I have almost no petrol left. The warning light has been flashing on the last four journeys I made. I have no money. I really shouldn’t drive anywhere tomorrow. But I have two journeys planned.
Tomorrow afternoon, I hope to go and see my cousin Ethelred, whose present I gushed about in this blog last week. I haven’t seen him in a long time and I’m looking forward to a grand long chat. His is the kind of house you leave with a bladder full of tea and cheeks that hurt from laughing too much. I’d prefer not to miss that, but if I have to I have to.
However, before I go to see Ethelred, I’m due to go to the Phoenix Park. On Thursday night, I had a long chat about this blog, and about my project. I hate that this year (/most of the last eighteen years) has been such a disaster, and I have no real excuses for it.
As I say, on Thursday night, I was talking to someone in a pub. Let’s call him Albrecht. As it happens, I went to the pub with no money, so I was on water for the night. It’s weird to arrange to meet someone for a pint and then order a tap water, but that’s New Connor. I am also trying to drink more water to clear the voluminous phlegmy matter that has been gathering at the back of my throat since I stopped smoking.
Anyway, in the course of a conversation about Project Connor, I managed to commit myself to a 30-minute walk-run tomorrow morning. We spent about ten minutes promising not to cancel. And I won’t. I can’t just go on quitting forever. But I did spend much of today hoping beyond hope that Albrecht would text and cancel. I just know I’ll fall over/ run too slowly/ collapse in a heap/ run “wrong”/ run like Hugh Grant in “Notting Hill” and I’m terrified. Running with an actual person!
So I’ll just have to risk the petrol in the morning. It’s too far to walk. And if I did walk, I certainly wouldn’t be able to run when I got there.
I do have about two euros. I could get two euros worth of petrol. Or I could get a bus there and walk back. I could buy a scratchcard and hope to win enough for petrol.
I might end up borrowing money. I’m not sure. But I’m going to sleep with an image of myself running out of petrol on O’Connell Bridge, having to get out of the car in my ridiculous swimming togs/running shorts, and pushing it to a petrol station, where I’d have to sweatily explain that I had no money, while Albrecht waited in the Phoenix Park, angry but unsurprised at me having stood him up.
Please let that not be the case. Good night!