THE LAST SUMMER

(Originally broadcast on Sunday Miscellany 2013)  

Summer 1979.  Ireland had a postal strike that lasted four months, 200,000 people took to the streets to demand changes to the tax system and protesters battled to save the Wood Quay site from development.  Brendan Shine was at No 1 asking “if we wanted our old lobby washed down?”   I don’t think that was a euphemism but I still have no idea what he was on about.  I was more interested in Gloria Gaynor realising she could survive and Debbie Harry’s heart of glass.

In the midst of all this unrest I was doing my Leaving Cert and preparing to enter the real world now that my education was over.  1979 was the summer I had waited for, for years.  This would be the summer I would bid farewell to the terrifying nuns, to my green uniform and more importantly this was the summer that I would embrace a grown up social life and meet lots of boys.  It was that beautiful oasis between education and work; a summer to savour freedoms of all kinds after years of rules and regulations.

The first taste of the promise that summer held came on a sunny Saturday in May.  My mother, feeling I needed a break from the study, insisted I accompany her to the Annual Dun Laoghaire Garden Party.  In the sun we shared a bottle of wine.... for the first time.   A couple of hours later as we both giggled our way up Marine Road, two guys passed us on the opposite side of the street.  One was very tall and had long leather clad legs which immediately caught my attention.  Once they had passed I decided to risk a second glance.  As I turned around, so did he.  Eyes met and we both laughed.  And I fell in love, in the way you do when you are 17.

May melted into June and during the long weeks of attempting to cram my brain with all sorts of useless information, I wondered about Sexy Long Legs.  Being six feet tall, I always knew that I was going to have a problem finding a boy to take to my Debs.  But summer would provide me the opportunity to track him down and secure his company for my big night in November.

Finally exams were finished and we raced out of our convent school and into our futures which we seemed to think we would find in Dunelles pub.  Located in the basement of the new and shiny Dun Laoghaire Shopping Centre it was a windowless, dark, cavern; like a private club for penniless youth.  Singer Dominic Mulvaney and his guitar wove the music of Dylan, Young and Croce into my memories of the place.  There was magic and lots of funny smelling smoke in the air.

The best spot in Dunelles was a booth which had a view of the stairs.  There me and the girls would play the ‘whose legs are those’ as they descended into the murky half light.  And it didn’t take long for those familiar Sexy Long Legs to make a confident swaggering descent.  He knew everyone, except me. 

Meanwhile Aer Lingus’s first female pilot got her wings, boat people refugees arrived from Vietnam and the country got ready to welcome the Pope.  My main worry was my Debs and the fact that the clock was ticking.  I had to get to know Sexy Long Legs enough to ask him to accompany me before someone else did. 

Nights in Dunelles dissolved into each other and then in late July it happened. I was standing on Marine Road, waiting for the last 46a home when he joined the queue.   Trying to act cool but feeling very hot under the collar I boarded the bus and he sat on the seat in front of me and offered me a Rothmans.  Through a cloud of smoke, I abandoned small talk and got right to the point. “Would you fancy coming to my Debs in November” I gushed at him.   “Yeah, why not” he answered, “that will be three Debs Balls this autumn.”  It wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for.  

Next night in Dunelles I couldn’t wait to see my date again.  In he arrived and as he breezed past, the only change was that he now said “Hi Barbara”.  Slowly the realisation dawned that my asking him to my Debs had not conferred any changed status on our relationship. In fact I was just last in a queue of three dates he would be accompanying on their big nights too. 

But me and the girls had found the social life we craved and we had met lots of boys.  Summer rumbled on with nights ending with either a visit to The Ritz on Patrick’s Street for a bag of chips or a walk to The Forum Cinema in Glasthule where the only late night movie ever on was ‘Pink Floyd Live In Pompeii’.  We endured the heavy metal for the thrill of being surrounded in the dark by the unfamiliar musky aroma of male bodies. 

As August died, The Boomtown Rats were declaring they don’t like Mondays and in town, a new punk band called U2 were playing in McGonagles.

