Blankpaige wrote an interesting piece about some radio presenters whose voices she liked and disliked.
I've tried to think of 10 male and 10 female voices that I've liked listening to over the years. Note that I'm purely judging the sound of the voice, I'm not necessarily a fan of the person. They are also not in any particular order of favourites, nor have I put long thought into this (I'll probably think of others afterwards or regret some of the ones I've chosen!).
Men...
1. Vincent Price - I loved his unique clear, haunting, slightly aristocratic mellow tones.
2. Anthony Hopkins - great clear distinct poetic voice. "I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti...fffhhh fffhhh fffhh".
3. Richard Burton - similar reasons as for Hopkins. They are both Welsh of course.
4. Gay Byrne - great intonation and expression, impossible to lose interest in what he is saying.
5. Ian Paisley - a passionate and decisive voice. I love mimicking him (I'm told I do it well!).
6. John F. Kennedy - nice positive delivery, smooth and easy to listen to Boston accent.
7. Ronald Reagan - could inspire and move in his speeches with his soft yet passionate voice
8. John Cleese - great stiff upper lip voice with so many interesting characteristics.
9. Pat Kenny - probably has the clearest diction and best delivery of all Irish broadcasters
10. Terry Wogan - distinctive, laid-back and easy to listen to.
Women.....
1. Hilary Clinton - clear and positive.
2. Mary Robinson - throaty and deep, but pleasant and distinctive.
3. Meryl Streep - soft and wide ranging in expression.
4. Julia Roberts - good clear and pleasant American accent.
5. Audrey Hepburn - sophisticated, friendly, fragile, nice mixture of English/Continental tones.
6. Barbara Stanwick - a bassy voice with good delivery.
8. Jodie Foster - slightly nasal, distinctive and easy to listen to.
9. Grace Kelly - soft and regal.
10. Jennifer Lopez - quite smooth and warm NY accent.
If I was to pick a voice I've personally loved more than any other...it would be that of my spouse. She has a nice soft blend of her parents Derry/Donegal accents peppered with south east Dublin tones. But I'm biased!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
Michael McDowell's exit from politics
The actor John Cleese starred in a series of hilarious sales training videos in the 1980s. In one such video Cleese was a weak salesman who nevertheless was warm and friendly to his prospective clients, and they in turn loved him. In one scene Cleese is sitting in an office with one of his prospects and the client is enjoying a big cigar given to him by Cleese. The client tells Cleese how much he enjoys his visits and loves chatting to him. The phone on the client's desk then rings and he takes the call from reception. He seems irritated. After hanging up he says to Cleese:
"I'm really sorry, I'm afraid I'll have to take leave of you now. It's so annoying, you are my favourite visitor. But I've got to see a right bastard down at reception who keeps selling me tons of stuff!"
If ever there was a summary of Michael McDowell as a political creature it might be that he was similar to the successful but detested salesman at reception in the above video. McDowell was not always liked, he could be arrogant, aloof, egotistical, impulsive even. But he was visionary, skillful, single minded, and he got results.
Michael McDowell successfully tackled the insurance compensation culture in Ireland, created conditions for reduced insurance premiums, started the Garda Reserve, added many tough laws on crime and the gangland culture as well as anti social behaviour measures. Not all in the conservative legal World agreed with his tough measures, but McDowell came from a strong legal background himself and knew what could be achieved. I've also written before on how right he was to try to extend the licensing laws to provide many more cafe bars in Ireland.
Even in defeat and departure from politics McDowell was controversial and impulsive. An all or nothing man in many ways. I had thought he would be a great leader in the PDs but in truth he was a lone but skilled maverick. He was not always good at warming to and motivating people, both in his party and with the electorate. He did seem conscious of this as time moved along and I detected he was slowly working on improving his image. I still believe he achieved more in his post as Minister for Justice than anyone before him. Irish politics has lost a powerful, energetic and colourful character who also indeed provided much entertainment for the media.
To borrow from Theodore Roosevelt "...his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."
"I'm really sorry, I'm afraid I'll have to take leave of you now. It's so annoying, you are my favourite visitor. But I've got to see a right bastard down at reception who keeps selling me tons of stuff!"
If ever there was a summary of Michael McDowell as a political creature it might be that he was similar to the successful but detested salesman at reception in the above video. McDowell was not always liked, he could be arrogant, aloof, egotistical, impulsive even. But he was visionary, skillful, single minded, and he got results.
Michael McDowell successfully tackled the insurance compensation culture in Ireland, created conditions for reduced insurance premiums, started the Garda Reserve, added many tough laws on crime and the gangland culture as well as anti social behaviour measures. Not all in the conservative legal World agreed with his tough measures, but McDowell came from a strong legal background himself and knew what could be achieved. I've also written before on how right he was to try to extend the licensing laws to provide many more cafe bars in Ireland.
Even in defeat and departure from politics McDowell was controversial and impulsive. An all or nothing man in many ways. I had thought he would be a great leader in the PDs but in truth he was a lone but skilled maverick. He was not always good at warming to and motivating people, both in his party and with the electorate. He did seem conscious of this as time moved along and I detected he was slowly working on improving his image. I still believe he achieved more in his post as Minister for Justice than anyone before him. Irish politics has lost a powerful, energetic and colourful character who also indeed provided much entertainment for the media.
To borrow from Theodore Roosevelt "...his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Proportional Representation - enjoy the ride!
Many Americans, British and others are confused by the PR voting system and even Fianna Fail many decades ago hated it and tried to get rid of it. But in the last few elections FF in particular have been getting good at vote management with their supporters using the PR single transferable vote (STV) system .
On Friday and Saturday it should be fun studying all the voting patterns, surpluses, transfers on 2nd, 3rd preferences etc. And with manual counting it's going to offer plenty of slow suspense!
Our PR system offers each voter a chance to help elect several candidates who are considered compatible with the voter's desires. With good knowledge of people in the constituency there are many clever possibilities.
For example, if one person is likely to smash the quota (e.g. a popular party leader or a powerful local person) then their surplus can help drag in second weaker candidate with 2nd preferences. This depends on party or pact loyalty being strong.
In another possible case, if one candidate is likely to be elected, but without a useful surplus, then it might make sense for some supporters to vote for a weaker compatible candidate as first preference. If the weak candidate gets elected than that's good. If they get eliminated - well at least your second preference can usually go to helping the prime candidate. If the prime candidate is already elected at that stage of counting by reaching the quota, then the 3rd preference can even help a further compatible candidate. In this case if too many voted for the moderately prime candidate as first preference and they barely reach the quota - then your 2nd preferences for the weaker candidate will not even be counted.
These are just examples of the logic that might be applied and every constituency will have it's own special features. As you can imagine - this vote management game needs careful co-ordination to get the best effect - it could easily go badly wrong if the numbers and estimates are not balanced right. In the end it's the people's choice and there is only so much that parties can attempt with working the system.
Let's get ready to rumble!
On Friday and Saturday it should be fun studying all the voting patterns, surpluses, transfers on 2nd, 3rd preferences etc. And with manual counting it's going to offer plenty of slow suspense!
Our PR system offers each voter a chance to help elect several candidates who are considered compatible with the voter's desires. With good knowledge of people in the constituency there are many clever possibilities.
For example, if one person is likely to smash the quota (e.g. a popular party leader or a powerful local person) then their surplus can help drag in second weaker candidate with 2nd preferences. This depends on party or pact loyalty being strong.
In another possible case, if one candidate is likely to be elected, but without a useful surplus, then it might make sense for some supporters to vote for a weaker compatible candidate as first preference. If the weak candidate gets elected than that's good. If they get eliminated - well at least your second preference can usually go to helping the prime candidate. If the prime candidate is already elected at that stage of counting by reaching the quota, then the 3rd preference can even help a further compatible candidate. In this case if too many voted for the moderately prime candidate as first preference and they barely reach the quota - then your 2nd preferences for the weaker candidate will not even be counted.
These are just examples of the logic that might be applied and every constituency will have it's own special features. As you can imagine - this vote management game needs careful co-ordination to get the best effect - it could easily go badly wrong if the numbers and estimates are not balanced right. In the end it's the people's choice and there is only so much that parties can attempt with working the system.
Let's get ready to rumble!
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Internet fame?
I was in the local Off License this evening. A nice lady approached me and said...
"Hello, John, isn't it?"
Who is this person I thought? I hate when I forget people I've met before. She looked a lot like a neighbour we knew from a previous address, but seemed a bit taller.
"Ah, Eleanor! I haven't seen you in ages", I offered.
"No, I'm Esther" she said.
This was getting weird. Senility is setting in. But at least I got the first and last letters right! I surely don't know an Esther...do I!?
"I'm Claire's mother".
Mmmh, maybe a mother of one of my daughters' friends?
I struggled to think of a Claire. This friendly lady could see I was having difficulty.
"Gingerpixel's Mum! I saw your photograph on the Internet from the photo shoot on Killiney beach".
Ah, the penny dropped! Esther did indeed look like my blogging/photography pal Claire/Gingerpixel. We then exchanged a few pleasantries.
I can safely say that this is the only time in my life that a stranger has identified and spoken to me based on a photo on the Internet. The World is changing!
"Hello, John, isn't it?"
Who is this person I thought? I hate when I forget people I've met before. She looked a lot like a neighbour we knew from a previous address, but seemed a bit taller.
"Ah, Eleanor! I haven't seen you in ages", I offered.
"No, I'm Esther" she said.
This was getting weird. Senility is setting in. But at least I got the first and last letters right! I surely don't know an Esther...do I!?
"I'm Claire's mother".
Mmmh, maybe a mother of one of my daughters' friends?
I struggled to think of a Claire. This friendly lady could see I was having difficulty.
"Gingerpixel's Mum! I saw your photograph on the Internet from the photo shoot on Killiney beach".
Ah, the penny dropped! Esther did indeed look like my blogging/photography pal Claire/Gingerpixel. We then exchanged a few pleasantries.
I can safely say that this is the only time in my life that a stranger has identified and spoken to me based on a photo on the Internet. The World is changing!
Friday, May 18, 2007
I'm voting for Fianna Fail and PDs
I don't think I've read one pro Government blog for so long in the election run-up. It's far cooler to be anti-establishment. But I'm brave. Forget all the silly media hype of scoring on individual events, who-said-what and Bertie's modest personal transactions etc. Here's the real deal...
The current Government is a coalition. It works well and has been stable for so long because FF and PDs have similar ideologies and the PDs are of course an original FF offshoot. Plus the PDs are very small but make a useful contribution. There is much hype about McDowell. He has arguably an irritating personality - but by golly he is the best Minister for Justice I can recall in my lifetime. Exactly the right decisive man for the job.
We have largely forgotten about how bad coalitions can normally be. FG+Labour+Greens is quite a bizarre cocktail of ideologies and has a high chance of failure when difficult choices come about. It may not always be apparent at the top table but you can be sure that grass roots in the respective parties will cause hell when it gets hot on policy implementations.
I don't trust this inexperienced Rainbow coalition to do any better on health or spending. It's much more likely they will squabble and argue and waste more time and money. Much of the problem in health is in sorting efficiencies in hospital management, sorting out consultants, increasing services and improving and balancing public and private care. It's certainly not to do with shortage of funding. The Government have a plan in place, it's slow and difficult but it is making progress. Do we really want to tear it all up and start again with a new government of very mixed colours? Can't you imagine FG and Labour arguing over private/public? Not apparent now? Everything sounds rosy when your just talking from the sidelines. Just wait to see them in Government making real and tough decisions.
The bottom line is I like stable democratic Government (which we have taken for granted in the last ten years) - the Rainbow simply don't convince me that they have the ideologies or experience to achieve this.
Footnote....
I wrote this before lastnight's Ahern-Kenny debate. I thought I'd hold back posting just in case I learned something interesting from it. All I learned was that Kenny sounded loud but inexperienced and full of individual anecdotal cases, but Ahern had all the big answers. In theory it's easier for opposition to attack the sitting tenants. This didn't happen - Kenny had his figures muddled - got worse as the debate went on - and just fired out good sounding individual cases when he was being cornered. He couldn't even be clear on economic figures nor be consistent on his Justice spokesman's figures. Can't you imagine how more muddled Kenny would be with Labour and the Greens at his side? Kenny isn't a bad politician but he and his party are still lightweights. Until they get much bigger with better players and can stand a good chance in Government without far left wing parties support, they simply don't have my vote. We may perceive that there are problems in the country now - I sure as hell don't want them getting worse.
The current Government is a coalition. It works well and has been stable for so long because FF and PDs have similar ideologies and the PDs are of course an original FF offshoot. Plus the PDs are very small but make a useful contribution. There is much hype about McDowell. He has arguably an irritating personality - but by golly he is the best Minister for Justice I can recall in my lifetime. Exactly the right decisive man for the job.
We have largely forgotten about how bad coalitions can normally be. FG+Labour+Greens is quite a bizarre cocktail of ideologies and has a high chance of failure when difficult choices come about. It may not always be apparent at the top table but you can be sure that grass roots in the respective parties will cause hell when it gets hot on policy implementations.
I don't trust this inexperienced Rainbow coalition to do any better on health or spending. It's much more likely they will squabble and argue and waste more time and money. Much of the problem in health is in sorting efficiencies in hospital management, sorting out consultants, increasing services and improving and balancing public and private care. It's certainly not to do with shortage of funding. The Government have a plan in place, it's slow and difficult but it is making progress. Do we really want to tear it all up and start again with a new government of very mixed colours? Can't you imagine FG and Labour arguing over private/public? Not apparent now? Everything sounds rosy when your just talking from the sidelines. Just wait to see them in Government making real and tough decisions.
The bottom line is I like stable democratic Government (which we have taken for granted in the last ten years) - the Rainbow simply don't convince me that they have the ideologies or experience to achieve this.
Footnote....
I wrote this before lastnight's Ahern-Kenny debate. I thought I'd hold back posting just in case I learned something interesting from it. All I learned was that Kenny sounded loud but inexperienced and full of individual anecdotal cases, but Ahern had all the big answers. In theory it's easier for opposition to attack the sitting tenants. This didn't happen - Kenny had his figures muddled - got worse as the debate went on - and just fired out good sounding individual cases when he was being cornered. He couldn't even be clear on economic figures nor be consistent on his Justice spokesman's figures. Can't you imagine how more muddled Kenny would be with Labour and the Greens at his side? Kenny isn't a bad politician but he and his party are still lightweights. Until they get much bigger with better players and can stand a good chance in Government without far left wing parties support, they simply don't have my vote. We may perceive that there are problems in the country now - I sure as hell don't want them getting worse.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Sorrows and lessons from little Madeleine McCann
I hadn't intended to write on this subject but Twenty Major raised a few important questions and we found ourselves in total agreement in our respective comments. His brief article has provoked considerable healthy debate.
As parents who have three daughters who were once Madeleine's age, my wife and I are filled with sadness and sympathy for the parents and the little girl. It's a living nightmare for each one of them. What form of humanity is out there to do this? Whoever did this were once children themselves but must have had a bizarre upbringing.
Having said the above, I cannot help but comment on the fact that it is highly irresponsible to leave children this age unattended in any dwelling. Especially in a foreign holiday resort with such a huge mixture of non-locals and easy access to all sorts of further places to take kidnapped children. I think of the sacrifices so many of us parents make as the kids are small to ensure they are safe - it is a tiny price to pay in reality. They grow so fast and when they are older they don't want to go on holiday with you anyway - as we ourselves have discovered.
