In a roundabout way

In a roundabout way

Sometimes I could strangle her!

I arrived home to a packed house, just now. Fridays are always a free-for-all in our house. My nieces and nephews and their parents all stop by for tea and a chat on their way back from shopping in town. So it’s always a nice welcome home at the end of the week.

“Hey, there he is,” goes my brother-in-law, as I reach into the fridge for a beer. Then it happens. From the other corner of the kitchen my wife’s voice rises above everybody.

“Oh did I tell you about Frankie?” and her as proud as punch.

Time stood still. Please God, please! Don’t let her tell them. I looked over in her direction. I could see her mouth moving but it was in slow motion. Just like a movie when it slows down for dramatic effect.

“Fraaankieee staaarted aaa blllogggg.”

Talk about Twilight Zone! I hadn’t felt time slow this much since one night I stumbled out of  a “smoking café” in Amsterdam.

Then came the questions; What do you blog about? What is it called? Do people follow your posts?

I dismissed the blog as nothing. Just a spot of meaningless scribbling to plug a gap in the evening. I think I threw them off the scent, fingers crossed.

But I know my darling will bring it up again at a later date. Believe me, she will, I just know. So I reckon it’s best pull my socks up from now on and get some structure to this dribble.

Earlier today I got another shock. I met a car coming the wrong way around a roundabout. I managed not to drive over him and he managed to find an exit before a tragedy occurred. Male drivers! Tut-tut.

Apparently there are no roundabouts in the USA. As far as I know Traffic Lights rule the day, over there. I am coming to the end of my first week of blogging and I want to say a public Thank you to anybody who has given me encouragement by way of a Like or Comment or what have you. I really appreciate it. And I hope to write quality blogs instead of just acting the maggot. There are lots of top shelf writers on WordPress. By top shelf  I don’t mean those, you know,  magazines. I mean top quality literature. I hope to learn from all here.

I would like in a roundabout way to give a wee mention to a girl from Louisiana, USA, who has been more than generous with her advice and comments thus far. She is one of those who try their hand at all the arts and in my opinion make it look it easy. Looking at her paintings and poems you would never guess she speaks Cajun and chews tobacco just like ringing a bell!

I better go back out and face the music. I’ll tell them I blog about the roundabout of life. Where we come in, do a lap then exit, hopefully without having killed anyone. Isn’t that right, Darling?

Thank you for reading


The next big thing

The next big thing

“Stand up, and introduce yourself to the room. Don’t be ashamed we’ve all been there.”

So I stand up and say “My name is Razzle Dazzle and I am a….a…a…” I can’t finish the sentence. The beats, they’re starting. In my chest I feel them pounding, bmp bmp bmp.

These people are looking at me and they know. They know what I’m going through.

The beats are taking over.  I feel them move slowly but srongly down my legs. First my hips start swaying then the knees join in with a together – apart, together – apart motion. And now, the star of the show…the feet! Click…click…click…clickity clickity click clickity…

The other members of Tapaholics Annonymous started clapping their hands in rythym and…

Okay that was total fiction. But it could have happened if my older brother hadn’t came in and changed channels on the telly, all those years ago. I was watching one of those Sunday matinee musicals from back in day. I don’t know the actor’s name but he smiled a lot and had wavy reddish hair. Well man, he was tapping away to beat the band and his female companion was matching him click for click. 

The rest of that day I  spent clicking everywhere I went. I was getting good at it too.

Then life got in the way and I settled down, got my truck driving licence, you know the story. But I could have been the next big thing.

Thank you for reading


Amazing forgiveness

Amazing forgiveness


“What mercy can there be for me, a wretch?”

Those words were uttered by an athiest onboard a sailing ship in 1748. The ship was being ripped to shreds by a north Atlantic storm. There was a hole in the hull and she was taking on water. After hours of bailing out water he cried “Lord have mercy on us.” The words surprised even him.

On the 8th of April 1748 the wind blew the ship to Ireland, to my town, to safety.

The man was a slave trader. He later went on to change his ways and write the song Amazing Grace. You can research the rest of his story if you are intersted.

The part I find amazing is that song sounds best when it is sung, not by white people, but by those whose ancestors were once the enslaved. Such forgiveness! Such inspiration!

