A Birthday in Isolation

Public Warning Announcement: The following blog is fluffy and frolicsome and provides zero perspective on the current public health crisis. All characters depicted in this blog are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental (except for Jane Fonda, Jane is 100% real) 

I missed today's 6am Joe Wick's exercise class. Not because I was tired or because I slept through the alarm clock, or because I'm celebrating my 39th birthday today, but rather, contrary to popular opinion, the Body Coach did not invent exercise and it is possible to do it a different way.  People need to be reminded that exercise has been around for thousands of years, routinely practiced by the Greeks, Romans and Celts and by the utterly fabulous Jane Fonda & her leg warmers in 1982.  As I sit here like a tipsy bird in the freezing spring sunshine, I tell myself that I am ‘exercising’ a kind of herd immunity by consciously not partaking in a 6am morning exercise class with the Body Coach and I feel rebelliously smug and wonderful.

When you are not one of the heroes currently risking their own lives in the emergency services, in our hospitals or in our care to help others, the mind can become preoccupied by a series of frivolous thoughts and quandaries on a daily basis.  At this precise moment for example, I am wondering whether those five bottles of wine in the kitchen will hold me over until next weekend and whether I’ve, yet again, double-booked myself on Zoom this evening. 

I know many of you who are not currently saving lives or do not work in the frontlines wake up every morning with similar preoccupations. We are facing challenging times and it is imperative we find new and innovative ways to healthily occupy our minds and bodies whilst staying at home.

My friend Petunia (not her real name) for instance, recently took to gardening to fill the time. She planted a wide variety of bulbs and wildflower seeds a few weeks ago, hoping that come June, she would be blessed with a vibrant display of fragrant flowers and shrubbery in her garden. Unfortunately for Petunia though, the morning birds began flocking to the seeds and devouring them one by one. 

With the bars, restaurants and shops currently closed and with nothing else much to do, Petunia has thus been working 12 hours shifts during the Covid - 19 lockdown as a scarecrow, warding off the invasive birds with widespread arms and her trademark eccentricity.

And there she will remain rooted for many, many weeks to come.

Another ‘friend’ has become insanely obsessed by off licence opening times during lockdown. It's become her new full-time job.

Like a FBI agent hot on the tail of a serial killer, I would not be in the least bit surprised if she has gone so far as to erect a large scale map of Belfast on her wall and using drawing pins and post-it notes, has created an expansive visual on the precise locations of the best liquor stores in the city, an inventory of the wines currently on offer and highly classified information pertaining to the frequency at which shelves are routinely restocked.. It keeps her extremely busy and I must admit I find the daily intel extremely useful.

As the Covid 19 pandemic crisis continues, another pal is becoming increasingly fixated by bin collections. “Will they or won’t they collect my blue recycling bin today? If I leave out all three bins, they are bound to empty at least one, no? It’s like fucking Russian Roulette out there!”

And then there’s Hope (not her real name) who in her infinite wisdom has decided to log on again to Tinder during lockdown. She believes that old fashioned conversation and courtship will be the key to unlocking a lasting relationship. I remain dubious. I mean, for a start what could one possibility talk about? An action-packed day solving emoji puzzles, the ancient art of cupboard cleaning or queuing up at Lidl for the groceries and a 9 pack of toilet roll if you’re lucky? Genuinely, what breed of man would be interested engaging in an online courtship for weeks on end without any immediate prospect of meeting up? I tell you what breed of a man… The breed who will be sending you pornographic images of his reproductive organs in the hope that you’ll be altogether dazzled and eternally grateful.

Reminds me of that time Boris Johnson’s Chief Advisor, Dominic Cummings, asked ‘weirdos and misfits’ with ‘odd skills’ to apply for jobs at no. 10. Good luck with that Hope, not buying my hat just yet….

And speaking of hats…. This was to be the year that I was finally to fulfil the role of Bridesmaid, in South America no less.

The wedding was to take place in June in Cartagena, Colombia, where I was to represent Ireland against five other competing bridesmaids, presumably all former Miss United States pageant winners. Now it may come to a surprise to many of you that I have been overlooked for this highly coveted position at home in the past, however I was brutally rebuffed on more than occasion by an obscure cousin ‘Davina’, or by a squad of all-important sisters who apparently take precedence over a childhood and devoted friend. 

(I joke!) 

But, in truth it is somewhat surprising to me that I have never been asked before now since Bridesmaids are invariably portrayed as highly strung, unhinged and downright desperate in Hollywood films.  Surely fit the role???

Alas, the wedding has been postponed for a spell due to the current global pandemic. I can promise you this though. It will be even more spectacularly glamourous than anyone ever imagined when it does eventually take place.  I can’t wait to be with my special friend on her wedding day, five thousand miles and Covid -19 later…. 

In the meantime, I would just like to say that I really appreciate the birthday well-wishes that my friends and family sent today.  I know it's a really brutal time for many of you and I really wish everyone the very best too.

Feeling love and gratitude like never before.

