Cervical Check


So I'm not off to Barcelona until the crack of dawn tomorrow morning, but I've done most of my packing already. Can you tell I'm excited?

But before I go I wanted to share some important information with you. On Saturday Ireland rolled out Cervical Check, a national screening programme that provides free smear tests to all women aged 25-60. All you need is your PPS number.

As it is quite new not all the practitioners who offer it are listed yet, but my local family planning clinic (IFPA) on Cathal Brugha Street offers free smear tests under this scheme. Regular smears could save your life - so if it's been more than three years since your last smear, please don't delay in booking a test.

Dublin Events in June

Miracle of miracles, the weather is still stunning in Dublin. In fact the weekend was so pleasant that I thought I was on a city break, hit the tourist office and did some June-time event digging. Here's what I found:

Bloomsday is the 16th June and the James Joyce Centre has organised readings, walking tours, a very cultural fry-up and other tributes to Joyce's Ulysses for the week starting 9th June.

The Dublin Writer's Festival is hosting a myriad of readings, discussions and events to suit all tastes from 11th to 15th June.

The AIB Street Performance World Championships is taking place on Merrion Square from 13th to 15th June.

The Darklight Festival is hosting an eclectic series of screenings, seminars and workshops to celebrate cutting-edge film, animation, art and technology from 26th to 29th June.

News, Deals and Events Blogs

Recently I've stumbled upon a few new blogs and Facebook groups that are aimed at people living in Ireland and more specifically, Dublin. I've found them quite useful so I thought I'd share.

The Dublin Event Guide is a weekly subscription-based free e-mail guide for free events in the Greater Dublin area.

The "Dublin Event Guide (for Free Events)") is an Event Guide with a difference. It covers mostly free events based on the thinking that free events deserve additional support and that
ticketed events have a better chance to pay for advertisement.

If you're interested in subscribing, send a mail to dublineventguide[@]gmail.com with 'Subscribe' in the subject line, or join the facebook group.

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I came across the Frugal Ireland blog recently via Style Treaty, where Maz has recently started contributing her words of frugal wisdom. This is from their 'about' section:

We are a group of internet users who thrive on finding good deals online and linking to good content that can be useful to consumers. From ways to save on petrol to the latest supermarket deals, we aim to bring you the latest news.

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Through the Dublin Event Guide listing I found the Dublin Metblog, an alternative news source for the capital. They have a good mix of news, deals and events happening city-wide.

Long Weekend Ahoy

A long weekend is on the horizon. Just me and The Ours for three whole days. Bliss.

Saturday night we're going to 101 Talbot and then to see The Deep Blue Sea by Terence Rattigan at the Gate Theatre.

But the rest of the weekend is unplanned. Maybe Sunday will become a Saturday (nosing around the city, a leisurely lunch, drinks) or perhaps Monday will turn into a Sunday (home-made breakfast, vegging in front of the tv).

That's the wonderful mystery of the three day weekend.

(Have a great one!)

Good Friday

Nearly a year ago I wrote this post. Yesterday I had 70 visitors to my blog from searches such as:

bars on good friday
can catholics drink on good friday
serving alcohol on good friday
booze good friday dublin

Is it that time again already? Where the only places you can buy a pint in this fine country is on the trains and in hotels (only you're a resident mind you)? Not sure why the State is still doing the Catholic Church's dirty work by imposing the traditional day's fasting and abstinence on the whole population, but hey ho.

Last night The Ours and I took part in another Irish tradition - The Buying Of Ridiculously Huge Amounts Of Alcohol The Day Before Good Friday. It was past six o'clock when we arrived at the off licence so it was already well plundered. After reaching the top of a very long queue, we paused for a split second behind the yellow line to avoid breathing down someone's neck while they counted their change at the till. The man behind us, who looked like he was sweating last night's twenty pints, blew his top and started shoving us towards the check out girl. I, being Irish, welcome public confrontation and told him (amongst other things) to get a life. He didn't care of course; the reality of an entirely dry Ireland for 24 hours had triggered a panic that threatened the sanity of the entire nation.

Of course this day isn't just about alcohol or the lack of it. It's also about chocolate. After the off licence fiasco I woolfed down half a chocolate egg and a Yorkie Bar. Ever noticed how chocolate makes your body hum and your head floaty white? Needless to say I was bouncing off the walls like one of those Fanta-filled feckers in shopping centres whose parents look two seconds away from joining the Witness Protection Program.

