| Tripping the Ocean Fantastic |
[Jul. 16th, 2008|11:34 pm] |
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This weekend I went to a wedding in a small town in Durham, England. I flew into Newcastle to get there. It was all meant to be very sweet and sleepy and uneventful...
Yes, well, that was the plan.
As you all know, I've been ill, but I seemed to be recovering well. I went to a barbecue Friday and had a nice time, but felt a little under the weather so I went home early. I got my early flight Saturday morning. I got on the plane. I started to feel a little woozy, so I got up to wash my face in the ladies'.
I awoke passed out across the laps of several gentlemen. They were on their way to a stag party, and seemed surprised that somebody had ordered a young lady to entertain them on the plane.
Then I went through the airport, passed out again and had to answer many pointed questions on the composition of my flu medications.
After that I brilliantly decided not to get on public transport and hopped into a taxi.
SARAH: Please take me to this address! And do not worry if I faint. It is sort of a theme for my morning.
TAXI DRIVER: ... Okay?
SARAH (brightly): Also could you keep count of how many times I faint for me? I think I may be about to establish some kind of record.
I fainted a lot on that trip. Finally we got to my hotel, which was also the hotel for the wedding reception. By this point probably convinced I had the plague, my driver helped me to the reception desk. He was a parfait gentil knight, my driver.
RECEPTIONIST: Sorry, your bed's not ready yet! We could find you a nice place to sit down.
SARAH: I need a bed!
SARAH: faints again, wakes up on the marble floor. The first thing she hears is her brave taxi driver, saying...
DRIVER: SHE NEEDS A BED!
SARAH: How many times was that?
The kind hotel folks found me a bed. I slept for four hours, then woke to the sound of my alarm and wandered out, feeling considerably better. Then I found the happy groom, my dear friend, a stubbly crime writer who I call Flower.
SARAH: Flower! It's so great to see you! Happy wedding day! I fainted fourteen times!
FLOWER: ... Ah, Sarah. I see you haven't changed a bit.
I found my scandalous shoulderless dress and ran out to the church. The wedding ceremony was in a quaint beautiful stone church, and the ceremony was conducted by a vicar who looked a little startled by the heathen faces of so many Londoners and the heathen face of me and the presence of a baby, much impressed by the surroundings, who kept going 'Whoa!'
VICAR: And here is this rope. It is made of three cords. The cords represent the three people in this marriage.
BABY: Whoa!
SARAH: Whoa indeed, baby. Whoa indeed!
VICAR (reproving): The bride, the groom and God.
The wedding was followed by celebrations, the most dazzling moment of which was during the first dance, when the bride and groom waltzed as on a beauteous cloud of love for half the dance. Then the bride picked up her skirt and showed everyone she was wearing sparkly running shoes, and they danced up a storm. I danced quite a bit myself, especially for a girl who'd fainted fourteen times that day.
The day after the wedding, there was a car journey with lovely friends playing country music up to London, and in London I saw my much-missed ex-flatmate Penelope and my friend Ki, and I both borrowed and bought many, many books. 'Why did you do that?' you may well ask. And I would answer, 'For the plane.'
The flight back to Ireland from England is not terribly long, you might point out. And this is true.
Only the thing is, I knew two days after I flew back from England, I'd be flying to America. In the trip that will never ever end.
You may all know that I love New York, city of a thousand sights, a billion lights and a squillion trillion lovely bookshops, and I go back there whenever I can. It is the summer and school is out and I am free, so I told myself I'd pop over. On business. I could totally find business there! And since I was going to be over there, I should go to Vancouver where three of my best friends now live, so far away from me!
See, the thing is I live on a teeny tiny island. It's about the size of a pea. So I never believe that America is Really Really Large.
I heard about Readercon, a small convention that sounded like a book group and therefore awesome, and was in Massachusetts. 'Massachusetts can't be that far,' I told myself. 'I've been there! Once.'
And I heard about Conestoga, where I would get to sit on panels beside awesome people, and talk about books, and with any luck not make a blithering fool of myself. 'Oklahoma can't be that far,' I told myself. I tell myself terrible lies and I am going to be a wreck, but I am also going to be on panels! One of them is called 'Faeries, Demons and Zombies, Oh My!' I fear I am going to squeak like a huge excited bat in a sundress.
Also at Conestoga, they are scheduling dates with authors. Er. I hope someone will date me! I will try to look pretty. Or authorial. Depending on what they require. (If I can manage it, I will look both pretty and authorial, but I may fall between two stools and end up looking like I have crazy eyes.)
Then I was hanging out in my writers' group, The Debs, also known as ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) debut2009. I love the Debs: we formed together out of a misunderstanding and stayed together to run around panicking about our books coming out next year, debate which fictional characters we'd lock in a basement and have serious, in-depth discussions about our favourite candy. My friend ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) maprilynne mentioned that she was going to a Writers' Retreat, and said it seemed like a fun yet businesslike thing to do, and hadn't I mentioned that I wanted a sun holiday, just once in two years?
SARAH: No I can't possibly! I am much much too busy!
APRILYNNE: It's in Honolulu.
SARAH: ... Honolulu can't be that far...
Quite a couple of months ahead of me, but it's my own fault, and I think I will have a good time as well. If any of you guys are in New York, Oklahoma, Massachusetts or Honolulu and you see a tall girl fainting dramatically, it's probably me.
If you see me do it more than once, start keeping count. |
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sick
devious
tired