Very scattered. That's me. Too much on the go entirely. Trailing ribbons of tax work. Buying lovely linen cushions for the Tigeen and boring plumbly bits for its rainwater connections.
Interviews on newspapers, magazines and radio stations as an article I wrote on lack of broadband in the Newfoundland outports went just about viral. Phone ringing off the hook, journalists finding me on FaceBook, I can't believe how cool I am when faced with the press, and how very bloody Irish I sound.
Seriously. Right off the boat. I am shocked. I thought I had one of those sneery no-accent Dublin twangs going and would tell you that to your face as you turned to hide the snort. I should know better. I spoke at something a few months ago and a stranger came up to me and said "Tirty-Tree" (Thirty-Three) which is our secret handshake/code for "You come from Cork?". He was from Cork originally. We can't escape it I tell you. My lovely spoken English only existed in my head. All those years and years of fancy elocution lessons down the loo. My mother is rolling in her grave.
Meanwhile the play is on the windup to actual performances in Da City and elsewhere. So rehearsals, posters, promotions, oh-me-nerves outbreaks and press releases on the go.
It's all very exciting though as I buzz like some mad seanachie - I feel I've really earned the title with all that's going on - from one chore to the next.
Blogging will be sporadic over the next wee while.
