DarrenByrne.com

So, following on from Saturday night….

Okay, admittedly, yes, well, Sunday……didn’t begin well. I was unsurprisingly heavily hungover. Now, my general way to cope with hangovers is denial; this coupled with the fact that I wanted to appear somewhat alert for everyone I was visiting led me to go into hyper mode. That may be why I had no real problem with being woken up by my little brother and my camera:

Okay, so maybe I had a bit of a problem with being woken up, but I quickly came to.

I was greeted, when I finally ventured downstairs, to a big fry up. I know a lot of people in a hungover state would turn their noses at this, but I believe there is nothing better that a big greasy fry to make you feel better.

While I was sad to be heading off (I really had a fantastic weekend), I couldn’t wait to get home to herself. And screw you if you think that’s too mushy!

My journey home was a damn sight better than my journey down. I got the 2.30 train from Limerick and all I wanted to do was nestle into my seat, knock on the iPod and drift away. But, as is the norm with me, someone decided to start talking to me. Okay, so, generally, I’d be more than up for chatting with random strangers. It can be fun and it’s great to meet new people. But as soon as this guy said hello, my hangover said “What the fuck? No, no way! Don’t you dare engage him in conversation!!”. But, I fought my hangover and started chatting to this dude, who turned out to be a great bloke. In fact, we talked non-stop from Limerick to Heuston, from Heuston to Connolly and then from Connolly down to Sydney Parade, where he almost missed his stop because we were deep in conversation.

So, I’d like to thank him for making my journey a quick and interesting one.

But….at long last I arrived home to Lottie and I can’t remember the last time I was so happy to see someone. It’s always nice to get away, but it’s wonderful to come home.

So, after the fiasco of Friday evening, which has led me to vow never to get on a bus again, I found myself waking on Saturday morning in Clare. It was my twin sisters’ confirmation day and a chance for me to meet my many new relations.

I guess the first genus of Neo Familius I met are not strictly relations of mine. They are Biomammy’s husband’s brother and his family. That was fine and easy, no complications, or discomfort. I could only hope the rest of the weekend would go as smoothly.

I struggled to recall the last time I was in a church. I think it was my Otter Half’s mother’s wedding two Christmases ago. Prior to that it was a similar length of time. I wasn’t really mentally prepared for it. I forgot that being a kids confirmation, there would be singing, embarrassing sermons from the Archbishop and, of course, surreal performance art. What? You mean performance art is not a staple of confirmation day? Well, apparently it is in Clare.

Naturally, and rather shamefully, I took to a fit of the giggles. I couldn’t help it and I couldn’t stop. The Archbishop did not help the situation by exclaiming, “Now boys and girls, I’ve got a little something to show you”! He was, of course, referring to a picture of the Holy Trinity….ahem…..of course.

Is giggling at mass a mortal sin? Well, it doesn’t matter – i think I’m already condemned to hell for living in sin with my girlfriend, takes the lord’s name in vane, coveting my neighbour’s very sexy, truly beautiful, sleek, black, 42″ Plasma television. Oh and let’s not forget that genetical modified microwavable meal I had last week. I really don’t think I’m suited to Pope Benedict the Idiot’s Sixteenth’s new batch of no-no’s. (Have a look at Bock’s Blog on this or Grandad’s ‘Bless me Father’ post.)

Truthfully, the slightly lengthly ceremony was quite nice. The twins looked lovely and seemed very proud to be there. As I sat there (holding back the giggles) I did find myself looking around at the very beautiful building and the interactions between the community. I always thought the moment at mass where everyone shook hands and declared “Peace be with you” was one of the better Catholic customs. Why can’t the church be more about that and less about the condemnation of my microwaved pasta dish.

The twins seemed to have a great time and they made a fortune in confirmation money which is, I’m sure you’ll all agree, the most important thing. I was just happy to be down spending a bit of time with them all, even if it was in a church.

The ceremony finished 367 hours later and we legged it home to watch the oh-so-brutal Ireland v. Wales game. The most entertaining part was watching George Hook border on a coronary.

I spent much of the day drinking, eating, eating more and drinking more. Meeting random friends and family was going very well (I have no recollection of most of their names, but I think I bluffed it well enough). Next came the terrifying meeting with Biomammy’s mother. She got quite the build up. I was more than a little nervous (though I hid it well under my guise of Mr Easygoing Man). The first thing that shocked me about her was the wheelchair. I’m sure Biomammy mentioned it, but she spoke of her as such an imposing, almost battleaxian, figure that I pictured her with eight legs and towering just slightly higher than the house. Secondly, her age – she was far older than I had imagined. Again, this came from the build up she got. If I’m honest, I had prepared myself to really dislike her. In particular, I was all set to have an angry debate with her, should she turn out to be some mad religious zealot. As it was, she was a kindly old woman – she held my hand and told me how wonderful it was to meet me. She hugged and kissed me and tears welled up in her eyes. How could anyone dislike this person? I thought she was lovely. And later, we drank together, which is always a good thing.

Post the Biomammy’s-mammy-meeting, I completely relaxed. I felt very comfortable wandering through the house between different groups of family friends, siblings and other assorted relatives. And, I particularly hit it off with a chap who introduced himself as my ‘Cuz’. The night gets blurry after this. There was more food (a lot of prawns), some Singstar on the PS3, a variety of bizarre world music (that I felt obliged to say “yeah, this sounds really great” about, even though it sounded like something early on rejected from Paul Simon’s Gracelands album), then there was Brendan Grace’s pub and I know I played Darts, because there’s photographic evidence.

After that….there’s nothing…..