Strange Times

I am a self confessed magazine addict, although I have been trying to cut down over the last year. But today I couldn’t resist buying the November issue of Irish Tatler. This magazine was celebrating 120 years and it was filled with lovely snippets of history and nostalgia about life in Ireland since the magazine was created. In amongst the photographs of fashion through the ages, there were articles about the long struggle for female equality in Ireland, which lagged quite a bit behind the UK, not least on issues such as contraception and divorce.

However, what was interesting were the contemporary articles and advertisements. As Christmas is fast approaching there were numerous suggestions for gifts including such extravagant items as scented candles for €195 euros or a Philippe Patek watch for just €120,000. The latter really caught my attention. It was advertised in an editorial style as a discreet luxury with its alligator skin strap and 32 baguette diamonds encircling the face. In these straightened times with the EU about to bail out the Irish banks I can’t help wondering what is so discreet about this watch, and who on earth would dream of spending such a large amount of money on such a trifling object. I would want at least four walls and a roof for this much cash.

The financial crisis is the most common topic of conversation here, and I know many people who have been made redundant and are facing quite a bleak future, let alone Christmas. But it is apparent that there are some ways of profiting from this situation. There is a new women’s magazine title that was launched last year, called Prudence. It is not, as one might expect, the cheapest magazine, even the Irish Tatler is around €2 cheaper, but it does aim to help the fashionable girl about town stay fashionable during the recession and presumably on a budget. But it is quite amusing to see what constitutes a tight budget, since the clothes and cosmetics that are advertised are not significantly cheaper. Instead the magazine seems to devote itself to encouraging its readers to negotiate for better deals for their spa weekend or where to buy their new Kelly bag for less than a grand.

I am not sure where my magazine addiction stems from since I am the least fashionable person I know. So although I know my Cath Kidston from Orla Kiely and can spot a fake Prada bag at 20 paces I do not care much for buying fancy schmancy clothes myself. But I love keeping on top of what is happening in the world of women’s magazines. I wonder what future readers will make of the coverage of the current financial crisis and how it is being “glossed over” so to speak.

Irish Tatler are obviously feeling confident enough in the spending powers of the population as they have just launch Men’s Tatler for the stylish man in your life.

A holiday to lift the spirits

Not your normal holiday snap!

Most people I know would prefer to spend their holiday in a hot sunny place, lazing around on the beach or exploring some historic or exotic city. And whilst I would agree that some element of sunshine is usually desirable I am not excessively fond of the normal sun and sea package holiday; which is why I chose to go to Shetland for my half-term holiday this year.

However, it didn’t seem quite so much of a holiday rather than a trip back home. Walking off the Northlink ferry early on Saturday morning into the bright but chilly sunshine I felt as if I had just returned from a long holiday. A holiday that I must have consumed far too much alcohol on as my memory seemed rather hazy. It was hard to shake off this feeling all week as I caught up with around 30 of my dearest friends and neighbours. It was great to be in Shetland again and I particularly loved the opportunity to gaze out to sea at the view I used to call my own.

Thanks to the wonders of Facebook, I feel as if I hadn’t missed out on too much of the gossip, but it was so much better to hear it all again at first hand. And Facebook might be good for seeing photographs, but it doesn’t take the place of getting to cuddle lovely new babies.

I have missed Shetland so much during the last eight months in Ireland. There is something really quite extraordinary about the community where I lived. So friendly, so welcoming, so funny. I have missed my book club and the SWRI (Scottish Women’s Rural Institute) and my friends and neighbours. I missed hearing the unique language and dialect, and it was hilarious to hear my son speaking the dialect again, as if he had never been away.

At the end of my short holiday I felt revived and refreshed and all the more determined to get on with my writing. I have people waiting for a sequel to my first Shetland novel, so I had better get back to work. And as much as I like living in Ireland, it made me realise that my first love is Shetland. I shall be back there next summer for another holiday and hope to see all the people that I didn’t manage to fit in this time. Can’t wait!



An exhilarating walk to Eshaness to explore an old broch site

Kick Racism out of Football - A success story

Sporting heroes - the best campaigners for equality

Last week my son came home from school and said that some FAI footballers had visited the school. He didn’t seem as excited about the event as I thought he would have been and he went on to say that they hadn’t come to talk about football, but simply about racism. My son couldn’t understand why footballers needed to talk about this as an issue. Earlier that day I had opened up the notebook that I use for jotting down ideas for essays and found a few pages of my son’s handwriting. He has a typically boyish habit of creating imaginary fantasy football line-ups. His teams included names such as Robinho, Fabregas, Torres, Cole, Boateng and Podolski amongst countless others. All spelt correctly and including accents and umlauts as appropriate. It was a reminder of how much football has done for multi-culturalism.

My son has grown up in a world where sporting heroes come from all over the world, and are idolised and respected without prejudice; hence his failure to comprehend why footballers today still need to campaign on issues of racism. My son innocently assumes that racism does not really exist any more.

