FAREWELL LISTOWEL AND YOUR FILTY MINDED FIFTY WHO SOLD THEIR SOULS AND YOURS TO THE DEVIL

Have you ever been to Listowel? No, me neither. After the scenes that occurred in a Kerry district court earlier this week I and quite few people in this country have no intention of willingly going there in the future.

What happened was that just prior to the sentencing of one Danny Foley a 35 year old bouncer from the town who was found guilty of raping a 24year old girl from the town. That fifty, mainly men from the local community marched up in single file and shook his hand and hugged the prisoner, right in front of the distraught and shocked victim.

As well as that the local parish priest, who had come out of retirement to cover sick leave in Mr. Foley's parish appeared as a character witness for him. He has since been forced to step down from his duties and the diocese has issued a statement distancing it's self from the priests comments and actions. This in a time when the catholic church in Ireland is embroiled in the aftermath of the recently published "Murphy Report" on child sex abuse by priests in the Dublin diocese.

If you're a resident of Listowel or know someone from the town, I as well as yourself would like to know what type of misguided town do they live in. That stands up to publicly promote the perpetration of the sexual assault of women as a good thing.

Sexual assaults are the work of warped evil miscreants who have no place in society, no ifs, no butts if you force yourself on a member the opposite sex you get whats coming to you. If you support this man then your no better then he is, if he was my brother or cousin or a friend I'd quickly distance myself from him.

People like this are generally not one off merchants, if they can do it once they will do it again and again, whenever the opportunity arises. So the sight of fifty people glad handing you like some winner of a competition and slapping you on the back like some returning prodigal son just gives the many other sexual deviants out there more cause to go out and continue their sick and twisted activities. Oh but these morally misguided individuals would probably be the first to go screaming foul if one of their kids was sexually attacked and the same scene took place in front of them.

Listowel residents, hang your heads in shame. In one foul and sickening swoop you have undone all the good work of one of your most famous sons, the playwright John B. Keane. Who put Listowel on the map. He must be spinning in his grave at how badly you've tarnished the towns good name.

As for Mr. Foley he got seven years, a pitiful sentence for the crime. Twenty five may have been more fitting, but people will argue that is only given to those who murder. Mr Foley has to all intents and purposes taken the victims life away and ruined it for her, he has also been aided and abetted by his fifty filthy minded cohorts, who think themselves morally superior to the rest of us.

We also learn in the media that his fiancee is sticking by him and claims he is not the man portrayed in court. My dear you need your sight testing as well as your moral compass. As stated earlier in this piece, if I was you I'd drop him like a hot potato and never want to set eyes on him again. A leopard never changes his spots, whether it be even after seven years or twenty years, also he's tainted and damaged goods now, a convicted sex attacker who will go on the sex offenders register on his release.

Finally, it's been alledged that within 24 hours of starting his sentence in Portlaoise prison in the midlands. That Mr. Foley requested a transfer to a Prison in the south of the country so that he maybe closer to his family... Er... A word of advice, it doesn't work that way. You don't take advantage of a poor innocent young woman, wear a sickeningly cocky grin all the way through your trial, then start to play the poor innocent little boy bit when you enter prison and reality sets in. Reality should have set in when you set out on this course of action that has led you to where you are tonight. Also let me reiterate, if your family has any sense they'll oppose the request and want you as far away from them as possible... Out of sight out of mind.

Happy Christmas and good riddance Danny Boy...

ZERO HOUR TOLERANCE

Hello everyone, Yes it's been a while since my last confession. Mainly down to the fact that I got a job and had college work to do etc, etc.

So what has me at the keyboard at such an late or early hour?

I came home from work this evening to discover my mail included a letter from the nice boys and girls in the Garda Siochana (The Police, if your reading this from outside Ireland). The letter was notice of a fixed penalty fine being issued to me for parking on a double yellow line on the main street of my home town of Bray.

Oooh you naughty boy your probably saying and normally I'd agree with you. But what has really irked me is at what time the ticket was issued.... 0:00.. Yes midnight on Friday 2 weeks ago....

What in the living daylights was a guard thinking when he gave me the ticket. Who in gods name worries about getting a parking ticket at midnight!!!!!!!!!!! The only type of guard to issue tickets at that time of night is a bloody minded Jobs worth, with nothing better to do. That is an unmitigated lie... Of course he has something better to do at that time of night.

He or She at that time of night is charged with keeping the streets safe for people leaving the pubs on the main st and making there way home. They are certainly falling down on the job if a woman is attacked at mugged or sexually assaulted while this dipstick is wasting his time and mine filling out a bloody parking ticket.

Bray isn't exactly a hot-bed of crime, it's the largest town in Wicklow and the first major town you come to south of Dublin. It has a drug problem, a problem with street crime especially at night when the pubs and clubs close, we're regularly visited by the Garda Chopper late at night. But in the midst of all this crime, one stupid moron from the sticks with just enough cop on to graduate from Templemore (Garda training college), decides at midnight on the 20th of November to stop his beat protecting the main street, to put a ticket on a car which was not obstructing a driveway or the entrance to a hospital or fire station...

I'm a supporter of the guards my late Uncle was a guard, my second cousin is one, actually based in Bray. I have a good friend who is in the Garda reserves and I'm friends with a number of local guards too. But past two weeks haven't been good for the Garda PR machine, last week they were severely criticised in the Murphy report into Child abuse allegations in the Dublin Diocese, for basically looking the other way when there was overwhelming evidence of children being a bused by local priests. Then this week there were reports of the unlawful arrest and detention of a member of the public by two plain clothes officers in Dublin recently. Why?

The member of the public was walking home through the centre of Dublin a couple of weeks ago, when he witnessed a car mount a pavement and almost knock him down , so it could take a short cut. He remonstrated at the vehicle with his hand. Five minutes later the same car screeched to a halt next to him as he continued on his way. The two men intimidated the man and then cuffed him for no reason and manhandled him into the car. At no stage did they identify themselves as guards until they got him in the car and drove him to the local Garda station. In the process of cuffing him and putting him in the car they broke his finger... His only crime showing his disapproval at the actions of a couple of jumped up boyo's who thought they were Dublin's answer to Crockett and Tubbs, more like Crocked and tubby ...

So what do I have to do know, at a time when I'm short of cash I have to find €40 to pay the fine, at this time of year I don't see why I shouldn't be able to hand over a receipt showing I'd made a donation for the amount in question to a deserving charity. Instead it goes into the coffers of a corrupt and useless government, who couldn't organise a Christmas party in a brewery and whose inept style of leadership is obviously rubbing off on the guardians of law and order in our society.

UNKNOWINGLY JOINING THE GREAT UNWASHED

I've just come back from a lovely walk around Bray, where I live. As I passed my local church I decided to pop in for some quiet reflection, which didn't turn out to be very quiet as there was the daily gathering of middle aged and elderly men and women doing their novenas at the top of their voices.

What got to me though, was that again as I went to bless myself at the font on entering and leaving, both of them were empty. Now, I must of had a funny or disgruntled look on my face, because a middle aged woman who was entering turned to me and said, they've stopped filling them.

