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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 a...
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Diarium (Noo Yoik ) Part 1 "Running Uphill"

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"Should we start the packing?" enquires Vonnie Dooley  Monday Jan 13th   A mere handful of hours after this photo was taken I collapsed at the back door at misty midnight.  It is 24 hours before I fly to America for the first time in my life.  According to my diary I woke at 7,  dined on a banana then rocked up to a dentist to have my teeth boxed off before I stunned the craythurs in the front row.   My smile has been disfigured for years from the slap of a bottle that chipped a front tooth, not to mention staining from smoking and caffeine.  Amrish is a stunning man with sparkling gnashers and a heart of gold who came in on his day off to check the state of play and how much the teeth have lifted with bleaching.   A lot actually, although he wasn't lying about the sensitivity.  He took a mould of my mouth on Day 1 and then presented me with the plaster version of my own teeth as an aide de memoir, a keep ...
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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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