Diary note No 11 – Blarney Toastmasters

I was ‘Master of Ceremonies (MC)” last night.

About 20 people in a room in Blarney Woolen Mills hotel.

All keen to become better at public speaking – formal & informal.

All expecting a good experience.

The meeting was mettlesome.

Two members of our Toastmasters Club introduced themselves to the audience.

They each spoke for about five minutes in prepared speeches. There was plenty of applause.

I felt good to be in the room.

Diary note No 10 – Teamwork

When you get back to Ireland, give us a shout” said my cheeky brother No 2.

Proof positive that I’ve been away from the telephone line that connects Cork to Limerick – since Ireland beat Scotland.

I’m sticking to the lurgy – that relieves me of all guilt & shame.

I’m writing this on Friday morning in Café Beva over a (too) large helping of scrambled eggs on a warmed plate.
Roger didn’t make it. Eoghan is preparing for rugby in Rome. The Wiffe has Louis in the wood. De daughter was asleep.

Compelled to go beyond pony-riding to hockey by an exponentially expanding ambition, I morphed phone-called chat.

Isn’t teamwork in sport ideal preparation for civics & working in a shop?

Don’t shelf-fillers & managers need to work as a team with common sense of purpose, and inter-dependence?

A notion that welled up like lava.

Has the Harvard Business Review published a paper on this?

Diary note No 8 – Indoors

I’m staying indoors for another day. It’s drizzling damp outside. Again I’m missing my Wednesday morning golf.

My biggest concern is the dog. I won’t give him enough exercise today. If he could speak English, he’d surely complain.

Talking about Trump, talking about McCabe, having in an asynchronistic conversation with my friend Victorious in USA – that’s what I’ve been doing from my armchair.

That led me to contact my sister in Arizona via WhatsApp. I’d like to hear her views.

Thank goodness I’m interested in Brexit, and have Sky News. Political crises are good distractions from the state of my health.

I’m only good for recording audio and I’m dictating this straight into this post.

My especially good friend Eoghan O’Leary has offered to drop in and bring me something I’d like. I’ve asked for a small bunch of sweet black grapes.

Daily Note No 7 : Surviving on Audio

I’m staying indoors as much as I can. This morning, I’ve been to Doctor Dara Byrne.

There is nothing to do for my health except keep hydrated.

If my phlegm turns from yellow to green, I now have a prescription for an antibiotic, Amoxicillin.

During the last 48 hours, I’ve recorded & shared audio* on LIMOR about

  • Praising Maria Popova’s new book “Figuring
  • Feeling miserable
  • Getting to see a doctor in Ireland
  • House-swapping for holidays

Recording audio keeps me going and seems to release some energy from a repository within.

(* I’ll put the audio here)


Diary Note No 1 – The blog

image_571833188038767A Thursday morning at 10 am, I’m having breakfast in Café Beva in Glanmire. Eating scrambled eggs and sausages, drinking a black Americano.

In front of me the Irish examiner newspaper.

It’s a dry cloudy day, less damp than usual.

I put a vase containing a small bunch of two red roses, one white rose, and three sprigs of lily in the kitchen.

Louis, our English setter, is in the car. I’ll take him for a walk when I finish here.

Thinking back to 2005, when our daughter was born, and we came to Cork, from BathWith baby Grace – that was another age.

I started blogging, often daily. The good old days when blogs sometimes attracted long conversations on text.

In those days I grew new friendships via the blog, by commenting on other people’s blogs and a few times meeting bloggers face-to-face.

I remember JL Pagano, Paige Harrison, John of Dublin, Sinead Gleeson, Conn O Muíneacháin. I’ll remember more later.

The best way to start blogging is to read the blogs of other people, and connect with them on their blog. I left a lot of comments. It didn’t matter very much to me how many people read my blog posts.

I had an audience. I wrote for my daughter knowing that she would not be interested in anything I wrote for maybe 25 or 30 years.

It’s important to have a focus. It was also excellent writing practice.

Today I find it hard to recognise my own writing. Sometimes I say “how did I write that? Where did those words come from?”

Maybe I was a better writer then.

The words came to me as if they were an organic extension of my daily life, and thoughts, and feelings.

Sometimes poems came. sometimes political invective came. Other times observations about this new country I had returned to.

In February 2019, I don’t know what will come out.

We’ll see.

The Pope is almost here

These are fragments I’ve scribbled down while listening to the Irish national news today.

They came quickly from a fund of anger that festers within my body.

I’m sharing these phrases here in case I don’t sculpt them into verse soon. These are the exact words, warts and all.

The Pope is coming here

Defender of the Faith
God’s Vicar on Earth
Protector of priests
Defender of pedophiles
Jesus Christ must be tossing in his grave
Propagator of Untruths
Poser for the Poor
Defender of Eucharist.

A chalice of putrid blood
the blood of people
destroyed lives.
Destroyer of children
Leader of liars
Bishop of Rome
the central committee for the propagation of vice
7 deadly Sins
Mortal sins.

Salvation from prosecution

Infallible corruptor

The institution of Pope is here already in every parish + diocese

The silence of brother
the silence of priests, nuns

How shall the faithful welcome him?

longing, flags, reverence, prayers,


Who first ate an egg?

Her name isn’t known.

Wild jungle fowl were domesticated as early as 3200 BC. [East Indian history]

Fowl were eaten more often than eggs.
Eggs were saved to hatch to supply fowl.

Fowl were laying eggs for man in 1400 BC. [Egyptian & Chinese records]

(All this information was found on the internet.)