Writing for life

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… and the column for 06/01/2010. 

All right, own up… who stole 2009.

If you’re the culprit, then you’re welcome to it. I for one won’t be mourning the passing of 2009, and I suspect that I’m not alone in the sentiment.

My problem with 2009 is that it promised a great deal, and under-delivered in spectacular fashion. I ended the year in pretty much the same position as I was in when it started. Despite a lot of hard work it feels like I’ve been standing still for a year, both personally and professionally. As years go 2009 was a non-event: it may as well not have happened. We’re all a year older, and that pretty much sums it up.

I guess I should look on the bright side… stagnating for a year isn’t all that bad in a year when a lot of people experienced much worse; I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who’d love to find themselves in the same position they were in at the end of 2008. But it’s disappointing none the less. This time last year 2009 was looking tantalizingly promising, and I found myself eager with anticipation. Today, after the year that’s just passed, I find myself gazing into 2010 with unfettered indifference.

What is it about the start of a new year that engenders so much hope in so many people? We look at it as a new start, but really it’s just the passing of another day: a seamless transition to more of the same. Look around. What’s changed? The date… and that’s pretty much all.

There’s nothing inherently special about New Year. We can all choose to make changes in our lives at any time of the year. I guess what makes the transition from one year to another a little more significant in that regard is its symbolism. It is the start of something new, and for a lot of people that can serve as a catalyst for re-evaluation and positive action. For many more it’s a good excuse to get drunk and make a series of vague promises, easily made and just as easily broken?

How many of us will make significant positive change this year? How many New Year’s Resolutions will you make… how many will you keep? How many have you ever kept?

By and large the whole New Year’s Resolution thing is a bad idea. We make them because we’re stickers for tradition and slaves to convention, and because for a fleeting time at the start of the year doing so makes us feel good about ourselves and our noble intentions, but it doesn’t last. We soon fall back into old habits, and the fact that we haven’t had the strength of character to persevere with our New Year convictions leaves us feeling worse about ourselves than we did before.

So my suggestion for a New Year’s Resolution this year is to resolve not to make any New Year’s Resolutions at all. Trust me, you’ll be much better off. If you eschew my advice and decide to make a few regardless, for goodness sakes keep them to yourself. That way at least you can pretend you chose not to make any resolutions, and you alone will know how spectacularly you’ve failed.

I love Christmas and all the festive frivolity that surrounds it, but New Year is a pretty rubbish holiday, and while 2010 is likely to be a better year for many of us than the one we’ve just departed, somehow I can’t bring myself to embrace the excitement.

As I ponder all of this New Year whimsy I glance at the children and see three individuals refreshingly unencumbered by all this nonsense. Shielded from the worst of what the year throws their way by the insulating buffer of good parents, for them every year is a happy one, and the prospects for the new year are always bright. They live in the comfortable bubble of consistency that we provide, blissfully oblivious to the ups and downs of our topsy turvy world. You’ve got to envy them that.

Happy New Year!

It’s official… I still have all of my extremities. I know this because I’ve counted them. Two arms, two legs, eight fingers, two thumbs, and ten toes.

Three weeks ago it had seemed like such a good idea. My wife was browsing the Cork on Ice website and asked if I’d be up for going ice skating with the gang. Sitting at home in a warm living room saying yes had been easy. Now the day had arrived though I was feeling a bit less assertive.

Me, blades and a large expanse of cold, wet slippery stuff… not a good combination.

I’ve been ice skating maybe three times in my life. The first was as a child, when we were taken to a huge Ice rink in North Wales on a school trip. As with most unpleasant experiences, my mind has obscured most of the details. All I remember is clinging, white-knuckled, to the edge of the rink, making my way inch by painful inch around the perimeter. In my mind’s eye all I could see was images of bloody skate-blades and severed fingers. From the moment I stepped onto the ice I remember praying for the experience to end.

The next time was a friend’s birthday party. When I found out we were going ice-skating it was all that my parents could do to convince me to go. This time I was a little braver, and actually let go of the side. Big mistake… I spent more time spread-eagled on the ice than I did actually skating. Cold, wet and miserable I vowed never to set foot on an ice rink again.

The Late Late Toy Show is an Irish institution.

That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good thing… just that it’s an inescapable one. As inevitable as death, taxes, corruption, tribunals and election posters, the Late Late Toy Show is one in a long list of things that parents all over the country have to suffer, but would generally prefer to avoid.

Having skilfully managed to sidestep the live airing on Friday night (the girls had friends staying over, and were so engrossed in play that they forgot about it), I thought that we might get away with it this year, but thanks to the wonders of modern technology there was no chance of that. The next day we had a family viewing of the show over the Internet. With the computer hooked up to the flat-screen telly and RTE Player streaming full-screen it was almost as "good" as viewing the live show. Lucky me!

Best wishes and condolences to everyone in West Cork, Cork City and further afield whose homes and businesses were affected by the recent flooding….

In Ireland we don’t do climatic extremes very well.

Maybe it’s the inevitable consequence of a climate that consistently under delivers. We don’t get long, baking hot droughts, we don’t get bone-chillingly cold winters with lots of snow and ice, we don’t get anything extreme on the weather front, really… just a perpetually dreary middle ground.

As a result we’re rubbish when it comes to dealing with weather-related problems. In the summer we moan about the rain, but on the (very) rare occasions when the sun does shine for more than a few days the council starts running out of water. If it has the temerity to snow the entire country grinds to a shuddering halt until things thaw out again, and anything more than a stiff breeze has us running indoors to take refuge from falling trees.

