I work with a guy, who no matter what you say is wrong with you (including, today, having ‘The Fields of Athenry’ stuck in your head) says ‘there’s nothing worse’. So leaving broken limbs and falling off heads aside, here’s a countdown of my current top ten of ‘there’s nothing worse’. 10. Having a song stuck in your head – This really depends on the song and what you associate with it. If it’s a four word loop of something by the Cheeky Girls, Whigfield or, to be more current, Jedward, then that’s seriously head wrecking. However, if it’s a song that reminds you of something or someone good or if it’s along the lines of ‘We Are the Champions’ then it’s fantastic! 9. Getting to the phone as it stops ringing – This is made worse when you then go to call the person straight back and you can’t get them because they’re leaving you a voicemail, are ringing someone else or have just dropped the phone and ran away, as some stand up comedian once said. 8. Banged knee – I...
Last Sunday my Granddad got up and went to 9 o'clock Mass in his local church. Last Sunday I got up and brought my mother to brunch at 11.30am in Odessa. Later my Granddad had a roast goose dinner, followed by trifle and cream. I had smoked salmon eggs benedict, freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee. After dinner, my Granddad (aged 90 and almost a half) went fishing. After brunch, I (aged 31 and almost three-quarters) went shopping. After fishing, my Granddad walked from the river, through the fields, to the bridge to wait for his lift. After shopping, I went to lie on the couch in my boyfriend's house, tired from a night out and early start. Last Sunday, my Granddad sat on the bridge, hands on the stone either side and bowed his head. Last Sunday, as I started to open an ice-cream and sit on a bench, I got a call from my mother, sobbing. Never sick, we never expected him to go. His first admittance to hospital was for his post mortem. He went they way he should, a...
I’ve always carried an organ donor card . I’ve always told my parents my wishes, worried that I’d go to waste. My father would wince, thinking of what would have to happen for me to give life. My mother would wince, thinking of her daughter’s eyes. When I was little I would go with my father to Pelican House and watch proudly, and fascinated, as he gave blood. He couldn’t watch as they put in the needle, nor as it drew blood, but he did it regularly for as long as he could. I remember getting ‘the owner is a donor’ pencils and ‘drive carefully, you might need me, I’m a blood donor’ car stickers. Back when I still used pencils every day and couldn’t wait to get a car just to stick up those words. I remember working out how long it would take me to get to 20, 50, 100 donations if I started on my 18 th birthday and gave every 90 days. I was much better at mental arithmetic then. I've since started to give blood , moved on to platelets, took a break, went back to...
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