Dingle Trip July 2008

It’s not often that we get a chance to escape the Australian winter and get back to a northern hemisphere summer, but July saw Orlando and me flying off to Europe to the wedding in France of our friends Ariane and Igor. To make the most of our time, Orlando headed back to his beloved hometown while I went to Ireland to catch up with family. The summer had been a changeable one so we were not expecting great weather. After a hectic weekend trying to keep up with my alcoholic brother and sister on the red wine front, Mum and I jumped into the car with Bernard’s children Ashling and Connor for a road trip to Dingle. I had not been to Dingle in about eleven years.

Strangely for this summer, as soon as I arrived in Dublin the weather changed and we had nothing but sunshine most days. This happens quite frequently: Mena went home a couple of years ago for Annette’s birthday in May, and ended up in a heat wave. And I have been pictured in these pages sunbathing on the Antrim coast in April.Late departing Dublin, we headed out the Limerick road, which is motorway as far as Portlaoise these days. When I worked in Cork twenty years ago the good road stopped in Newbridge and it was country roads the rest of the way. The original two-hour drive to Portlaoise was completed in just under an hour.

With my obsession with Irish ham at its zenith, the family had eaten half a pig the day before, and we had the leftovers with us for a picnic. Mountrath (Maighean Ratha – the fort in the bog) is almost exactly halfway to Limerick from Dublin, and we found a lovely picnic area beside the River Whitehorse and the imposing church of St. Fintan. We ate and drank; the kids played a game of football and checked out the playground while Mum and I rambled across a little footbridge to see the old church. They don’t make them like this anymore: high arches, imposing altar, plenty of God and gold on show. Peaceful, though.

Down through Munster we went, tripping past Limerick on the ring road like lightning, and stopping in Tralee for an ice cream. Blennerville’s windmill also warranted a stop: it is the biggest working windmill in the British Isles. During the Great Famine, the pier beside the Blennerville windmill was a major point of emigration for thousands of Kerry and Munster people. Thousands of people were carried on “coffin ships” to the east cost of the USA and Canada. Many did not survive the journey. Now, the coast of Tralee Bay boasts only beautiful views and seafood restaurants to serve the twenty-first tastes of sophisticated residents and tourists. Who’d have thought.

By late afternoon we were approaching Dingle via the Connor Pass – well, what other route do you take if Connor is in the car? This was the only patch of bad weather we encountered. The mists and clouds descended in true Kerry fashion, and we could hardly see the amazing view back west across Brandon Bay.

We scrambled on rocks above a small waterfall, saw a heart-shaped kettle lake and a couple of text-book corrie lakes almost hidden on the side of the valley. Through the thickening fog we saw some old ruins, of which later we were told the legend.

Apparently these had originally been the simple farm buildings of the O’Donnell Brothers, who had travelled south in 1601, like many Ulstermen, to join the Siege of Kinsale. They somehow decided to farm rather than fight, settled in the valley and led a quiet life. Until one of them killed the other with a shovel!

Our B&B was simple but welcoming. Tom (the archaeologist who told us the above story) was a little hesitant but a lovely man, always ready with local information or help with our Irish vocabulary. I insisted that we all spoke as much Irish as possible as soon as we passed the Gaeltacht sign, and we didn’t do too badly.

We had dinner in John Benny Moriarty’s, a famous bar on the harbour front. John Benny is a well-known local accordion player, and his wife a renowned singer. The bar food was simple but delicious, and the live music when it started was excellent.

We wandered down to the pier after dinner, taking photos at 10.30pm in broad daylight. Love it.

Next morning I had a date with the local scuba diving shop, so I was up and out by nine. Eric runs a friendly dive shop, helped by two English girls. I kitted myself out and chatted to the other divers. Padraig was a young local lad who had just qualified as a teacher, and was off bungee jumping the following week.

May (second from right) was a Cork woman about my own age, who had learned to dive with her three children the previous year, and they were all there for the dive: Matthew who was working as an intern in the shop, Caoimhe, a chatty young teenage girl, and Ruairi, the youngest at twelve. What a great thing to do as a family. Two of Eric’s friends from Belgium made up the boatload.

We hopped in the rubber dinghy and set off at alarming speed out of the harbour and into the bay. I was sat up the bow, hanging on for dear life like it was an episode of Miami Vice. It was sensational. We sped along the rugged coastline as if on a roller-coaster for what seems like ages until we stopped at a small headland called Parkmore Point. We broke up into smaller groups and backflipped into the water.Sadly, visibility was not great, but I had an enjoyable dive with Padraig and Sophie our dive master. No great marine life to speak of, but a good wall and lots of sea grasses. And after all my worry about the cold, I was a lot warmer in my double wetsuit than I had been in the dry suit in Melbourne!

