Thank you to all our loyal readers for dropping in to read the blog during the year.  We hope you’ve enjoyed and been entertained by it.

We wish each and every one of you a very Happy Christmas with time to spend with family, to have fun, to relax, to recharge, and especially to savour the Christmas spirit.

This country of ours is struggling so for many it’ll be a tough Christmas and there will be many families without their sons, daughters and grandchildren this Christmas, lost to emigration, but we possess  hope, optimism and resilience and no-one can take that away.  We have the capacity within us to make ourselves, and those around us, happy, during these days.

Best wishes from Aine and Grainne.

by Grainne

We were four years old, identical curly-haired twins.  It was decades ago but I remember that Christmas Eve with a clarity that’s as crystal clear as the icy air that day.  After months of our father being away in England working, he was coming home.

We rose early and begged our mother to let us go outside to watch the road for him.   Busy cleaning and preparing the house for his arrival, she warned us that he wouldn’t be coming for hours yet, in fact she wasn’t sure when exactly, but nevertheless bundled us up in our warmest coats, hats, scarves and gloves and let us outside.

We lived on a road of identical red-bricked houses, the gateway to   each framed by two tall red-bricked pillars.  We climbed up the bars of the gate to get up onto the pillars, one of us on each side, and began our wait.  The road up into our estate was a ways down from our house and it curved up around the corner.  We fixed our gaze upon the spot where we knew we’d first catch sight of him, when he arrived.

It was bitterly cold, our limbs grew numb and a couple of times our mother came to the door, entreating us to come inside.  Through our sitting room window we could see the fire blazing, the coloured lights on the Christmas tree twinkling.  It was tempting but we didn’t want to leave our post. 

People on the estate passed up and down during the course of the morning, going about their business, going to the shops downtown.  All stopped to speak with us as we were something of a novelty in our area at that time – there hadn’t been twins born in our town for a number of years.  We told them proudly that we were waiting for our Daddy and that he was coming home on the boat from England.   Mammies slipped us sweets and smiled; Daddies slipped us penny and tuppenny coins and patted our heads. 

Lunchtime approached, and there was no sign of our Dad.  Mam came to call us in to eat and, despite rumbling bellies, we were reluctant to leave our lookout posts.  Eventually she insisted and we went inside, immediately enveloped by the warmth.  Even so we ate hurriedly, so afraid were we that he’d come while we were inside.  My mother tried to keep us indoors as long as she could, encouraging us to warm ourselves at the fire but we were anxious to get back out and resume our wait.  She explained that his journey entailed a long train ride, then a long boat journey and then another train down from Dublin.  They would be crowded on Christmas Eve and he might have to wait until later to catch one.  That’s why she couldn’t be sure of his time of arrival.

Back outside on the lofty perches I thought about how well our house looked, all ready for Christmas.  I loved our coloured Christmas tree lights.  Paper decorations hung from the ceiling, as was the custom of the time.  Everywhere was spic and span.  A big turkey, glassy-eyed and plucked, hung upside down from the door of an outhouse at the back.  Our mother’s rich plum puddings, decorated with sprigs of holly, the ones we’d been allowed to help stir, and savour the aroma of, were ready in the kitchen.  Letters had gone to Santa long before, for modest things, as money wasn’t plentiful.  All that was left to make it a perfect Christmas was for our beloved father to be home with us after an absence of many months.

We were too young to understand why he was away, how in the early ‘60s work in Ireland was so scarce that many men went to England to find work on building sites.  In our father’s case, he’d gone to Lancashire  and boarded with his brother, who had a large family of his own.    A gentle and shy man, who came from a rural background, the transition to the stark industrial landscape of northern England must have been a big culture shock for him.  Meanwhile our mother was left to mind us and our older brother.  She explained to us, years later, how women on the estate, including herself, would all be waiting for their men’s money to arrive from England.  If it hadn’t come by the end of the week (and delays were commonplace) the lend of a few pounds would come from one of the other women, to be repaid when it did arrive.  Many families survived, she told us, through the benefit of that arrangement.

The afternoon wore on and we got so stiff and sore that we clambered down from the tall pillars a couple of times and walked around to bring life back into our frozen legs and feet.  People passed on their return journey from the shops.  “Still waiting?” they’d ask us and we’d nod that yes, we were.

As dusk began to fall I was seized with a fear that if he hadn’t come by the time it got dark, he wouldn’t come at all.   I said it to my sister and made her anxious too.  A knot of fear started in my stomach and began to grow.  Dusk was fading, giving way to an ink-black, starry sky.  No words were exchanged between my sister and me now.  Neither of us wanted to give voice to our fears.    I remember being close to tears.