Why? Is there a shortage of holy water or more precisely priests to bless it, I wondered.

She went on to say, that the junkies had been washing their syringes in the fonts.

Now, I'm all for live and let live and peace and good will to all men, but when the great unwashed and those under the unrelenting scourge of drugs start utilising my holy water, I must protest... Yes, in India everyone goes into the Gangees together on holy days. But that's a fast flowing river, where the effluent and grime from a couple million people all bathing at once ends up, is anyone's guess. But it doesn't linger in a fetid little ceramic pool.

How long have they been doing it?(Is this a national problem?) I've visited churches in some of the more hard-up areas of Dublin. Because, no matter where you are a church is a sanctuary where everyone is equal in the eyes of god.

There are things we're not supposed to do in church, according to the bible. Lend money , barter or trade on it's grounds... Ha, I've been to churches in the UK where they have social clubs with bars on the church grounds. My own one has a coffee shop on it's grounds. Commit crime, churches are regularly robbed, hence why the majority are locked and only opened for a certain period of time each day. Dan Brown's characters seem to think murder in a church is ok.

So I suppose junkies washing their syringes in the fonts isn't a new low, lets hope that's all their doing. Good lord, I've seen a few homeless people sleep in the porch of my local place of worship, but are they using the facilities at the door too, to wash... Oooooohhh. Maybe I should go and place a bar of soap next to the fonts, toothbrush, mouth-wash and a towel...

Ok, so I maybe coming across as very un-christian, but see how christian any you would be. If you or any of your loved ones contracted something because one of these clowns, decided it was clever to wash before or after shooting up. Yes I'll always encourage hygiene, especially with H1-N1 running rife and with more and more institutions providing dispensers on their premises.

But this takes the biscuit, It's not as if a clean syringe is going to cost you anything, most if not all drop-in centres will give them out free. So I must deduce that in this case the junkies in my home town are just down right lazy..

OUR KENNEDY MOMENT

They say every generation has it's "Kennedy Moment", that being able to recall with almost super-human clarity where you were and what you were doing at the exact time you heard about JFK's assassination. My own generation has had two "Kennedy Moments", those being Diana's death and 911.

The generation before was of course the Kennedy one, but there are some who may say Elvis's death was a "Kennedy Moment" too. Then the previous generation is rather harder to Clarify, Churchill's death maybe.

So where were you on September 11th 2oo1? Me, I was at my job with Bord Gais(Irish Gas Board) in their south county Dublin offices, manning the Emergency leak telephone lines, when we heard that a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. No one knew what type of plane, so we assumed it was a small Cessna or something like that. But then people who were in the canteen downstairs came up and said it was a commercial plane and the building was on fire. It had been a busyish morning on the phones, but after the first plane went in the calls dried-up, everyone was glued to the TV news.

I went down to the canteen on my lunch and stood watching the sight on the TV in the corner..I got my meal and sat down facing the screen, as I was tucking into it, I watched the other plane hit. At first just like the newscasters, I thought we were seeing a rerun on the pictures coming from the American stations. But then it dawned on us that both towers were now burning.. I've never witnessed an execution. But that day along with millions of others I saw 59 innocent victims die right there infront of my eyes(this was akin to the German soldiers marching their victims into the gas chambers, there was no way out for those souls), I couldn't finish my meal.

Ok I can also say I watched the towers fall, so I again witnessed along with the rest of us 2,628 people lose their lives trying to escape. Before that day too I'd never seen a "Jumper", we saw a few of them. Poor desperate people trapped above the impact points to which there was no chance of rescue or escape.

This year is the 8th anniversary of the events of that day, in 2002 I wrote a poem in memory of all those who were killed in the twin towers, lest we forget the victims in the Pentagon and on united 93, it's for them too.

This is the first time it's been published, despite trying to get it onto poetry.com alongside a previous award winner of mine.

IT CAME FROM THE AIR


I crossed the marble flooring as ground beneath us shook,
There by elevators a phantom of my partner I mistook,
Then briefly in an instant they’d gone again from there,
Now where they stood, terror and panic filled the air air air….

Disfigured and tormented wraiths ran screaming from the stairs,
Outside the world was raining crimson and darkness filled the Air air air.

I dialled the phone upon my desk,
Mum I love you,
I said with despair despair despair….

Sam’s mobile rang out,
And with broken heart and tears,
I said to a recording, take care, care, care

Across the hall in my bosses’ office they did come,
Two frightened souls whose escape was in one last affair affair Affair….

The office now filled with tears, as we knew our plight,
By the window one young man looked back and said,
I’ll see you there, there, there

As smoke filled my lungs I made one final call, to see if they could help us,

but as I tried to dial my mind it went all numb,
For the number of the fire dept and date were all in,
Nine one one one one one one ………


Adrian Murphy (c) 2oo2

THE PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL COST OF REJECTION

I'm sitting here in Bray writing this blog, less then a mile from where in the early hours of Sunday morning last, the 16th August. Two young men lost their lives in a vicious knife attack. Over the weekend in Ireland alone there where four stabbing incidents. the other two where in Balinrobe Co. Mayo on the west coast.

The details surrounding the fatal attack in Bray are sketchy due to the fact that the two main witnesses are still being treated in hospital. Jennifer Hannigan a 22 year old girl who was the ex girlfriend of Shane Clancy the attacker and second fatal victim and dating Sebastian Crean the first victim. Was so viciously attacked that the knife broke while still in her back, she's since undergone surgery to remove it.

According to Fine Gael the main opposition party in the Dail, the number of knife attacks in Ireland has increased by 300% between 2003 - 2007, although it has dipped slightly in the past year, but never the less it is still on the rise.

The thing that is clear about the Bray incident, is that is was driven by jealousy.

What is it about the youth of today that they find rejection so hard? Is it all down to the media, where falling in love is portrayed as being easy, when in real life it takes time and a bit of work from both parties to nurture a relationship. Or is it fuelled by "shoot-em ups" and games like "Grand theft Auto" which portray the taking of life for an innocuous event as fair game.

Yes, breaking up is hard to do, we've all done it or had it done to us, but I've never felt like going and killing my Ex's. On the contrary, I've wanted them to come back, change their minds or forgive me and take me back. But if anyone did anything to them I'd stand to their defence and do serious harm to the perpetrator. But I and the majority of people I know could never harm someone they once held feelings for or may even still do.

How are we supposed to deal rejection? Me I'll play soppy love songs from Ronan Keating, Air Supply, "Ole Blue Eyes" and Deano... Have a month to six week Bridget Jones moment... Others will hit the drink to drown their sorrows. This has it's own dire side effects, which can lead to confrontational situations with the ex.

The reports in the media suggest that Shane Clancy was depressed. So does it mean that this generation are a lot mentally weaker then previous generations. Do we have more more stresses in our lives then our parents did? They might say life is easier for this generation.

back in their days your main line of communication was the landline, you made an appointment to meet a friend hours or days in advance. Or you even wrote a letter which took anything from a couple of days to a week to get somewhere, Now-a-days, we are in constant communication. Everything is done in a nano second. Emails, texts, etc. Your every sodding living breathing experience is telegraphed across the ether to friends acquaintances and even total strangers who are friends of friends of friends, via social networking sites and texts and tweets.

