mdm

I recently described how this disease impacts on family as being like a pilot over Heathrow waiting to land - "in a holding pattern of grief" - Am alternately numb and outraged. Nothing makes me really laugh , but thankfully nothing makes me really cry. Feel have detached from life and am viewing it as a partisan observer. The witness. Siobhan has had a good week and has had her eyes open. Thank you to all who ask and your good wishes are very much appreciated even if I am not exactly jumping up and down. No matter how much I love you, and your company, there are times lately where I would rather eat my own foot than engage . If you see me in various cafes with my black/brown/grey head bent over a book then for the love of all that is good and holy walk on by. I hope to return to normal service asap or as soon as I a/ get a grip - b/ stop taking the tablets c/ get a kick in the swiss. " People when they ask about Mam always say the same thing ......... "Do Sh...

On a rain soaked Thursday night while the wind bent the trees outside, a delighted audience in The Riverbank welcomed home one of their own.   There was an air of excitement and expectation in the cosy candle-lit room as Declan Sinnott and Vicky Keating took to the stage. Declan is one of the most unassuming   of men -   mild mannered, softly spoken, casually dressed and the complete antithesis of his more “infamous” brother, Frank. He has been the power behind the throne for four decades-from his early days with Tara Telephone,   Horslips   and Moving Hearts,   through to his collaborations with Mary Black, and Christy Moore but   has lately become usurper . With the recent release of his first album “I like the Noise it makes “     he has become     famous in his own right.   Finally. The venue filled up quickly, and more seats were requested and supplied. The next time I turned around they were standing at the back. Declan ...

SUNDOWN Her name was May, but she called herself   June. She was the kind of woman who dated buskers and tourists and giants.   The daily slog to the hospital was wreaking miracles on her bathroom scales.   One day she had arrived in the orange side car of a Harley Davison   to much amusement while she tried to fluff up her helmet hair.   August was a scorcher and the car park was as full as an egg.     She passed the open ambulance with only a cursory   glance and spotted the usual suspects in the covered   porch. The deaf man slumped sideways in the wheelchair had prevailed on yet another unwitting stranger   to wheel him up for a   fag.    The people in pyjamas with the bags of blood and liquids still attached-   some with nasal tubes and oxygen   - sat companionably smoking   on the window ledges swapping horror stories about their injuries and operations.     June eased herself through them, ...

Her name was May but they called her June. She never missed breakfast so turned up at noon.   She kept house for a Cleric with a gruesome face, hairy clusters of warts all over the place, Afflicted with machine-gun, wild doses of sneezes,Which everyone discovered -     alas     Never ceases,   Oh Father, says she -   wiping   snots   with a towel, your hockers   are   making me loosen my bowels- while buttering soda she ate lumps of corned beef, using the butt of a match to ready her teeth,   Ah now, “May June”, t’is   the month of July, and the   basterin pollen is flying so high ,   tis wretched   I am –with   this curse   I am damned. T’would be a release just to die -   Put an end to your sighing, leave me in peace with my   crying, and oh,   is that rashers you’re   frying? Rashers me eye, says June with a sigh, and gave him a baleful look, as he slobber...