The second dive was back in Dingle Harbour itself, an incredibly shallow dive but worth it nonetheless. We anchored up and the first person to backflip in simply stood up to talk to us – we were in about five feet of water. Then almost immediately, Fungie, the local dolphin, arched up out of the water not twenty feet away. We all squealed with delight, and those in the water tried snorkelling to catch a better glimpse.I don’t think I could have done a better dive in such shallow waters. The official name for the area was the Gravelly, but it was better known locally as Thornback Alley. I soon found out why. I must have seen over fifty thornback ray on that dive. They were simply everywhere – floating past one minute, rising suddenly out of the sand below you the next. They were all sizes, up to about a metre wingspan, with the long, thorny tail that gives them their name. Between that and the forest of seagrass we found ourselves in, it was one of the most fun dives I have ever done.Turns out that despite the overcast day, I got seriously sunburnt on my face! So much for Australian education on the dangers of the sun.

Back at shore I was so uplifted and excited by my dives. The rest of the family was at the harbour to welcome us home, and as soon as the paperwork and chores were done we headed off to explore the rest of the peninsula. By this time the sun was out and it was a really lovely day.
We meandered along, down to Ventry Harbour where a small caravan park seemed an idyllic place for summer holiday – as long as the weather was good!

Out further along the coast road, every turn in the road gave us another spectacular view. Slea Head, one of the most western points in Ireland, presented a panoramic view of the Blasket Islands, with a glimpse of the craggy Skelligs away on the horizon. Further along towards Dunquin, the dry stone walls and tiny houses spoke of earlier, poorer, simpler days. And still the sun shone.

A pilgrimage to Louis Mulcahy’s pottery shop was a must. Years ago as a young engineer I visited Louis with a colleague: his kilns used a lot of our gas. I was struck by his unique style even then, and bought myself a small vase. We wandered around the shop twenty years later, Mum and I trying in vain not to buy any jugs...

I gave in, buying a beautiful little white jug in Louis’ new Japanese-influenced style, and Mum bought me a lovely little bowl to match. I was happy. Later in town I bought a beautiful orange-red shawl from his weaver wife, Lisbeth.

Stopping off in Tig Áine, a quaint café near Ballyferriter on the Atlantic coast, we watched as the sea mists rolled in and just as quickly disappeared. It seemed the weather was going to last.
Back across the peninsula on the Bothar Fada, the rear-view mirror now offering spectacular Atlantic views, it was hard not to stop every few hundred yards to take another look. Truly, this country (and I know I am biased) is one of the most beautiful in the world, and even more so when the sun shines.





Dinner this evening was further along the harbour-side, in Paudie’s Bar. Again, the place was thronged with locals and visitors alike. Again, the food was fresh, simple and delicious. My mackerel was to die for. I ate slowly. Again, the live music when it started, was skilled, casual and entertaining. Makes you proud to be Irish.

Next morning the day was even more sunny and warm than before. We took another trip around the peninsula, anti-clockwise this time to pick up Ashling’s sweater she’d left in the café. If it were possible, the views were even more spectacular, the waters bluer, the countryside more rugged. We drove slowly, savouring our last hours in Kerry.

Back through Anascaul along the coast of Dingle Bay this time, we could not help but stop at the spectacular Inch Strand (what is the difference between a strand and a beach? The Irish would tend to use the former).

Three miles long, this beach was used for the filming of “Ryan’s Daughter” years ago. Now, in summer, it is a holiday place, with surfing lessons, cars on the beach, lifeguards perched ridiculously far from the water’s edge, kids in wetsuits, and a little café you can sit outside and watch it all happen.

Ashling and Connor had to go in for a swim. Mum and I ate lunch and watched them from afar. It was after three o’clock. It was a sunny 26C - a rarity in Ireland. It would take seven hours to get home. I needed to be up at four in the morning for my flight to Paris. Do I leave them in the water on the one tropical summer’s day of the year, or do I cut the day short and get us back on the road again? .... No contest. We sat back, relaxed and didn’t leave till after four.

Almost back in Limerick I was flagging. We had just spent half an hour trying to find Matrix Castle (Connor reckoned it was an interesting name) to no avail. I spied a sign for Adare, and turned into Adare Castle instead. At least we could see inside this castle. The gateman let us in and we parked outside one of the most spectacular buildings in Ireland.

Built in the 1830s, Adare Manor has 53 chimneys, 75 fireplaces, a minstrel’s gallery inspired by the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, 850 acres of garden, one 350-year-old cedar of Lebanon… and a championship golf course on the other side of the river.

We sat in the lounge overlooking the manicured gardens, drinking coffee while Ashling and Connor explored. The bar menu was pretty good value – actually not much more expensive than the little beach café we’d eaten at on Inch strand. We will definitely come back another day for high tea, which looks particularly appetising.

