Dr. Smarty Pants

Yesterday I went to the doctors. I'm not even sure what these people do. I think they might just enjoy looking in your ears, poking your stomach and then telling you there's bugger all wrong with you and give you a prescription of smarties. Yes, I'm pretty sure that's all they do.

No, no, I know they are a bit more useful than that but, often that's how I feel after visiting them. Baring in mind, I'm 33 and I only go to the doctor when I absolutely have to. In the past this has mostly been to deal with depression. Same thing normally happens, they ask you a few questions "Do you feel that life is worth living?" which is pretty much a more sensitive way of asking "Would you like to top yourself?" and then they weigh you and tell you you're underweight and that diet and mood are directly linked and how are you meant to feel happy when your body has nothing to feel happy with. So they prescribe you some smarties to put on weight.

I'm being very unfair though. Some doctors are better than others and I have dealt with some very decent ones. The one yesterday didn't seem to take my sinus problem overly seriously though. I tried to point out to him exactly where I thought the tumour was growing in my frontal lobe and the swelling it was causing all down my eyes and nose (I think hypochondria runs in my family...I never actually mentioned anything about a tumour on my frontal lobe but if he had been a fit doctor to practice he would have noticed it straight away). So off he sent me with a nasal spray and some smarties. The tumor told me last night it would have preferred skittles but. seemingly, they are more expensive to produce.

Whilst I recognise that we are lucky to have any kind of system in place that provides us with free(ish) health care often I wonder would I not just be better taking the medicine that nature had already provided for us. Homeopathy all the way!

In The Hedgerow

Music night was quiet last night with just Jakers and I blasting out a few tunes. I played him a new song I'd written and he was very sweet with his feedback. I still don't take it too seriously because all I have are the bare bones of song writing. Then again, isn't that how all songs start out?

I've started to do a bit more writing in general which is good. Every once in a while I feel very passionately about my writing and I want it to "go places". Where, I'm not exactly sure because the world is getting so full up of stuff that sometimes it feels like there's no room for any more words, or songs, or pictures. After spending time in Connemara I realise that I could happily retreat there and plug into the wild, rustic nature to inspire some kind of book. I think I'd like to live in a hedgerow.

As always, when I fill my days with creative pursuits there is not so much left over for my blog. My wee dried-up diary! And isn't it funny how I have grown to become so affectionate about it? I speak of my blog as an actual 'thing' when all it really is is a part of me. So, I guess it's kind of good and positive to feel affectionate towards it.

Here's a picture of the treehouse drawn by me and coloured in by M.

Back To Work :(

It seems that the more one enjoys one's time off from work the harder it is for one to go back to work. Getting back to reality after the roadtrip was hard. Well, no, getting back to work was hard. In the wilderness the energy is pure and serene. In work the energy is toxic. But this week also brought with it the start of my second year of my degree. Scary times ahead. Scary because of the financial commitment and the deadlines. Everything else is the 'unknown' and that kind of excites me. My motto for this year is something I told myself a while ago. The only person that's pointing a gun to my head is myself. And it's not so much a gun, more like a brain-jobby-poking-stick-device to wiggle in my ear and stimulate my senses.

On Tuesday night we had a few more faces to our jamming session. One is a fella named Jobe (I probably shouldn't give him a nickname that so closely resembles jobby but I like the name Jobe and I like the guy so that's what I'm gonna call him). Jobe is an actual proper bassist so that's always handy. The other guy is called Tobe (I'm feeling uninspired at the minute) and he's an actual proper guitarist so that is also very handy. Since I now feel completely inadequate as a guitarist I have been forced to pick up the saxophone and convince myself that it won't take long before I'm a jazz funkist.

Music night is always different. When Gus is here it is a goofball session. This is when we do really bad covers and play our own ridiculous songs. When Jobe is here we take ourselves a bit more serioously and try to perfect the covers that we can sort of play. When Tobe is here we get all inspired about writing our own songs that are not ridiculous because we have an actual proper guitarist who can write music.

Other than music night the week has been rather lacklustre. Work is sucky. I'm broke and feeling drained. On the plus side, I managed to save myself £200 by using my common sense. My guitar was sounding awful and I thought I was going to have to buy a new one. Instead I bought some new strings and now she's playing like a dream.

Road Trip

I didn't get a chance to blog before Ziggy, Mel and I headed on our roadtrip. We are back now and an awesome time was had by all. We started off on Saturday night by sleeping in the treehouse. It was dark when we arrived but we had a cosy fire and a few drinks to warm us. We settled down for the night, blew out the candles, switched off the lights and it suddenly occurred to me that it was actually roasting. I looked at the pot bellied stove and said to Mel "Is it just me or is that fire so hot the stove's actually glowing red?" Mel concurred, it was glowing red. I opened the windows and kept checking Ziggy's head to make sure it was cooling down. I didn't want to start the roadtrip with a dog that had been fried during the night.

We woke in the morning, lit another fire while we had coffee and then bundled ourselevs into the car where we made our way to Connemara. There was much fun and excitement on the drive down. Ziggy had no idea what lay ahead of him. I had no idea that Actons Eco Campsite would be so nice and peaceful and picturesque. We arrived in the evening and pitched our tent. That was our home for the next two days and a lovely home it was too. One sad thing did happen here but, really, it wasn't that sad at all. I had bought Ziggy a brand new orange ball and we were playing with it on the beach. I threw it into the sea in the hope that Ziggy would bravely retrieve it. He didn't. I kept trying to encourage him as I watched the orange ball floating off in the direction of America. It was only sad for me however, Ziggy didn't give a hoot (which was just as well as we ended up stepping into unkown territory that completely forbade "hooting"). I consoled myself with the belief that the ball would float to America and a little Jack Russell type pup with a 'kerchief around it's neck would find it and be so very proud.

As we were leaving Connemara we stopped off to take some photos of a very oppressive looking Church type building. Mel noticed a dog running down the road chasing a car. We thought perhaps the dog was crazed, rabid even, and then it disappeared. We spotted it in the car it had been chasing. I think it didn't take kindly to being left behind and had proceeded to chase it's owners.

We were a little disorganised in Sligo (although that was kind of the plan-to have no plan) and we ended up staying at a campsite on the beach. It was ok. We couldn't have a proper campfire and there was absolutely no shelter from the sea spray. We'd also put the tent up rather haphazardly and so poor Mel woke up with wet tent flapping around her head. We left quickly and made our way to Fanad in Donegal.

Fanad was pure bliss. We had a caravan to make a proper dinner and we had foraged plenty of wood for a decent beach fire. We sat on a blanket drinking, playing geetar and looking up at the night sky where the stars were so bright and magnificent. My soul felt completely at peace. Ziggy roamed the beach and paddled in the water. Mel and I discussed matters of importance and matters of complete shite. The next day we went to Ards Forest park and forgaed for more wood. I stopped off at an old disused bakery and took photos of creepy things. We spent another night on the beach star gazing and playing music.

Then it was time to come home. We made up a comfy bed for Ziggy in the back seat as we knew he'd be so tired. He was. We stopped at Every Woods and had a poke about. We stopped in with Mum and Bert to tell them all about our adventure. Bert particularly liked the 'no hooting' story. We were driving around Sligo looking for somewhere to pitch the tent and we saw a sign that said "No hooting". We both thought it rather odd. Mel thought it meant 'no looting' and I thought it meant no hooting your horn but it didn't really sit right with me. Then we came upon another sign that said "No Shooting" and Mel exclaimed "Awww, we definitely can't camp here, we can't do anything here, no hooting, no shooting!" I pointed out that it was very likely that the no hooting sign was a no shooting sign without the S. We decided against camping there anyway.

I've included a picture of our adventures. It doesn't include everything but it does show why it is so important for me to find someone to illustrate my stories. The midgies at Connemara National Park were not kind to us. The bigger dog is the crazy, rabid running dog and the small dog is the 'kerchiefed Jack Russell waiting in America for his orange ball.

Happy Birthday

The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure is 10 years old today. Wow! 10 years of my life that I might not have remembered had I not documented all the ups and downs, the trials and tribulations, the joy, the pain, the adventures, the failures, the people who left their mark on my heart, the triumphs. There was the incident with the potato and leek soup. There was the time I climbed through someone's window and the other time I climbed through someone's window. There were many adventures, many relationships and many lessons to be learned.

There were the times I didn't write, the times I wrote to pretend that everything was ok and the times I wrote directly from my heart. I know which I prefer. There's been off beat poetry, posts about nothing and the building of a treehouse. There have been many guest posts written by very talented dogs and probably twice as many animal epitaphs. There have been a whole host of business plans that never came to anything (though I am reluctant to give up on my enterprising) and I am still waiting to pass my driving test and do all those other things adults do.

