This time last year I was in Dublin, getting ready to go see U2 play Croke Park.
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I was also dying from stomach flu and only made it to Dublin by taking the day before off work, overdosing on Lucozade and Imodium and spending the four hours between arriving at our hotel and heading to the stadium wrapped up in bed. I never really listened to U2 much before that night – I was accompanying my brother, the uber-fan – but their live show converted me.
The concert is a good memory not just because it was amazing, we had a good time and at some point during the support act I recovered from my stomach flu, but because I only had one week left in work. (By ‘work’, I mean the hellish deceptionist job I had where I deflected flaming balls of sh-t other people had thrown for eight hours a day.) I was about to quit to write my novel, which is exactly what I did.
Can I do the same this autumn? Let’s bloody well hope so!
(The writing a novel bit. Not the quitting, obviously.)