Okay, I must go. Sorry for being anti-social.  I feel suddenly compelled to engage in some serious window washing right now and I also need to forward a hilarious Paddy Raff video I just received, to my entire list of contacts (otherwise the cops might arrest me for violating the new laws around social distancing and self isolation) 

Stay Safe, Stay at Home.  

M.A.

I Got The Keys.. I Got the Secret

My Blacks Road home 2018

Mid-Life Crisis Part 2

In the second edition in my Mid-Life Crisis series I reflect on finally succumbing to the capitalist ideal of purchasing my first home.            

I’m getting older. Back in the day I would have happily travelled the world with but a fistful of dollars and a pocket full of dreams. These days I’m stockpiling endless supplies of southern Dairy Milk, Tayto cheese and onion crisps and red diesel for a no-deal Brexit, being genuinely terrified of identity theft and riding the Gilder Bus from West to East Belfast ‘just for fun’.

During my 20s I was European to the core, renting a home or taking a lover when the opportunity presented itself, constantly surrounding myself by fine wines and magnificent art from the renaissance period. Now on the cusp of middle age, my life is characterised by true crime podcasts, the Saturday afternoon crossword and attempting to replicate a Great British Bake Off technical challenge before promptly chucking it in the bin. I’m thinking something is missing. Just as I am applying my daily dosage of Olay anti-aging cream on one late summer's day, it hits me like a Puntastic tonne of bricks…. I will buy a house…

I consider having my pinky toe amputated and re-attached as part of a biokinetic clinical trial to fund the deposit, but I avoid this by abstaining from expense gins at the Grand Central Hotel for a week. With the deposit secure, I focus on one particular house on the Blacks Road in Belfast, just a two minute walk or sixty second sprint from a well-stocked off licence,  It's all about location. 

On the same day as Mark Carney, Governor of the Bank of England, warns that a no-deal Brexit could crash the housing market, I make an offer for the Blacks Road residence or what we adults commonly refer to as ‘property'. Lol, screw it, I like living on the edge.  A three day bidding war ensues, but I pull through with half my sanity intact.

I am obsessing now.  I continuously talk to friends about fixed-rate mortgages, product fees, conveyancing, curb appeal and interior design.  I’m 100% positive they find it riveting. At certain times I nervously wonder if the survey and searches have overlooked some crucial information about the house; a few dead bodies under the floorboards, a tarantula's nest in the attic or compelling evidence of paranormal activity, that type of thing…. But when I’m feeling optimistic I imagine myself like a flat-stomached Miley Cyrus in her Wrecking Ball video, tearing down walls with a sledgehammer to make way for an open-plan kitchen.  

Suddenly, from not being remotely materialistic, I want it all; a wine cellar, a secret passageway from the ballroom to the conservatory, a home cinema and gym, electronic gates, a butler called Jeeves and a 25 year old Venezuelan pool attendant named Alejandro. I dream about Fifty Shades of Grey before bed at night.  Paint colour that is; Polished Pebble Grey, Chic Shadowed Grey, Turtledove Grey, Feather Quill Grey... It's a minefield.  I soon realise however, that my budget for interior design, staffing and household appliances is somewhat limited, but I do manage to buy a brand new fridge magnet from the pound shop and a top-of-the-range non-stick frying pan from Lidl. But still. It is super exciting. 

Finally, after months of anticipation, I receive word that my final completion date will be Monday December 3rd.  I say 'final' because when one is attempting to purchase a new property, one is invariably provided with a series of pretend completion dates to prolong the drama of it all.  It's at bit like a Boyzone or Westlife farewell tour in this respect, you're just never quite sure when the excruciating pain will end.  Anyways, I have the keys in my hand now and they are beautiful.

One of the most satisfying things about Méabh's new manor house, is that it is officially located in the council district of Belfast.  For the past 8 years I have been residing on the wrong side of the Lisburn/Belfast boarder and I've felt like a deserter.

Belfast is my one true love.  Admittedly, it's deeply troubled and rough round the edges, but I fully appreciate the banter. I love having a cold drink beneath the sun at Cutters Wharf or enjoying a festive pint of the black stuff at Kelly Cellars.  I love Divis, Black Mountain and Cave Hill.  I love the Cathedral Quarter, the Gaeltacht Quarter, the Lagan Towpath and the International Wall of Freedom.  I love St George’s Market, Game of Thrones and the Ulster Museum and I love telling people to wind their neck in and then to shove it up their hole with a big jam roll whenever I feel like it.  I do have some reservations about Belfast's open door policy to culchie blow-ins from Derry and Tyrone, but as long as they keep supplying me with cheap car parts, I'm happy enough to tolerate their barbarism.  Anyway, I'm returning to Belfast, and to West Belfast no less.  And let me be clear... 'West is definitely best'.

Right I gotta go and get my eyebrows tinted.  It’s yet another indication of my Mid Life Crisis.  Big, dark and slug-like eyebrows are apparently the new norm and an essential part of healthy functioning modern day democracy.   Evidently, women just can’t be taken seriously without them. 

Thank you for listening. 

M.