It has most definitely been emotional. Many tears fell from my eyes and I fought through waves of hopelessness. Travels didn't always go according to plan, relationships didn't work out, friendships grew apart, there were fights, worries, fear, sadness. But I wouldn't change any of it for the world. Not one iota. I chose certain paths and I walked the road less travelled. There were thorns in my paw. But I met so many amazing people who helped me squeeze the thorns out. So many amazing people. And I always, always had my family, a very loving and supportive family. I can't say for sure that my blog will last another decade but, even still, it's the most committed I've been to anything my whole life so that has to count for something. Happy Birthday my wee blog!

Through The Blowhole

Gus and I broke up last week. Nobody likes to read about break ups. People don't even like to hear about them. They assume that all break ups lead to heartbreak and that's not always true. When someone gets to a certain point in their life and they become romantically involved people tend to think "Oh, that's great, they've found 'the one'" I didn't assume anything about my relationship with Gus and I think that's why I was able to look at it with such clarity.

Another thing people tend to assume when there's been a breakup is that is was somebody's fault. I try not to look at things in terms of whose to blame. Gus and I were both completely open and honest throughout. There was no gameplaying and no bullshit. It was simply a case of it not being right for us at this particular time.

I am loathe to call it the'perfect breakup' only because people don't believe such things are possible. And, of course, I can only tell you how it is from my point of view. I am not Gus and I can't speak for him. But after some of the messier breakups I've had in life, it feels so much kinder and caring. Gus and I truly are good friends. We don't want to hurt each other and we know enough about human psychology to recognise the patterns that can develop when a relationship isn't right.

If Carlsberg did relationships it would have looked a lot like ours. We talked about surfing the blowhole. Maybe one day I can try to explain what the blowhole signified in our relationship. Although it sounds like it might be sexual, it's not. The blowhole is simply the cosmic channel through which the universe is created. It started with hair and spunk but I promise you it has nothing to do with sex.

But, yeah, we surfed the blowhole and it was fun. Then we had to be adults and I think we passed the test. Now we are just friends again and I feel very lucky to have had such a fun summer without too much bittersweetness. I am very much learning to enjoy these experiences for what they are at the time. I feel no need to cling onto something and mould it into what I think it should be, because then, it ceases to be what it was.

Worm Juice and Copulating Flies

I am at one with mother nature. So much so that insects like to do their business on me. I was holding a worm in the palm of my hand when I noticed it had secreted a yucky yellow liquid all over me. I couldn't tell you what the substance was I didn't see which end of the worm it came out of. Sitting at mum's today and she says "Hannah, there are two flies shagging in your hair", which I didn't mind until they fell out of my hair onto my biscuit.

Flies were the order of the day. Both mum and I swallowed one when we were out walking with the dogs. It was tremendously tickly. I thought I was going to cough out my spleen and mum said she felt her fly was doing ballet in her throat and she kept making noises like a cat does when it's hacking up hairballs. Mum stopped at a shop to get a drink and I suggested that ice cream would be a far superior remedy for fly inhalation.

We went to the monastery car park to eat our ice creams and do a spot of people watching. Mum remarked on the woman that walked by woth an army of children, "Wow, five kids, she's some doll....shit! The window's open". My mum is a careless people watcher.

Yesterday I fixed my washing machine. The pump was clogged full of blue tissue that had been in the pockets of my flatmate's trousers. There were a couple of times during the repair process that I thought I was going to have to call a man but then I realised that all the men I know are not the fixing washing machines type of men so I just got on with it myself. One more week and one more day at work and then it's Roadtrip time :)

Philosophy, Lesbian Artists and Cannibal Movies: Something For Everyone

I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned before how my big sister Z very much encouraged me to write when I was younger. She read a poem I wrote at school and she suggested I get a notebook and write poems in it. So I did. The very first poem to go in it was short and sweet and quite philosophical for a ten year old. It was called Why?

Why I am?
I do not know,
Why I am me?
Why is it so?

And the thing is, I had really thought about this. I wanted to know why I was me, Hannah Bobo, and not somebody else. I didn't ponder it in a green-eyed way. I had no desire to be anyone else but I wanted to know why I existed and why I looked the way I looked and behaved the way I behaved. It was the start of my quest to figuring life out and it's probably why I reacted so badly to puberty, because I'd just started asking the important questions at an age where my body, and whole life, was about to change dramatically and I hadn't figured out the answer of who I was and why I was me before puberty hit and I started acting all moody and nonchalant.

I did some other writing that I probably threw away because it embrassed me but I wrote another one when I was 12 or 13 inspired by a picture my friend drew of me. I've turned it into a song now that's a bitch to play but I can already hear a nice trombone or clarinet melody to go with it. It's called Eily Was An Artist.

Eily was an artist,
She drew a picture of me,
There was something wrong with it,
She made me far too pretty.

She took me to her bedroom,
Where we stayed for most the night,
She said she'd like to hold me,
Just to get the feeling right.

Eily held me tight,
Then she beagan to draw me,
She looked into my eyes,
And she told me I was pretty.

Eily was an artist,
She drew a picture of me,
She liked to draw with her hands,
And tell me I was pretty.

I remember showing it to mum and she might have told me it was good had she not been slightly worried about the content. But my innocence was long gone when, at the tender age of 10, I walked in to find Nellybert watching The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover just at the scene where some dude's being forced to eat a dead man's cock. It is really no wonder I enjoy a good cannibal movie.

A Quick Update

Today we are being treated to a rare sunny day in Norn Iron. 'Twould be a fine day for the park but I did that yesterday with my nieces and their chums. A bit of play therapy was much needed and it was a good park that we went to. Ziggy was at his Granny's for two nights and has returned a 'very good boy'. I think that might be more of a perspective thing though.

I did a bit of music making on Tuesday night with Zen-N. He has a four track so I can listen back to how woeful I sound. The GCDCs haven't played in a while and I feel the void. I harped on for so long about jamming and when it finally happened on a regualr basis I was happy. How is it that as soon as we get something we want in life we lose something else? Is there only a certain amount of space in our hearts for the things that we love? No, I don't believe so but, yes, things change.

So I downloaded a computer eight track mixing program and the GCDCs will live on in my hard drive until we get motivated again. If we ever do get motivated. I did find out that I have definitely got my placement which should start in the new year hopefully. This gave me a sense of being on the right track again. I seem to have developed an allergic reaction to driving lessons, or at least paying for them. I've had a flatmate now for two whole months without any drama whatsoever. The reason being is we keep completely different schedules and so we never see each other. Though he does keep eating my bananas. But what kind of person would I be to begrudge someone a few bananas. As long as he doesn't touch my mango!

Oh Mango

There are people in the world, y'know, who have never eaten mango. This makes me feel sad for them much more than I feel sad for the people who have never seen snow. But I also feel sad for them too. In fact, a lot of people who haven't eaten mango have the choice to eat it. They just never thought to try it.

I'm not sure when I first tried it but I do know that as soon as I tasted the sweet, floral nectar I knew that anything was possible. If something could taste so unique, so luscious and utopian, then life had to have a whole assortment of other treasures to discover. Very few fruits come close. Maybe lychees.

I've had a busy week catching up with folk, editing the wedding photos and being reminded that human beings are ridiculously crazy creatures and this thing we call 'life' is full of surprising twists and turns. All of it a very clever distraction from doing the things I should be doing, like passing my driving test and securing a placement.

Ziggy is telling me he needs his walk. He communicates this by coming over and putting the ball on the laptop. He does not respect the laptop, in fact, I'd go as far to say that he does not like the laptop. Except if it's playing the Doors. Today in work we had a fancy dress rock theme. I never participate in these things as I'm too lazy to organise anything but today involved me showing up in the clothes I normally wear anyway. Because, of course, I am in a band so therefore I dress like a rockstar.

Thank God It's Not Forever

My wee blog will be 10 years old next month. This means that it has also been just over 10 years since I completed my first degree. That means it's been 10 years of working in, mostly, shitty jobs. When I worked in the 216 shop I always had plenty to rant about. Mum would pick me up from work each evening waiting for the next installment of drama like it was a soap opera. I really do try to stay positive for as long as possible in the work place but it seems that once I reach a certain point, that's it. I am nearing that point with my current job, although I feel more hopeful that things could improve with a bit of communication. I used to have my fantasises of travel to get me through the tough days. Now I have the counselling degree to remind me that I won't have to endure this forever.

My biggest problem at work has always been my desire to work to the best of my ability and my resentment at everyone else who doesn't. It's completely ridiculous considering that I am probably always the employee who least agrees with what the company is doing, and yet I still bust my balls and give them value for money. Ah, but my life is always so full of contradictions so why should work be any different?