If your small daughters are pretty and look different to the locals, they do attract attention. I've noticed this in the past on our own holidays abroad. An example we had was in Turkey when our youngest was just 11. She was getting a lot of looks and friendly comments from some local men. It seemed innocent and I'm sure most of it was. I actually found the Turkish people very nice, but holiday places also attract different types of local people and foreigners. One guy serving us in a restaurant called my daughter a little princess and patted her head a lot. Another guy jokingly offered me a camel for her! I carefully avoided the quip I might have used at home that she was worth at least two camels. You must be careful in these places. The notion of us leaving her in the apartment without trusted adult supervision in these foreign holiday places would be beyond comprehension. I don't buy this checking her every 20 minutes idea. It's not remotely enough and 20 minutes is a very ill-defined term when you're chatting and having drinks.
Madeleine's parents will not read this article and even if they did I'm sure they already now know the lessons privately anyway. The media have - understandably I suppose - not made a major factor of the non supervision of the child in order not to hurt the parents more. This has the side effect however of almost implying this practise as acceptable. So if by speaking the raw truth I can somehow encourage anyone with small children to be very careful on holiday abroad - then it's worth me saying it.
I deeply hope for a good ending to this horrible episode and all other similar cases.
As parents who have three daughters who were once Madeleine's age, my wife and I are filled with sadness and sympathy for the parents and the little girl. It's a living nightmare for each one of them. What form of humanity is out there to do this? Whoever did this were once children themselves but must have had a bizarre upbringing.
Having said the above, I cannot help but comment on the fact that it is highly irresponsible to leave children this age unattended in any dwelling. Especially in a foreign holiday resort with such a huge mixture of non-locals and easy access to all sorts of further places to take kidnapped children. I think of the sacrifices so many of us parents make as the kids are small to ensure they are safe - it is a tiny price to pay in reality. They grow so fast and when they are older they don't want to go on holiday with you anyway - as we ourselves have discovered.
If your small daughters are pretty and look different to the locals, they do attract attention. I've noticed this in the past on our own holidays abroad. An example we had was in Turkey when our youngest was just 11. She was getting a lot of looks and friendly comments from some local men. It seemed innocent and I'm sure most of it was. I actually found the Turkish people very nice, but holiday places also attract different types of local people and foreigners. One guy serving us in a restaurant called my daughter a little princess and patted her head a lot. Another guy jokingly offered me a camel for her! I carefully avoided the quip I might have used at home that she was worth at least two camels. You must be careful in these places. The notion of us leaving her in the apartment without trusted adult supervision in these foreign holiday places would be beyond comprehension. I don't buy this checking her every 20 minutes idea. It's not remotely enough and 20 minutes is a very ill-defined term when you're chatting and having drinks.
Madeleine's parents will not read this article and even if they did I'm sure they already now know the lessons privately anyway. The media have - understandably I suppose - not made a major factor of the non supervision of the child in order not to hurt the parents more. This has the side effect however of almost implying this practise as acceptable. So if by speaking the raw truth I can somehow encourage anyone with small children to be very careful on holiday abroad - then it's worth me saying it.
I deeply hope for a good ending to this horrible episode and all other similar cases.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Ireland and UK in Eurovision
In coming last Ireland did really badly on Saturday's Eurovision. I thought the standard was quite high this year from nearly all countries.
In recent years we seem to forget again and again that Eurovision is now big visual , big impact entertainment. It must have instant appeal for public voters all around Europe. It needs major professionalism put into the song, presentation and promotion. It's not near enough just to have a reasonable song. Both UK and Ireland and now increasingly insular remote places to the expanding Europe and it is no coincidence that we both made good company for each other at the end of the voting table. We need much more wow factor and imagination to get even noticed.
Anyway. It's just a bit of fun. Nobody died as they say! Well done Serbia.
In recent years we seem to forget again and again that Eurovision is now big visual , big impact entertainment. It must have instant appeal for public voters all around Europe. It needs major professionalism put into the song, presentation and promotion. It's not near enough just to have a reasonable song. Both UK and Ireland and now increasingly insular remote places to the expanding Europe and it is no coincidence that we both made good company for each other at the end of the voting table. We need much more wow factor and imagination to get even noticed.
Anyway. It's just a bit of fun. Nobody died as they say! Well done Serbia.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Satellite Navigation - it's VERY USEFUL!!
I'm well known by friends as a gadget geek. In the last year I've been reading up on choices for portable satellite navigation units for the car or walking. The recent trip to Bordeaux kind of forced me into making my mind up on a purchase. For various timing and availability reasons we booked our flights in and out of Biarritz rather than Bordeaux. The prospect of driving a hired car up from Biarritz to a very rural chateau 30 minutes southeast of Bordeaux was kind of daunting - not to mention the local travelling we would be doing during the stay.
A few days before departure I finally purchased the latest TomTom 910 portable SatNav unit. It is an amazing unit - fitted with a micro 20GB hard disk it contains all the latest maps of everywhere in Europe (does Ireland very well too), North America and various other places on the hard disk. With a nice 4 inch screen it can also store your photographs, play MP3 music and act as a handsfree unit for your mobile phone via bluetooth.
Anyway - the cool thing was that I could programme the destination chateau's address into the unit when sitting planning in Dublin and it could demonstrate visually and aurally every step of the route for me from Biarritz airport all the way to the Chateau. This feature caused much amusement in the car when we eventually went on the real trip. I was saying things like - "Oh yea, I remember this junction!" My wife thought I had genuinely been there before!
The SatNav shows you your location as you go along and talks to you about junctions and next turns etc. It even bleeps when at a speed camera and tells you your speed and if you are over the speed limit etc. If you go wrong it can recalculate an alternative route within 5 seconds. It shows you where petrol stations and rest places and various other useful points of interest (POI) are. You can even make it phone the POI - e.g. restaurant - via the bluetooth link to your mobile phone (yes, it stores all the phone numbers of the POIs) to say make a booking. The unit brought us flawlessly on the two hour drive from Biarritz airport to the remote chateau without me going near a paper map. When we entered the courtyard of the correct chateau the unit calmly announced "Your have reached your destination". We cheered loudly and I felt like kissing the SatNav unit!
One really cool thing was when we wanted to go into Bordeaux to a particular recommended restaurant. I'd never been in Bordeaux in my life and it seemed a bit daunting to find this restaurant. We keyed into the unit the full restaurant address including the building number on the street. I gulped and nervously put my faith into the SatNav unit doing things right. I was stunned to experience the unit talking and guiding us into Bordeaux, through the streets and right up to - not just the correct street - but right outside the door of the restaurant, where it announced "You have reached your destination"! Brilliant!!
We also went on a trip to the lovely town of Saint Emilion one day. The safe predictable route for tourists was via main routes and motorways - which is how some friends in another car who left just before us went. However with SatNav - the unit guided us through very scenic and more direct smaller country roads. We had a much nicer view of vineyards and countryside and also arrived at the town long before the others - saving fuel money as well. I would never have attempted such a route with maps - we would be going crazy and getting lost at every small junction.
Anyway I'm hooked on the benefits of SatNav and I wont be going anywhere strange again without this baby! God bless technology.
A few days before departure I finally purchased the latest TomTom 910 portable SatNav unit. It is an amazing unit - fitted with a micro 20GB hard disk it contains all the latest maps of everywhere in Europe (does Ireland very well too), North America and various other places on the hard disk. With a nice 4 inch screen it can also store your photographs, play MP3 music and act as a handsfree unit for your mobile phone via bluetooth.
Anyway - the cool thing was that I could programme the destination chateau's address into the unit when sitting planning in Dublin and it could demonstrate visually and aurally every step of the route for me from Biarritz airport all the way to the Chateau. This feature caused much amusement in the car when we eventually went on the real trip. I was saying things like - "Oh yea, I remember this junction!" My wife thought I had genuinely been there before!
The SatNav shows you your location as you go along and talks to you about junctions and next turns etc. It even bleeps when at a speed camera and tells you your speed and if you are over the speed limit etc. If you go wrong it can recalculate an alternative route within 5 seconds. It shows you where petrol stations and rest places and various other useful points of interest (POI) are. You can even make it phone the POI - e.g. restaurant - via the bluetooth link to your mobile phone (yes, it stores all the phone numbers of the POIs) to say make a booking. The unit brought us flawlessly on the two hour drive from Biarritz airport to the remote chateau without me going near a paper map. When we entered the courtyard of the correct chateau the unit calmly announced "Your have reached your destination". We cheered loudly and I felt like kissing the SatNav unit!
One really cool thing was when we wanted to go into Bordeaux to a particular recommended restaurant. I'd never been in Bordeaux in my life and it seemed a bit daunting to find this restaurant. We keyed into the unit the full restaurant address including the building number on the street. I gulped and nervously put my faith into the SatNav unit doing things right. I was stunned to experience the unit talking and guiding us into Bordeaux, through the streets and right up to - not just the correct street - but right outside the door of the restaurant, where it announced "You have reached your destination"! Brilliant!!
We also went on a trip to the lovely town of Saint Emilion one day. The safe predictable route for tourists was via main routes and motorways - which is how some friends in another car who left just before us went. However with SatNav - the unit guided us through very scenic and more direct smaller country roads. We had a much nicer view of vineyards and countryside and also arrived at the town long before the others - saving fuel money as well. I would never have attempted such a route with maps - we would be going crazy and getting lost at every small junction.
Anyway I'm hooked on the benefits of SatNav and I wont be going anywhere strange again without this baby! God bless technology.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Bordeaux and it's trams
My wife and I are just back from a break in the Bordeaux region. We were staying at an amazing old Chateau about 30 minutes from the city of Bordeaux. We were amongt sixty or so others who went over to the rented Chateau to help one of our friend's family celebrate the husband and two children's significant birthdays. It was a huge and magical castle sized place and I could blog for hours on the chateau itself and indeed the great wine, vineyards and countryside etc. Throw in all the good company of close friends, partying and late nights and it was indeed a blast!
In this instance I just want to briefly comment on the trams we experienced in the city of Bordeaux. I understand they were made by the same company who built the Dublin Luas trams. What struck me was how they designed them without overhead power feed lines - power comes from the ground. Much easier on the eye - no spoiling of the views of the wonderful city of Bordeaux. In particular - the trams travel across the lovely Pont-de-Pierre bridge and it would have been rather ugly to spoil the bridge with overheard lines.
Also, as you can see in my photo, along some of the route the tracks are over manicured grassed lawns. Trust the French to make a mundane city tram line look nice - and achieved with such a simple idea!
Bordeaux is a beautiful city and it has remained so even as it is being modernised. I wish we would more often put in the same attention to detail as we develop our own cities in Ireland. It doesn't always cost much money to enhance beauty, often just a bit of imagination. I take my hat of to the French in this category.
In this instance I just want to briefly comment on the trams we experienced in the city of Bordeaux. I understand they were made by the same company who built the Dublin Luas trams. What struck me was how they designed them without overhead power feed lines - power comes from the ground. Much easier on the eye - no spoiling of the views of the wonderful city of Bordeaux. In particular - the trams travel across the lovely Pont-de-Pierre bridge and it would have been rather ugly to spoil the bridge with overheard lines.
Also, as you can see in my photo, along some of the route the tracks are over manicured grassed lawns. Trust the French to make a mundane city tram line look nice - and achieved with such a simple idea!
Bordeaux is a beautiful city and it has remained so even as it is being modernised. I wish we would more often put in the same attention to detail as we develop our own cities in Ireland. It doesn't always cost much money to enhance beauty, often just a bit of imagination. I take my hat of to the French in this category.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Viva La Difference!
I understand that in many parts of Africa, men and women don't see women's breasts as sexually attractive. They are seen as glands for feeding babies. I listened to a radio piece not long ago which described an African woman's reaction on being told that western men found breasts exciting. "You mean that western men are like babies!!??" She could just manage to say this amid fits of laughter.
I heard an interview with an author (whose name escapes me) from one of the southern USA states. This black lady grew up in an environment where toilets were always outside the house. She described how she still finds it hard to get used to the idea that modern society can accept the stink of fecal waste from bathrooms inside houses - and in particular from an ensuite right beside where you sleep!
I'm merely making the point that it is not always as obvious as we think to see other people's ingrained traditions. But with a little patient listening, dialogue and thought one can easily enough begin to understand.
I watched a Questions and Answers program a few months ago on RTE which got me thinking on similar lines to the above examples. One question asked reaction from the panel to Enda Kenny's initiative for making immigrants to the country feel more welcome and integrate better. A simple and jokey opening contribution from the DUP's Jeffery Donaldson passed without any comment from others in the panel, but it stopped me in my tracks. This is a paraphrase but it went like....
"Well, I speak for my own people in the North who were also immigrants to this island and we have felt the need for an initiative like this for the last 400 years!"
Wow! All many of us southerners can think about the families from the plantation of Ulster is that they were invaders. Did we ever consider that maybe they saw themselves in the 17th century as immigrants who were unwelcome? Yes, before I hear howls of protest from nationalists - there are two sides to this story, I'm well aware of the history of it all (and indeed my mother was a nationalist growing up in NI who could tell many a sorry tale). But I'm just making a general point that ordinary families only integrate and fuse into a society when they feel they are welcome and both sides respect each other's viewpoint. Hostility breeds more hostility and you often end up with ghettos and polarisation.
We need to forget about a united Ireland until we unite in welcome and fellowship and seeing the other viewpoint. The unionists and nationalists in NI have more to share and enjoy than they perhaps realise. It's the small things - as always - which offer clues that it is slowly happening. A great example was Ian Paisley and Gerry Adams jointly signing a request to have the UK Government's Northern Ireland Secretary Peter Hain and his staff vacate their Stormont offices. This was wonderful in itself, but equally good was the little human story behind closed doors afterwards which as far as I can detect was only barely reported....
Gerry Adams it seems quipped to Ian Paisley that he never thought he would see the big man so eager to get the Brits out! In reaction we are told that Ian howled with laughter in his well known and unique way. Laughter together, what a wonderful start.
Different outlooks, but in truth - not so different really.
I heard an interview with an author (whose name escapes me) from one of the southern USA states. This black lady grew up in an environment where toilets were always outside the house. She described how she still finds it hard to get used to the idea that modern society can accept the stink of fecal waste from bathrooms inside houses - and in particular from an ensuite right beside where you sleep!
I'm merely making the point that it is not always as obvious as we think to see other people's ingrained traditions. But with a little patient listening, dialogue and thought one can easily enough begin to understand.
I watched a Questions and Answers program a few months ago on RTE which got me thinking on similar lines to the above examples. One question asked reaction from the panel to Enda Kenny's initiative for making immigrants to the country feel more welcome and integrate better. A simple and jokey opening contribution from the DUP's Jeffery Donaldson passed without any comment from others in the panel, but it stopped me in my tracks. This is a paraphrase but it went like....
"Well, I speak for my own people in the North who were also immigrants to this island and we have felt the need for an initiative like this for the last 400 years!"
Wow! All many of us southerners can think about the families from the plantation of Ulster is that they were invaders. Did we ever consider that maybe they saw themselves in the 17th century as immigrants who were unwelcome? Yes, before I hear howls of protest from nationalists - there are two sides to this story, I'm well aware of the history of it all (and indeed my mother was a nationalist growing up in NI who could tell many a sorry tale). But I'm just making a general point that ordinary families only integrate and fuse into a society when they feel they are welcome and both sides respect each other's viewpoint. Hostility breeds more hostility and you often end up with ghettos and polarisation.
We need to forget about a united Ireland until we unite in welcome and fellowship and seeing the other viewpoint. The unionists and nationalists in NI have more to share and enjoy than they perhaps realise. It's the small things - as always - which offer clues that it is slowly happening. A great example was Ian Paisley and Gerry Adams jointly signing a request to have the UK Government's Northern Ireland Secretary Peter Hain and his staff vacate their Stormont offices. This was wonderful in itself, but equally good was the little human story behind closed doors afterwards which as far as I can detect was only barely reported....
