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.