Thank you

All the fears I'd had about my exhibition and launch turned out to be unfounded and the evening was better than I could ever have hoped for. There was beer and cake for everyone, there were red dots everywhere, and when I gave my reading the audience laughed in three places — which is twice when they were supposed to. Needless to say, I was completely and utterly delighted — a huge thank you to everyone who came.

There are some pics from the opening night at the gallery over here. Big thanks also to Jo for making the cupcakes with the book covers on — so if you couldn't buy the art you could at least eat it — and thanks also to Conor and Andrew for invigilating the gallery the next day while I swanned around town sipping long drinks. I mean, while I was at work.

The book is now available to buy online, and there are also some copies on the shelves in Dublin's gorgeous old Winding Stair bookshop, down near the Ha'penny bridge. You can have a sneaky flick through some of the pages here:

To the Left of the Midwest

A Cowboy's Breakfast

I got the fear about my book and my photography and my entire life this morning when I arrived at the gallery to prepare for my show. I feel so exposed! "Art" seemed much more enjoyable when it involved sitting behind a computer screen eating Fruit Corners all day and blogging.

"I don't want to do this anymore," I said to my American friend David, who had come along with his laser-beam spirit-level to help me hang the prints on the walls.

"Yeah, you do," said David, pulling a pouch of tobacco out of his back pocket and rolling a cigarette. "You just need a cowboy's breakfast, that's all."

"What's that?"

"A smoke and a look around."

Leaving the Immersion on

Last month I moved in with Conor, and the first thing I did in his lovely house was leave the immersion water heater on for three days running. If you're not Irish you probably won't understand the gravity of this, but let me assure you that, in Ireland, 'leaving the immersion on' is right up there with 'having an abortion' and 'refusing a cup of tea'. At the same time.

"Oh god," I said to John Paul when I got to work. "I just left the immersion on for three days running."

John Paul staggered backwards into the wall. "Three days?" he said. "Three days running?"

The general Irish rule for heating the water tank is no longer than 15 minutes: enough to fill half a luke-warm bath and isn't that good enough for you. But three days? Three days running?

Anna looked up from her desk grimly. "You do realise that using the immersion costs around 10 euro an hour?"

Ten euro an hour! I did a quick, wild calculation in my head. That's over two thousand quid!

"Maybe you should call the ESB?" said JP, seeing my panic, but I shook my head. This isn't about the electricity board anymore, John Paul. Unfortunately, this is now about the imminent end of my relationship. So I wrote to Quentin Fotrell, the Agony Uncle on the Ray D'Arcy show instead.

Dear Quentin

I moved in with the love of my life at the weekend, which we are both very happy about. However, I'm afraid that this is all about to come to an abrupt end.

Last Sunday night I switched on the immersion for a bath. This morning I took a very hot shower. The immersion has been on for almost three days! Have you got any idea how much this will cost, how I can tell the love of my life, and when I should tell him? Now? When the bill arrives? Or never and hope for the best?

I thought about contacting Des Bishop, but really what good would that do? Please advise me Q, you're my only hope.

Yours,

Clean but Forgetful

Dear Clean,

This is, indeed, an Irish obsession. Along with leaving the iron or cooker on. I am more obsessed with the latter. I once went on holidays and, in the taxi on the way to the airport, I thought, 'I think I left the cooker on...'. On the plane heading towards New York, I feared, 'My cooker will be pretty hot by now.' On top of the Empire State Building, I looked out over the glorious Manhattan skyline and suddenly, I was knocked back to reality as I remembered the cooker. I stood on a mountain in Vermont, losing myself in the blanket of white snow, and thought, 'My cooker.' I felt a knot in my stomach and my face burn with fear and not-knowing.

My point is: Des Bishop's observation about the immersion, and yours, and my fear of leaving the cooker on when I go away is really nothing to do with either piece of equipment. It's a way of not enjoying the moment, finding something to get The Fear over, when all else is fine and dandy. Forget about the immersion. If the bill's a little high, so be it. He'll never know it was you. If he finds out, do what I have done, get a booster button. You press it once, and it stays on for half-an-hour, then goes off automatically. Come clean, if need be, and tell him it's your gift for a happy homelife together.

Yours,

Aunty Quinty x

As usual, I felt reassured by Quentin's advice (yes, alright, it's not the first time I've written to him). But I still felt horribly worried about the financial repercussions: no bubble-bath is worth over two thousand quid! So I called the ESB, where a very kind-sounding lady kept me on hold while she worked out an estimate.

"Hello?" she said, after what seemed like an hour.

"Hello," I croaked, with a lump in my throat, two thousand quid for a bubble-bath suddenly seeming like a pretty good deal.

"Leaving the immersion on costs, on average," she said, breaking the news to me as gently as she could. "About 20 euro a week."