“Happy, spinning, clapping, laughing, dancing
In the blackness of magic
Get it, have it, bag it, throw yourself on the aeroplane
And fly like magic
No sleep, no chance, no need, forget about it
One life, live free, big dreams, we’re all about ’em
You’re finding it, take it, take it in, it’s all here
You and me, no one else, nothing else but us right now
And I ain’t need nothing else, no one else but you and I,
And it ain’t me, it ain’t you, it’s only us, it’s us right now”
Gilbert Vierich / Graham Winslow Dickson / Sebastian Robert Lloyd Pringle
Sleep and I argue a lot. I mostly manage to wake up in a good mood. Today is Thursday, yes ,, I know today is actually Friday, for you reading this, but it’s actually Thursday, and actually I do know that I am over fond of the word actually. I have woken in a good mood. I have woken in a good mood several times already during the course of the past several hours, and happily gone back to sleep to adventure some more, but no I am awake for the day. My Soulmate has already left for her dip in Emy Lake, but I have Tuna for company. She is at the end of the bed and stretches and yawns as I open the curtains on my side and then lazily reaches a paw out towards me through the dancing dust in the sunbeam that enters as I open the other curtain. I say ‘Good Morning Dotty’, and she miaows that she is incredibly bored with that name. I apologise. Then I tune in to the radio on my phone…
“Tariffs…20%…Kerrygold…10% Perfidious Albion…big man baby…penguins…keep calm…Smoot Hawley…Ferris Bueller…”
I switch it to my playlist , Twenty One Pilots belt out ‘We Don’t Believe What’s On TV’ and roar along, with a mouthful of Crest toothpaste to the ‘Yeah,yeah, yeah’ bits.
Ray messages asking if we can go for our run a little earlier as he has a message to do. I agree , but have to hurry now , as my first cup of tea every day is very important and I do not want to rush the brewing process in case it’s not properly strong enough and then I will resent Ray for the rest of the day. I brew my tea, and then potter about trying to find the other sock, and the long sleeve running top. I have my two Weetabix with Dunnes Stores berry museli mix, drowned in milk and make the mistake of scrolling through Bluesky :
“World order, penguins, “Is this 10% on top of the 25%”, recession, recession, penguins…”
My Soulmate returns from the lake.
“Beautiful morning.”
“Yes, many at the lake ?”
“The usual. Is Tuna in or out ?”
“Out. She got stroppy when I called her Dotty.”
“I know how she feels.”
I finish my cereal and rinse the bowl in the sink and make a big show of putting it in the dishwasher. My tea is almost perfect. I look at the time and hurry out to the car, and drive out to Rossmore to meet Ray for our run. The radio come on automatically and it’s tuned to RTE 1 and the news is still on…
“In a moment we’ll be speaking to the Minister for ‘No Need To Panic At This Point’, but first let’s have an hysterical knee jerk reaction from an astrologer/economist who has got every single prediction wrong since God was a little boy, but is great for getting people to call in and complain on Liveline later on…..”
I switch it to my playlist again and smile and put on my sunglasses as I listen to Joan As Police Woman is singing Holy City…and so am I …she gets more lyrics correct than I do.
Something very, very strange happens. Ray is in the Park before me. We mention the news, getting it all out of our system, before we start running and get on to serious matters such as what time we’ll run at on Saturday, the wholesale kilo price of filet beef, this year’s Harvest Blues festival line up, The Morrigan’s new teeth, Barry McGuigan’s fight 40 years ago against Pedroza, and Dominic’s upcoming half marathon in Omagh. We say hello to everyone we meet and follow up with a ‘Great day’ and receive ‘Indeed’, ‘Super’, ‘Magic’, and ‘Not so Bad’ as replies.
We congratulate ourselves on our athleticism, fist bump and depart the Park.
The damn radio comes on again…
“As a neutral country, do we side with the penguins, who , as far as we know are also neutral, or do we ….’
”What have penguins ever done for us ? No seriously. When we were seeking recognition from the League of Nations in 1919, where were the penguins then ??”