Back in our parents generation you had a "Circle of Friends"... It was like a golf club, you almost had to go through a Spanish Inquisition style interview to be accepted into the inner circle. Secrets were kept within the group and if you told those secrets to someone outside, you ran the risk of being exiled.

So as I wind up this piece, I send my condolences and thoughts to the three families affected by this tragedy. The Crean's whose second son Dylan, Sebastian's older brother was injured when he went to his assistance. The Hannigan's, we wish Jennifer like Dylan a speedy recovery, though the scars may heal eventually over time, it's the emotional ones which will be the hardest to get past. Finally to the Clancy's, no one will blame you for what happened. Shane may have been your son, but you can never know what is going through your child's mind every hour of the day.

Maybe Dickens said it best, "In the little world in which children have their existence... There is nothing so finely perceived or so finely felt as injustice..."

A TESTING TIME IN THE PAST

It's been one of those weeks, you know the ones where nothing goes right and it seems all your friends are having more fun then you are.

But I suppose I mustn't grumble... I have my health, I'm not exactly broke and my friends and those important in my life are keeping intouch with me. I was told recently that I'm a fine example of how to over come adversity and keep it together. I'd be the first to admit that there are others who have buckled under the strain of losing there jobs and trying come to terms with the endless let- downs and knock backs that is the job market these days. Only in February I attended the funeral of a work colleague who had taken his own life, he was 38.

Suicide is still a taboo subject in Ireland but studies show that it is on the rise among men aged 15–34 having increased from 11.6% in 1980 to 44.2% in 2003. Compared to other European countries, Ireland has a higher suicide rate among young men and less among older people. (Health Report Board Study- Irish Examiner 2007).

I could write a book on the crazy state of affairs that is job hunting in Ireland today. Only this week I attended an interview for a Reservations Sales Agent with a south county Dublin car hire firm.

The first thing that shocked me was, that in 2009!!! Someone still thinks an aptitude test is acceptable. Talk about the land that time forgot. I was advised I had 15 minutes to complete these 4 pages of questions.

The first page, which is included in the time was general information on me!!! Er these guys had already seen my CV, so they knew my name, where I lived... Ok so it asked how long I'd been driving and had I any convictions or points. But this could have been asked during the interview or during the application stage.

Next was maths or arithmetic for those of the "old school". Printed in bold across the top of the page was "NO CALCULATORS"!!! Yes like mobile phones, we have become slaves to technology. How many important phone numbers can you recite off the top of your head. I know people who don't even know their mobile number!!! I can recite my mobi and my home number, ok so I was around when we didn't have mobiles.(No I'm not showing my age)

But maths is not the strongest area for a lot of people. I can add, multiply, subtract... er yes but I was a little fuzzy on big numbers from small numbers. I could recite what I learned by rote, "six from zero you cannot take... Six from ten ... carry down the one..." That's what I remembered. Then there was percentages... Ah Jesus!!! I feared looking down the page for finding everyone's classroom nightmare, Algebra!!!! But percentages without a calculator? Ok 10% is one thing 25% of a price is divide by 4 then take it away. Supposedly I got it wrong. But I just checked on the calculator(for peace of mind)... I was right!!!

The only way you will be without a calculator in this day and age is if a) your stuck in the middle of the Gobi desert without any battery on your phone. What type of percentage are you trying to do then? You have greater things to worry about, if your trying to barter for water from a Nomad Just pay what he's asking.

b) Your at the office when a thermo-nuclear war is declared and some sort of Electro Magnet Pulse(EMP) device has been detonated near you. Again Fight or Flight reactions do not require you to work out a percentage of anything. As the saying goes "lets get the flock outta here.."

The next page was problem solving.... Oh Christ!! What relevance did this have to renting cars... questions like fill in the missing number from this sequence, or a watch loses this amount of time over 12 days how much does it lose in a day?... By this stage I was losing the will to live.

The final page was the Piece De Resistance... "Stupid Questions" as I call them, things like: Does England have a 4th of July? Or you have one match, and enter room with a oil lamp, gas lamp and kindling, which do you light first? Ha! Pass the Valium..

I didn't get the last page finished, because the interviewer walked back into the room, probably early but I wasn't going to quibble. She went down the answer sheet she had and ticked an X'd here and there. Then she started the interview. A few minutes later an older gentleman entered the room, he introduced himself as the MD. He then took up my CV and took over the interview, a classic "Good Cop, Bad Cop" scenario.

His first question was, are you working? There's 500,000 out of work at this moment. If I was in gainful employment I wouldn't be going after such a lowly paid job. So no.

His next barrage was where do you live? Who do you live with? Do you have family? Whoa!!! Stop the bus, firstly the address and town I live in was printed clearly at the top of my CV. As for who I live with and whether I have dependents or not comes under equality laws. You can't ask this question of a woman and the same applies to a man. In hindsight, I should have stopped the interview and corrected him. But I smiled sweetly and answered.

Just as quickly as he'd entered he left, saying something about the phone call he had to take. I didn't ask him to leave them on hold. His interruption was pointless as he seriously needs to go on an interviewing refresher course.

The original interviewer then wrapped up with a brief job description, shook my hand and made small talk as she walked to the front door. As I left I swear I saw an ark parked outside the door.

FLYING COMMENTS

I'm sitting here tossing a 20 cent coin, I always do this when someone makes a ridiculous complaint. Not that I don't complain myself, but having spent a good few years in various service industries, I can sympathise with the person on the other side of the counter, when there's a delay or breakdown which affects me. 95% of the time it's none of their fault, but being the face of the organisation they work for they have to smile sweetly and try explain the problem, usually with very little info on the exact cause.

I've just returned from a lovely weekend in London, where I attended a family birthday. There should be health warnings on these weekends. You leave fresh faced, touchdown meet and greet all the "rellies" you haven't seen in ages. Drink to every bloody thing going, from the French Revolution to Palin for president. Then the day after the event you're sapped of all energy. For this weekend, I was uptil 4am on Saturday morning then in bed by 12am on the Saturday night!!!! I'm bloody 39, if I was at home I'd be running to the doctor, if I was in bed that early(Swine-Flu...My Ass).

Anyway there I was yesterday on a Ryanair flight home that was delayed. Some people will say that's nothing new, to me and my experiences of this great airline, it's a rarity. No one complained about this openly, but when we had completed the mad tight fisted scramble for seats( no one pays for Priority Boarding, but they complain bitterly when we can't sit with their loved ones, some might say that's a god send). As I was settling into my seat the bloke opposite hails the stewardess and says, I'd like to complain. My eyes go towards heaven, he goes onto the say... wait for it, the Stairs to the plane were too wobbly and his daughter missed a step!!!!!

For the love of god, how anally repressed do you have to be. If he'd thought this through logically, Ryanair don't actually own the mobile steps we boarded on, it's BAA at Gatwick. So going to a foreign stewardess whose trying her best to get us seated and away in 25 minutes... this is entering funny farm territory. This guy is probably the same chap who complains to the bed company if he stubs his toe in the morning. There are people out there who find fault with anything, these are the people you just want to take outside and give em a good slap!!(I'm not condoning violence, but some idiots like this ask to be taken in hand and if not slapped hard then Sectioned).

