Bravery

My wife is many things. Bratty. A big messer. Adores cars. Liverpool football club. Watching Brazilian lesbian YouTube web series. Listening to all kinds of music. She's also so clever, a meticulous planner, gentle, affectionate, sensitive and sweet. She makes me think through and question everything I say. No aspersions, there must be research behind my statements and exaggerations. There never is, I'm the worst. She has a fire in her belly, a fierce temper. Comes up with incredible creative road rage insults. Zooming around town in our tiny, crap car. We had to buy it because of my driving inexperience. Trade in her gorgeous BMW. She spends hours gazing at nice cars, dreaming of a day when I wont be a decrepit novice. She has weird reactions to all kinds of foods. Sometimes her nose gets so itchy in a restaurant that she has to squeak and shiver through an entire meal. Her tiny nose going bright red as she itches it, her mouth turning into a little 'o'. She can't eat jalapenos, but she loves them. Hates drinking water. She loves being in the nature, befriending the flora and the fauna, or just watching them. We once watched a goat on the edge of a waterfall for a minimum of 45 minutes. It did not move. Nor did we. She loves holding dogs and babies, waving at them, smiling at them, sticking her tongue out. Kids love her too, always playing peekaboo with her in shops. She's in her element in the warmth, in our garden, bbq on, music loud, in the nip. In fact, she loves being warm so much, that she's had sun stroke, twice, since I've known her. Suspected sun stroke yesterday even! My guess is it's that cocktail of no water and lots of sun. But I'm not a doctor.

One of the first things that impressed me about her was her exuberant, confident Irish-ness. She's brave, fearless. She has a miniature paddy hat she wears every Paddy's day. It's on a little hairband. I started realising our 'thing' might be 'some thing' when she was wearing it. An Ireland flag wrapped around her shoulders. Roaring Irish tunes in the smoking area of Eamon Dorans on Paddy's day. She knows the words to many Irish pub songs. She teaches me old Irish phrases I should know. She's a proud Finglas woman. (It took some convincing to get her to move to the south of Dublin with me). And any time she goes out, someone will ask where she's from. "Finglas", she responds. They'll inevitably follow up asking where she's "really" from. They then, without fail, will either ask to touch her hair, or just touch it, like they own it. Sometimes they'll grab at her hair without even speaking to her. Walking past, putting their grubby hands in.

I mean, clearly I'm a big fan of hers. Her biggest fan in fact. She's fiercely private, I've written about her loads in the past and hidden most of it. Some has slipped through because I'm terrible. A shameless, embarrassing sharer of all my boring life. She's not boring at all. Since lockdown, I've been given a carte blanche. (As you may have noticed from my many descriptions of her "erotic dances" as I try to have an online meeting). As the wife of a woman of colour, I am compelled to come to her defence through my lame words. I don't have physical strength, I'm not good at confrontation, I don't even know if I'm actually good at words, really. I just find peace in this writing thing. It helps me make sense of things. And I want you to know how much I have learned by living my life every day with her. The very best person. I don't want to speak for her. So, my observations are all from my own experience of being with her. Of loving her, of slowly beginning to understand this fierce temper. Watching her. Watching this rage that boils inside of her.

This rage. Everyone's shock and disappointment in the last days is nothing new to her. She's been exposed to living in a predominantly white Ireland her whole life. All her family and friends are white. No brown people to relate to. My own Mom asked her if she liked playing basketball the first time she met her. Woke friends grabbed at her new braids and looked at me, asking if I liked it, as if she wasn't there, seeking my approval. I've heard of people being aggressive towards her. There's been so many incidents she's briefly mentioned to me where I wasn't there. Where no one has stood up for her. No one has interjected. She always tries to defend others. Stand up for people. But in that situation, she feels silence, even from friends, even from me. She sucks these incidents into that fireball of rage in her stomach. I try to soothe it, but I'm speechless. I feel shame, disappointment, injustice and so much anger for her. I'm embarrassed at my own privilege. My own failings. Not realising how wrong something is until she explains it to me. My lack of immediately standing up for her. Instead opting for having quiet words after incidents occur. Not recognising things until she has pointed them out. It's not enough. I want to be braver. I'm ashamed. I want her to know how cherished she is. How she's so much more than her gorgeous brown skin, than her stunningly beautiful hair.

How has this not all ended? This injustice. It's so overdue. We've marched for queers, for women, and still the whole system we live in is unjust. We are still making judgements about people. Preventing them from basic rights, KILLING THEM, based on the tone of their skin. How? It's so wrong.

She's been quiet the last few days. Watching her phone. Going off into 'La La Land', as I call it. Her eyes glaze over and she's not with me anymore, she's somewhere else. Rather than rage, it's been sorrow and exhaustion I've observed in her. How this is happening, yet again. No change, no sense of the injustice lifting.

On Monday we went the the protest in support of Black Lives Matter. It occurred as a result of George Floyd's murder. And the many other unjust murders of black people that keep coming and won't stop. That have no consequences.

If you've been following my ramblings on this blog, you'll know how frightened I've been of the korona. I've tried to avoid shops if I can. I've found elaborate ways to avoid meeting people. I've cleaned my hands so much that they're in ribbons, skin melting off them.

This was a gathering of thousands of people, and at this quarantine time too. So, I was scared.

As we walked to town her stride was faster than usual, and she's a fast walker on a regular day. I lumbered after her, trying to keep up. The heat scorching down on us, my ridiculous sun hat constantly flopping off my head with the wind. My skin ready to scorch itself. I sensed a nervous anticipation in her, but the silence remained.  

We arrived at O'Connell St to hundreds of people. Most wearing masks. Because there were so many people gathered it was difficult to maintain a distance, so we hung back. Once the march began we hurried to the front, met a dear friend, and did our very best to be conscious of the space around us. Lots of people were very excited to see their friends again. Very excited to show their support, bouncing through the crowds. Innocently forgetting the restrictions. As we rounded Kildare Street, we held hands and stretched our other hands out to the other side. My stupid sun hat now working as a border between my little family of 2 and other people. "This is my dance space, this is your dance space" I loudly declared to no one. People were trying, though. Wife, the natural planner, had already thought of a spot where we could safely distance. Safely show our solidarity once we reached the US embassy. We were a good distance from the thousands of people as they flooded in.

She was quiet again watching them. As more and more people kept coming. She kept shifting me back a bit, protecting me. She always does protect me. Because she's brave. And we found a spot. And we held each other. And we knelt. And we put our fists in the air. And she shouted his name. George Floyd. It's difficult for her to express herself at the best of times, to tame the rage for enough time to form words. She's spoken to me a little about it. About how tired she is. About how this is nothing new. But it was emotional being there. A flurry of texts from friends trying to find us. Sending her messages of support. Of these gangs of people finally coming together. Risking being around thousands of people to finally stand against this injustice. I wish I was brave like her.

We all need to be braver. We need to speak up when we see or hear something racist. When your uncle says something racist, when your friend or your ma or your da, or some dope in the pub. Call them out. This is solidarity. This is what Wife tells me is needed in Ireland. I'm really going to try. I hope you do too. Share, SPEAK UP, stop being afraid of talking about it, of internet people being critical of your lack of knowledge, of real people reacting badly to you pointing out that they've said something racist. Of redundant conversations over which form of activism is most appropriate. We all have gaps in our knowledge, it's ok to be wrong, to not know something. Start learning. Start listening. Start reading. Start sharing. Start talking about it. Start standing up for people. If you notice something, say it. What's not ok is staying quiet, being afraid to learn more. We all need to be kinder, to learn how to make a better world. It's time to protect all the precious human beings on the planet. Because we are so much more and much better than this. We need to be brave, like Wife. I want to be brave. 

x

Shoebox

It's 5 years exactly since everyone went to the polls and voted on marriage equality in Ireland. The memories that have popped up from various social medias seem misguided. Cheerful. For me, memories of that time show the extreme stress and anguish we all went through. It is difficult to digest. I'd so recently lost my mam, so recently fallen for the little brat I ended up marrying.