I'm still utterly hyper...and utterly unable to sit still for more than ten minutes at a time.

Happy Easter everyone!

Howl

After a fun but tiring weekend I was all set to pass out in bed last night, but was kept awake by a storm that swatted the fire doors, peeled tiles off the neighbouring roofs and dropped debris through the glass panelled extensions at the back.

This morning the wind had died down and The Ours brought my laptop to where I stayed, in bed. I wrote 1140 words of my second draft, then completed an article about Las Vegas and sent it into BootsnAll.

Now all I have to do is stay awake until tonight. Where's that howling wind when you need it?

Writers Groups

I've taken a necessary step out of my comfort zone to start on my second draft. And as much as I love my hermit writer lifestyle, I think it is time for me to meet and work with other writers face to face. I've met some great writers online and I will always rely on them for help and inspiration, but I think a writers' group will add another prop to that support structure.

A few weeks ago Beth Morrissey told me about Women Writers in the New Ireland:

WWInI is a new initiative aimed at facilitating a dialogue between women writers in the New Ireland. The intention is to promote the creative work of women writers living in Ireland who are from migrant and new communities and to encourage contact between these writers and other women writers who were born in Ireland or who have lived here for a long time.

I'm attending my first meeting next Saturday at the Irish Writers Centre.

The Irish Writers Centre also runs Scribbers Corner, 1pm-2pm every week on Wednesdays, which sounds like an interesting way to get some creative juices flowing:

The aim is to gather writers together for a short writing session. Each week a different topic or theme will be given to the group and then those present will freewrite for 15 – 20 minutes. After this time each individual will be asked to read his or her work out. Please note that there will be no feedback on work created during these sessions. The aim of the group is to allow those present to hear other writers voices on a common topic in a relaxed and informal atmosphere.

The Irish Writers Centre website also lists Dublin-based and national writers groups, including the New Writers Forum which meets at the centre every second Wednesday at 7pm.

I'm going along to my first Scribbers Corner next week, and I've emailed the New Writers Forum to find out if they have any spaces available for a newbie like me - hopefully they do.

The Pub

Thanks for your lovely comments about the theme of my novel, they've really boosted my confidence. I've now added the short summary to my website and I'm hoping to extend it as the draft evolves.

So far The Ours and I have had a quiet weekend, only leaving the flat to shop for essentials. About a month ago we decided to avoid the pub until our holiday to save a bit of money and to slim down. Apart from the odd glass of wine with my meal I've been dry as a bar on Good Friday.

But why avoid the pub altogether you might ask. Can't you just have a soft drink?

Unfortunately Dublin pubs charge astronomical prices for soft drinks, often the same price as a pint of beer - 5.00 euro. More often then not it's from the soda syphon so the mark ups are spectacular. Like it wasn't annoying enough to be the designated driver amongst drunks! Tap water is free (but I'm sure they're thinking of ways to charge for that too) but a little boring on a night out.

Anyway it's just too hard for me to watch my friends tuck into their tasty pints. Collapsing with laughter at weak jokes and repeating yourself is entertaining when you've had a few but it just doesn't cut it when you're sober. Every Irish person I know who is teetotal is very...eccentric. Perhaps being exposed to the same rambling conversation several times a night will do that to you.

But it's Xavier's birthday party today, The Ours' friend from work. He's Spanish and has promised a huge spread of paella and other lovely Spanish delicacies. I might be able to turn down an invite to the pub but food trumps all, feck the diet.

Climate

Only eight days until the Ours and I jet off to Las Vegas, the thought of which has whipped me into a frenzy of shopping, planning and more shopping.

The temperature is in the early twenties there, which in Ireland would trigger a parade of tiny vests and hot pants. (The women wear bikinis.) 25 degrees and up is a heat wave.

So...I've been out shopping for flip flops and beach bags. I don't care how ridiculous I will look to normal climate dwellers - I throw on a t-shirt when it's 15 degrees out like the rest of my countrymen!

Unfortunately ten minutes or more in direct sunlight and I'm an itch of prickly heat. I can't lie on my front because it hurts my back. On my back my arms get sore from holding up the book I'm reading to take my mind of the prickly skin crawl...and I'm inside again to bask in the air conditioning.

Safe to say that I've never had a tan darker than weak tea but 235th time's a charm...

Weather

Last day of work tomorrow - couldn't come soon enough actually as I'm feeling sick again! The weather is atrocious here, very cold with insane wind speeds - I witnessed my first horizontal snow fall earlier - and I'm struggling to walk back and forth to work every day. But I've been taking good care of myself, going to bed early and eating properly, so I just need to be patient...