Summer faded into autumn and I continued to try desperately to capture the heart of Sexy Long Legs.  Finally on a warm September day he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk down the Pier.  By the lighthouse we shared my first joint and afterwards lay on the grass in Moran’s Park watching the clouds and then we kissed. The sheer boldness of that day was thrilling in a way I still can’t articulate. 

An enormous, ugly library now squats on what used to be Moran’s Park with its dark recesses, neat lawns, mysterious deep black pool and where the birdsong was interspersed by the gentle twang of lawn bowls.  It was a great place to lie in the grass and savour first love and the last summer of true freedom – that delicious gap between the world of education and that of work. 

And yes 'sexy long legs' accompanied me to my Debs and looked even finer than he did in his leather trousers... but....  “sin sceal eile” (that’s another story).

The image above is of a painting by local artist Jim Scully.  Check out his website here

RADIO GAGA AND WHAT TO DO WITH 2FM?

The first thing I thought when I heard of Pat Kenny's move to Newstalk was that I hope they have somewhere for him to park his motorbike with a roof.  I then hoped that the arrival of such a radio superstar might nudge the station into providing decent coffee. 

It is going to be a huge change for the veteran broadcaster, leaving the leafy campus and free parking in Montrose for the altogether more utilitarian surrounds of the third floor of Marconi House.  

But that aside, Kenny’s departure from RTE is wildly exciting for media nerds (of which I am one) as it opens up a range of possibilities and conundrums for broadcasting generally and for three stations in particular... namely RTE, Newstalk and TV3.  But it seems to me that the biggest challenge may in fact be for RTE 2FM.

Clearly RTE Radio One has the most pressing problem as it now has quite a large hole in its weekday schedule.  ‘Today with PK’ sat squarely and very comfortably in the mid morning slot; a slot in which Gay Byrne and more recently Gerry Ryan worked their radio magic for decades. 

The untimely death of Gerry Ryan proved how unprepared our state broadcaster was for the sudden departure of one of their major stars and revenue earners.  With no obvious successor poor Tubridy was moved from his comfortable slot on Radio One and was shoe horned into 2FM where it was hoped he would hold onto that precious ‘Ryanline’ audience.  It was an impossible task for Tubridy and the station still seems to be in a quandary as what to do in with this previously lucrative morning talk slot.

Many believe that 2FM should revert to being a music station and go back to trying to serve a younger audience.  Personally I think the station has missed that boat.  The teenagers I know wouldn’t listen to 2FM in a fit, stations such as Spin 103 (Dublin) in particular have that market sewn up. 

The problem for 2FM it seems to me is that a lot of their presenters and indeed their audience have stayed with them.  Gerry Ryan would be mid 50s now as is Dave Fanning and Larry Gogan is well beyond that and is (rightly) still broadcasting on the station.

RTE Radio 2 was launched in 1979 which was the year I left school.  I have listened fairly frequently ever since and I was a huge fan of Gerry Ryan, who brilliance at broadcasting and whose people skills were only fully recognised when he was gone. 

Unlike when Gerry died, there is a list of possible and seemingly very capable presenters who could deliver the goods and retain the audience (read advertising revenue) in the wake of Pat’s departure;  namely Miriam O Callaghan, Claire Byrne, Aine Lawlor and Audrey Carville.  And yes... they are all women.... as good ole Bob Dylan predicted all those year ago... "the times they are a changing."

It is interesting that Newstalk are scheduling Pat Kenny immediately after their Breakfast Show.  RTE have traditionally given listeners a bit of respite after Morning Ireland in a slot that went from Ryan Tubridy to John Murray and is currently being caretaken by the very capable Miriam O Callaghan.

So I wonder would all this upheaval will signal a return to Radio One for Tubridy where he could once again provide the light relief after Morning Ireland before handing over to one of the female current affairs heavy weights I listed above.

So the problem RTE still has really is what to do with 2FM.  Personally I think there is still a space for ‘talk radio light’ in the morning.  It needs the right presenter.  It may well be a woman... (there are no women presenters on 2FM weekday prime time) and like a lot of the pillars of 2FM, she may not be that young!  I’m thinking a Fiona Looney or Jennifer Maguire kind of woman.  Wouldn't that be something....  