I remember when it was first announced. The 22nd of May. I imagined how one of the those two twos in that twenty two could be flipped... STAY WITH ME - Getting very VISUAL HERE... See, if flipped, the centre of those two twos would turn into a heart, I was hoping this was a sign. Stupid childish signs I was looking for. Like wishing on a pebble in a pond. I kept looking for signs.

Unfortunately I saw many signs. Posters campaigning against my love. Against the idea of people like me having a child. I was a threat to the idea of the family. At least I was told that in the "balanced" debates. The Yes posters were nice, colourful, positive, but not emotive like the creepy 'No' ones. All the emotion came from me. From the knots in my stomach. From the terror of rejection. Because it was about so much more than legal marriage. It was about being embraced by the religious country I'd grown up in.

I remember as a kid being at mass. Trying to listen to the words. I just didn't get it. I didn't understand. And I really tried to think it through. I promise you, I did. But all the pledges and confessions, rituals and rosaries, homilies and novenas. They were beyond me. I know it's brought comfort and peace to so many, but it's also brought turmoil, shame and anguish. It feels as thought my country were all under the spell of some super cult. And I was a heathen, a non believer.

My family are very religious. Two nuns and a priest from the already small group that are my aunties and uncles. (My dad only has one brother, who is a priest! My mam three sisters, two nuns) My own mam, when she split from my Dad, stopped taking communion. Some societal rule I guess? Was there some decree? I'd already switched off from it at that stage. Some decree where she must feel shame for ending a relationship? 

My uncle was the pride of our grandparents, a priest for the Opus Dei. They are dodge. They were excommunicated from the Roman Catholic church. Not that that means anything to me. You might know them from those Tom Hanks arty scavenger hunt movies. They are also the ones who funded the 'Mothers and Father's matter' campaign. It was an active campaign at the time, against me. Well against my private non-religious love. And at the horrifying idea of me becoming a parent. That's how I'd be more familiar with them. Now, I don't want to be a parent. Perfectly happy cultivating my food baby. (Then working it off through my Mom's into Fitness workouts). But I do pride myself in being a kind person. I really do try and be as kind as I can. And I think I'd be a sound mam to a little person if I chose that route.

From where I saw it, even as a kid, I watched an organisation who were supposed to promote comfort and kindness. But they kept misinterpreting it. Instead, they were regulating, moulding and shaming. From the stories I'd been forced to listen to about Jesus all through school, he seemed sound. Not someone who would shame my mam for making a decision that was best for her at that time. Or that thought I was just wrong for thinking women are hot, you know? But, Jesus! Women are hot? AMIRITE.

Anyway, it was quite the journey once May 22nd 2015 had been announced.

My mam had died only 18 months before and I'd never 'come out' to her. I'm a coward at the best of times. Ask Wife. Try bringing me to a party with no one I know, or asking me to ask a stranger for directions. I WILL NOT. In fact, I'll avoid awkward conversations professionally if you want? I'd hire me for that.

But, I digress. She was my favourite was my mam. Everyone loved her. You would have loved her. She was brilliant and kind and funny and intelligent and adventurous and small. She would hug you and fit just under your chin. She would write lists of advice for me if I had an issue. Fix me. 

I knew she would have voted Yes for me. She, of course, absolutely knew ABOUT MY INCLINATION long before me. Apparently she used to say to her sisters that my best friend was my 'beard'. He wasn't even my beard, he's just a great person to bring to a party to be fair. Talks to people so I don't have to. Till I've had five glasses of wine and I'm following you on instagram in the bathroom, of course. But suddenly, out of the most horrifying, painful, thin air, her 'Yes' had evaporated. She was cremated, and they put her in this little tiny cremation box. It was like a coffin for a pair of shoes. I don't know what you'd call it. I don't really want to know. I hate thinking of her enormous gorgeous personality being in there. But now I had a very distinct mission. I was going to wrangle every single yes I possibly could out of everyone. Cowardice could take a back seat.

Of course in all this I'd forgotten again about how sensitive and delicate I can be. I'd completely forgotten about it for years before that too, actually. Until a neighbour was driving me to hospital to visit my mam. I remember her saying; "You were always very sensitive." when a tear popped out as I was driving to my dying mother. I mean, I feel like that's a fair reaction to your mother dying, but sure now, who am I to be emoting?! But that phrase, zapped me straight back to being a child. All these adults talking about how sensitive I was. I'd forgotten people thought that of me. I guess it's not something you really say to an adult. And though I'm still in shock that I'm an adult, I am one.

So I forged on. I campaigned, going to doors, asking people to vote for me, looking them in the eye as they questioned it. Listened on as a manager in work talked about his discomfort at the idea of 'those people' having children. (I came out to him too! Fun!) Had doors slammed in my face as people shouted at me. And I'd weep. Just a little. Softly. On my way home. I wrote letters and came out to all my family. I actually got a few yeses from that. They were painstaking letters I wrote. To awkward people I didn't want to tell, like my dad, and my step dad, and my lovely nun auntie. But at that stage I'd abandoned my cowardice, I was going to turn my lost moms one Yes into ten new ones.

On this day, I went to vote, then I had to act like a normal person for the day. As if I wasn't waiting for an entire country to decide if I was worthy of their time. I went out to Finglas that night, to the missus. To her mams house. To a place where I'd been embraced and kept safe since my own mom was gone. Although, me and Wife would not really embrace publicly in Finglas. Though we would be affectionate in bars and in town, we weren't really affectionate out there. We always still have to be a bit careful. Even when we had our very first kiss in Whelans, some guy asked to get involved. They always do if we're in a straight bar. It's boring.

Anyway, we plodded along with our evening. Then for the life of me, I could not sleep. I kept thinking WHAT IF. Although the sentiment amongst the 'A-Gays' was that Yes would win, I was worried. I knew all my pebbles in ponds, my crafty symbols out of nothing meant just what they were, nothing. I mean I'd spent most of those wishes as a child on a boyfriend. And look how that turned out. So I tossed and I turned. Wife (then GF) wibbled her way through the night as usual, being a Snoozan Surandan. I finally drifted off about 6.30am, a new day already dawning. 15 minutes later I was woken. A landslide, they said.

We went to Tesco to get champagne for breakfast. The big huge enormous one in Finglas. We were so happy. We held each other. Shared a tiny kiss. I looked ahead and saw a man queuing at the cashier. He had a baby strapped to his chest. A trolley full. And he was smiling at us. We were embraced in so many ways in that moment.

One of the most significant memories for me in the loss of my mother was her burial. In the wild hills of Ballycroy, Co. Mayo, where she grew up. They buried her tiny shoebox on this astonishing hill. It looks out over a lake. It had been suitably raining on our drive from Dublin that day. As we entered Ballycroy, we went through this picturesque avenue of overhanging trees. We emerged the other side. To glorious sun.

The wind was strong though. So strong that when her tiny shoe coffin was being lowered into the ground I looked away. As I did, the wind lifted my tears straight off my face. A little miracle. And at the bottom of that astonishing hill. Waiting by her little Toyota Starlet called Sharon, was my future wife, ready to take me home.

Maybe it's more disparate illogical symbols I'm misinterpreting. But if those signs are good and kind and embrace me, I'll take them.

Thanks again to everyone who voted with us.