Gerry Adams it seems quipped to Ian Paisley that he never thought he would see the big man so eager to get the Brits out! In reaction we are told that Ian howled with laughter in his well known and unique way. Laughter together, what a wonderful start.
Different outlooks, but in truth - not so different really.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Granny and good vote management!
What motivates a person's General Election voting choice? It's the economy, stupid! Nah, not in this case...
My paternal grandmother was an invalid and when quite elderly she lived with us for a number of years in the early 1970s. On the run up to a particular general election an official looking gentleman arrived with a clip-boarded registration list of voters. He was very sorry to hear Gran was an invalid and thought it was only fair and proper for her to exercise her right to vote. He said he would organise transport for Gran to be taken to the polling station. I was about seventeen at the time and on election day I recall the burly volunteers arriving at the house with a big van.
In utter respect to my granny's complete freedom of choice to vote for whoever she liked - a range of candidate leaflets were handed to her to read. While the men chatted to my parents I went over to my gran to see what she had. To my surprise at the time - all the leaflets were for Fianna Fail candidates! It was a bit like the old arrangement in the USSR - you can vote for anyone...in one party!
Equally interesting was Gran's selection process of the right person to vote for. She never had much interest in politics and had even less in her advanced years. She looked at one photo and then another and another. Did the person look honest, strong, too young, too old, devious, healthy etc. etc. She asked my opinion on a few, such as..."Does that fellow look like a crook?" "Does yer man look like he has heart problems?" etc.
So Gran was brought away in the van with her exceptionally well colour co-ordinated leaflets and returned safely in less than 30 minutes. I'll never forget the men's parting remarks to Gran...
"God bless you for voting Mam. There's many a country where nobody has a choice."
My paternal grandmother was an invalid and when quite elderly she lived with us for a number of years in the early 1970s. On the run up to a particular general election an official looking gentleman arrived with a clip-boarded registration list of voters. He was very sorry to hear Gran was an invalid and thought it was only fair and proper for her to exercise her right to vote. He said he would organise transport for Gran to be taken to the polling station. I was about seventeen at the time and on election day I recall the burly volunteers arriving at the house with a big van.
In utter respect to my granny's complete freedom of choice to vote for whoever she liked - a range of candidate leaflets were handed to her to read. While the men chatted to my parents I went over to my gran to see what she had. To my surprise at the time - all the leaflets were for Fianna Fail candidates! It was a bit like the old arrangement in the USSR - you can vote for anyone...in one party!
Equally interesting was Gran's selection process of the right person to vote for. She never had much interest in politics and had even less in her advanced years. She looked at one photo and then another and another. Did the person look honest, strong, too young, too old, devious, healthy etc. etc. She asked my opinion on a few, such as..."Does that fellow look like a crook?" "Does yer man look like he has heart problems?" etc.
So Gran was brought away in the van with her exceptionally well colour co-ordinated leaflets and returned safely in less than 30 minutes. I'll never forget the men's parting remarks to Gran...
"God bless you for voting Mam. There's many a country where nobody has a choice."
Friday, April 06, 2007
There's something about Marian!
Do you know any middle aged woman called Marian? If so, try saying to her... "You look well for a 53 year old!"
Chances are you will be right, or at worst she may be no more than a few years younger.
It's hard for us to grasp today the power which the 1954 Marian year had at the time throughout the Catholic World. Here in Ireland there must be hundreds of Marian shrines which were built that year in towns, villages and housing estates. This photo taken yesterday was in Monkstown here in Dublin. You can see the care and attention which is still put into the maintenance of this walled dedicated garden.
I was born a year later in 1955. In my late teens - as I went to discos with my shoulder length John Lennon hair, deep purple shirt and groovy bell bottoms - one of my cheesy comments if I met a girl called Marian was..."I can't be seen with an older chick!"
Chances are you will be right, or at worst she may be no more than a few years younger.
It's hard for us to grasp today the power which the 1954 Marian year had at the time throughout the Catholic World. Here in Ireland there must be hundreds of Marian shrines which were built that year in towns, villages and housing estates. This photo taken yesterday was in Monkstown here in Dublin. You can see the care and attention which is still put into the maintenance of this walled dedicated garden.
I was born a year later in 1955. In my late teens - as I went to discos with my shoulder length John Lennon hair, deep purple shirt and groovy bell bottoms - one of my cheesy comments if I met a girl called Marian was..."I can't be seen with an older chick!"
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Hi, my name is John and I've an addiction!
I've been meaning to blog more on a few subjects recently. I want to talk about Ian Paisley and also election philosophy. But since I've bought this new feckin' camera in February I'm back addicted to photography! So I'm easier to find on Flickr these days and it's taking up a lot of my time.
In the past I used to love taking photos and developing and printing in B&W. Also went through a big phase of slide photography. Had a few different Olympus SLR cameras and good selection of lenses. I was in a tricky hybrid state in the last 7 years using a mixture of good film cameras and average digital cameras. Now I'm Back to the Future so to speak with a brilliant digital SLR beast and great editing software. It's incredibly addictive now and I'm learning more things at a great rate.
I will keep blogging but it's gonna be mixture of photoblog and wordy wisdom for the time being!
I'm not sure whether to thank or curse a certain blogging lady named after a picture element of ruddy hue. Her impressive photographic work, which combines artistic and technical skills, was the final inspiration in me getting back with enthusiasm to this addictive madness!!
Photo taken out our front window this evening.
In the past I used to love taking photos and developing and printing in B&W. Also went through a big phase of slide photography. Had a few different Olympus SLR cameras and good selection of lenses. I was in a tricky hybrid state in the last 7 years using a mixture of good film cameras and average digital cameras. Now I'm Back to the Future so to speak with a brilliant digital SLR beast and great editing software. It's incredibly addictive now and I'm learning more things at a great rate.
I will keep blogging but it's gonna be mixture of photoblog and wordy wisdom for the time being!
I'm not sure whether to thank or curse a certain blogging lady named after a picture element of ruddy hue. Her impressive photographic work, which combines artistic and technical skills, was the final inspiration in me getting back with enthusiasm to this addictive madness!!
Photo taken out our front window this evening.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Mixed Signals
Mention the 40 foot to most people in Dublin and the swimming place below in Sandycove comes to mind...
But nearby in Dun Laoghaire there is another 40 foot - a newish trendy bar...
But nearby in Dun Laoghaire there is another 40 foot - a newish trendy bar...Recently the following dialogue ensued at home...
Daughter (in a hurry from the hall door): "See ya, going to 40 foot."
Me: "What? It's a bit dark out!"
Daughter: "Don't worry...with a bunch of friends"
Me: "But..it will be very cold, geez, you're one brave girl!"
Daughter (getting annoyed): "I've got a coat! Chill out!"
Me: "It aint me that will be chilling. Have you got a big towel?"
Daughter: "Are you drinking or something?"
Door slams.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Big clean-up on Killiney Beach!
The last post on the Killiney Beach photo provoked some thoughts on colouring etc. Just for fun I'm including the unaltered and altered images below for further comment. In my humble opinion the unaltered photo, although representing the truth on the day, it is not quite as pleasing to the eye as the altered photo. I'd prefer to be on holiday in the second place! What do people think?
Original Untouched Image
Contrast and colour saturation increasedMonday, March 26, 2007
Sunny Saturday
Wasn't Saturday a fine day? A good to be alive day. Ireland always looks better when sunny. I was out roaming with the camera again.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Anyone for Cricket? Alas, not me!
Wasn't it cool that little Ireland beat the mighty Pakistan? There is suddenly more talk of cricket going around our island.
It is a game that I do not like much, but I've tried and will maybe try again. I've watched it very slightly more often on TV in the last six months on Sky Sports HD...but that's mainly because the finer details in the grass look excellent on our 50 inch high definition plasma!
I know there are many fans out there. Do any of you remember the book written in Irish "An Dialann Deorai" (The Diary of an Exile) written by Donal MacAmhlaigh? It was on the Leaving Cert Irish course in the 1970s and was based on Donal's experiences when having to emigrate from Ireland to Britain in the 1950s and his time doing Navvy work etc. The last thing I expected this ardent Irish language speaking, GAA fanatical, quintessentially rural Ireland man to write in his book was that he liked watching the English play cricket. But he did. He liked the relaxed pace and I think the civilised behaviour etc. Ever since reading this all those years ago I've attempted to take some interest in it. I've even a fair idea of the rules etc. It also perplexes me how people can go along to the big cricket grounds where you seem to be miles away from the action and sit there and enjoy it.
I like watching snooker on TV which is slow paced but intriguing. Even bowls to some extent. I'd like to warm more to cricket.
It is a game that I do not like much, but I've tried and will maybe try again. I've watched it very slightly more often on TV in the last six months on Sky Sports HD...but that's mainly because the finer details in the grass look excellent on our 50 inch high definition plasma!
I know there are many fans out there. Do any of you remember the book written in Irish "An Dialann Deorai" (The Diary of an Exile) written by Donal MacAmhlaigh? It was on the Leaving Cert Irish course in the 1970s and was based on Donal's experiences when having to emigrate from Ireland to Britain in the 1950s and his time doing Navvy work etc. The last thing I expected this ardent Irish language speaking, GAA fanatical, quintessentially rural Ireland man to write in his book was that he liked watching the English play cricket. But he did. He liked the relaxed pace and I think the civilised behaviour etc. Ever since reading this all those years ago I've attempted to take some interest in it. I've even a fair idea of the rules etc. It also perplexes me how people can go along to the big cricket grounds where you seem to be miles away from the action and sit there and enjoy it.
I like watching snooker on TV which is slow paced but intriguing. Even bowls to some extent. I'd like to warm more to cricket.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Music, sweet music!
Spousey has a flashy modern red sports car (yes, I'm jealous). She often notices young lads gawking when out on the road. Eh...I'm sure it's the car that's the gawk subject.... she's not a bad looking chick with natural dark hair and wearing the right sunglasses... but I'm certain there are quite stringent age limits with 20 year old lads for tastes in older women!!!
Anyway, yesterday she told me that a white mid 90s Honda Civic pulls up beside her at traffic lights. I'm sure you get the picture....black windows...fancy wheels....unnatural exhaust...blue underbelly lights....thumping bassy music.
The window winds down and two pimply faced lads in the front seats take a closer look at the gleaming red sports car. At this stage with the window down the noise of rap music is stronger. Spousey is in the Dublin County Choir and listens to difficult practise pieces in the car all the time. So in an attempt at counter-attack she winds down her window, turns up the CD player and gave them a 100 watt sample of Johann Sebastian Bach's more energetic works!
The irony of 300 year old music belting out in this setting was not lost on the lads and they went into resounding laughter. The lights then turned green and they accelerated off like escaping from Hell. Spousey just shook her head and hoped they would be safe.
Anyway, yesterday she told me that a white mid 90s Honda Civic pulls up beside her at traffic lights. I'm sure you get the picture....black windows...fancy wheels....unnatural exhaust...blue underbelly lights....thumping bassy music.
The window winds down and two pimply faced lads in the front seats take a closer look at the gleaming red sports car. At this stage with the window down the noise of rap music is stronger. Spousey is in the Dublin County Choir and listens to difficult practise pieces in the car all the time. So in an attempt at counter-attack she winds down her window, turns up the CD player and gave them a 100 watt sample of Johann Sebastian Bach's more energetic works!
The irony of 300 year old music belting out in this setting was not lost on the lads and they went into resounding laughter. The lights then turned green and they accelerated off like escaping from Hell. Spousey just shook her head and hoped they would be safe.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Oil Power and Solar Power
I spotted this treat today at lunchtime from the shoreline at Blackrock. Maybe there is something symbolic for our future about the Poolbeg ESB power station being beside a bright rainbow....old energy and new energy?
New "kids" on the block!
Well....kids is truly an exaggeration, but it somehow seems apt. I'm referring to the invasion of the Blogosphere by Oldies.
First we've got Grandad over at Head Rambles. He writes great articles. Then his wife Granny started it at Granny Lost The Plot, another very good writer. The interaction between the two blogs is a riot of fun where I suspect fact and fiction blur beautifully. It's brilliant stuff.
We've also got another skilled writer Grannymar at oldbones who seems to be good pals with Granny. The communication between this pair is like watching One Foot in the Grave on the web. And Grannymar's daughter ellybabes has been blogging for quite awhile (and indeed Elly's partner whom Grannymar refers to as sin-in-law!). So this causes further fun and interactions. Indeed Grandad is now trying to encourage his grown up daughter to blog. Geez....in the modern IT world often dominated by youth, this might seem to some as the equivalent of the tail wagging the dog!
I think it's all terrific, adds great balance. Many popular bloggers seem to be young in their 20's or 30's. I was feeling a little old at 52, but now I feel younger!
The Oldies have lots to say, a long lifetime of rich experiences. Young people were never old but old people were young.
Be afraid, be very afraid! The invasion has started.
First we've got Grandad over at Head Rambles. He writes great articles. Then his wife Granny started it at Granny Lost The Plot, another very good writer. The interaction between the two blogs is a riot of fun where I suspect fact and fiction blur beautifully. It's brilliant stuff.
We've also got another skilled writer Grannymar at oldbones who seems to be good pals with Granny. The communication between this pair is like watching One Foot in the Grave on the web. And Grannymar's daughter ellybabes has been blogging for quite awhile (and indeed Elly's partner whom Grannymar refers to as sin-in-law!). So this causes further fun and interactions. Indeed Grandad is now trying to encourage his grown up daughter to blog. Geez....in the modern IT world often dominated by youth, this might seem to some as the equivalent of the tail wagging the dog!
I think it's all terrific, adds great balance. Many popular bloggers seem to be young in their 20's or 30's. I was feeling a little old at 52, but now I feel younger!
The Oldies have lots to say, a long lifetime of rich experiences. Young people were never old but old people were young.
Be afraid, be very afraid! The invasion has started.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Smell - a very under-rated sense!
My wife and I were in the Avoca shop in Powerscourt yesterday. We noticed lavender sacks for sale. The shape and scent brought me back more than 40 years. My mother used to put these sacks in chests of drawers with clothes. The smell of lavender still reminds me of our old house, drawers, comfort, security, letting parents take care of you. When you're an adult you can take on big challenges, but a child should just enjoy growing up in blissful safety.
I'm currently reading a novel called the The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak. There is a great passage in it about how the young girl Liesel relates through smell to her foster father, Hans, who is kind to her and is teaching her to read each evening in the basement of their house....
Some nights after working in the basement, Liesel would sit crouched in the bath and hear the same utterances from the kitchen.
"You stink", Mama would say to Hans. "Like cigarettes and kerosene."
Sitting in the water, she imagined the smell of it, mapped out on her papa's clothes. More than anything, it was the smell of friendship, and she could find it on herself too. Liesel loved the smell. She would sniff her arm and smile as the water cooled around her.
I've written last year about how under-rated and powerful the sense of smell can be (Smell..the sense of the past and also comments on the novel Perfume). I'm sure we can all relate certain smells to childhood or other memories. Any thoughts?
I'm currently reading a novel called the The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak. There is a great passage in it about how the young girl Liesel relates through smell to her foster father, Hans, who is kind to her and is teaching her to read each evening in the basement of their house....
Some nights after working in the basement, Liesel would sit crouched in the bath and hear the same utterances from the kitchen.
"You stink", Mama would say to Hans. "Like cigarettes and kerosene."
Sitting in the water, she imagined the smell of it, mapped out on her papa's clothes. More than anything, it was the smell of friendship, and she could find it on herself too. Liesel loved the smell. She would sniff her arm and smile as the water cooled around her.
I've written last year about how under-rated and powerful the sense of smell can be (Smell..the sense of the past and also comments on the novel Perfume). I'm sure we can all relate certain smells to childhood or other memories. Any thoughts?
