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Showing posts from August, 2011


I remember years ago, in Dublin,  when I was a receptionist, I had to give a caller to my office bad news.  Like the fact that the boss wasn't in the office at the moment when the poor woman had travelled halfway across town to meet him.  She could wait, I suggested. Or go out and do a bit of work somewhere else in the area and drop in again later.  Her answer really shook me. "You could at least smile when you're saying that," she said. "The cheek of her," I sniffed indignantly, when she'd left.  "Telling me to smile.  How dare she!" I was rather immature in those days.  I hadn't quite copped on to the fact that a receptionist (which is what I was in that office, among other things) is a professional meeter and greeter.  That means smiling at people.  Even when you don't feel like it. Okay, so my Walkman was broke and needed costly repairs.   Okay, so I'd finished my last packet of cigarettes before payday.  Okay, so my (th


I'm blessed to have wonderful friends and family and so I've been fortunate enough to receive a lot of love and good wishes from people in my life. There are, however, people in my life who dislike me intensely.  I know it because I actually feel real hatred from certain people at times.  I know I've no animosity towards anyone - except perhaps when someone has shown hatred or animosity towards me in the first place - but that's normal, isn't it? It is a curious feeling to have someone actually hating you, or maybe just treating you with disdain for some reason.  I treat it like a learning experience, when I'm up to it. One of my most interesting experiences with animosity happened about eighteen years ago when I was still in Dublin.  I'd just secured a temporary position as a clerk typist in an Irish government organization which supported people with disabilities in the community.  There were a mixed crowd of people.  Some were qualified medical pers

Friday Loose Blogging Consortium - My Childhood.

I was born in 1963, a few months before President John F. Kennedy visited Dublin.  Apparently, when he arrived,  my mother was waiting in the crowd to try and get a look at the U.S. President, then Ireland's favourite emigrant son, with her tiny daughter (me!) along with her. My parents, Eddie and Carmel, were a couple from the north side of Dublin city.  Eddie was a lorry driver and Carmel was a biscuit packer in Jacob's Biscuit Factory, which was a rather good job as factory jobs went, if you must know.  They'd both completed their primary school education, but they had ambitions that their children would complete secondary school at least.  They met at a dance in Dublin's Ierne ballroom in 1962.  Eddie was smitten by Carmel's beauty and persuaded her to allow him to drop her home.  He then made a regular habit of calling to see her.  My maternal grandmother Mary looked Eddie up and down as only as only an Irish mother can and decided that he would do very well

48 Great Things About Being 48

To break my blogging fast, I'm embarking on a post on the theme of forty eight.  I completed forty eight years this year, in May to be precise.  My blogging/writing friend Sally Quilford is celebrating her forty eighth today.  So through this post, I wish Sally a very happy birthday and give my take on the whole meaning of being forty eight. You're still on the right side of fifty. But there's no right side of fifty anymore.  By the time you've reached this age, you know that age is just a number. You don't get upset about the things that used to upset you when you were, say, eighteen. If you have a fight with HIM, you know it's not the end of the world and this too shall pass. On a good day, you can pass for looking a lot younger than you are. Thanks to modern, innovative cosmetic technology, it is possible to look thirty without going under the knife But at this stage, is looking thirty or under the be all and end all of life?  You know it isn&#