Noodle soup

MONDAYS IN KORONALAND. Not into them. Esp when it's one of your very best people's birthdays and you can't see her or hug her or sniff her or ANYTHING.

Before ALL OF THIS, *waves hand broadly at the whole world*, I'd suggested we have a little meal for her birthday. I'd book a half day off. Instead, I'm currently in my Dunnes Stores workout pants and a grey jumper. I've just finished another endless working from home day. My hair is in a bun. I am not fit for public consumption. You would not recognise me. I am also absolutely not fit for our little lunch in a tiny Italian place we like. It's not fit for us either. And do you know what I had for lunch instead?

WELL, I DID NOT HAVE SOUP. That is because I tried to make soup. Instead, I did not make soup. No, I burnt soup. Turns out, you can burn soup! Every day is a new lesson. Our pot is still steeping, because I somehow managed to turn it into a black hole. Dark matter, where my soup used to be. How I am SUCH an adult, that cannot cook soup? I then had boiled eggs as emergency replacement lunch. So, instead of afternoon wine and charcutérie with one of the best people on the planet, I'm alone. In sports wear. With a runny egg in a roll. Rage eating.

I call her Noodles. I think it's because one of my other best peoples nickname is Poodles. But her name begins with an N, thus promoted to Noodles. This is the rationale behind most of my nickname creations. Total chaos. I know! I'm such a weirdo.

She transferred into my school when I was in fourth year. She came from A WHOLE OTHER COUNTY. Very exotic. She was always so nice to me. She's so nice to everyone, actually. I'm sure you've heard how we became friends before. (I always go on about my same stories. Ask Wife!) ANYWAY, HERE SHE GOES AGAIN! Zoom back with me now, in my story time machine! It was transition year! I was young, not learning how to successfully make soup! We were on one of our 'outings'. Experimenting with our 15 year old lives. This time, we were sailing in Dun Laoghaire pier. She was my sail partner. And we were actually deadly at it. Like somehow, we had found each other! Across counties! And we had become the best sailing partners of any 15 year olds ever. I enviously looked on as others failed. Plummeting into the ocean. Mirth seeping out of their hairdos, splayed across their faces. Noodles is very sensible and was not on board with the possible capsize I was angling for. (YES. THANKS! I DID USE ANGLING THERE PURPOSEFULLY! THANK YOU FOR NOTICING, I HAVE A MASTERS.) Anyway, she eventually (forcefully) obliged. We wobbled into the sea, and we wobbled out as friends.

The beginning of our friendship is a good metaphor for how we've maintained a 22 year friendship.  To this day, we're a good team. She helps me to sail along in my wavy life. Keep steady. Enjoy the nature. I force her into brattiness, get her to capsize from her sensibility a little. Wobble into the sea with me.

Her fella is very nice. He commissioned me to paint a photo he'd taken of her, which was begging to be a painting. He's a lovely, thoughtful guy, who really wants to mind her, I approve! Anyway, as I painted her, MAYBE I'm OVERTHINKING... BUT, I started to realise just how significant and symbolic this painting is. She's standing amidst some high grass, on a windswept day. The backdrop is a bright blue sky. She's in her third trimester at the moment, of baba number 2. The wind tries to swoop her tiny frame away.  (Noodles is smol!) She holds firm. Smiling at us. Holding her little future person between her tiny hands.  This baba will never know that 'before' place I mentioned earlier. As I painted her, it was a very different feeling to the norm of now. The joy, hope and love in that picture is what beams through. Ripe, ready and joyful about the future. To me, it symbolises the strength of the people I love. Staying powerful as things beyond their control sweep through. Instead, she is brave. Hopeful. She is looking straight at us. Looking to the rich future that awaits us. Holding it. Keeping it safe. Noodles is looking at us through that painting, and she's bringing us hope. And as she has many other times, she's turned a day of dark matter, into a much brighter one.

x

Couch potato

This is how I imagine myself, you?

x

It's quite a Tuesday isn't it? For being in the middle of a global pandemic, that is. Just that sludgey-ness. That 'THE EFFORT' feeling.

It's been four whole days! WHAT HAVE YOU MISSED IN MY WILD AND RACY LIFE? Did you notice how most meetings or virtual friend hangs start with that news bit? AS IF ANY OF US HAVE ANY NEWS. WHAT COULD HAPPEN, REALLY! You want the truth? We are all experimenting with leg hair growth. That is what everyone did with their weekend, I promise you. Wife still marvels at how the wind now caresses her leg hairs. IS THIS THE NEWS YOU WERE SEEKING, MANAGER? I've never liked the small talk. You know, talking about stuff that is happening. People's weekends. Actually, I don't mind listening to them. I really don't. I like people's non news. And they like telling me! And I welcome it. I'm not a teller, though. In fact, a colleague I've rarely spoken to sent me a lengthy essay on his weekend plans on Friday. Like I'm certain we've never had a full conversation. It detailed every inch of his weekend. He mentioned an axe and a chainsaw at various points. Just slid them in. And with the amount of murder podcasts I've listened to in the last few years, yes, I am worried. Strange though. Whenever I sit down to write this here blog. Somehow I twinkle my fingers over the letters and think to myself; ANY NEWS?! And thus, I've found a public way of telling people my non news, for someone who doesn't seem to like it. IS THIS VERY BLOG IS AN ODE TO MY SECRET ADORATION OF SMLL TLK?

ANYWAAAAAAAAy, in MAJOR NEWS! (sml tlk) We tried to make pizza from scratch on Sunday. It did not go well. We do not have a whippy kneady machiney. Plus, Wife looked up a weird recipe which she never read to the end. It was an inexplicable recipe for BBQing your pizza. IS THAT EVEN A THING? It didn't even have oven instructions. It was the wettest, sludgiest, grossest dough, and I kneaded it for what seemed like ONE MILLION HOURS. Only to have a TAH-DAH moment, when that sludge...continued to be sludge. When Wife eventually scrolled to the end she noticed all the complaints. They were all on what a dreadful recipe it was. And so, we abandoned the pizza ship and instead had PITA pizzas, which were DAYCENT. We let our beautiful sludge rise for 24 hours and tried again on Monday. When we looked, the sludge......HAD BECOME DOUBLE SLUDGE. Wife craftily shaped it into a pizza like structure and put delicious things on top. It was not the greatest pizza on the planet. But, it had a genuine pizza shape! Tasted pizza like, and was not soggy underneath! Miracle. Made by us! From SCRATCH! With no machines! Major news, you see!

I've also been keeping up with my Moms into Fitness workouts. For I am a mom, who is into fitness. It's strange, because I've never been into fitness. I'm also clearly not a mom. Not for me. I'm an arty person. I like to think of myself as someone who sits in parks contemplating. That is also not me, but I imagine that for myself. In reality, I sit on the edge of the sofa, look at Wife and say 'WHAT NOW?'. That is me.

But I'm distracting myself again, why didn't all you slim people tell me about how often you exercise? I did not realise. I'm doing it between 4 and 5 times a week now. And then a huge massive posh hike at the weekends. That is the most active I've ever been. Why do people not tell you about it? Like how it's supposed to be part of your life? I never understood that. And it's not that difficult. My trick now is to do it immediately when i wake up. Before caffeine, before anything! So that my body doesn't realise what's happening. Until I'm sweating on my living room floor. Lifting a bright green kettlebell up to my lampshade and saying NGAH!

Is it some secret? Is it indiscreet to discuss? Or is it so normal that you don't even speak about it as if it's news? Or are you trying to keep your hot bodies a secret? You all talk about how many millions of foods and drinks you enjoy! When really you spend eight hours a day nibbling on a spinach leaf? Squatting, INCESSANTLY. You slim people, as mysterious as you are slender.

