So Taoiseach Leo Varadkar finally let us — and Vincent Browne — know the real truth: his Government can’t solve the riddle of the loaves and hospital trollies, and neither will those selfless property developers who once slushed millions into his party’s funding coffers sort out the housing crisis. Like ever!
This was the top headline in today’s online Irish Independent, following last night’s appearance on Browne’s programme on TV3: “Problems in housing and health will not be solved by this government, Varadkar”.
He’s going to shoot any minute now …. the All-Priests Over 75s Indoor Challenge match on Craggy Island … or is it my weekly five-a-side game
Aged 59-and-a-half, I’ve wintered way too well and those ankle ligaments strained way back in November are still not right. But it’s just a twinge now and as the evenings stretch, the senescent sap is rising in my strung-out hamstrings. My Wednesday night indoor soccer game is calling me back.
How dignified is it to be still drawn to that draughty old sports hall to run … trundle … around red-faced and panting and kicking ball for an hour with similarly deluded/evergreen old boys? Sure even my 10-year-old son told me I have no pace. And he wasn’t slagging, merely observing.
When is it over? Continue reading
How big a part does context play in determining aesthetic merit? This was the conundrum I was forced to consider on this morning’s North Beach ramble with Bella my seashell-crunching terrier. And all because of a discarded Milky Way wrapper.
We had barely stepped on to the familiar strand and the tension of the most recent battle to get my young teenage daughter out to school in time was dissipating with every soft scrunching step on the familiar carapace of crushed shells and sandy grains.
Fuelled by the double black coffee at my elbow I am trying to get my head around all that has been happening since the Trump regime hit the ground kicking in America.
More particularly my heart is in my mouth as I ponder the role of Steve Bannon in it all.
Trump, that half buffoon, half genius, I am scared of. Bannon, that eminence grizzly of the alt-right, frankly has me terrified. Continue reading
I had an interesting Twitter correspondence the other day with the intriguingly twitter-handled Yoor Woolie. Has to be a Scot, you’d reckon? Just call me Sherlock ….
It also brought up a guilty incident from my own past. Continue reading
“Okay, darling, just letting you know it’s half-seven. You don’t have to get up now or anything like that but it is a school morning ….
“And don’t bother gathering up your pencil-case and all that stuff you left all over your brother’s desk when you did your homework there last night. I know I asked you six times last night to do it, but like you said, why should you?”
The expression on my 13-year-old daughter’s face as her tousled head pushes against the pillow towards me and her eyes blink open is one of complete bafflement. I leave her to it.
Good morning, it’s Sarcastic Dad!
Back on the beach. The tide is but a distant swoooosh, a faintly pulsing thrum that draws you in to listen for its intermittent soothing surges. The light is low and the air is grey and heavy but throbbing high and low with trills, tweets, warbles and whistles.
The sounds are coming from every direction and none in this sweeping quadrophonic soundscape. So bracing, so full and so invigorating. Continue reading