Then Newstalk and the other independent radio stations might realise that women can do radio too... and can do it very well! 

BOOKS... A FEW SUGGESTIONS FOR YOUR HOLIDAYS

I was asked to East Coast Radio to come up with some book suggestions for summer reading.  I was wondering why summer reading should be any different from reading at any other time of year.  I mean, the books you like are the books you like... you're hardly going to change genre just because the sun in shining.

Do those who like violent thrillers turn to soft romances just cause the sun in shining or they are lounging by the pool?

So here are a selection of the kind of books I like - there is a bit of variety and I have also included some Irish Women's Fiction (used to be called 'chick lit').

WHERE’D YOU GO BERNADETTE BY MARIA SEMPLE

This is a great read... the story of a woman called Bernadette Fox – a strong woman, but who develops an allergy to Seattle and to people so that she becomes agrophobic. 

Her daughters fabulous results in school means that she claims her promised reward of a family trip to Antarctica.  But Bernadette by now is having her life run by a virtual assistant in India.... so  a trip to the end of the earth is problematic.  So she disappears.

To find her mother, Bee compiles email messages, official documents, secret correspondence—creating a compulsively readable and touching novel about misplaced genius and a mother and daughter's role in an absurd world.

                                                                                                                

THE 100 YEAR OLD MAN WHO CLIMBED OUT THE WINDOW BY JONAS JONASSON

It all starts on the one-hundredth birthday of Allan Karlsson. Sitting quietly in his room in an old people’s home, he is waiting for the party he-never-wanted-anyway to begin. The Mayor is going to be there. The press is going to be there. But, as it turns out, Allan is not… Slowly but surely Allan climbs out of his bedroom window, into the flowerbed (in his slippers) and makes his getaway. And so begins his picaresque and unlikely journey involving criminals, several murders, a suitcase full of cash, and incompetent police. As his escapades unfold, we learn something of Allan’s earlier life in which – remarkably – he helped to make the atom bomb, became friends with American presidents, Russian tyrants, and Chinese leaders, and was a participant behind the scenes in many key events of the twentieth century. Already a huge bestseller across Europe, The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared is a fun and feel-good book for all ages.

THE ASTRONAUT WIVES CLUB BY LILY KOPPEL (a true story)

This is on my to read list.. it comes recommended by a good friend in the US and as over the last 6 months so many of us in Ireland fell in love with Cmdr Hadfield I am dying to read this.....

As America's Mercury Seven astronauts were launched on death-defying missions, television cameras focused on the brave smiles of their young wives. Overnight, these women were transformed from military spouses into American royalty. They had tea with Jackie Kennedy, appeared on the cover of Life magazine, and quickly grew into fashion icons.

Together with the other wives they formed the Astronaut Wives Club, meeting regularly to provide support and friendship. Many became next-door neighbors and helped to raise each other's children by day, while going to glam parties at night as the country raced to land a man on the Moon.

As their celebrity rose-and as divorce and tragic death began to touch their lives-they continued to rally together, and the wives have now been friends for more than fifty years. THE ASTRONAUT WIVES CLUB tells the real story of the women who stood beside some of the biggest heroes in American history.(le

THE LIGHT BETWEEN OCEANS BY ML STEADMAN

I haven’t read this yet but it comes highly recommended by my mother and some friends whose judgement is rarely wrong.

After four harrowing years on the Western Front, Tom Sherbourne returns to Australia and takes a job as the lighthouse keeper on Janus Rock, nearly half a day’s journey from the coast. To this isolated island, where the supply boat comes once a season and shore leaves are granted every other year at best, Tom brings a young, bold, and loving wife, Isabel. Years later, after two miscarriages and one stillbirth, the grieving Isabel hears a baby’s cries on the wind. A boat has washed up onshore carrying a dead man and a living baby. 

Tom, whose records as a lighthouse keeper are meticulous and whose moral principles have withstood a horrific war, wants to report the man and infant immediately. But Isabel has taken the tiny baby to her breast. Against Tom’s judgment, they claim her as their own and name her Lucy. When she is two, Tom and Isabel return to the mainland and are reminded that there are other people in the world. Their choice has devastated one of them. 