“And is that the position of the Regional Independendent Group or a personal … it’s the opinion of two of you…oh I see…”
I switch it off and play Norma Tanega’s ‘You’re Dead’ instead.
At work I haven’t even closed the warehouse door behind me before Vincent asks “What the hell are the Yanks at now ?” and we chat for a few minutes about Michael O’Leary and Alan Sugar’s similar opinion that it’s best to let them shoot themselves in the foot and focus on things we can actually control.
I go into the canteen to see if I can make a decent cup of tea. This is a challenge at work, because the water isn’t as good as it is at home from the well, the mugs aren’t just right, and well, that’s it really. Dermot joins me for his 7th coffee of the day…it’s 9.40am. We discuss tariffs. In my head I’m listening to Elton John’s ‘Tiny Dancer’.
I say hello to everyone in the main office, and almost make it to my office without hearing the word ‘Tariff’ again, but Stephen’s office door is open and I hear it twice before reaching sanctuary. I check emails. I ignore anything work related and open the one from CMAT offering me tickets to her December 5th gig in Dublin. This causes me some anxiety as I’d love to go, and I know that if I mention it to Baz he’d go with me but I think I have something else booked with my Soulmate that weekend that involves that Crawford one, but I can’t ask, as when I was originally told to put it in my diary so I didn’t double book ‘one of your and Baz’ girls nights out’. I line up her two albums to listen to when I do some very, very important work. Stephen pops in to both ask and offer opinions on tariffs. There is no mention of penguins. I lose interest. He tells me that John is working on it. Then he goes away. I had meant to ask him about my lawn mower which isn’t working, through absolutely no fault of mine, as he knows lots more about these things than I do. My broken lawn mower is also causing me anxiety as it stopped working just as I finished mowing my lawn, but before I could mow my neighbour’s lawn. They can clearly see that I’ve mown mine and are probably wondering what they’ve done , that I haven’t mown theirs. More importantly Molly saw me mow mine and was waiting for me to call over and throw sticks. This is how feuds and tariff wars start.
I pop into John’s office. He is in surprisingly good form considering we are now facing 54% tariffs on goods from the other People’s Republic into the States. He has been dealing with a duty specialist and two of our Chinese manufacturers. “No one has a clue as to what’s happening. But whatever it is is happening to everyone.” He smiles and shrugs his shoulders. I think RTE should have him as their ‘expert’, it would be refreshingly honest.
At Elevenseseses tariffs are mentioned and argued over. I’m happier with this conversation as other’s have heard of the tariffs imposed on Heard Island’s penguins. I show then the ‘Flipper’s Up’ meme. Three people argue about what tariff applies where. I have absolutely no ide. I am one of the thre people arguing anyway.
I am very disappointed with my Elevenseseses tea.
When I go back to my office there is an unopened parcel addressed to my Soulmate on my desk. I ring her office. She laughs and says she’ll be up directly.
“It’s for you.” She says.
“What is it ?” I ask, hoping it is two tickets to see CMAT wrapped in a limited edition CMAT tee shirt. It isn’t. It is a book and some funny packages. My Soulmate is smiling and laughing softly because I look very confused indeed. The book is called ‘The Breathing Cure’ which looks interesting, but the package has a picture of a dead man on it who looks like me I didn’t pluck my nasal hair and hadn’t had an interesting life. I then realise that he’s asleep and that what’s stuck around his mouth isn’t a beard, it’s Myotape “Nose breathing designed for beards”. On the back is a picture of Patrick McKeown who looks far too young to have any issues sleeping, and seems to have written 4 books about breathing, which seems excessive to me. On the back is also a grammatically confusing chant, mantra, or admonition “Men with Beards Wake up feeling refreshed !”.
My Soulmate asks what I think. I’m thinking ‘Why are the words beard and wake capitalised in that sentence ?’, but I do not say this out loud. I say I’ll give it a try and that I love her.
I do some work.
I get a call from a nice lady in the council.
I message my friends in the Friends of Rossmore group :
Greetings Wonderful Weirdos !
I’ve been contacted by a lovely lady in the Council’s Community Section about putting forward the FORP group and Rossmore for a Pride of Place award.