Stopping off in Portlaoise for a late dinner, it was almost midnight when we finally got back to Dublin. A pit stop for me: the children helped me unpack and re-pack for the trip to France next morning, before I fell into bed for the three hours sleep I hoped would revive me for a few more hectic days ahead.

More Sad Times

This past week has been a sad time for Orlando. As many of you know, his dear mum passed away peacefully on Friday 10 November. He is in London right now for the funeral, and I am holding the fort here at home.

If you see him, give him a hug from me.

Billy Joel

Billy Joel came to town at the weekend, and Eileen, Kelvin, Mena and I went along (you didn't think Orlando came with us, did you?).

The Rod Laver Arena was full: fifteen thousand fans, some of whom have been coming to see Billy Joel perform here for over thirty years.

The concert was fantastic. From the moment the grand piano rose from the belly of the stage he had our complete attention. He played for a solid two hours, hit after hit, jumping from the nineties to the seventies and back again.

He engaged with the people in the "bad" seats behind him, and those in the cheap seats right at the back of the auditorium. He gave the audience the choice of what he would play next.

But most of all he played and sang and entertained. His voice was strong, his backing group awesome, and the light display theatrical. Highlights for me included Allentown, My Life and Movin' Out. He didn't get to play some of my other favourites, but he had so much to choose from.

In a surprise performance, the lead singer of AC/DC joined him on stage (introduced as a guitar roadie getting his first break) and belted out Highway to Hell. The Aussie crowd bellowed its appreciation as Joel took his guitar to the back platform of the stage and did his best impersonation of Angus Young, AC/DC's school-boy lead guitarist.

New York State of Mind was a poignant but powerful memory of the time he performed that song with the helmet of a fallen firefighter on his piano, days after the World Trade Centre attacks.

For me, the pinnacle had to be his final encore - the song we'd been waiting for all night. As he placed the harmonica holder over his head the crowd cheered in anticipation, and the first notes of Piano Man were heard. Fifteen thousand fans sang quietly along with him. word perfect through the first verse. It was just a man and his piano, and he held us all in the palm of his hand.

Bollywood Movie Stars Party

It was the party of the year (well, in my diary it was the only party in the year). A Bollywood Movie Stars bash to celebrate my 40th birthday: it doesn’t get any better than this.

Twenty or so of my family and closest friends gathered on 4th November dressed in what can only be described as Bollywood-tastic outfits to dance the night away.

Eileen and Kelvin won the Most Fabulous Outfits award with their stunning outfits from Little India in Dandenong.

My family made a great effort too: Lee looked sophisticated and graceful in a black and silver sari, and Mena had more Bollywood Bling than the rest of us put together.

Orlando looked rugged and handsome in his all-black kurta pajama, and has made such a fuss of me throughout all my birthday celebrations. He is a superstar.

Photo Gallery

Other highlights of the evening included:

Paul Curran as a Bollywood Bad Guy, complete with maximum eyeliner, dark glasses and shark’s tooth medallion

Damien’s Derby Day extreme facial sunburn including a rather fetching white band where his sunglasses had been (it turns out some people thought he'd made himself up to look like that)

The Irish contingent doing the entire (it seemed) Riverdance, then Mena and Mairead’s solo reel, finished by Mena, Mairead, Eileen and Carmel in full Indian regalia doing a full set of the Walls of Limerick

Mena leading the soca dancing into the wee hours (“Follow me – I’m the leader of the parade!”) ("This is the music of my soul!")

Sam’s amazing bum-wiggling dance which reduced all women present to tears

Sam and Paul's talented dance interpretation of the song "A-E-I-O-U" by Freeez: popular consensus is that Paul's "E" was particularly impressive and rendered all audience members helpless with laughter

The main conversation in the back yard about which song you want played as the last song at your funeral (and if you didn't make a choice it was going to be November Rain by Guns N Roses)

Kelvin dancing, full stop

Kelvin almost being tempted to sip some rum instead of red wine

Mena at 5am having a smoke: "I am the oldest one here, the birds are singing and I am the last one partying"

Mena about the Irish dancing - "You are all doing it wrong, here let me show you"

Eileen about the Irish dancing - "You are all doing it wrong, here let me show you"

Lee talking to Orlando - "Now let me guess which food you put out: the cake and the popcorn"

Lee - "The thing I like about this sari is that I can breathe out and it hides my belly"

Carmel - "The thing I like about this sari is that I can breathe out and it hides my belly"

Orlando - "I am going over there to act as a buffer between Sam and the TV"

Paul's AEIOU - " I am not happy with my 'E' I have to rethink this"

Sam about raising children "I have a secret weapon, it is called music"

Mairead talking about cooking for the party - "...So I said to myself, I will show him, I will make the Tandoori chicken red..."

