I’ll be getting my “I heart Tallinn” badge any day now…

Posted on October 12, 2008 by Hails

I’ve said this sort of thing before, you know, but Tallinn is So Damn Cool.

Today Riho and I joined the hatted and mittened Tallinners out for a Sunday afternoon stroll, crunching through piles of yellow, orange and red leaves and taking in the sights in another nearby area, Kopli. It’s a… how shall I say… less prosperous area. Reminded me quite a bit of the place where I lived in Glasgow, only with imposing Soviet architecture instead of tenement flats and, interestingly, some sort of shandy drink instead of Buckfast. It was amusing, actually – every dubious-looking youth or scruffy old man we passed was carrying a brown, plastic 2 litre bottle in a most protective manner. A search of a local shop was no help in identifying the liquid itself, as the labels were in Russian. Some things are probably best left unknown – which is also how I felt about the ominous yellow tape that cordoned off a small patch of grass, with the words “ACID HAZARD DANGER” emblazoned quite worryingly across it.

We were a little surprised to see a hotel in the midst of it all, to be honest. I mean, it’s a residential area, populated mainly by working-class Russians; it’s slightly run-down, and not at all central. Why on earth would anyone come to stay here?! I asked in wonder. Maybe they just sell it as being close to the beach, suggested Riho -  and indeed, a few moments later, there was Stroomi Beach. It was no Pirita, but it was lovely all the same, with a pleasant little walkway alongside the shore, a beach house cafe, and plenty of sporting facilities and the like.

What makes it worthy of being in the So Damn Cool category? The part that at first looks like a children’s playground, but that on closer inspection turns out to be an outdoor gym, that’s what. It’s an ordinary, sandy-floored enclosure off the main path, with lots of brightly coloured contraptions. Only when you look more closely do you realise that instead of swings, seesaws and climbing frames, the contraptions are actually basic, simplified versions of gym equipment that you’d normally be charged a fortune to use. I went on every single thing, just because I could, and my limbs are now aching. But I was interested to note that the “gym” appears to be regularly used – several health-conscious individuals arrived by bike to work out whilst I was there.

Two points: firstly, what a great idea! Free gym equipment for everyone to make use of any time they feel like it. And not in a warm, sweaty, claustraphopic gym environment, either, but by the seaside, in the fresh air! It’d almost make you want to start exercising. But secondly, I just love that that sort of thing can exist here. You couldn’t have had that in any of the areas I’ve lived in before – vandals would’ve wrecked it in a matter of hours. In the last place I lived (housing estate in Ballymena), there were several attempts to provide a playground for the local kids. It was pointless – every time, it was completely destroyed by the next day, by thugs who seem to dislike shiny new things. If you wanted sporting facilities or playparks or anything of the sort, you had to surround them with high walls and fences, charge an entrance fee, and close them at night.

Yet here there are free parks, basketball courts, games areas, and apparently free outdoor gym sets, all completely unattended and also completely unharmed. No matter how run-down an area in Estonia might be, it never feels as if the residents have some kind of hatred of the place. They keep it clean and tidy. Sure, there’s graffiti, but it’s generally hilarious rather than offensive and pointlessly destructive… and more to the point, when they get something nice, they keep it nice. They look after it – they don’t go out of their way to destroy anything. Why would you, if you have to live there – isn’t it much better to be surrounded by nice things than by destruction?

It’s so, so nice to be asking that question in a tone other than one of despair and sadness…

Filed under: Ballymena, community, contemplation, Estonia, exercise, park, simplicity, walking | Leave a Comment »

In the summer when it sizzles, in the winter when it drizzles…

Posted on July 26, 2008 by Hails

I’m off to Paris in the morning.

I don’t know what my access to the internet will be like until I get to where I’m staying in Belgium, so I may disappear for a few days. Rest assured, I’ll be back with tales of travels, mishaps, book readings and new friends, and of course the obligatory photo of me pretending to hold the distant Eiffel Tower between my thumb and index finger.