I am due a little holiday. I know I am because I can feel the stagnation. Only a month to go and the Lovely Mel, Ziggy and I will be heading on our road trip. Hooray for friends like Mel who don't need hotels, sun, sea and sand. Hooray for friends that don't mind roughing it so your dog can come along. Hooray for Ireland having so much unexplored terrain for me. Hooray for getting the fuck out of Ballymena! I am pretty sure that we will be taking the pixie trails which will involve some tree climbing, sheugh leaping and poking mud with sticks. My favourite things :)

The People In Ziggy's Life

Ziggy caught wind that I was blogging about all the people in my life and he decided he wanted in on that too. Ziggy learnt to read and write when he was a small pup listening to BBC Radio 4. It really is a shame that, despite being a dog with superhuman intelligence, he is very stubborn and does only what he wants to do.

Ziggy's Post

Perhaps because I'm a dog I should be writing about all the other dog's in my life but, well, humans are so strange and interesting to me that I'd rather write about them. You will recognise most of these people as they are all the same people that Hannah knows. This is because we move in the same circles.

What Hannah wrote about Zen-N was exactly right. He's a real nice dude but sometimes I wish he'd be a bit more fiesty. I have tried to initiate battles with him, by tugging on his jumper sleeve, gnawing on his hands but he just gently pats me on the head while looking at Hannah as if to say "What do I do? He's challenging me to a dual and I don't have sharp, pointy teeth!"
But, that aside, when Hannah spends time with him they often go on long walks. This suits me fine as I can sniff and wee on things. I sometimes catch snatces of their conversation and hear words such as "Empathy, congruence and unconditional positive regard". Then I go back to weeing on things.

When Jakers comes round I get very excited. I've known him since I was very young and he always makes a big fuss of me. Sometimes, when Hannah is busy, Jakers will look after me. He takes me for walks, plays with me, nuzzles into me and tells me I am a good boy. However, if I am a bad boy, and this has been known to happen from time to time, Jakers will roar at me much louder than Hannah.

I have only met Hannah's dad a few times but I feel good vibes from him. He seems to be more of a cat person than a dog person but Hannah says that he is vegetarian and he loves all the wee animals. Also, he always lets me go in his car even though it's hired and I leave dog hairs in it.

Hannah's mum is my Granny and she is a big ball of pure awesomeness. When Hannah tells me we're going to see Granny I get very excited. This means we are going to see Judy, Jess, Roy and an assortment of other fine dog beasts. Granny is very good to me and lets me run around her place and she doesn't even get that cross when I accidentally pooh on her landing carpet. I don't really do that anymore because I like her so much.

Gus is a good friend of mine. He is so loud, silly and gregarious and when I hear his voice I know it means I'm gonna have some fun. Except if he comes round with his guitar. Then I know he and Hannah are gonna make some noise and ignore me for a while. The dynamics of our friendship changed a little recently and it took a while for me to get used to it. He started to come over more frequently and, at first, I thought it was to see me. Then I realsied that he was less interested in playing with me and more interested in playing with Hannah. This may have led to a little bit of bad behaviour on my part but both Hannah and Gus have reassured me that I am still very high up the pecking order.

Hannah is my favourite of all though. If it wasn't for her my life might not be so filled with fun and excitement. But I get something different from Hannah as well, a comfort and a feeling of safety. I know that she loves me very much because she takes me out for walks, she cleans up my pooh, she feeds me, she only leaves me at home when she absolutely has to, she lets me play with everyone I meet, she gives me freedom to be the dog that I am and she tells me she loves me all the time. Sometimes it's quite embarassing. She also tells me that I'm only a little boy and Gus says no, I'm a hairy little dog, and I get a bit confused so I act like a little hairy boy dog which seems to be the right thing to do and wins the affection of most.

Zoo Day

My dad was visiting last week and it was his birthday on Tuesday. Gus and I had booked a few days off work and had planned on going to the zoo. It was a wet, miserable morning but if you rely on the weather to dictate what you can and can't do nothing would ever be done. In this country especially. So off we went, a party of seven, including my lovely nieces who cottoned on a long time ago that Gus is a soft touch and were practically carried the whole way round the zoo. Gus was glad we braved the rain as he had never been to a zoo before and the previous night was spent watching endless clips on youtube of animals helping other animals. Then, in the morning we had a conversation about evolution and instinct. Ziggy was lying at the bottom of the bed and let out two very long, unusual whines, noises I had never heard him make before. I think he was telling us both to shut up, we knew nothing about evolution and animal's instinct. Ziggy did not get going to the zoo. He would have acted the maggot and tried to take on the lion.

On Saturday I shot my first wedding. I was nervous and made the mistake of looking up "tips for wedding photography" on google. I read something about weddings being a brilliant day out for everyone except the photographer. As it turned out it wasn't so bad. This was helped by the fact that the bride did not expect grand things from me. Of course, I expected grand things off myself and I wasn't able to capture everything exactly the way I wanted to but it was a good experience. I enjoyed taking the shots in the gardens. I felt more confident with the natural light on my side and I didn't have to fight with the other guests to get the shots I needed.

I was a guest at the evening do so I went home to leave off my cameras and pick up Gus and we headed back up for the disco. As I walked through the town I started to notice they had put plants up and everything looked really nice. I realised that it was the longest I had ever spent behind the lens of a camera and I was now looking at everything like it was through a lens. I was all hyped up and excited, partly because it was over and I could relax and have a drink, but also because it felt good to have challenged my self creatively. The rest of the night was spent on the dance floor because it had been a long time since I had a good dance and, as it turns out, Gus makes a very good dance partner.

The People In My Life: Part 5

Gus and I have known each other for over 15 years. We knew all the same people but never really spent much time in each others company. Then we both lived away from Ireland at different times. But Gus was definitely someone that the universe wanted me to keep bumping into. From our random meet ups in the town I began to get to know him. I knew he was funny, kind, sensitive and friendly. Jakers, Gus and I used to do the music thing years ago but we were all much less experienced then. It was only last summer when I cajoled Gus into jamming once again that I really considered him to be a friend.

Of course, there's always that awkwardness around friendship when it's of the girl/boy variety. One of the things I most admired about Gus was that he wanted to be my boyfriend but didn't turn his nose up at friendship when that's all that was offered. He didn't give up on me as a person because I wasn't the person he wanted me to be. Indeed, all the times that I spent feeling lonely I did not ask the universe for a man, but a friend, a good friend that cared about me genuinely.

When we lived together briefly at the beginning of the year it was a fun time for me. This was really when I got to know Gus properly. We laughed, cooked together, debated life and listened to each other when we talked about the tough times. We shared our souls whilst being so silly and carefree at the same time. When Gus told me he was thinking of moving back home I felt sadness in my heart. I wasn't surprised at how I felt considering the never ending trial of flatmate problems but I acknowledged that it felt similar to a break-up in a way and I guess that made me realise that my feelings ran a little deeper than just friendship. Gus had been a proper friend to me and it was only right that I should be a proper friend to him so, when he asked me what I thought I should do I said nothing. I kept my silence because what I thought he should do was stay in the flat with me. I felt I could argue that it was for his benefit but when I was truthful with myself I realised I wanted him to stay because it made me feel better.

Things have a funny way of turning out. If Gus hadn't have moved back home I would never have been able to gain clarity about my feelings. By giving him space to listen to his heart a space was created for me to listen to my own. It told me that I was happy when gus was around. What more clarity did I need?

Gus might be the tallest, strongest guy (he won a strong man competition when he was a teenager, you know those things where they lift cars and pull them with their teeth) I have been with but he is the softest and gentlest inside. He is also the funniest and has an uncanny knack for remembering every single theme tune there ever was. He is like a juke box and I can demand any theme tune from 80's cartoons and adverts. He also knows big words despite not being much of a reader.

I look forward to this adventure with Gus, wherever it takes us and for however long. Life is so crazy and it's nice to have someone to laugh and share worries with. It's nice to have someone to climb trees and go brain jobby hunting with. It's nice to have someone to just be with. And when I see the way things have turned out I am so thankful for getting to know myself and trusting my decisons. My intiution led me into the arms of a real man with a real heart.

The People In My Life: Part 4

You'll notice a distinct lack of females so far. There have been many important, significant women in my life but just not at the minute. Except for my mum who has been my beacon for the past few years. To me, my mum and dad are lke yin and yang and I have developed a rather contradictory set of personality traits from them both. I have my dad's patience, gentleness and shyness and then I have my mum's temper, stubborness and tendency to worry. I don't mean to say that my dad has all the good personality traits and my mum has the negative because Nelly is one of the kindest people on the planet. She is intelligent, sharp and witty but she could cut you like a knife. And she'd have no qualms about doing so.

