“I know who you are, and I’m never wrong
I believe you’re nothing if you think that you are someone
Just try and realize that you don’t have to lie
Everybody’s trying to live just one day at a time”
Jake Bugg
On Wednesday I ended up doing something I swore I’d never do again.
Yes , I joined a committee.
Having spent seven years trying to remove myself from committees,succeeding, and being committee free for 2 whole , blissful years, I stupidly agreed to go to a meeting I could easily have ducked out of. Wednesday was a lovely day and despite having bought the wrong petrol cap for the lawnmower earlier I could and probably should have mowed the bee sanctuary/lawn.
Yes, I know what you’re thinking.
“How did you buy the wrong petrol cap for your lawnmower….and what happened to the petrol cap that came with the lawnmower ?”
OK, first things first, a month or so ago or so I was mowing my lawn and throwing sticks for Molly, and stopped to fill up the petrol and must have left the cap on the engine when I closed the lid. I started mowing again and after a while noticed a smelly shiny substance covering my left shoe. I ignored it for as long as possible. This is my default response when anything is odd or mysterious, and mostly leads to great adventures. But on this occasion it simply led to a smelly foot. I opened the lid, or hood if you want to be all technical about it, and discovered that the petrol cap was missing. Despite retracing my steps, after several steps , I gave up and assumed I’d driven over it and shredded it, or whipped it into the bag of cuttings which I’d already dumped in the old cuttings sludge pile, and I certainly wasn’t going looking in there. I went into the house and got some tinfoil, one of my Soulmate’s hair bands , and the lid of a bottle of magnesium supplements that have finally now made a contribution to my wellbeing, and made a new petrol cap.
Proud day for the parish.
This week, funnily enough, also on Wednesday, I decided that it was a chore disassembling that cap and replacing the tinfoil and hairbands each time I refilled the petrol, and my Soulmate was getting suspicious about the shrinking pile of hairbands on the mantelpiece, so I went into Monaghan Plant Hire to get a new one.
My trouble began when the nice chap behind the counter asked what type of lawnmower I had.
“A large red one.” wasn’t sufficient information for him.
“It has a name like ‘Fort Lawn’ ?”
“You mean CastelGarden ?”
“Yes ! That’s exactly what I mean !” I was delighted with myself.
“You hardly know the model number ?” he knew the answer as he asked the question.
“I think there’s a 7 in it, and possibly an ‘A’ ?”
He shook his head and went off to look for something for me. He came back a few moments later with two shiny new black petrol caps.
“This one is for older models, and this is for the newer ones. How old is yours ?”
“About two years.” I said rather confidently.
“Take this one. But I’ll leave this one here under the counter that you can exchange it for if it doesn’t fit.”
“No need. This is definitely it. Looks very familiar. Thanks.”
I went home whistling to myself the way you do when you’re confident that you’ve journeyed outside of your comfort zone , killed the dragon, and are returning home to a large celebratory feast of fatted calves and mead. I’m like that with anything DIY , or practical in any way whatsoever.
I hopped out of the car, tickled Tuna, waved to my Soulmate, and went straight to the shed, lifted the lid/hood of the CastelGarden PTX 210 HD and ….it was the wrong cap.
Crestfallen , I trodded back into the house.
“How old is our lawnmower ?”
“Not sure , I think we got it before Covid ?”
“No, couldn’t be that old. It’s still shiny.”
“That’s because it’s rarely used. It’s in showroom condition !”
I sulked a bit after that, and then went to a meeting of the Friends Of Rossmore Park, determined not to do anything stupid like join the committee, or take on any role of responsibility.
I’m the new secretary of the committee of the Friends Of Rossmore Park.
After the meeting I chatted outside to Gerry Murdock, outgoing committee member, and all round good egg. I’ve only ever bumped into Gerry a few times in my life, but we always seem to fall into a chat, and I always come away happier than I was before I met him. We caught up, solved the worlds problems and agreed the world would be a lot better if we were in charge. I said goodbye and turned to see that two other committee members were still chatting outside and I was chatting to them for a few minutes when a chap I didn’t know bounded over. He knew one of the people I was chatting to , and ignoring me and the other person there, launched into a series of questions.
