My ‘unpublished’ doctoral dissertation, now available on Google Books – free of charge!
In mourning
I daresay I won’t be able to complete this post without shedding a few tears; I’m already welling up, in fact. I’ve been away from my desk, and Dublin, since the wee hours Monday, March 1st, when I was awoken by the doorbell. My dear grandmother, confidante and friend, Laura Mc Mahon (neé Gargan), had passed away. She was 88 years old – may the Lord have mercy on her soul.
My father had driven up from Meath, because I had turned my phone off, as I usually do, though I am unlikely to do so in the future. It was a long journey. The short walk I cover every day seemed to take an eternity. And of course I always knew this day would come, I was still horribly unprepared. I still am, four days and much mourning later. She is a terrible loss to me, I miss her so much, and I cannot believe that I will never see her at the fireside again. She had a rare warmth of character that meant that each of her grandchildren felt they had an especially close bond with her, and I don’t think anyone who ever met her, forgot her. I hope I can somehow pass on the example she taught me, that somehow I can do her memory justice, because at the moment I still feel incredibly raw, and lonesome.
Of all the things I regret, and cannot change, the worst is both actually and ironically poetic. A few years ago I wrote a poem largely inspired by my relationship with her, and the chats we used to have. I had forgotten about it, until, at the wake, I was reminded of it by my cousins, who had read it on the internet. Slightly embarrassed, to be honest (I know, it’s strange to put something on the internet and expect no-one to read it, but that’s the way these things go) because I scarcely expected it to see the light of day, as it hadn’t up til now: certainly not in her presence. And so it came to pass, that I read it at her graveside.
In memory of Lolo:-
A little fireside tonight, some conversation
Just the way we have always had it, as friends.
The company of two, it somehow starts, never ends:
Time parts all over, slyly hinting at foreover more.
My memory and heaven are through the same door.
O smile with me a while my stage-managing director!
Underline my style with soul-defying nectar!
And as the fire dies, undry my eyes and let’s not part tonight,
With such a prize, no soul cries, this moment’s becoming bright.
There is an art to conversation. We are characters, you and I
Crafted naturally, grown out of a hearth with a lover’s eye
For sentiment, respect and tradition. Some might say
That we get into it, circumspect and rendition, in this way.
And perhaps it’s too simple, what I’ve spoken and read
But I’m sure you’ve still heard, every word that I’ve said.
My country, my call
A significant part of our current wealth has been based on foreign direct investment (FDI) which was attracted by our low corporate tax rate. I propose that this be intelligently modified so as to not only attract, but develop, smart and sustainable enterprise and employment. I envisage this occurring in three main areas:
1. Third-Level Special Economic Zones
Designate the campus of every university and institute of technology a low-tax (or tax-free) zone, much like the Shannon Free Zone and several others around the world, for start-ups and collaborations. Use these areas to hothouse new and innovative technologies and businesses.
2. Green Corporation Tax Rate
This is very simple: foreign direct investment in green, sustainable, carbon-low technologies pay a substantially reduced corporation tax rate for a fixed period (5 to 10 years), incrementally increasing thereafter to the normal rate.
3. Carbon-Free Commerce.
Index-link all businesses’ corporate tax payments to their carbon-footprint. As the Government is now producing a carbon budget, so too should every business. A baseline rate should be set: those who exceed it should pay more corporation tax, those who stay below it should pay less. (The idea is that this gives similar incentives to home and pre-existing business as are given to FDI above).
I doubt that the EU, and the French in particular, will like any of these ideas, but I daresay that there are very few people in Ireland amenable to are willing to take instruction from that quarter these days anyway.
Vote here!
I am never entirely sure what I should write in this thing, so forgive me if this seems inappropriate. For I would like to mark the passing, on Wednesday last, of my uncle. At the age of sixty-seven, in his sleep, rather unexpectedly, practically on his birthday, and only days from meeting his daughter-in-law-to-be’s parents, for the first time, a good, honest, gentle and hard-working man, my godmother’s husband, departed, from this world, for the side of truth.
At times like this, to the observer it can seem like clichés become used too wantonly, but in actuality, at this time my thoughts are with his family. My god mother and cousins are very close to me and I cannot but be mindful of, or at least attempt to be conscious of, what they are going through. They held themselves together remarkably well over the last few days, and I trust that their strength of spirit will remain with them.
