Hey, Barbecutie

Posts Tagged ‘hometime

Sunny Warrenpoint

I live in London but sporadically return to Northern Ireland, to the small town where I lived since birth. I once had an idea to write down every internal thought not related to an external event (i.e. one that was actually occurring in reality) over the course of a single day. Then I realised that it would mostly be me thinking about kissing. So I did this instead:

A bad place to get the giggles is when being frisked by airport security. It makes you look more suspicious and with an accent like mine, you can’t get much more suspicious. No, it is not appropriate to tell them that this is the most physical contact you’ve had with another human being in weeks.

Male body hair is inevitable, and mostly inoffensive, unless it takes the form of a hairshirt so intense that it peeks out a good inch above the collar of your t-shirt, and especially when I’m stuck behind you at close proximity in a queue for nearly half an hour. It was an unhappy occasion.

Heathrow crosses itself – the people coming from Ireland and the people going to Ireland cross paths, separated by glass partitions. We don’t look at each other. On one side, sepia pictures of London landmarks welcome the arrivals. Our side get the Irish counterparts, blurry, generic green fields and aged Celtic crosses. A bridge. Nothing so iconic as Nelson or Big Ben. But in a way that makes me even more ready to escape.
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