So what did our nice Latvian stewardess do? Smiled sweetly and asked him to write a letter. He said he would... Coz he obviously has nothing better to do then keep the Ryanair Customer service dept. laughing, can you imagine how many of these letters they receive each week. A car hire firm I worked for previously used to post the best(or Stupidest, more appropriately) on the wall of the office for all to see. It was a real tonic, having a bad day, go on up to the CS Dept. and laugh your bloody socks off.

So to the idiotic chap on flight Fr117 from Gatwick to Dublin on Sunday 26th of July. Get a F***ing life... Better still go fly with an inordinately expensive competitor, coz their are plenty of others willing to pay the €5 return. Oh and from all your friends at Ryanair's Customer Service Dept. Thank you for making their Monday a little brighter.

The 20 cent? Is for you, to give someone a call who gives a bloody damn, although with the advent of mobile phones does it cost 20 cent?

ANGELS AND DEMONIC PARISHIONERS

As I write this piece, the annual Bray festival is in full swing, lastnight I attended a wine tasting in a local bar and then went down to the Italian street Party just off the seafront. Amidst the wine, pasta and the enchanting Italian music, I could just imagine Dan Brown lurking in the shadows taking notes and breathing in the atmosphere of this large north Wicklow town.

For if you rise above the rooftops and look west you will see the imposing edifice of the Church of the Most Holy Redeemer, why Dan's interest? There are rumours of dark things happening within the hallowed walls of this fine church, that may just be what Dan is looking for to spark his next novel.

Everything in life has a natural order, we are all in a food chain of sorts, mankind thinks it's at the top. As we have seen, we've created pandemics that now put us down the pecking order, as well as the greed driven consumption of our natural resources and the threatening of our very

existence on this planet.

Natural order, also has it's role in the selection process for jobs, so we think. So do the leaders of the Dublin diocese. A little over a year ago they appointed a new parish priest to Holy Redeemer, a youngish Irish man who'd spent the last twenty years ministering and lecturing in the U.S. He came back with a bag full of ideas from the new world, and was welcomed with open arms. Well one atleast, the other may have been behind their backs...

He didn't move into the presbytery with the other priests, but rented an apartment in the town. Nowt wrong, he's lived by himself for a good few years, having middle aged flatmates can be of a shock to the system. Then he started by introducing new things into the mass, such as delivering a sermon through a radio microphone and walking along the front of the altar and picking people out of the congregation and asking them questions(I heard he was going to look for spot prizes next). Whats wrong with that, everything needs to change, a new broom sweeps clean etc,etc.

What the new man hadn't bargained on was something started up by his predecessor. The Parish Council. The who? They're a group of parishioners who offer to help run the parish on a day to day basis. It seems this enlightened group, has taken it upon it's self to do more then just count the takings in the Sunday baskets, arrange the flowers and clean the church. Now they're getting involved in the selection process of the priests, starting by contacting the Arch Bishops office and telling him to replace the new parish priest, because he doesn't conform to their out-dated draconian standards of worship.

They succeeded, the new man. Ok after a year, is he still new man? Probably depends on your point of view. is being moved.

But the whole affair is being played down. I spoke to a friend whose involved in the parish who claims that he hadn't made many new friends and was brusque and unapproachable. While his bedside manner and treatment of ill or dying was outstanding. They also went onto tell me that he himself was unhappy as he didn't realise how large a position he was coming back to, as his previous posting was in a small town in America where he held mass in a community hall every Sunday. Where as here he was dropped into one of the larger parishes on the southside of Dublin.

It's no surprise that the small cabal from the Parish Council, is made up mainly of women. So whats next? Will these ladies decide to unseat the pope. One parishioner said, they can't get too picky there aren't that many priests out there who still do things the old way.

My advice to them is, ladies stick to the coffee mornings, baking scones and idle gossiping and leave witch hunts to the KKK. Recruitment to Sir Alan Sugar and gods natural selection. Because power corrupts and all power corrupts absolutely. Also your not on the council by any devine right, so watch your backs, you maybe the ones being told "your fired" next.

What of the innocent party, he's going to a chaplaincy posting at a Dublin hospital. Good luck to you father, you were saved a fate worse then death and a chalk-line on the alter steps...

THE BANK STOPS HERE

Did you hear this on the news over the weekend? The Manhattan Transport Authority(MTA) has sold the naming rights for one of it's subway stations to Barclay's bank for the next twenty years.

The station in question is Atlantic Avenue, which also serves Pacific Street and Flatbush Avenue in Downtown Brooklyn. Shortly it will become the Barclay's, Atlantic Ave., Pacific St., Flatbush Ave. stop. I'll need a few drinks to get that out in one go...

It's not unusual for corporate companies to buy naming rights to stadiums and other large concert and event arenas. Take the 02 here in Dublin and London, formerly the Point Depot and the the Millennium Dome respectively. Then there's the the stadium which replaced Highbury as the home of Arsenal football club in London, it's called the Emirates stadium after the airline. Not forgetting for the rugby aficionados the new redeveloped Lansdowne Road in Dublin will from next year be known as the Aviva Stadium after the international Insurance firm bought the naming rights.

But as for naming stations, I suppose it's a logical step, originally most stations and airports where named geographically. Dublin Airport for example, is still referred to as Dublin, despite the calls to name it after such political and sporting luminaries as Jack Charlton or Charles Haughey. But in the past twenty years or so it's become fashionable to dedicate a station or airport to a political or sporting figure.

Here in Dublin most of the stations are named after those involved the 1916 rising. On the Southside we have Pearse Street - named after Padraig Pearse, who led the rising. There's Connolly Station on the Northside(originally called Amiens St. Because that's where it's situated) - named after James Connolly, another leader of the rising. Then up the river on the Southside we have Heuston Station - named after Sean Heuston also a member of rising. Going south from Dublin we have Dun Laoghaire DART station recently named Dun Laoghaire "Mallin" after Michael Mallin who was James Connolly's 2nd in command and in the town of Bray 13 miles south of Dublin the Station was also recently renamed Bray Daly after Edward Daly who again fought in the rising.

Going abroad we have Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris, John Lennon airport in Liverpool and again the recently christened George Best international airport in Belfast. Not forgetting the more well known U.S. airports such JFK in New York, Chicago's O'Hare (named after after Lieutenant Commander Edward "Butch" O'Hare a WWII flying ace awarded the Medal Of Honor) and the Ronald Reagan international in Washington D.C.

D.C. also has its main airport Dulles, which was named after John Foster Dulles who was Sec. of State under Eisenhower.

So where to next? If Barclay's can buy a station name will we have Nike Grand Central or maybe they'd be happier with the Charles De Gaulle Nike Air-port. Think of the advertising slogans that could be used... "Swish in and out of the fashion capital".

I suppose Subway's options are limited or numerous whichever way your looking at it. but I'm perplexed as to why Barclay's had to go all the way to NYC to buy a station name. When you consider that there's a station on the London Underground called "Bank", wouldn't have been easier to rename that Barclay's bank... Maybe one of it's UK competitors will take it up...