I explained how football was back in the 1970s when I used to go to football matches on a regular basis. Black players were only just starting to appear in the teams, and they were not universally welcomed, even by the supporters of the teams they played for. The seventies weren’t really that long ago, but it felt like we were discussing the dark ages, and I guess we were. My husband played semi-professional football during this time, and he added his own memories of horror stories of fans throwing bananas onto the pitch and chanting like apes whenever a black player got near a ball.

We are still a long way from total equality, but I think it is a measure of how successful the campaign to kick racism out of football has been that some of today’s children question why it is needed.

Economically speaking

Fear not, I won't be starring in a tragic opera anytime soon

There is a traditional and romantic image of writers being poor, malnourished creatures living in a draughty garret, in Paris or some other place of cultural renown. They spend their time huddled around the dying embers of a coal fire, scratching out a living, leaving their writing only to drink cheap red wine with other artistic types. They will die cold and alone, probably as a result of alcoholism, or tuberculosis exacerbated from smoking too many Gauloises.

My life is not that shabby, although I do share a predilection for wine (or Guinness) and socialising. But having given up my job in the NHS to follow my husband to Ireland to further his career, we are now living off one salary, and my three million job applications have not been successful – yet. It is great to have the time to devote to my MA and to my writing, but it is a little tiresome to have to be so mindful of a much reduced income. Whilst we are far from poor, we are not in the position to be extravagant; and there really isn’t anything romantic about that.

At least we are not alone in this situation. Ireland is going through some serious economic difficulties and the news is depressing to watch most of the time. In amongst the increased violent activities of the dissident IRA, there are numerous stories of companies going out of business, people losing their homes, threatened hospital closures, and droves of young Irish graduates leaving the country to try their luck elsewhere.

To cope with the reduced spending of consumers there are frequent sales and bargains galore in the shops, so I don’t think that clothes and food are very expensive. Public transport is also far cheaper here than in the UK, so there are some bonuses. But considering people have less money to spend there are some strange pricing tactics for some leisure activities which I find seriously annoying.

The new Aviva stadium opened this year, to replace Lansdowne Road, as the home of Irish rugby. I love rugby and was lucky enough to procure tickets for the Ireland v Scotland match in the six nations this year. It was one of the last matches to be played at Croke Park, a far bigger stadium that was packed for this event. I doubt we will ever get a chance to see an International rugby match again as the prices for the new stadium are extortionate. It would cost a minimum of 240 euros for two adults and a child to see a match and with a smaller capacity, fewer seats are available. So I fear I will never get to see Brian O’Driscoll in the flesh again.

The Irish Rugby Union are stressing out about the possibility of important matches being aired for free on national television, instead of the pay-per-view situation we have now. They are naturally concerned about the loss of revenue. However, I think that the general public will respond quite favourably to this vote-winning tactic, as at least ordinary people will get to see the match. Sport should not just be for the wealthy.

But even to do something far more mundane like go to the cinema is also a tad expensive. Two adults and a child costs over 30 euros. It would have cost around £15 when we lived in Shetland. One game of ten pin bowling also costs around 30 euros, which for 30 minutes of entertainment is just a bit too much. It is perhaps not surprising that any time you visit the cinema or the bowling alley they are virtually deserted. The Aviva Stadium was also half empty when it staged some international friendly soccer matches a few weeks ago. Proving the point that when you charge too much, people will vote with their feet.

Ireland still has one of the highest birth rates in Europe and a proportionately young population, a fact that it celebrates. But these young families must find it such a struggle to afford fairly ordinary treats. A trip to the cinema was quite a big deal when I was a child, but surely in this era when numerous films are released each week and most cinemas have a choice of around 10 films to watch, we should be able to take more advantage of the situation. Surely it makes sense to charge less and attract more people.

It feels very elitist. I know that libraries, museums, parks and the countryside are still free to visit, but it is very sad that many young people cannot access the full range of cultural activities that are available.

As I write I am sitting on the bed with the laptop on my knees, with the Ireland v Slovakia match on the portable TV in the background. Downstairs, hogging the sofa and the other TV is my son who is watching the England game, and running up and down to keep tabs on the Ireland score. It is not Paris, but it is perfect enough for me. I could do with a glass of wine though.

The confidence of youth

Irish teenagers

Sunday morning is devoted to Under 12s football and this weekend we travelled to an away game at Donabate, North Dublin. We gave a lift to two other players, and so there were three 12 year old boys sat in the back of the car, and since my son is new to the team and does not know the other boys well, I imagined the journey would be rather quiet.

But instead my husband and I were subjected to an interrogation and banter about everything from favourite musicians to where we came from, taking in along the way, favourite holiday destinations and best jokes. The opening gambit to my husband went along the lines of “so, my Dad’s big into Elvis; what’s your “thing?” When he admitted his “thing” was training for a 2011 Iron Man challenge, this was met with much hilarity and general teasing, mixed with admiration and curiosity.

It was an entertaining journey, to and from the match, and it made me realise how much more confident children are these days, to when I was the same age. At the risk of sounding ancient, kids just did not behave like that in my day. They (we) were shyer, quieter and less inclined to take an equal, much less a dominant, role in a conversation with unfamiliar adults.