M. L. Stedman’s mesmerizing, beautifully written novel seduces us into accommodating Isabel’s decision to keep this “gift from God.” And we are swept into a story about extraordinarily compelling characters seeking to find their North Star in a world where there is no right answer, where justice for one person is another’s tragic loss. 

The Light Between Oceans is exquisite and unforgettable, a deeply moving novel.

ME BEFORE YOU BY JOJO MOYES

I loved this book... I flew through it... but it moved me like books rarely do.

Lou Clark knows lots of things. She knows how many footsteps there are between the bus stop and home. She knows she likes working in The Buttered Bun tea shop and she knows she might not love her boyfriend Patrick.

What Lou doesn't know is she's about to lose her job or that knowing what's coming is what keeps her sane.

Will Traynor knows his motorcycle accident took away his desire to live. He knows everything feels very small and rather joyless now and he knows exactly how he's going to put a stop to that.

What Will doesn't know is that Lou is about to burst into his world in a riot of colour. And neither of them knows they're going to change the other for all time.

PAPER AEROPLANES BY DAWN O PORTER

This is a (older) young adult book... and a debut from Dawn O Porter... documentary maker, journalist and married to our own Chris O Dowd.

You could read it in one sitting.. but for anyone who has once been a girl this book will resonate with you – even if your girlhood was two decades before the characters in the book.

Set in the mid-1990s, fifteen year-old Guernsey schoolgirls, Renée and Flo, are not really meant to be friends. Thoughtful, introspective and studious Flo couldn't be more different to ambitious, extroverted and sexually curious Renée. But Renée and Flo are united by loneliness and their dysfunctional families, and an intense bond is formed. Although there are obstacles to their friendship (namely Flo's jealous ex-best friend and Renée's growing infatuation with Flo's brother), fifteen is an age where anything can happen, where life stretches out before you, and when every betrayal feels like the end of the world. For Renée and Flo it is the time of their lives.

With graphic content and some scenes of a sexual nature, PAPER AEROPLANES is a gritty, poignant, often laugh-out-loud funny and powerful novel. It is an unforgettable snapshot of small-town adolescence and the power of female friendship

AND IRISH WOMEN'S FICTION

The Captains Table by Muriel Bolger

No matter the problem, a Mediterranean cruise is the perfect solution – at least, this is the opinion of a group of solo travellers who enjoy dinner together at the Captain’s Table during their first night on the ship.

When a group of solo travellers meet for dinner on the first day of a luxury cruise, alliances are quickly formed. But as the ship makes its way through azure Mediterranean waters, it becomes clear that some of the passengers have their own reasons for wanting to escape their everyday lives . . .

The Letter by Maria Duffy

Just launched... the letter is the story of Ellie Duggan is getting married in seven weeks. But just before she sets off for a fun-filled New York hen party weekend, she finds a letter addressed to her sister Caroline.Dated only weeks before Caroline died in a tragic accident, it contains some startling information which forces Ellie to face some truths about herself, Caroline's death - and even her forthcoming marriage.Ellie has spent the three years since Caroline's death running from the truth. But as the weekend in New York comes to a close, she makes a drastic decision. As Ellie finally lays old ghosts to rest, she realises that the truth can set you free. But will she be willing to take the risk?

The Land of Dreams by Kate Kerrigan

 Land of Dreams is the stunning third novel in the Ellis Island trilogy. Ellie's idyllic and bohemian family lifestyle on Fire Island is shattered when her eldest son, Leo, runs away to Hollywood to seek his fame and fortune. Ellie is compelled to chase after him, uprooting her youngest son and long-time friend and confidante Bridie as she goes. Ellie fashions a new home amongst the celebrities, artists and movie moguls of the day to appease Leo's star-studded dreams. As she carves out a new way of life, Ellie is drawn towards intense new friendships. Talented composer Stan is completely different to any other man she has previously encountered whilst kindred spirit Suri opens Ellie's eyes to a whole new set of injustices. Ellie sees beyond the glitz of 1940s Hollywood, realising that the glamorous and exciting world is also a dangerous place overflowing with vanity and greed. It is up to Ellie to protect her precious family from the disappointments such surroundings can bring and also from the more menacing threats radiating from the war raging in Europe.