One last thought is, if Barclays can buy the name of a station, whats stopping them buying the name of the underground or subway... It would give a new meaning to the phrases, "The buck stops here.." or "Money makes the train go round.."

FACEBOOK FAUX PAS

Technology is great, just think where we'd be if we didn't have washing machines, mobile phones, laptops etc, etc.

Yeah we'd probably still be using washboards, yoghurt cartons and string or carrier pidgeons. But along with these advances we also have to take into account the pitfalls we open ourselves up to by our over reliability and openness when using them, especially the modern tools of communication.

Take Facebook for example, a social networking site that has in excess of 200 million users across the globe. Everyday we go in and describe to an ever increasing audience what trivial impediments are affecting us that day.. Or how we're doing in the swings and roundabouts of life.

I'm as guilty as the next person of following the proverbial herd in this respect, almost daily I'll partake of the never ending stream of quizzes and social tests sent our way by well meaning friends, of which I now have over 100... Half of them I probably wouldn't say hello to If I saw them in the street. But social etiquette dictates that on Facebook even the one night stand you had 5 years ago is a confidante to your every whimsical thought.

But I've stood back when it comes to the amount of personal info I put up, like a lot of people. Not just to save me from having my identity stolen, but to stop a repeat of a funny incident that happened 2 years ago.

It's been that long since my last serious relationship, I'm glad to say that I'm back in a happy and loving relationship now. So what happened two years ago on Facebook? My then girlfriend updated her profile to announce to the world we were now an item(fairly innocent, and something people take great delight in doing). A couple of weeks later she gets a pang of guilt about the amount of personal info on the site and decides to cut it back a bit. In doing so she clears the relationship box too, which in this modern society has repercussions. After taking this action she goes into a meeting, while in there everyone of her friends was subsequently been emailed by the site to tell them she had just dumped me....

Her inbox and mobile where inundated with texts and emails expressing their utter shock at her totally out of the blue decision. When she got out of the meeting in which she had been constantly distracted by the vibration of her mobile, she irritatedly rang her sister who had been calling non stop. Her sister asked what happened and why she dumped such a nice chap? My then squeeze, said she hadn't but then checked the 200 emails from all over the globe, Asking the same question...(and realised what she'd done) Oh Shit!!! Had I seen it?

She rang me desperately hoping I hadn't, I was in a meeting too. but the terse almost tearful.... "Call me ASAP, don't look at Facebook.." message left me in no doubt that something dire had happened, luckily it hadn't been seen by my friends. This breakdown in electronic communication didn't kill it, it was the breakdown in her ability to verbalise a concern and my inability to read her mind... that sent that brief union to the knackers yard.

So this time round, I'm not going to indulge in the electronic roof shouting on Facebook, that I'm no longer single... If someone fancies me from a far and asks me out, I'll politely tell them I'm taken and bask in feel good feeling.

EMBARRASSING POCKETS

I'm not easily embarrassed by whats in my pockets. What I usually find in my pockets is what I expect to be there. Lint, loose change, tissues, random receipts and maybe some crumpled up euro notes. I'm not a devout wallet user so putting cash into my wallet straight away isn't a normal way of life.

That's not what I'm writing about today though, finding any amount of cash in my pockets is never embarrassing. On the contrary I wish I would discover more cash in my old jacket pockets.

There I was the other day checking the pockets of a jacket I was leaving to a charity shop. My mother was in the kitchen when I was doing it. The first couple of pockets revealed scrumpled up tissues. Then the last one produced two condoms, still in their wrappers.

They were out of date too, do condoms really go out of date. it's not like eggs, although an out of date condom may give you more then a "dickie" tummy. Apart from the obvious risks what's really going to happen if you use a condom that's lets say three months out of date!!! They're like party balloons and I've never seen a packet of balloons with a use by sticker on them, have you?

Ok so maybe I'm taking the mick here, the only two possible substances you put in a balloon are air and water... What you fill a condom with primarily, has life changing repercussions if it fails.

Anyway back to the discovery, there I am in the kitchen with these two condoms and they've fallen straight on to the table where my mother was sitting having a cup of tea.... God talk about a pregnant pause(excuse the pun). So what did I do? I nervously laughed, saying "good lord, look at those" then scooped them up as quickly as I could and put them in the bin.

My middle aged mother, a Stoic Corkonian just glanced at them and went back to the mag she was reading...

Two things to come out of this, firstly don't ever empty your pockets infront of your mother. Unless your certain of whats in there. secondly atleast she knows whatever I'm doing and with whoever in the wee small hours, atleast I'm playing safe. That's hoping the contraceptives are in date that is, it's not something you usually check when ripping each others clothes off or fumbling about in the darkness under the covers in the heat of the moment.

EMAILS FROM HEAVEN OR HELL...

I just got another funny email, not my first. I usually get about two or three a month. Always from well meaning friends or distant acquaintances. Yes you know the type of mails I mean. The ones that tell you've been sent a loving angel to rescue your soul and then requires you to send it on to five or ten others within 8 minutes, so that something that you've been waiting for can be visited upon you...

I've given up waiting on this manna from heaven to arrive... I usually hope it's lady Luck or in recent times a call about some job I applied for. If all else fails, I hope it's some distant ex calling me up say she's had an epiphany and wants to give it another go. But alas I'm still single and jobless.

But this doesn't stop us pestering our other friends with the same crap. The number of people who tell me to stop sending them this waste of time and energy, then a couple of weeks later I'll get a version from them.

Lets look at the one sent to me today, it's opening line was:

FATE DECIDES WHO ENTERS YOUR LIFE, BUT ACTIONS DECIDES WHO STAYS IN YOUR LIFE.

Well first is the grammatical error of the second "decides" it should read "decide", what happened to attention to detail. If you have the time to forward this junk to half the planet you can certainly run a spell checker over it...

True or false? Er I suppose to a point.. If you see a nice girl at the Bus Stop, are you entitled to start chatting her up without coming across as some sort of pest.

Next

This should probably be taped to your bathroom mirror where one could read it every day. You may not realize it, but it's 100% true.

Here's the hook line, were all suckers for this type of prose. The best motivation I ever need is the one in my head. "Everyday you can get out of bed is a good day".

Now the nitty gritty...

1.. There are at least two people in this world that you would die for.

Ok, here I can think of two, three If I count my mother... Awwwh

2. At least 15 people in this world love you in some way.

I don't have that many close friends, they probably love me because I owe the money. I hang with a heartless and greedy bunch.

3. The only reason anyone would ever hate you is because they want to be just like you.

I'm no George Clooney, I'm unemployed and a year left on the good side of forty and I share a house with my mother. If anyone wants this life, a large monetary sum will secure it...

5. Every night, SOMEONE thinks about you before they go to sleep

I wish they'd phone me before hand, because I'm hard pressed to think of anyone. If it's because they fancy me, I wished they do something about it... Being part of their fantasies is one thing. But I'd rather be part of their reality.