I remember reading a recent article in an Irish newspaper about the phenomenon of Jedward, and how these two exuberantly confident young men were fairly representative of Irish youth, brought up to believe in themselves. Jedward aside, it is lovely to witness such confidence, especially when it is combined with good manners and kindness. The article compared Irish teenagers with those raised in Britain, and the assertion was that Irish teenagers are given a better deal. In Britain there seems to be more of a feeling that teenagers are not to be trusted. They certainly don’t normally get much of a good press.

I have often wondered how different my life could have been if I had had even a fraction of the confidence that today’s young ones have. Self-belief is key to the success of so many things; careers, creativity and relationships. But one thing I can be grateful for; I have two confident and brilliant sons, who don’t need to waste valuable years playing catch up with their self-esteem.

Self-publish and be damned

A couple of weeks ago I got chatting to a writer in Eason’s bookshop in Dun Laoghaire. He was doing a book signing session for his book Gurriers. Seeing that he looked a trifle lonely I got chatting to him and he told me about his book which had taken 10 years to write and was a novel based on his experiences as a motorcycle courier in Dublin. This sounded like an intriguing idea for a book, so I purchased a copy and he duly signed it for me. It turns out that he had paid for the book to be published and he explained how he had done this and why.

I have heard many people say that self-publishing is not the sensible option for a serious writer as it gives the impression that you were not good enough to be taken on by a “proper” publisher. I have no strong feelings on this, but self publishing is quite expensive and I am not confident that I would have the energy for all that self promotion and marketing. However, while speaking to Kevin Brennan, I was struck by the amount of joy he had received from seeing all his hard work in print. And it seems that his book was going down well in his network of friends and fellow couriers. He had enjoyed the publishing process so much he was now embarking on a selection of short stories.

We chatted a little longer and I told him about the Masters course I was doing and my ambitions to be published one day, and shared with him some ideas about raising his online profile, which he appreciated. I left the shop with a rather large novel to read and a smile on my face.

The book itself is a weighty tome, think “A Suitable Boy” and you’re nearly there. And there is no doubt that some might think that it could have done with some judicious editing for length and pace. However, it is not without a certain charm. The characters are great, the plot is crazy, funny and realistic in turn, and the language is pure Dublin. It has definite commercial appeal, so it is a shame that Kevin had to resort to self-publishing.

But it definitely gave me something to think about. And I have decided that if I fail to get my novels published through the normal channels, then one day I will give serious consideration to whether or not to self-publish. It is not call vanity publishing for nothing, but I don’t want to live with the idea of giving up on my ambition to see my work in print. And I would like to leave something of me behind for my family. I wonder what my great great great grandchildren would make of Dancing with the Ferryman or Peace Lily in years to come.

Meeting literary superstars

One of Jennifer Johnston's many books - and one for my reading list

There are numerous literary festivals around the world, and they are great places for writer wannabes to hang out. Dun Laoghaire was the setting for a new book festival that started last year, and is likely to continue in years to come, judging by the attendance. The “Mountains to Sea” title of the festival sums up the fact that the ferry port of Dun Laoghaire has the backdrop of the Wicklow Mountains on one side and the sea on the other. It is a lovely town to visit these days, despite being in the shadow of Dublin. I have quite an affinity with the place as my father was born here, and on the way to the festival I drove past the house where he was born, which I had never visited before. Anyway, I digress.

The main reason I bought tickets for the book festival was to hear John Banville. He is quite a hero of mine. I had to write an essay on his Booker prize winning novel The Sea. His writing is beautiful; perfect pace and exquisite language. I was not disappointed when he started his session by reading from his as yet unpublished new novel Persephone. It was really good to hear a writer read in his own voice, and it added something to the books I have already read of his.

However, I was a little disappointed when he answered questions from the audience. He seemed bored, irritable and very condescending to the idea of anyone else attempting to write a novel. His responses ran along the lines of writing should be left to the professionals and even creative writing students would be better off doing something else. I could not really tell whether he was being facetious or not, but somehow I doubt it. He has something of a reputation for being a little bit arrogant. And that’s fine – each to their own, as they say. But it is a little sad that published writers could not share something of what compels them to write, and understand that that same compulsion exists in others. We might not all have the same prodigious talent, but a desire to write is not something that can be brushed aside easily. And anyone who has ever tried to write understands how difficult, lonely and financially unrewarding it can be.

Contrast Mr Banville with another writer, Jennifer Johnston. I sat in on a session with her and I was amazed by how warm, funny and brilliant she was. Ms Johnston is another Irish writer who writes literary and historical fiction, dealing with tough issues such as Ireland’s involvement in the World Wars and the "Troubles". She was encouraging to other fledgling writers and seemed to really enjoy the reception from her legion of fans in the theatre. I have to admit to not having read any of her books before the festival, but they are now on my autumn reading list. What a difference a sunny personality can make to book sales.