For now, everything I own is once again packed up in a far-too-heavy rucksack, although I will note that for the second time now I have ditched a lot of unnecessary stuff. By Christmas, I’ll be travelling with nothing but a change of underwear and a clean t-shirt in a carrier bag. Oddly, though, despite having jettisoned a reasonable amount of clothing in Tallinn, and now again in Lyon, my belongings still seem to take up exactly the same amount of space in my bag. Is there some kind of mathematical theory that applies here?

Lyon has been fantastic experience, computer problems and pickpockets aside. I think it was the perfect introduction to France, for me – I got to find my feet in a city that’s not too scarily metropolitan and is actually very quaint and traditional in places, with a flatmate who spoke good English. Note to self: plan on taking French refresher course upon return to France.

Paris is shaping up to be fun, too: I’m couchsurfing for the first time, which could either be nightmarish or a great opportunity to make new friends. I’m hopeful for the latter, as it might be nice to have someone show me around rather than spending most of my time just trying to find my way out of the Metro station. There’s sightseeing to be done, a book reading to attend, a dinner invite to accept, and more bad French to be spoken, no doubt. Then off to “my” new house (for a month, anyway!) in Belgium! Le Flatmate is unspeakably amused by this, and keeps grinning to himself when he thinks about it. He says that if I’m struggling to keep up with the accents in Lyon, I’ll have no hope of understanding Belgians.

Ah, well. I’m from Ballymena. I’m used to complex dialects.

Filed under: Ballymena, book release, changes, conversations, culture, French, friends, fun, Lyon, packing, Paris, travel | 4 Comments »

What a difference a day makes.

Posted on June 23, 2008 by Hails

Would it cheer up all you grumbling Ballymenites who moaned about the Irish weather following my previous post (“That’s one way to alienate your readers,” commented Riho, “write posts complaining about sunburn when they’re all stuck in the rain.”) if I told you that we’re all in the same (waterlogged) boat now?

Yes, today it rained. I worked at the same window, but was warmed only by yesterday’s glowing sunburn. Which, incidentally, wasn’t too bad until I forgot about it when I was vigorously drying my back after my morning shower. Again, ouch. Anyway, I worked, it rained. I finished work, it rained.

That scuppered the plans to go out and see the Victory Day/St. John’s Day party and bonfire, which made me sad because I’d heard they like to jump over the bonfire and burn witches and all sorts of fun stuff like that. However, this is Tallinn, and there’s always something entertaining going on. Sometimes right outside your window.

Like this old boy, for example.

He was either (a) an alien, confused and disorientated, just landed from a far-off planet from which he was  sent to gather data about the mysterious human race (like Mork, for example. Or John Lithgow when he was in Third Rock from the Sun), or (b) very, very drunk. Bemused, I watched as he stared at his feet for a while, raindrops pelting down on him and bouncing off his sodden clothes. I look at that picture and the only word that comes to mind is drookit.

It was unclear to me why he took off his coat and hung it on a light. To be honest, I was a little distracted by the fact that he then approached the round plastic thing at the end of a drainpipe (I don’t think I’ve ever had occasion to refer to one of those before, and I find myself at a loss for an appropriate noun), contemplated it for a long moment, stooped down, removed it, and then drank all the rainwater from it!!! By the time I came to my senses and grabbed a camera he had reverted to the original Father Jack-esque Are those MY feet? stance, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to take my word for it.

Suitably refreshed and impossibly drookit, he walked very slowly and deliberately out of sight, possibly to purchase a new coat and/or call Orson.

Never a dull moment.

Filed under: aliens, Ballymena, confusion, contemplation, drinking, drookit, strange, weather | 5 Comments »

Stupid is as stupid does.

Posted on December 18, 2007 by Hails

Have just found the following rant in my saved drafts. I have but a vague recollection of writing it on Saturday evening, having just returned from experiencing the delight that is Ballymena town centre one week before Christmas. In my defence, my annual migraine was in full swing, and I was exhausted…

Stupid town full of inconsiderate morons who stop for a yarn right in the middle of the street and don’t budge, so that the only way to make any progress whatsoever is to put your head down, square your shoulders and bore through.