I live in a town called Buncrana. I run on the beach were he would have kissed the ground. I can sometimes feel what he felt, Grace.

And sometimes I just feel exhausted.

Thank you for reading


If those dentures could talk.

If those dentures could talk.

I have a little toy on the dashboard of my truck. A miniture set of dentures which, when wound up, will chatter away till their heart’s content.  I think it was one of the kids who stuck them there with chewing gum during a  “helping Daddy drive” day, a couple of years ago.

When I was a boy my mother would attempt to make me laugh by popping her dentures half way out and crossing her eyes.  I can’t remember if it made me laugh or vomit. But i remember how it transferred her face to the point where it was unrecognisable. Then she would suck them back in and say something like “Mocking is catching!”

There was a story she used to tell – she did that a lot, tell the same stories over and over, only the stories which got a laugh. But she never seemed to grasp that the stories decreased in funniness with each repetition.

But she used to tell about an incident which happened in her home town, Derry in Northern Ireland, during the second world war.

The story goes that there was a growing fear that Derry and Belfast, being part of the UK,  would be bombed by the Nazi planes. So one evening an evacuation was hurriedly organised. There were trucks and buses waiting at the end of each street to take people across the border to the safety of Donegal in the Republic of Ireland.

The residents were running down the streets in their droves. An elderly couple, Agnes and Willy, were among them. Suddenly Agnes stops. “I have to go back!”

“What for?” asked Willy.

“My teeth. I forgot my teeth.”

Willy dragged her by the hand “C’mon woman! It’s Bombs they’re dropping, not sandwiches!”


Thanks for the stories Mammy. They’re stuck like chewing gum in my mind.

The Ham and Cheese sandwich

The Ham and Cheese sandwich

I will never look at a ham and cheese sandwich the same way again.

I heard the results of a poll on the radio today;  Irelands sexiest accent. Believe it or not for such a tiny country the range of accents here is vast. It has 32 counties which, for the purposes of the poll, translated to 32 accents. But as of today there is only one worth listening to, the Donegal accent. It came out on top by an overwhelming majority.

I happen to be the proud owner of one such Donegal accent. So dim the lights, put on the Barry White Lp and I’ll tell you what happened when I stopped for lunch today.

Sometimes I bring a packed lunch with me, courtesy of my wife, but today I decided to splash out. I pulled in to a Service Station (Gas Station to some), parked up and made my way to the Deli counter. It was lunch time for most so there was a small queue. I made small talk with a guy next to me until my turn came.

“Hello, can get you something eat?” She was obviously foreign. French I think. Her accent was nice.

“Yes, a ham and cheese sandwich please.”

“First I make sandwich then I tell you price,” she informed me.

“Okay, thats great.” I don’t like to stare when somebody is doing their job so I did my usual shuffle, looking at the ground, and left her to it. When I did look up again she was still standing there looking at me.

“Would you like Sandwich?” she asked again.

I nodded “Ham and cheese, please.”

And again she goes “First I make sandwich then I tell you price.”

And again I go “Great stuff. Ham and cheese, please.”

She smiled (wow, definitely French) “You not understand. First I make…”

Just then her co-worker leaned over and in a County Sligo accent said “He wants a ham and cheese sandwich.”

Well, the French femme opened her throat and laughed like she had just heard the best joke in the world, ever! She explained that she thought I kept asking “How much ees sandwich?” It was funny.

Hearing is one of the five senses and just like the taste buds the ears know what they like when they hear it. I like the French accent. In fact I like all accents. My own ears are numb to the Donegal accent because I hear it every day in my home county. But at least now I know that all I have to do is speak and the sandwich makers of Ireland will be like butty in my hands.

Thank you for reading


My first blog. Here goes. ”In the beginning…”

I admit, i am not the best when it comes to computers. It is now 3:11am on a sunday morning. About five hours ago i decided to take the plunge and i am only just now getting to the ‘publish a post’ bit. Nothing to do with writer’s block, I have so much i want to write about. It’s the computer lingo that slows me right down.

   And then there was the background ‘theme’ to choose. I asked my eldest daughter (17) to help. Big mistake! She consulted her two sisters and her mother because she feared she might not pick a manly background.

   Then came the photo upload….

   I think i’ll hit the hay and write something tomorrow. Bear with.

   Thank you for reading.