Packing

I'm going back to NZ tomorrow. And so what I should be doing is packing. what I am doing is sorting through a bag of papers that my mam wants me to take with me or throw away for chrissakes.

Oh. My. God.

There is the usual dreadful diary shit that I will have to take with me as we don't have a shredder and there's no way I'm just throwing it away. Embarassing.

There are hundreds of letters written to me in Donegal, Cork, America, Dublin from friends family, boyfriends. Including one of the most beautiful love letters from a guy I knew for a total of two weeks in Wisconsin. Some I am keeping, some I am binning, some I am keeping but know I will never have the courage to read.

There are dozens of poems written by friends. Some are hilarious and some are very, very good.

There is a Valentine Card 'to my wife, Lorraine' signed from 'Mr Pitt'.

There is a letter from Kerry that I CANNOT WAIT TO READ TO EVERYONE WHO KNOWS HER.

I have also found two and a half episodes of a radio play that I worked on with seven other people. Five episodes actually went to air before we got cut for being generally unreliable. I was originally supposed to be one of the actresses but muscled into the writing team eventually and ended up doing a bit of directing too.

It was based on six students sharing two flats on campus at University College Dublin. Sort of Friends, only on the radio and with Irish accents, limited sex and no money. The writing teams worked in two teams of four and I can't remember who wrote which of the spisodes but the half episode is the worst.

However, it has handwritten notes at the end that made me choke with laughter and nostalgia for the sheer clever pretentiousness of it all.

The scene is fairly typical. Fresher student (dave) tries his hand at some clever debating at the immensly popular and well attended debating society friday night event. He is lucky to escape with his life. His dignity is another matter. The girl (emer) who fancies him is trying to comfort him and he lashes out at her and stalks off. Fade to next scene (the handwritten bit)

The handwritten notes are clearly intended to take the piss out of the simplistic nature of the scenario by doing a pastiche of Sam Beckett's Happy Days/ Waiting for Godot

Notes in handwriting unknown:

A scream. Pause (five seconds)

Fade to Emer buried up to her neck in rubbish. Parasol goes on fire reflecting the essential meaninglessness of existance

My handwriting:

(alternatively we could just fade to Emer snogging Dave)

Back to unknown handwriting:

Emer: Argh! (pause five seconds) My parasol (pause three seconds) is on ... fire (pause) reflecting the essentail .... meaninglessness... of existance.

Fade to country lane. Enter Pozzo and Lucky on hands and knees.

Pozzo: so... where's the debate

Seriously. We were subsidised to be at university for fukes sakes.