ANYWAY, so I do MIF (mom's into fitness), then I do Kettlebell. On rotation. Day by Day. Like a slim person! MIF AGAIN TOMORROW, bless that Lindsay Brin (creator of MIF). She is sound. I now spend more time with her 10 min workout (that I repeat 3 times) than I have with most intimate friends. I've also started a kettlebell youtube with this couple(?). Well I dunno if they are a couple. What I do know? They like to hurt me. There's a dude and a lady. He introduces himself as YOUR PERSONAL TRAINER. His name is Brad or Josh or one of those 'people who go to the gym' names. She's Nadia/lydia/veronica (CAN'T REMEMBER!), but she only has a name, she's not your PT like Brosh. Anyway, Brosh started with this motivational stuff towards the end of one of the workouts. Talking about how I'm not like those people who stay on the couch. He is wrong. I am those people. They are me. I am them.

I felt like a professional athlete this morning though. The sweat dripping down my face as I squatted for the one millionth time. We've been watching a Michael Jordan documentary which is VEE GEE. He looks LIKE I DID RIGHT THEN in a few of the scenes. I mean, that's a very dubious connection, in that we were both sweating profusely. And that is the only link. But anyway, I am curious about the secrecy of the elusive slim person. Maybe I'll understand the language of the FIT after another million workouts. Is there a secret health nod you all do? A salute.  I'll never know. But I'll keep trying. I'll mute the derogatory motivational speak about my couch people though. It's ok to be on a couch. I AM ON A COUCH RIGHT NOW, CONTEMPLATING. Where the magic happens. What now? I say to Wife.

OOooh in arty news, I started painting again yesterday. Inspired by the NOTHINGNESS of Monday, I painted a few things for a few favs. I'm going to try continue with it. I keep forgetting how relaxing it is. I guess the pressure of people paying money for paintings has something to do with it. The lackadaisical experimental ponder-under-a-tree element is lost. So it was nice to do a few little ones...I looked up and I'd finished four little paintings. Just like that. I do think it's quite important to try anything creative right now. Or anything outside the drone of the daily walk. The WHAT NOWS to Wives. A little gentle rupture...like making a lil crap pizza for a BBQ but in your oven.

In the grand scheme of things, I've become way more accustomed to this home life than I thought I would. Maybe I could be a great hermit blogger? MAYBE I ALREADY AM. Must sit under a tree to have a think about it.

Anyway, a brain dump of nothing for you there today...Sometimes I try string a point together with this blog. I'll reread and grab strings. Wrap it all up at the end in a nice little bow, as if I had planned these words the whole time. I never have, I just write. Blog blog blog. It works for a sludgey day that word blog. BUT I DON'T FEEL LIKE IT TODAY. Stringing things together I mean. I am my own sludgey pizza dough. Giving you a general update on the INSIDE OF MY BRAINZ. Where all the capital letters come together to shout my thoughts at you. A bbq pizza of thoughts. WHAT AM I EVEN SAYING ANYMORE? That was lazy eh? Like this here proud couch potato. Who is a mom, who is into fitness. Sitting under a contemplative tree, asking you reader..WHAT. NOW. This isn't working is it? HIT PUBLISH.

xx

Garden-ZING!

Ah hello! It is Friday! I'm on location again. The glorious magical garden. We've de-ghettoed it quite a bit. Well Wife did, but I helped some. We have laid some decorative bark in part of our garden. This was so that it could bark at us, decoratively. We situated it where a vast community of slugs were turning into insecto-snakes. It only has one occupant now. Well, the only one I'm comfortable with acknowledging. She is our new hula dancer garden gnome. I will call her Bettina, Tina for short. Her original purpose was to be a piggy bank. But I am no pig, nor a bank. So she's brightening up our garden until we're grown up enough to give birth to some real life plants. Although, in our tiny kitchen - I don't mean to brag... BUT - We have managed to keep a pot of chives and a pot of coriander alive for ALMOST THREE WEEKS! Like actual human beings! Who'd a thunk.

Wife is almost in the complete nip. She's lying on our red Christmas tablecloth. Smothered in some delicious smelling oil thing. It feels like we're in Spain! The joy and rapture of a Friday afternoon! Further massaged with this Spanish surprise out my back door. Only one downside. It's the Michael Jackson part of our playlist. All his music sadly now gives me the creeps. I have no idea why it didn't before. I know he was way ahead of us with the masks, but everything else was screaming GIGANTIC CREEP no? How did I not see it!

I had to give a presentation today on webinars, to 110 of my coworkers. It went terrible at the start. GENIUS OVER HERE supposed to be presenting to people on presentations. Somehow all my sound and video went as soon as I shared my screen and I could not see a thing! But alas, I'm a webinar trouper, and had my lovely, hilarious coworker there in the background to joke it away. It all went well otherwise. I showed them a photo I found on twitter. It was of a manager woman who turned herself into a potato in an online meeting. She then couldn't figure out how to turn it off. So she continued being a potato for the rest of her meeting. Kinda like this lady potato writing to you here right now. Except I'm a girl who can't share screens for my entire company, it seems!

I've fallen very deeply in love with my garden these last few weeks. It's the perfect orientation. SUN! ALL DAY! That's right!!! ALLLLL DAAAAY!!!! Cannot believe my luck. Most importantly Wife's luck though. She is a sun bunny. This is her lifeblood. There's a chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc waiting for us too. Waiting 'til Wife says it's reasonable to crack into it. 

I'm wearing a gigantic monster goth hat to protect my delicate skin from the sun. As you may have noticed, my skin is so pale that you can easily access all my organs with your eyes. Very useful for any medical exams. As a result, on my working from the garden day a few days ago, I managed to get a very peculiar bit of sunburn. A boob-muda triangle. It was from a keyhole shaped booby-peep in my dress. Also from the 6 hours I spent out there PROBZ! Anyway, no funny boob triangles today. This WOMAN can KEEP CHIVES ALIVE now and wears a protective hat in the garden. And yes I was wearing sun cream the whole time both times! I always am. It doesn't exist without me, to be honest, I am sun creams main source. They leap at me from the shelves. "You're toooo paaaaale", they scream!

I had to leave the blog for a moment there....Wife Wine Approval was decreed!! She also asked to switch off the music and listen to one of the neighbours, they're playing Jay Z! I mean STOP! Could this day get better!!!

We usually have friendy quizzes on Thursdays and Fridays. Today's Friday one is not ready so it's become a Saturday one. I was kinda disappointed at first because I wanted to see the faces of favs, but have strangely recovered sitting here in the roasting heat in a sun hat and summer dress and FLIP FLOPS with a glass of WHITE WINE.....stop it!!!! Bettina, the hula dancing garden gnome is soaking it up too. I know she's doing a hula pose but it looks like she's sunbathing with us. I love her. She has a big butt. She cannot lie. She is me, and I her.

The fear of being outside has made me appreciate my little slice of outside so much more. The stillness of it, the swish of the wind as it lilts your hair. All the funky bird noises from the latest episode of the Real House-birds of Crumlin. The only decent drama around these parts.

The leaving cert got cancelled today. Based on the teacher's assessment now. I can't even imagine being put in that position. I was such a little shit. I decided I didn't need any points because I WAS GOING TO BE A FAMOUS ARTIST. Then right before my leaving cert, the big fat nerd crept back in. I crammed like an absolute freak. And I actually ended up doing very well in my leaving. It would not reflect as well at all otherwise. I feel for them so much.

