I have been blundering along for the last few weeks, trying to promote my Jo Blogs thread on Mondays on the Irish Bloggers Facebook page. Being positive, it’s proving to be a slow build. And that’s okay.
The loose idea was/is a non-commercial, affiliate-free space for people like myself who want to share their thoughts and ramblings on life the universe and nearly everything.
I suppose I am a bit in love with the idea of having nothing to declare but my writing and as I type away, post and wait to respond to and share whatever comes in, either comments on my own latest piece, or the fruits of my engagement with the work of other posters who capture my fancy. Continue reading
One of the biggest buzzes I get from blogging is when I surprise myself with what I write. I’m mulling over that next post for ages and it’s nearly written before I start. Then my fingers hit the keyboard and all these guerilla words burst in stage left and take over the whole show.
This morning I thought I was going to write about the closing of a beloved cinema in Dublin city but my insurgent digits had other ideas. Continue reading
Any of you annoyed by the father figures in those movies and Netflix thingies your testy teen daughters are gorging on these days? Well, here’s one daddy who is.
Yes, I’m the father of a young teenage daughter and I’m more than miffed by the naffness of the deadbeat or despot dads in the stuff my once smiling little cherub princess has been watching.
I get the fact that daddy cannot be Mr Big forever; a girl must break away and become her own person. She must deal with the fact that Daddy has feet of clay. But a brain made from the same material, and the dash and panache of Ned Flanders!!!??? Continue reading
“There’s no use in being a gobshite if you don’t show it”.
My old dad was a great man for the sayings, and this one had always particularly tickled me. I do try not to use it too often.
It flashed across my brain one day last week, however, like those red ticker tape words darting over and back across those electronic information signs in railway stations, when I took the train from Rush to nearby Balbriggan.
Only I didn’t. Continue reading
“Oi have a puppy, but he’s not a re-al one, he’s in me bag,” announced the little blonde girl with the beginning to unravel pigtails from the other side of the track at the railway station. Her flat Dublin tones, cute high-pitched voice and natural zest immediately engaged.
Wearing a soft pink rain-jacket with Disney princesses on it and leggings of an approximately matching pink, and leaning against one of the dark grey pillars supporting the scalloped canopy of the platform roof, she was pointing towards the little pull-along her smiling young dad was holding about 10 yards to her left. He was smoking a roll-up.
What a strange morning this has been: never quite emerging from the fug of a sleep ravaged and arrested; half-awake when I was sleeping and half-asleep when awake.
Sleep did I say? More like a night-long stretch in the cosy horizontal dark, my mind spinning furiously, matters practical tossed in with a kaleidoscopic carousel of images and encounters that can only have come from my deeper self. Continue reading
I have just been out with Bella for our morning ramble in Rush park, and I wanted to assess the damage from Hurricane Ophelia.
We definitely got off very lightly over here in coastal north Dublin.
The winds were high from late afternoon into the evening on Stormy Monday, and our windows did rattle and the wildly swaying trees outside did have their roots well tested in an epic game of tug of war. They held their ground, and it was nothing like some of those scenes on the TV reports, with poor old Paschal Sheehy looking like he was about to take off any minute. Getting a bit of the Theresa Mannion action. At least she remembered her hat, Paschal!