Paul takes off his sunglasses "I thought it was a bit dark in here, and I could not work it out..."

Sam dancing with Carmel - "Grab me from behind"

Paul talks to Orlando about dancing with Sam's wife -"I don't think it is your hands that he is worried about"

Orlando teaching Sam and Amanda soca - "Get in closer, don't be shy, you are married"

Mena (a number of times in the evening) - "I'm back!!!"

Mena (a number of times in the evening) - "Why is it that every time I go to the toilet, all I can hear is people calling 'Where's Mena?'"

The delicious food that everybody brought

Mairead and Eileen trying to do their much-awaited Party Piece, drunk, unprepared, and with at least one Achilles tendon injury; but their smiles never faltered: divas to the last

Paul and Carmel vainly trying to teach Sam and Amanda to twirl properly like Irish dancers

Thanks to all my friends for making such a huge effort on the night. Nobody knew more than one or two other people but you'd never have known it - the noise of the conversation was deafening and the dancing spirited to say the least. Thanks for all my beautiful cards and gifts too - it was the most special birthday for me and I am delighted you could share it!

Overworked

After almost six months of stretching my workdays out at times, things just got interesting. I've been co-opted onto a suite of projects for the Victorian Air Ambulance wing which we also manage. My contract has been extended for a year, and I shall henceforth by known as Project Manager - Major Projects (there's posh). So I've experienced a few weeks of 10-hour days and frantic deadlines, plus got to work with a few great new people. It's all good.

Orlando meanwhile spends most of his time interstate, leaving me alone in a huge bed at night listening to our wooden house rattling and creaking. I am pretty used to it now but it's weird to be separated so much. We will take the opportunity of his full three weeks in Brisbane in August, and I will fly up to join him for the weekend.

We had a night at the opera last weekend: Don Giovanni in the wonderfully old-fashioned venerable Athenaeum Theatre in the city. There was everything from tuxedos and cocktail dresses to people in tracksuit bottoms, but the interval sparkling wine was chilled and you could take your drink back to your seat. Marvellous.

Meanwhile most of you will know by now that the flights are booked and I shall be back in the northern hemisphere in October. I am looking forward to a couple of weeks with the family, my mum's 80th birthday, and a couple of days catching up with the London crowd. Then it's off to the Whitsundays, Australia's answer to the Greek Islands: an archipelago of white-sand beaches in the tropics off Queensland, right beside the Great Barrier Reef. The plan is to celebrate my 40th birthday with some scuba diving and magnificent sunsets. What's not to like?

Melbourne Food & Wine Show

Mena and I spent an extremely enjoyable and wine-sozzled day at the Good Food & Wine Show on Saturday.

We pushed through the thronged aisles, sampling all Australia has to offer in terms of gourmet food: Indian spices, seafood pates, jams and preserves, flavoured olive oils, teas and coffees.

The first cookery demonstration we sat through was wonderful. We learned how to make a winter soup and a delicious home-made rocket pesto. An actual member of the McGuigan family talked us through wine matching and handed out samples to taste. We could have gone home then and felt we'd got our money's worth.

The second demonstration was given by Ben O'Donoghue, an Aussie celebrity chef, but he didn't teach us as much as the previous food editor lady. We cut our losses and headed for the wine tasting.

Two hours and dozens of tastings later, we had made lots of new winery friends and pretended to be able to taste the difference between a pinot noir and a sangiovese. I got lost on the way to the loo and went missing for half an hour. Mena opened her purse next morning and found six comedy store tickets where her cash had been. We stood Orlando up in the casino afterwards: he finally found us in a food court unable to remember how we'd arrived there, and still managed to stay civil to us.

Next year I will do three things differently:

1. I will bring an old lady's shopping trolley on wheels to save my poor shoulders from all those freebies;
2. I will have a decent lunch before starting the wine tasting section of the day;
3. I will not stand Orlando up afterwards, but respect his kind offer of a lift home and try not to be a disastrous drunk!

Sydney Winter Weekend

Australians are fond of looking down their noses on people who choose to settle in Victoria. They smugly announce to us newcomers that Melbourne is the only place in Australia where you actually need an overcoat.

We have just spent a winter weekend in Sydney, and I am here to tell you that this assertion is wrong. Incorrect. Mistaken. False. Living anywhere where a winter weekend in Sydney is even possible is fabulous: we flew in on Friday night in time to catch a great late seafood supper in Chinatown, and spent the next 48 hours enjoying Sydney’s finest (of which more later). But hell, it was cold. Maximum 14C, easily down to 6-7C with wind chill. We brought overcoats, hats, gloves, scarves, and wore them all.