But if there was one type of weather you’d expect the Irish to cope well with it would be rain. If Ireland had an official national weather, then rain would be it! And yet here, too, we fail miserably at the faintest whiff of extremity.

Last week it rained hard for a few days, and highlighted just how flimsy our drainage systems, flood defences and coping mechanisms really are. Huge swathes of West Cork and a substantial chunk of Cork City sank beneath the rising flood waters, thousands of homes were damaged, hundreds of vehicles stranded and countless commuters failed to make it home to their families.

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The girls came off the school bus beaming from ear-to-ear, waving little booklets at us and talking nineteen-to-the-dozen.

Their conversation… if you can call a one-directional avalanche of competing phrases tumbling from three over-excited youngsters a conversation… revolved around fruit and veg. School was introducing a new programme called Food Dudes and they explained that for the next sixteen days they would be trying different fresh fruit and veg in school, and getting “prizes” for eating it. Sure enough, the next day they came home having tried some cucumber (no challenge there then… the girls love cucumber, and regularly devour vast quantities of the stuff), and eager to show us their food dude trinket.

To date they’ve collected a wrist-band watch, a plastic drink bottle, fridge magnets, a pencil case, a pedometer, a rubber (eraser), twirly straws and other bits of paraphernalia for trying an assortment of fresh foods. They’re also keeping a food diary detailing all of the fruit and veg varieties they eat at home and at school every day for the sixteen days — which they’ve stuck on the fridge using their Food Dudes fridge magnets and fill in diligently every evening before bed.

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Global warming… or climate change as I prefer to call it (given that there’s been scant evidence of any actual "warming" going on in Ireland over the last few summers), is a serious issue for sure. But am I the only one worried by a recent spate of publicity that’s painting carbon dioxide (CO2) as a noxious chemical we need to eradicate?

One TV ad that targets children and parents is particularly disturbing, not because it deals with the sobering subject of climate change… but because it’s built around misinformation and blatant scaremongering. The ad I’m talking about shows a father reading a bedtime story to a little girl… a dreadful story about how the nasty CO2 monster, growing ever larger, is wreaking havoc with the climate and killing the planet. If you haven’t seen it you’ll find it below.

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Halloween is supposed to be scary. Goblins, ghouls and horrible little monsters looking for trick-or-treat goodies come with the territory. Goats… not so much.

But let’s rewind a little.

We’d been out to tackle the "spooky" Halloween Trail at Lisselan Estate just outside Clonakilty. The girls had a great time tearing around the gardens solving solving the riddles on their age-tailored clue-sheets. It was a fiver each for the children to take part in the Halloween Trail, which included a lucky-dip prize and a trick-or-treat goody bag each on completion. For once things were as they should be… refreshingly, Lisselan had opted not to charge anything for the accompanying adults.

Why is it that so many places insist on charging top whack for parents to get in to what are patently child orientated attractions? The attractions usually have zero appeal for adults, and if all you’re there for is to keep an eye on the kids, who have paid for their tickets, then I don’t really see why you should have to pay for the privilege.

The girls love making up stories and writing them down. They’re forever scribbling in notebooks, on bits of paper, on the backs of envelopes… anywhere they can really. There are poems, short stories… even full-length children’s picture-books complete with accompanying illustrations, scattered all over the house. One of the twins has even set a career goal to become a writer and illustrator of children’s books when she grows up.

While it might be a bit early for that, I have to admit that some of the stories they come up with are surprisingly good, as long as you’re prepared to gloss over the spelling and grammar errors endemic to an eight-year-old’s writing. They’re entertaining, have a good balance of dialogue and narrative, compelling characters and even a workable plot. It’s fantastic to see the girls ready to engage with and explore written language at this age, but I guess making up stories is an intrinsic part of childhood, and writing those stories down is simply a natural progression of that.

For the last week or so they’ve been putting their love of stories to good use on the web, in an online competition being run by smoothie-maker, Innocent. The company has taken the classic paper and pencil game “consequences”, and adapted it for kids to play online. Traditionally the game involves writing a sentence on a piece of paper and passing it on to the next person. They then read it, and fold the paper over, hiding the original sentence before writing their own… and so on until the conclusion of the story. The web version Innocent has come up with is much simpler… and all the more ingenious for that.

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Sometimes we humans use expressions that, while they seem plausible enough on the surface, actually have no bearing on life in the real world.

We do this all the time, without ever questioning the validity of what we’re saying, and we perpetuate these misconceptions by using the same expressions with our children. They in turn will pass on these falsehoods to their children and so it will go on unless someone makes a stand and sets things straight.

Anyone who’s ever had mice in the house will know that the old adage "as quiet as a mouse" is a complete fallacy. Mice can, in truth, make an unbelievable racket for their size as they scurry around under floors and behind skirting boards; chittering, squeeking and scraping as they forage for stray crumbs. The pitter-patter of their tiny feet is surprisingly audible in the dead of night, and the conclusive snap of a mouse-trap is enough to wake anyone from their slumber. I’ve taken to using a different version… one that’s far more accurate than the rodent equivalent. I tell the girls they should try to be "as quiet as a pineapple". When was the last time you heard fruit make a sound?

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I drink too much coffee! There’s no getting around it… it’s true. I have a penchant for the black-stuff that is simply undeniable.

My wife has been campaigning to get me to reduce my caffeine intake for quite some time, and part of me knows that she’s right. And in fairness I have… I’m now having only two to three mugs of the stuff a day instead of the six or seven that I used to consume. But… and it’s a big but… the three mugs I do have are VERY strong neat espresso, made in one of those stove-top coffee pots. It’s great stuff… but apparently I’m still drinking too much of it.

Or am I…?