shiny blogging nonsense

He's four years gone today and I still remember the call, and I'm still not right for it. My mother rang me Wednesday just gone, 19 minutes before I was due over for dinner.  She wanted me to bring gravy, she'd run out and we were having beef. Every time my parents ring unexpectedly, or pause before speaking, I expect bad news.  More will come, and it has, though none like that day, thank God. Gradually I stopped writing for fear someone else would go. As if this blog, had some sort of strange, dark power. I told the story, of that day, to a friend only last Sunday and she started to cry.  She'd never met my Granddad but when I told her that when my Granny heard the news she stood up and asked to be brought to him, at the bridge, where he lay, my friend cried for them. On the day of his funeral Granny said that things would never be the same, and they're not. For a man who said very little, his presence is missed. There's a ho...

The following things have, in no particular order, not happened to me this year: Two weddings One funeral Two boys One girl A brain tumour An engagement A cancer diagnosis A first birthday  A car crash  Two new jobs One new relationship

Inspired by 13 scary things that always happened at school I started thinking of the grown up, work, equivalent.  I thought of three before I started to get paranoid , a bit bored and realised I sho uld actually be doing some work. 1. Turning up to work in your walking-to-work runners and realising you've forgotten your work shoes , and you've a meeting. 2. Calling your colleague, or worse still your manager, your boyfriend / girlfriend / husband / wife / child / dog's name. 3. Sleeping in and waking up with precisely enough time to get to work, if you don't have a shower , never mind get a co ffee.   

On Sunday as I reached the beginning of the pier again, I checked my phone and saw a notification that said 'Alan Mechanic has joined Viber' and sighed.  Don't get me wrong I'm not a technophobe, I love my phone and its apps and I've been an avid user of the internet since 1998. My first internet profile was the name of a Beanie baby, followed by an underscore, my favourite number, another underscore, my second favourite number, yet another underscore and the year. As I said it was 1998. You know when login into your PC in work, and you're asked to change your password? It's 9:01am, you haven't drained your coffee yet, words and thoughts can't form and so you end up changing it to stapler1? It was kind of like that.  Though of course, in reality, you have to include an uppercase letter, a lowercase letter, a 7-digit number, a hieroglyphic and your mother's shoe size, and it can't be any word you've spoken out loud or in your head ...

Last week... Someone in the office: Is it this weekend the hour changes? K: Yeah, the clocks go forward. S: So we lose an hour? Me: Ah, I'm confused. P: Just remember 'Spring forward, Fall back'... Me: Oh, I know that, I just thought it was October. Today...  N: They're putting our rent up.. Me: When your lease is up in April? N: Yeah, so we're looking around. Me: Sure at least it's summer and you've time to look with the school holidays... Later today... Me: They haven't given you much notice then? N: Not really, they only told us today. Me: When  do you pay your rent? N: The 29th of the month. Me: So they've given you two weeks?! Is it any wonder I haven't written anything here since October...!!

Last Thursday evening I left work about ten or fifteen minutes later than my usual shiny-shaped hole in the door at 17:01. As I was walking close to home, I saw a little old lady walking towards me.  I have a thing about smiling, nodding or saying hello to older people. They come from a better time when that’s what people did, and I always remember when I was in school hearing a story about a woman who would get the bus every day and sit on a bench in the shopping centre in the hope that someone would talk to her. So I smiled and she looked up at me, then stopped me to ask directions. We were further along the road than she was looking for, but when I pointed the way nothing registered on her face. I quickly realised. She said she’d been walking for a long time, maybe for four miles, she liked to walk.  I asked if she knew her address, and like it was a test she shot out the right answer. I told her I would look it up, and thanked technology for smar...

Buffalo mozzarella is made from buffalo milk, and is not just big mozzarella. Buffaloes come in male and female. The plural of buffalo is buffaloes. Nuns are not entitled to free travel, unless they are over 66, which they often are. On a similar theme, Junior Minister doesn't necessarily mean young. When your pregnant friend texts you from her hospital appointment saying 'head down, bum in the air' she means the baby.

I am glad of that. I like  piña coladas  and getting caught in the rain. I like sitting  on my own, outside a Paris café, watching people go by. I like to ride on Jack Yeats’ horse, running blurry and colourful. I like the peace and quiet of it. I like sitting on the couch, in my hundred-year-old tracksuit bottoms, reading a book or talking for hours about everything and nothing, or even watching an episode, for months on end. I like cooking, with real food, after hours thinking, wandering and choosing. I like walking for the walk. I like side streets and back streets. So many things. I don’t know what a Snooki is. I don't play tennis or golf. I don’t drink, or swear, I don’t rat my hair. Sandra Dee I am not, but don’t judge me by your standards, because they are certainly not mine. I have imagination, I cherish it, I nurture it, I feed it with wild stories of talking snails. I don’t want to grow up too far. I like to dream. I like to write. I like to wat...