“What are yis at ? Your mother’s some woman. What age is she ? She’s beating me in the Parkrun. How’s the new niece ? Didn’t she surprise you all be arriving early. Is there something on in there tonight ? I love your sister singing that song ? Is the brother home this weekend ? Are you not married yet ? Who’s these two ?”
I don’t think he waited for an answer to any of the questions.
We were waiting for him to leave. He didn’t. He kept up with more questions. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. He wasn’t being rude, he was good natured and excited. I initially thought he was on drugs, but in the end I think he was simply happy, both in himself and to have found in others. We all eventually said our goodbyes and left. As I got into my car I saw that he’d just moved a few metres down the street and had bumped into someone he knew having a smoke outside Terry’s and was full of chat again.
I was going to message the person he knew and ask “Who was the Moonchild ?” but I didn’t. I was happy to have met him. He’ll always be Moonchild to me now.
I’ve thought about him a bit since. His genuine inquisitiveness , joy, fearlessness.
When we were kids we asked a question if we didn’t know the answer, we’d say what we thought, and we were fearless…mostly.
Over the past few weeks I’ve had a couple of people come up to me and after a few pleasantries have , almost apologetically , said “Thanks”. Yes, to me. They have thanked me for two things, for writing this blog, and also for running and posting pictures about it. The people who thanked me for writing said it meant something to them, that they found something in it, and looked forward to it. It was hard for them to say, and in a previous life I would have found it hard to hear. My default position is always to be self-deprecating. But lately I just go with the flow. I thanked them for saying so, and said that I very much appreciated them taking the time to say it.
A few weeks ago a lady came up to me at Parkrun. She’d actually run it, I was timekeeping, and she came over and said “I just wanted to say thanks for running.” I obviously looked confused so she continued. “I’d lost a bit of confidence on my running and thought I’d never do more than this, a 5k, but all of your photos out with Ray, and running marathons…well, it gave me the push, and I ran my first half marathon in 7 years last weekend, thanks to you.” And then she just squeezed my arm ,smiled and walked away. I was speechless. I know ! Me , speechless ?!?
And then last week Ray and I were having our protein top up, three scoop rum ‘n’ raisin courtesy of Tom in the CoffeeDoc, after a gruelling 5k when we bumped into a couple of fellow Monaghan Town Runners. I asked to take a selfie with them , real runners, and inquired if they had any races planned.
“Dublin ! We’re doing the marathon.”
That’s brilliant ! I replied.
“Yes, we saw you two do it last year and said, ‘If they can do it, there’s no reason we shouldn’t”
Thanks , I think.
“No, no, I meant, after all you’d been through healthwise, and you still did it.”
OK, maybe start with that next time.
We hugged and wished each other well.
It’s hard to say thanks, and it can sometimes be hard to accept thanks. We can all feel a little awkward about it.
But, I think we should all be a little more Moonchild.
So here goes…this is not an exhaustive list…and only takes into consideration people I’ve bumped into since last week’s blog….
Thanks to Deborah McGeough , Stephen Cassidy, and all of the volunteers at the Gary Askin 5k.
Thanks to Pete Mohan for being Ray and I’s arch nemesis.
Thanks to Ann McCarren , my kinesiologist, for checking in on me , and the voodoo that you do.
Thanks to Benny Magennis for being Benny Magennis.
Thanks to Benny’s dog Hank for not pooing on the warehouse floor…Louis, be more Hank !
Thanks to Laura and William McCrea for inviting us to one of our top 3 weddings of the year.
Thanks to William McCrea for making all the ladies ,and one or two of the men, at our table cry with love and affection during your truly wonderful speech.
Thanks to Annemarie McMahon for being a lovely.
Thanks to recently elected councillor, and my Soumate’s cousin, Pauric Clerkin for reassuring the aforementioned Annemarie that , to the best of his knowledge, Carrigadrohid is of no strategic importance to either the Irish military, or a potential Russian invading army.
Thanks to all of the Clerkin cousins present for truly representing the cousins who weren’t by leaping with gay abandon around the dancefloor regardless of the music being played and sporting ties as headwear.