On the flip side, I was taken out for lunch today by the solicitors I work for and tomorrow I'm going to the local Italian with the secretaries. I should leave work more often methinks! The company has asked me to give them a call when I'm back on the market again which is great. We'll see how long my savings last, I'm hoping at least three months.

And I'm hoping the filthy weather will improve by then...but perhaps I'm living in the wrong city for that?

Facial

If I were more relaxed right now I'd be dead.

For my birthday the Ours bought me an Ultimate Facial from the Buff Day Spa, a little urban haven beside the Gaity Theatre. As you need all the help you can get in January and I'm taking a trip to London at the weekend I thought I'd book the treatment for this evening.

And they take care of you in this place, no bog standard beauticians here. After I changed into a fluffy bathrobe and snazzy slippers I was directed by a white coated soft spoken girl to the "relaxation room", where I helped myself to fancy herbal teas and trashy magazines. (I stopped buying mags a year ago to give my wallet a rest, so leapt on these free ones.)

Soon after another white coated soft spoken girl appeared and brought me to a warm, low lit room. While I sprawled on the massage table the girl lovingly rubbed a multitude of products into my skin, each one more soothing than the next. After a long shoulder massage and an application of face mask I was left to doze in the half-light glow. While the symphony of the Dublin wind played outside the hug of the blankets kept me at blood heat.

I'm back home now but the feeling has not left me.

Diary

I'm off out tonight to the Market Bar. A former sausage factory, it is now a handsome tapas restaurant/pub with high ceilings and exposed brick walls. (Also is a proud location for one of my stories!)

Next weekend the Ours and I are visiting Joe Hoover (his fake going-out name) in Laandan to celebrate his birthday. We're staying here and eating here, amongst other places.

The weekend after the next my dad is visiting us on Saturday, it's actually his birthday (even though he had to be reminded when he booked the flight) and we're going out to eat here. We might check out this later.

The weekend after that one we're hoping to host a poker/club sandwich night in our flat.

(I like to have something to look forward to!)

Torrential

It is torrential out there.

I just waded through several inches of filthy smelly rain water, most of which was flowing freely over the pavement drains, seemingly unaffected by the laws of physics.

I wish that I had something profound or amusing to pass on, but unfortunately my January funk, like the pond tsunami the 38 bus created right in my path, still clings to me.

(May tomorrow be a better day.)

Rugby

Yesterday was the Ireland vs Argentina rugby match, and a friend of mine offered us tickets to a big screen event in the Mansion House on Dawson Street. The Ours, Daisy and I went down to have a look.

We were pleasantly surprised to discover a round room with a twilight roof and circular tables arranged around a big screen and a sofa - and our day instantly got better when we realised it was a free bar AND table service. If that wasn't enough, there was free food too, and a question and answer session with some rugby commentators afterwards.

Shame about the result though...but at least we successfully drowned our sorrows.

Joe O'Reilly found guilty

Irish readers will no doubt be aware of the case - it's attracted unprecedented media attention - but for those not in the know, mother of two Rachel O'Reilly was found murdered in October 2004 in a staged burglary. Joe O'Reilly immediately began courting the press and behaving very strangely for a grieving husband, and soon he was the prime suspect of both the Gardai and the press.

The Gardai took nearly three years to build a case against O'Reilly because the evidence available was purely circumstantial, as his DNA was legitimately all over the crime scene, the home they shared. But in the end the mobile phone and CCTV evidence, coupled with proof of O'Reilly's lies about the state of their marriage, was enough for the jury to find him guilty of murder yesterday.

You can read more about the case here.

Tom Crean: Antarctic Explorer

Daisy and I went to see Tom Crean: Antarctic Explorer in the Olympia last night. I'd caught the impressive one man show last year in Andrew's Lane Theatre, and even though I think it suits a smaller theatre like The Gate I was again completely caught up in the show. Written and performed by Aidan Dooley, he recounts Tom Crean's experiences at the Antarctic with great charisma.

Tom Crean was an Irish Antarctic explorer who took part in three major British expeditions to Antarctica. Two were led by Scott, the third by Shackleton. When he returned home to Kerry he put his medals away and never spoke of his experiences again. This and the fact that he never kept a diary meant that his name and contributions to history is hardly known outside of Ireland, but this play is going towards changing this.