I don’t like shopping. There, I said it, shun me at will! I mean clothes shopping, I could grocery shop for days on end, I’m strange that way. I’ve never liked it, regardless of my age or size, and I’ve been a lot of ages and most sizes. Maybe it started with my mother, who loves to shop and bought me endless items of red clothing. Her favourite colour, but I’m part-ginger so it didn’t really work for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love fashion, I just don’t follow it. I have a style, I suppose, but I’m not stylish. Like anyone I have favourite colours, shapes and what not. I generally prefer winter clothes to summer clothes, for example. I’m not even a big fan of sunglasses, never mind the rest! I love wool, and the term what not. The thing about it is too, even if you’re a size twelve it doesn’t mean your clothes will be, and I don’t just mean when you’re fooling yourself that you’re a size twelve! You might need a size 16 in one top, then jump for joy when you need a size 10 in ...

How himself and myself are getting on living together. Very well, thanks for asking. It's so easy, despite my tendencies towards Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and the fact that we had both lived alone for years, which makes you odd! We've settled into a routine, despite conflicting work schedules. We have a nice home. What can I say, I'm happy! How I am now friends with my mother and father on Facebook. A sign of being a grown up at last, with nothing to hide. They know who I am now, and there was never really anything to hide in the first place. They truly are my friends now, not just my parents, givers of tenners. How I have neither time, nor inspiration, nor discipline to blog. I'm working on that, and I'm working on something new. How I'm battling between my love of food and my love of fitting in my clothes. I've lost a whopping 1.5lbs in the last two weeks. No, I've lost 1.5lbs in the last couple of weeks! It may ...

Things I haven't blogged about in the last two months: How himself and myself are getting on living together. How I am now friends with my mother and father on Facebook. How I have neither time, nor inspiration, nor discipline to blog. How I'm battling between my love of food and my love of fitting in my clothes. How I'm battling to get through the working day without crawling under my desk. How living my life by a spreadsheet is making my head go a little bit kaboom. How I am not making time for myself, despite all around me telling me to. How I plan to change at least some of the above things. How I went to work today wearing a top that smelled of roast beef.

The phone rings, I answer 'hello', turning off the vacuum cleaner. 'what are you up to?' 'hoovering' 'how was dinner last night?' 'good, really good' 'what'd you get up today?' 'nothing much, took it easy, did the housework, you?' 'the same, and watched the rugby' 'I didn't watch the rugby' *stunned silence* 'I'm not that into the rugby' 'so what did you do today?' 'housework! grocery shopping, laundry, hoovering..!' 'you'd never be done' 'how long does it take to cook a chicken, an hour and a half?' 'no, two hours' 'I thought last time you said an hour and a half..? an hour covered and a half an hour uncovered?' 'I never said anything about covered and uncovered! two hours at 200!' '200? mine's a fan oven?' 'so is mine, put it on for an hour covered with tin foil, then take off the tin foil for the l...

Just making it in before the month and year end, with not much to say.  Christmas was good, though somewhat of a whirlwind. Staying in my parents', eating in my aunt's, driving west to my Mum's family and then on to his, before making it back home again. I ate plenty, I drank enough, I got some of the best presents ever; beautiful earrings, cookery lessons, DVDs, books (including the new Rachel Allen, hurrah!), masses of chocolate and a bottle of Prosecco!  So we're back home and the tree still smells amazing, even through a full and fuzzy head of cold. A great excuse, if one were needed, to stay in this evening. New Year's Eve has always been somewhere between not important and painful to me, after spending many years with no one to kiss at midnight and generally hating forced enjoyment. Paying in, queueing, standing, urgh.  Last year, our first New Year's together, we stayed in, eating picky food from M&S and drinking bubbles. This year I have some of...

Christmas! I’m very excited. I know, I know, it’s only November. Keep calm and wait till December. I can’t help it though, I’m excited. I accidentally started Christmas shopping a few weeks ago, when in Kildare village with my Mum. I put the few things I bought away and forgot about them, but over the last couple of day I officially started, though again somewhat accidentally. You see, November is a busy enough month for me present wise, so I’ve spent some time in the shops. Each week I have a very important person’s birthday. One of my very best friends; followed by my godson, then my mother and then himself. Last year was our First His Birthday, only two months into our relationship, and I was nervous. This year I’m less nervous, and have been making notes, thinking, looking and consulting with friends for the last while. With his birthday and Christmas a mere 25 days apart I’ve had to think smart, make lists and warn him not to buy anything until January. So I’ve spen...