The Vibe Hotel was possibly a booking I made about 15 years too late. A lovely hotel, with funky lilac and black walls, kooky white and spangly lanterns and mirrors above the bed, we were approximately a decade older than the mean resident age. But the location was excellent, somewhere in between Chinatown and the main shopping area.

Sydney is very different to Melbourne. It is more sprawling, more littered, more hectic at night, more bustling by day. It feels like a city. We like it. On a Friday night, Golden Century Seafood Restaurant was a vast Chinese restaurant full of weekend tourists (us), Japanese tourists, local chefs just clocked off, after-work gangs celebrating whatever. The menu was lengthy; the fish tanks almost overflowed with lobster, crayfish, ocean trout, giant crabs, snapper, anything that swam. Waiters caught the fish in nets, weighted them on electronic scales and presented them to the table before whisking them off to the kitchens to be cooked. It is said that the best chefs in Sydney will be found here after hours, taking advantage of the late opening hours and the amazing food.

Saturday morning was spent lying in after a post-supper bottle of champagne. Brunch was a full Irish breakfast in a well-known Irish hotel, the Mercantile, in the Rocks area near the harbour. The rain was beginning to settle in for a “whole wet day” as my mum would say, but we were prepared and didn’t care. The market stalls outside sold chilli chocolate bars and Ned Kelly replica armour (WHO? Who would buy one?) and the restaurants overlooking the Harbour Bridge slowly filled with tourists and local wedding functions.

Even in the persistent drizzle the harbour is spectacular, the bridge and the Opera House eclipsing the grey skies above. We jumped on a local ferry to Manly, a seaside town on the ocean side of the harbour, and walked through the touristy shopping area to Manly Beach, a Pacific Ocean jewel less than half an hour from Sydney city centre. We strolled along, watching a surfing competition and counting the joggers, surfers, walkers and other sundry Sydney-siders intent on keeping their bodies fit throughout the winter months.

We made the trip back as night fell – after all, it is almost mid-winter here in the southern hemisphere. We travelled west past the Sydney Harbour bays – Watson’s Bay, Chowder Bay, Rose Bay, Double Bay. The city skyscrapers were silhouetted against the darkening sky as we passed Bradley’s Head to the north. As we curved towards Fort Denison the view was breathtaking: The Sydney Opera House was lit up against the city skyline, with the unmistakable arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge picked out by street lights and traffic.


I stood outside in the wind and biting rain, taking in the view as the ferry brought us closer to one of the most beautiful city harbours in the world. The Opera House changed shape, its sails shining white in the almost-full moon as we swung round into Circular Quay. The bridge loomed above us, the bright lights of Luna Park sparkling in its shadow on the Kirribilli side. The cold took my breath away and the rain soaked my sensible boat and hat, but my weekend was complete: Sydney Harbour is unforgettable in any weather.



http://www.sydneyferries.info/attractions/index.php

Walking close to the Opera House after our ferry ride, we watched some Beautiful People congregating at Guillaume at Bennelong, one of the best restaurants in Australia - suitably positioned in the Opera House complex. One day, I promised Orlando, we will come for dinner there.

http://www.guillaumeatbennelong.com.au/index.html

A cocktail or two at the Opera Bar made a suitable end to our Harbour Cruise.

http://www.operabar.com.au/htmlfiles/index.html

Sunday was even colder, as we met some London friends for brunch at the Bathers’ Pavilion in Balmoral, on the northern coast of Sydney Harbour.

http://www.batherspavilion.com.au/1.html

Later, our hosts drove us to the North Head to witness a spectacular view of the city and the harbour entrance, as the winter winds whipped up an ocean swell which battered the cliffs on the Pacific side of the heads. It was a view we would never have managed to see ourselves, and despite the biting cold it was a fitting end to our winter weekend.

Homesick

It's been a weird week. The work-life balance seems a lot lighter on both sides of the scales. I miss my friends and family, and work is frustrating to say the least. The novelty of living in a new country has more than worn off, and it feels like most of what I care most about in life is half a world away. However, we continue to persevere, and Orlando has been great about keeping my spirits up.

We spent an enjoyable winter afternoon yesterday wandering down Chapel Street (a fashionable shopping area east of the city centre), people-watching from our vantage point at the laminated table of a tiny Greek cafe where we feasted on hearty vegetable soup, home-made cakes and good coffee.

Later, after the cinema, we ate in a long-established "cheap eats" place called Tusk which has been around for years (as evidenced by the genuine 1970s decor including a huge palm-trees-at-sunset mural). Maybe life here isn't so bad after all.

Family Birthdays 2

The Doyle birthday season continues, with Annette (the glamorous sister) celebrating her 50th birthday last week. I missed the party and a weekend of celebrations (that's what jobhunting will cost you) but I'm assured the last party-goer departed at 9am the following morning.