Coincidence! In our Thursday quiz, where we always have some form of theme, the theme was early 2000's. I did my leaving in 2001. I was but a tender 17. I was very into BOHO chic. Lots and lots and lots of layers. Scarves around my head, my neck, over my jeans, as a bracelet, as a top even! I would wear mother of pearl. Wooden earrings. Sparkly lilac eye-shadow. And then massive oxblood red boots? Good jaysus. And that was before the dreadlocks. ANYWAY, I dressed as that old me for it. Wrapped the scarf around my head. Tied my hair into a tight high but messy pony tail, and it was so weird. When I looked in the mirror, I zoomed back to past me. The little nerdy weirdo who'd only ever been kissed once.

There's so many things I wish I could tell old me. How I wasn't as fat as I thought. How I did have friends. How romantically deciding to be an artist was foolish. I remember being in first year of college. Finally coming out of my shell. Meeting all these kindred weirdos. One girl told me how her very attractive boyfriend had talked about me. He had told her that I would be so pretty if I wasn't so unconfident. It's mad the things that stay with you isn't it? Etches in to your self esteem. I wish I could tell headscarved me about this moment. About how even in a pandemic, I'm miraculously secure. I OWN A GARDEN and I have a gorgeous wife in the nip on our christmas table cloth! 

But the truth is, I wouldn't have needed to know, because it all lead me here anyway. To this little garden. To this aul one in a gigantic sun hat, supping a wine and keeping chives alive. Old me was lovely, and I'm sad I couldn't see it back then. I can't imagine what it must be like for the many 17 and 18 year olds stressing right now. I wish I could tell them it will work out ok, you can be a mature student at 23. GO live your life 'til then. But, I'm too much of an aul one to know any of them. And I didn't listen when everyone gently told me to try primary school teaching. Hey, my five friends who read this? Can you tell them?  I'm having a moment of realisation in the garden here you need to tell them!!!!! Ok enough philosophy for today, I have a wine glass to fill and a weekend to soak up! Just like future them! (TELL EM!)

Goodbyeeeeeee xox

Hello Mister Magpie, I hate you.

Hello it is I, me, the koronakreep, from koronaland.

LADS I'm in dreadful form today. Like these cranky pants wont come off. I even tried moving my working office to the garden. Which is surprisingly possible! With my internet working and everything! And I can KINDA see my screen! Although I'm forced to constantly frown while checking emails. That's definitely why I''m frowning by the way. Nothing to do with my horrendous mood. NO NO. And not only am I making money but I'm making fresh nose freckles! Multitasking. BUT BACK TO MY BEING A MOANBAG 3,000. I have now become a wronged webinar goddess. Wronged by a million webinars! Shooting lightning bolts through the sky with my yellow eyes! Attempting to deflect further webinar requests! BAM! BOOM! Shazam! My automatic frown deflects nothing. It is failing miserably. Another 3 requests in today alone! Do you log into webinars? STOP IT! GO LIVE YOUR LIFE. You satanist. You Magpie of human beings.

It's good to get these cranky pants down on paper though. Air them out, force them to untangle, de crankle, be free with the sun. This writing down stuff and the sun. A medicine. It was kind-of working. Except that I keep getting emails. About godforsaken WEBINARS even after finishing work.

Why has the dreadful form arrived? You haven't asked! Rude. WELL I'll tell you. It all began as I was dressing this morning. When I knocked on my back window trying to stop a magpie murdering a sparrow. Magpie had sparrow pinned down, furiously pecking at it. All the little sparrows were losing their minds. Crying and screaming for their teeny tiny friend. In bird language, obv. (WAIT do I now speak bird?) So I knocked on my window, trying somehow to save the little sparrow. I woke Wife with my knock. Sparrow came free and flew off, only for magpie to follow with murderous intent. 

Magpies are real dickheads, no? I saw another one tormenting one of our neighbourhood cats. She's my fave of the Crumlin cats. She looks exactly like Judi Dench in 'hit' 'movie', 'Cats'.  (Inverted commas were appropriate for all three of those words, weren't they?) She lies on top one of our neighbours sheds sunbathing, legs spread. Having an aul lick. I mean, an uncanny impression of Judi Dench, give that kitty an Oscar! But, I digress, back to the evil Magpie story. Well, it was one quiet Saturday morning. Judi Meow was doing her usual sunbathing leg spreading routine. When, GO TOBAINN, a Magpie starts attacking her tail! Grabbing it with his horrible little evil beak! I knocked on the window that time too. It scarred us. Me and my garden friends. Judi Dench cat is ok. I still see her on my neighbour's shed roof. All the time! But I've definitely become much more aware of the cruelty of the Magpie in these trying times. That's why Magpies would be into webinars. Dicks.

Do you know what else is a dick? The coronavirus. Restrictions have been extended. To 5km now! Meaning that a lot of my favs are now within my hunger games district. But, I feel an actual physical pain from the possibility of having to not hang out with them. Pass by. And not be able to be close to them. It's mental this time we're in. Like I can't get over it. HOW has this happened? One of my colleagues said she thinks we won't be back to our offices until a vaccine's found next year. Which is fair. And very rational. 

Is this our lives now? As you may have noticed in previous blogs, I'm not usually a gigantic moan bag here. ONLY OCCASIONALLY DO YOU GET TREATED TO THIS MONSTER. Lucky you! (Poor Wife) And I've actually been relishing the special things and fortunate things I have in my life most of the time. (Like Wife!) And I'm fully aware of all the reasons I shouldn't be in bad form. But I am just having a bad day I suppose. 

I've been avoiding the news completely. Discovering little slices of information accidentally. The massive number of deaths popping up on twitter, in a news report, on my bloody stupid phonebag 3000. All the beautiful, loved people who are passing away. I've been frightened with this ease of restrictions. I've watched the ease with which people have been ignoring these restrictions. And that's within the 2km. I can't imagine what it will be like now. And to be fair, if I see my friends or my beloved mother in law, I want to ignore the restrictions too. I want to feckin SQUEEZE THEM TIL I KILL THEM WITH LOVE LIKE A MAD MAGPIE WOMAN, but gentle not violent like a real magpie. 

SIDE STORY! When I was doing my Leaving Cert German Oral Exam, I forgot all my German! Except for some reason, the German word for violent. I kept trying to slide it in, between 'Dass ist gutt' or 'Dass ist NICHT GUT'.  Ended up calling my family violent. They weren't. I didn't have any other words. NO FEAR OF THAT NOWADAYS. The words...they. just. keep. typing.

No Orals this year, or is there? I haven't been reading the news, remember. Is normal gone now? I mean what we perceived as normal? I think it is. There's a before and after now. We're in the middle at the moment. I've realised how tactile I am. How much I love the closeness of people I love. Rubbing them on the back. Stroking their arm. Gently slapping their perfect little faces as they regale me with how deadly they are. SCHLAP i go. Burrowing my face into them....GAH! Or looking at the perfect babies they have made and not being able to PUT THAT BABY IN MY FACE. It makes me ill. I love a good hug hello and a sniff of them too. I want to sniff them all. I know. I'm in a great position. I have Wife and she always smells AMAZING. And I am so fortunate. So so fortunate. To have people to miss. I guess sometimes we have bad days in this shit show that is our reality. 

But I have to remember, I've valiantly tried to save a sparrow and a kitty in the last few weeks. Plus human people by trying to be so strict with the guidelines. I'm not the Magpie, I'm JUDI EFFIN DENCH, the cat. Corona is the magpie. Biting at my tail. And you, my little blog, you are ME KNOCKING ON THE WINDOW STOPPING THIS NONSENSE. By spouting nonsense? I've gone deep with this analogy, eh? 