5 Peppermint Grove by Michelle Jackson

 Ruth Travers is leaving Ireland like so many of the Irish Diaspora who have gone before her. But, instead of a coffin ship, she's travelling business class on a Boeing 777 and will be landing in sunny Perth, Western Australia. Leaving behind her married boyfriend of ten years, Ruth hopes to make a fresh start. Her mother Angela, who lived in Perth in the seventies, is distraught when she hears that Ruth is Australia bound. It is only when Ruth discovers a sealed airmail envelope, with 5 Peppermint Grove, Perth, scrawled across it in her mother's handwriting, that she wonders what else Angela may be hiding. Her best friend Julia Perrin gently orchestrated the move to Perth for her friend's own good. She is a successful businesswoman with her own travel company and so busy fixing everybody else's life she sees no need to do so with her own . . . until she visits Ruth in Perth! Sunshine, sandy beaches and barbeques abound but there may be more than Angela's secret waiting for them in Peppermint Grove . 

"JUST A BIT OF HORSEPLAY.."

Last night I toddled off to bed way too late after staying up to watch ‘Tonight with Vincent Browne’ followed by Primetime on RTE.  Both programmes were on much later than usual to give us an insight into the workings of our Parliament as the Protection of Life During Pregnancy Bill was being voted upon.  Twitter was as usual great craic particularly as the team on TV3 kept rolling out pairs of TDs to be interviewed outside Dail Eireann by Vincent who was in studio.  There was Fidelma Healy Eames who faced sideways to camera and kept her finger in her ear the whole time and better still was Peter Matthews who kept his eyes fixed on the floor.  All of this to the distant chants and prayers of protesters gathered at the gates of Leinster House.  The subject being discussed in the chamber was serious but the theatrical element of this late night sitting was captured beautifully especially by TV3.

As I bid farewell to Twitter at about 2am, I did wonder about what kind of Banana Republic has a Parliament sitting until 5am.  It’s not like war had just been declared and there was a fierce urgency to their deliberations.  I wondered if the Dail Bar was still open – Gerry Adams had referred to the number of staff that were being kept late by this rather melodramatic approach to serious legislation.  As I climbed under my very light sheet I wondered why a workplace has a bar anyway.

I woke this morning to another fabulously sunny, hot day; nothing like it to put a smile on your face and banish all negativity.  But then I turned on my phone and found that my Twitter feed was a blaze of anger and indignation over what had, by about 8:30am, become known as #lapgate.

You all know the details.  During a break in the early morning proceedings, TD Tom Barry (FG) grabbed his female colleague Aine Collins and pulled her onto his lap.  Barry has since issued a sincere apology for the incident and apparently Ms Collins has accepted it.

So – should that be the end of it? 

No I don’t think so.  This kind of casual, sexist behaviour is an appalling abuse of male power and strength.  To be a woman on the receiving end of such boorish attention is humiliating and intimidating.  It is also against the law and has no place whatsoever in the workplace.  The fact that this workplace was our national parliament – the seat of our democracy and cradle of our legislation makes it even more offensive.  Dail Eireann by its very nature has to be a place where the laws of the country are upheld with transparency and vigour.

I was angry when I viewed the recording of the incident last night.  I accept that there was no malice intended... but that is not the point.  Tom Barry’s actions undermined the natural equality and dignity all women in the chamber.  But also have a look at the men around at the time... no one looks shocked or perturbed. 

As the firestorm on Twitter took flight this morning a Fine Gael spokesperson was quoted as saying that it was all a bit of horseplay and nothing more.  It was the polished version of ‘calm down girls and get a grip’.  This is far more worrying.  At a time when our Government is committed, through the system of quotas, to recruiting more women into politics, the main Government party thinks grabbing a female colleague and forcing her onto a lap is just a bit of nothing.