But really, my mum and dad are not so dissimilar and they are both caring, compassionate people. They both brought me up to respect and help others. Through the past few years my mum and I have grown together. There have been many painful times, painful memories to sift through and a rainbow of emotions to ride out. Never I have I worked so hard on a relationship in my life and been so lucky to have the other person work just as hard. And why? I truly believed that in order for any of my relationships to be successful I must first have a successful relationship with myself, and this involved opening myself up completely to the most important person in my life, the person that has had the most influence in my life, the person that brought me into this world. It was just something I had to do.

My mum is only wee but her personality is giant. People always flock to her and she blames Bert for the many visitors that pass through her door but she forgets that it is also her humour, sensitivity and kindness that keep people coming back. Humour is definitely one of my mum's strong points and I smile often at things she's said or stories she's told me. Really, I could write for hours about Nelly's vivacious personality and hilarious anecdotes but most people who read this blog know my mum and know how wonderful she is.

I am enjoying writing about the people in my life. In doing so I realise how lucky I am to have special connections with so many people (I'm not even done yet). Some people view them just as relationships with family and friends but they are more than that to me. They are adventures and challenges and a minefield of learning opportunities. I want deep connections with people because it makes me feel alive and it prepares me for what I want to do with my life.

The People In My Life: Part 3

Mi Padre. My dad was pretty much my idol when I was a little girl. He could do no wrong. He can still do no wrong. My dad is a dude! He was the one who sheltered me from the world of pop music and was so passionate about his indie taste that it was impossible not to share in his enthusiasm for bands like Nirvana, Pixies and Blur. I used to borrow his T.shirts and jackets even though they were far too big for me. My favourite was the Therapy? T.Shirt that said "Have A NIce Day" on the front and "In Hell" at the back. Because of my alternative style people my age used to sneer at me and my friends. The Therapy? T.Shirt always caught them out.

I always respected my dad. I remember how he taught me that I shouldn't repeat what I'd heard others saying without understanding what it meant. And once he'd explained what it meant I realised I didn't want to use the same words that other people used. Dad was the first ever eco warrior that I knew who took his plastic bags to the supermarket 20 years before anyone else. He joined Greenpeace and had us all sign up for the children's membership. He believed in comics and 10p mix ups. He became vegetarian and we all followed suit because dad's compassion was very much a part of us.

When I was 15 dad was offered a job in England. I chose to go with him but when it came to it I decided to stay in Ireland. I had a good circle of friends and a boyfriend I didn't want to leave and I thought I was probably old enough to do without my dad. It was hard at first. Living with mum full time was not something I had fully considered and my teenage years were troublesome. At 18 I went to university in the same city that dad was living. We lived together for a year when I had finished uni and didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. It was an extra bonus year of bonding with my dad. I felt really lucky to have that.

Now I am a big girl and I do just fine without him but that doesn't make me love him any less. And it's true, girls do seek out a man that's like their father. Not personality or lookswise but they seek out a man who is as good and decent as their father and my dad set the bar pretty high. Nothing wrong with that though :)

The People In My Life: Part 2

Jakers doesn't really need an introduction to this blog as he's been a big part of it for so many years. When I first began blogging I was going out with Salt Face. I was very young and naive (I mean younger and more naive) and I guess I really did truly believe that Salt Face and Pepper Head would be together forever. As I got older I became more coy about writing about other people. Jakers and I were "seeing each other" for about 8 months before I allowed myself to be called his girlfriend. But, once I realised that the dude was going to be a part of my life I let my guard down and I wrote about him all the time just as my dear sweet mother writes about Bert all the time. We split up more than once and we were always very dignified about it and there was never ever a need, nor a desire, for me to write about anything that had happened between us.

Jakers and I have been split up for nearly 3 years now and my love for him has extended way beyond the romantic, lustful kind. It has transcended the physical. He is a true friend to me and we have grown together for quite some time now. We have seen each other at the very depths and we have pulled each other out of the mire. We've debated life, love, science and spirituality. We've laughed, sang and cried together. We beared our souls and we know each other inside and out. We don't always agree with each other, which I guess is why we didn't work out but we care very deeply for one another.

I remember reading a book and there was a guy who went to a therapist. He was a jock athlete and was very dismissive of the therapist's work, like it was too feminine and weak for him to engage in. The therapist said,

"It takes tremendous amounts of guts and strength to talk about what you pass off as touchy-feely. Matters of the heart are matters of life. Maybe you've just got a hole in your heart or a block in your brain, but if you need a few minutes to pysch yourself up like in a locker room or something, I'll be happy to sit here while you walk outside and muster up the courage to come back in here and talk to me like a real man with a real heart." The Charge, Brendan Burchard, pg.94.

I always liked that quote because it reminded me that Jakers was a real man with a real heart and it is such a good heart. The reason we can be good friends is because we communicate with each other. The reason it is important for me to be friends with him is because when I was at uni an ex-boyfriend died in a fire. Though our last parting words were positive I regretted every single fight we had and I never wanted to feel that way again about someone I had loved.

Jakers is a bit of a musical child genius. He understands it in a way that I just don't get. He can pick up most instruments and get some kind of a tune out of them within minutes. Mostly, he's winging it but he wings it well. He's also a technical whizz kid. I guess he just has that kind of brain that understands numbers, patterns and sequences. Whereas my brain understands sugar, stupid accents and fluffy animals. The music and history and shared social circle bonds us. He is very much a part of my family. He said to me recently, "I love you like a sister", then he thought about what he'd said, scrunched up his face and said "actually, no, that's a bit weird". I knew what he meant though.

The People In My Life: Part 1

I've known Zen-N for about a year and a half. I met him through work and I remember taking an instant liking to him as he causually welcomed me to the department one Sunday afternoon. I found out that Zen-N was a few years ahead of me on the counselling degree so it was natural that we struck up a friendship.

I am not ashamed to admit that Zen-N got a chance to practice his counselling skills on me as the blossoming of our friendship coincided with some difficult times in my life. As Zen-N gave me the space to be myself I found my strength and, in turn, gave him the space to be himself so he could find his strength. I did not view Zen-N as a counsellor, and nor did he try to be my counsellor but we are very much a part of a 'therapeutic relationship'.

So what's he like? Well, he's quirky, which is sometimes intentional but quite often not. He's submissive around dogs and Ziggy always took a hand out of him just because he could. I've never really seen him drunk but he told me once that he was likened to Bernard from Black Books. Whilst I don't find this hard to believe it's nothing like the Zen-N I know who is far from being cynical and grumpy. The Zen-N I know is a little like Mr. Burns in the episode of the Simpsons where he is mistaken for an alien, the one where he says "I bring you love, I bring you peace".

Personally, I think the guy's a dude and I think this for several reasons. We have similar tastes in a lot of music, films and books but it is our shared outlook on life that really bonds us. We both share a passion for Carl Rogers, the main man in the person centred approach to counselling and we both have an appreciation for the magical beauty of the world. But the reason why I felt he was worthy of a write up is because I'm thankful for our friendship. I'm thankful for him being in my life and walking by my side, not ahead of me trying to show me the way or behind me trying to follow my lead, but beside me seeing the world as I see it. I also know that one day Zen-N will come play music with the GCDC's :)

Do It Do It Do It

Gus and I play a game with rhyming words. The rules of the game our quite simple; to rhyme words with other words. There is no prize for winning, just an overall sense of achievement at having beat the other. We have played similar games with types of apples.

Having suffered from Swine and Donkey Flu in the past I knew that this recent bout of Jobby Flu would be tough but wouldn't kill me. A quick search of my history has reminded me that I have also suffered from Hannah Flu and Whiskey Flu. How am I even still alive?

It was a tough week though with flashes of brilliance. Being on the Waltzer at Barry's was definitely a highlight but by the weekend I was good for nothing and slept on and off for 19 hours. When I wasn't sleeping I was eating. All the energy from the food was going straight back into giving me energy to eat the food that I was eating.

Gus and I have several characters for our comedy sketch show that will only ever really be alive in the Museum of Good Ideas (The Ideatorium). The latest ones are all well known fictional characters who have skin complaints, for example; Eczema The Warrior Princess, Rosemary's Scabies, Anne of Gangrene Gables. As we are both the sensitive skin types we find this amusing. Then again, we think it's amusing to dance down the street chanting "Do it, Do it, Do it!" When I say dance, I mean, walk like a drunk thunderbird puppet and the "Do it" mantra is interchangeable with "Eat it", "Drink it", "Bite it" or any other verb.

The weather had been really good and now it's pretty rubbish again. I was thinking of sleeping in the treehouse this weekend no matter what the weather is like. But now, I must go check on my magic stew.