Stupid shops playing stupid loud music and making it impossible to think straight over the already headache-inducing roar of stupid spoilt screaming brats throwing temper tantrums over selection boxes and stupid noisy toys.

Stupid one-way road layout in stupid town centre, with cars queued as far as the eye can see and stupid impatient eejits blaring their stupid horns as if it’s going to change the situation.

Stupid sodding PIPE BAND standing playing wailing and screeching outside the Fairhill Centre in their stupid uniforms, and then parading through the mall when you’re trying to get into Starbucks in a last-ditch effort to regain some sanity.

Stupid queues tailing back throughout every single stupid shop, meaning you have to stand for half an hour every time you buy something, even if it is just a stupid, tiny keyring.

Happy Christmas? I quit.

By the time I eventually waded my way through the bagpipers to stand in the mile-long Starbucks queue, I was on the verge of tears. As I neared the counter, Kate appeared, weaving artfully through the crowds of shoppers and kilted ‘musicians’. “I think I’m going to cry,” I greeted her as she joined me. “Not-a-tall,” she replied briskly in her most no-nonsense voice, taking instant control of the situation and getting to grips with the ordering process. We fought our way to a table, bringing with us 2 gingerbread lattes, a muffin, and several chocolate-smothered pastry thingies. A brief silence ensued. The desire to cry did indeed fade. However, the headache remains even now – it is only just starting to fade, 3 days later.

Ballymena + Christmas: not for the faint-hearted (or the prone to migraines).

Filed under: Ballymena, Christmas, complaining, driving, fighting, friends, mental health, pain, rant, sheer silliness, shopping, tension | 3 Comments »

In Which I Try My Hand At Writing A Consumer Review

Posted on November 10, 2007 by Hails

I spent this afternoon in Tesco. Yes, all of it. In its entirety. The whole flamin’ afternoon.

I’m not one to get all excited when a new shop/store/supermarket opens, and run there instantly with the hordes of people who are for some reason all excited. Zed is – she went to the WNT (Wonderful New Tesco) on whatever night it was last week that the blasted place opened. “Have you been to Tesco’s yet?” she asked everyone for the rest of the week, with an air of smuganicity. Apparently they had 80,000 people through the doors on their first day. Choirs sang at the entrance and there were balloons and various forms of entertainment. Why? Why??!!! It is a supermarket, not some kind of awesome rocket-launching event.

Anyway, it so happened that today it was time for my once-fortnightly grocery shop. I also had to get the car washed, as it has been becoming increasingly difficult to see out of the window lately, owing to the layer of muck and grime being sprayed on by passing lorries (probably Tesco ones, although I do not wish to make any unfounded allegations) on a now daily basis. Thus, having used the very efficient car-washing people in Pennybridge, I decided that I might as well do my shopping in the WNT, since it was marginally closer to my current location than Lidl.

Parking was troublesome. I swung round a corner to try scanning a new row for a space, and found myself in a very long, very still queue. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was queuing for, so I waited interestedly for a while, quickly got bored, and followed the example of various others by inching out of the queue, turning, and scarpering. I found a space, after some confusion and a small incident with a runaway trolley, and got out of the car, several miles away from the WNT.

After a pleasant hike through the rain, I entered the WNT, and instantly found myself involved in a minor scuffle with a harrassed-looking woman who was too engaged with screaming at her out-of-control infants to care that she was ramming her trolley into my hip bone. This did not bode well for the immediate future. I gripped my trolley with grim determination.

I do not want to talk about the rest of my experience, other than to express my annoyance at the narrowness of the aisles, my anger at the rudeness of a large number of my fellow Ballymenians, my confusion about the layout of the store, and my extreme regret at not having gone to Lidl’s. By the time I emerged, aching and exhausted, the car park seemed to have been transported on to the M2, and the tailback reached the outskirts of Belfast. Cursing the experimental part of my brain that had told me to ‘just go and see what it’s like’, I trudged around the (now dark) car park trying to find Rio the Clio, loaded my shopping, returned my trolley, got into the car, and moved forward approximately 2.5 inches to join the queue. Then I sat there for three quarters of an hour. I swear, three quarters of an hour, just to get out. How? Why??!!! I couldn’t see what the hold-up was, and the only explanation I could find was that every motorist in the area was trying to get as far away from the WNT as possible, all at the same time. There were cars queuing from every direction.