March Trees
There are some great trees in Powerscourt Gardens, Co. Wicklow. These looked interesting yesterday with the fading sun in background
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
RTE's The Restaurant - snapshot of new Ireland
I find myself watching this TV piece regularly for various reasons.
The side show is sometimes more interesting than the celebrity chef and critics table. I refer to the other diners tables which are sometimes occupied by an obnoxious bunch of snobby pretentious Irish nouveau riche. Their holier than thou attitude to the food is often dramatically contrasted by their poor table manners. They would do themselves more favours if they could handle their cutlery properly, avoid pointing with their knives and in particular drop their pompous accents which are often clearly put-on for the night. Also, their silly attempts at being knowledgeable at wines nearly always lets them down spectacularly. It's very difficult to name grape type and regions from taste - see how often the real experts get it badly wrong. It would be far more honest for them to just say how they like the wine and comment on it's flavour and scent, rather than trying to impress by effectively picking a wine name and region (and even year) out of a hat.
To me it's a fine example of how immature many of us are in the middle class with our new found wealth. The English upper middle class could still run rings around many of us when it comes to dining breeding. But as long as we can laugh at ourselves it's harmless fun.
The side show is sometimes more interesting than the celebrity chef and critics table. I refer to the other diners tables which are sometimes occupied by an obnoxious bunch of snobby pretentious Irish nouveau riche. Their holier than thou attitude to the food is often dramatically contrasted by their poor table manners. They would do themselves more favours if they could handle their cutlery properly, avoid pointing with their knives and in particular drop their pompous accents which are often clearly put-on for the night. Also, their silly attempts at being knowledgeable at wines nearly always lets them down spectacularly. It's very difficult to name grape type and regions from taste - see how often the real experts get it badly wrong. It would be far more honest for them to just say how they like the wine and comment on it's flavour and scent, rather than trying to impress by effectively picking a wine name and region (and even year) out of a hat.
To me it's a fine example of how immature many of us are in the middle class with our new found wealth. The English upper middle class could still run rings around many of us when it comes to dining breeding. But as long as we can laugh at ourselves it's harmless fun.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Irish Blog Awards - Oscar Night.
Well in spite of a nasty bacterial infection of cellulitis in my leg and doped with heavy antibiotics I ventured along to the Irish Blog Awards on Saturday night.
I do think that the most interesting winners of the night were those two great sisters Kirstie and Aisling of beaut.ie They were terrific to talk to and the idea of their webiste is excellent. I believe they are making money from it and things can only get better from the two awards they have now picked up. Aisling has the challenge of MS to contend with and is so cheerful, outgoing and optimistic. I wish them both every success.
The very warm Sinead Gleeson was also great to meet and talk to again and she so deserves the Best Arts and Culture award for her hard work on the Sigla Blog
I also got to talk to Red Mum - who is a great writer and photographer and did well with her Best Personal Blog award. Her nice northern accent makes me feel at home as all my maternal relations are also from Northern Ireland.
It was also good to chat briefly to the previously mysterious Twenty Major. For the last few years I couldn't get the image out of my mind of him looking like the weird Ho-Chi-Minh type guy at top of his website. He's quite Irish looking in reality as we all now know and did well again this year in the awards.
Also with the help of old blogging pal that girl I tracked down Omaniblog whom I'd been most anxious to meet and we had a great long chat.
Finally I settled down for awhile for a good chat with gingerpixel (Claire Wilson) and her husband Matt and some of their family. They are really nice people. I think Claire will sooner or later get an award for her great photography and her work has really motivated me to get back to this hobby which I've always enjoyed since my teens.
I'd been hoping to get a word with one of my favourite and most inspiring writers Sarah Carey but she was gone before I'd a chance. It's unbelievable that she has yet to win a blog award.
Well done to all the winners and to Damien again for his tireless work. More details of all this years winners are here.
I do think that the most interesting winners of the night were those two great sisters Kirstie and Aisling of beaut.ie They were terrific to talk to and the idea of their webiste is excellent. I believe they are making money from it and things can only get better from the two awards they have now picked up. Aisling has the challenge of MS to contend with and is so cheerful, outgoing and optimistic. I wish them both every success.
The very warm Sinead Gleeson was also great to meet and talk to again and she so deserves the Best Arts and Culture award for her hard work on the Sigla Blog
I also got to talk to Red Mum - who is a great writer and photographer and did well with her Best Personal Blog award. Her nice northern accent makes me feel at home as all my maternal relations are also from Northern Ireland.
It was also good to chat briefly to the previously mysterious Twenty Major. For the last few years I couldn't get the image out of my mind of him looking like the weird Ho-Chi-Minh type guy at top of his website. He's quite Irish looking in reality as we all now know and did well again this year in the awards.
Also with the help of old blogging pal that girl I tracked down Omaniblog whom I'd been most anxious to meet and we had a great long chat.
Finally I settled down for awhile for a good chat with gingerpixel (Claire Wilson) and her husband Matt and some of their family. They are really nice people. I think Claire will sooner or later get an award for her great photography and her work has really motivated me to get back to this hobby which I've always enjoyed since my teens.
I'd been hoping to get a word with one of my favourite and most inspiring writers Sarah Carey but she was gone before I'd a chance. It's unbelievable that she has yet to win a blog award.
Well done to all the winners and to Damien again for his tireless work. More details of all this years winners are here.
Monday, February 26, 2007
The God Delusion - Richard Dawkins
It reminded me of the logic I held in phases as a teenager. The book practically holds up placards to crystallize feelings that many would harbour in varying nebulous forms. Its easy to bare conventional religions to ridicule. Also, the Darwinian arguments have always made perfect sense to me.
The trouble is that we think too highly today of our current intellectual and scientific abilities. We are still minions in our knowledge of what the heck is going on. A small example in this book related to Dawkins' sneer on the Sun appearing to come down from the sky as witnessed by thousands of people at Fatima. He took the classical irrefutable line that no matter what they all witnessed - the Sun clearly did not come down from the sky - the whole planet would have been destroyed otherwise. Good smart-arsed teenager Physics logic. He doesn't bother trying to analyse it any further - not worthy. That's the trouble with conventional scientists. Anything unknown which doesn't fit into currently understood measurement tools is completely dismissed.
We all know that there are many things unexplained. Scientists try to analyse everything with conventional detection systems for energies in the electromagnetic spectrum from radio waves to gamma rays and for subatomic particles etc. It's poetry in motion when everything can be explained, controlled, repeated. We use it to ultimately build the predictable solutions we enjoy in our 21st century lives. But the weird stuff doesn't play ball. Try repeating the same experiment in the so called paranormal and it's different every time. Ghosts would be great if you could control them - very handy to be able to exploit something which goes through walls. Today's scientists don't seem to know where to begin in this area. It's much easier to rubbish everything. But many open minded scientists have called for a newer super-science. Face up to everything unexplained. Keep open minded and push the boundaries.
I agree with Dawkins in so many things. I agree it is reasonable to expect more answers from science. But science needs to discover more and more of the dynamics which drive the universe and life. We are only scratching the surface.
I want to know why people dying in operating theatres can describe in uncanny detail what is happening in other parts of the hospital. I want to know how my 2 year old daughter suddenly made detailed claims of contacts with her Grandad who died when she was a small baby before she could know him (see here). I want to know how truly bizarre things line up when loved ones pass away.
Scientists like Dawkins reckon that we are deluded. But if we are patient and continue our work, science will eventually provide answers and may even fuse with philosophy. However, here in 2007 Richard Dawkins does not have the answers, he instead offers ridicule at the obvious soft targets.
The trouble is that we think too highly today of our current intellectual and scientific abilities. We are still minions in our knowledge of what the heck is going on. A small example in this book related to Dawkins' sneer on the Sun appearing to come down from the sky as witnessed by thousands of people at Fatima. He took the classical irrefutable line that no matter what they all witnessed - the Sun clearly did not come down from the sky - the whole planet would have been destroyed otherwise. Good smart-arsed teenager Physics logic. He doesn't bother trying to analyse it any further - not worthy. That's the trouble with conventional scientists. Anything unknown which doesn't fit into currently understood measurement tools is completely dismissed.
We all know that there are many things unexplained. Scientists try to analyse everything with conventional detection systems for energies in the electromagnetic spectrum from radio waves to gamma rays and for subatomic particles etc. It's poetry in motion when everything can be explained, controlled, repeated. We use it to ultimately build the predictable solutions we enjoy in our 21st century lives. But the weird stuff doesn't play ball. Try repeating the same experiment in the so called paranormal and it's different every time. Ghosts would be great if you could control them - very handy to be able to exploit something which goes through walls. Today's scientists don't seem to know where to begin in this area. It's much easier to rubbish everything. But many open minded scientists have called for a newer super-science. Face up to everything unexplained. Keep open minded and push the boundaries.
I agree with Dawkins in so many things. I agree it is reasonable to expect more answers from science. But science needs to discover more and more of the dynamics which drive the universe and life. We are only scratching the surface.
I want to know why people dying in operating theatres can describe in uncanny detail what is happening in other parts of the hospital. I want to know how my 2 year old daughter suddenly made detailed claims of contacts with her Grandad who died when she was a small baby before she could know him (see here). I want to know how truly bizarre things line up when loved ones pass away.
Scientists like Dawkins reckon that we are deluded. But if we are patient and continue our work, science will eventually provide answers and may even fuse with philosophy. However, here in 2007 Richard Dawkins does not have the answers, he instead offers ridicule at the obvious soft targets.
Monday, February 19, 2007
It was dangerous to walk on the grass!
I read recently that its 25 years since slapping was abolished in Ireland's schools. So anyone now under about 30 years old never experienced it. Here's one vivid memory...
In our Dublin Primary school in the mid 1960s there was a tough deputy headmaster. His commanding authority was absolute and philosophically he was slightly to the right of Attila the Hun. His class was the quietest and most disciplined in the school. I'll just refer to him as Mr. C (in case he is alive and still dangerous!).
Some of Mr. C's star pupils were trained to supervise the schoolyard at lunchtime. In particular they stood at the edge of the yard to watch with laser beam accuracy if any kid put a foot off the concrete yard on to the nice green school lawn. Such an offence was serious in the eyes of Mr. C.
When the bell sounded to end lunchtime each class formed their own line at the front of the school yard. An additional line - suitably segregated to one side - was for all the pupils who had stepped on the grass during the break. Mr. C stood at the top of the steps and made a short but powerful speech to the entire school assembly on how those in the special line were bad and had no respect for the school lawn. He then blew his whistle and beckoned this special line of kids to march up the steps into the school and into his classroom in full view of the rest of the school.
I had the misfortune once to be in the special line and found myself with the other suspects lined up for a kangaroo court session in Mr. C's class. The prisoners stood at the top of the classroom facing all Mr.C's silently seated pupils. Mr. C paced up and down the courtroom giving a general introduction to proceedings and then asked each person in turn to give an explanation as to why they stepped on the grass. The excuses were variable but the typical ones were...."I only put one toe on the grass"....."Yer man pushed me".... "I just slipped"..."I didn't do it" etc.
Each excuse was repeated in a cruel burlesque fashion by Mr. C and was seasoned by satirical remarks to amuse the courtroom. His class was allowed a gentle laugh to support Mr. C's witty performance but if it went even slightly too loud to suit his taste he would hiss "SILENCE!"
The court case facade was all a part of the humiliation and for Mr. C's unmistakable enjoyment - as nobody ever escaped unpunished anyway. When Mr. C was finished verbal proceedings he went and sat behind his desk and there followed a deliberate solemn silence - a bit like private prayer before ending a funeral mass. This was more psychological punishment of course.
The silence was eventually broken by Mr. C standing up with military formality and slowly saying a single word...."Murphy".
This was a signal for Mr. C's star pupil to get up from his desk and walk across the front of the class past the now convicted criminals to a locked press. There, following jingling keys echoing prison-like in the otherwise icy silence, Murphy retrieved a long nasty wooden cane. He brought the cane across the room past the criminal line - whose transfixed eyes and heads followed the cane like synchronised swimmers - and presented it to Mr. C. The teacher then walked up to face the first criminal in line and asked him to step forward. In the cold sombre atmosphere it left like all that was missing was one of those dull church funeral gongs sounding every 2 seconds.
The next few minutes was a spectacle of slaughter with cries of agony as each boy received six vicious cane flogs on each of their hands. Often the child found it hard to put his hand out to take the second and subsequent blows. Mr. C then had to wrestle their hands out straight and hold them as he administered more swishing heavy blows. It was a terrifying orgy of violence and heart wrenching pain.
When the dust all settled Mr. C observed the scarred battlefield of shaking and tearful pupils. Panting from his exertions but with the faint smile of a triumphant gladiator, he took a handkerchief out to wipe sweat from his brow before combing his ruffled hair into place. When suitably composed he then made a final speech about the precious lawn and everyone was dismissed to their classes.
Ah, school days!
In our Dublin Primary school in the mid 1960s there was a tough deputy headmaster. His commanding authority was absolute and philosophically he was slightly to the right of Attila the Hun. His class was the quietest and most disciplined in the school. I'll just refer to him as Mr. C (in case he is alive and still dangerous!).
Some of Mr. C's star pupils were trained to supervise the schoolyard at lunchtime. In particular they stood at the edge of the yard to watch with laser beam accuracy if any kid put a foot off the concrete yard on to the nice green school lawn. Such an offence was serious in the eyes of Mr. C.
When the bell sounded to end lunchtime each class formed their own line at the front of the school yard. An additional line - suitably segregated to one side - was for all the pupils who had stepped on the grass during the break. Mr. C stood at the top of the steps and made a short but powerful speech to the entire school assembly on how those in the special line were bad and had no respect for the school lawn. He then blew his whistle and beckoned this special line of kids to march up the steps into the school and into his classroom in full view of the rest of the school.
I had the misfortune once to be in the special line and found myself with the other suspects lined up for a kangaroo court session in Mr. C's class. The prisoners stood at the top of the classroom facing all Mr.C's silently seated pupils. Mr. C paced up and down the courtroom giving a general introduction to proceedings and then asked each person in turn to give an explanation as to why they stepped on the grass. The excuses were variable but the typical ones were...."I only put one toe on the grass"....."Yer man pushed me".... "I just slipped"..."I didn't do it" etc.
Each excuse was repeated in a cruel burlesque fashion by Mr. C and was seasoned by satirical remarks to amuse the courtroom. His class was allowed a gentle laugh to support Mr. C's witty performance but if it went even slightly too loud to suit his taste he would hiss "SILENCE!"
The court case facade was all a part of the humiliation and for Mr. C's unmistakable enjoyment - as nobody ever escaped unpunished anyway. When Mr. C was finished verbal proceedings he went and sat behind his desk and there followed a deliberate solemn silence - a bit like private prayer before ending a funeral mass. This was more psychological punishment of course.
The silence was eventually broken by Mr. C standing up with military formality and slowly saying a single word...."Murphy".
This was a signal for Mr. C's star pupil to get up from his desk and walk across the front of the class past the now convicted criminals to a locked press. There, following jingling keys echoing prison-like in the otherwise icy silence, Murphy retrieved a long nasty wooden cane. He brought the cane across the room past the criminal line - whose transfixed eyes and heads followed the cane like synchronised swimmers - and presented it to Mr. C. The teacher then walked up to face the first criminal in line and asked him to step forward. In the cold sombre atmosphere it left like all that was missing was one of those dull church funeral gongs sounding every 2 seconds.
The next few minutes was a spectacle of slaughter with cries of agony as each boy received six vicious cane flogs on each of their hands. Often the child found it hard to put his hand out to take the second and subsequent blows. Mr. C then had to wrestle their hands out straight and hold them as he administered more swishing heavy blows. It was a terrifying orgy of violence and heart wrenching pain.