Then, suddenly, a figure turned the corner.  Instinctively, I knew it was him.  So did my sister.  We jumped down from the pillars, our numb legs and feet refusing for a minute to move but then they did and we took off down the road.   “Daddy!” we shouted as we ran towards him.  He stopped when he saw us, laid down the big heavy duffel bag he was carrying.  Waited for us, arms outstretched.  As we barrelled into him, he scooped us both up in his arms.  We hugged him tightly, covered him in kisses.  He leaned down, picked up his bag and managed to carry it, and us, back to the house.  He put us down while he kissed our mother and we clung to his legs.  Later a surprise was unpacked from his bag for us (to our mother’s chagrin as, if she’d known in advance no doubt she’d have commandeered them for extra Santa presents); a gun that lit up and made noise for our brother and for us, slippers with little rabbits heads on them, a complete and delightful novelty to us.

Santa’s arrival letter that night was still eagerly awaited but, as far as we were concerned, the most important man in our lives was home with us for Christmas and that’s all that mattered.

By Aine

Ex Mayor of Naas, Councillor Darren Scully was forced to resign recently after remarks he made about representing “black Africans”. Councillor Scully, a member of the Fine Gael party made the remarks during an interview on his local radio station, Kildare FM.

Apparently the matter has been referred to the disciplinary committee of Fine Gael and they will adjudicate next month.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mr. Scully has also been suspended from his job as an Engineer with Royal Sun Alliance.  To top it all then a Labour Deputy, Aodhan O’ Riordain rowed into the fray and reported Mr. Scully to the Gardai, citing the” incitement to hatred” card. So his future looks fairly bleak unless both his employers and the Fine Gael party show him some mercy.

Now as I see it this is a total overreaction to what Mr. Scully said. I didn’t hear the interview but reading several reports of it since I believe that he was merely voicing his opinion and frustrations about the negative experiences he had encountered in his work as a councillor. The last time I checked Ireland was a free country – free speech was encouraged. We are not a dictatorship, supposedly, and Mr. Scully was merely being truthful about his own personal experiences as a Fine Gael Councillor. Should we not commend his honesty? No it seems not, he must, as all politicians must, toe the party line and that means being politically correct at all times.

Public representatives must not speak negatively about Travellers or ethnic minorities.  You must keep your thoughts to yourself. Its ok to treat the tax-payers with disdain, let rogue bankers off scot free, allow ex Department of Finance executives promotion in Europe but God forbid don’t say anything aloud about ethnic minorities or the socially disadvantaged.  

The high moral ground is still very much in evidence in Irish politics. How bloody two faced. I take grave exception to Dept. O’ Riordain making a complaint to the gardai. Our country is in crisis, he was elected by the people to help put things to right but preferred instead to try to make a name for himself by adopting the ‘holier than thou’ stance. Shame on him.

Regarding his employer Sun Alliance, well I don’t see why Councillor Scully had to be suspended from his position there. He made his remarks in his capacity as Councillor NOT as a representative of Sun Alliance – so get over yourselves.

This political correctness has gone too far.

I await with interest the outcome of the Fine Gael Disciplinary Committee but if I were Mr. Scully I wouldn’t hold my breath on it being a positive result. The hierarchy will surely wish to avoid the fall-out from the do-gooders should he remain a party member, and the party is pre-occupied with being seen to do the right thing – paying lip service to those idiots that scream the race card at every opportunity.

I commend Mr Scully for having the balls to convey what he was thinking to the public. He was being truthful as to the situation he found himself in dealing with the public as a representative. But then when did politics and truth ever go together?

by Grainne

Over the years I’ve been on the giving and receiving end of hospitality on Christmas day, inviting people to our home and being invited to others for Christmas dinner.

As a young married woman living in Canada and preparing to spend our first Christmas away from family I was so grateful for the kindness of another Irish family living in the same city that we’d become friendly with, who invited us to share their Christmas dinner with them.  A couple of years later when our first child was only weeks old, we decided to stay at home and invited a young man from Newfoundland to dine with us.  He worked in the lumber camp with my husband at the time and wasn’t going home for Christmas.  We became good friends with our neighbours in the northern Ontario city where we lived and were kindly invited to Christmas dinner at their home on a couple of occasions.

When we came home we also returned to the tradition of the family Christmas dinner at my parents’ house.  Another year we were guests of a younger brother and his wife and young children and spent a most enjoyable Christmas day in their company with other family.  As more children came along though, and got older, we opted more often to stay home.