However, I don’t think it would be callous of me to say that in each funeral occasion that a part of every sinner’s grief, whether they be chief mourners or casual observers, is the reminder of their own mortality. In every wake, in every removal, every choir service, every funeral mass and burial everyone sees their own passing. And there is little that can be done about that! Except each of us prepare in our own individual way, for whatever we expect to meet thereafter.
My own faith is as wearisome and fickle as the next man’s, and I can’t claim to explain anything, really, to any great degree. But one thing I do know for certain, is that should I find myself leaving this life in thirty-nine years’ time, and leaving behind a life as well-lived, and a family as beloved, and loving, and memories as fondly remembered, as he who I still scarcely believe has gone, then I will die a very happy man.
Crash landing
SpaceFairy and I broke up last night. A supersonic stratocaster of a relationship that lasted all of 3 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours and 47 minutes – but who’s counting? If you read the last post then I don’t think you will be surprised to hear that I am, for want of a more appropriate verb, gutted.
I mean, it was all terribly romantic, terribly romantic – meeting on a plane, becoming totally besotted with each other, moving extremely fast and all that jazz – and the fact that we were both so different to what the other was used to (you know, not each others’ type) did make things somewhat too good to be true, right from the start. But I wanted it to be true, and I know she did too …
I knew this would happen at some stage, you know – the reality of the situation would eventually impinge – but man alive, it fucking sucks. It’s only been a couple of hours and I miss her awfully. It really bugs me, at 9.31am on a Saturday morning – an hour which is totally unknown to me – that, having tried my damndest to drink enough to forget, I woke up early and without a smidgen of a hangover. All I felt at 7.57 was bitter, and rushing to Facebook to change my relationship status. Which is pretty pathetic, I know, but I needed to do something, because I certainly couldn’t sleep. Thanks be to jaysus the Kestrel is back, “… when a man truly needs his friends, they will surely appear …” (that’s not a quote from anything, but it should be).
Maybe she just needs time, to have a think about things. When she spoke last night, about how she was feeling, I realised that it was somewhat cruel of me to want to keep her tied down, so to speak. I mean, she is a complete hippy. Free-spirited, joyous, good-natured, turns every second into a party … and she’s starting college in a few weeks so I suppose, all-in-all, we were going to hit the rocks sooner or later. But, even though from the beginning I didn’t think it’d last, I hoped it would, and I was beginning to think it might. Really can’t believe that we didn’t survive the first hurdle, and feel awful that it was largely my fault … me, my ego and my stupid temper.
I don’t bear her any ill will, I just can’t believe it’s over. We had so much fun together, like Croke Park, sushi, jazz and cocktails in the one day – I challenge anyone to describe a better date than that! We were really good together, laughing, chatting, flirting … everything. She’s an amazing girl: thoughtful, good-natured, considerate, caring, smart as a fox, genuinely very funny, superb conversationalist, sharp dresser, foxy as fuck, smoking hot and sexy as hell. Oh dearie me, she’ll be hard to get over!
And now, here I am, swatting flies and drinking cold tea, and wondering what to do with the extra toothbrush and the condensed milk. And the irony of the situation is starting to grate on me too. See, I made a point, right from the start, of trying to keep things special, trying to maintain the, ho-hum, cinematic atmosphere, by giving her a flower of some kind, usually a rose from the bush outside my front door: but now I don’t think there are any left. I suppose I could get them elsewhere – she was always giving out to me for stealing them – but you get the picture, some kind of fatedness. Plus I had a strange feeling when I sent that letter to Ryanair.
Maybe it’s just turbulence, oh maybe …
Slight return
Where did I go? I came back from Bratislava last Monday fortnight, although to be honest, I still don’t feel like the the plane has landed yet. The last two weeks have been something of a blur, and I’m still pinching myself, still waking up in the morning wondering if this is actually happening. Allow me to explain…
I hit the bottle pretty hard on my first night in Bratislava, and it was quite a surprise to wake up in the right bed, in the right hostel, with all my clothes and other paraphenalia, minus only memories and money. So I took it reasonably easy on Sunday, wandered around, hobbling actually, buying some presents and eating ice-cream and then took a nap. As I was flying home the next day, I packed, showered and strolled into the historic centre for a good meal, and maybe a couple of drinks. Maybe.