Sniffle snuffle. Cough and splutter. I have a cold. Not a life threatening or life altering thing, just annoying. First a sore throat, then an earache, followed by a headache. It moved down into my chest, leaving me feeling like a small (but heavy) child was sitting on me. Eventually, at 3.45am Saturday morning, it started to clear, amongst painful coughs and child-like tears of frustration at not being able to cough or sleep. Three days later and it has taken over my senses, of smell, and taste. They say you can't get the same cold twice. I didn't realise they meant you couldn't get the same cold two days in a row. A magical travelling circus of a cold, currently residing in the nasal passages. For one day only, I hope! I fear it may be heading north for a grande finale of headachey proportions. But oh, to breathe normally again! To be able to walk for more than 15 minutes at a time, or run up stairs.  Boring you, am I? Imagine how I bloody feel. Big grumpy s...

No really, there isn't.  Work, gym, spending time with himself, Croke Park, MasterChef, Family Guy, cooking, cleaning, eating, drinking, sleeping. That's about it really for the last month. And now I have a cold! Stupid.  

Growing up in my house there were two kinds of football. Football and soccer. No, before anyone starts, we’re not American. We’re Irish. My Mum’s from the hurling side of a Gaelic county and my Dad grew up in Dublin, in a cul de sac full of second generation Dubs like himself, influenced by their culchie parents’ love of the GAA. That said, my mother somewhere along the lines, whether through a love of Kevin Moran, Denis Irwin or the colour red, became an avid Manchester United fan. I’ve often said she would watch the Paraguayan tiddly winks championship, if there was such a thing, so I suppose she had to pick someone to shout for.  My Dad, however, only really watches sport when he’s working at it, and only vaguely supports Sunderland because Niall Quinn’s a nice bloke.  Still though, to save confusion football meant Gaelic football and when talking about the other football, at least until after September, we generally said soccer. Then I went and met a f...

It was a great way to end what was, without a doubt, the best two weeks’ annual leave I’ve ever taken.    On Monday, the Bank Holiday I almost forgot, I met three of my longest serving friends for lunch. At 1pm we met and ordered various combinations of breakfast, lunch and brunch, depending on how long it was since we’d left the bed. Though oddly, the one who was up most recently ordered a burger. I decided on brunch as you’re allowed, if not obliged, to have a drink with it. Some confusion over the drinks order resulted in a very welcome glass of prosecco followed by a bottle of red wine. The bottle was swallowed in no time and dessert and coffees quickly stepped in to fill the void. We decided to go back to my place for another bottle of wine, stopping in Superquinn to buy some crisps, cheese and goodies for later on, just in case.  We arrived and the crisps and jellies were immediately opened as was a bottle of wine, which was poured out into three glas...

I think I must have spent every spare minute in June either watering my garden or driving, lessons and practice for the test! The garden watering was calm and lovely but the stress of the test was a whole other thing. I booked lesson after lesson and came back from each feeling either frustrated at not being a perfect driver, or elated that I'd got a simple 'good' from my instructor. Many times when I got in I thought of, or had, a beer. In part to have a beer and in part to prevent myself from driving again that evening, causing more frustration. I had a date, for my test, and told only my instructor and my manager, who had to authorise my day off. Not my nearest or dearest, or anyone who asked 'have you put in for your test yet?'. I'd just reply with a vague 'yeah' and hope they wouldn't ask any more. It nearly burst out of my mouth 'IT'S NEXT TUESDAY!!' but I held back, wanting to conquer this thing on my own.  The Monday before the...

With help from friends and a new found enthusiasm.    This weekend, with the boy at work, a couple of good (green-fingered) friends came over and we tackled my garden. After a precarious, sharp, left hand turn into the garden centre I set about loading my flat bed trolley, and banging my shins off it! Four 25L bags of top soil, three 75L bags of compost, two rolls of wooden pole things, slow release plant food, tomato food, baby bio, gloves, plants and more plants. I resisted temptation many times and stuck to the plan.  No sooner were we home when the hunger got the better of me, and I escaped to get us some rolls to fill with various combinations of chicken, cheese, coleslaw and stuffing. Leaving my friends to plot and scheme and dig. After lunch we raided the neighbour's skip for bits of broken concrete, bricks and granite to use for drainage. Oh, it was an exciting afternoon. We, and I use the term lightly, made a raised flower bed. Into which we planted som...