SURVIVING THE SUMMER/Seamus Conboy: Life is good. I've got a job, I'm no longer injured and I've even learned to cook a little. The days are flying by, because I always seem to have something to do.
After what seemed like an eternity of failed attempts, I managed to obtain gainful employment. At one stage I had almost given up. I'm not sure exactly how many CVs I handed out, but I know that I am single-handedly responsible for the destruction of an area of rainforest of the same dimensions as Leitrim, only more densely populated.
Salvation came in the form of a busy little pub on Exchequer Street in Dublin. From outside, The Old Stand looked quiet enough, but as soon as I started working I realised that I was gravely mistaken.
The daytime clientele ranges from "Can you take a picture of me and my Guinness" Americans, to German backpackers who want "ein Bier bitte, zwei Biere bitte, etwas Bier bitte", to the occasional Irish person who just wants a good feed and a half-decent pint. I was glowing with pride (and sunburn) after my first day, having earned €4.70 in tips. The rest of the crew is very friendly, and I still haven't been fired, so things are looking up.
Things are looking good on the hurling field as well. After a four-week absence through injury, I'm back in action. At times the frustration of not being able to play was worse than the pain, a feeling with which any other sportsperson will empathise. A few gentle puck-abouts later and I was back in my spiritual home - between the posts.
A nutritionist came to training recently to tell us what we should be eating in preparation for matches. Most of her recommendations were still a short hop outside my culinary capabilities, but I especially liked her suggestion that we eat jelly babies at half-time. The fact that they contain a lot of simple carbohydrates that give an important burst of energy is irrelevant. Being advised - by a nutritionist no less - to eat sweets is a childhood dream come true.
While we're on the subject of things tasting really good, I'd like to point out that my repertoire of meals has broadened significantly in the past few weeks. Now I only eat frozen pizza for dinner twice a week. My greatest achievement, my pièce de résistance, was a chicken caesar salad in pitta bread, which I prepared last Thursday. It was fantastic, good enough to share even, but unfortunately I didn't have any witnesses at the time. My inner circle of family and friends are highly sceptical of some of my "alleged meals", but I reckon it's just a ruse, a complicated plot to try and trick me into cooking for them. That's not going to happen any time soon.
There is one small matter concerning me slightly at the moment. I have a spare ticket to my debs that needs to be pawned off on some poor, unfortunate woman. The débutante's ball is by definition a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and it's a last chance to say goodbye to former classmates. It's only a month away, and I know that girls need at least three months to get ready, but I haven't asked anyone yet.
Like any other night out, it'll take me 15 minutes to get ready. Rub of a razor, quick shower, Tux on, bit of product in the hair and I'm away. For girls on the other hand, it's a whole different story. Picking a dress, making sure that no one else will be wearing a remotely similar colour. Trying out multiple hair colours and styles in the months before the event to be sure that it will work. Strategically planning holidays to optimise her tan for the day, only to destroy herself with fake tan the weekend before anyway. If preparing for a debs is this arduous, it makes me wonder why anyone would want to get married.
At the moment there's one lady who I'm contemplating inviting, but seeing as how our relationship has yet to pass the text message and phone call stage, I think it's still too early to pop the question. She seems like the relatively stable type, so she should be able to cope with only a week or two to beautify herself.
Of course the charmer within will tell her that she's beautiful enough already and she need only show up. No doubt she's done all the hard work preparing for her own debs anyway.
But before then, there's two weeks sailing on the Asgard II, leaving all thoughts of debs and dinners behind, safe in the knowledge that I won't be missing anything important.
Seamus Conboy completed his Leaving Certificate at Scoil Caitriona, Mobhi Road, Dublin, this year