Journalist Colette Browne wrote recently of her own experience of this kind of everyday sexism in The Examiner.  As I read it I slowly became aware that I too had encountered just such ‘abuse’ in my past.   I have a vivid memory of when I was about 14 walking home from school alone, in my school uniform in bright summer sunshine.  I passed a workman involved in roadworks nearby and as I did he casually put his hand right up my skirt.  He said nothing and walked on by.   At the time I got a shock but, said nothing.  Told no one.  When I read Colette’s account of her own experiences I realised that for generations of young women being subjected to this kind of predatory behaviour and violation was commonplace.  We accepted it. That’s the tragedy.

And it is that silence which is now deafening from the women TDs of Dail Eireann. 

Individually some have posted comments on Twitter but I am very dismayed that there is not an organised statement from these women, across all parties calling for an assurance that no women (or man) will be subject to such humiliation in the future. 

I have to admit I was late to this party.  Having been out of the workforce for ten years, and having always worked in female dominated industries I can honestly say that I never experienced sexual discrimination or harassment in the workplace.  I am also 6 feet tall which probably provides me with some protection from being grabbed and man- handled at the whim of a passing stranger or colleague.

I have always believed that the world is largely as we find it and if you want to look for problems you will find them.  As women we are lucky that our rights as equal citizens are enshrined in law so we can be reasonably sure that we cannot be discriminated against in any overt way. 

But I am now realising that sexism is alive and well and thriving just below the radar.  It is just as wrong and possibly more damaging not only to women but to our society.  It is time that we all call it out whenever we see it happening.  And it starts at the top – in Dail Eireann.

Thank God the cameras were rolling.... cos to me it sure didn’t look like anyone who was present was much disturbed by what they saw.  

Note:  later in the day Fine Gael changed their tune and issued a statement which described the behaviour of their TD as unacceptable.  

I AM ANGRY - AGAIN

I am writing this on the 26^th of June; an auspicious date in Irish history.  It was on the 26^th of June in 1963 that John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35^th President of the United States of America touched down in Dublin Airport to begin his four day visit to Ireland.  It was also on the 26^th of June (1996) that journalist Veronica Guerin was murdered on the Naas Road. A less well known event occurred on the 26^th of June 1920 when my maternal grandfather, George Power was involved in the kidnap of a British General who was fishing on the banks of the River Blackwater just outside Fermoy in North Cork. 

All of these events are playing on my mind as I attempt to formulate my thoughts on the revelations contained in the Anglo Tapes which were made public by the Irish Independent last week.  Let me begin by saying that I am angry.... again.

Over the last five years there have been many times I have been angry.  I have watched from my corner of suburbia, without the benefit of a university degree or even much understanding of economics, as this country was brought to her knees and I was angry.  I watched as the previous Government stumbled along through their last days as if punch drunk from the events that seemed to be overwhelming them and I was angry.

Each so called ‘austerity budget’ since has renewed my anger as I witness some of the most vulnerable in our society being stripped of allowances to which they are entitled and which they need in order to live.  I have been angry at how women seem to have borne an unfair portion of this austerity through cuts to carer’s allowance, child benefit, lone parent allowance, tax on maternity benefit etc. 

Almost five years of anger and this week I am angry all over again.  I have spoken to my neighbours, my friends and colleagues and without exception all are furious.  All found listening to the cavalier conversations of some very well paid senior bankers in Anglo Irish Bank as they discussed pulling a master stroke on our Government to be truly nauseating. 

The truth is that they pulled a master stroke on US, the people of this country.  What kind of schools, I wonder, produce this type of caricature of a man - overly macho, arrogant, insensitives who seem to be so removed (or perhaps insulated) from the effects of their irresponsible banking practices.  Their supercilious, self important guffawing turned my stomach. 

As I wrestled to make sense of how Ireland has come to this point in her history I thought of my grandfather, George Power and the ordinary men and women who almost a century ago managed to secure freedom from what was then probably the most powerful empire on earth.  I think of their bravery, of the risks they took in the years leading up to 1922.

I think of the women who ran messages, who operated as undercover agents within the British administration securing vital information for Collins, I think of the people of towns such as Fermoy who were subjected to looting and rioting by British Troops in retaliation for IRA activity.  I think of the families who risked their lives by providing safe houses for men on the run and of how they hid and smuggled arms to keep the push for freedom going forward. 

