So I’m sitting here on New Years Eve 2010 thinking back on the year that was. It’s been a pretty good one as things go. I started off with the ringing in the year at Christ Church in the snow and the excitment of finding a home to share with himself. The big move happened in February, and a few tears were shed as one phase of life closed and a new one began. It was pretty scary in the begining, but as we learned to live together and got settled I think we blossomed to fill our small Capel Street apatment and the convenience of living in town.

Spring brought a short hop to Belguim just before the ash cloud hit. We had some great kwak (aka craic) on afternoons of beer and cidar, evenings walking along canals, and a Sunday morning wandering around a maze of random markets. May brought the wedding of some great friends where we danced the night away, and introducing himself to the extended clan at a family gathering in Cork. I was so proud to see him hold his own with all the aunts, uncles and cousins, and even endear himself to my sister by offering a hand in the kitchen.

A warm and balmy city summer was a new experience. I had a good bit of free time as himself was working like a dog, so my evenings were filled with spinning around town on a Dublin Bike and stroles along the river. I even got me a skater boy helmet for fear of being bulldozed by some yummy mummy in her 4×4. Other highlights of the summer were a group of Unitarians trying to convert us, some work cup watching with surrogate support being given to the little engines that could from New Zealand, and a visit from the Mother for her first city break weekend in Dublin.

Instead of going abroad on the ususal summer break, we decided to be patriotic and spend our sheckles at home, so we set out on our very own Discover Ireland tour. A weekend of luxury in Killenard, a spin up North for a bit of hopping from pillar to pillar on the Giants Causeway, listening to trad music and camping in Donegal, watching the sun set on a stoney beach in Sligo, sampling tasty Murphy’s ice-cream in Dingle, and catching up with life at home in Cork. It was a rollercoaster, but thrilling to discover a world on your own doorstep that you didnt stop long enough to realise was there before.

Autumn brought falling leave and house hunting. Evenings and weekends were spent surfing Daft for the perfect nest to make a home, and visiting some of the hopefuls. And of course there was some music, magic and mud at Electric Picnic.

Winter has thrown up a few obstacles with the snow and ice but it didnt bother me too much as most of my journeys nowadays rely on my own two feet, so there was no stopping me! If anyone is interested, on a cold winters morning, about 8am, if you stand on Grattan Bridge (the bridge that joins Capel Street and Parliment Street) you get the most amazing view of the bridges over the Liffey and the city awakening.

It’s been a great year. Here’s hoping all the efforts in 2010 will bear fruits in 2011.

I wrote this post earlier this week but didn’t publish it; I think I was afraid of telling the world until things got in motion.  Read on.

I got a call this morning that I’ve been waiting months for. I was sure that it was going to be more bad news but thankfully it wasn’t. I’ve had my offer on a house accepted.

The journey started back in June when himself and myself started talking about property, falling prices, property ladders, yada yada yada. Everyone has heard all the jargon before. We’ve gone from a country obsessed with property to a country so afraid of our property ghosts that a word like mortgage is a dirty word.

I’m one of those people who watched as property prices skyrocketed in the last 10 years, seeing the dream of my own four walls getting further and further out of my reach. I went to see a 1 bed apartment in Dublin back in 2008 before the crash and realised that it was completely futile to think that I could afford that shoebox of a place any time in the next 5 years. It was utterly demoralising.

But due to the great depression we now find ourselves in, prices had finally gotten back to a point where it was actually realistic for me to start looking again. So, in earnest I started the search with a few more pennies in the bank than the last time. And the support of a partner I trust.

It took a while to actually figure out what it was we were looking for and to refine our (mine mostly) requirements. A few months if I’m honest. And we saw a lot of donkeys, figuratively, and met alot of arrogant estate agents, literally, before finding the place for us. We found a few promising places that we definitely saw ourselves in, but alas they were not meant to be.

And so today, after holding out for 4 weeks, after having had my offers turned down 3 times already, the vendors finally gave in. I think the falling market caught up with their aspirations.

Part of me feels bad for broadcasting this. I fell like there are a lot of people out there who will be begrudging and critical. I’m hoping that there will be some who will be happy for us, and who will share in our joy and excitement.

Please God, everything will work out and I’ll be welcoming family and friends to Glasnevin sometime in the new year.

I was driving home from Cork to Dublin in the dark tonight and realised I had no one to come home to. Its the first time in a long time that I’ve felt lonely. Jason is off working in the sun somewhere, and the darkness has overtaken my days and nights…

It was different when I was sharing a house and not in a relationship. There was always someone at home in Booterstown, or even way back when I lived in Stillorgan. Even if there was no one in the house when I got home, there was always the probability that someone would show up at some point.

But now that it’s just myself and himself living together, and given the fact that he isnt here just at the moment, its just me on my lonesome. I’ve just come to the realisation that I’m no longer just me, I’m one half of an ‘us’.

