YouReport, Where will your story take you?

YouReport, Where will your story take you?

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OPENING DOORS

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  Opening Doors I was born after the fireworks during an opera in 1964 and from the off was an unusual child. Having escaped every form of enclosure as a baby and being found at the bottoms of numerous stairs, on window sills and in presses I was christened a Divilskin.   I sat sideways in prams, propped on yellow satin cushions, listening. As an infant I looked like a very old soul. While still a toddler I eavesdropped in cars and relayed information back to the people who were being discussed, much to the mortification of the adults. I always opened doors in other people’s houses, of rooms that weren’t even tidy, and rooted in their cupboards asking can I have this, so I could take a piece of them home .   I was tied into the back seat of an Austin 1100 with baling twine to stop me climbing out the windows and regularly given a drop of the craythur on a dodo to sedate me enough to sleep. As a little girl   I played alone with dolls, endlessly dressing and undressing them
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Frankly Speaking - An Essay - Part 1

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"I like the way you've done my eyes Meeeee shell" Artwork  © MDM I met Frank Sinnott when I was a Communion Child in 1971. I was brought across the road to be given a pound and have my dress admired. I was terrified of a parade of random hairy dogs that lay across the steps of Old Pound House like savage mats. I was almost more frightened of the hairy lad looking out at me from under his wild hair in the hall. He started to visit us, making wildly inappropriate suggestions to my Mother, each of whom had a soft spot for the other.  We were privy to all the comings and goings across the road, from the house going up in flames to Sonny Condell ringing the bell looking for divilment at 3am after a gig. He tried to teach me the guitar but I was more fascinated by the peas in his beard and the newspapers on every inch of the room. As I grew up I began to write, and it was Frank who gave me my first writing gig on his beloved "Boker". This time last year I
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GRAVITY - a dramatic review of a blanket

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mdm Zzz I saw the word sleep in the ad. And women curled up under grey blankets. Blah blah blah ........ so very what I thought and scrolled on. It came back into my feed repeatedly so I tapped the link. It's a heavy blanket to calm you down is what it is. Calm a scourge? A woman with a racing brain who rarely sleeps ? Go ahead, hit me with your best shot. My amazing Doctor  -  had once issued the immortal line - "We'll have to bring out the big guns " and prescribed a strong sedative that I became immune to as speedily as my head races. Trying to sleep with the mania of a Bi-Polar high means that your brain is fizzing with kaleidoscopic colours and thoughts. Sometimes it hurts more to shut my eyes because of the flickering. On tour with my play I lay on a hotel bed in the last hours of sunlight before showtime and remarked wearily to a woman in the corner that it was easier to stay awake. As a child I had many names. That Divilskin.
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