Annette is the person who introduced me to India eight years ago, and has strong links with the country herself. Here she is with little Aishwaria, the youngest addition to a family Annette has been friends with for more than 20 years. She visits the family every time she travels to India (which is twice a year) and she is like the eldest sister. She doesn't ever talk about the assistance she has given this family over the years, such as paying for a well to be dug to irrigate their farm, and contributing to the education fees of most of the family. Her latest idea is to help buy a tractor for the family's village - any ideas, anyone?



However Annette is not just a phianthropist and has been known to be a bit of a party animal too. Here she is after a long night partying in Essex (where else), having convinced the local police to give her and her mates a lift home when they locked the keys in the car. Charming.

One Year On

It is hard to believe that a whole year has gone by since he left. The trip had been a last-minute decision, and in the end we only saw each other for a few hours. Then I kissed him and told him I loved him, and walked out the door. It was the last time I saw him.

I had seen relationships end before, and had experienced heartbreak. This was no different: the chasm hurt like a physical wound. I sat and sobbed to my friends on the phone, bewildered by my abandonment. Despite the anguish it caused me, I continued to talk incessantly about him – even his presence in a conversation was better than nothing. The feeling of closeness I experienced when talking about him almost dulled the pain of losing him, if only for a few minutes.

One thing was different though. When my heart had been broken in the past, my feelings of rejection were difficult to separate from the hurt of the relationship ending. This time all I had to contend with was the knowledge that I would never see him again: I know he loved me. He told me enough times, and more than that, for almost 40 years he demonstrated it in everything he did. He was my father and he loved me. I was his daughter. Nobody could change that.

One year on, on the other side of the planet, I sit with a glass of red wine by the fire, candles glowing in the silence of the evening. This day last year, this very minute, I sat by his bed and watched him drift in and out of sleep. Now he is gone. The treasure of those last hours fills my memories, and the reliving of that night makes me feel close to him still. It is worth the pain I feel to recall the look on his face when he woke in his hospital bed to see me arriving with my little suitcase on wheels, a smile of joy for me despite his suffering. “Ah, Maiready!” He was the only one who ever called me that.

I remember that I went back one last time to kiss him goodnight again, to tell him I loved him again. I didn’t know then that it would be the last time, but it gives me comfort to think back on that impulse now. Nothing was left unsaid.

Today is no different than any other day really. He cannot be more in my thoughts than he has been every day in the past year. I could not miss him more than I have missed him since that day. But still I sit and relive the events of a year ago. It is my way of honouring him I suppose: no church visits for me, no grave to stand beside. For a short time, my sorrow will again be eclipsed by my bittersweet memory of the last time I saw his face. He was my father. I am his daughter and I love him.

2006 Woman of the Year

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the maireaddoyle.com Woman of the Year - my mother, Margaret Doyle.


Mum has had a long and busy life. Born in Palmerstown (county Dublin as she will always remind us), she lived her early life with her mother and three sisters in a white-washed cottage. Her father died when she was a baby, and my grandmother (Mama) supported her family by working as a seamstress in the Stewarts Hospital nearby.


With a seamstress mother, my mum and the other Donoghue girls were always very well dressed. Mum would boast that she would only need to show Mama a picture of a frock she wanted, and it would be reproduced perfectly.






Mum was also a great dancer, and she went to dances every week with her friends and sisters, often cycling as far away as Leixlip or further to go to the best places. It was at a dance she met my dad (a previous Man of the Year of course!) and they married in 1953. And yes, Mama made the wedding gown.












It was a happy marriage although they both readily admit there were some hard times too. But the annual dinner dance was always something to look forward to, with the men in their best suits and the women dressed in Ginger Rogers-style frocks (my parents are second couple from the right).








Whilst raising four children, she also worked in the local school from when I was about a year old to December 2005 believe it or not - retiring finally, and with a huge party, at age 79. Her sister, my auntie Molly, also worked with her there, and they were very close as a result (this is Mum and Molly at a family wedding in 1973 - great outfits!).Up until her retirement she regularly cycled to the school across the fields at the back of our house, which is why she has better legs than any of her daughters!












My mother has always been a stylish woman, although like myself she doesn't often look well in a hat (or welding helmet as on this occasion).









However this has not stopped her flaunting new creations whenever possible (this is her looking suitably edgy in Camden Market).



But no matter what she wore, my Dad always thought she was gorgeous.

And to confirm their devotion to one another, a huge party was held in celebration of their 50th wedding anniversary in August 2003.

We all inherited our love of food from my mother - a woman who has quoted "reading menus" as one of her pastimes (seen here checking out local cuisine in Cornwall).

