religion 8 March 2008
Religion is dangerous and so are teapots but who knew that both could collide in such an astounding (and tragic) way – saw a little piece in the paper today about a woman in Malaysia who was recently jailed for two years for belonging to a cult that worships a 20 foot high teapot. The pot apparently symbolises the outpouring of goodness, so it’s a very benign cult, but jail it is for the poor worshipper. The writer of the piece did mention that Bertrand Russell once compared faith in God to believing that there was a teapot orbiting the sun – you might believe totally that this was true but you would need something more to convince anyone else of it. No help for the poor Malaysian woman there, either.
against all odds 8 March 2008
Well, I have decided not to opt for surgery just yet and have joined a local gym in London instead (I have a dainty treadmill of my own in the Dublin residence so that’s the exercise sorted there). Other than that there is no time to waste in life and i am GETTING ON with things, in spite of missing a flight that I think actually disappeared from the schedule tonight at Heathrow (can that happen though or have I gone mad?) and then being majorly delayed on the one I did manage to spot was leaving in my general direction. I wonder if it’s because I am writing about Alzheimers at the moment and am a bit bothered and forgetful, though hopefully only from stress and having too much on my mind, cos if this is ‘it’ then I have even less time than previously imagined. I probably spend too much time sleeping also but I am so not giving that up – it’s my favourite activity bar none and I will fight for it to the bitter end.
Off to Sligo tomorrow to do a reading in the evening at the Yeats Building as part of a Writers and Readers Festival. I love libraries – anywhere devoted to books is a great place as far as I am concerned and, while I’m at it, librarians are Grand Wizards of Fabdom.
Apparently my nephew, Jay (who, you’ll remember, blogged in my place while I was locating an internet cafe in Lviv on my New Year’s trip to Ukraine) calls Sligonians ‘The Sligish’ which I think is fab – a bit Elvish, ain’t it.
pear-shaped 6 March 2008
It’s all gone completely pear-shaped and I am not referring to my poor bod – electronic communication, of which I am so fond (witness this blog) is beginning to turn around and bite back. Basically, I have 2 versions of broadband on the move – one for the UK and one for Ireland. Grand…so far. Though both are remarkably similar being with Vodafone and nearly identical to behold but for a foxy piece of stickyback plastic on one of the pluggyinny things. (Apologies for going all technical there). But last night in the london residence my laptop refused to recognise EITHER and I have had to but airtime elsewhere. That can’t be right. And this ain’t the new laptop either – that has many other problems that an apparatchik in the Apple store will have to deal with because, although I managed to download my files successfully from one laptop to the other, they have arrived corrupted and the 2nd software disc refuses to download…and there’s no disc drive in the airbook and I suspect I need to buy new versions of Office and all sorts. Tis a DEEZASSTOR I tell ye.
That and a lengthy conversation earlier with a makeup lady about getting older in which we were both way too honest with one another about the horrors it holds and as a consequence I am ready to go out and have most of my flesh cut off and hang the consequences. Actually, we were wondering about injections versus surgery and were both of the opinion that surgery, somehow, is almost the more honest procedure in as much as it’s cut-and-paste whereas the needle is putting all sorts of foreign stuff into you that no one is truly sure about (I think). Whereas everyone can understand how, well, dangerous surgery is and you make a choice based on that. And much as I’d love a nip and tuck I think I am too chicken, and I don’t want the pain (and it would be painful). So, the alternative is get rid of all mirrors and never appear on television again or in another photo ever, unless the lighting is vair vair dim – is that why this time is referred to as ‘twilight years?’
tattoos 5 March 2008
I met a lad in Galway who had a lot of tattoos, and many of them could be deemed body art. For instance, his left arm is covered in wondrous Japanese-inspired designs and he has a most impressive Jesus on his right shoulder. I guess the one myself and the lassies I was with found most interesting was the tattoo of his ex girlfriend’s handprint on his buttock. We likened it to the glass slipper in Cinderella and he was good enough to let us try our handsizes against it. Mine didn’t quite fit, which is just as well as I am a married laydee (even if the husband is sometimes suspected to be a figment of my overburdened imagination). I would love a tattoo and, at my London sister-in-law’s prompting, feel it should be 3 ducks flying up my bottom, not unlike the Coronation Street type found on walls there. I had intended to do it for my 40th but the husband was agin it, but now I’m thinking my 50th would be just the right time, though that’s a few years off yet. And when people assure me that I will regret it when I am much older I have to demur – au contraire, I say, I will be delighted when I am 80 to haul up the loose skin on my ass and say to shocked youngsters ‘see what I did when I was 50’. It’s true that people should be careful with the old tatts, though. For instance, most men I know on reaching 40 want a tattoo and a motorbike and it’s like a right’s of passage, middle-aged cry for help. My brother-in-law, on Richard’s side, wanted all that but had to settle for a Mercedes soft-top sportscar. And the horror there? Well, he had to get the 4-seater, in case he ever had to pick his kids up from school in it – not exactly the ‘affair car’ then.
