Originally, Kate, Caoimhe, Cora, Alicia, Aaron, and I had planned to meet Grace and Jessie in Dublin to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. However, it was big deliverable week for us ethnographers, so instead St. Patrick’s day started off in Dundee with not enough sleep, lots of transcription, and a desire for cocaine in my tea.
It continued much the way a normal day at the Uni would. Team NCR had a lunchtime meeting with Catriona–I expected it to be brief, so I didn’t grab my notebook. However, it ended up being a wealth of good ideas, so I scribbled them down on my alabaster-pale arm. I have actually always liked the way pen looked on pale skin–I used to draw pretty patterns on my hands in high school. My harp teachers hated it. I have found, however, that it’s actually pretty useful for when you need to think about something. Then, you don’t have to make an effort to put it in front of you–no opening a notebook, nothing. It’s just there, and you can’t escape it and are therefore forced to think about it.
Most of the day we worked in our project groups. Kate and Alicia had an epiphany of some variety and were busy plotting away, like they do.
Team NCR, on the other hand, entered full-blown analysis mode. We took quotes and paraphrases from our fieldnotes and put them on post-its. Notes from the tech-savvy participants are in orange; the not-so tech savvy participants have green notes.
After a hard day of the kind of work that fries brains, hardcore, we decided to placate ourselves (and celebrate a little) with a trip to the pub. After all, what is St. Patrick’s Day without a pint o’ Guinness? I ran into Frances on the way to Lidl (I desperately needed to pick up some food for Alicia and I so that we might actually eat), and invited her to come along with us, but she allowed as how she might not make it. She did, however, let me admire her pretty pink stethescope.
The pub, as it turned out, was just what we needed.
Cora practiced giving looks that would dissolve people into component atoms.
And we drank up.
Alicia smirked, and found 5 pounds that she had squirreled away in her pocket previously.
While Caoimhe, our wild Irish rose, by turns chatted up everyone around us and listened peacefully to the totally inappropriate conversation us Americans were having.
Even with all the work hanging over our heads, it was a nice day. On the way back to the bus stop I encountered not one, but two groups of men singing raccously on the street. One of them handed me a flyer for a gentlemen’s club.