4. A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don't like you.

Yes we all know these types of people it's usually Traffic Wardens, or the guy or girl now going out with your ex. I have another way of viewing this, he who laughs last laughs least.


Then they always end by pushing the mushy saccharine message down your throat...

Good friends are like stars.....You don't always see them, But you know they are always there.

How much of a good friend are if you don't see them that often, only when you need something or they do. I make sure to see my good friends at least once a week or talk to them by phone on a near daily basis. Some people may say thats smothering them...

Today's mail followed that previous nugget with this....

'Whenever God Closes One Door He Always Opens Another, Even Though Sometimes It's Hell in the Hallway.'

Yes it is "Hell in the Hallway". For me it's a hallway 6 months long and with a faint glimmer of light. So either the electricity is on the blink or the windows need cleaning.

Then there was this...


I would rather have one rose and a kind word from a friend while I'm here than a whole truck load when I'm gone.

and these...


Happiness keeps You Sweet, Trials keep You Strong, Sorrows keep You Human, Failures keeps You Humble, Success keeps You Glowing, But Only God keeps You Going

The old adage goes - Keep it simple stupid, these fools have obviously never heard of flogging a dead horse.

'Worry looks around, sorry looks back, Faith looks up.'

Of course she looks around and looks back, because the boss has just looked over Faith's shoulder and caught her reading a personal email... The reason she finally looks up is because he's standing there with her coat and bag.

GROGAN AND MARLEY DELIVER LAUGHTER AND TEARS AS THE CAMERAS ROLL

In this time of financial turmoil and job uncertainty, I’m glad there are still things that can make me go aaaaah. Like seeing someone do something unselfish, a loved one whispering in your ear, that they love you. Cute kittens or as in this case a Labrador puppy looking longingly at you from the cover of a book.

The book in question is Marley and Me by John Grogan, the marketing Dept. must have wet themselves with delight when presented with it. What Iconic song melts most people’s hearts when they hear it? Yep, “How Much Is That Doggie In The Window”. So slap a picture of a puppy on a book cover, shove it in a window and it’ll bound out the door. Look at the Andrex puppies, we’re suckers for a furry face and black wet nose. Well Most of us anyway, some tire of it by the 26th of December.

The book tells the true story of Marley, a Labrador pup purchased by the Grogan's as a young married couple and the impact he has on their lives. It follows mainly the relationship between Grogan and the dog with Cameos by his wife and later the kids. From Marley’s bull in a china shop approach to going around the house, his expulsion from obedience class and his constant fear of thunderstorms, not very helpful considering they live in Florida where thunders storms are a regular occurrence.

The book is a riotously funny read, it had people giving me strange looks on the train as I chuckled at our six-legged heroes antics. But it also eventually tugs at the heartstrings. This goes without saying, Rule no.1 of writing animal books, If you can’t make the reader cry, stop. Grogan’s masterpiece has put him up there with the likes of James Herriot and the creator of lassie.

It’s not a new book, but I selected it for my book group after seeing a teaser trailer for the movie starring Jennifer Anniston and Owen Wilson, which is due out Christmas 2008, another winner for the marketing dept and a busy month for the animal shelters.

If you’re someone who owns a dog or has in the past shared a life with one, then like me you’ll find a lot of common with Grogan and the ever-loveable Marley… But remember a dog is for life, not just the weekend.

DISTURBING MY SLEEP IN IRISH

There are some very inconsiderate people around, especially at 3am in the morning. There I was on Sunday morning dropping off to sleep, when I heard this commotion out on the street.

Two idiots where to all intents and purposes trying to re-enact the trooping of the colours outside my window and to make matters worse they were doing it in Irish!!!! One kept saying to the other "Ag Stompig... Ag stompig..., "(which is I think stepping in Irish, this is what it sounded like) the other twit was agreeing with him and every time they missed a step they'd go back to my gate and start again, what with being both heavily intoxicated, they missed the cue a few times.

I don't suppose the trooping of the colours, which was on last Saturday had a very big audience in Ireland that day... Despite what people say, it's still a touchy subject. But these two were quiet oblivious to the disturbance they were causing. okay so they didn't have a marching band with them, but believe me they didn't need it..

Now of course the source of their condition was alcohol, I'd been out the night before and had come home after a few drinks with a few friends and had walked home at that same hour, but I wasn't shouting or disturbing the neighbours slumber. So why do people shout louder after a few drinks, is it to do with having come out of a noisy bar or night club and not realizing they don't have to shout to be heard. Couldn't night club owners put on slow quiet low music before the night ends so that people can adjust to the quieter ambiance outside before going out the door.

Also why do couples choose the wee small hours to have the loudest arguments especially again on my street or outside my window. Can't they wait till they get in doors and do it in the privacy of their bedrooms or sitting-room. Ok I'm not completely guilt free, I once had a rip-roaring row with a friend outside my house, but I made sure it was in a car. Just because I don't have to get up in the morning it doesn't mean my neighbours don't.

So next time you decide to stumble down my street on your inebriated journey home could you kindly think of the lucky ones soundly slumbering above you...

I'M NOT SCARED OF GIVING THIS ITALIAN A RED CARD

What do Italy, The Lord Of The Flies, The Blair Witch Project and some dodgy translation have to do with this month’s book review? A lot as it happens, and I’m not just referring to the plot. Well not all of it anyway.

“I’m Not Scared” is Niccolo Ammanati's third book to be translated, published in 2001 it was made into an Italian film in 2003. His previous books include "Branchie" and "Fango", which were also made into films.

“I’m Not Scared”, tells the story of Michele a 9-year-old boy growing up in a one-dog hamlet in southern Italy. On a hot summers day he and his friends stumble upon a dilapidated old house into which Michele is forced to enter as a forfeit for having come last in an earlier game. Inside he discovers a boy held captive in a hole. Unsure who he can tell, he keeps the secret to himself and strikes up a mono syllabic friendship; while returning to feed the captive and also discover the identity of the captors. At least one member of the village is involved, the local Yob. Are some of his own family involved too and what part does the stranger from the north who comes to stay in his house and sleep his room play in this?

The others in the book group thought it was great and likened it to Goldings “ The Lord Of the Flies”. I had to protest, as I’d read that book in school and there was no comparison. The Lord of The Flies had thrilled me from beginning to end, especially the climax - The dramatic pursuit of Ralph across the island by Jack and his tribe, often left me breathless. While “I’m Not Scared” left me wondering why they bothered to translate it all.

“Sucks you in like the Blair Witch Project”, it screamed at me from the cover. That movie was scary the first time round, after discovering it was a work of fiction I haven’t watched it since. This book is a complete work of fiction from the start and no matter how many times I read it I could get more engrossed in an empty Chianti bottle.

So you get the feeling I didn’t like Ammaniti’s offering. Ok so the childish narrative and speech, especially the dialogue between him and his sister. Were quirky and spot on. While references to Scotch tape, and other very English and un-Italian like products. Helps the translation stick out as being obviously done by someone with more experience of Bangers and Mash then Cabonara.
The book did bring back memories of an idyllic week I spent in Tuscany a couple of years ago, but that’s about all.