But this is the only documented occurence of her buying a drink in a pub.

It was a difficult year or so for my mum: we lost her sister Molly in September 2004, then her best friend and longtime neighbour Marie Kenny in April 2005, just four weeks before my dad died. But, as somebody remarked around that time, she is one classy lady, and she went through those hard weeks and months with determination and dignity.

She has always been welcoming to her prodigal daughters (me and Mena) when we visit, and no matter how far away she is, she is always on the end of the phone if we want to talk to her.

But she relies very much on Annette, who lives in Dublin, and has spent a lot of time with her since Dad died.

However we daughters know we can never hold a candle to her beloved Son Boy - the only son of an Irish woman is hard to beat!

The family visited me in London before we left, and she showed her adventurous side by visiting (and cleaning her plate in) a Chinatown restaurant with her extended family. And she walked rings around her children and grandchildren too!

We are all really proud to have her as a mother, a grandmother, and a mother-in-law. I won't tell her age as she would be mad, but I think all would agree she looks great still. And don't I look just like her?!!!

Life and Death

My wonderful father, Ben Doyle, died on 7 May 2005. He had been treated for cancer in the last six months, but towards the end his heart gave out and he passed away quickly.

I was so lucky to see him the evening before he died, as I had come over for the weekend to celebrate my nephew Connor’s birthday. So I got to kiss him goodnight only hours before he passed away.Nothing prepares you for hearing the words that somebody close to you has died, but I was amazed to discover how many reserves of courage we all have inside us.

My mother was a superstar. She bore the loss of her husband of 51 years with grace and dignity, and gave me even more to feel proud of. Friends and the wider family came out of nowhere to support us, feed us, comfort us while we cried and share with us when we laughed (and we did, even in the midst of the sorrow).

Over 250 people came to pay tribute to Daddy on the two days of the funeral. As we sat in the front pew of the church on the Tuesday night a seemingly never-ending line of people filed past us, each shaking every family member’s hand, or hugging us if we knew them well. Many didn’t know what to say. Some were crying themselves. But all looked us in the eye, touched our hands and told us in words or in gestures that they shared our sorrow.

Now I understand why it is important to pay your respects like that. In the past I never quite knew whether to approach a family where, for example, I only knew one person. But we had groups of people I had never met before, explaining who they were (colleagues of my brother, co-workers of my mum, people who played bowls with my dad) and every single person meant so much to each of us. The family drew a lot of strength from these people who came to mourn with us.

Similarly, others who could not be with us in person sent messages in many ways. Some called on the phone. Neighbours stopped us on the street. Sympathy cards and mass cards came by hand or by post by the dozen – we received over 150 cards from all over the world. We got emails and even text messages. Every one of the words we heard or read gave us strength and comfort.

Some people didn’t know what to say; we got a lot of standard lines like “I am sorry for your troubles” and “our thoughts and prayers are with you” and “my condolences” and simply “I don’t know what to say”. One neighbour, an old sparring partner of my dad’s, stopped me on the street to shake my hand and offer his sympathies but couldn’t say a word to me as he was crying silently as he stood there.

None of it mattered – all that mattered was that another human being was trying to connect with us, to say that they loved our dad, to say that they were sorry for our sadness, to sympathise and to let us know we are not alone. We remember every face in that crowd of people who came to the church. We pored over every word and every picture in the cards we received. I saved every email and even text message I got. It all mattered so very much to us.

If you are ever concerned about doing the right thing in a situation like this, the right thing to do is to make contact in some way and say you are thinking of the person who has been bereaved. Don’t worry if you don’t know what to say.

Don’t worry if you don’t think you can call - you could send a card or email or even a quick text message. It’s not impersonal at all – in fact it was good have the support coming through in lots of different ways.

For example, sometimes I couldn’t bear to talk either but a quick one-line text from an old mate or work colleague just asking “How are you doing?” or “I am thinking of you” at the strangest times of day gave me a little more strength to get through. Believe me when I say you will never say the wrong thing. All that will be remembered is that you cared enough to make contact.

I wouldn’t recommend this death business to anyone. Now, more than ever, I understand how it feels to have my heart broken. But death is a part of life and I was amazed to discover I had the strength and resilience to survive it.

If you get one message from my experiences, though, it is this: go now and tell the people closest to you that you love them. I am so very fortunate to know that my father heard those words from me before he died. Of course he know I loved him, but it is really comforting for me to know that I told him, many times over, while he was still with me. He was the most wonderful Dad in the world. I miss him.

2005 Annual Awards

Book of the Year (non-fiction)
Between You and I: a little book of bad English - James Cochrane
“A cool, disdainfully precise A-Z of linguistic misuse”.
The absolute bible for those of us who abhor misplaced apostrophes, split infinitives and the use of “criteris” as a singular noun. Warning – you will find yourself shouting at this book joyfully as you realise what a kindred spirit the writer is – even if you are on the Tube.