When the dust all settled Mr. C observed the scarred battlefield of shaking and tearful pupils. Panting from his exertions but with the faint smile of a triumphant gladiator, he took a handkerchief out to wipe sweat from his brow before combing his ruffled hair into place. When suitably composed he then made a final speech about the precious lawn and everyone was dismissed to their classes.
Ah, school days!
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Saturday, February 10, 2007
The Irish Blog Awards
Mmmh! A few of my articles have made it to nominations in the 2007 Irish Blog Awards.
Best Blog Post Category...not one but two nominations (Yippie!)...
The Day I quit as an Altar Boy
The Legend of Uncle Tom and the Bubble Car
Most Humorous Post Category...
The Legend of Uncle Tom and the Bubble Car
When I saw the two category nominations for the Bubble Car post I was so glad for dear old Uncle Tom. He and his wife died in recent years aged in their eighties and without offspring - it's so easy and fast for someone like that to have their memory disappear. It's nice to think that some folk today enjoy his incident from 1963.
Anyway, well done to Damien for all his hard work in the Irish Blog Awards and to the various helpers and sponsors. If you want to find out more and vote go to...
Best Blog Post Category...not one but two nominations (Yippie!)...
The Day I quit as an Altar Boy
The Legend of Uncle Tom and the Bubble Car
Most Humorous Post Category...
The Legend of Uncle Tom and the Bubble Car
When I saw the two category nominations for the Bubble Car post I was so glad for dear old Uncle Tom. He and his wife died in recent years aged in their eighties and without offspring - it's so easy and fast for someone like that to have their memory disappear. It's nice to think that some folk today enjoy his incident from 1963.
Anyway, well done to Damien for all his hard work in the Irish Blog Awards and to the various helpers and sponsors. If you want to find out more and vote go to...
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Ireland 2 San Marino 1
Everyone is being tough on our poor manager Steve Staunton and the FAI.
Let's get real in many ways...
1. We won. It wasn't a great performance but we were clearly a much better side and San Marino's strategy was all about avoiding being scored against - they worked hard and successfully on defense.
2. We are a slightly better than average international side, but nothing exceptional. We are still in a mental state since the exceptional performance in Italia 90. In a sense it's like England feeling for 40 years that they are World Cup winning class since 1966.
3. We've driven out Jack Charlton, Mick McCarthy, Brian Kerr and now we want rid of Steve Staunton. Were they all so very bad?
Let's stop looking for heads and support and build on what we have.
PS...On radio yesterday I loved one Dublin woman when asked on the street if she knew where San Marino was...."I'm not sure, but I know it's not the place near Fairview!"
Let's get real in many ways...
1. We won. It wasn't a great performance but we were clearly a much better side and San Marino's strategy was all about avoiding being scored against - they worked hard and successfully on defense.
2. We are a slightly better than average international side, but nothing exceptional. We are still in a mental state since the exceptional performance in Italia 90. In a sense it's like England feeling for 40 years that they are World Cup winning class since 1966.
3. We've driven out Jack Charlton, Mick McCarthy, Brian Kerr and now we want rid of Steve Staunton. Were they all so very bad?
Let's stop looking for heads and support and build on what we have.
PS...On radio yesterday I loved one Dublin woman when asked on the street if she knew where San Marino was...."I'm not sure, but I know it's not the place near Fairview!"
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Mystical Orion
Lastnight there were low translucent light clouds passing over the sky. This photo aimed at the constellation Orion was taken on a 30 second exposure. The cloud movement created this wispy effect and the suburban street lights illuminated the clouds. I increased the contrast slightly for more impact but that was the only PC edit.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Miss World and Miss Universe
Recently on his TV show Ryan Tubridy interviewed the current Miss Ireland and two former Miss Irelands. At one point Ryan made a brief passing remark on Miss Universe and Miss Galaxy contests. He was gently chided by Andrea Roche that there was no Miss Galaxy contest. Indeed. Silly boy.
But Ryan had touched on something which had long lurked unspoken in my mind. I've always been interested in Astronomy and hence as a kid I'd been confused by the concept of a Miss World and a Miss Universe contest. I used to wonder that if you won Miss World.....well who are you competing against if you then entered the Miss Universe contest? Aliens? Trust the Yanks to have the arrogance to come up with such a title. So far in the 50 year history of the Miss Universe contest there have been no howls of protest from stunning females on planets orbiting stars such as Sirius, Vega and Betelgeuse - not to mention from planets orbiting the trillions and trillions of other stars. But you could picture a top class American Lawyer fighting a lawsuit with a wealthy eccentric to prove the Miss Universe contest to be a complete scam and totally flaunting the rights of other intelligent females in our massive Universe.
Ryan's mention of a Miss Galaxy might be more sensible. A Miss Solar System would be even better. It's a reasonable bet that there are no beautiful females on our neighbouring planets. Any lower animal life forms won't qualify of course - although come to think of it stick insects might count. Intelligence is a must, but cynics might argue not too much of the stuff to rule out American contestants.
Lastly, can you imagine the hissy fits if Miss Universe and Miss World had to compete for the last 1st Class seat on a plane...
Miss Universe: "Me of course. Clearly my title is better than hers!"
Miss World: "As if! How come I beat you in the Miss World contest?"
Stewardess: "Forget it! Neither of you are getting that seat - my boyfriend is the Air Marshal on this flight and he wants to enjoy his book."
But Ryan had touched on something which had long lurked unspoken in my mind. I've always been interested in Astronomy and hence as a kid I'd been confused by the concept of a Miss World and a Miss Universe contest. I used to wonder that if you won Miss World.....well who are you competing against if you then entered the Miss Universe contest? Aliens? Trust the Yanks to have the arrogance to come up with such a title. So far in the 50 year history of the Miss Universe contest there have been no howls of protest from stunning females on planets orbiting stars such as Sirius, Vega and Betelgeuse - not to mention from planets orbiting the trillions and trillions of other stars. But you could picture a top class American Lawyer fighting a lawsuit with a wealthy eccentric to prove the Miss Universe contest to be a complete scam and totally flaunting the rights of other intelligent females in our massive Universe.
Ryan's mention of a Miss Galaxy might be more sensible. A Miss Solar System would be even better. It's a reasonable bet that there are no beautiful females on our neighbouring planets. Any lower animal life forms won't qualify of course - although come to think of it stick insects might count. Intelligence is a must, but cynics might argue not too much of the stuff to rule out American contestants.
Lastly, can you imagine the hissy fits if Miss Universe and Miss World had to compete for the last 1st Class seat on a plane...
Miss Universe: "Me of course. Clearly my title is better than hers!"
Miss World: "As if! How come I beat you in the Miss World contest?"
Stewardess: "Forget it! Neither of you are getting that seat - my boyfriend is the Air Marshal on this flight and he wants to enjoy his book."
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Mouse Hunt...lessons for all.
We've a nice black pet rabbit at home with the very imaginative name "Bunny". Technically Bunny belongs to our 17 year old Shona but we are all involved in his upkeep. In my own case - living with a wife and three daughters - Bunny is the nearest I get to household male bonding...blessed art thou amongst women! Our rabbit's only oddity is that he won't eat carrots - but maybe we're too conditioned to a Bugs Bunny view of the species.
Pre-Christmas an uninvited little mouse set up residence in Bunny's hutch in the back garden. The mouse was quick enough and small enough to temporarily escape through the hutch wire mesh any time we got too close.
Ostensibly it seemed like a harmony of nature scenario...the mouse didn't want to eat the rabbit and the rabbit didn't seem to want to eat the mouse, hence they were irrelevant to each other! However it created a fair bit of debate chez nous. Was Bunny stressed by the mouse? It was hard to tell. The local pet shop owner shrugged and thought "it didn't seem right". But you can never get a good rabbit psychiatrist in Dublin. I began to wonder if it was just us who was being stressed - humans trying to assign our feelings to animals....Yann Mattel's novel Life of Pi comes to mind. Much easier to get a psychiatrist for humans.
Anyhow, pressurised by majority household opinion and no doubt subliminally influenced by too much American TV, I explored the military option. We will make the rabbit's hutch a safe place for rabbits, terrorist mice have no place in this sovereign hutch. We know what is best for Bunny. No expense will be spared, the mouse will be hunted, brought to justice and yes...executed.
The most appropriate weaponry was purchased...a mouse trap.
Years of watching Tom and Gerry cartoons educates you. Mice love cheese. So I put nice cheddar cheese in the trap and placed it into the sleeping quarters of the hutch during the day - when Bunny spends his time in the separate "exercise run" - a 36 Sq ft. garden play pen I constructed for him. I was confident of success. I had made an eloquent pithy speech the previous evening to the daughters..."This is the last sunset the mouse will enjoy on Earth". Smug, cocky.
Mousey did enjoy the following sunset. Indeed he continued to enjoy sunset after sunset. The cheese was ignored. Each morning I tried different bait - variations of cheese types, chocolate, even bits bits of Bunny's cereal. I tried the trap in different parts of the sleeping area. All failed. The food was ignored.
I persevered. It took a full two weeks to catch the little fecker. In the end the food seemed unimportant. When caught, the mouse looked like he had accidentally walked sideways across the trap - the bar had crushed his torso from shoulder to hip. Poor bugger, could have been a slow death.
So we and Bunny had a peaceful mouse-free Christmas. Then one January morning, like a Hollywood nightmare, we had....Mouse 2 !
Army council recalled. Mouse trap set again. A few days later not only had I still not caught the villain but - adding insult to injury - we had yet another mouse! Now we were dealing with two mice making a home.
This was serious. It needed a rethink. Our garden backs on to a golf course and the expanse of Killiney Hill - a lot of nature out there to potentially supply even more field mice. I was also getting frustrated by my military strategy. If it takes two weeks to catch one mouse.....etc, etc. Furthermore, my women wondered if these two were mammy and daddy mice. What if they have babies? It could create all sorts of issues by killing a parent. Ya don't want that on your conscience.
Like great US Presidents of the past....I thought about a withdrawal option. We debated it at home. We decided to move Bunny's sleeping hutch into the house - we have an ideal small porch type room adjacent to the back garden. Problem solved. Bunny now plays in the big outdoor playpen by day and sleeps peacefully indoors - with the additional bonus of avoiding the cruel January night weather. No more stress, struggles, weapons (traps now decommisioned) or deaths.
Maybe I should e-mail the story to George Bush.
Pre-Christmas an uninvited little mouse set up residence in Bunny's hutch in the back garden. The mouse was quick enough and small enough to temporarily escape through the hutch wire mesh any time we got too close.
Ostensibly it seemed like a harmony of nature scenario...the mouse didn't want to eat the rabbit and the rabbit didn't seem to want to eat the mouse, hence they were irrelevant to each other! However it created a fair bit of debate chez nous. Was Bunny stressed by the mouse? It was hard to tell. The local pet shop owner shrugged and thought "it didn't seem right". But you can never get a good rabbit psychiatrist in Dublin. I began to wonder if it was just us who was being stressed - humans trying to assign our feelings to animals....Yann Mattel's novel Life of Pi comes to mind. Much easier to get a psychiatrist for humans.
Anyhow, pressurised by majority household opinion and no doubt subliminally influenced by too much American TV, I explored the military option. We will make the rabbit's hutch a safe place for rabbits, terrorist mice have no place in this sovereign hutch. We know what is best for Bunny. No expense will be spared, the mouse will be hunted, brought to justice and yes...executed.
The most appropriate weaponry was purchased...a mouse trap.
Years of watching Tom and Gerry cartoons educates you. Mice love cheese. So I put nice cheddar cheese in the trap and placed it into the sleeping quarters of the hutch during the day - when Bunny spends his time in the separate "exercise run" - a 36 Sq ft. garden play pen I constructed for him. I was confident of success. I had made an eloquent pithy speech the previous evening to the daughters..."This is the last sunset the mouse will enjoy on Earth". Smug, cocky.
Mousey did enjoy the following sunset. Indeed he continued to enjoy sunset after sunset. The cheese was ignored. Each morning I tried different bait - variations of cheese types, chocolate, even bits bits of Bunny's cereal. I tried the trap in different parts of the sleeping area. All failed. The food was ignored.
I persevered. It took a full two weeks to catch the little fecker. In the end the food seemed unimportant. When caught, the mouse looked like he had accidentally walked sideways across the trap - the bar had crushed his torso from shoulder to hip. Poor bugger, could have been a slow death.
So we and Bunny had a peaceful mouse-free Christmas. Then one January morning, like a Hollywood nightmare, we had....Mouse 2 !
Army council recalled. Mouse trap set again. A few days later not only had I still not caught the villain but - adding insult to injury - we had yet another mouse! Now we were dealing with two mice making a home.
This was serious. It needed a rethink. Our garden backs on to a golf course and the expanse of Killiney Hill - a lot of nature out there to potentially supply even more field mice. I was also getting frustrated by my military strategy. If it takes two weeks to catch one mouse.....etc, etc. Furthermore, my women wondered if these two were mammy and daddy mice. What if they have babies? It could create all sorts of issues by killing a parent. Ya don't want that on your conscience.
Like great US Presidents of the past....I thought about a withdrawal option. We debated it at home. We decided to move Bunny's sleeping hutch into the house - we have an ideal small porch type room adjacent to the back garden. Problem solved. Bunny now plays in the big outdoor playpen by day and sleeps peacefully indoors - with the additional bonus of avoiding the cruel January night weather. No more stress, struggles, weapons (traps now decommisioned) or deaths.
Maybe I should e-mail the story to George Bush.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Londonderry air!
Fair dues, the Londonderry name is staying for now.
Sure we couldn't have the entire community calling it Derry or indeed everyone calling it Londonderry. If that madness happened how the heck could you figure out what type of human you were talking to?
What city are you from?
Answer 1: "I'm from Londonderry". Mmmh, clearly a Protestant/Unionist.
Answer 2: "I'm from Derry". Mmmh, clearly a Catholic/Nationalist.
Very useful indeed. We don't have many good tools like this in the Republic. It can take years to figure the religion or political slant of new acquaintances. :-)
Sure we couldn't have the entire community calling it Derry or indeed everyone calling it Londonderry. If that madness happened how the heck could you figure out what type of human you were talking to?
What city are you from?
Answer 1: "I'm from Londonderry". Mmmh, clearly a Protestant/Unionist.
Answer 2: "I'm from Derry". Mmmh, clearly a Catholic/Nationalist.
Very useful indeed. We don't have many good tools like this in the Republic. It can take years to figure the religion or political slant of new acquaintances. :-)
Sunday, January 21, 2007
David Ervine - A life Less Ordinary
I couldn't fail to be moved listening to David Ervine on tonight's RTE programme. He made a plethora of amazing statements, things your could only admire. He spoke wisely on the power of education, the existing evidence of progress, his lack of fear of change. On a little level of detail I loved his unmistakable happiness at being recently invited as the only politician to a West Belfast Catholic school - an ex UVF man presenting prizes to students in this school once attended by Gerry Adams. It was also moving to hear him talk on how he looked forward to live to see - in maybe 20 years - Northern Ireland people looking back at their past and saying "What was all the fuss about?"
There is enough empowering material in this program to be quoted for decades. I don't care how misdirected David Ervine was in the past - education changed him and he was big enough to embrace it and use it. So can others. I was impressed and I hope his legacies are used by the people of Northern Ireland to move forward. And finally - isn't it sad how often we only pay serious attention to the wisdom of a person when they are dead.
There is enough empowering material in this program to be quoted for decades. I don't care how misdirected David Ervine was in the past - education changed him and he was big enough to embrace it and use it. So can others. I was impressed and I hope his legacies are used by the people of Northern Ireland to move forward. And finally - isn't it sad how often we only pay serious attention to the wisdom of a person when they are dead.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
I was live on the telly tonight!
