My dad would have been 81 today but he died a few years shy of seeing another decade. It’s long enough ago for me to reflect peacefully, to cradle his absence from a place of stillness. Not that opening packages of memory comes without emotion, but now any pain I feel has a soft give, … Continue reading Whole
Here I am at the seaside, again. Torquay this time. Home to Fawlty Towers, and the inimitable Manuel (Qué?). Maybe we’ve hit on a particularly good weekend but I get the feeling it is often like this in Torquay: hot and sunny with endless blue skies. Eternally tanned pensioners watch knots of youngsters crabbing at … Continue reading The Running Tide
A late June night. I’d picked her up from the tram, and we were driving back along York Place. From there, we drove down Leith Walk, briefly passing through Haddington Place, before we turned onto Montgomery Street. She lifted her hand, an involuntary action, she didn't seem to know she was doing it, and pressed … Continue reading Absence
Gigi is an old MGM film, a musical that came out in the fifties. It’s all glamour, black tie and Parisian chic. It’s often shown on television around Christmas time. My favourite part of the film is the duet between a husband (Maurice Chevalier, singing in heavily accented English) and his wife of many years, in … Continue reading Ah Yes, I Remember It Well
Donal Ryan is an author from Tipperary with an accent like a beautifully played reel on the fiddle and an engaging smile that suggests he is not entirely sure of anything, but that he’s content not knowing. I heard him speak in County Carlow this weekend. His candour was endearing. He told us that every act … Continue reading I Made You Up
I was out on Sunday evening with J. and P., to listen a band. They have quite a following, so the pub was hopping. Everyone was cheerful, spilling with friendliness, more alive because of what music does to us: administers a shot of adrenalin. August night, under a red moon, 2001: U2 playing to an … Continue reading Please, Mrs. Avery
An apologetic shade of blue. Yes, I can remember what I was wearing quite vividly, even though it was 2003. It’s not that long ago for remembering details, is it? A cheap polyester suit in a tired, non-descript hue; a colour that doesn't make you stand out, one that’s rather sorry for itself, that looks washed … Continue reading Sign From Above
It was J.’s idea to go. I would have missed it, or should I say, overlooked it, as I walk past there all the time. However, whilst I like to think I take in my surroundings, it seems I’m beginning to become blind to what’s in front of me. It was a photography exhibition in … Continue reading Photograph In A Drawer
“It was Christmas Eve babe In the drunk tank An old man said to me, won't see another one And then he sang a song The Rare Old Mountain Dew I turned my face away And dreamed about you” (Fairytale of New York, The Pogues) “Is anyone going to help me peel this bottomless bag … Continue reading Can’t Make It All Alone
‘Life can only be understood backwards, but it can only be lived forwards.’ These are the words of Søren Kierkegaard, Danish philosopher, theologian and poet. I was at a conference last week where one of the speakers, from Denmark, drew extensively from the work of Kierkegaard. When he told us he was going to delve … Continue reading Young and Old
