Picture the scene; Two days of labour (ok don’t picture that!) three days in hospital and return to a two bedroom flat with a recently set up business running from the second bedroom!

In those delicate days when you can hardly walk, are trying to learn to feed a child, are desperately sleep deprived, are failing to get dressed and generally feel like your experiencing an outer body experience; I lived those days with an office, (Direct to Market Ltd), staff and deliveries coming in and out daily!

But within six weeks news arrived that our home in the village of Sandymount was ready. With a  deceptively large front room we were able to set up a far more professional feel. Four desks, wireless  connection, printers, faxes, laptops and flat-screen, we were on our way!

Problem was it was still in the home.  We could never take a day off; if sick we could never come out    of the bedroom in our cosy clothes, the kitchen which doubled as the office break room needed to be  kept clean and as Molly, my daughter, developed we had to keep her quiet when passing the office  areas!

Tips for having an office at home

• Get people to clean/wash their own dishes, cups etc
• If possible have a separate bathroom/toilet to the family – it was our lifesaver!
• Have cosy clothes that you wouldn’t mind heading out in – then you won’t feel so bad if caught unawares
• Agree opening and closing times to avoid the office hours spilling into family time
• Treat the office as just that – avoid heading in to the office following dinner or on the weekend
• Have separate phones, home and office; otherwise people will never leave you alone (although with mobiles, that happens anyway)
• Encourage lunch out rather than plonking themselves all around your kitchen table every day!
• Hugely important to hire people you will get on with; we have been incredibly fortunate.  Special word to Mary who is simply the best colleague anyone could have
• Go out often, I suddenly realised one week that apart from dropping off or picking up Molly from crèche I hadn’t been out in three days!
• Get networking – don’t loose touch with the market place
• Be proud – have meetings in the home.  We had plenty of clients around the kitchen table.  They felt part of something special and we felt proud of our office and home
• Lock the office door – helps avoid the overtime temptation
• Have a plan to move out. Don’t allow complacency to set in

Two years later I decided to add a PR wing, (EMCGPR) to the promotional and customer acquisition offering. Within a year we merged the two brands and became Pivotal Communications and secured lovely new offices at 11 Percy Place in Dublin 4. More on that later

Our home is now our home and the office is somewhere we work from!

This picture was taken on a cold but sunny day in February 2009.  We were driving along the coast road on Dublin’s southside.  We were celebrating the life of a great man that day. 

Years ago, back in my teens, when the confines of my world were restricted to the lowlands of the Midlands, I had a cute little Labrador called “Shelly”. Poor Shelly was neglected by the rest of my family. I walked and fed Shelly on a daily basis after school. Some weekends, I brought her for an extra long walk to make up for the day or two during the week I might have neglected her.

One warm, sunny day, Shelly and I set out on a walk. A mile and a half down the road I reached the T-junction. I stood on the hill overlooking the expansive green fields and stone walls that are notorious in the West of Ireland. “Left or right?” I asked myself. I decided to go left and onward we walked. I had been living in the area for a year or two by then and still had no idea of where I was going.

Two hours later, Shelly and I were still walking. The afternoon sun sat high in the cloudless sky. It was warm. I felt the heat. Shelly panted but maintained her pace. I still had no idea where I was. I hoped Shelly might pull a Lassie and lead me home, but the thick bitch did no such thing. I was a little concerned. Onwards Shelly and I marched.

Five hours later, I was still on the road. I was now panicked. I recognised no landmarks. The country roads looked the same, merging seamlessly, removing any sense of familiarity. By now I was exhausted. Shelly limped. I stopped every few minutes to allow her rest. I even attempted to lift her fat carcass and carry her. She was too heavy. In the distance a car came over the hill. It was Dad. Dad used explicit language and gruffly instructed me to get into the car.

Shelly could not walk for three days. For three days she sat in her basket. My family accused me of “breaking” the family pet. I felt unbelievably guilty for a few days until Shelly was back to her old self. Her paws made a full recovery and once again allowed her to chase us around the kitchen at the sight or sound of food. Mum aptly called her “Hunger’s Mother”.