They seem to want to mention the Drumlin Giants and some Giant related activities as coming under the umbrella of FORP , which I think is cool as lots of you guys are huge supporters , and active volunteers on everything Rossmore.
Process is that we just say yes we’re interested and then the aforementioned lovely lady will guide us through the process and we all might get to wear a nice frock at a sparkling event later in the year… or a sparkling frock at a nice event.
Are we OK to let our name go forward ?
Paul’
I get several thumbs up, comments about my Monsters Inc shoes, and general agreement. I message the lovely lady in the council and say we’re on board and she is very happy.
Before going home for lunch with my Soulmate I pop into Stephen’s office and tell him that my super duper lawn mower had stopped working and that I’ve let Chrissy, Shauna and Molly down and fell that I have to go home now via Kilmore Church so that I don’t pass their house on the way home. He give me lots of tips on where pulleys and things are to be found underneath my lawnmower and what needs to connect to what. He has missed the whole point of my visit. He was supposed to say “I’ll pop over and have a look.”
As I’m waiting in the car for my Soulmate the diabolical radio switches itself on.
“TARIFFS ! TARIFFS ! TARIFFS ! 20%, 10%, 25%, 42%, penguins, formulas, Kerrygold, Viagra, Botox, Cork, New York, Dundalk, Gortahork and Glenamaddy ..Oh Lisdoonvarna, Lisdoon, Lisdoon, Lisdoon, Lisdoonvarna!…”
It’s exactly the same as it was this morning. I switch to my playlist, “Struck by Lightning” by The Chats pops on and clears my fog.
At home we are greeted by Tuna, I put the kettle on, looking forward to the second best cup of tea of the day. While it’s boiling I go out to the postbox and am delighted to find a large envelope addressed to me at ‘The True Centre of The Universe’. It’s a little painting of the moon by Peter Donnelly and was sent to me by my great friend Paula, yes ,, the vintage plate lady, yes ,, the lady who designed my Soulmate and I’s wedding invitation, yes,, the lady from all those mad nights in Leeson St., yes that amazing lady. She has written a note “Hello ! Saw this and thought of you. It’s by a pal of mine- Peter Donnelly – wonderful illustrator. I hope all is well with you and yours. Hope to see you soon. Paula.”
I poach my eggs, butter my Ryvita, and make my tea and instead of the tariffs , I listen to Bill Burr’s podcast, and gaze at my little moon which is propped up against the salt cellar. Two people have said to me lately that I should do a podcast. My friend Shane has a podcast called ‘Music and the Mind’ and I was a guest on it. It seems a lot of work, and frustratingly they don’t let you play music on your podcast, even if its about music, which , as I mention music from time to time, wouldn’t really suit me.
I’m gazing at my Peter Donnelly moon and think how lucky I am and decide that I’m going to call to my old friend Mary this afternoon. I’ve been meaning to do this for a long time, and as today is lovely I know she’ll be sitting out the back in her garden. I phone her when I’m back at work to make sure she’s there. It’s ringing out. Just as I’m about to hang up she answers.
“Hello ?”
“Hi Mary. It’s Paul.”
“Hello ?”
“Hi Mary. It’s Paul Bond.”
“I can’t hear you…Hello ?” Mary is hard of hearing.
“IT’S ME , PAUL !”
I can hear Mary talking to someone else in the background “Here , take this, there’s someone on the phone but they won’t say who they are”. Someone else comes on the phone.
“Who’s this ?”
“It’s Paul Bond.”
“Oh hi Paul, it’s Fiona here.”
“I was thinking of calling up to say hello to your Mum.”
“She’d love that. We’re out the back.”
“Would she like ice cream ?”
“Yes.”
I drive to Sloans to pick up Magnums. I get an almond one and a plain chocolate one. I like the almond one. I have learned to have my phone already playing my playlist before I get back in the car so the radio doesn’t come on. I listen to The Beastie Boys singing ‘Sabotage’ as I drive up the Pound Hill with my windows open.
