We're Not In The Shire Anymore

Me and Aimee are staying up in Dublin tonight, for the Peter Marks Colour Trophy, which Aimee has been entered to.

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The first point of call was the bar in the hotel we're staying at.

Aimee got a little bit nervous I think, but she said - rather than being nervous - she had a thirst and her mouth was a bit dry.

I'd get the same "thirst" and "dry mouth" right before going on stage. It is a thirst that water simply cannot quench.

It'll be a fun night anyway; the colour trophy is a early competition where all of the Peter Mark salons in Ireland enter people to compete and find a winner of all the different locations.

I can't share Aimee's hair atm, but it does look really cool.

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€18.40 for two drinks, I nearly died of fright; I could feel my hair turn white with shock.

That's Dublin for you, and in general, the hotel is fairly fancy so they can kind of charge what they like.

If I had to rate the pint though, it would be low. I'm a quarter down and already the head is gone.

Is it worth the money? No. But, is the atmosphere good? Yes.

I'm a bit nervous to be fair, because I don't know many of Aimee's colleges, and the herself and the ones I do know the most will be back stage until around 9 PM.

It's going to be a wild one I'd say. I can feel the giddiness in the air. I'm a lone wolf wandering blind into the heart of darkness. I'm armed only with alcohol and enough for a doob.

It'll be eventful I'm sure.

At this very moment I'm in the lobby waiting for our room, while Aimee is off being prepared. The pint is my only company.

Killerwot, signing off. Wish my look, and may god have mercy on my soul.