Since this incident, I’m careful about going on random walks. I’ve resigned myself to the fact I have no sense of direction. When I jog, I do circuits around the same park a number of times. This ensures I don’t get lost. I often run up the road and back again. Yep, it is as dull as it sounds. Blasting my ears with some of the newest chart hits sometimes takes the edge of it.

This evening, I threw caution to the wind. I left work and instead of running through the local park, I headed for the plush neighbourhoods of Sandymount. The lavish properties inspired notions of grandeur. I eventually hit Sandymount Strand and ran along the walkway of the coast. The sky was clear, the evening was warm and the sea was blue. Dublin bay looked sensational.

On my return journey (in the general direction of work) I took a detour along the beach. I loved it. During the jog, I came across some pictures constructed with sea shells. One picture was of a mermaid and the other was of two fish. For once, during a jog, my mind was active, absorbing the detail of my surroundings. It was invigorating.

I am definitely going to do this again. I will pound the open road and see where it takes me. Yeah, I might get lost. What of it? When on the open road, I am mostly on my own, but for the big, fat lump of dog that runs alongside me. Shelly is there in some form or other. I bet she loved this evening’s jaunt.

Stop Climate Chaos is organising a major demonstration “Climate Countdown to Copenhagen” on Sandymount Strand on Saturday, June 13th from 12 p.m.

They will choreograph over 1,000 people to make stunning visual presentations. For this new world record attempt, masses of people holding specially printed Metro newspaper covers will come together to form a giant human hourglass sending a clear message that time for action is running out. Everyone will then form the words 6 MONTHS and ACT NOW to call on the Irish Government to show commitment and leadership in securing a strong, just global deal on climate change and commit to climate protection legislation in Ireland.

Please come and participate in a FUN way of highlighting an important global issue!!

More information on the UN Climate Change Conference is available on the website: http://en.cop15.dk/

The Stop Climate Chaos Site is: http://www.stopclimatechaos.ie/

Le peuple irlandais a rejeté à 53% le traité de Lisbonne soumis à référendum dans ce petit pays d’un peu plus de 4 millions d’habitants. C’est la seule nation européenne où la démarche du référendum a été adoptée, et…

Signe d’un divorce profond entre l’esprit de l’Europe et ceux qui la font aujourd’hui d’une part, et entre  ces derniers et les peuples européens d’autre part, cet “échec” ne doit pas laisser indifférent comme ce fut le cas lors de l’accident industriel de 2005 en France et au Pays-bas.

Alors pour le plaisir, je vous redonne à lire et à sentir mon Irlande.

L‘Irlande, c’est une vieille copine, 17 ans que je la fréquente. On a eu une belle histoire ensemble… Elle était jeune, un peu rebelle, un peu fauchée, pas maquillée, mais sacrément sexy… Elle aimait faire trotter son cheval O’Connell Street. Elle m’a même raconté que le truc qui la faisait le plus rire, c’était de le faire monter dans l’ascenseur de Liam, dans le North Side… On s’est un peu roulé dans la paille ensemble du côté de Sandymount, de Lansdowne Road, sur les trottoirs glissants et arrosés du Jazz Cork Festival ou de la Saint Patrick à Dublin…

Quelle descente elle avait ! Fallait pas lui parler des Français, avec leurs regards un peu trop francs d’obsédés sexuels… Mais avec moi ça passait, fallait juste que je la suive à la Guinness et au Fish N’Chips de Bath Avenue… Et puis elle m’a présenté ses potes, Espagnols, Italiens, Australiens, Sheep shaggers, pardon, Neo-Zélandais, Allemands, Américains, même…

Elle m’a peut-être sauvé la vie un soir de Saint Patrick en 1994 en m’aidant à traduire les propos d’un Gardaï dublinois à bout de nerfs, lorsque celui-ci m’a ordonné de laisser ma Pinte où elle était, en me virant du pub à une heure indue… “Try Oogain to get yis bloody Pint O’ Guinniss and yeah is Oonder arresht youn’ pale…”

Je suis retournée la voir avec le 5ème élément il y a quelques années. Quel plaisir de retrouver avec elles Dublin, le Bad Ass Café, Sandymount, Glencolumcill, Kilcar, Donegal City, Galway, les Iles d’Aran, de partager quelques pintes et quelques verres de vins australiens…