And sure look, isn't it a glorious day lads! I having been working in the garden since two o'clock and it is now 7!! Magic. That is magic. A private outdoor space all to myself where I can do my actual job. HOW AM I SUCH A MOANBAG. And having so many gorgeous touchable friends I ache to miss is magic too. Having a sweet smelling wife. And a Judi Dench cat to rescue. So I'll cop on now, and forge on with another day. I think the cranky pants are lifting...! Is this blog magic too? OMG am I using you all. To stop being a moany dope and be feckin happy. LADS! We're all gonna make it through the shit days and I'm going to sniff you before you know it!!! Love to you, sniff sniff, knock knock, death to Magpies, Judi Dench was robbed at the Oscars this year. X

R.I.PINTS

And never was there a more perfect day for a pint, where we all would not pint. A Greek tragedy, by Áine Macken.  

I wrote that at 8.50am. Since then my motivation has evaporated. The elation of a Friday has evaporated too. I finished work, wrote this, did the dishes, and watched a tiny new dog attack it's new owner, who is my neighbour. That is my Friday nite! Whew!    

I haven't left the house in two days, so it's unlikely I can find anything new or inspiring to talk about. Why am I writing? WHY IS TIME? WHO ARE WE? What is this? Did you know it's Friday of a bank holiday weekend? There's another lock-in announcement due later. We're so far in the middle of it that I'm buried in it now. So I'm hunkering in. Committing to it. You'll lock me in? I'll lock myself in even more. You want me to be hygienic? HOW ABOUT I NEVER TOUCH ANYTHING EVER AGAIN!   

I've discovered a show called 'Below Deck' recently. It's about absolutely nothing except people being on boats.  Well, it's a yacht. They are either working or getting drunk. I was introduced to it years ago but never actually watched it. My wise friends knew I'd love it.  The current SITUATION seems the right moment to start. Drinking it in. It's the 'clink of iced water on a hot day' of TV shows. Meaning it is absolute refreshing nonsense. There's something comforting about it. Everyone is stuck in the one spot. For them it's a yacht. For me, a living room. They moan. I moan. They are me. I am them. Except I have no champagne. Or Michelin dining. And I'm in the middle of a global pandemic. One of them referred to herself as the Times New Roman of people, and to one of her colleagues as Comic Sans. She even printed their names and corresponding fonts out on A4 sheets to demonstrate them as part of her video interview. I dream of being a Helvetica. I'd also enjoy being on a yacht, of course. Most of all, I'm enjoying the complete absence of thought this TV show is bestowing me with at this rough time.   

Despite THE MEANINGLESSNESS OF EVERYTHING, I have been productive today!!! I've done some work jobs! AND more importantly I've been arranging a virtual hen party for my friend. We were due to be in Doolin this weekend to celebrate her. She's a deadly little hilarious person who loves pints. We should actually be in a beer garden right now, drinking beers in gardens and being together. She's the funniest person I've ever met. The quick wit. The mirth. The boldness. The love of pints. She is my people. Sadly Doolin was not to be. So, I've spent significantly longer than is reasonable photoshopping a picture round. It's started hail-stoning now at least. The beer garden would have been AWFUL(ly wonderful).    
I attended a space quiz last night. I painted a galaxy on my face and created antennas out of my hair with two miniature buns. I also wore my space dress. It has planets and pinups on it. In case you were wondering. OH MY GOD I'M SO BORING. Anyway, back to my nothing chat! The space quiz had questions about space. I got 11 points, over four rounds. This is how much I know about space. It was genuinely fascinating to hear the answers for me.  At least I'm being forced to learn.   

The worst thing about zoom is having to watch yourself interact with other people. Seeing how your face moves when you're saying things, when you're thinking. I used to have an obsession with watching myself as a child. In the reflection of our electric fire. Fascinated at how my face would move into different shapes. I was so creepily vain. Korona Kreep. It's reminiscent of that now. Except that I watch myself not know anything about anything. How my face moves trying to wrench ANYTHING from my brain. I prefer to be quizmaster. Wife says I can get a bit boring when I'm doing the score sheet. WELCOME TO MY ENTIRE CURRENT PERSONALITY, WIFE! I say to her now, writing. While I sit beside her. She hasn't heard this obviously, she'll read it later. Thanks for reading, Wife!

I'm now watching my neighbours. They are creating a stained glass effect on their window with window paint(?) It's their second design. Very cute and creative. The most creative I've been in the last million weeks is by painting a galaxy on my face last night. Then staring at myself. Like the weirdo I am. The pandemic has sucked the creativity out of me. I paint, usually. Professionally. For a job. People pay me to do it. I've even been paid for a lockdown one, and I'm reaching a deadline for it, and I haven't started. All I do is watch yachting shows apparently. I also seem to write nonsense that I'll let everyone read. That and the thirty minutes of torturous exercise I do every day. Just to ensure my face becomes full beetroot. It's amazing how red it gets. Then, in the evenings, I stare at myself trying to force my brain to work, while coming last in quizzes. 
   
I should really go out walking, because this is our lives now...but YANNOOO hailstones!   

It's quarter to five now. I finished work a half hour ago. On a regular bank holiday Friday, I'd be just arriving at a pub. My mate who finished earlier than me would have found a seat in the sun. We'd sup pints and touch faces. Talk about our annoying weeks. Wait as more and more friends would filter in. Smile at them. Sniff them in! Give them a squish. Instead, I'm on my sofa, where I have been since 8.45am. Wife is beside me on her phone. She becomes so absorbed by her phone. Like a child handed an IPad. Her entire planet sucked into that little screen. I'm tappa tappa typing, and soothing Below Deck spouts nonsense in the background. 

I dream and wish of a sliver of sun on my face. Of hugs from favourites. Of a pint bubbling under my chin. Or running my finger down the condensation of the edge of a chilled white wine glass. And sitting back, hearing all my friends entertain me, all while not seeing how I look listening to them. It's why I can't cope with the after quiz bit.   

Overall this lock-in life suits me well. Quiet time in the gaff. Less stress. Less spending. If only I could continue being in the middle of a big gang of CRAIC. Mirth. Mischievous eyes of beloveds saying ONE MORE. And we have four more. But we must wait. It'll be a very different planet when this ends. And it will end. When it does, everything will be much sweeter. Because I've realised how precious it is. How much I love music. And dancing. And being convinced to be bold (it doesn't take much). The crackle of a fresh pint. That perfect line of condensation drawn into a glass of white wine. The Friday night outfits. The smell of my Friday perfume. (Jo Malone!) The sliver of sun. Bursting out the door as soon as work ends and running as fast as I can to the arms of my beloveds.

But hey, it's hailstones! And I'm fortunate because I have lots of things here to make me happy. Another quiz where I'm quizmistress! And I have a safe lovely home. And a MILLION SEASONS of Below Deck left. I have a little wife who is a phone face. And I have plans! On a Friday night! In a global pandemic. So I'm doing decent. I suppose I just wish I had that excited fire of freedom in my belly. I will so cherish that when it's back.

Slug-ish

Yes, thank you, I did Photoshop this myself. It's a slug replacing the face of JenAn in Jennifer Aniston's L'Oreal hair ad from a million years ago. I have a Masters in Art. 

You know those ads where a celebrity asks if you feel limp or lifeless? I know they're talking about your hair. But I am your hair today.

I woke up and promptly got dressed up into my chubby ninja uniform of now. Black lycra, black top, black socks, back runners, black soul. I gazed out the window and looked on at this heavy day. It was being all heavy. Immediately, I saw the biggest slug I've ever seen in my life. A snake slug. A visual metaphor for my day if I ever did see one.