Insomniatic

The clock says 22:40 and I should have been sleeping two hours ago. It's not very often that I am insomniatic but it's been a peculiar day and I have a lot on my mind. My date last night was lovely. I had been dropping Gus' name more frequently in my posts but now I'm just gonna admit that we are in a relationship. Luckily for me he never reads my blog so I can write about him without feeling too embarassed.

But that is not why I'm still up with thoughts racing through my head. I thought I had a new flatmate sorted but it fell through. I worried for a few hours and then I took Ziggy for a walk. Walking always helps me to think and I thought about how I don't want to worry anymore. And I thought about why I was worried and it's because I have committed myself to the counselling degree and I need to be able to afford it, as well as living. Then I thought about who was holding the gun to my head and it was me.

This lead to other thoughts about the world in general and all the many, many people within it. I thought about trust and fear; how most people are scared to trust others, fear the unknown, how disconnected it all makes us. I thought about good and evil, yin and yang, how the news keeps reminding us that there's "bad people" out there. I thought about theories of consciousness, how we create our own reality, mind over matter. And I came to the conclusion that no matter how many people tell me not to trust that everyone is good I will stand by my belief. I won't bow down to the fear and when everyone else has as much faith in humankind as I do then maybe, just maybe the world will be a better place. I realise that very few people think like I do and that can make it seem like I'm fighting a losing battle. Sometimes the warrior spirit can feel a little defeated but it never gives up surfing the blowhole and picking up grains of happiness on the way.

Wild Boar

Gus and I went to Frozen Water Land (you know the place that mums are always going to). They have a speciality meat section with ostrich burgers, kangaroo meatballs and wild boar kebabs. Gus picked up the wild boar and said, "Oooh, wild boar. I've had wild boar" to which I replied, "You are a while bore". It's a good job we share the same sense of humour. Which is why Bobo Productions are toying with the idea of a comedy sketch show.

Ziggy wanted to head out to the pub at the weekend to see all the hot bitches he knows so that's what we did to keep him happy. I love my local pub. I love that I can bring my dog there and when I notice he isn't around for a minute I go to check on him and he's nearly always sitting on someone's knee. There was a birthday cake on Saturday and Ziggy spent a good part of the night running around hoovering cake crumbs off the floor.

I am a little poorly this week. I don't mind because it seems to have been ages since I was last sick. I hope I'm feeling better by Thursday though as I have a day out with Nelly and the girls at Barry's in Portrush. I am also hoping my new camera arrives by then so I can test it out before shooting a wedding in August. The wedding is for a work colleague and the daughter of chums Nellybert have known for years. I wouldn't have agreed to do it only I know the girl is not a bridezilla and she will be happy enough with whatever I produce.

Tonight I have a date so I guess I should probably get ready for it :)

Weeding the Garden

This was taken last Tuesday night. You can tell it's "band practice" and not "music night" because there's no booze cans on the table. As you can see, Ziggy is delighted. Elenwe took these and then she left on Saturday. Her reason for leaving was work related. It's a long story, and not mine to tell, but she was shat upon by her employers in a very sleekit and underhand way. I could really empathise with how she felt from my experience of working in Thailand when I had less than perfect employers. I told her I would give her a couple of weeks grace with the rent to give her time to find something else but she was deflated and disheartened. I knew how she felt.

She is in London now and has found a job already. We have left it open that she may return one day even just for a visit. I enjoyed living with her very much. Not just because she was a girl but because she was my kind of girl. She sang around the house, she adored Ziggy, she joined us on music night, she was arty. It was just dead nice having a girl to hang out with.

When I first moved into this flat I developed a rather unhealthy addiction to polishing the bed with brasso. I have a similar addiction to weeding the garden. It was an overgrown jungle and the weeds roots are giant. I could be doing this using appropriate tools but instead I use a plastic trowl that cost 33.33333p It occurs to me when I do this job it isn't about getting it done in the most efficient way possible, it's about being mindful of what I'm doing. I find it therapeutic and it's also kind of like a metaphor for untangling and removing the weeds in my own life. My momma will be so proud of her green-alien-salad-fingers girl, the one that once said "I remember when we used to be happy, now all we do is talk about clematis"

Surfing The Blowhole

My head is in bobo land at the minute. Monday was a shock to the system. After my lovely week off (which ended with a very drunken night on Saturday which kinda spoilt the effects of all the lovely relaxation I had been doing but was lots of fun so totally worth it) I had to get up at the crack of dawn, work until 12:30 and then go to tech to talk about supervisors and placements and Access NI forms. I didn't like it. I didn't have my after work cup of coffee and I was not tuned into the talk at all. There's a lot of hoops to jump through to become a counsellor and I wasn't in the mood for jumping on Monday.

I'm pushing the driving to the very back of my mind for a few weeks. Cannae be bothered thinking about it. Meh! Basically, I'm kind of avoiding reality at the minute and everything that involves any kind of responsibility (or money - isn't that a coincidence!). Bobo land is nicer. I can surf the blowhole and eat jobby-on-a-stick. The only kind of stimulation my brain wants at the minute is laughter, and plenty of it. Which is lucky because I'm surrounded by it. Gus is helping with that.

It's not just the laughter though, it's that feeling of connection. Life amazes me all the time. Saturday night was fun. Elenwe, who unfortunately might have to go back home to New Zealand, came out with us. She has been one of the best flatmates I've had and if she has to go I'll be a wee bit sad. Last night we had a GCDC's band practice (as opposed to just music night where we get drunk and wail) and Elenwe joined us. She is very artistic and I had high hopes that she might notice the woeful drawings of foxes and cats I had been doodling and offer to do some illustrations for my children's story. What will be will be I guess. I remember when Gus moved out I worried about who the next flatmate would be and what problems it might bring but now I just know that when people move in here, for whatever length of time, it'll be an interesting experience if nothing else. This is what you call surfing the blowhole.

A Lovely Week Off

I was off work this whole week. It was awesome for many reasons. The past few months has been all whirlwind, heat and flash. Cramming all my shoolwork, sorting out endless flatmate issues, focusing on getting my driving test, and meanwhile, my social life decided it was gonna buzz like a busy bee. I've been kept on my toes and it's been fun and exhausting and stressful at times. This week I got caught up with myself, and have eaten better than I have eaten in years.

Monday I went to Nellybert's. I ate a salad bowl from the spar and mum made mince and tatties and pear and raspberry crumble. I drank coffee all day long and played with my two favourite girls. On Tuesday I had a relaxing morning, took Ziggy for a walk and attacked the weeds in the garden (which turned out to be surprisingly therapeutic). Gus called round with caramel frappes and jobby on a stick. These are my new favourite snacks that can also double up as a fun poking toy in which you can jibby jabby people.

Perhaps my eating wasn't quite so good on Tuesday but I did drink a lot of coffee just because I could. On Wednesday morning I woke up and had a breakfast of fruit salad with natural yoghurt and croissants and more coffee. Then we went for an expedition to an old water mill where we met some pretty handsome cows along the way.

Wednesday was a beautiful, sunny day and it put Elenwe and I in the mood for a few drinks. We went to the cheapest pub in the town and wined and dined for less than a fiver. Yesterday Ziggy and I went to Glenariff with a friend from my course. We stopped off at Garron Point to collect stones and Waterfoot beach to have a picnic. Ziggy liked the Glenariff best. I have loved that place since I was a little girl with it's waterfalls, trees and pixie trails. As you can see from the photo Ziggy was enjoying the sea breeze.

All in all it's been a good week and it's not even over yet. I started today with an Ulster fry and a million cups of coffee and a catch up with my mum. There's rumours of smarties frappes being on the cards and that probably means more Jobby on a stick. Life's good :)

Cutlery Issues

I am not sure how intelligent I really am because it's so mixed in with laziness. Also, there are so many different kinds of intelligence. I struggle with subjects likes Maths, Sciences and History. The reason being they are subjects that require you to remember lots of facts and figures. I do better with languages. Even if I have never heard of a word before I can often figure out how to spell it. I understand letters and words. I'm not great at arts and crafts because, despite my fingers being agile and dexterous, I don't have the patience to work with fiddly things. Though give me a blank page and a set of crayons and I will draw as well as any 5 year old can.

I have good social skills. I was painfully shy as a child but always had a desire to be around people. I'm an introvert who pushed myself to be an extrovert. I learnt to talk to strangers. I like to make people laugh. I like to make people feel valued. I like people. My problem solving skills are average. I went to a grammar school and got a 2:1 in my degree so I guess I must have some level of intelligence. But oh how Gus did laugh at me when I was doing a real bad job at cutting cheese the other night.