My frozen veggies dripped sadly over the back seat. I banged my head dismally off the steering wheel several times. I have been at venues like The Odyssey and the Waterfront, where several thousand concert-goers are attempting to leave the car park at the same time, and it doesn’t take as long as it took me to get to the exit of the WNT car park. It makes No Sense Whatsoever.

Anyway, I’m home now. I have refrozen my frozen goods and will no doubt contract salmonella at some point in the near future. I will keep you – and Tesco – informed. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to purchase some chocolate and crisps. I hear them calling to me.

Filed under: Ballymena, Car, chocolate, complaining, confusion, driving, freak-out, Lidl, rant, road rage, sheer silliness, shopping, tension, Tesco | 3 Comments »

Inspired By You (#1)

Posted on September 25, 2007 by Hails

Grannymar suggested: Stick a pin in your Blogroll. Open the one your pin has landed on, now take the fourth sentence from it and away you go!

So, I found myself on the highly entertaining page of Mr. Ed Hillan. I counted to the fourth sentence, and it said – wait for it – “Of course, I’ve since left that job.” Oh, come on!

However, rather than avoid a close-to-the-heart issue and pick another blog, I’ve decided to go ahead and write about this. Regular readers will know that I’m currently looking for a new job, although it’s not as dire as it first appeared. I was under the impression I was being turfed out, with the words “end of September” echoing in my ears like the sound of the approaching killer’s footsteps in a horror movie. Don’t need to (and can’t!) go into any details, but the general gist of the current situation is that I’m looking for a better job, one that presents me with a challenge and hopefully a salary that allows me to loosen the belt a bit. Until then, I’m safe in the job I have – and grateful for it.

Haven’t a clue where I’ll end up, but it’s got me thinking about all the jobs I’ve had. The one I’m in now is my first full-time job, and was really only meant to be a stop-gap until I figured out what to do with my life. I started it almost four years ago. Oops!

My favourite job ever was my very first part-time job, when I was 16. I worked Saturdays and a couple of evenings at the local Petsmart store, near my parents house. I earned £3.17 an hour and thought I was rich. Those were fun times! I was so proud of my bright red t-shirt and little yellow name badge, and I loved my work. I helped out everywhere I could, cleaning animal cages, feeding fish, stacking can after can of dog food on the shelves, serving and chatting to customers. Sometimes Chris – the manager – let me take my favourite snake or lizard out of its cage and just wear it somewhere about my person as I cleaned the store and “faced up” at the end of the night,* which proved to be quite terrifying for the occasional last-minute-before-closing shopper, who encountered me amongst the cat toys with a snake draped around my neck. There was also a parrot called Flossie, who I just adored. I was mad about The X Files at the time, and managed to teach the bird to whistle the famous first 6 notes of the theme tune – everyone was very impressed at first. Understandably, their admiration wore off when she decided to whistle it at every single person who walked past. Repeatedly. Forever.

Unfortunately, the store wasn’t making enough money, and they closed us down after I’d been working there for around a year (I don’t think it was my fault, though). It was very sad, especially since I was half in love with one of the guys from the livestock section. (However, he ended up being my first proper boyfriend, following the big Farewell Party, so that was a nice souvenir.) After that, I worked briefly in a petrol station on the Doury Road, which was a living nightmare, with kids who came in at 11pm in their pyjamas and just ran along the aisles with their arms outstretched, knocking everything on to the floor. Plus, people kept asking me how to work the carwash, like I’d have a clue, and the manager was a mean little guy on a weird, unmerited power trip. I didn’t even hand my notice in – one morning I phoned and told them I hated working for them with a passion, and I just didn’t go back. It was that bad.

