'Awake on my airplane, awake on my airplane...'
'...please ensure that all trays are in their upright position and all electronic devices are switched off during landing or else you'll plough into the side of a mountain and die screaming like the miserable self-loathing streak of piss you are'
'Huh?' I say, bolting upright in my seat. The woman to my left, looks up from her magazine and regards me as though I've just touched her inappropriately. She glares, her nostrils flaring like missile-silos.
'Sorry' I say, and look out the window. Shannon airport looms into view as the plane banks round to the approach and I groan as I stretch my back. It's sunny and warm, the sunlight dancing off the roofs of the cars gleaming beneath us...
'Howeya' says the Chief throwing open the back door. I lug my bag into the back seat and clamber in the front with a sigh.
'Grand day for it' I say, sticking on my belt. It suddenly occurs to me that I spend a disproportionate amount of my life with belts around me.
'Right so' he says, gunning the engine, 'let's go'. And we do, off to Co. Clare.
'...my skin is bare, my skin is theirs'
Cahercomman Ring-fort. Co. Clare. 'Show us yer Hairy Molly then' I say. She leads me over to a ditch in the fort, where a small orange and black creature, around about the size of a 10 cent piece is cowering under some leaves. I don't know why, but I get the distinct impression that it's hungover and wants to be left alone. I take a picture and back off.
We get to a modern viewing platform, sit ourselves down and get comfortable. There's a slight wind whipping about us and the Chief gets busy snapping every square inch of the fort - the walls, the entrance, the plants twisting through the rocks, the hills around it, the mounds of cattle-shit splattered about the place. Someone passes me a joint. I think about it for a second and stick it in my mouth. Almost instantly I can feel it - the comfortable kick in the back of the throat, the smoke swirling through me, the tingling in the hands. I close my eyes, the fort spinning slightly. Oh fuck, why did I do this?
'Could you wanna take my picture? Cos I won't remember...'
I take out my camera and make a great labour of getting the settings right. 'Bastarding, cunting fucking thing' I mumble as the lens zooms in and out, humming and hawing, whirling and clicking. I snap some shots of the distance and try to catch the sweep of the walls. After a few minutes, I wander off around the corner to try to get a better view. One that doesn't look like the government have sanitised the place into another link in a monumental theme park. I stop, sit down on a series of rocks and fiddle with the camera. Again, it hums and whirls. So do my eyes. I squint, trying to focus, trying to stay in shot. The jagged stones of the wall reel, spin and slide around me. My back aches like fuck. I can feel the vertabrae grinding in my hip.
I groan, holding my head for a moment and when the spinning subsides I open my eyes again. Beside me, not four feet away, sitting on a rock and for all the world looking like evil-incarnate is a great big fucking Raven. The grass makes me giggle.
'Don't tell me' I say with a snigger, 'your name's Quoth'?
'Oh don't be such a fucking twat' he says with a flap of the left wing. 'Pratchett already did that gag. And he's a darn sight funnier than you are'
'Oh' I say meekly.
The Raven regards me, shifts his weight from one leg to the other and cocks his head.
'Why do you smoke that shite anyway?' he asks.
'Well,' I begin and then stop. 'Well, it's you know, good for the head sometimes. Helps you think differently'
'Uh huh' says the Raven, 'so that's why you haven't written anything worth wiping your arse with in nearly two years then is it?'
I open my mouth to speak, stop half-way and close my beak.
'That's what I thought' he says with a flap and a croak. 'Anyway, you got any left?'
'Uhm, sorry. Gear's not mine' I say nodding my head towards the voices behind the bank wall.
'Hmpf. Fucking tourists. Time was I'd have gouged their eyeballs out for even coming in here. What are they, Yanks?'
'I think one of them is German'
'Oh for fucks sakes. Huns. That's all I need.'
'Could everyone agree that no-one should be left alone?'
'I had a dream about us last night'
'Oh yeah?'
'Yeah, we were making love'
[pause] 'Really?'
'Yeah. You weren't very good though'
'Oh'
'Hey Dad, what do you think about your son now?'
Newgrange. I walk up the hill, the blistering gleam of the white stones almost blinding me. Despite the cloudless day, the wind snaps around the group. Germans, Italians, the odd Irish. The tour guide launches into her speech. She knows her stuff no doubt, but I zone out, looking around me. I hear a squawk and look up. A large black bird circles to the left, barrel-rolling over the top of the passage grave.
'Fuck' I mutter.
An elderly Italian man glares at me. He mumbles something incomprehensible.
'Saddlesniffer' I say under my breath.
Finally, after what seems like an age, we walk into the entrance of the tomb. The light quickly shifts, the tunnel narrowing, the stones getting closer. So close you can almost smell them. We shuffle in, one by one, barely enough room to move. I'm the last one in, idling at the back.
I stand at the rear of the group, listening to the dates and ages being rattled off. Neolithic this, Megalithic that.
'Pssst'
I look around. There's no-one behind me.
'Pssssst!'
There's a Raven perched on one of the stones, some distance behind the group. Slowly, I step backwards, slipping back into the darkness of the tunnel.
'Yeah?' I say quietly.
'Are you the one who was talking to Mick the other day?'
I say nothing for a moment, making sure I'm not being watched.
'Mick?' I ask.
'Ugly fucker, scruffy feathers'
'Oh right. Yep. That was me'
'Good. He called last night. Asked me to tell you forgot something out there'
'Oh yeah. What? What did I forget?'
'I dunno. He just said to tell you. Anyway, I better be off'
'What the...?' I begin, but it's too late. He melts into the rock.
A moment passes.
'Ahhhhhhh....' I say, stifling a laugh.
And I feel like a newborn. Kicking and screaming.
+Choon+
'Take a Picture' by Filter (from the album 'Welcome to the Fold')
+Piccie+