In my being a fit-bitch process (fitch? No.), I did a kettle-bell workout before work. Wife got a large lime green kettle-bell in her most favourite shop - Mr. Price! She got it ages ago, sometime before, when we could leave our houses. Go to fancy places, like Mr. Price! Since then, I've only picked it up to clean around it. But, given how well I'm doing with my 'Moms into Fitness' workouts, I decided today was the day to get into it. Beginners Kettle-bells. I clicked on a 30 minuter. The woman giving the YouTube class was 8 months pregnant. This will be grand. Won't it? It was grand. I mean it was sore. IT WAS VERY SORE. But there was a woman who was EIGHT MONTHS PREGNANT showing me how to do it. I had no excuse. I have bore no babas. I am that large slug in the damp back garden. Too large for this workout I slither through. She, too, is a Mom, who is in to fitness. They're all at it. Anyway lads I COPED. Am I a ride yet? READY!!!

Wife has been entertaining me throughout this endless day very well. At one stage she told me she wants to be a shepherd for her career. Something about being outside. Where the slugs live. I should let her know she's already living that dream with me. She also did a lot of dancing while I was on calls to various managers. She went for a run. She went for a walk. She's in great form! Unlike this 'lil black cloud. The sun is out now though. Maybe if I go out I'll discover that slugs can become angels through the medium of pregnancy workouts. Wait. Was I doing a pregnancy workout? V difficult. Brave moms into fitness.

Maybe I'll find something inspiring on this stupid walk. In the stupid sun! That I can add to this massive moan I've just written. Sorry everyone.

I AM BACK FROM MY WALK. I even ran a bit. I listened to the Dolly Parton podcast. I'd been saving it for a day like this. A limp lifeless day. It was suitably refreshing. The sun stayed out the whole time. The huge burning globe in the sky unconsciously thanking me for not being such a moanbag 3000. That's a name Wife gives me when I'm especially moany. I extended the walk beyond my usual loop. Breaking routine! A true maverick.  I even considered venturing back to the park. But it was dubh le daoine. That's black with people, an Irish phrase for lots of dopes not socially distancing in a park. Well it means busy, direct translation is 'black with people'. There were also a million green flies on my route. I sense there's one inside my nose as I type. So many everywhere. Midges too. All over the park. Everyone is SO OBSESSED WITH THE PARK. Even insects. Put me right off. Inspired me to run though! Away from all of them! I took to the nice peaceful quiet streets instead. Now I'm back, writing to you, sweating buckets, trying to shake off my moanbags. Should be showering, really. Wife is watching yootoobs! She has her hair in little tiny pigtail buns. I want to pop her in my mouth. She is vee cute.

Isn't it dreadful that you can become a moanbag 3000?! When you can go outside for runs! Away from insects, human and flying! And listen to Dolly Parton's voice! And watch a woman you belong to giggle at yootoobs! Now I'm crying at one of her yootoobs. Miriam Margolyes talking about her partner of 50+years. They can't be together right now. And she wishes they were. "We've got to make the time we have left sweeter", Miriam says. She's right. So this moanbag 3000 is gonna go shower and enjoy her bleedin' evening. We'll get there lads. Call me moanbag 3000 no more, I am now the large slug who could. Do you think slugs are actually really cheerful and have been getting a bad rep all these years? Justice for slugs!

OFF TO LIVE MY LIVING ROOM LIFE NOW! CHAT SOOOOOOOOOON!

Echoes

Yes, that's me! Not Miss America LIKE YOU ASSUMED, ASSUMPTA!!

OF COURSE! It's another glorious Monday! Where I got to sit in my little dark living room! And stare at spreadsheets.


Wife spent the afternoon in the back garden. Smothered in oil. Listening to Brazilian singer people. She's going through her Brazilian music phase right now. There's this MC Rebecca one. Horrifying singer. I mean awful. Yet, somehow her horrible voice makes me want to twerk? Which, readers, I cannot twerk. Wife likes to get into a particular genre of music for an undefined period of time. She will then systematically stab it to death with both our ears by over listening to it. To such an extent that we can never listen to any of those songs ever again. For a while, it was this cool world music stuff, these Arab Jews, singing live in these fabulous tea shops. They were great. Until she impaled them in our minds. I don't speak whatever ancient Yemeni dialect they were singing in, but I can sing every word. Then there was her Fiona Apple phase. Just the one Fiona Apple song, mind. Wife slaughtered her too, right through the eardrums. There was the Euphoria soundtrack period. A dark time. She would only listen to it on YouTube. The worst part? There was this endless wrap up ditty at the end of each song from the Euphoria soundtrack. I listened to that wrap up song 100,000 times. It still makes me angry even hearing the first few notes of it.


Anyway, she's been laid out, near naked in the garden all day. I've been plebbing around in the dark goth living room, being a pleb. Doing the jobs, sending the emails. As I warm myself up in the dark, dark living room, I look out at our ghetto garden paradise. I watch her, yellow headphones on, clothes tucked and squeezed to avoid tan lines. She also has, as CHOSEN reading material, a Spanish dictionary. That is what she chose to take with her into the sunshine. We are dramatically different human beings.


The weekend was actually excellent. Is it awful to say that I'm enjoying this now? The slow pace. The lack of rushing. The uncharacteristically weird healthiness this health crisis has spurred in me. The quality time allocated to friends and to each other. The creativity we've infused into making our home seem different each weekend. I'll be honest. It wasn't excellent. We actually had a spectacular weekend. I KNOW IT'S SO BORING TO TALK ABOUT YOUR WEEKEND! BUT IF YOU'RE READING MY BLOG YOU'VE BECOME INTIMATELY AWARE OF HOW TRULY BORING I AM SO LOOK! LISTEN! LOOK! It will still carve a nice 5 minute hole in your day for you by using your eyes to read this. If you can break away from your fascinating Spanish dictionary, that is.


What did we do, you aren't asking? WELL! We hosted our Quiz for our friends! Two nights in a row. I made lots of funny rounds. Including researching some of the worst wax works ever made and having that as my picture round. Wife did not do much to contribute. Too busy murdering Brazilian music. I also tested my friends on lots of hip hop music lyrics! Of which they had no clue! Even I found it amusing going through the guess the lyrics round. Reciting Jay Z and Tupac in a Blackrock accent. I also had a DIVA round where I researched some of the most DIVA things to ever happen. I was the main winner of that round due to the pleasure I got out of that research.

We awoke to Saturday, where IT WAS NOT RAINING for THE FIRST TIME IN COVID HISTORY. To celebrate, we went on a 14km posh hike through posh streets within our 2km. It was relaxing and fascinating and perfect and I couldn't ask for better. I declared to wife that this shall now be forever known as the 'posh hike'.


Sunday we went for an evening stroll. We happened upon an impromptu concert on this massive circle behind our house. It was brilliant. They had a serious sound system in a front driveway under a little marquee. A man with an angelic voice sang old romantic songs of Ireland. It was reverberating around the square. Echoes of classic Irish songs haunting us. A perfect orangey pink sky as its backdrop. A gentle breeze. A little chilly. I was wrapped up in my bright green coat. Melting into the big circular green. All green. All pink! And there was wife and I, doing slow pretend dance-runs, through the huge big bangor circle. A kinda dance jog, if you will. It was like some kind of beautiful movie. A moment you would write down if you were a romantic person. Slot it into some romantic movie I wouldn't watch. Wife tried to take a photo, but it wasn't the same as what we were experiencing. There's a heightened reality to it. It doesn't work on a phone photo. It was something completely different. Like a new look at our own home. In full technicolour. With surround sound. Especially when all you do is hike around posh houses and work, eat, workout, snooze and laugh in your own four walls. When we got home, we turned our house into a tiny Mexican restaurant. We gorged on filth. We dressed up. Wife decided to do her own Frida Kahlo make up. She looked more like Helga from Hey Arnold! Which made me cry with laughter. And I, well, I am not exaggerating when I say I looked deadly. I'd like to thank Lindsay Brin, creator of Moms into Fitness, for my Mexican outfit deadliness.