HOSSEINI GIVES US ANOTHER ILLUMINATING STORY FROM AFGHANISTAN

For the past thirty years of my life one country has regularly popped up in the news, from watching Sir Sandy Gall’s regular reports for ITN, dug in with the Mujahideen. Through the rise of despotic Taliban and Ross Kemps highly acclaimed TV series for Sky and even to this week with the bombing of the Pearl hotel in Peshawar. Afghanistan stands out like a proverbial bad penny, even in the past month I have read two books with an Afghan link or theme and even today I started another with a central connection to this troubled land.

The second of those books was Khaled Hosseini’s “A Thousand Splendid Suns”. Coming on the back of it’s hugely successful predecessor “The Kite Runner”, it follows the lives of two women Mariam a girl ostracised with her mother Nana from her home town of Herat because she is a “Harami” illegitimate. Her father Jahlil is a successful local businessman, who visits them regularly and promises Mariam he’ll take her to his cinema to fulfil her dreams of watching Pinocchio with her half brothers and sisters. One day she goes into Herat after Jahlil stands her up and when he won’t come to the door of his house she sleeps on the doorstep, on her return home next day she finds Nana has committed suicide, thinking Mariam deserted her. Jahlil takes her in but shortly after through the machinations of his two wives, the fifteen-year-old Mariam is hastily married off to Rasheed a forty five year old shoemaker from Kabul. In Kabul she endures Rasheed’s constant putdowns, criticisms and violent behaviour and is forced to wear a Burqa. Across the street Lailia is the youngest daughter of a college lecturer, her brothers are killed by the Mujahideen and the result sends her mother over the edge, she becomes the mainstay that holds the house together, while her close friendship with her best friend Tariq develops. When the Civil war reaches Kabul, she has to cope with the death of another close friend and the departure of Tariq with his parents and shortly afterwards her parents are killed when a rocket hits their house just as they are preparing to leave. Taken in and cared for Rasheed and Mariam, Lailia hides a secret, which she eventually uses to her own gain.

The book follows the two women’s struggle against the Taliban’s suffocating rules and the male dominated society. Some of the scenes are almost hilarious were it not the truth of what is actually going on. Together they discover that the hatred they initially had for each other will eventually bond them to over come the day-to-day challenges of the world inside and outside their home.

Hosseini’s writing is very descriptive and has you almost tasting the heat and sand of this war torn country. He doesn’t skim over the story in simple English but has the prose pockmarked with the different dialects. The violence of the story is on a par with what we have come to accept from Afghanistan, but even so it is brutal and leaves you in no doubt that he has done more then just watch related news stories over years.

At a recent meeting of my book group it was suggested by one reader that the ending was a rather contrived one for Hollywood. To me I have to disagree, the ending is well rounded and helped dilute the melancholy feeling that had washed over me through the last part of the book. Despite that this is a great read that’ll stick with you longer then most summer airport purchases.

REICHS MAKES NO BONES ABOUT HER PLACE AT THE TOP

They say “you should never mix business with pleasure”. This doesn’t seem to have been a problem for Kathy Reichs. By day she’s a respected Forensic Anthropologist in both North Carolina and Quebec and by night she’s the best selling author of nine books featuring her heroine Tempe Brennan. Not forgetting, also being the executive producer of the highly acclaimed TV series “Bones”. God where does she find time to work 9-5 let alone get eight hours sleep!!!

Her latest book is Bones to Ashes. It’s begins with Tempe relating the sudden disappearance of Evangeline Landry when they were both kids, growing up in North Carolina. Evangeline originally came from Tracadie in New Brunswick, Canada. Push forward to the present where Tempe is a forensic Anthropologist for the Coroner in Quebec, when the body of a fourteen-year-old girl, who appears to have been dead for a number of years is reluctantly handed over to her by the coroner in Tracadie. Is this her long lost childhood friend? Or are they ancient burial bones as the coroner is so eager to write them off as. On top of that, her erratic love life takes a sudden downward spiral when her long-term boyfriend, Detective Andrew Ryan decides to dump her. But still requests her help on a number of missing children cases (finally a character I can relate to in the romance stakes). Reeling from the train wreck of her relationship, her sister Harriet flies in with moral support and they both re-enact a similar search for Evangeline they embarked on all those years ago as kids. But this time the consequences and what they discover will threaten both their lives and Tempe’s professional one.

The book is pacey and well researched, the dialogue between the central characters lively and Tempe’s own inner thoughts are witty, coming straight from the hip. As with the previous books there is a healthy smattering of French all the way through, which adds a nice dimension and really brings the Québec inhabitants to life. Thus putting the series above the norm for this style of Thriller.

Writers are told to write about what they know and this is where Reichs has succeeded. It’s amazing to think that a little under ten years ago, the undisputed queen of slicem-and-dicem’s was Patricia Cornwell. That was until Kathy came on the scene. She hasn’t just left Cornwell behind, but signed her toe tag too. It shows in her cutting-edge medical knowledge and scapel sharp attention to detail. That this is written by a professional not the local coroners IT administrator.

I definitely recommend this book, but be warned have a bowl of oranges or a bottle of high strength vitamin pills nearby. The workload of both these women factually and fictionally will have you feeling run down after the first couple of pages. Me I’ll watch the boxette of “Bones” season two, while awaiting Prof. Cassidy(Irish State Pathologist) to step up to the plate..

PETERSEN STEALS THE SHOW WITH A NIL POINT PERFORMANCE

Where do you like to read? The train, the bus or snuggled up on the couch with a mug of cocoa or a glass of something stronger. Maybe with the recent inclement weather you’d rather be lazily swaying in hammock under a couple palm trees.

The other day I found a perfect place to read, you may not agree as to most of you it’s a place of work. I was in the lobby of Police station; it’s brand spanking new, ok maybe a couple of years old. But its a damn site more welcoming, then the old confessional style window that is still present in some of the older stations. With it’s warm pinky peach colouring and a wide marble topped opening. What got me was the Shear silence, god I felt I could have completed War and Peace in one sitting while there. But alas Garda Fiona O’Driscoll was quite adamant that it was a different story behind the desk, where she was single-handedly manning the phones and radios.

For this months book ,we move to the opposite range of the spectrum. Pacy and hectic are not how I would describe it. The Norwegian writer Per Petersen recently won this years Dublin IMPAC literary award. With his English translated book “Out Stealing Horses”. It tells the story of Trond a Norwegian teenager in 1948, who one morning while out in the woods witnesses a friend suffer a breakdown. This leads to the discovery of a personal tragedy and the consequences which will rip their two families apart.

Years later and now an old man, Trond is living the life of a recluse in the hills following the sudden death of his wife. When a figure from his past forces him to go back over the whole sordid affair.

This book maybe only 250 pages long, but even that cant save it. From the outset it is a slow moving mess which loses the reader in it’s confusing leaps back and forth between the past and present. The narrative is positively grey, In a summer of rain and overcast skies the last thing I needed was a book set in the colourless Scandinavian winter.