Other jobs have included Sainsbury’s (Glasgow and Ballymena, both equally dull) and the Bureau de Change cubicle in Glasgow Tourist Office (I used to actually fall asleep in there. And no one noticed.).

It’s not a great CV, is it?!

*”Facing up” – the rather odd name given to the task of going around the store at the end of the day, pulling all the products to the front of their shelves and making sure every label faced the front. Ten years ago, and I still remember that. That’s how dedicated I am. You’d employ me, you know you would.

Filed under: Ballymena, blogging, boss, Glasgow, pets, Sainsbury's, work | 5 Comments »

The Last Night Home Alone

Posted on September 18, 2007 by Hails

The Housemate arrives tomorrow.

Can I call her that for 3 months? I just don’t know her well enough to assign a character-based pseudonym right now. We’ll see. Anyway, TH is part of a large group of people I’m friendly with in Nashville, and she’s coming over as part of her gap year or whatever they call it. She’s going to be helping our church with outreach, youth work etc, and everyone’s very much looking forward to having her here.

I must say, though, it’s a weird feeling to know that from now on there will be someone else in the house when I come home from work… someone else in the house when I’m getting up in the morning… someone else in the house when I’m sitting here in the kitchen, blogging and generally wasting time. I’m a bit nervous, actually. I’ve been living on my own for a couple of years now, and I think I’m a hermit.

When I first went off to university in Glasgow, I lived in halls for a year, and hated it with a passion. I got on fairly well with 4 of my 5 flatmates, but I just couldn’t cope with the character diversity and unique mix of irritating habits in such cramped living conditions. The little things start to bug you. Like when you’ve cleaned the kitchen and someone comes in half an hour later and – it would seem – goes around emptying various food containers all over every available surface. Or when you’ve got an exam at 9am and someone comes in at 3am and puts the TV on full blast, whilst talking in a ridiculously loud voice on the phone. In Italian, which you don’t speak, and therefore you’re convinced that it’s you they’re talking about into the bargain. Or even just when you come home tired, looking forward to crashing in front of the TV – only to find there’s already someone there, and what’s more, they’ve been dumped by their boyfriend and want to talk to you about it All Night Long.

Then there was the Flatmate From Hell. Words can never do justice to the horrors we suffered at her hands. She partied all night, had a different random guy in her room at any given time, and never washed anything. I mean, clothes, dishes, bedding… anything. She finally went AWOL after we reported her to the relevant uni officials (there were roach-like creatures. I kid you not.), and a team of people wearing white uniforms and surgical-type masks came in to remove the contents of her room and sterilise it. We thought this was hilarious, once the smell had finally gone and we were free to laugh about it.

Anyway, from this summary, you can understand why the halls of residence were not a joyous experience for me, and it was with great delight that in my second year of uni, I moved in with Red, my then-boyfriend (and, later, fiancé). That was a different kind of living-with-someone experience, obviously, because when you’re in a relationship with somebody you can tell them exactly what you don’t like about living with them. So I coped a bit better with that. Anyway, we bought a house together when we moved back to Ballymena, and that was my home until we broke up a couple of years ago. Then I moved back in with my parents. Talk about a shock to the system! That was the point where I realised I couldn’t go back to communal/family living. Pretty soon, I found a wee house to rent in Cullybackey, close to where I work, and I’ve been living alone ever since.

Now TH is coming to stay till December, and I’m excited but, as I said, nervous. I love spending time with my friends, but I’m so used to being able to come home at the end of the night, shut the door, and know that I’m alone for a while. I like silence. Much as I moan about the lonesome existence that is Singleness, I have to confess that I’m fairly well suited to it.

On the other hand, I have always had that Friends obsession going on. And they always had flatmates. I have no doubt that it’ll be fun having someone to order pizza with, share coffee with in the mornings, chat to, and above all laugh with. There has been too much crap, lately. Bring on the fun, I say!