I've been a little out of sorts today. A lot to do with jealousy of the great big burning globe outside and me GOING ON ABOUT endless WEBINARS like USUAL. A lot to to do with our lovely elderly neighbour. She was being brought away in an ambulance earlier and I'm worrying about her. Even if you make your weekend turn into something spectacular, it's still difficult. The cheer can always be interrupted amidst a global pandemic. And it should be. It's not normal. It's horrible. I've found such peaceful and beautiful ways to avoid it, though. And I'm trying to enjoy this little slice of peace. Since we must do that for now. It's almost like when you're grieving and you feel you shouldn't laugh or enjoy yourself. I remember when my Mam was dying. The only thing I could watch was beauty pageants. Literally the only thing. It was peaceful. Watching them parade. Answering complex questions. It gave me some peace. I guess it was the predictability and gentle beauty of it. I was ignoring everything else. Just the walking and the waving, and I was at peace.

There's something particularly unique to this time. The fact that I got to do a dance with Wife. In a great big echoey circle! While a man sang beautifully and the sky was bright pink! And the green was bright green! It is definitely something that would not have happened before all this. The fact that I felt like AN ABSOLUTE RIDE last night may have happened in normal times. But I'm not sure it would have as quick. So I teeter. Between worry. And happiness. But the happiness is winning. It's right there. In a bright pink echoey masterpiece. On a big circle in Crumlin. I just have to try not feel shame about that I suppose? Worry can be there, but it's OK to feel happy, right? What would Miss America do?

The un-invisible Lesbian and her Ryanair trials

I grated my own finger today. Top news. I'll be ok thanks. Is this cannibalism?

Not much else to report today.


It is now tomorrow. That was literally all I wrote on Wednesday. I'm supposed to be in Milan right now. At design week. Instead I'm on hold with Ryanair. I'm also using their 'chat bot' at the same time. I applied for my refund a month ago. I received an email from them today saying my refund had somehow become a voucher. Now they're waiting for me to give up. Abandon my efforts and let them take my money. They don't know me. Because I will not let this one pass.

Supposed to be at this spa today that gives out free prosecco and snacks after 5pm. Instead, I'm in my living room. Listening to the contempo-casual soundtrack of Ryanair holding a gun to my head for €151. It's like a country style guitar melody with electronic wind chimes. It's so cheerful. But horrifying at the same time. It's now the soundtrack to my day. A horrifying cheerful ditty trying to take my money. Eventually got through. I did feel for the poor girl on the phone to me. She blazes through her script. I won't get a cash refund until the crisis ends, she cheerfully tells me. But! I'm welcome to use my voucher between now and then! On all the trips we can plan right now! *Shakes fist at sky*

It was a busy day in the working from home webinar world. We were hosting a webinar for 90 people with 7 speakers! It all went suspiciously well. Must be all that preparation we forced them to do. We also had a live stream of a competition final on YouTube. Was supposed to happen in a cinema. So sad. Miss cinemas.

But on to my real virtual world, where I am hosting a quiz this evening! My first! As I have no useful knowledge I have tailored all rounds to suit my high brow needs. Including extra points for outfits! And head-wear! I will run through topics such as DIVAS, 90's music and a picture round. It's nice to have an evening plan! Makes me feel like a human person. Very different from me being prosecco drunk in a whirlpool in Italy, but I'll take what I can get.

It's also lesbian visibility week, that is when us lesbians become un-invisible. I know you've never seen me before but now is your week!

I was actually kinda invisible to myself for a long time. I didn't realise I was a lesbian really until I was about 25. Although I liked kissing girls, I dated men. Well, boys. Pretty, lovely boys, with long eyelashes and full lips and heartshaped faces. A clue there. I did not notice.

How did I not notice? I did everything a classical lesbian would do. I had really intense dramatic earth shattering friendships! With girls! Two of which included actual breakups, now that I think of it. I was dumped, obv. Twice! Listened to Tori Amos, Ani DiFranco, Fiona Apple. Watched Buffy so obsessively that I used to sing the musical whenever I got drunk (still do, sometimes). Favourite movies were Fried Green Tomatoes and a League of their own. The gayest gay lady movies ever! My crushes; Jared Leto. And I didn't realise it at the time, but definitely Amerie and Natalie Imbruglia too. I even bought their singles on CD. HOW did I not know?  

It took some time. And a lot of messing, until I knew that women were just more exciting for me. More beautiful. More mesmerising. They consumed my mind more. And that fascination started to give me clues. Along with those feeling things that started popping up. It was only then that I committed to lesbian content. I bought a book because Oprah had a woman on her show. She was talking about how most women are bisexual on it. Anne Heche was there! The book was called Sexual Fluidity. It was actually a pretty boring book. I still have it. Yet to finish. I then started dedicating myself to the lesbian cause. I ploughed through the L Word. Every single terrible horrible awful lesbian movie ever made. Only decent one was Imagine Me&You, a British rom-com with Cersei Lannister. This was now my thing. My secret thing that nobody knew. (Except, obviously, everyone, apart from me and my Dad.)

I remember when I came out to my Dad. I wrote him a letter. A long sweeping passionate one, about my mother, about the love and support my (now wife) wrapped me in when my mam died. It was to coincide with the Yes Equality vote. I wanted to make sure he voted for me. He texted back saying: "I'm disappointed you're not going to marry a man." He then called me to ask me if I liked his response! He's a funny fish. Later we met for lunch and he said "BUT YOU LOVED BRAD PITT!" He meant well though. And sang so beautifully at our wedding. He now asks for wife all the time in his weekly texts. Took us both some time to get over Brad, I guess.

I never came out to my mom. And I'm not sure why I didn't. There were a million opportunities. And in hindsight, I know now that she was trying to encourage me to tell her. I remember curating a queer exhibition, and she said "why would they ask you to curate a queer exhibition?"

There was another, much gentler conversation. She asked me for advice on one of her friends. Her friend wasn't happy about a gay relationship her daughter was in. My mom couldn't understand it and wanted to know what to say. She asked me if I had many lesbian friends and if I had any advice for her. She went on to say that if it was her child she wouldn't care. As long as they were happy and their mental health was ok. She was practically spoon feeding me my coming out story. With little aeroplane noises! But I was a coward again, I told myself it was because she was sick. She was on chemo at the time. We were chatting in her bed. Where I'd sit with her while she recovered. Her little face swollen from steroids, peering over some glasses. Stacks of books and newspapers piling up at her bedside. A faint scent of Anais Anais perfume. I don't remember what I said, something like, explain it to her that way? Anyway, I did some form of unmemorable deflection. I excused myself then for a moment. I sat on my little single bed in the back room. The same bed where I'd secretly watched all this gay content for hours on end. And I wept. It was a happy cry though. A cry of acceptance. See, though I was invisible to myself for a long time, I was never invisible to her. And, in that moment, I knew that.

It's mad that it's nearly 7 years since I've seen her. I wish she could see my big happy lesbian life now. But instead, I'm putting it on the internet for you to read. How embarrassing! Wonder if she'd read my blog. She would I'd say. She was very supportive. I miss her.

Anyway, there's a bit of meandery story about my own lesbian visibility to myself. It took me a while, but it's good out here being seen. Would be better to be in Milan at a spa, but again, I WILL GET THAT REFUND RYANAIR IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DOOOOOOOOOOO.

x