I get a big hug and a kiss on the cheek from Mary when I arrive. Fiona and her grandkids head off to the Park and Mary and I settle in for a good old natter. I offer her the two Magnums. She picks my almond one. We chat about old friends, what we’ve done in the last year, and very, very important things like family, hearing, reading, being able to read, more old friends, family, and how lucky we are to be sitting eating ice cream, surrounded by Forget Me Nots, in the sunshine. I leave with the promise of a visit in two weeks. I get another lovely hug and another kiss on the cheek.
Queueing in traffic at the lights on the Cootehill Road, and the Convent girls are leaning nonchalantly on walls waiting for buses. My windows are down and I’m listening to David Bowie’s ‘Criminal World’. It must be louder than I think , as it has attracted the bemused attention of a couple of girls in Convent sports gear carrying Sean McDermotts kit bags. It reminds me of the times I used to drop Robyn off to this school and just as she was getting out I’d turn the music up really loud and all of her friends would look over and she’d be mortified and I’d think it was the coolest thing ever. I turn the music up now and smile at the girls in Convent sports gear carrying Sean McDermotts kit bags, and mouth “It’s David Bowie” pointing at the radio, even though the the music is coming from my phone. One of them must be related to Michael Lowry and gives me his anti-penguin gesture as the others turn away.
I stop in Applegreen to buy more Magnums for the guys at work. I buy three almond ones, and three chocolate ones, and a Calipo for my Soulmate. When I arrive at work Vincent is talking to a customer. I offer them an ice cream, they both pick almond ones. I call into Dermot’s office. He picks the last almond one. I then hand Gary a plain chocolate one, “Didn’t they have any almond ones ?” he asks. “ If you’re quick you can wrestle Dermot for his.” I go upstairs and hand Ryan and John the last two plain chocolate ones saying “They were sold out of the almond ones.” , before they can ask.
I do some work.
On my way home I call to Mum and Dad, and forget to play my playlist…
“What is a tariff ?” Penguins, Kerrygold, ISEQ, FTSE 100, Dow Jones, penguins, Why ?, 1930s, Windsor Framework, TARIFFS, whiskey….”
Mam and Dad are in good form. I tell them I won’t have a cup of tea, as I’m heading home to make my own. We discuss lawnmowers, penguins ( not tariff related), tariffs, patio grouting, David McWilliams, and Cardinal, the tv series.
When I get home I start making the tea, which is our dinner, not tea tea, and decide to replace the toilet seat in the main bathroom which my Soulmate has been asking me to do since Tuesday, as we have visitors coming on Saturday. I told her it’s only Baz and Karen, and they’re coming from Kildare, so indoor plumbing will be novelty enough, but no, we must have a new toilet seat because the existing one moves sometimes because it was poorly installed. I had installed it.
My Soulmate returns home from her run to the sound of very loud cursing coming from the upstairs bathroom. She comes up and asks what’s wrong. I tell her that I had just dropped an important toilet seat widget into the toilet and while retrieving it had also dropped my favourite little screwdriver in to join it. We both laugh.
I am the least practical person alive. Any job that involves connecting any two things together, no matter how clear the instructions, is very frustrating for me, and even more frustrating for my Soulmate as a result. I tell her that Winnie The Pooh is better at DIY than I am.
I listen to Macy Gray’s ‘I Try’ as I fiddle with widgets at the back of the toilet bowl and stop cursing.
We have our tea.
She calms my soul.
I run a bath.
I read on Bluesky that the man that started the whole tariff malarkey today is heading off on a big jet for a long weekend to play golf.
I stop reading Bluesky.
I’m listening to Soccer Mommy on my playlist and remember that she is playing in Vicar St. in May and I meant to ask Baz and Karl if they’d like to go. I’ll do it tomorrow.
I think how lucky I am to live in the True Centre of The Universe, surrounded by wonderful people, to get little pictures of the moon in the post, to have a cat that understands what I say, to have a garden, to have ice cream, and to have been married 28 years tomorrow to my Soulmate.
I’m still not really sure what a tariff is, but as those fine raconteurs croon :
“And I ain’t need nothing else, no one else but you and I”
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. This is for penguin lovers everywhere, Crystal Fighters, ‘You & I ‘.