Well, not my ugly face...just my voice.
It seems the author Paul McKenna liked my review on his book I can make you THIN. I was asked to talk to him by phone about the book on a live TV show on QVC satellite channel - it airs on the Sky Digital package. Of course the show was a blatant one hour promotion of his book and CDs. Anyway it all happened tonight at about 7.30pm. It was interesting to be chatting to Paul McKenna for about 10 minutes on the phone and looking at him on TV at the same time. A bit like Pat Kenny phoning you from the Late Late Show - but with Pat Kenny winning the prize! So maybe I helped Mr. McKenna get richer. But credit where due, his book genuinely helped me to lose 28 pounds in weight.
It demonstrates the power of free referrals in sales - never ignore a happy customer!
It seems the author Paul McKenna liked my review on his book I can make you THIN. I was asked to talk to him by phone about the book on a live TV show on QVC satellite channel - it airs on the Sky Digital package. Of course the show was a blatant one hour promotion of his book and CDs. Anyway it all happened tonight at about 7.30pm. It was interesting to be chatting to Paul McKenna for about 10 minutes on the phone and looking at him on TV at the same time. A bit like Pat Kenny phoning you from the Late Late Show - but with Pat Kenny winning the prize! So maybe I helped Mr. McKenna get richer. But credit where due, his book genuinely helped me to lose 28 pounds in weight.
It demonstrates the power of free referrals in sales - never ignore a happy customer!
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
George Harrison and Bangladesh Concert 1971
I liked the late George Harrison. From the start in the Beatles he was the younger quieter lad and in the shadow of the exceptional combined talents of Lennon/McCartney. George wrote some very good music and was a good performer. He also came across as a kind, friendly, humble, publicity shy individual. In a World where those who shout loudest get the most attention I often feel George Harrison didn't always get enough credit for his personal contribution to music and the World.
Recently I had reason to recall one of George Harrison's great legacies. A satellite TV channel aired a documentary on the 1971 Bangladesh concert in Maddison Square Gardens NY. I recall the concert well as a teenager. It was the first music concert of it's kind to raise significant financial aid for a humanitarian disaster. It was difficult to get artists committed for such an unknown type concept and had a good degree of risk. George Harrison was doing lots of work on the phone on an exceptionally tight timescale to organise musicians and he even wrote the Bangladesh song for the two day concert. Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton and many other good artists came along to perform and given that the Beatles had broken up a year earlier it was nice to have Ringo Starr also performing on the same stage as George. The concert raised millions for the region and created a powerful awareness of what musicians could do for the World. We think of the high profile of Bob Geldof and Bono etc. in using Music to help the Third World. But these men acknowledge that this concept all started with the serene George Harrison and his friend Ravi Shankar.
Recently I had reason to recall one of George Harrison's great legacies. A satellite TV channel aired a documentary on the 1971 Bangladesh concert in Maddison Square Gardens NY. I recall the concert well as a teenager. It was the first music concert of it's kind to raise significant financial aid for a humanitarian disaster. It was difficult to get artists committed for such an unknown type concept and had a good degree of risk. George Harrison was doing lots of work on the phone on an exceptionally tight timescale to organise musicians and he even wrote the Bangladesh song for the two day concert. Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton and many other good artists came along to perform and given that the Beatles had broken up a year earlier it was nice to have Ringo Starr also performing on the same stage as George. The concert raised millions for the region and created a powerful awareness of what musicians could do for the World. We think of the high profile of Bob Geldof and Bono etc. in using Music to help the Third World. But these men acknowledge that this concept all started with the serene George Harrison and his friend Ravi Shankar.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Domestic waste and recycling - how to improve?
Our home is in the Dun Laoghaire Rathdown County Council (DLRCC) region of Dublin. The council charge for waste collections by weight plus a flat charge for each pickup - you chose how often you leave the bin out and the bin lorry comes around every week. We are partly motivated by the price saving of reducing weight/pickups but I'm also motivated by the incredibly high proportion of what we throw out that can be recycled to help the country and the planet. At home we've got it down now to just about one bin pick-up every 4 weeks (sometimes 3 weeks) for normal waste. Not bad I guess for a family of effectively 5 adults (plus a rabbit!) and plenty of consuming friends visiting almost daily.
DLRCC arrange a green bin pickup only every 4 weeks. That is a challenge, it's often stuffed by 3 weeks - even by standing into the bin and crushing the contents down. Other good items to recycle are plastic bottles. They are not heavy but would also take up space in the regular bin leading to more regular collections. DLRCC don't let us put out plastic in the green bin - just paper based items and metal. I understand some councils in other parts of the country do take plastic on green bin collections. Anyway, at home we put a special tray in a hall cloakroom for plastic - as well as a glass bottle tray. I've a dislike for making special trips to recycle centres so my routine with the glass is to dump it in a bottle bank at my tennis club on Sunday mornings when I'm down playing. Plastics are not so easy, less places take plastic. My method at present is to put the few bits daily into my gym bag and dispose it at the gym small plastic bottle bin - as I tend to be going there regularly anyway.
So the vast bulk of our non-recycled waste is effectively food waste. There are no brown bin plans as far as I can tell in DLRCC. I suppose we should consider a compost bin but it seems like more work and we are kept busy recycling as it is. Back 40 or more years ago food waste recycling was actually quite neat. I recall as a child what was called the "Piggy Bin" for things like potato peel and the like in our kitchen. A guy came around collecting this free for use in pig feed. In Derry in the distant past my Mum said there was a similar "Brock man" who collected food waste. In fact in Derry there were others who collected the old cinders and dust from fires.
The Irish seem to be getting better at recycling in recent years but I know that if good minds are put to play it could improve a lot more. I'm glad to hear how others deal with waste and recycling, brown bins, compost bins, or ideas generally. Maybe we could get councilors or experts to listen or have a say also.
DLRCC arrange a green bin pickup only every 4 weeks. That is a challenge, it's often stuffed by 3 weeks - even by standing into the bin and crushing the contents down. Other good items to recycle are plastic bottles. They are not heavy but would also take up space in the regular bin leading to more regular collections. DLRCC don't let us put out plastic in the green bin - just paper based items and metal. I understand some councils in other parts of the country do take plastic on green bin collections. Anyway, at home we put a special tray in a hall cloakroom for plastic - as well as a glass bottle tray. I've a dislike for making special trips to recycle centres so my routine with the glass is to dump it in a bottle bank at my tennis club on Sunday mornings when I'm down playing. Plastics are not so easy, less places take plastic. My method at present is to put the few bits daily into my gym bag and dispose it at the gym small plastic bottle bin - as I tend to be going there regularly anyway.
So the vast bulk of our non-recycled waste is effectively food waste. There are no brown bin plans as far as I can tell in DLRCC. I suppose we should consider a compost bin but it seems like more work and we are kept busy recycling as it is. Back 40 or more years ago food waste recycling was actually quite neat. I recall as a child what was called the "Piggy Bin" for things like potato peel and the like in our kitchen. A guy came around collecting this free for use in pig feed. In Derry in the distant past my Mum said there was a similar "Brock man" who collected food waste. In fact in Derry there were others who collected the old cinders and dust from fires.
The Irish seem to be getting better at recycling in recent years but I know that if good minds are put to play it could improve a lot more. I'm glad to hear how others deal with waste and recycling, brown bins, compost bins, or ideas generally. Maybe we could get councilors or experts to listen or have a say also.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Good book: "I can make you THIN" - Paul McKenna
It's that time of year - I notice the gyms are getting full again with well intentioned post-Christmas fight-the-flab people. Diets have also started.
In case it's helpful to anyone I would highly recommend the titled book above. It helped me lose 2 stone over a few months before Christmas and it's philosophy does help you to keep weight off - even with Christmas temptations I only managed to creep on 2 pounds, which I'm now losing again.
The book is beautifully simple. Paul McKenna is not a dietitian. He believes that diets do not work - or if they do seem to work he reckons people will put all the weight back on again before too long. He explains that diets create an artificial tension around food. Paul studied people who are so-called naturally thin over long periods and figured it was very much an attitude of mind. There is nothing in the book on calories and what type of food to eat. Paul reckons that if you are in tune with your body's needs then you will tend to eat the right food over time. He doesn't even recommend that you weigh yourself. You will know when you look right. Naturally thin people don't bother studying diet books on what they eat nor do they obsessively weigh themselves - very often they don't know what they weigh (also see * below).
Many will say weight problems runs in families and is to do with genetics etc. However, I did listen to an interesting view by an expert - Padraig Murphy -on the RTE program "The Health Squad" on this subject. He reckons that the idea of particular families being overweight is more to do with their common mental attitude, lifestyle and behavior than genetics.
Anyway the book's idea is that you should eat when you are actually hungry. Eat slowly and enjoy every mouthful. Stop when you feel satisfied. It's very simple. Paul puts huge emphasis on the difference between emotional hunger and true hunger, which is really the key. We often eat when we are bored or for a variety of other emotional reasons. Many of us also have a thing about finishing everything on our plate. If you eat slowly and enjoy and chew your food properly you will get full and stop without overeating. It works. And you don't need to suffer - in the same way that apparently naturally thin people don't suffer.
At the end of the day of course it is a calorie equation - calories burned being greater than calories consumed - you lose weight. So Paul does encourage some exercise to speed up the process - it's good for you and should be something you enjoy.
Anyhow, I feel a lot better being lighter and it has done wonders for my fitness on the tennis court.
* There is some truth in this. A pal of one of my daughters, D, is very model sized thin and eats normally. She is 6'1" and the funny thing is she doesn't know what she weighs. At a school domestic science event she and other girls were asked their height and weight. Class mates were putting down things like 5'2" 10 stone; 5'5" 11 stone, and so forth. D was listening to this and was embarrassed that she only knew her height but not her weight. So when it came to her turn to speak she ended up thinking that because she was much taller than everyone she must also be much heavier. So she announced with sincerity and to everyone's laughter - 6'1" 18 stone! Probably nearly twice her true weight!
In case it's helpful to anyone I would highly recommend the titled book above. It helped me lose 2 stone over a few months before Christmas and it's philosophy does help you to keep weight off - even with Christmas temptations I only managed to creep on 2 pounds, which I'm now losing again.
The book is beautifully simple. Paul McKenna is not a dietitian. He believes that diets do not work - or if they do seem to work he reckons people will put all the weight back on again before too long. He explains that diets create an artificial tension around food. Paul studied people who are so-called naturally thin over long periods and figured it was very much an attitude of mind. There is nothing in the book on calories and what type of food to eat. Paul reckons that if you are in tune with your body's needs then you will tend to eat the right food over time. He doesn't even recommend that you weigh yourself. You will know when you look right. Naturally thin people don't bother studying diet books on what they eat nor do they obsessively weigh themselves - very often they don't know what they weigh (also see * below).
Many will say weight problems runs in families and is to do with genetics etc. However, I did listen to an interesting view by an expert - Padraig Murphy -on the RTE program "The Health Squad" on this subject. He reckons that the idea of particular families being overweight is more to do with their common mental attitude, lifestyle and behavior than genetics.
Anyway the book's idea is that you should eat when you are actually hungry. Eat slowly and enjoy every mouthful. Stop when you feel satisfied. It's very simple. Paul puts huge emphasis on the difference between emotional hunger and true hunger, which is really the key. We often eat when we are bored or for a variety of other emotional reasons. Many of us also have a thing about finishing everything on our plate. If you eat slowly and enjoy and chew your food properly you will get full and stop without overeating. It works. And you don't need to suffer - in the same way that apparently naturally thin people don't suffer.
At the end of the day of course it is a calorie equation - calories burned being greater than calories consumed - you lose weight. So Paul does encourage some exercise to speed up the process - it's good for you and should be something you enjoy.
Anyhow, I feel a lot better being lighter and it has done wonders for my fitness on the tennis court.
* There is some truth in this. A pal of one of my daughters, D, is very model sized thin and eats normally. She is 6'1" and the funny thing is she doesn't know what she weighs. At a school domestic science event she and other girls were asked their height and weight. Class mates were putting down things like 5'2" 10 stone; 5'5" 11 stone, and so forth. D was listening to this and was embarrassed that she only knew her height but not her weight. So when it came to her turn to speak she ended up thinking that because she was much taller than everyone she must also be much heavier. So she announced with sincerity and to everyone's laughter - 6'1" 18 stone! Probably nearly twice her true weight!
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Santa sees when you are sleeping!
I was 7 years old. First Christmas in my very own bedroom in our new house. Trying hard to sleep. Santa doesn't come if you're not asleep. But I was too excited to sleep thinking about presents.
It was still only maybe 10 pm when I heard the front door opening downstairs. Then my parents voices..."Ah, it's yourself! Come in, come in!"
Crikey...it's Santa...I'm not asleep!!
Jovial talk continued downstairs and then I heard Santa say "Is the wee fella up in bed?"
Next I could hear Santa's heavy steps on the stairs.
Oh my God! I'm in huge trouble now.....he sees when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake.
The heavy steps crossed the landing and stopped at my room. I covered my head with the blanket and tried to stay still. I'm asleep, I'm asleep.
I heard my door opening and could hear Santa breathing. He was standing at the door looking and listening to see if I was awake. I ventured one eye open and from under the blankets I could detect the light from the landing illuminating my room. Be very still...Santa will leave the presents at end of my bed...but I mustn't move a muscle.
I could still hear the breathing but no movement from Santa. This was not good... he knows when you're awake.
Then my heart sank as I heard Santa close my door and retreat down the landing and down the stairs. I could hear murmurs amongst the adults downstairs. Eventually Santa left by the hall door. I sat up and looked at the end of my bed, Nothing, no presents. I was completely deflated. Should I go downstairs, tell my parents? No, bad idea. Santa might just come back again. But maybe he won't. My mind was filling with worries and negative thoughts and eventually I cried myself to sleep.
I woke up and it was morning and bright. I looked at the end of my bed and my face lit up with joy. Presents!! What a relief.
When I spoke to my parents I told them how relieved I was that Santa came.
"Relieved? Why?" said Mum.
I told them the whole story. A smile emerged on my Mum's face.
"You had no need to worry, Santa came much later than that. The man you heard was your Uncle Tom coming on a visit. He went up to your room to give you money. Bad idea that you pretended to be asleep, I'd say you lost out on getting a 10 shilling note!"
Note: This was another childhood memory of Uncle Tom which my kids liked to hear when they were young - their second favourite after Uncle Tom and the Bubble Car
It was still only maybe 10 pm when I heard the front door opening downstairs. Then my parents voices..."Ah, it's yourself! Come in, come in!"
Crikey...it's Santa...I'm not asleep!!
Jovial talk continued downstairs and then I heard Santa say "Is the wee fella up in bed?"
Next I could hear Santa's heavy steps on the stairs.
Oh my God! I'm in huge trouble now.....he sees when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake.
The heavy steps crossed the landing and stopped at my room. I covered my head with the blanket and tried to stay still. I'm asleep, I'm asleep.
I heard my door opening and could hear Santa breathing. He was standing at the door looking and listening to see if I was awake. I ventured one eye open and from under the blankets I could detect the light from the landing illuminating my room. Be very still...Santa will leave the presents at end of my bed...but I mustn't move a muscle.
I could still hear the breathing but no movement from Santa. This was not good... he knows when you're awake.
Then my heart sank as I heard Santa close my door and retreat down the landing and down the stairs. I could hear murmurs amongst the adults downstairs. Eventually Santa left by the hall door. I sat up and looked at the end of my bed, Nothing, no presents. I was completely deflated. Should I go downstairs, tell my parents? No, bad idea. Santa might just come back again. But maybe he won't. My mind was filling with worries and negative thoughts and eventually I cried myself to sleep.
