Because a Trinners student scolded me

Okay, okay, I'm a poor correspondent; a negligent letter-writer, a bogus blogger. I don't have the bug that would give you a daily update of my whereabouts and walkabouts, and lucky for you too. It's not like nothing interesting has happened to me since July, but rather the opposite; so many interesting things have happened that I haven't even known how to begin approaching blogging them.

Anyway, isn't this a pleasant surprise for you? Now, a bit of housekeeping: things that have happened in the last three or so months that I can remember and are still worthy of comment.

• October weather has been a roulette of spring, late summer and autumn. Meanwhile, I hear Cork is flooded. Again.
• However, one's judgement on weather is hugely determined by what hours one keeps. Yes, folks, I am now like the rest of ye. Well, let's not get carried away. I now keep roughly the same hours as ye. There was a reorganisation of the newsroom here, during which 50 people took voluntary redundancy (perhaps more on this later), a day shift came up, and I jumped at it, despite the fact that the night desk I had been on was very keen on me joining them permanently. So, after nearly seven years of working nights, there is a new, blurry-eyed, rush hour-dodging, rat-racing me.
• The main reason for this monumentous move is the Special One, or, more specifically, her decision to finally give up the pub trade and get a job in some way related to the fashion industry. She starts as the assistant manager of a luxury sportswear boutique on the famous King's Road, Chelsea, tomorrow. Just as I have my first proper day job, this is the Special One's first salaried job. Welcome to the joys of getting paid monthly, Special One.
• Of course, the Special One being special, she got the job despite the fact that she's off to France for five days on Saturday. I was due to visit the Scholar in the hallowed halls of Cambridge, where he's doing a masters in anthropology, but apparantly being a genius doesn't preclude having to study and write essays, so there goes that plan. Anyway, he's no Doney Cassanova in the messing stakes.
• Speaking of whom (aren't I linking all these disparate strands of my life brilliantly), Doney's coming over at the start of December to go to Primal Scream with me. It's been a good couple of months for gigs, in fact. I saw the New York Dolls in the Forum with some workmates last Sunday, and the Rolling Stones, finally, at Twickenham with the Special One at the end of August.

Right, that's your lot for now. More, probably, on the work situation. If I fall back into slacking, you know who to call.