I ate like a condemned king. Beer. Grilled Camembert. Bottle Merlot. Venison. Cake! Special Brandy. Espresso. Cigar. €31! Obligatory pint of Guinness in the Irish bar. Strolled along. Couple of Slivovica in another bar (thanks Ninny). Ready for bed. Back to the hostel … English and Mexicans … who clearly needed to be taught a few lessons in drinking and card-playing. I managed the former but the latter, well … I don’t know. Anyway I didn’t get to bed at all. It was something of a miracle that I got to the airport at all, but in any case, miracles were not in short supply that day…
I stumbled through the airport, and duty-free, couldn’t remember what I had already bought the day before, so did it all again. Hobbling, with a suitcase, laptop and several bottles of liquor (treated myself to some aftershave too), I made it to ‘priority boarding’. Which was where I first saw her, out of the corner of my bloodshot eye, she whom I shall call SpaceFairy.
I’ll spare you, and her, and won’t go into the details, but let’s just say, ho-hum, that nature took its course; such a beautiful course as I scarcely believe. It’s like something that would happen in a film directed by the lovechild of Sophia Coppola and Cameron Crowe, where I, while somewhere between drunk, hungover and sober, on a Ryanair flight of all places, I met this most amazing girl. Not to mention that we’re still together …
Danube city
I’ve just arrived, after a fashion, at ‘Hostel Blues’ in Bratislava. Which means I got lost.
Of course I relied on my sense of direction, which, though not infallible, usually pretty good. What I generally do is use Google Maps to find directions and commit it the directions to memory. This usually works very well, apart from things like hills and roadworks; however, that did not come to pass today. I checked the directions last night, after a couple of pints, and then this morning, I took the hydrofoil from Budapest to Bratislava, and although I tried to hold off the beer until after midday, I did not succeed. So it was optimistic to think that I’d find the place easy, with no map, just on memory.
What I did find was a pub, where the ‘dark beer’ Guinness equivalent was €1.30 a pint. Result! And the barman knew enough English to direct me to where I should have been.
Of course I have neglected to mention that the conference finished yesterday and that was very sad and it was all very impressive, yet somehow farcical, but that I will save for another post. Today I have more pressing concerns, which are mostly, but not exclusively, to do with getting loaded.
I am still swaying from the boat, which is disconcerting, but I will leave you with the first words that I heard about the conference, this typically European intellectual event, at which I was delighted to attend, but because of the change in flights that I mentioned previously I didn’t see any of the other attendees until the next morning, at breakfast.
I saw an old Norwegian friend of mine and joined his table, where he explained that his interlocutor had written a fascinating book about the ‘history of the psychology of aesthetics’. (I kid you not). As he explained, and we conversed, another gentleman, Finnish, sat down, and as he did, remarked, ‘… so early in the morning for Kant!’
We laughed: I knew I was in the right place.
Bud-a-pesht
It’s such an eye-opener being here, in a nation which is one of the newest additions to our elite European club, the EU. I don’t think I’m alone, as an Irishman, in revelling in our newfound cosmopolitan confidence, but at the same time, to find it shattered on travelling to some of the more exotic nations, is facile.
Hungary is a very different country to what I am used to! But at the same time, is extremely sophisticated, cultured, learned, and advanced. I understand nothing of their language, or habits, yet cannot be impressed by the depth of their technology.
What is a European? What will happen when Turkey join? (as they should)
What, as Irishmen and Irishwomen, have we gotten ourselves into?
Charles de Gaulle … heh-hoh … heh-hoh
I’m in the airport in Paris, waiting for a connection to Budapest. Everyone’s speaking French, and mine is terribly rusty. All I can think of is Catherine Tate and her vaguely racist sketches.
How did I end up here? Malev over-booked my flight this morning and offered to put me on a later one, connecting through Paris. Plus €400 compensation. Result.
Still can’t believe I’m blogging in an airport on wifi etc. Feels like such a ‘nerd’!
PS the Heineken is over-priced but worth it!
Eastward bound
I am leaving for Budapest early tomorrow morning, for the annual ESHHS conference. It runs from Tuesday to Friday, and then I’m going to sail up the Danube to Bratislava for a few nights. Funnily enough, I am not excited about the whole thing. Apprehensive would be a better word, uneasy even.
It’s not the conference, nor presenting, nor is it travelling alone – all of which I have done before – I suppose it’s the combination of all three, and the fact that it’s Hungary, a place which is both exotic and peculiar to me. I don’t have high expectations, to be honest.