I woke up and it was morning and bright. I looked at the end of my bed and my face lit up with joy. Presents!! What a relief.
When I spoke to my parents I told them how relieved I was that Santa came.
"Relieved? Why?" said Mum.
I told them the whole story. A smile emerged on my Mum's face.
"You had no need to worry, Santa came much later than that. The man you heard was your Uncle Tom coming on a visit. He went up to your room to give you money. Bad idea that you pretended to be asleep, I'd say you lost out on getting a 10 shilling note!"
Note: This was another childhood memory of Uncle Tom which my kids liked to hear when they were young - their second favourite after Uncle Tom and the Bubble Car
Monday, December 11, 2006
Angela's Ashes and Penny Apples
I recently finished reading Angela's Ashes - Frank McCourt's memoirs of his 1930s and 1940s childhood in the worst slums of Limerick. Like most people I had seen the movie. Four years ago I read Bill Cullen's memoirs of childhood from the slightly later period of 1940s and 1950s Dublin slums in It's a Long Way from Penny Apples. It's tempting to compare and contrast the two books from my own point of view.
Both books were the author's first work which they each wrote when aged in their sixties. Both have a simplicity of style and directness. Frank being a lecturer, had a bit more flair. Bill I'm sure would admit he is no great natural writer and it particularly shows in the school essay-like style in the very early sections. In particular the conversations he attributed to his parents during the Strand bombings lacked credibility - very Famous Five stereotype nonsense - and in fact I was close to giving up on the book in the first 20-30 pages. Bill admits he did get much help in constructing the book but as the early imagination and third party sourced sections dissolve into his own actual childhood memories the power of his experiences becomes captivating and even sharpen his story telling abilities.
Angela's Ashes of course has enjoyed huge success. It helped that Frank lived in USA and was originally born there and success in the USA for a book is something to savour. And there's the movie to boost revenue and further energise the book sales. So Frank made a ton of money no doubt. Bill Cullen on the other hand was already fairly wealthy when he wrote Penny Apples and book proceeds he gave to the Irish Youth Foundation. I'm guessing its sales are nothing near the level of Angela's Ashes and that it is predominantly an Irish market. However, I'm leaving this scaling area aside and I'm judging the two books purely on their own merits to me as a reader.
Frank McCourt writes Angela's Ashes from the perspective of the child he was at the time. In that sense it is honest, simple, and contains the humour associated with a child's view. The poverty, illness and tragedies which his family endured were overwhelming. Even by local standards in Limerick at the time they were near the edge of destruction. As a child Frank was aware that they were very poor.
In contrast Penny Apples is written very much from Bill Cullen's perspective as a modern adult and includes a useful macro view of the contemporary influential people and local history. Included are studies of people and institutes like Alfie Byrne, Hector Grey, Louis Copeland, the Mitchels rosary bead factory, the Magdalene laundries and several interesting early first hand experiences of Charles Haughey and Haughey Boland Accountants. Even Rock Hudson makes an appearance on a visit to Dublin and we get an early insight into his sexual orientation and possible predatory tendency with children. The stories he related from his granny Molly Darcy were priceless treasures. One included her first hand experience of the 1916 leaders being marched down Sackville Street. Another was from when she was a teenager working in a big Dublin house and an old man working there told her about his harrowing childhood experience of he and his parents and siblings being evicted during the Famine. This was very captivating - to think there are still links to firsthand stories of the Famine.
I thought Bill gave a refreshingly honest view of the Catholic clergy as he saw it. The priests, nuns and bothers usually came out better than in many other stories from this era. It's a view I would have in general agreed with from my own slightly later experiences in Dublin. The religious orders came out somewhat worse in Angela's Ashes. In spite of considerable hardship Penny Apples was rich in optimism, survival and business ideas from a very ingenious yet commonsense angle. I found the variety of the book very enriching. I do understand Bill's view that they were poor as children, but that as children they didn't know they were poor. Everyone else around them was similar. Frank's situation in Limerick was much worse and more depressing and there seemed to be no escape except for a distant notion of somehow getting to America.
Many common threads are clear in both books. The huge influence of the Catholic Church, poverty, illness, children dying, the demon drink. In addition, strong women stand out - maternal grandmothers in particular and contrasted with weak or unhelpful fathers. I get an impression that Bill over-glamorised his parents and relations to some degree but he did say negative things as his father went a bit off the rails later. It's possible that - as Bill has lived his full life in Ireland - he is conscious of many living family and friends and decided to steer a cautious approach. Frank McCourt was probably somewhat freer being in USA and you do detect greater openness to his descriptions of people, although it tends to lack depth.
Both books are important works which capture an Ireland which has gone. In all truth I took away much more from Penny Apples. It was so multidimensional in what it touched on, the events and people encountered were fascinating. I was enriched with knowledge. It also is a tidy work in that it progresses logically and reaches a clean ending. It's main downside was dialogues attributed to people - it was usually oversimplistic and often lacked credibility. Penny Apples is no masterclass literature in presentation skills but it's raw content is brilliant.
Angela's Ashes was reasonably well written but I found it too long, too simple and continuous in one-dimensional wall-to-wall poverty as seen by a child. It was certainly poignant, sad, mixed with child humour, but it could have been told with more attention to the variety of characters and extract a bigger picture. For instance - the title of the book leans on images of his mother staring quietly into the ashes in the fireplace. She was a complex character and must have had many thoughts to wrestle with. I would have loved to understand her and others more. There are many clues but just not enough analysis. It's a feature of telling the book from a child's firsthand view - you lose Frank's analytical perspective as an adult looking back. I suppose he was leaving the reader to think things through. The closest he came to serious analysis was in the powerful opening page overview before he drifts into the child vision. Also the book ends as Frank leaves Ireland so in that sense it is an incomplete view of his life (his later book 'Tis covers the rest). Angela's Ashes is a very good book and the poverty was painfully hit home, but I think it just missed out on a genuine opportunity to be a classical masterpiece.
http://www.technorati.com/search/irishblogsandbooks
Both books were the author's first work which they each wrote when aged in their sixties. Both have a simplicity of style and directness. Frank being a lecturer, had a bit more flair. Bill I'm sure would admit he is no great natural writer and it particularly shows in the school essay-like style in the very early sections. In particular the conversations he attributed to his parents during the Strand bombings lacked credibility - very Famous Five stereotype nonsense - and in fact I was close to giving up on the book in the first 20-30 pages. Bill admits he did get much help in constructing the book but as the early imagination and third party sourced sections dissolve into his own actual childhood memories the power of his experiences becomes captivating and even sharpen his story telling abilities.
Angela's Ashes of course has enjoyed huge success. It helped that Frank lived in USA and was originally born there and success in the USA for a book is something to savour. And there's the movie to boost revenue and further energise the book sales. So Frank made a ton of money no doubt. Bill Cullen on the other hand was already fairly wealthy when he wrote Penny Apples and book proceeds he gave to the Irish Youth Foundation. I'm guessing its sales are nothing near the level of Angela's Ashes and that it is predominantly an Irish market. However, I'm leaving this scaling area aside and I'm judging the two books purely on their own merits to me as a reader.
Frank McCourt writes Angela's Ashes from the perspective of the child he was at the time. In that sense it is honest, simple, and contains the humour associated with a child's view. The poverty, illness and tragedies which his family endured were overwhelming. Even by local standards in Limerick at the time they were near the edge of destruction. As a child Frank was aware that they were very poor.
In contrast Penny Apples is written very much from Bill Cullen's perspective as a modern adult and includes a useful macro view of the contemporary influential people and local history. Included are studies of people and institutes like Alfie Byrne, Hector Grey, Louis Copeland, the Mitchels rosary bead factory, the Magdalene laundries and several interesting early first hand experiences of Charles Haughey and Haughey Boland Accountants. Even Rock Hudson makes an appearance on a visit to Dublin and we get an early insight into his sexual orientation and possible predatory tendency with children. The stories he related from his granny Molly Darcy were priceless treasures. One included her first hand experience of the 1916 leaders being marched down Sackville Street. Another was from when she was a teenager working in a big Dublin house and an old man working there told her about his harrowing childhood experience of he and his parents and siblings being evicted during the Famine. This was very captivating - to think there are still links to firsthand stories of the Famine.
I thought Bill gave a refreshingly honest view of the Catholic clergy as he saw it. The priests, nuns and bothers usually came out better than in many other stories from this era. It's a view I would have in general agreed with from my own slightly later experiences in Dublin. The religious orders came out somewhat worse in Angela's Ashes. In spite of considerable hardship Penny Apples was rich in optimism, survival and business ideas from a very ingenious yet commonsense angle. I found the variety of the book very enriching. I do understand Bill's view that they were poor as children, but that as children they didn't know they were poor. Everyone else around them was similar. Frank's situation in Limerick was much worse and more depressing and there seemed to be no escape except for a distant notion of somehow getting to America.
Many common threads are clear in both books. The huge influence of the Catholic Church, poverty, illness, children dying, the demon drink. In addition, strong women stand out - maternal grandmothers in particular and contrasted with weak or unhelpful fathers. I get an impression that Bill over-glamorised his parents and relations to some degree but he did say negative things as his father went a bit off the rails later. It's possible that - as Bill has lived his full life in Ireland - he is conscious of many living family and friends and decided to steer a cautious approach. Frank McCourt was probably somewhat freer being in USA and you do detect greater openness to his descriptions of people, although it tends to lack depth.
Both books are important works which capture an Ireland which has gone. In all truth I took away much more from Penny Apples. It was so multidimensional in what it touched on, the events and people encountered were fascinating. I was enriched with knowledge. It also is a tidy work in that it progresses logically and reaches a clean ending. It's main downside was dialogues attributed to people - it was usually oversimplistic and often lacked credibility. Penny Apples is no masterclass literature in presentation skills but it's raw content is brilliant.
Angela's Ashes was reasonably well written but I found it too long, too simple and continuous in one-dimensional wall-to-wall poverty as seen by a child. It was certainly poignant, sad, mixed with child humour, but it could have been told with more attention to the variety of characters and extract a bigger picture. For instance - the title of the book leans on images of his mother staring quietly into the ashes in the fireplace. She was a complex character and must have had many thoughts to wrestle with. I would have loved to understand her and others more. There are many clues but just not enough analysis. It's a feature of telling the book from a child's firsthand view - you lose Frank's analytical perspective as an adult looking back. I suppose he was leaving the reader to think things through. The closest he came to serious analysis was in the powerful opening page overview before he drifts into the child vision. Also the book ends as Frank leaves Ireland so in that sense it is an incomplete view of his life (his later book 'Tis covers the rest). Angela's Ashes is a very good book and the poverty was painfully hit home, but I think it just missed out on a genuine opportunity to be a classical masterpiece.
http://www.technorati.com/search/irishblogsandbooks
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
The night the Pope bombed appropriate parts of Derry!
My mother grew up in Derry and was a young adult there during Word War II. She and her family were nationalists (and Catholic) and lived in a predominantly loyalist (and Protestant) part of Derry. A story she had told of one of her experiences still makes me smile....
One night a German bombing raid over Derry resulted in some devastation of houses. There was considerable talk about it the following day around Derry. The big subject for some of the loyalist people was that the houses destroyed were all in Protestant areas of the city. This caused a bitter debate and speculation that the bombing raid was a Popish plot. They always had a thing about the Pope. The theory spread like fire and imaginations flared. It culminated in one woman claiming that she actually saw the Pope himself in the German bomber and that he must have been pointing out to the pilot which areas of the city were Protestant so that they could just bomb those places. When challenged on her exceptional eyesight in the dark the women said she knew it was the Pope because she could just make out his tall distinctive hat at the window of the bomber! Coupled with popular talk of Pope Pious XII being at least Nazi neutral due to his non-condemnation of Nazi actions, there was a firm body of people who believed and spread the rumour of the Pope directing the bomber. The local nationalists where my mother lived kept publicly silent due to being badly outnumbered!
The image of the Pope with all his robes and tall hat in a German bomber pointing out Protestant parts of the city would make an excellent Monty Python or Father Ted type TV sketch! I feel awkward writing this blog in our modern all-inclusive Ireland, but it was funny at the time it was told.
One night a German bombing raid over Derry resulted in some devastation of houses. There was considerable talk about it the following day around Derry. The big subject for some of the loyalist people was that the houses destroyed were all in Protestant areas of the city. This caused a bitter debate and speculation that the bombing raid was a Popish plot. They always had a thing about the Pope. The theory spread like fire and imaginations flared. It culminated in one woman claiming that she actually saw the Pope himself in the German bomber and that he must have been pointing out to the pilot which areas of the city were Protestant so that they could just bomb those places. When challenged on her exceptional eyesight in the dark the women said she knew it was the Pope because she could just make out his tall distinctive hat at the window of the bomber! Coupled with popular talk of Pope Pious XII being at least Nazi neutral due to his non-condemnation of Nazi actions, there was a firm body of people who believed and spread the rumour of the Pope directing the bomber. The local nationalists where my mother lived kept publicly silent due to being badly outnumbered!
The image of the Pope with all his robes and tall hat in a German bomber pointing out Protestant parts of the city would make an excellent Monty Python or Father Ted type TV sketch! I feel awkward writing this blog in our modern all-inclusive Ireland, but it was funny at the time it was told.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Traveling through Northern Ireland...briskly!
My wife and I traveled up to Moville in Donegal on Thursday. We were bringing an aunt up to a funeral of a cousin's husband. It was a tough days driving up and down - ten and a half hours in the car - not helped by an hour each way on the M50 as we hit it at morning and evening rush hours.
Anyway, we went through Northern Ireland to get to Moville via Derry. I'm used to traveling in NI since I was very young as my Mum's family are from Derry. However in recent years I'm beginning to notice it's often easier to live with Continental Europe than these six counties on our island. Here are some niggles from Thursday's trip....
1. We decided to eat in Donegal before we returned via NI. I couldn't cope with having to deal with Sterling after spending the last four years using Euros at home and in trips to to much further places like Portugal, Spain, France and Italy.
2. The roads in NI are still marked in mph, which is weird having just got adjusted to kph both in the Republic and in the continent. Given that there is no noticeable border point to/from NI you have to start thinking what units the speed signs are in at border areas.
3. The Republic actually in general now has better roads than NI. I remember when it was the opposite.
4. As well as not eating in NI I wasn't tempted to buy petrol either - it seemed to work out at an average of around 1.50 Euro per litre!!
5. Our mobiles phones roamed into Orange and Vodafone respectively in NI - strange as we are both O2 and O2 claim to be one rate for the island. I suppose we could have stopped the car and forced the phones onto O2, but we were in a hurry and we couldn't be bothered.
So it was a case of - let's get through NI briskly - don't eat or spend sterling, don't buy petrol, don't use the phone, be careful on the narrow main roads and interpret where mph signs begin and end.
I'd feel a lot neater in NI if the UK would become more committed Europeans.
Anyway, we went through Northern Ireland to get to Moville via Derry. I'm used to traveling in NI since I was very young as my Mum's family are from Derry. However in recent years I'm beginning to notice it's often easier to live with Continental Europe than these six counties on our island. Here are some niggles from Thursday's trip....
1. We decided to eat in Donegal before we returned via NI. I couldn't cope with having to deal with Sterling after spending the last four years using Euros at home and in trips to to much further places like Portugal, Spain, France and Italy.
2. The roads in NI are still marked in mph, which is weird having just got adjusted to kph both in the Republic and in the continent. Given that there is no noticeable border point to/from NI you have to start thinking what units the speed signs are in at border areas.
3. The Republic actually in general now has better roads than NI. I remember when it was the opposite.
4. As well as not eating in NI I wasn't tempted to buy petrol either - it seemed to work out at an average of around 1.50 Euro per litre!!