Over the years we’ve had my mother-in-law and my husband’s aunt to dine with us.  After our mother died I decided, with my father’s health failing, that a good idea would be to bring our whole family together for a big family Christmas Day dinner.  In my house.  Over 20 people, including seven small children, were catered for.  With some deft manoeuvring, extra tables and chairs set up and plenty of practical help from my sister and sister-in-law, we managed and had a hearty dinner and plenty of good cheer.   It was fortuitous as it was to be my father’s last Christmas.  He died the following April.  I took comfort in the fact that he’d spent his last Christmas amongst us all.

  After my parents died my youngest brother and my aunt joined us for a couple of Christmases.

We also had a friend of my youngest son’s one year as he didn’t have any other plans but our most unusual, and colourful guest, was a Chilean man who resided with us for a time.  Guillermo (or Willie as he was known to us) was a cook by trade and so added some extra pizzazz to our more traditional fare.  We enjoyed his company as much as we did his culinary skills.

This year it’s just family and that’s nice too.  The workload will be lessened certainly, which makes for a more relaxing day.  The reaching out though, to share home and a meal on this most special of days, will be missing.    Still, when children grow older and the excitement of Santa is no more, there comes a time when the gathering of adult offspring, the return home from abroad or wherever they are more usually residing brings a new and different joy.  With so many families parted from their sons and daughters this year because of the recession, I take great comfort in knowing mine will be with me around the Christmas table this year.

by Grainne

Patricia Quinn seems to have been a busier housewife than most. In addition to her housewifely duties, she had an inordinate amount of paperwork to do.  Specifically signing her name to papers she claims to have had no idea about. 

Mrs. Quinn, wife of bankrupt businessman Sean Quinn, would have us believe, or rather wanted the Commercial Court to believe, that she didn’t realise she was signing her name to loan documents for millions of euro from the former Anglo Irish Bank.  Taking the “ignorance is bliss” stance to a whole new level there. 

Mrs. Quinn’s barrister, Bill Shipsey’s contention, that she was a housewife with no business sophistication was, not just insulting to every housewife in the land, but plainly ridiculous when you consider the sheer amount of companies she was director of (63 Quinn group companies in this country and 28 in the UK) and secretary of 10 or so more. 

For her part, she would have us believe that in while signing so many bank loan applications she was in danger of getting RSI, all she had responsibility for was the weekly grocery shop and looking after the household expenses.  Mind you I suppose that would have put a lot on her plate, considering the €3m loan the bank was trying to recoup was supposedly for improvements carried out to their family home.  That’d give you plenty to think about alright; how much of it to spend on interior decor, soft furnishings and what kind to render the abode ever more palatial?

Mr. Justice Peter Kelly who presided over the case, didn’t need the wisdom of Solomon to know not to swallow the fairy tale he was being fed.  He said in summing up, that even a glance at the documents she signed would have shown “all but an illiterate person that it was some form of borrowing from the bank.”  He also said she was advancing the “startling proposition” she was a “cat’s paw” for her husband with no clue about documents she was signing and clueless too about being a director and company secretary of so many companies.  Cat’s paw?   Tail that wagged the dog more like. 

Mrs. Quinn did admit that her supposed ignorance of her business dealings was “embarrassing”.  She could have added “enraging” too, given that her husband lost more than €3bn on a calamitous gamble on the same bank’s share price.   Maybe, if she’d been more clued in, instead of being “clueless” as she’s been described, she could have saved him that folly.

Now the money must be repaid by the wife of the man who was once the richest man in Ireland.  Deciding the weekly groceries and the household expenses is going to get a whole lot easier for her from now on.

by Grainne

It’s the time of year when people are mithered going around trying to find the perfect presents for their loved ones. I used to be a card-carrying member of this stressed group, always anxious to get that elusive ‘ideal gift’ for those special to me.

When I think now of the countless hours I spent in my search, the dozens of choices I’d mull over before discarding them, always holding out, believing I’d come up with something better. When I consider now the time I wasted, and the effort, it seems really silly. Because the truth is: there is no perfect gift.

To discover this pure truth I had to do only one thing. I asked myself what would someone consider the ‘perfect gift’ for me?

And it struck me, they wouldn’t be able to decide on any one thing and wouldn’t have to because I like getting pressies and appreciate everything I get, no matter how big or small, cheap or expensive.