Filed under: america, Ballymena, coffee, family, friends, Glasgow, Moving house, parents, pseudonyms, relationships | 5 Comments »

Shopping Guides

Posted on September 1, 2007 by Hails

McBouncy and I were in town today. That sounds quite alarming. It generally is.

Searching for the perfect gift for a friend, we ended up in The China Shop looking at jewellery (China Shop? Jewellery? Really?). My general method of carrying out such a task is this:

Enter shop. Look around. When asked if you need any help, smile politely and say you’re just looking – regardless of whether you actually need help or not. This avoids attracting any unnecessary attention to yourself.  Locate the jewellery stand (which, admittedly, you would have done much sooner if your reply to the afore-mentioned question had been “Yes, I’m looking for jewellery”). Decide on an item. Hover uncertainly for a while, hoping to catch someone’s eye (like a shop assistant, as opposed to a potential love interest, although that might be nice, too). Eventually sidle up to the counter and ask for assistance in your most apologetic tones, as if it’s the crime of the century to be asking them to do what is in fact their job. Point out the required item, pay for it with as little conversation as possible in case you say something embarrassing, and leave the shop with your purchase, feeling relieved.

I don’t know why shopping scares the living daylights out of me, it just does. It’s yet another social situation I’ve never been totally sure how to handle. I used to literally hide behind my mother when we were in a shop, but that doesn’t work any more because I’m 6 inches taller than her (and also because we don’t actually go shopping together).

Anyway, McBouncy’s method of approaching the above task is slightly different, and goes something like this:

Enter shop. March up to counter declaring your need for assistance. Demand to see all available jewellery, and ensure that all shop assistants on the premises are attending to you. Talk non-stop about totally unrelated things such as, for example, sitting in a hot-tub with your husband. Take your shoes off so that you can “concentrate better”. Argue heatedly – with yourself - about which of two items to buy. Compromise by choosing one for the friend in question, and just buying the other one for yourself. Leave cheerfully. Pause outside shop and consider bemused expressions on faces of shop assistants. Ask shopping companion in genuine concern: “Do you think I scared them?”

We are such extreme opposites, I’m really not sure how we became friends. I’m glad we did, though. It’s much more fun, her way.

Filed under: Ballymena, conversations, friends, shopping | 5 Comments »

Post-Girl Hails, Post-Girl Hails, Post-Girl Hails and her black and white Kat…

Posted on August 30, 2007 by Hails

This week, I have been mostly delivering leaflets.

I volunteered to distribute the 4000 or so direct mailers for our upcoming sale at work, thinking it would get me away from the desk and give me some breathing space, exercise and time to think. Three days and 1500 leaflets later, I weigh much less, have decidedly sore feet, and feel a little differently about dogs than I used to.

I have learned a great deal, so far. For example, there are some houses in Ballymena which have driveways longer than my actual housing estate. (Well, no – that may be a slight exaggeration. But it certainly feels that long when you’re trekking along the 6th one in a row, usually uphill, with a bag of mailers over your shoulder.) Also, certain types of letterbox are unspeakably difficult to open, and can seriously damage your health, or at least the health of your fingers. And finally, there are some very intelligent dogs in the world. (This is setting aside for now the not-so-intelligent ones that assumed, without even giving me half a chance, that I was a burglar, and hence tried to maul me, eat me, bite my hand off, jump on me, deafen me, scare me, intimidate me and/or kill me.) In no less than six houses, I was greatly entertained and surprised by a small but efficient dog waiting patiently on the other side of the door for me to push the leaflet through. I got it halfway in when the clever wee thing jumped up, took it gently between its teeth, pulled it all the way through, and trotted off through the house to deliver it to its owner. “Well, isn’t that something?” I found myself murmuring in delight (after initially pulling my hand away with a panicky “Oh, crap!”, thinking I was under attack again). Well done, intelligent dogs of Ballymena. I salute you.

Also, saw this sign in someone’s garden. I liked it.

I’d get one myself, but the only wild flowers I know how to grow successfully are weeds.