Using diaries of other explorers that travelled with Crean, his letters to family and other historical documents, Aidan Dooley presents a charming and funny show. His down to earth conversation is very enjoyable, but when he describes the physical and mental challenges the explorers endured, sometimes in the face of great adversary, I was amazed by their achievements.

Tom Crean was known by his compatriots as being witty, optimistic and modest, and all these qualities shine through in Dooley's writing and performance. He had us in the palm of his hand last night, laughing and gasping as he talked. The one week run at the Olympia is finishing tonight, but he is moving on to other parts of Ireland and then New York and I would be surprised if he doesn't return to Dublin soon.

Miss D

On one of our walks yesterday we came across a pro-choice demonstration by the Socialist Workers Party. The Health Service Executive here in Ireland, a government agency, is preventing a 'Miss D' in their care from travelling abroad have an abortion. Miss D recently discovered that the foetus has anencephaly, meaning that part of the brain, scalp and skull is missing. She would either give birth to a stillborn child or a newborn that would live three days at most.

Miss D, who is a minor, is asking a judge to grant her permission to abort her pregnancy in the UK. Find out more here.

Many people in Ireland are split on the subject of abortion, mainly because of the Catholic beliefs of the majority of the population. However, surely even the most religious person can see that there can be no winners here. Miss D wanted to carry her child to term until she discovered its severe deformity that would not see it live for longer than three days. The best she can hope for is a speedy decision on her case; but a decision in her favour will not bring her much joy I suspect.

Home birds and the Irish General Election

Started on my fifth story today and I'm already 2500 words in. Had to stop there though as my head was wrecked, but I'm very happy with the result.

Bertie Ahern called the Irish General Elections yesterday, apparently in a rush as the paperwork required to dissolve the Dail had misspelled 'Taoiseach'. Typical blunder by the cheeky chappy. How we laughed!

I moved back to Dublin nearly four years ago and had missed the last General Election by a year, so I was determined to vote this time around. I'd like to say I was motivated by the suffragettes. But the truth was I wanted to off-set the huge amount of people who will not vote because they are still registered in the back end of beyond.

You see, many people only live in the Big Schmoke because there are no suitable jobs in their home county. But because dirty and expensive Dublin can't hold a candle to their beloved [insert name of town here], some like to pretend that living in Dublin is a 'temporary arrangement', conveniently forgetting that they've been living in Lucan for nearly ten years. Many of these people are still registered 'back home' with their doctors, dentists and other specialists. I've worked with people who have taken Fridays off to see their chiropractor who lives five hours away by train. This would not bother Dubliners as much if it wasn't for their constant winging. (My two cents: If you hate it so much, move back, retrain, work remotely or take a pay cut. Seriously, suck it up! Life is too short.)

But I digress rantingly. Back to the point in hand. I ensured my name and address was firmly added to the electoral roll. (Bertie left a letter for me explaining that he'd tried to visit, but the security in our development was too strict. Awh.) But when the General Election date was announced I was gutted. Slap bang during our holiday to the States. I looked up the postal voting criteria but I didn't qualify for that either. Unbelievable! I would have to wait another five years to vote. I'm still not over it.

So I'm begging you - if you're registered outside the pale can you vote in my place? I will tell you how to vote, but I'll pay for your train ticket home, and promise to be sympathetic the next time you're crying into your pint from homesickness. Bargain.

What a difference a few hours make

You know, when the sun is shining, the roads are half empty, people are wandering around half-cut on vitamin D, Henry Street has been freshly hosed down and the road sweeper has just removed a mountain of crisp bags and beer cans from Parnell Street, the city is almost...pretty.

Ah the joys of spring.

Wasted narrow sun window

Two men are in my bedroom getting down to business. They're making a hell of a racket.

The builders arrived to fit the vents about 20 minutes ago, smiling and joking without a care in the world. And why shouldn't they? It's not like they should have be here Thursday, when I waited in this sauna of a flat while the sun was splitting the rocks outside. It's not like I was expecting them to call me and let me know that they weren't coming. And it's not like they didn't turn up yesterday either and not call. In fact, it's not like Ireland has crappy weather year round and when the sun finally shows its face you should run out and frolic in its rays because you may never see it again.

But three times' a charm, they’re here now and it’s not like it's suddenly become overcast and cold. Oh, wait...

Note to office workers; I understand that staying indoors all day is a daily event for you and that I'm being an ungrateful cow, but it's eight in the morning and a symphony of drills and power saws is going through my head for a short cut.