Kat Dancing

Urg.

Got stranded in Armidale for a day because the wind was too bad for the ferry to run- Armidale being one of the world's most boring places. On the bright side, I found a *really cool* jigsaw puzzle. It was called 'Street Music', artist's name now forgotten, but very cool anyway, only I am no longer allowed to look at cool pictures because my mind insisted on coming up with stories for the faces and I now have the histories, names, families, and tribulations of twelve dancing Victorian-era children stuck in my head. Dammit. I really don't understand people who complain that they never have enough story ideas- I've been looking for the off-tap for *years*.

Had a very cool talk with a transposed Irishman on the way down... unfortunately the rest of the day was less cool. I had to scramble thourgh Glasgow, doing none of the research I was hoping to do, which was a Bad Thing as it turns out my guidebook had no info on Northern Ireland and my cellphone, predictably since I needed the damned thing, died. Oh, well, I thought, there'll be some brochures at the ferry terminal, right? (Wrong. Also, the only reason I caught the ferry was because it was a half-hour late, so I was a bit rushed through the terminal anyway.) Oh, well, I thought, some on the ferry for *sure*. (Wrong.) Oh well, I thought, I'll have some time to poke around and find a place to stay in Belfast.

Wrong. The ferry was an hour late; I got in at ten o'clock, and this turned out to be the only city I've come across in Britain where one is not practically tripping over youth hostels and B&Bs. The few I found were sticking up 'No Vacancy' signs as I came up the drive. The only- and I do mean the only- place I managed to find with a vacancy was someplace called the Europa Hotel, and it looked like, even if they actually let me *in*, I'd be spending a week's travel funds on a single night's lodging in there.

By this point I'd been wandering for two hours. (And had stumbled across a place with lots of flags which I thought might be a hostel but turned out to be something called the United Freedom Fighters. I retreated in haste.) My feet hurt. My legs hurt. My knee hurt (I had, of course, had to rush to catch the ferry back at Armidale, taken a shortcut across a beach, and slipped on some seaweed; think I've bruised a tendon.) My back very, very, very much hurt, since I had my own personal Old Man of the Sea in backpack form to accompany me on my travels. I gave up, picked out a well-lit park bench, and settled in for the night.

So- a night on a park bench in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Definately not something to write the parents home about. I tried not to think about how insanely dangerous the whole thing was- in fact, I'm *still* trying not to think about that; it gives me the shakes. But nobody bothered me. The hardest bit was trying to get any sleep at all. I was too tired to read, but not quite tired enough to be comfortable on a cold, narrow, unpleasant park bench on a busy street. I've never regretted my height so much in my life- no matter what position I tried (and believe me, I went through most of them) there seemed to be too much of me, both for the park bench and for my limited supply of warm clothes, it being a tad chill at night out there.

About five am, just as I had given up on sleeping, a local girl asked me if I was all right and if I wanted a rolly, in that order.

"No thanks," I said, "I don't smoke. I'm just sort of crashing here."

"Have you been here all night?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" she demanded incredulously.

"Yes," I said firmly.

We talked for about an hour- she was a very nice girl. I gather that Ireland's no longer a competetor for the World Cup, which is a shame. They lost out to Spain on penalties. "Grown men were crying in pubs," she informed me gravely. "In front of other men! It was so wonderful. Except it wasn't wonderful, of course, because Ireland lost."

I told her there weren't any pubs in America. She had serious trouble with the concept.

When six am rolled around I went off and checked into the YHA for the next night, dropped off the Old Man of the Sea, and went off to find some food- had I mentioned that I managed to get on the ferry with no cash, only cards, which they do not of course take on ferries? I had eaten nothing but a few mouthfuls of porridge at Armisdale and the last crumbs of my groceries on the train for the last twenty-four hours. I was *hungry*. In fact, I'm still hungry, but I'm having to pace myself or I'll give myself a bellyache. I gather than I can get back into the hostel and claim a bed at one, which I am seriously looking forward to. To sleep, perchance to dream- I am drifting around town more asleep than awake right now, stumbling my way across pedestrian crossings, to the annoyance of the cars.

Read Louise Cooper's, what was it 'Lady of the Snow', in the public library, to kill time somewhere warm and friendly and carless. Quite good.