"It's this knife, I have no decent knives for cutting cheese" I complained.

"I've a really good bread knife out at home you could have" Gus replied.

"Nooo, it needs to be a proper sharp knife not a segregated knife" I moaned.

Then I heard a guffaw of laughter and turned round to Gus who was looking at me in disbelief.

"Segregated?" He laughed again, "Do the knifes have to be kept separate from the spoons and forks?"

It wasn't even a slip of the tongue. I have been calling them segregated knives for years. Just like I have been pronouncing the word carousel "Ka-roo-sel" for years. People should never be measured on their intelligence though. Some of the smartest people lack common sense and social skills and some of the dumbest people can have the intelligence to listen to their intuition to understand a situation.

The Circle Of Death

I should have blogged on Monday to celebrate Ziggy's 2nd birthday but I didn't feel like it as I failed my driving test again. I was disappointed but able to keep it in perspective. As I told a good friend, it's just a very boring, expensive Jedi mind exercise. I've done heaps of those before, being a Jedi Knight albeit one who isn't overly keen on Star Wars (if you ask me it would serve them a lot better to make love not war, especially way out in the galaxy where it's cold and dark and everyone just wants a cuddle).

Yesterday I was out at Nellybert's. Jakers' pet rat Jimmy had passed away and I thought it would be nice to bury him with the other rats (Pepe, Rocky, Polly and Meka). Jakers was in the kitchen and I heard him say "Oh My God that is the cutest picture ever" Jakers isn't a softie but he was, indeed, looking at the cutest picture ever of my youngest niece holding a wee orphaned fox cub. Approximately two minutes and nine seconds later I saw Bert charging across the yard, towards the hen house, hootin' and ahollerin'. Fantastic Mr. Fox was trying to make off with the rooster and a hen.

I watched from inside the house as Mum, Bert and Jakers looked stoically at the hens (Bert had to wring the hens neck to put her of her misery). I thought about the fox being cute. I thought about the circle of death (I don't like John Elton so I ain't gonna quote him). I thought it was a shame that the hens died anyway and the fox had nothing to take back to the den to feed it's cubs. I thought about how fickle life is, how natural death is and how constant it all is. I thank god that Ziggy is a dog and not a rat, or a chook, or even a fox. I accept that he won't be around forever but for how ever long he is around I promise to make his life full of forest walks and cow dung.

There's other news but I'm holding my cards close to my chest. I have five aces. I know, that's not even possible. But anything's possible really. You just have to believe. Mr.Rob wants to see my freakish fingers. I hope they're not a disappointment as I have claimed that having long fingers is one of the few things I'm good at.

Good Ideas and Pig Headed Pigs

I don't even know where to begin on my update. Tojo moved out on Saturday and my new flatmate moved in on Monday. Everything worked out in the end! On Saturday the lovely Mels joined us for a rather messy music night. I'm pretty sure we had a half hour conversation about my long fingers. That was only the tip of the iceberg of shite talk though. As the night went on it got more ridiculous. In fact, it got so ridiculous it became quite profound.

I have so many good ideas that never come to anything I'm thinking of opening up a Museum of Good Ideas. They will be framed and people will walk around nodding their heads, saying "Yes, that is a good idea". Even this idea will be in the Musuem of Good Ideas.

My new flatmate, Elenwe (I chose this from a list of elfin names) is from New Zealand. A little girl asked her if she was from Middle Earth and being a fan of elves she thought this was delightful. Ziggy likes Elenwe very much. He likes her so much he peed on her bed. He just got a bit overexcited and then he was so ashamed of himself he hid under the bed.

Speaking of animals behaving badly. When Tojo moved in he brought with him a fridge. He didn't think my little fridge would accomodate his weekly groceries and, right enough, it wouldn't have been with people landing at the door with hunks of meat. So my old fridge was put in a shed out at Nellyberts. The same shed that the pigs would often ransack because they knew that's where their meal was kept. Bert had stashed the meal somewhere else though and Lily the pig was mighty disappointed when she stroked into the shed for a snack. So disappointed that she destroyed some of Bert's beekeeping equipment, flung a bag of compost all over the place, tipped the piano over and ripped the door of the fridge. Luckily for me the fridge was the one thing Tojo left behind. Things have a way of working out :)

Boboland

I realise what my blog is missing is a little wisdom and prettiness. But what I lack in wisdom and prettiness I make up for with ingenious ideas. There was the hot air balloon buisness, Scabby Birds Escort Agency, and the time I helped Salt Face to come up with a plan to meet Michael Jackson. The latest plan is one I've pondered on before; the Treehouse Horror Movie. The set and props are perfect. Pet cemetery, treehouse, scary attic, dark woods, bees. The plot; several young adults partying when the folks are away. There are a few psychopaths on the loose; crazy chainsaw-wielding priest, his motive - ex boyfriend of main character. There's a man who dresses up in a bee suit, possibly he is actually made entirely of bees. I don't know how I want that one to pan out yet. His motive - revenge for the poor bees.

The main character's parents have a pet cemetery in the lawn. They told her when she was a little girl that her pets had gone to boboland. They lost a lot of pets because the girl's granny was a bit twisted. In one scene the dumb blonde runs upstairs to the attic where granny is rocking on a chair, reaching her bony hand out and telling her "it's time for boboland" (in a scottish accent). I'm lucky that I work with a lot of people so I pretty much have an instant cast and crew. I have the token dumb blonde, token jock, token gay guy, token stoner and Gus and Ziggy will obviously be getting lead roles, playing themselves. I'm thinking a cross between Texas Chainsaw Massacre (gonna have to get a really good editor to make it look like that the treehouse has been hacked down), Blair Witch project (finding roasry beads in the branches and smelling incense), Pet Semetary (rabid zombie dogs chasing people down the back lane into the scary woods) and Candyman. No wait, it will have etches of every single horror movie that was ever written and it will be called Boboland.

Granny's Stories

Really, I should have an anonymous blog so that I can write about all the different flatmate problems I've had in the past two years. I remember when Gus was telling me that he was going to move out and I said "But Gus, you're my best flatmate yet!" and he laughed and said "F**k's sake Hannah that doesn't say much about me".

Out at granny Nelly's yesterday, I was listening to the stories she was telling the girls and it reminded me of when I was that little girl, sitting on my mum's knee, and hearing all her stories that she made up in her head but were always inspired by something that was currently happening. I think those were the times when I really knew she loved me. And I could see by the look on the girl's faces, in awe, and captivated by their granny's words, that they felt very loved too.

I feel a little bit like I'm in limbo again. It's alright though. Nearly feels like a second home I'm so used to it. I can't even be sure of who I'm going to be living with each month but I'm taking the good out of that situation as well. The more experiences I have of different people the more I learn about myself, and, people in general.

Ziggy hardly gets a mention these days. I guess that's cause he's so grown up and mature (ha!). He's doing pretty good. Licking his non-existent balls at the minute. I went for coffee with a friend and we sat outside on the pedestrianised street. I let Ziggy have a bit of freedom and he tootled up and down the street making friends with everyone. The Badtoads particularly liked him and would have happily taken him home.

The only other news is that I got my work handed in, did my exam and am now a free woman for a few months and quite relieved to not have to be chatting about our locus of evaluation and organismic self. Though I did get in touch with my organismic (yep, organismic, not orgasmic!) self a few nights ago when I watched Hole Unplugged. Courtney Love was my idol when I was a teenager and I ended up becoming embarassed by her behaviour as I got older but watching the Unplugged set reminded me that she was a very cool, strong, passionate and talented woman and I could have done a whole lot worse for a role model.

Talkin' About A Revolution

Today, I reckoned, seemed like as good a day as any to start a revolution. I proposed this idea to a work colleague. He said there was no point, a revolution would never happen. I told him this was precisely the reason why a revolution would never happen. because noone believes it can happen. Another colleague was complaining of money problems. I told her we were long overdue a revolution. "Yes, but it will never happen in our lifetime", she replied. Again, I told her that the revolution would never happen because people are so beat down (just the way they want us to be) that nobody has faith in the "power of the people". It is a perfect time for a revolution with the politically fractious climate we're living in.

I spread further word of the revolution. Some were optimistic, like me. Some people didn't know what a revolution was. I explained, "You know, that thing that people are always singing about - Tracy Chapman, The Beatles, 4 Non Blondes. Che Guevara started one." This lead to a discussion about cuban cigars. I pointedout that smoking cigars did not constitute a revolution. It was not that simple. So how do you start a revolution? Write a song about starting one? Or write a song about talking about songs about a revolution? And then do we just run, and keep on running until we've established that, yes, a revolution has been started?