Well, the dreaded question has been asked – ‘What are ye doing for Christmas?’ And, even worse, its been asked by his mother. So where are we going for Christmas, his or mine? Or neither?

Last Christmas we had only been going out for a few months, so we both went home to our respective places for the big day. But this year, given that we live together, there seems to be a question mark over who goes where.

Option 1 – the location of my Christmases for the last 28 years. Midnight mass in the local village, followed by tea a my sisters house. A massive lunch on Christmas day, chatting to the sister in Singapore via Skype and exchanging Secret Santa gifts with the siblings. Snoozing and tv on the couch, followed by afternoon deserts, cousins visiting and general laziness.

Option 2 – His family and the unknown.

Option 3 – Our own Christmas. Where is there a nice midnight mass in the city centre? Dead quite Dublin city. Skyping to Cork and Singapore. A big lunch just for 2. Exchanging presents. A stroll? New traditions to start.

Decision required. Whatever the option, there is the possibility of drawing the wrath/disappointment of his/my family, or to break out on our own and start something new. We’ll see.

There is a Neil Young/Crazy House song called Wonderin’ and it has a great line in it – “I’ve been working all day to keep my heart from sadness”. I have it written on a post-it over my desk in work. I keep it there to remind me every so often, in those moments when I’m looking around and pondering, that I should keep my nose to the grindstone to keep my head from getting flooded with other thoughts.

Today was one of those days. My brother Liam would have been 42 today…

I was at my cousin Joseph’s 21st birthday party on Saturday night. He is the youngest cousin out of thirty odd first cousins. My brother was the oldest. They share today as their birthday.

At the party on Saturday night there was a slide show with loads of photos of Joseph and heaps of family photos from when we were all growing up. Part of me was overjoyed to see Liam feature in the revolving slide show. But a part of me was sad too to think of the missed opportunites. The missed chances of laughing with him, of fighting with him, of celebrating birthdays.

It was a tough day today. I may have been working all day long but I dont think that there was much that would keep my heart from sadness today.

I’m feeling stressed by proxy.

Himself has been a bit stressed of late. Well, maybe a bit more than stressed.  And maybe a bit longer than just ‘of late’. His patience has been about as short as that of a wasp for about a month now…

I’ve been trying to play my currently alloted role in life of ‘the supportive girlfriend’. I listen and advise as best I can, I apply soothing words to the latest boo-boo, I do the cleaning and make the dinners without (much) complaint. But I fell pretty useless. I cant go into his office and tell the other kids to F-off. I’m not his mother and this is not a school playground. I just cant make a difference enough for him to fell not stressed. He emailed me a while back with a rant about the day, and all I wanted to do was hug him and hold his hand. I felt horrible that I couldnt take away all the frustration and crappiness.

So I just contine to apply as much empathy as I can muster and apply it liberally to his wounds. And do the washing and ironing so he doesnt have to worry about the trivial things. I suppose I get to work out my proxy stress by scrubbing the bathroom at least.

Did you ever hear a song and you were instantly transported to a different time and place, where emotions you thought were in the past come flooding back and a smile breaks out on you face or tears roll down you cheeks?

I was sitting at my desk yesterday when shuffle on the iPod gave me an old Eagles song I hadn’t heard in years. Take It To The Limit. Flashback to singing along to that song in my sisters old Starlet as we drove from Fishguard to Oxford when I was about 11. And then another flash to my first real concert, seeing the Eagles play the RDS on the Hell Freezes Over tour, and getting back to my uncle’s house to sleep on his floor and not being able to figure what that ringing noise in my ears was.  The memories made me smile at first, but then a teary moment, missing simplier times I suppose….

I get these moments all the time. Almost all songs that I know well come with memories attached. Some memories are simple, remembering a place or a face. Some can lift my mood instantly and some can take me the other way. A few years ago I was standing at the sink washing the ware on a dark winters evening. A song by Crowded House called Silent House came on. It was written by the Neil Finn about his mother who had passed away. I suppose I had never really listened to the lyrics before, but in quiet of the kitchen that night they struck me, memories of my grandmother and my brother, goosebumps prick up on my arms and the tear ducts kicked in.

You might think I’m a complete weeper altogether, but it’s not all sad. I hear Leaving On A Jet Plane and I remember being in Singapore, and Jason sending me an email with a link to the song on Youtube. His little way of saying that he was on his way and to hold tight.

I here Close To You by The Carpenters and I’m whisked back to a square somewhere in New Zealand on a drizzly night. I relive the memory of giving some money to a busker with a flute and asking for something we could dance to, and the flute starting up with the tune and I start singing along….’why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near…’.

That is why I love music so much. Music is not just notes and words. It’s memories.