Book of the Year (fiction)
The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

On her way home from school, 14-year-old Susie Salmon is lured into a cornfield and brutally raped and murdered, the latest victim of a serial killer. The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold's haunting and heartbreaking debut novel, unfolds from heaven, where "life is a perpetual yesterday" and where Susie narrates and keeps watch over her grieving family and friends, as well as her brazen killer and the sad detective working on her case. A moving exploration of loss, mourning and the after-life, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Song of the Year – Joint Award!
Hey Ya – Outkast (from Speakerboxxxx/The Love Below album)

I first heard this song when the video came on TV one night. I was so engrossed in the video, the song went right over my head. But it got played every hour on the radio in Australia when we were there for Christmas. My best memory is trying to dance to this tune cramped in the back seat of my sister’s car coming home one night in the scorching heat of Christmas Week. It’s so infectious, every time I hear it I still want to hand-jive!

Your Game – Will Young (from Friday’s Child album)

My mate Sue said she loved Will Young. I didn’t get it myself, until I heard this song. We spent a cold winter redecorating Orlando’s flat and listening to Kiss (the only radio station we could get for some reason). Again, this song was played hourly but it didn’t matter – I couldn’t get enough of it! I am not sure if it the gospel backing group or the funky music or Will’s own sweet voice, but this song uplifts me every time I hear it! Even if it is about walking away from somebody who hurt him…

Album of the Year
Speakerboxxxx/The Love Below – Outkast

What else could I have chosen? It gave us two out of my Top 3 songs of the year – Hey Ya (see above) and I Like The Way You Move. It was a weird choice for me but I was not disappointed by either album (there are two distinct albums in this, one by Andre 2000 and one by Big Boi). Lyrics are intelligent and funny. I love it!

Restaurant of the Year
La Guarida, Havana, Cuba

Up three long flights of poorly lighted stairs in an old beauty of a building is one of the most famous Havana’s paladars - La Guarida. It owes its renown in equal parts to the wonderful ambience, dependable cuisine, and the starring role it played in several scenes in the Cuban blockbuster film Fresa y Chocolate. The three small rooms of this converted apartment are decorated ornately with huge chandeliers and walls crowded with art. Signed celebrity photos shows you just what a desirable destination it is.

The food is good but not spectacular – La Guarida is more about the ambience, the location, the style and 1920s sophistication of such a place in Castros’ Cuba. Starters include gazpacho, rabbit lasagne, or their signature appetizer of eggplant caviar. Main courses are plentiful, with a good selection of fish, lamb, pork, chicken or rabbit, but you won’t find any beef as only government-owned establishments can serve it!Reservations are necessary as this tiny place gets booked out quickly.Go there!

Movie of the Year
Hero

Already the single most pirated movie of all time, this mythical story is a feast for the eyes and a wonderful concept. A tale of kings, assassins and heros, the tale is told from four different perspectives. Each perspective is depicted in a different dominant colour – white, red, blue, black and green. As the movie progresses you can’t help but analyse each story to decide which one you think is true. Whether you like martial arts movies or not this movie is such a visual spectacular it’s a must-see!

Move Scene of the Year
Will Smith in the shower – I, Robot

Well, let’s face it. Why would you go to the trouble of having your own website and website awards if you can’t completely manipulate both to include your own few moments of 2004 cinematic heaven!!!Mmmm Will Smith in the shower. We like a man who takes his nude scenes seriously enough to work for a body like that.If only I could have found a decent still photo to include here, but sadly nothing is available online. We will all have to wait for the DVD to come out, and then revel in how magnificent the pause button works…

Website of the Year – Joint Award
These two great sites are my current favourites.

www.bookcrossing.comConceived by software developer Ron Hornbaker, this great site encourages everyone to dust off those books you have on your shelves and release them into the wild for someone else to find and read. Each book released is logged on the website so that you can see how far they travel. Furthest travelled so far is a French book of poetry which has been found and passed on 95 times! Log on and perform a Random Act of BookCrossing Kindness (RABCK) today!

www.wearewhatwedo.org
Ever felt a quiver of social responsibility in the depth of your hedonistic soul, but was too damn lazy to do anything about it? Then this website is for you! Click on the link and find 50 quick and easy things to do. Most cost nothing, most take very little time, all make you feel great afterwards! I bet you will be surprised how many of these 50 things you do already – so think about one more you can add to your altruistic list!

Man of the Year
My Dad

Who else could I have picked but the man who has been there from the start?
Follow this link to find out why Ben Doyle Senior is my Man of the Year!