Thanks to John Harrington for helping me bring braces back.
Thanks to Aunty Maureen for maintaining her ‘Loveliest Clerkin’ title.
Thanks to John and Michelle McKenna for sneaking out on us early from the wedding as soon as I’d turned around from telling them that that’s what Eileen and I were about to do.
Thanks to all of the Rockstars we bumped into in Rossmore Park on Sunday morning while Eileen dragged Ray and I around 11k.
Thanks to Trevor Connolly for saving Drogheda from itself.
Thanks to Mum and Dad for keeping bucket hats trendy on a sunny day in Quiglough.
Thanks to Ger for brightening our days these days…and for weeding the patio that I was just about to do…
Thanks to our Jake for the Orpheus story, and for chatting to Robert Sheehan when you didn’t click who he was and he was saying how lucky you were to be working on the Enda Walsh play.
Thanks to Brenda Brennan for good vibes.
Thanks to Gerry Murdock for , well, largely , simply being Gerry Murdock, and always steering us in the right direction.
Thanks to Sinead O’Reilly for starting a wonderfully creative community in Rossmore that continues to lead to great and magical times and things.
Thanks to Martin McKenna for healing, smiling, and calling in with sausage rolls and chicken goujons. He was impressed when we told him that no one had sat in his chair in the canteen at elevenses for the past 6 weeks.
Thanks to Liam McCarren for pacing our run yesterday evening…”You guys kept up with Liam MCCarren ???” ….well for the bit along the avenue into Rossmore Park…and after we’d made him stop for a selfie.
To AnnaMarie McCleary for always organising absolutely everything.
Thanks to The Hannon for….I’m sure there was something…but it escapes me for the moment…
Thanks to Stella Murphy for smiles and waves…and backhanded compliments.
Thanks to Robyn for sending me songs she thinks I’d like…that I’d sent to her three weeks previously.
Thanks to John and Stephen for allowing me to be me. I know this means extra time, stress and responsibility for you, and although I hide it very, very well, I do greatly appreciate it.
Thanks to Colm Gilmore for the daily words of wisdom. Admittedly they are other peoples’ words of wisdom, but thanks for sharing them anyway.
Thanks to Carmel Murphy for marrying Colm.
Thanks to Aine Doherty for the kindness, the hugs, and that smile.
Thanks to Stephen McCann for good music , and being constant…mostly in a good way.
Thanks to Elliott for tolerating his parents to such a degree that it borders on affection.
Thanks to Gerry Wynne for the Gerryness.
Thanks to Ray for ….actuality.
Thanks to Micky McCormick to general grooviness and the Pudibonds thing.
Thanks to Glenn Mahony for doors, both actual and ones of perception. It’s a Band thing.
Thanks to Shane Martin for the goodness.
Thanks to Nollaig Fahy for persistence. Since January 27th 2022 you have sent me terrible jokes at least once per week and finally , on July 26th 2024 , one of them was actually funny.
Thanks to Gareth Groover McKenna, for constant love coupled with death inducing day trips.
Thanks to Richard Moore for always surprising me with his knowledge of good things…and occasional lack of knowledge of really good things.
Thanks to Brenda Woods for regular inspiration. Both intentional and ….
Thanks to the other Brenda for the kind words.
Thanks to Shane Kennedy for an unexpected lovely message.
Thanks to John Baronian for the good news.
Thanks to Milo Murray…honestly wouldn’t know where to start.
Thanks to Freddie Curtis for the lunch invitation and the penguin videos.
Thanks to Kieran McMahon , turkey whisperer, for the morning salutes.
Thanks to anyone that I bumped into this week that I haven’t mentioned so far, I do love you and appreciate your forgiveness.
Thanks to my Soulmate for every moment of every day.
And thank you for reading this.
I think there is a little Moonchild in all of us.
Don’t forget.
Say thanks.
Accept thanks.
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. This is Jake Bugg’s ‘All I Need’
P.P.S. My darling Soulmate and her madcap Dippers are raising money for snappily titled North East Cancer Research & Education Trust again this year by doing their infamous ‘Dip In The Nip’. If you have a shilling or two to spare please donate here . Thanks !