ritual 4 March 2008
I am not a ‘believer’ as you will all know. By that I mean I don’t belong to a formal religious group anymore ( I was dragged up Catholic, which is great for a writer and actor, really, as you always have a wellspring of guilt handy for use – I actually mean that in a good way, it’s a boon for a creative) and I think when you shuffle off this mortal coil that’s it. My Dad used to say that it would be a great bonus though to be proved wrong on that, and I agree with him, and he knows all about it now one way or the other. However there are things that it’s very comforting to have from a church and the ritual by which we send our loved ones on is one of them. It’s so helpful to have a formality around what is one of the strangest times in anyone’s life. It gets those grieving from point A to point B and keeps them moving and busy and then another day is done and they have made it through however diminished life is because of the loss. And it can be very beautiful, as Maria Donaldson’s funeral was today. I know all of this can be done without a trip to a church and I have been to some great funerals done in that way. But for those who like or need tradition (and of course for those who believe in a God and life eternal in the hereafter) a church funeral is hard to top.
Holy Gob 3 March 2008
I am to be a godmother again and, in a buck to previous trends, this time I am to be moral and spiritual guide to a small boy. The lad in question is quite a card. He has a tumble of blonde curls, is only a few years old and already has a keen wit and sense of humour. On Christmas Day he took himself off for a wee snooze when the excitement got a bit much without a by your leave to anyone – very much a man with a mind of his own. He did a picture of god for his gran recently which was all red and green and yellow, she tells me. The title was gob as he got his d backwards. So we now know what Holy Gob looks like. It’s amazing to think that a small person of only a handful of years, not yet at school, should take the time to think about this higher being and imagine what that being might look like. And it’s very relieving to know that Gob is such a colourful and friendly type. For myself, I’m not sure I believe in anything except not doing harm while we’re here and leaving a few good memories behind, as well as a few bob for the relatives and some plants in the ground that will probably long outlast my memory. It’s not the worst way to be, though, eh?
By the way, this lad’s brother once remarked (when not much older than the small boy is now) that Jesus died on a plus – I liked that idea so much I put it in a book.
mothers' day 2 March 2008
It’s easy to get annoyed with manufactured and exploited days like Valentine’s or Mothers’ Day but, really, isn’t it a nice excuse to spoil your Mam and someone you love. I guess we don’t do enough of it, generally. And you don’t have to celebrate it in a commercial way. Our own Mothers’ Day experience was saddened by the death of my wonderful sister-in-law Curly’s mum Marie, or ReeRee as my nephew called his gran from when he got the hang of talking. Each year we lose some more of the good folk and I know when our time is up we must move on but it’s sad to have the ranks diminished. In the meantime we’ve made it clear to my mother that she has to hang around for another 20 years at least because we’ve had enough of funerals to last a few decades yet. I hope she’s listening because we are VERY serious about that.
booksellers 2 March 2008
I attended the annual Irish Booksellers Conference dinner/bunfight tonight and as always it was tremendous fun AND yours truly did it on the dry – I thought it would be good to do it just once sober and perhaps leave with my entire dignity intact…and so it came to pass so I am feeling very proud of myself and, yes, perhaps just a tad smug. Anyhow, the after dinner speech was by Richard Madeley, of Richard and Judy fame, and he was great. He spoke about the phenomenon that is their book club but also about his upcoming book called FATHERS AND SONS, which he is just finishing. It sounds like a thoroughly good read. Basically, it begins with his grandfather in 1907, aged 10, when he was bartered, to 2 bachelor uncles and a spinster aunt in Shropshire, by his family for their passage to Canada but wasn’t told about it in advance and was basically abandoned into a kind of slavery till he was 21 and he never got over it. This seeped down through the family and the men of the clan have been trying to turn that around ever since with their own sons. Fascinating, moving stuff.
strong feelings 29 February 2008
I don’t actually feel quite as strongly about all of the leap year stuff as this site might suggest. Everything stalled for a while and I pressed the publish button 4 times to encourage it all along and, well, you can see what happened…
leaping 29 February 2008
Did you know that most of us do today’s day’s work for free because it only exists once every 4 years? So, not only are you further into The MAN, but if you’re a bloke you might also be saddled with a proposal of marriage. I think it must take great courage to say no when someone asks you to marry them. Poor old Rich hardly had the words out of his mouth by the time I’d agreed to his (as he now realises) crazy notion. (Poor devil, he was the only one manners enough to ask, ever, though looking back perhaps the other lovely lads were just plain smarter and knew when to get out…mmm…) I wonder how many people out there are married because of politeness or the avoidance of hurting someone they care for, indeed love, but perhaps are not IN LOVE with? This day, above all others, probably has a lot to answer for.