5. Our mobiles phones roamed into Orange and Vodafone respectively in NI - strange as we are both O2 and O2 claim to be one rate for the island. I suppose we could have stopped the car and forced the phones onto O2, but we were in a hurry and we couldn't be bothered.
So it was a case of - let's get through NI briskly - don't eat or spend sterling, don't buy petrol, don't use the phone, be careful on the narrow main roads and interpret where mph signs begin and end.
I'd feel a lot neater in NI if the UK would become more committed Europeans.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Near Death Experiences
I seem to be in a weird blogging mood lately, spooky. Maybe it's November being a dead month.
Stories of near death experiences are often interesting. I'm willing to accept that many of them may be some elaborate dream type experience. However many are difficult to explain due to the hard evidence they provide. An example of one experience I read of which always sticks in my mind is as follows...
An American middle aged woman had a heart attack in a US city which she was visiting and which she was not very familiar with. She was rushed to a local hospital and at one stage on the ground floor theatre her heart stopped and the medics took quite awhile to restart her heart. As she recovered later that day in a 3rd floor ward she related a near death experience to her nurse. She claimed she had floated up out of her body, out of the walls and upwards until she was even a bit above the roof of the hospital. She was able to describe the hospital well for someone who was unfamiliar with this city. In particular she described floating above the top floor of the hospital and remarked that she saw a tennis shoe sitting on a ledge outside a window. The nurse listened to her and consoled her but didn't take her story at all seriously. A dying person's mind plays tricks, she reckoned.
Later that day the nurse had occasion to be on the 7th floor and was doing something at the window. Over at the other wing of the L-shaped hospital she noticed an object sitting on a ledge. She then thought of what the women had said and decided she might chance a closer look. When she got over to the correct room she looked out the window and sure enough there was a tennis shoe on the ledge. At this stage the nurse was more than intrigued. She picked up the shoe and went right back down to the ward on the 3rd floor where the women was in bed. She wanted to test her further and walked up to her with the shoe hidden behind her back.
"When you were dying you said you floated up and you saw a tennis shoe on the top floor ledge?
"Yes".
"you never told me what colour it was."
"It was blue" the woman said without hesitation.
The nurse was stunned and showed the woman the blue tennis shoe she had hidden. The woman had only come into the hospital that day and had never been taken beyond the 3rd floor, nor had she been off her back in bed. The nurse hugged her and later became a serious student of near death experiences.
I've read other stories verified by doctors and surgeons of patients who almost died during an operation describing exact details of instruments and objects in operating theatres when they were clearly unconscious coming in and out of the room.
It's yet another strange area which requires study.
Stories of near death experiences are often interesting. I'm willing to accept that many of them may be some elaborate dream type experience. However many are difficult to explain due to the hard evidence they provide. An example of one experience I read of which always sticks in my mind is as follows...
An American middle aged woman had a heart attack in a US city which she was visiting and which she was not very familiar with. She was rushed to a local hospital and at one stage on the ground floor theatre her heart stopped and the medics took quite awhile to restart her heart. As she recovered later that day in a 3rd floor ward she related a near death experience to her nurse. She claimed she had floated up out of her body, out of the walls and upwards until she was even a bit above the roof of the hospital. She was able to describe the hospital well for someone who was unfamiliar with this city. In particular she described floating above the top floor of the hospital and remarked that she saw a tennis shoe sitting on a ledge outside a window. The nurse listened to her and consoled her but didn't take her story at all seriously. A dying person's mind plays tricks, she reckoned.
Later that day the nurse had occasion to be on the 7th floor and was doing something at the window. Over at the other wing of the L-shaped hospital she noticed an object sitting on a ledge. She then thought of what the women had said and decided she might chance a closer look. When she got over to the correct room she looked out the window and sure enough there was a tennis shoe on the ledge. At this stage the nurse was more than intrigued. She picked up the shoe and went right back down to the ward on the 3rd floor where the women was in bed. She wanted to test her further and walked up to her with the shoe hidden behind her back.
"When you were dying you said you floated up and you saw a tennis shoe on the top floor ledge?
"Yes".
"you never told me what colour it was."
"It was blue" the woman said without hesitation.
The nurse was stunned and showed the woman the blue tennis shoe she had hidden. The woman had only come into the hospital that day and had never been taken beyond the 3rd floor, nor had she been off her back in bed. The nurse hugged her and later became a serious student of near death experiences.
I've read other stories verified by doctors and surgeons of patients who almost died during an operation describing exact details of instruments and objects in operating theatres when they were clearly unconscious coming in and out of the room.
It's yet another strange area which requires study.
Monday, October 30, 2006
How our toddler offered thoughts of an after-life
Let me initially give a little background to a strange experience. My wife's parents died aged in their 50s and it was many years before any of our three children were born. So my own parents were the only grandparents our kids knew. My Dad died suddenly when the girls were each aged 6 years, 3 years and 7 months old. The older two knew their grandad. It saddened them when he died and they then avoided talking about him to anyone. Our youngest, Shona, was far too young to have any recollections of him. She grew up just knowing her granny, who lived until Shona was almost 12. Hence the word Grandad and the concept of what it meant were unknown to her when she was a toddler.
Shona learned to talk very early, she could make sense and have reasonably good conversations by about the age of two years old. One Saturday afternoon, a month before Shona's 2nd birthday, we were all in the kitchen about to eat a meal. We were talking about what might be on the telly and Shona was sitting at the kitchen table just generally humming to herself.
Quite out of context to anything we had been discussing, Shona said...
"Grandad loves me."
I was sitting opposite Shona and it seemed odd to me for her to use that name. She was never even taught such a word at her age as there was no such person in her life.
"You mean Granny loves you", I corrected.
"No, no, Grandad loves me".
This was becoming a little intriguing. I thought I better test her further.
"Is Grandad a man or a woman?" Maybe she was getting the terms granny/grandad mixed up and really meant her granny.
"A man".
Mmmh. I had to think a bit on this and my wife was also now showing some interest. The older two girls also thought it strange for her to mention a grandad.
I wondered if she really did mean one of her actual deceased grandads and if so, which one.
"Where did you see Grandad?" I asked.
"In Granny's house".
"You sure you don't mean you just saw Granny?"
"No, Grandad".
"Where in Granny's house did you see him?"
"Not Granny room, other room."
There followed a tricky bit of conversation to extract from a toddler as to what room she meant. It turned out she meant the front downstairs room of my Mum's house. It was a sitting room but never used much. My Dad had tended to use this room to sit in sometimes as it was cooler for him - my mother liked extra heat.
On digesting this later something else clicked in my mind. It was a minor incident a few weeks earlier when we were over in my Mum's house visiting. Shona had been walking around and had wandered into the front room. When she returned to us in the back room she came over to my wife and I and said gently...
"There's a man in the other room".
My wife and I looked at each other and at my Mum. We knew it couldn't be true what Shona said and shrugged her off. However she repeated that there was a man, so I reluctantly got up from my seat and brought her into the front room.
"See Shona, no man here", I said.
Shona didn't say anything further and that was the end of that. However this little incident came back in my mind after Shona explained to us that this was the room where grandad talked to her.
Still in our own kitchen I asked Shona another question...
"Is Grandad a big man or a small man?"
"A big man".
By Dad was big and heavy for sure, but then I thought that to a toddler every man is big I suppose.
My wife then asked Shona...
"Is grandad happy?"
"Yes. He said he's on his holidays".
Following a few seconds reflection on this answer the hair almost stood up on my head. It seemed to me exactly how a person might explain a concept of Heaven to a small toddler. I tried to subdue my brain from racing away from remaining balanced and objective. But we had never taught her any religion or any such concepts whatsoever at her age.
It was difficult to get much more detail from Shona due to her limited communications skills. She did however give a vague impression that grandad played with her...
"He's like a doggy" she smiled and did little doggy panting sounds with her tongue out to imitate him. At first this didn't make much sense. On further reflection though I do recall my Dad getting on his hands and knees on the floor playing with children when he was a younger man, usually pretending to be a horse actually. He used to give me horse rides on his back when I was a small child.
Over the following days I managed to learn a bit more from Shona. I decided to try a careful experiment. There was no photo of my Dad on display in our house or indeed my Mums, so I knew there was no way on Earth she should relate a photo of my Dad to being her grandad. I reiterate that my Dad died when Shona was a baby of 7 months old, she was now almost 2 years old. Nobody but myself and my wife had access to photo albums with my Dad's picture. I sat on the floor with Shona and opened a photo album in which I knew that in about the 5th page there was a photo of my Dad. I opened each page slowly and just let her talk about who she recognised. There were mainly pictures of myself, my wife and the kids. She smiled and knew each person in her family and pointed them out by name. When I opened the page which contained a photo of my Dad I deliberately said nothing. Shona didn't hesitate though...
"There's grandad", she pointed with glee.
My heart missed a beat, I was floored. It seemed impossible. I stake my life that none of us had ever discussed or shown photos of my Dad to Shona. I later quizzed the other girls separately and I'm quite certain they never discussed nor had access to a photo of grandad to show her. They didn't even talk about grandad to us and they only did baby talk to Shona to make her laugh.
After Shona had recognised my Dad in the photo I felt reluctantly like asking her another question. I was reluctant for a few reasons - firstly it was a selfish question, coming from me being an only child perhaps, and also because I didn't expect her to be able to answer it. After a reflective pause I found I couldn't let it pass and I asked Shona if grandad had ever mentioned myself to her. What happened next from a child of this age was strange, both in what she said and how she said it.
Shona turned her head up from the photo album to me and looked me in the eyes with a purpose which surprised me.
"Grandad said he will mind you."
This was rather overwhelming as you can imagine.
As the weeks and months passed Shona's memory of these incidents faded and she reverted to not knowing who grandad was. The phase had lasted maybe 2 weeks.
I've little idea how to explain any of this logically. Was she reading our own minds, was she psychic? If you ask Shona today aged 17, she has no memory of grandad, except what we told her she had said.
My views on potential afterlife tend to be rather openminded, coloured by what I know of matter and energy and the physical universe. I could accept that there is no afterlife if it happens to be true, but I also realise that there are many things that we cannot yet grasp. It's unwise to be closed minded in this area. I can't explain how Shona came to communicate to us as she did for a few short weeks as a toddler. But any time I'm feeling that death is final, I think of what Shona had told us fifteen years ago. How strange that a tiny child still in nappies could offer us such depth of thought and even hope.
Shona learned to talk very early, she could make sense and have reasonably good conversations by about the age of two years old. One Saturday afternoon, a month before Shona's 2nd birthday, we were all in the kitchen about to eat a meal. We were talking about what might be on the telly and Shona was sitting at the kitchen table just generally humming to herself.
Quite out of context to anything we had been discussing, Shona said...
"Grandad loves me."
I was sitting opposite Shona and it seemed odd to me for her to use that name. She was never even taught such a word at her age as there was no such person in her life.
"You mean Granny loves you", I corrected.
"No, no, Grandad loves me".
This was becoming a little intriguing. I thought I better test her further.
"Is Grandad a man or a woman?" Maybe she was getting the terms granny/grandad mixed up and really meant her granny.
"A man".
Mmmh. I had to think a bit on this and my wife was also now showing some interest. The older two girls also thought it strange for her to mention a grandad.
I wondered if she really did mean one of her actual deceased grandads and if so, which one.
"Where did you see Grandad?" I asked.
"In Granny's house".
"You sure you don't mean you just saw Granny?"
"No, Grandad".
"Where in Granny's house did you see him?"
"Not Granny room, other room."
There followed a tricky bit of conversation to extract from a toddler as to what room she meant. It turned out she meant the front downstairs room of my Mum's house. It was a sitting room but never used much. My Dad had tended to use this room to sit in sometimes as it was cooler for him - my mother liked extra heat.
On digesting this later something else clicked in my mind. It was a minor incident a few weeks earlier when we were over in my Mum's house visiting. Shona had been walking around and had wandered into the front room. When she returned to us in the back room she came over to my wife and I and said gently...
"There's a man in the other room".
My wife and I looked at each other and at my Mum. We knew it couldn't be true what Shona said and shrugged her off. However she repeated that there was a man, so I reluctantly got up from my seat and brought her into the front room.
"See Shona, no man here", I said.
Shona didn't say anything further and that was the end of that. However this little incident came back in my mind after Shona explained to us that this was the room where grandad talked to her.
Still in our own kitchen I asked Shona another question...
"Is Grandad a big man or a small man?"
"A big man".
By Dad was big and heavy for sure, but then I thought that to a toddler every man is big I suppose.
My wife then asked Shona...
"Is grandad happy?"
"Yes. He said he's on his holidays".
Following a few seconds reflection on this answer the hair almost stood up on my head. It seemed to me exactly how a person might explain a concept of Heaven to a small toddler. I tried to subdue my brain from racing away from remaining balanced and objective. But we had never taught her any religion or any such concepts whatsoever at her age.
It was difficult to get much more detail from Shona due to her limited communications skills. She did however give a vague impression that grandad played with her...
"He's like a doggy" she smiled and did little doggy panting sounds with her tongue out to imitate him. At first this didn't make much sense. On further reflection though I do recall my Dad getting on his hands and knees on the floor playing with children when he was a younger man, usually pretending to be a horse actually. He used to give me horse rides on his back when I was a small child.
Over the following days I managed to learn a bit more from Shona. I decided to try a careful experiment. There was no photo of my Dad on display in our house or indeed my Mums, so I knew there was no way on Earth she should relate a photo of my Dad to being her grandad. I reiterate that my Dad died when Shona was a baby of 7 months old, she was now almost 2 years old. Nobody but myself and my wife had access to photo albums with my Dad's picture. I sat on the floor with Shona and opened a photo album in which I knew that in about the 5th page there was a photo of my Dad. I opened each page slowly and just let her talk about who she recognised. There were mainly pictures of myself, my wife and the kids. She smiled and knew each person in her family and pointed them out by name. When I opened the page which contained a photo of my Dad I deliberately said nothing. Shona didn't hesitate though...
"There's grandad", she pointed with glee.
My heart missed a beat, I was floored. It seemed impossible. I stake my life that none of us had ever discussed or shown photos of my Dad to Shona. I later quizzed the other girls separately and I'm quite certain they never discussed nor had access to a photo of grandad to show her. They didn't even talk about grandad to us and they only did baby talk to Shona to make her laugh.
After Shona had recognised my Dad in the photo I felt reluctantly like asking her another question. I was reluctant for a few reasons - firstly it was a selfish question, coming from me being an only child perhaps, and also because I didn't expect her to be able to answer it. After a reflective pause I found I couldn't let it pass and I asked Shona if grandad had ever mentioned myself to her. What happened next from a child of this age was strange, both in what she said and how she said it.
Shona turned her head up from the photo album to me and looked me in the eyes with a purpose which surprised me.
"Grandad said he will mind you."
This was rather overwhelming as you can imagine.
As the weeks and months passed Shona's memory of these incidents faded and she reverted to not knowing who grandad was. The phase had lasted maybe 2 weeks.
I've little idea how to explain any of this logically. Was she reading our own minds, was she psychic? If you ask Shona today aged 17, she has no memory of grandad, except what we told her she had said.
My views on potential afterlife tend to be rather openminded, coloured by what I know of matter and energy and the physical universe. I could accept that there is no afterlife if it happens to be true, but I also realise that there are many things that we cannot yet grasp. It's unwise to be closed minded in this area. I can't explain how Shona came to communicate to us as she did for a few short weeks as a toddler. But any time I'm feeling that death is final, I think of what Shona had told us fifteen years ago. How strange that a tiny child still in nappies could offer us such depth of thought and even hope.
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