Mais bon Dieu qu’elle a changé… Elle a arrêtée de fumer, elle s’est enrichie, elle s’est embellie aussi, faut avouer, un peu plus apprêtée, un peu plus maquillée… A peine un peu affadie…

Elle roule en Berline maintenant… Et elle traine souvent en terrasse, comme les Parisiennes. J’ai toujours du mal à la suivre à la Guinness, mais plus pour les mêmes raisons, question de budget… Elle est devenue geek, faut dire qu’elle bosse dans l’informatique… Son mec est dans le Business, ça roule…

Ses cousins de Derry et de Belfast ont arrêté les conneries aussi. C’est important pour elle. Ca l’empêche quand même pas d’être restée une sacrée rebelle… Avec un sourire !

Et puis elle a eu 2 enfants, pas mal en Europe. Comme si ça suffisait pas, comme elle a un grand coeur, même si ça se voit pas toujours, elle a adopté un petit Polonais, un petit Tchèque, et un petit Indien. J’espère que ça se passera bien.

Tout ça pour vous dire que même si elle est plus comme avant, l’Irlande, ça reste ma copine pour la vie. Et puis tiens, dès que j’ai l’occase, avec le 5ème élément, on lâche nos pommiers et on emmène Bonhomme voir si les moutons font Meuuuuh là-bas comme ici…

Dublin court

After a week out of the office, i’m back!

Having spent the whole week sitting on the couch and gingerly hobbling around Sandymount following my operation i attended the IIA Congress. I will put up a post about the event when i can.

Spotted this campaign from Big Brother in Australia. Very good use of bluetooth technology. I am not sure what the regulations for sending unsolicited text messages in Australia are but i think it is a clever hook. Do you think this would work in Ireland? To be honest it could be used for numerous competitions and launches. No doubt it will be replicated very quickly!

Here’s Part 2 of the prospectively never-ending photograph series “On Being Dour in Ireland”

This is my bedroom in Sandymount, the posh Dublin suburb where I’ll be living until the middle of April. It’s in Dublin 4, the most sought-after postal code. The townhouses rented for our program are holiday homes, meant for week-long stays: they’re fully furnished, each with sleazy leather couches, a fake fireplace, and framed, bolted-to-the-wall b&w photography (identical in each house) included. Pretty funny.

I’d put up decorations of my own, but I kindof feel like I’m in a hotel. Heres me “relaxing”

“Je suis juste capable d’ingérer le doux et brûlant breuvage made in Tennessee, Oulde Jack… Vais-je où pas flamber ces putains de bananes ? Voilà la question qui m’assaille… Mais j’ai trop de choses à raconter. C’est bien pour ça que je veux descendre à Cashel… Pour mettre de l’ordre dans ma tête après ce mois et demi de folie passé en Irlande.

Je veux essayer de faire le point, à tous points de vue et surtout un mois et demi après ma séparation d’avec Amy d’autant plus en constatant ce que je commence à ressentir de nouveau pour le sexe opposé. En particulier, même s’il est trop tôt, pour Montse.

J’ai vraiment l’impression de retourner trois ans en arrière, la douce sensation de faire ce que j’ai envie, pour moi, pour être moi, parce que personne ne peut le faire à ma place, un peu comme un desperado dans le désert du Mojave. C’est une drôle de sensation de liberté, probablement artificielle, de pouvoir se prendre une cuite quand bon vous semble, en n’ayant à s’inquiéter que du transport de sa propre carcasse. Ca pourrait être un peu triste, ça l’est peut-être. J’avais peur de la solitude et de la tristesse après la séparation. Mais non, au delà du spleen, la sensation est plutôt agréable. C’est cool, la vie de célibataire…

J’aime les Rolling stones : ils me vident la tête, me font bouger au rythme des flammes d’un bon feu de bois, là-bas, quelque part dans le Michigan, du côté de Sault-Sainte-Marie…

Là bas…

Je crois qu’il est temps de joindre à nouveau ma destinée à celle d’une vieille Camel, et de fumer cette cigarette sans penser à rien d’autre qu’à ce putain de temps qui passe… Calmement, inexorablement, indifféremment…”

Some time ago , 25 years ago that is…..I met the poet Seamus Heaney. I never met Robert Lowell or Elvis but like I say , I did meet Heaney.