Meat You At The Door

I heard a knock at the door and looked out the window to see a young man smiling back up at me. I didn't know who he was but I liked the cut of his jib so I answered the door. There's no TV's in this flat and I ain't afraid of no ghosts. I kinda guessed it would be one of the new flatmate's (I'll think of a suitable nickname for him eventually...if he sticks round long enough to acquire one, though already Tojo springs to mind) chums. I could never have possibly guessed, however, what he was delivering.

Five kilos of pork loin. He could tell by the look on my face that this was a novel experience for me. I recall the freezer at Nellybert's being full to the brim of various bits of pork and I've seen the things hanging up in a butcher's shop but I've never been handed a big lump of meat at the door.

I think the very fact that I'm even blogging about this shows that my brain is mushed from essay writing and studying. That's only my brain though. My heart feels all warm and fuzzy 'cause I picked Ziggy up from my sister's and got lots of cuddles and kisses from the girls. E showed me to the door, gave me extra kisses and cuddles and waved me down the street. No amount of studying can beat that!

The Cuddle Club

I thought I would have a lot of photos to post of the Treehouse Warming Party on Saturday night but, as it truned out, the flash was spoiling the ambient mood we had going and I wasn't in the mood for taking photos. I was in the mood for....cuddles. There were many invited to the party but only a handful turned up (13 in total). This was probably just as well as (we now know) that the treehouse can only really comfortably fit 12 people and 2 dogs. In my head there would be people spilling out of the treehouse...on to the verandah, sitting on the spiral stairs, swinging on the swing and bouncing on the trampoline. There will no doubt be a party like this in the future but for the first one it was nicely sedate and danger was kept to a minimum.

All the important people were there and we all became a member of a very exclusive club...The Cuddle Club. The genius behind this was the tallest, hairiest man at the party (Gus!) who didn't like the sound of Fight Club and thought Cuddle Club was more fitting to our needs. We had the Cuddle Club mascot, Judy Pudding, who was doling out hugs left, right and centre. We had two rules. The first rule was "we don't talk about Cuddle Club". Clearly I have broken that one already. The second rule was "nobody leaves the treehouse without a torch" because it was getting dark and I didn't want people to trip on fallen branches which is exactly what Gus did just as he was saying "We don't need torches, we have the light from the love of our friends".

Yes, yes we are a bunch of hippies. But what else can you expect from a treehouse party crowd? We played guitar and ate homemade pizza (everyone loved Nelly's dough) and drank cider and whiskey. After a while we took the party into the house where there was electricity and toilets that flushed. Though many did not want to leave the treehouse and go back to reality. Hails said it was like being inside a book (she named the book but I can't recall). I, of course, felt like I was an Ewok and Gus and I conversed in what little Ewokian we knew. We sang along to The Littlest Hobo theme tune and we had a mixture of posh crisps and 'common' crisps. There were lanterns.

Oh...and there is chat about a road trip. Mel and I are going to be Thelma and Louise only instead of having Brad Pitt we'll have Ziggy which makes us infinitely cooler.

The Confidence Shop

Just look at that cow's face. I love cow faces. They are dreamy and gentle. They have empathic eyes. I could tell this cow all my woes and feel like it was really listening. Of course, it will be listening only in the way that a cow can listen to a human's troubles. But still, I'd feel like it understood more than a lot of the humans I do talk to.

I have been struggling to update my blog due to a number of things. Worry about my family, stress of my coursework, the upheaval of yet another new flatmate. I was sad to say goodbye to Gus but his path lead him right back where he started because I guess that's where he needed to go. I still laugh about the silly conversations we had and I miss speaking in funny accents. My new flatmate is not from Ireland so I have to speak in an accent that he understands. Not that words are everything.

My birthday was last week and mum and I spent a nice day shoe shopping and eating ice cream in Garvagh. I have a small party planned for the weekend as I feel I need a bit of fun and lightness after the past few weeks (months/years). Today I have a driving lesson with a new instructor. I plan to be more assertive this time round. Because, despite the progress I've made over the past few years, I realise that my biggest downfall is still a lack of confidence, combined with this need to please everyone around me. If there was a shop that sold confidence I'd be there with all the money from my change jar. But then I wouldn't be able to afford the driving lessons and I'd have all this confidence with nothing to be confident about and that would make me like some kind of man with a small dick complex.

I am looking forward to the summer when the first year of my course will be all wrapped up. I still have a placement to organise and my own persoanl therapy to attend (as part of the course requirements students must undertake 20 hours of personal therapy). I embrace this. Even though I had counselling before there is always a benefit to talking through things no matter what's going on in your life. I still feel like I'm wading sometimes, like everything seems to take forever while time moves at super sonic speeds, but I know it will come. I will drive, I will get a placement, I will continue to learn and grow and, one day, I will be that person who helps others to learn and grow. I finished reading the Road Less Travelled by M.Scott Peck. If ever there was a book written about life and what it means to be human, this is it. My heart sang with joy and a feeling of hope and acceptance the whole time I was reading it. It's akin to that feeling I get when I look at a cow's face.

And here's something else that makes my heart sing with joy. A flying dog by name of Zigatron Marley. Just look at the awe in the other doggy's face!

Ubudubuda

After all this time I have finally figured out what language Ziggy speaks. It's "Ubudubuda". He totally understands it. When I tell him to get off the table in Ubudubada he does exactly as I say. But, who knows, perhaps tomorrow he will speak a different language.

I feel like I have a devil and an angel on each shoulder at the minute. One is saying "Be yourself. It leads to the road of happiness". The other is saying "Don't be yourself. It gets you into trouble". The thing is, I'm not sure which is saying which. Is it the angel saying "Be yourself" because she wants me to be happy, or is she saying "Don't be yourself" because she wants to protect me? Or is the devil saying "Don't be yourself" because he wants me to be miserable, or is he saying "Be yourself" because he knows it will get me into trouble? Is that confusing? It must be because I'm confused.

It must be the angel who has the loudest voice and she must be saying "Be yourself" because she does want me to find happiness. The devil is saying "Don't be yourself" because he thinks he can hold me back with fear. As always, I'm skirting around the real issue but I'm raw. I feel like the universe is challenging me to dare to be myself. I am torn between this embarassment that if I bear my soul no one will understand, and this self-belief that tells me it doesn't matter if they understand.

Self doubt affects us all. For some people it's a mild affliction but for others it is all-consuming. I don't want to be consumed with self doubt and after a long time and a lot of hard work I became more sure of myself. It really does feel like the universe is throwing me curve balls in the form of people who come into my life who seem intent in filling me with that self-doubt that I worked so hard to shake off. I can't focus on that though because the universe has also thrown me a couple of life lines in the form of people who accept me as I truly am. So again, I go back to that feeling like I have an angel and a devil on my shoulders, trying to weigh a little heavier than the other, tipping the scales.

Ziggy also has an angel and a devil on his shoulders. I don't know what kind of conversations they have with him but depending on whose speaking the loudest he can be the dirtiest, devil dog or the sweetest, most beautiful angel. Even though I already knew it I have had a few lessons reaffirmed today: We all have our angels and demons and, mostly, we're all just doing the best we can with the tools we've been given.

I Am The Hedge!

My bestest chum Mel and I used to chat about people being "infested with Christmas spirit". That makes sense to me now cause I'm all bah humbug. It's not that I don't like Christmas, it's just that it's cold and dark and far too stressful for something that just seems to happen every frickin' week. As a child I would start the countdown in September. Back in those days you had to wait another few months before the shops started getting all christmassy. Now they do it in September and it really kills the buzz.

I was thinking about our pretend band, the GCDC's. It's not that we suck, it's just that we're not very good. But I like the idea of it all and I continue to enjoy it. It occurs to me that I have a lot of stuff I meddle in but nothing that I am really good at. I can take a decent photo but I wouldn't recommend booking me for your wedding day. I can play a bit of guitar but I wouldn't book me for your wedding band. I can write words that rhyme but unless I find someone to draw pictures that will only take me so far. And I have these really loooong fingers that I'm pretty sure I should be doing something with but I'm not quite sure what. Oh, and I'm good at finding things.

Last weekend I visited some friends who became first time parents to a couple of baby rats. I forgot how much I love rats. I also had a small bird perch on my head like I was a tree. This only happened for a millisecond but it was a millisecond I'll cherish for it's not often that birds trust us enough to land on our heads. It kinda reminds me of the time a bat flew into my hair (I have many bat stories). The bat flew into my hair because it was trapped in the house, flying around the room in circles and I was holding up a wastepaper bin in the hope that it would fly into it. Little did I know that bats aren't stupid and it was NOT going to fly into my trap. It did disorientate it, however, and it's little winghooks got tangled in my hair. In reference to my last blog post, I'd rather have the kind of hair that attracts wild animals than the kind of hair that makes me pass my driving test!