Some of the best presents I’ve got in my half century on this planet have been small, seemingly inconsequential things. I’ve treasured every single thing my kids have ever bought me, on school trips, for birthdays and Christmas or brought home from holidays.

I love presents from my sister because her often eclectic taste has resulted in some unusual new possessions for me over the years. One was an umbrella she brought back from Los Angeles for me which has famous literary quotes all over it.

Anyway, my reasoning is this: if I’m content with just about anything as a gift then I’m sure others are too. I even like, and here I know I differ greatly from some of my women friends, getting household items as birthday and Christmas presents. I got a hand-held mixer one year and was delighted.

A blender followed and I was equally pleased. I even got an ironing board one time as a present. My friends look aghast when I tell them this. A Christmas or birthday present, they believe, should be a ‘personal’ present, not something for the ‘house’. A mixer IS personal for me when I’ll be the one using it the most.

I love books and CDs too but when I tell my kids to buy these for me for Christmas they pooh-pooh the idea and insist on driving themselves mad going off looking for something else they think I’ll like. I even draw up a list of books I would like to read to be extra helpful. The same with CDs I compile a list of ones I’d like. Do they oblige? Nope, they buy something entirely different and I’m left to buy the books and CDs I want, myself.

Nor have I ever been one of those women who puts a lot of store in the amount spent on a gift. It shouldn’t be about money.

When I give gifts though I like to make a bit of an effort with the wrapping. While on the one hand I think that wrapping paper, bows and bobbles, ribbons and other adornments are all a bit wasteful, I can’t help it, I like to give a present nicely presented. The new trend to use gift bags has salved my conscience somewhat because they are at least reusable.

I sometimes still individually wrap the presents I put inside, otherwise I swathe them in delicate, coloured tissue paper before popping it in the bag so that the contents aren’t immediately apparent. I’ll always pop a ribbon on the bag as well.

I’ve finished my Christmas shopping at this stage, without getting stressed. With no ‘ideal’ gifts out there with my children/siblings/ friends names on them, the range becomes a whole lot wider and the choosing a whole lot easier.

by Aine

Dear Gaybo,

I expect to see you popping up on my TV screen any day now in the run up to Christmas or hear your earnest tones on the radio. No doubt in your position as Chairman of the Road Safety Authority you feel compelled to advise us motorists to exercise caution on our roads over the festive period. No doubt a Garda spokesman will also pop up soon too on the evening news repeating the same message but adding that they will be out in force to clamp down on drink-driving, speed, etc.

The Gardai will not of course “be out in force” as Government cutbacks have hit their overtime but somehow I think that they think that coming on the news, backed up with footage of some errant motorist being breathalysed is sufficient to put the fear of God into any would-be miscreants.

The Gardai have of late being relegated to Revenue collectors for the Government.  Speeding fines or fines for using mobile phones are all helping to swell poor Enda’s coffers. It’s  not doing a whole lot to bring down deaths on the roads though.

The road safety message is not being addressed properly, I think.

As someone who drives the length and breadth of the country on a regular basis, it beggars belief the stupid things motorist do.

You are fond of mentioning speed Gay, as though 90% of the population drive around at break-neck speed. Not so. The people who are more likely to cause accidents on the roads are those motorists who drive below the speed limit, hogging the white line. The traffic builds up behind them and people take chances to try and overtake.  Hence accidents occur.

What about farmers who drive huge tractors or other farm machinery at night with nary a light in sight? Are we making allowances for them? People who pull trailers behind their cars with no lights, inadequate lighting and no indicators are causing danger to other road users.

What about the one headlight brigade (very common in rural places) – you don’t know what’s coming at you at night – bike, car, its anyone’s guess. People who refuse or forget to put on their lights at dusk or in the dark early mornings? (Do they think they are saving petrol?) What about the eejits that, although they see you coming, pull out in front of you anyway?  That one’s a real Irish habit.

What about elderly people with poor eyesight? I merely point this out to you Gay as I am getting a tad weary of you spouting on about speed and drink driving as if these are the sole causes of deaths on the roads. The lecture has become tiresome. I of course advocate safe driving practices, but see bad driving on a daily basis and it’s not all about drink driving and speed.

by Grainne

December is upon us and consumerism is at its most conspicuous as is usual at this time of year.  Fewer are buying though, those that are are spending less and you know the bottom has fallen out of the Christmas party market when upscale venues which previously wouldn’t dream of allowing anyone but old money and the nouveau rich through their doors suddenly start trying to entice you into their prestigious premises for some Christmas cheer in hopes of filling their depleted coffers.