I wrote to him , as I said , about 25 years ago. I was having trouble getting some of his books , not his regular editions but privately printed limited editions of his , and so I wrote to him to see if he could help me in some way. I did not really expect to get a reply so I was delighted when he wrote back and suggested that I call down to see him. (I live , perhaps a mile and a half from Sandymount where his home is.)

As I was walking up Sandymount Road with Dublin Bay on my left I happened to meet him in the street. It was about 12:00 noon , sometime in late Summer and there was a pleasant sea breeze as we met and I shook his hand. I remember the first question I asked him. “What’s it like to be famous , to be the Elvis Presley of poetry ” ? Now that may seem a somewhat odd question or even a foolish one so let me explain.

I could of course have asked him some ‘profound’ question about the Greek poets perhaps but the truth of the matter is that I wasn’t really interested in his opinion of the Greeks or any other poets for that matter. Why after all would I be interested in another man’s opinion when I’ve got my own ? But I was interested to know what it was like to be famous. I had never met anyone really famous before and let’s face it , we are bombarded with images of the famous from the moment we become conscious of the wider world. So I asked him , “what’s it like to be famous “. And it turned out to be a good question because while still yet in the street he began to talk about just that.

He talked the of fact that he hadn’t actually made any money from the books he had published ( five at that point in time). That apart from his salary teaching he had not made any money from his fame at all. He told me how much he had paid for his house ( he got in just before the prices started to move upwards) and what it cost to put his kids through school and that sort of thing. We were walking along as he spoke and I think he was talking to himself as much as to me….he spoke of how it could be awkward , even embarrassing to be famous. He explained that he often might be in company with a fellow poet ( a better poet than him as he put it) and people would talk to him , ask his opinion while ignoring the sometimes older and better poet at his side. He spoke of the jealousies and enmities that it brought with it.

When we got to his house he brought me up to his study , a small room overlooking Dublin Bay , and we talked about poetry and poets. It was a pleasant experience apart that is from the smell. The smell , I hasten to say came not from his room but from the beach beyond his window. The sewage from all over Dublin City is deposited in Dublin Bay and in the summer it smells…it really smells. While I was there he was signing the sheets for his limited edition , “Poems and a Memoir”. Just the sheets of paper , the book itself had not been bound at this point. As I say , it was a really nice experience and before I left he gave me some of his own poems , drafts that is , with revisions in his own hand.

I called down to his house two or three times after that ( he invited me). To be honest I cannot remember what we talked about but I suppose it had to do with poetry. But I can remember one conversation….. We were sitting in his kitchen. By ‘we’ I mean there were two other people there , one a fellow who had something to do with Field Day Publishing and the other guy was some artist who’s name I have since forgotten.( I have a long standing interest in Irish art so the fact that I cannot even remember his name will give you an indication as to the nature of the ‘artist’). Well , there we were , the four of us , with a bottle of wine on the table and the sun streaming in the window. The conversation was ( as we Irish say) terrific. Somewhere along the way Heaney told a joke about Robert Lowell. It seems that when he was introduced to Lowell the American just looked at him and said , “My friends call me Robert , but you can call me Bob”. Ok , it’s not that funny but it sounds a lot better after a couple of glasses of wine. I was sitting with my back to the window , my chair slightly back from the table , almost a spectator and it occurred to me that this was the kind of little anecdote that biographers love to record.

Later , as I walked home I couldn’t help but think that yes , yes that little anecdote might well find it’s way into some biography of Seamus Heaney but I would most certainly have been airbrushed out of it. A sobering thought but a true one nonetheless.

And I did in fact later meet one other famous person , a serial killer called Dennis Nilsen……. Oh , and I passed Bono one day on O’Connell Bridge but I didn’t stop to talk to him so I guess that really doesn’t count.

You can find an interview with Heaney on Youtube by following this link.