The judges who selected this book to win the prestigious award are so out of sync with this reader to be almost in Oslo themselves. Did we read the same book, if so, they were probably strapped down to do so. Me, I was on the verge of checking into rehab with Britney afterwards. As for it’s selection, I personally wouldn’t have selected it for a bring and buy sale, let a lone a recognised literary award. I hope Mr Petersen enjoys his €100000 prize money and the accompanying profits from it’s sales.

This books triumph, doesn’t say much for the other shortlisted books which included such luminaries as Sebastian Barry and Salman Rushdie!!!!!, the judges were probably afraid they’d get a Fatwah placed on them.

THE COMPETITION MAYBE GONE TOMORROW, BUT CHILD'S REMINDS US HE'S HERE TO STAY

There’s something we all do on a regular basis, sometimes subconsciously, sometimes deliberately. What? We’ve people watched; you don’t need a specific place. You can watch passers-by from a coffee shop or office window, in a car at lights staring at the person in the car behind in the rear-view mirror. You sit there wondering where they’re from or going to, whether they’re singing to themselves or talking to someone on a hands-free. Ok so if you can lip read you know what they’re saying, game over. But for most it’s a fun if slightly voyeuristic game of wondering what their job is or are they married, single, etc.

In the opening chapter of Lee Child’s latest book “Gone Tomorrow”, his hero Jack Reacher is playing the same game. It’s two in the morning on a subway train beneath New York. He’s not doing it to pass the time though; he’s mentally running down a twelve-point list (eleven for women) devised by the Israeli’s, to spot suicide bombers. Of the five others in the carriage one woman is meeting ten of the criteria. So Reacher being an ex-military police officer has a dilemma. Does he approach her? What if he’s wrong, what if it’s fatigue clouding his judgement? He follows his gut and confronts her, but it goes badly and she pulls a gun and shoots herself.

After that, what seems like a late night suicide on a subway train has the interest of the Fed’s and a mysterious group of well-dressed heavies with fake business cards and a Senator with a military background, Reacher can’t walk away. Especially as he believes he’s responsible for the woman’s suicide. It all leads to a thrilling up to date story with a dramatic climax.

This is Childs eleventh novel featuring his light travelling, drifter Jack Reacher. He lives off his army pension and carries just his fold up toothbrush, ATM card and an expired passport as well as the clothes he stands up in. I know a few Celtic Tiger Cubs who now lead the same lifestyle. But unlike Jack who also doesn’t own a mobile and just barely knows how to use one, they dream of the days when they won’t have to take public transport.

This is a rock solid thriller that should have a warning on it like I saw on a t-shirt a while ago, it said in large bold lettering “Bomb Squad, if you see me running towards you, keep up!!!” Lee Childs last offering; Nothing To Lose, was below par mainly due to a lame plot. In this he’s delivered a tour de force that will again weld him to the top of the bestseller lists far beyond tomorrow.

IN YOUR FACE SOBERS ME UP FOR THE SEASON OF EXCESS

I was emotionally hit twice this month; firstly by my other half who proved that you can hurry love, especially if it’s making a dash for the last train to Clarksville, leaving me on my own in the left luggage office. Secondly was when I read this month’s book, In Your Face By Lia Mills.

Lia is a Dublin author whose previous two books were Another Alice and Nothing Simple. Two years ago she went to her dentist with a problematic wisdom tooth, which had been rubbing against her cheek; it was subsequently removed but a short time later her cheek became sore again. When she went back to the dentist they found a small lump. Results of a biopsy discovered she had an invasive non-differentiated squamous cell carcinoma, a tumour in her cheek. The book is a diary of her 21 month journey from the discovery of the “Crab” as she refers to it; through the surgery which resulted in the loss of half her face and reconstruction using skin and bone grafts; to the traumatic and almost life sapping chemo.

This is not a book for the faint hearted, there were times when I found myself holding my neck and cheek, others when I was close to tears and occasions when I laughed uncontrollably at her wit in the face of adversity or the antics of the people she came across. As diaries go this is definitely up there with Anne Frank and reminded me of the last book on the subject I read, Champions Story which chronicled Bob Champion’s triumph over cancer and his subsequent Grand National win. As was then this is pure no punches pulled story telling, where we experience first hand her highs and lows. I was reminded that Lia and people like her are the reason I run the mini marathon each year in drag for a cancer support group in Bray.

She also re-affirms the shambles that our health service is in, especially when months after the operation she discovers the leg that was used for the bone graft, and which she’d been advised to walk on was broken in the operation and has set badly, hence back again for another operation to reset it.

What makes the book heart warming is the sterling work of the multi-cultural nursing staff, and the staunch unyielding support of her friends and family. While the real characters are the other bewildered patients whom she shares wards and a bed with at one stage and their hilarious antics, at times I had to remind myself I was reading a work of non-fiction and not an Irish parody of One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest.

As we run full tilt towards the season of excess, I can certainly recommend this as a sobering replacement to the over televised It’s A Wonderful Life. One thing that you take from this book is, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger”. Me I’ll try to remember that when love high-tails it out of my life again.

(Reviewed Decemeber 2007)

LORNA NEEDS KEN A FEW CHARLIES AND THE ANGELS TO SAVE HER DEBUT

As I watched the Irish entry fall fowl of the eastern european judges in the Eurovision again recently. I was reminded of the ABBA song “I Have a Dream”(didn’t we all, the return of the glory days), one of the recurring lines in it states “I believe in Angels..”. Well do you? Lorna Byrne does, so much so she’s written a book about them.

“Angels In My Hair” is the Dubliners first book. According to the blurb on the back Lorna is a modern day Irish mystic, who’s called upon by theologians and religious leaders of the world for advice on what the angels tell her. Well if she is I’ve never heard of her and she’s never been in the news either. Back to the previous question, yes I believe. So it’s a little hard for me to write a bad review about this book, because I’ll be worried that the angels will bestow bad luck on me.

So after saying a few Hail Mary’s here goes. The book’s basically a biography, in which she describes in rather laborious detail the hard up bringing she received as well as the constant put downs by people including her own family who thought she was retarded, but this was only because she took herself off to talk to the Angels, including such angelic luminaries as Michael and Elijah; now I thought he was a prophet. Supposedly archangel Michael regularly appears in human form to her and the Angel of death is a common misheld conception, who works to save our lives rather then take them. Also the angels Lorna sees do have wings, and I thought that was just an artist’s impression.

According to the author there are hundreds of angels everywhere and if we could all see them, we’d discover that the place is seemingly over run with them. Everyone has a guardian angel or two around them and they are forever whispering into our ears. The angels say the voice in our heads is them speaking to us. Right.

Nowhere in the book does she talk about her appointments with the afore mentioned religious leaders, there are recollections of sick children she helped and a worried medical student, plus her being shown at an early age, a vision of the man she would grow up and marry and being regularly reminded that he would die a young man. The only famous person on or in the book comes by a testimonial on the front cover by one William Roache MBE - aka Ken Barlow. So that should sell a few extra copies then, that’s if you haven’t already listened your guardian angel.

I found the book concentrated too much on her early life and not enough on how her unique powers helped others or the authorities. Is this a sand between your toes or poolside read? Maybe but it’ll depend on your beliefs, if you’re religious yes if not then you may just find yourself chucking it away in disbelief.