Original published in The Clifton Courier, November 4, 2017

Something incredible happened over the weekend*.

* And by this I mean, the weekend before. Last weekend the only incredible thing that happened to me was that I was stung for TEN BUCKS for a bloody bottle of water for the table when I met some friends at cafe. I was livid. It might even become an entire column, I’m so angry. Please stand by. 

For one thing, I went into a port-a-loo barefoot and managed to avoid contracting any major diseases. This probably deserves an entry in a medical journal, as I’ve heard that feet are quite absorbent (which, I guess, is why the old Vicks vapour rub on the soles of the feet sealed in with socks is such an effective cold remedy).

But something bigger than my fortuitous swerving of a fungal foot infection happened.

It was if the stars aligned, like some higher being was up there pulling the cosmic strings from the heavens to orchestrate a miraculous event in history. It was strange, as if I’d known deep down on a cellular level for some time that this collision of fates was not only coming, but had to happen for some greater purpose. However, I didn’t realise the gravity of this apparent prophecy until it actually eventuated.

And then I knew that I was born for this moment.

So just what in the heck am I talking about? Is all this hyperbole and lukewarm poetry going to be worth the payout?

You’ve already read more than 150 words, but was this worth the investment of your time when you could have made a start on the crossword on Page 4?*

* I must admit, I’ve started doing those crosswords and hoooooy boy are they satisfying to complete. I can understand why someone would bypass my smutty dribble fora cheeky brainteaser. 

That depends on how you view things.

If you think that rounding up three people with the same, slightly obscure first name is a waste of time then perhaps the crossword is for you. But if you believe in magic, then you’ll know that this is something to be celebrated.

Because over the weekend I achieved a long-held goal of mine: I finally managed to get all three of Clifton’s Colleens together for a photo.

After years of trying to make it happen, it happened. And it was glorious.

The power of C* combined and I could feel the aftershocks reverberating inside me, almost rattling my ribcage.

* Yes, I made them make a “C” shape with their hands. 

The result saw me chalk up more than 60 likes on Instagram, but it’s hard to quantify something like that.

Especially because I think this photo represents something more than the assured legacy of an Irish name.

It represents a new phase in this marvellous continuum of adulthood for me.

With all the complaints us young folk make about growing up like the never-ending onslaught of financial responsibilities and having to call to make our own appointments, there’s a lot of negatives surrounding adulthood.

But one thing we should all raise a teacup to is the fabulous perk that is realising you can be mates with the grown-ups from your childhood. Somewhere along the line our brains matured, we could legally hang out in licensed premises and our bus drivers and the tuckshop ladies became people. And not just the people who could get us from A to B or handed out hotdogs in brown paper bags, but people like us.

When this happens, your friendship base expends beyond the people you went to school or swimming club or uni with and you have all these extra people in your life to spin a yarn with.

The even nicer thing about this is that being in a place like Clifton where you still talk to the lady who taught you how to type is that these people aren’t just limited to the parents of your schoolmates. They’re the everyday people who happened to be around as you were growing up. I like being able to rock up to the pub or the rec grounds alone, knowing there’ll be a good handful of top-notch people there to have a good chat with. Some people go their whole lives without knowing that kind of connection, so even though our water supply could be a little better*, we’re pretty lucky to be here.

* A lot better. I mean, there was a lot of calcium build up in Mum and Dad’s toilet before they finally replaced it. It always made things awkward when guests weren’t briefed on the Number Two situation for the main toilet in the house. 

On a related note, if there are any other Colleens in the area who weren’t part of the Cosmic Colleen Convention*, please make yourselves known**. I’ll see you at the show.

** I’ve since been informed that there were at least two Colleens I missed in the photo. I’m genuinely hoping to round them up for the Clifton Show in February. Hopefully this means I’ll be able to write my plane tickets home off on tax. 

* I’ve started brainstorming ideas for what this meeting could be, asking mates for what they think the collective noun for a group of Colleens should be. So far I’ve got “COLt”, “COLLection”, “COLony”, “COLLege” and “COLtivation”. I’m always open to suggestions.