Last week has also brought the visit of JFK to Ireland in 1963 back into focus with the 50^th anniversary celebrations last weekend in New Ross.  President Kennedy made a wonderful speech when he addressed the joint houses of the Oireachtas.  In it he referenced George Bernard Shaw when he said
“It is that quality of the Irish, the remarkable combination of hope, confidence and imagination that is needed more than ever today. The problems of the world cannot possibly be solved by sceptics or cynics whose horizons are limited by the obvious realities. We need men who can dream of things that never were and ask, why not?”

These words are only 50 years old but where the hell is that combination of hope, confidence and imagination now?  Where are these men and women who can dream of things that never were and ask, why not?  The men and women who were to the forefront of Ireland’s fight for independence were certainly capable of dreaming of things that never were and must have seemed impossible.  They were surely very antithesis to the lily livered bankers we are hearing on the Anglo tapes.

So how has Ireland gone from a being a nation of courage, imagination and action to a passive place where a cohort of greedy immoral bankers can break us and suffer very little consequences for doing so?  And more importantly why has the anger I sense in the community not translated into action?

Just 17 years ago this country got very angry at the murder in broad daylight of journalist Veronica Guerin.  We got angry and we let the heat of that anger be felt by Government.  Within days action had been taken to seize assets of the criminals and the breaking of criminal gangs began in earnest.  Arrests were made and the search for Veronica’s killers was relentless. 

Veronica Guerin, President Kennedy and George Power and his comrades all knew that (to quote Kennedy again) “problems... cannot be solved by sceptics or cynics of those whose horizons are limited by the obvious realities.” 

It is beyond time for clear and imaginative leadership.  I am very unconvinced that such is possible in the current government but the very least we, the people of Ireland, can do is to make our anger felt.  We owe it to ourselves and more importantly to our children to insist that action is taken now to prosecute those who gambled our entire country.  I am not sure of how this can best be achieved, no more than those who protested Ms Guerin’s murder dreamed of the Criminal Assets Bureau  .. but that is what we elect and pay our TDs for.  It is our job to ensure it happens.

HOW TO SURVIVE BEING A 'STAY AT HOME'

Being a full time 'stay at home' parent (why doesn’t someone come up with a better job description), is not for the faint hearted.  It is a job for which there is no training and most of us just jump in at the deep end.  But it strikes me that in the current climate, there must be many women and men who are now finding themselves as 'stay at home' a role they never anticipated for themselves.  Looking back over my years at home, there are a number of things I wish I had known at the beginning which may have made life a little easier.  Things like….

Being a 'Stay At Home Parent' is probably not forever

As you embark on this new and possibly unexpected phase of your life, remember that is most likely going to be a defined phase of life. Your children will grow up… you won’t be needed forever.  So it is vital that you keep that in mind and keep your professional skill set up-to-date.

A place to work from

I remember clearly when I left the world of paid work I did two things immediately:

I bought a laptop (ten years ago not every home had a computer) and I also felt I needed a desk.  I couldn’t rationalize why I needed a desk but I knew I had some deep need for a desk.  Perhaps it was a ‘me place’ – my own corner of the living room devoid of family or baby paraphernalia.  Although for most of the time that ‘me place’ was in fact the end of my kitchen table.

 Get involved

Having left the workforce you have skills that voluntary organizations and local committees may be delighted to have at their disposal.  Take some time to think about what interests you, what causes you may have some passion for, what charities’ you particularly support.  Then make contact and get involved. 

Your children’s school will no doubt regularly be looking for assistance with various tasks.  Making tea and coffee at communions etc. may not be your bag but you could offer to help out with various other ad-hoc jobs.   If your children are involved in sport, your help could be very useful there, whether it be in training the kids or doing some of the administration work.

Invisibility and The Art of Saying No

Being at home, particularly if you have very young children, can be very isolating and lonely.  It is vital that you get involved with activities beyond the local parent and toddler group.  If you don’t reach out, you run the risk of losing confidence very quickly and becoming invisible.

Being a house-spouse can easily mean that various well meaning friends and family begin to depend on you for helping with menial tasks.  You might find yourself running here and there or minding other people’s children on far too regular a basis. 

