Thursday, March 24, 2011

Thing 342 Buried Completely in Sand

Let me begin by saying; You can leave your hat on... deh duh deh duh deh deh... Check out Dr Frasier in this sex shock topless photo. He's working that swimsuit. Secondly let me say; this was a really terrible idea. I suffer from claustrophobia. Exactly what did I think would be the result of burying myself in sand completely? It was always going to be a terrifying experience.

Since we're enjoying all the fine weather, and it's awesome and all that, myself and Lady Awesome Mermaid Elegance, Dr Frasier and Surfer Girl headed for the West of Clare. No specific destination in mind, but we ended up in Lehinch. It has this strange magnet which draws you in. I was all about the Kilkee, but apparently we don't live in an awesome dictatorship over which I rule supreme.

I broke my swimming duck for the year, which is kind of a shame since I do look forward to my Galway swim in June, but it had to be done, because I was completely covered in sand. There was sand in places I didn't know I had. There was sand in places I did know I had, but never ever wanted to get sand in.

Once again, it's only logical to assume that if you bury yourself in sand, you're going to be sandy afterwards. Where's my head at?
I felt bad for the guys, I basically turned them into workers on my behalf. We all spent some time digging a hole large enough for me to lie down in comfortably. Which actually turned out to be more work than previously thought. Much respect to the five year olds who dig holes this big on the beach every year. I salute your tiny working hands.

In order to aid breathing, I cut the end off a two-litre bottle, and stuck the top in my mouth so I could breathe properly. The lads waited till almost all of me was covered, then I popped the bottle in the mouth, squeezed my eyes shut and they shovelled sand all over me. The second my ears were covered, the panic set it. Sound getting drowned out, pitch black behind my tightly shut eyes, the noise of the others talking and laughing became muffled. I couldn't move my arms or legs in the densely packed sand.

All reason leaves, and quick. I know there's Dr Frasier standing near by, waiting to pull me out if something goes wrong, but there's not a lot of logic or rationality in a phobia. Which I guess is the kind of idea. I panicked, my stupid tongue caught the top of the bottle, briefly cutting off my air supply and I panicked like mad... burst the head up through the sand and spat the bottle out like a petulant child. Sometimes I'm an incredible wuss of a man...

Photos hadn't been taken. Crap. I had to put the head back down and get another shot. Curse my wussy countenance. Isn't this kind of the idea though? Challenge myself. Good god I can't wait till this Project is done...
P.S. Reality TV live from The Sluggary on March 31st. Links will be here.
P.P.S. Birthday/End of Project Party in O'Connell's at the Old Quarter in Limerick on April 14th. If I've forgotten to send you an invite, it's not because I don't love you, it's because I'm stupid. Pop on down.


  1. So it did not turn out like Thing 137: Shipwrecked this time round no?

  2. ill bury my spade in your sand sandra KEKEKEKEKE :^*