged(der)y of the whole story.