I bought a raffle ticket from my sister a while back. It’s for a local event that’s held every June bank holiday at home, the Innishannon Steam and Vintage Rally. Usually when you buy a ticket for a raffle or something, it’s not really about the winning or the prizes, it’s more about the proceeds going to a deserving charity (the Irish Cancer Society in this case). It wasn’t until after I had bought the ticket that I noticed what the prises were.

2nd Prize     2 Alpacas or €1000

Now, I wouldn’t say no to €1000, but what the hell would I do with two alpacas? And why two? Would one not be enough? Would one get lonely? Presumably its a breeding pair or some such, but man, where would I put them? They would hardly fit on the patio, and I’m not sure the neighbours would approve.

My mother has been threatening for years to get two donkeys for the garden. Its a big garden. We could have alpaca woolly jumpers for Christmas. Although, based on the history of our last garden dwellers, pigs aptly named Rasher and Sausage, we may be more likely to have alpaca on the menu.

An alpaca is for life, not just for Christmas.

You know the way you are supposed to be able to read the future from tea leaves? Well, I’m a bit of the other way round, I can see tea in my future.

I’m having a slow week in work. Actually, it’s turning into a slow couple of weeks. My project is on hiatus, but I have work to keep me ticking along, 9 to 5, or 8.30 to 4.45 as it is in my world, but nothing really meaty to do. Nothing to get my teeth stuck into. Nothing to get passionate about…

We were supposed to have a part of my project starting works on site in February, but with the way things are going we’ll be lucky to have contractors on site by the middle of June. So the result is that I am bored. Bored, bored, bored.

I don’t really like to mention work here. Its not that they would mind that much I think, but its more of a case of if I mention it then I’m admitting that its part of me. As much as I don’t like to admit it, my work makes me fell like I have value and worth. Without work I’m only part of a person. I need it to get me up in the morning, to put food on the table and to give me something to complain about. It gives me a daily sense of achievement, a feeling like I’m doing something worthwhile with my life. I’m a very tiny cog in an enormous wheel, but my job makes me feel like I have an effect on the world.

Without a function, I am valueless.

Did you know that so far this year (up to today, Monday April 19th), thirteen people have been fatally injured at work. It’s not something that people generally like to think about, but the statistics are there for all to see on the Health & Safety Authority website. Of those 13 people who died, 6 were in the agriculture/hunting/forestry sector.

I was born into a farming family. Farming goes all the way back for generations on both sides. It’s been bred into us. My eldest brother Liam took over the family farm from my parents in 1990. In 2006 he died in an accident on the farm. He was 37. And we were devastated…

I’m an engineer, and I work in the construction sector. I am not out on site every day, but I have done stints on sites and in operational plants. From the first day I started work the importance of my own personal safety and the safety of the people around me was instilled in me. There is a real culture of safety where I work; there is a real concern that at the end of each work day everyone goes home with all their bits still attached.

I’m not sure the same can be said on most farms. My other brother had his thumb crushed when we were kids. I fell over a bailer twine while chasing cattle when I was 12 and chiped a bone in my toe. I’ve lost count of the stories of kicks from a cow, cuts and scrapes, and near misses.  Everyone who has lived or worked on a farm has them. There is no such thing as a culture of safety in farming, as much as the HSA and the Minister for Agriculture Brendan Smith might like one.

Its the big things like machinery that do the real damage. And the statistics bear this out. Between 200o and 2009, there were 80 farm deaths involvong macinery, tractors or vehicles. That’s 49%  of farm deaths from one source. My brother was one of these. Now he is a statistic.

It wasn’t until my brother died that I realised what a workplace accident can do, and what it means. Its means that a family is left without a brother, father, son, sister, mother, daughter, neighbour, friend. It means sorrow, loss, and utter heartbreak. It means tears and funerals and shaking hands with so many people that you end up with bruised knuckles. It means economic hard times and though questions which need even tougher answers. It means guilt and pain. It means so much more than bloody statistics.

Why are our farming and rural organisations not out there going around to schools, youth groups, farmers groups, womens groups, even masses, and spelling out the consequences of not taking safety seriously? I’ve sat through a safety induction for every site I’ve been on, but there is no safety induction when I go out on the farm at home, or before I sit up on a tractor. You need to do a test to prove you can drive a forklift, or a teleporter, or a loading shover, but every 16 year old I knew when I was 16 got their tractor licence the day the came of age with no test and no rules of the road to learn. Why is there no dedicated safety section on the Irish Farmers Association (IFA) website?

In work, after every reportable accident (a lost time injury of three working days, reportable to the HSA) the details of the accident are published for all within the company to see. The idea is that everyone can learn from accidents and near misses. Why cant the HSA or the IFA send every farmer the investigation report on each farm fatality this year and see how that affects the statistics next year? Grusome you might say, but Irish farmers need a wake up call.

In 2006 my youngest brother took over the farm. He continues to toil away there today. Its in the blood. I live in the hope that I can pass on the safety culture that is now in my blood to the generations after me so they dont become statistics too.