Santa’s probably been NAMA’d so children would be best taken quietly aside and informed that his assets won’t be in quite such plentiful supply this year and that really, those little wooden train sets we see in toy shops are twice as exciting a proposition as a Playstation 128 or whatever the current model is.  No need for sugar-coating the news for teenagers though.  Time for some plain-speaking with them.  If you can get them to turn off their I-Pods, stop playing with their I-phones or X-boxes long enough to listen to what you have to say, that is.  That, in short, they won’t be getting the more up to date version of said I-Pod, I-Phone,  I-Pad or games console.  Let ‘em take it on the chin.  As in “listen up young adult.  There’s a recession.  Nay depression.  Our money’s been cut.” (you might want to leave this speech until after the budget when an updated version of the penurious state of your finances will be even more evident.)  “So there will be no updates of technological equipment of any kind.  Understand?  Be content with what you have.  Instead gifts this year will be of the CD, books and socks variety.  Welcome to the real world.  Start practicing your expression of gratitude if you feel you cannot summon up a response of downright delight.” 

The American politician, lawyer, college professor and co-director of the Institute for Public Policy Studies at the University of Denver Richard Lamm summed things up succinctly when he said “Christmas is a time when kids tell Santa what they want and adults pay for it.  Deficits are when adults tell the government what they want and their kids pay for it.”  Never have those words had such eerie resonance.

Last Christmas saw some erosion of the more usual levels of consumption we’re used to.  The perception of it was harder for people to deal with, I think, than the reality.  We cut back and we survived.  Heading into our second recessionary Christmas is harder by far.  Incomes have been reduced still further and extra taxes announced in the budget will exacerbate anxiety.  We need no storybook villains this year like Scrooge and The Grinch.  Circumstances have conspired to dampen the festivities and lessen the joy.  For many this year the reality is that it will be a process to be endured and gotten though.  Unless, maybe we take on board the profound words of that story book protagonist just mentioned, The Grinch, in Dr. Seuss’s famous tale ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas.’ “And the Grinch with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons, it came without tags.  It came without packages, boxes or bags.  And he puzzled and puzzled ‘till his puzzler was sore.  Then the Grinch though of something he hadn’t before.  What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store?  What if Christmas perhaps, means a little bit more?”

by Aine

I was alarmed to read in last Sunday’s Times of the case of Dublin woman, Bernadette Forde, who was prevented from travelling to a Swiss euthanasia clinic with a friend.

This lady had an incurable illness and had booked tickets with a Dublin travel agency to travel to Switzerland with a friend for the purpose of taking her own life.

The travel agent alerted authorities when it was discovered that only one return ticket was booked. So the Gardai approached the women at the travel agency where they had gone to collect their tickets.

The Gardai informed Ms. Ford’s companion that she could be prosecuted and jailed for up to 14 years if she assisted someone to die at the suicide clinic, run by Dignitas.Dignitas is the organisation which helps terminally ill people end their lives.

        After the intervention by the Gardai the women cancelled their trip. Apparently Ms/ Ford continued to look for ways to end her life as her health deteriorated. She sought advice from Exit International, a lobby group. She searched the internet and contacted other assisted suicide groups in Europe and America.

She was found dead in her home by a friend on June 5^th.It’s believed she took a cocktail of drugs to end her life and left a note to say she acted alone.  Her inquest will be held next year.

       The Gardai are preparing a file for the DPP on the matter.  Helping someone end their own life is a crime in Ireland, so if the Gardai investigation uncovers Ms. Ford having had help to end her life that person or persons will face prosecution.

A few things about this case give me cause for concern.If a person of sound mind but suffering from a terminal illness decides to end their life, should that decision not be respected? The way I see it is it is their decision and their decision alone, and nobody else should judge them for taking that stand.

If the person needs help setting the plan in motion, and that person is a trusted friend, partner or husband/wife, then why should they be criminalised?

This is 2011. How cruel for society to deem that a terminally person die in a hospital or hospice, an alien environment? Can an adult not choose where and when they die if they are terminally ill? Do we want to strip them of the last vestige of dignity?

Why is there not a choice?

I would have grave reservations about the Gardai, normally used to dealing with criminals, handling such sensitive cases.I also think that the travel agent in this case was wrong to contact the Gardai. Surely this is a breach of the Data Protection Act?

Assisted suicide is a very sensitive subject I know, but for me it’s a black and white issue.

If a terminally ill person wishes to end their pain, and are of sound mind to make that decision then ultimately their decision should be respected.