Learn early on to say ‘no’.  Remember you are still doing a job.  Just because you don’t get paid, doesn’t mean that what you are doing is not just as important as any other job you have had.  Never fall into the guilt trap of “I’m not earning money so what I am doing is worthless”

It can be lonely

Unless you worked in a solitary profession, you will miss people.  Kids can be great entertainment but you will really pine for a good old chat and laugh with adults.  It is vital you work to make connections – with other parents (yep, the school gate mafia) and neighbours etc.  

Along with meeting and connecting with people in real life, the internet also offers a great way to connect with like-minded individuals and renew old friendships.  It doesn’t appeal to everyone but personally I love Facebook and Twitter  – but you know that.

Learn a new skill

Now could be the ideal time to learn a new skill.  How many times have you thought, 'I would love to learn to dance, or to write, or do some research into family history.'  Signing up for a class for a couple of hours a week should be easy enough, especially when the kids are in school.   Just make sure you do something you enjoy.

Remember Who You Are

Working in the home, looking after children and all the domestic chores, is tiring and seemingly endless.  Lunch or coffee breaks are not guaranteed and your day will certainly not finish at 5 or 6pm.  So make sure you build in some ‘you’ time into your week.  Once a week either meet some friends or former colleagues for lunch or coffee. Protect your sense of self.

Get Out!

Finally, especially if you have small children – remember you can leave the house!  I know there is a huge amount of palaver in getting young kids out for an excursion but I remember well rainy, winter days when packing them into anoraks and wellies and heading out to the park or the beach saved my sanity! 

Make memories

I could wax on lyrically about how wonderful it is to spend time with your children when they are young… or to even be around for teenagers, as I had both, but that’s also a different post.  It has all been a marvellous privilege but I know it's not a choice all have or indeed want.   

The day I left work my colleagues gathered to toast my departure.  One wise older woman gave me a card.  When I opened it her message was simply:

“Good luck Barbara.  Enjoy making memories with your children.”

And I have.  Very much.  So whether you find yourself being a so called 'stay at home' parent by accident or desire... I hope you do too.

I AM SORRY SASHA AND MALIA...

It’s a beautiful Tuesday in suburban Dublin.  My neighbourhood is humming with the sounds of lawn mowers but as it nears lunchtime that sound is punctuated by the regular buzzing of helicopters flying slow circuits a couple of miles away.

My twitter stream is full of #obama and #dalkey tweets as the Obama ladies make their way to Dalkey village for lunch in the pub with Bono! 

I didn’t realise till yesterday that the first girls are the same age as my two youngest and so I watched with added interest as they trailed around Trinity College yesterday and I was much cheered by the normality of Sasha who was photographed crossing her eyes as she sat in the Gaiety Theatre waiting for a special performance of Riverdance. 

If they manage to get through today’s lunch with equal aplomb I will be might impressed and at the same time a little sad for them.  Was there no one in the Dept of Foreign Affairs or the American Embassy who might have suggested injecting something into their itinerary that was a bit more interesting for a pair of young teenage girls?  I wish someone could have called me for advice.  I could have made a few suggestions for their itinerary.

What about a visit to GAA HQ at Croke Park, where they could view the city from the Skyline roof walk.  Afterwards they would be treated to a short display of Camogie and women’s football.  We have some really cool young women excelling at both of these national sports.

I know the girls would have enjoyed a visit to the DSPCA in Rathfarnham which is a beautiful facility and where they could spend some time with the kittens, cats, dogs, donkeys and horses who are waiting for their forever home.  Imagine the photos!

Glendalough is wonderful and as the weather was nice I think that might have provided a nice idea of our beautiful scenery.

But my girls would have suggested flying Niall Horan back from wherever he is at the moment so that Bono could have chatted to their mammy while they bathed in the glow of Mr Horan’s special appeal to girls of a certain age.

So Malia and Sasha – I am sorry if we got it all a bit wrong.... but they should have checked with some teenagers before they organised your time here in Dublin.

But that said, I hope you enjoyed it here and that you both might come back at some time when you can decide your own itineraries.  In the meantime may I congratulate you.  You both looked great, and most of all ye were awake.... before lunchtime.. in the summer.  Well done!