Lough Derg - Mid Life Crisis Celebrations Part 1

Lough Derg's three day blend of barefoot prayer, fasting, vigil and awakeness has been described as the ironman of Christian Pilgrimages. In this first episode in my 'Mid-Life Crisis' series, I followed in the footsteps of my Celtic ancestors in a quest for a deep emotional clean, inner peace and spiritual healing.

I was attracted to Lough Derg because it plays an important role in ancient Celtic mythology.  In pre-Christian times the lake’s cave was considered to be an access point from the known world to the Otherworld, which later was interpreted by Christians as an entrance to purgatory.  It is also a deeply sacred place where druids came to learn their superpowers. Actually I’m pretty sure it was the inspiration for George Lucas’ Dagobah where Yoda taught a certain Luke Skywalker how to use the Jedi force.  Make this up I did…

Today the pilgrimage is run by the Catholic Church and you must expect a huge amount of Catholic prayer, ritual and ceremony into the bargain. 

Day 1

At 29 years of age, I am one of the youngest persons on this Island. Incidentally, I am almost certainly the best looking person on this Island, but that is neither here nor there.  You'll have to tune into Love Island for the sex and six packs unfortunately. This is more like Alcatraz without Capone or Shutter Island without Ruffalo & DiCaprio.  Well not quite, stick with me. 

We are permitted one 'meal' a day i.e. oatmeal biscuits, dry toast and black tea or coffee, which is pretty much my staple diet in the week preceding payday, so that aspect is doable for me.  The toughest part of the pilgrimage is actually staying awake for the 24 hour vigil, but in reality most people are continuously awake for around 35+ hours because they need to travel to the island on the first day and because the dormitories are only open for a very limited period of time each day to allow pilgrims to freshen-up.

We complete three stations before 9pm on the first day. In deep prayer we are expected to walk the pilgrim path, circle the Basilica and sacred stones a number of times before praying at the water’s edge and returning to the Basilica for more prayer.  Each station takes about one hour to complete.   I notice that I am the only pilgrim without rosary beads, but I do recite my own prayers for family and friends, and I do feel a genuine connection. 

There is a moment when I ask myself what Monty Python would make of a hundred Holy Joes (some of whom have nets over their heads to fight off the midges) circling a collection of stones in the grass for hours on end, but the moment passes and I realise I trust my clever Celtic ancestors.

The stations are followed by a 24 hour vigil which lasts from 10pm on the first day to 10pm on the second. During the vigil we complete yet more stations and attend a number of religious services through night and day.  As someone who does not subscribe to any one organised religious Church, this aspect is difficult for me, but it is not a deal breaker. 

In fact, I find my fellow pilgrims here extraordinarily friendly and extremely non-judgemental. I will make these three days about them.  They share stories easily about why they are here, whether it be love for a sick relative, mental health issues or to give thanks to God for the lives they have lived. A sense of common good is palpable.  It is in the small hours that I meet a gentleman called Val from County Meath. 

Val urges me to completely extinguish self-pity and guilt from my life and that this will set me free.  He implores me – whatever it is that has brought me here, to deal with it here and leave here on the island forever and don’t dare get back on the boat until I have dealt with my shit.  Val is one of the most compelling people I’ve ever met in my life and I will never forget him. 

Day 2

It can be hard to stay awake at mass at the best of times, but the 24 hour vigil is a real challenge.  I feel disconnected from many of the rituals such as the renewal of Baptismal Promises and the Way of the Cross service, but at times I find certain things relatable. Father Matthews Semba from Malawi delivers a heartfelt sermon on forgiveness and healing and I listen, and I don’t usually listen at Church.  In the morning I confess my sins to the Lough Derg Prior which begins with ‘Bless me Father, it has been 800 years since my last confession’.  Later that day I avail of free professional counselling service available on the Island – many, many pilgrims do, even if this is not something they would ordinarily entertain at home. I am hungry now.  The Lough Derg ‘meal’ is served around 1:30pm and I fantasise about breaking into the kitchen to look for some cheese and Branson pickle, but then I realise I’m too weak to overpower the staff and that I would require ammo and lots of it. 

Day 3

By the final day I have convinced myself I am so thin and so diminished that when I get home I will need to be put on an emergency chocolate drip for the next three months.  Together we complete our final station and then we prepare to leave the Island.  I am grateful of this experience and for having met all the inspiring people around me. 

Arriving back on the mainland I feel an overwhelming sense of relief that it’s over.  I realise that the future of the Lough Derg pilgrimage hangs in the balance as pilgrim numbers have consistently fallen year on year since the 1980s.  I think about all the women and men I met over the past few days who have completed this pilgrimage 20, 30 or 40 plus times, just like their parents did and their grandparents and great grandparents did before them.  I pay homage to my ancestors and I think that Ireland is the most beautiful place on earth.  I dedicate this experience to my late Grandmother Kathleen and Great Aunty and Godmother Betty who loved Donegal and loved Ireland even more than I do and to all my ancestors wherever they may be.

“Then I thought of the tribe whose dances never fail / For they keep dancing till they sight the deer.” Seamus Heaney, Station Island