I’m not even supposed to be sitting here: the Dublin Horse Show kicks off today, and I really am supposed to be there. But even I am not about to go out in this hurricane.

Dammit. The show is my yearly visit to what is, for me, a mash up of Heaven/Nirvana/Valhalla < the latter minus the burning bark. Not that I can be at all spendy, but I really do need new jodhs. And a couple of pairs of those cotton gloves with the sticky bits on the palms.

The show is also meant to be a way to get over the great void left by the Olympics, which is of greater depth than I would ever have guessed. I have become less interested in the event the younger the athletes have gotten. Like, when you’re a child, even as unathletic a child as I was, you can still dream, you know? Not so much, the older you get.

Although! There was yer man Ian Millar from Canada: 65 years old and still jumping! Yeah, well, never mind, not much of argument, as I wouldn’t even feel able to hold the lead rope of any of those Olympic horses. So whilst the dream is well past its sell by date, I got all into the Games this year, and it took me a few days to realise that I really did miss them.

Sigh. I actually have work-work to do, which is grand, but I just feel so blah.

I think I will paint all my nails. In individual colours. I have many, many nail varnishes all of a sudden. I have a shedload from Avon, I’ve got to try & test a bunch for the newspaper, amongst which are samples from Yves Saint Laurent, Chanel, Lacura, Lancôme and L’Oréal Paris. Also, just got a couple from Max Factor, and also from new-to-Ireland brand LA Splash. And I can finish it all off with a Sally Hansen top coat.

Yes. Can’t think of a better use of my time. Apart from the work-work, of course. 

BRB.

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