The days of recovery

I'm feeling a bit better today. That was the worst Jet-Lag I have ever had, complete with headaches, waves of depression, and general nausea, it could be described as somewhat less than pleasant.

I seem to have developed a fascination with the Irish idea of cool. We drove down to Drogheda (a small town with old churches and winding roads) and meandered through the roads taking sideways glances at buskers, and getting splashed by cars. I'm amazed at what 'cool' is percieved to be over here. I saw a lad about 16/17 wearing bright blue cotton sweatpants with matching top and bottom, the pants were 3 inches above his ankle, and he had super high up athletic socks, adorned with gigantic white runners. The collar of the zip-up sweatshirt was popped, and he had on a wife beater underneath, some fake gold bling etc. His hair was shaven on the sides, and slicked on the top. He had a mate with him who was basically identical but wearing black sweats with a neon stripe. It was...interesting to see that these were 'the cool kids.' Maybe they weren't, but they sure strutted like they were.

So far the Irish girl's idea of cool is a tight ponytail with gel in it, complete with tight pants and sweater for the older girls (20-30) and the preteens are in to more of an 'Ardene' look. I saw a few people who looked just like Vicky Pollard from Little Britain. One of them was a short woman, with a dark ponytail propped on top of her head, and her face covered in blingy sunglasses. She wore a tight yellow tank top, over which her belly flowed like an unruly pancake, spilling onto her leapord skinned tights. The other was a younger girl, maybe about 15 who had on silk stockings, which had ripped in places, after trying to hold in the bulge. I felt bad for her.

Having fun.