It was always going to be a dismal day. I woke up to sun streaming through the curtains, the kind of Irish sun that's there at 7am and fecks off when you go outside. Somehow in my sleep I'd managed to get my duvet out of my duvet cover and the sheet off my bed and was lying halfway off, blankets and various clothes in a nest around my face, CDs falling off the shelf above me.
I, being a teenager (or a particularly "creative soul"), took no notice and trudged to the bathroom, yesterday's eye make-up somewhere between my cheeks and arms.
After a few loud kitchen rummagings to no complaints, I realised I was home alone. Time for the loud music (This was my choice, surprisingly) , and rabbit feeding (typoed that as "rabbit feeling") , and faceplanting on the trampoline.
Then to pack my bag for town. Overdue library books, as is my forté - I like to think I return them late so I can pay the fine to give them some extra moolah, but really I'm just unorganized - empty wallet for the hell of it, loose euro coins, used up disposable camera just in case there's one photo left, iPod with no charge and/or headphones etc etc y'all know how it is.
And the bike. She was a beautiful specimen so she was. Halfords' best. Lovely turquoise shade on her like. Usual scrapes, but they were covered with unused plasters intended for my leg that time I fell off on the 'nal - rejected cause along with certain kinds of paint, I'm allergic to fabric plasters. 21 gears, although 2-6 and 2-7 get a bit dodgy sometime and she doesn't enjoy the transition from 2 to 1. She's been my pride and joy, and means of transport and independence for a long time.
Plus I can cycle with no hands.
So I did fly into town that morning for about 11, right up to the library, negotiating that Rose Inn Street/High Street/Patrick Street/The Parade junction like a bawse. All ready to offload my books (George Orwell and semi-documentaries on child soldiers in Asia for the most part) and a few of my euros, only to find the library is shut on Mondays. But sure.
Looked around for a nice spot to leave me bike and decided that the side of a house just next to the library was my best bet. Walked down to behind the old swimming pool for a read of my book because as always I'd been naive enough to think that Irish people wake up and venture into town before 2.
Pottered in and tried to help with the last minute Oxegen shopping without being a total Moody Maura*, dunno how I did though, you'll have to ask t'others.
At about 5, I went with Joseph to check that she was still there but no. I didn't even do the frantic looking about the place, sure, I gazed about a bit, and walked around, but I knew I wouldn't find her. I'm not sure which is worse, the idea of her rotting in the river, or the idea of a short fat illiterate ginger kid abusing her. I walked through the not-so aptly named "Peace Park", getting harassed by some kids looking for money and willing to throw a few punches for it. Long story short (well, not really, looking at the 9 paragraphs of trash up above, apologies), my police report went something like this:
Anna Reade
5 Thorngrove
Danesfort
Blue bike
Left of lib.
11am - 5pm
€100-200
no lock
no lock
no lock
no lock
no lock
No. Lock.
Serves me right, wha?
*Phrase courtesy of Meghan
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