Filed under: Ballymena, exercise, Fear, marketing, pain, walking | 2 Comments »

Surreality

Posted on August 20, 2007 by Hails

The parents are back from England!

I have dutifully listened to their holiday anecdotes and am suitably educated re: Stonehenge. They took Sister and I out for lunch today as a thank you (I did the drop-off and pick-up, and Sister watered the plants. What a team.), which was nice, and also timely, given my sudden unexpected descent into bankruptcy. We went to a Ballymena pub/restaurant, which I do not want to name as I am about to make a mockery of it. We shall, therefore, call it The Revolving Factory.

Sister and The Boyfriend wanted the Sunday Roast, but couldn’t see the seperate menu cards they usually have for it. The Boyfriend approached a passing waitress. “Excuse me,” he said politely, “do you still do the Sunday Roast?”. “YES!” she bellowed, as if she was talking to someone on Wellington Street, as opposed to someone standing right beside her. “Err, thanks,” said The Boyfriend, slightly deafened and starting to back away. The waitress was not finished. “YOU CAN HAVE CHICKEN OR BEEF!” she roared. If it had been a cartoon, you would have seen The Boyfriend’s hair blown back and his face contorted in the manner of one who is on a very fast rollercoaster or motorbike.  Full credit to him, he didn’t clap his hands over his ears screaming “My ears! My ears!”, as I might have been tempted to do. Instead, he recovered enough to stutter “Ch-ch-chicken or beef – right – thank you”. “CHICKEN  OR BEEF,” confirmed the waitress, in case he hadn’t heard her. The only way this would have been possible is if he had been (a) stone deaf, (b) at a very loud heavy metal concert and (c) wearing earplugs – all at the same time. The Boyfriend backed away as the waitress smiled in a very business-like manner before marching off. He slunk back to the table, shaken and possibly in pain. “They- they are still doing it,” he informed Sister, weakly. “Chicken or beef.”

We were silent for a while.

 ”Well,” remarked Sister. “She was scary.”

Dad went up to order food and drinks at the bar. He came back 2 days later with the drinks, incredulous at the barmaid he’d just encountered. “You’d think there’d be one main requirement when you’re applying to be a barmaid,” he ranted. “Like the ability to pour drinks.” No one disagreed, so he continued. “I asked for a pint of Harp. She said I’ll just get one of the other girls for that. Then I asked for a pint of Guiness. She said I’ll just get one of the other girls. Then I asked for two Diet Cokes, and she disappeared for 10 minutes. When she finally came back, she said Sorry, that was a Diet Coke and a…? Diet Coke, I replied. I mean…. come ON! I’ve half a mind to go up and order a Rob Roy, a Martini and a Screwdriver, just to see what she’ll do.”

Dinner itself was lovely. Sister and I went up to order coffee and desserts. The barman processed the dessert order and disappeared under the bar for some reason. Sister and I hovered uncertainly. A random pint appeared at the other end of the bar. “Is that The Boyfriend’s pint, do you think?” asked Sister dubiously. I looked at the pint. “Where did it come from?” I asked suspiciously. She didn’t know. We were debating whether or not to claim it when we were suddenly distracted by some activity around the coffee machine. Three of the barstaff were crowded around it, looking at it with expressions of bewilderment, in the manner of a group of OAPs staring at an iPod. I groaned, regretting ordering a coffee. Sister looked worried. “It’s OK for you,” she said sadly. “How wrong can a black coffee go?” I felt for her, as I recalled her ordering a cappucino.

In the end, we grabbed the pint and legged it. We returned 10 minutes later in search of our coffee, to find one waitress staring blankly at the two cups and another turning in circles behind the bar. “Milk. Milk. Milk,” they were muttering. They didn’t even notice when we calmly took our coffees and left. We, in turn, did not question why they were searching for milk to put in a cappucino and black coffee.

It was a very odd dining experience. And at the end, my mother gave me a t-shirt.

It says Stonehenge ROCKS.

Filed under: Ballymena, coffee, confusion, conversations, parents, restaurants, Stonehenge, weird | 3 Comments »

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