“If I could, I would, I would, I swear I would be better
But it seems I am just a natural no-good
What’s more like living like that?”
Cowan / Cole / Irvine / Donegan / Robert / Mc Killop
Yesterday I was on a Teams call, which is very like a Zoom call, in the way that a deep fat fryer is like an air fryer, it does the same job…but much messier. On the call , one of the participants, lets call her Dee, said that she is sometimes quite nervous before going on a call meeting , but in advance of this one she contented herself with the thought that “ It’s just Paul Bond.” And as soon as she said it out loud she became concerned that I’d take offence, but I took it as a compliment.
We were having the meeting about the Drumlin Giants book. For those who don’t know, over the last 8 years I’ve thought up ideas for 13 wooden Giants which I have then described very, very badly to the wood whisperer that is Marc Kelly , and he has made something that’s much better than what I imagined and installed it in Rossmore Park , just outside Monaghan Town. While dreaming up the ideas I have imagined a story to go with each of them, and that’s going to form the core of the book. In fact that was simply going to be the book, 13 short stories, one for each Giant, and each story featuring a historical character from Monaghan and perhaps, just a wee touch of exaggeration. But something was missing.
Whenever we’ve introduced a new Giant to the Park we’ve gone around the local schools and told them about it and involved them some how with art competitions, story competitions, escorted hikes around the Park , or craft contributions that we’ve added to the Giant. And the Giants then later feature in free community events we organise out in the Park, such as boat races, treasure hunts, water fights , outdoor cinema screenings, and more waterfights.
So I thought that , rather than get an illustrator to embellish the book, we would have an art competition for Monaghan schools, and pick 13 different kids to illustrate a story each.
So far so good.
I explained part of the problem to Dee, Audrey , and The Hannon, using a quote from a hero of mine, Mr.Peter Cook :
“I met a man at a party. He said “I’m writing a novel” I said “Oh really? Neither am I.”
There are lots of times when I think about writing , rather than write. These thinking times expand greatly whenever someone has mildly , and helpfully criticised something that I’ve written, and as I shared it , knew it wasn’t right, but shared it anyway, and then when they kindly, and with great reticence pointed out exactly what I knew was wrong with it in the first place, I curl up into a fetal position and listen to Joy Division.
But , like many great moments, just as I’m about to say that out loud to the other call participants a memory of the movie ‘A Monster Calls’ pops into my head and I now know what the stories need, a connecting character. And that character also pops into my head. And instead of saying what I’m struggling with in completing the book , I simply say “ So, yeah, you’ll have a completed manuscript by Friday week.”
Everyone was quite happy with that.
Next week I will just be writing.
Next week I will just be a writer.
Last Saturday I was just being a runner. My Soulmate and I got up at stupid o’clock to drive to the Phoenix Park in Dublin to go for a 10 k run with old friends…and Jamie. We’d only got out of the car and were walking to where the group was gathering to do their warm up when we heard a joyful shriek behind us and before I knew what was happening I was enveloped in a lovely hug from Helen, no not that Helen, the other one. It is sometimes difficult recalling these moments for people who weren’t there and realising that in any large group there will be people with the same name, and that while I write them I know exactly who I’m writing about, you don’t. And yes I could use their surnames, but that then reads like a Garda’s traffic accident report. Anyway there we were being hugged wonderfully within an inch of our lives by Helen, and it’s the strangest thing, but we’ve met Helen perhaps three times over the last two years, and yet we hugged like lifelong friends. Which in fact we are.
This meet up, and our previous encounters with Helen have all taken place under the auspices of the luverly Georgie Crawford’s ‘Good Glow’ group. Eileen followed Georgie on Instagram, and before I knew where I was I was running in New York, Killarney, Glendalough, Arosa, and ended up smiling a lot and gathering a lot of incredible new friendships along the way.
I ran very well, for me.
At the Tea Rooms afterwards I had a brief chat with Helen, yes the hugger, I did also chat to the other Helen, after she , Ashling and Laura had been taking selfie videos on my phone, but tha’s not important right now. In our chat Helen told me about a course she was finishing and what a joy it had been to go back to college and do something you’d always wanted to try, and being the oldest in the group , could be an aloof hero figure to the kids. Helen didn’t say that exactly, but I consider her to be an aloof hero figure, so I imaging that the kids in her class do too. She said that it was life affirming and soul nourishing to be making new friends and undertaking new adventures as we get older… and I now have to add ‘philosopher’ to my mantal tag for Helen when we next meet.
I am just an adventurer.
And whilst it is most definitely life affirming and soul nourishing to make new friends, there is something cathartic and wholesome in meeting up with old friends. ( Before I get to that, isn’t ‘whilst’ a great word ?). On Monday I journeyed to Belfast to meet my best friend Micky for a coffee, a heartfelt chat, a wander, another wander, pints in The Spaniard, dinner in The Cloth Ear, another pint in The Spaniard, to see The Streets, another wander, pints in Maddens, and another heartfelt chat before bed.
It was wonderful.
Just be someone’s best friend.
Just be yourself.
Just let others be themselves.
Just be.
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. And this is just for you
P.P.S this is an old blog in audio about very non-pilgrimage behaviour on Lough Derg