How To Fail Your Driving Test

Happy St.Patrick's Day! It seems like every other day is some kind of holiday but maybe that's because I work in retail.

So, I mentioned that I failed my test again last week. I always knew that driving wasn't something that would come easy to me. When I was a teenager I preferred the idea of riding a motorbike to driving a car. It seemed like a smaller hunk of machinery to take control of and I assumed it would be easier. It is. Kind of. My only real experience of riding a bike was in Thailand and I didn't do it that often because it was scary. Riding the bike wasn't scary but negotiating the crazy Thai traffic (no rules at roundabouts!) was. A car is, however, much more practical for carrying passengers, although it doesn't stop them in Thailand from fitting a whole family and their dog on one bike.

My instructor said something to me the day before the test and, while I know she was only trying to help, it completely knocked my confidence (which wasn't really there to begin with) and it's been playing on my mind. Years ago, when I was a teenager, a girl told me that I should wear make up. That I would be pretty if I wore make up. I have experimented over the years but never felt entirely comfortable wearing it. Also, I'm lazy. Also, I don't care for 'dolling' myself up. Not so long ago a guy in the pub told me I'd be beautiful if I put on 12 lbs. At the time I wasn't particularly happy with being so underweight and I agreed with him but afterwards it made me wonder why people think it's ok to put conditions of worth on me. My driving instructor said to me the day before my test "Hannah, I want you to come out tomorrow looking like I have never seen you before. Put on your nicest clothes, wear make up and do your hair". I knew she meant well by it. I knew she was thinking that if I looked good, I'd feel good and my confidence would be better. I knew all this but it still had a detrimental effect.

The day of the test I walked out feeling like I had already failed. I looked no different than any other day despite trying to 'make something of myself'. I don't have any nice clothes. I wore a different coat. I faffed around with my hair but it just looked as limp and lank as always. I felt that I had made no effort but I had made all the effort I possibly could. I did not look good and I did not feel good. Like I say, I walked out of the house feeling like already I wasn't worthy enough.

It was after I failed that the words stung. I should have been true to myself and not let the instructor's suggestions put me off. I was already nervous enough without worrying about my goddamn hair. None of those things matter to me and I am sick of being judged on my appearance. But mostly, I'm annoyed that I let myself be affected by what she said and I, once again, let doubt take over. I can't put it all down to that one thing though.

On the plus side, it has given me food for thought with regards to my course. The relationship between the instructor and I had grown fractious because I knew what I needed to help me learn to drive and she refused to listen to my needs. It took me a while to learn to tell her what I needed but she was so set in her ways it didn't matter. While she may have got hundreds of others through their test she couldn't adapt her teaching style to fit with me. And I am not like hundreds of other people.

Jobby On A Stick

Today I took Ziggy for a different walk. There is a Motte and Bailey in Ballymena and it had been years since I climbed it so Ziggy and I conquered the small hill. It was windy at the top and I had a lovely view of the place where I work. I also had a view of the road that I performed a particularly disastrous 7-point-turn that caused me to fail my driving test back in September last year. I was taking stock. In between the two hilly mounds, a strange object caught my eye. It is pictured above. I was curious and poked it with my foot. It was solid yet jellylike. It was textured. I didn't think it was a dead animal but it had the look of something that was biodegradable. I was tempted to find a stick to poke it with but I was on a time schedule and so I hurried on.

Later in the day I took my test again and I failed. I was disappointed but not surprised. I know I am capable of passing the test but I also know that I lack a lot of confidence and that is my downfall. I also think it's time to change my instructor because, although I like my current one, I realise that her teaching technique does not suit my learning style. She took me on a lesson before the test and did my head in so much I actually said to her "I can feel myself starting to shut down". I didn't shut down though and I did my best and even though I still failed there were less faults than the last time.

I came home and Gus consoled me and made me laugh. Then I told him that I was so mentally drained that my brain felt like mush. That's when I remembered about the mysterious semi solid wobbly object I had stumbled upon. I told Gus and he was intrigued. He asked several questions about it's composition. He asked if it was organic. I believed it was though I didn't think it was an animal of any description. I told him it was like something that had come from the sea. It was gelatinous but more solid and textured than a jelly fish would be. The closest think I could really liken it to was a rain saturated cauliflower. Gus expressed interest in going to investigate it and I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I didn't go back and prod it with a stick. An adveture was declared. Warm clothes were adorned. Ziggy was our trusty mascot and we departed on a quest to interact with a wibbly wobbly brain jobby. We found suitable sticks for jibby-jabbing the squishy organic mass and concluded that it was either a rain saturated cauliflower or some kind of funghi that had fallen off a tree.

So, even though it was sad to fail my test the day ended on a positive. And not because I got to poke something with a stick but because I'm the kind of person who can be cheered up by poking something with a stick. I also had a wee play in the park and went so high on the swings Gus was worried for my safety. Here's to simplicity and the sweet joy of laughing with a friend!

A Week Off

*Sigh* That's a contented sigh because I've been off work this week. Monday I had class so it wasn't exactly a day off but it was nice to come home and wind down in my own time without the pressure of the alarm clock going off at stupid o'clock. Both Monday and Tuesday were stinker days weather wise. On Tuesday mum brought Ziggy home and we went for coffee. I bought daffodils because that's what lady adults do in the springtime. I really have very little recollection of what else happened on Tuesday. Probably nothing.

Being a natural born procrastinator I have learnt to cope with my reluctance to do things by giving myself ridiculous amounts of praise for all the things I do manage to achieve on a daily basis. Like taking a shower. And eating food. This week I also had a driving lesson, studied and got my hair cut. Extra brownie points! Mum and I went to Belfast on Friday and I bought a book called The Games People Play by Eric Berne. It is less a book about rounders and badminton and more a book about the mind games people play. Both mum and I found it to be a little dated but interesting all the same.

Gus and I continue to be silly. He was complaining about all the cuts and burns on his hands and I suggested he chop them off and replace them with various kitchen utensils. Yes, it would be sad that he could no longer play guitar, or scratch himself without risk of injury but how useful he would be with corkscrews, tin openers and spatulas for fingers! Today is Saturday and I have another chica friend visiting tonight. I haven't seen her in ages so it'll be nice to catch up. Monday is back to reality for me but, hey ho, these driving lessons do not pay for themselves.

Write On

I am completely unsure about what to write about. Do I write to make pople laugh, 'cause that's what I like to do? Do I bare my heart and soul because I want to show the world who I truly am and encourage others to be who they truly are? Do I write about Ziggy because he is the closest thing I have to a baby and I'm so proud of him? Do I write about my hopes and dreams because I like to remind myself that I have hopes and dreams? Do I write about my shortcomings because I have those too? Do I write about love because I know it so well? Or do I write about the lack of love because the world's fucked up? Do I write a poem about sticky glue and cherry scones? Or do I write a story about a worm crawling up a cheese hole and dancing in a summer frock? Do I write because I want to? Or because I need to? Or because I'm scared if I don't I'll forget who I am? I don't know. I just write. I write when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm lost and confused. I write when my heart leaps with joy and when it sinks to the pit of my stomach. I write when I'm sure and when I'm not so sure. I write to feel ok, to gain clarity, to release and to empower. I write for freedom and strength and to digest my thoughts. I write for comfort, and solace and peace within myself. I write to connect, with myself and with others. I write because the words hold me up when I feel like falling down.

Better Ways To Die

I found this article about depression and thought it was worth linking up to. And I was reminded of a line from the Little Prince "Well, I must endure the presence of one or two caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies"

Yesterday was a pleasing day because I got to see two of my girlfriends. Although most of my male friends aren't the typical sports watching, ball scratchin' kind I still miss the company of ladies and the female energy they bring. To be honest though,I'm not overly fussy about the company I keep. As long as there's peace and plenty of laughter.

I watched a film last week about four people whose boat sunk and they had to swim in shark infested waters. I'm not a big fan of the ocean, mostly because there's things in it that will eat you alive. The movie wasn't overly scary at the time but a few days later I gave myself the heebie jeebies thinking about it. Those people were eaten, alive, by sharks. I can't think of a more horrific way to die. I can think of ten other ways I would rather die. Like being boiled alive. Being struck by lightning. Being eaten alive by a crocodile. Starvation. Falling from a great height. Suffocation. Basically, any way you can possibly die would be preferable to being eaten ALIVE by a shark.

I am off work for a whole week. This means I can drink as much coffee as I like and stay up past 9 O'Clock. Tonight I have popcorn and we're gonna watch a Japanese movie called Infection. There's only one thing that scares me more than sharks and that's catching some horrific contagious disease that makes green pus ooze from every orifice.