Voting Early pays off

“Always make sure you vote” was the war cry from my mother, my father, my step father, my uncle, my granda and my granny. Having listened to them harping on about the importance of voting for the best part of 18 years when the opportunity arose for me to play a part in the democratic process at 18 I felt complete. (Well almost)

Going to the polling station I was nervous, excited and felt like a responsible adult. I took my place in line with my polling card in hand, along with my id. (It wasn’t necessary to have photo id at that time in the North) The line moved at a snails pace and just when I was second from the top all hell broke out. Some poor woman had her vote “stolen”, she had her id but no polling card, it didn’t come in the post. “Sorry that vote has already been cast” the official advised.

The lady went nuts at the fact that someone took her democratic right away and it was done so easily. Now systems have improved immensely following the introduction of photo id, however that was a life lesson that has followed me right up to this very day.

All week I was waiting on my polling card to arrive, it didn’t. This
morning after the postman delivered my mail without any polling card I was transported right back to that poor lady who had her vote stolen.

I immediately contacted DLRCOCO, they confirmed I was on the supplementary register and that I should have received my polling
card. The helpful lady at the other end of the phone advised me that there was a “problem” with them and that she was advised everyone would receive them before polling today. I told her that polling day is tomorrow and the postman is gone! She advised that I might receive it in the morning. I asked her what the problem was and she giggled and just said there was a problem and reassured me I can vote with photo id. I couldn’t believe that it didn’t occur to her that this could be a major problem.

What about all those people who might think they can’t vote without a polling card?

Now as I go to the polling station tomorrow without my polling card I
will be thinking how many fellow citizens will miss out on the
opportunity to exercise their democratic right because they didn’t
receive the official polling card and are unaware that they can still
vote with photo id. I believe this lack of organisation and
communication on behalf of DLRCOCO just isn’t good enough when the country is taking to the polls to vote on one of the most important referendums that will effect our future for years to come.

The full post can be found on www.irishelection.com

123 Days

It's been 123 days since I was made redundant, four whole months! Four months which at times seemed to drag by but looking back have gone faster than you can say 123.

Things I've learned since being made redundant

Negative

1. You take your stress out in those closest to you

2. It can be pretty shitty sometimes, especially as all your friends work and aren't around for a bit of craic

3. You beat yourself up over it even though its not your fault

Positive

1. You appreciate people around you a lot more especially when they do little things to cheer you up

2. You'll be surprised how little money you actually need to live a happy, healthy life

3. You get the opportunity to do the things you really enjoy doing

Do not do this when you've been made redundant

1. Tell your boss to fuck off - you might need a reference, but it's ok to call her a cunt as a cunt is a beautiful thing!

2. Spend what money you have, start budgeting immediately

3. Take any job that comes along, you might end up extremely unhappy

You might want to do this though

1. Get yourself a dog - best thing I ever did, she's great

2. Make lists to keep yourself busy, if you don't make a list you'll end up doing nothing

3. Enjoy yourself and do things that you love

and then the penny dropped!

As I walked close to the huge circus style tent I could hear the beats of the drums, the strumming of the guitar and the roar of the crowd. My stomach churned with anticipation or perhaps I should have eaten before I started drinking. The hits came one after another, after another. The audience danced and the endorphins swam like fish in a high sea. "Good times, these are the good times" came blasting from the stage "leave your cares behind...these are the good times."

Chic were rocking the crowd and these were good times indeed. For a few short hours I was dancing without a care in the world, forgot about the worries of no work and the daily stresses of paying the bills and wondering what the future held.

From the corner of my eye I saw him, just standing there, staring, not moving. He looked totally out of place with his broad shoulders, his peaked cap and the sour face of a guy who had just lost a million euros on some silly bet. His presence was not in sync with the mood of the crowd. I got pissed off at him. He was killing my buzz, he gave me a slap of reality that I didn't expect and one that I'll never forget. With that short glimpse he was reminding me of all those things I'd forgotten about. Feeling resentful I tried to forget about him then I tried to understand him. I failed miserably at both.

Chic played hit after hit, he just stood there, staring, not moving. I tried forgetting about him, moved further into the crowd danced with even more energy but he was still there. I kept looking back to check if the next soul tingling hit would make his body sway, flinch or flicker. Nothing!

He bothered me, he didn't ruin my night, just soured it a little. I just couldn't understand, why did he even bother turning up? Was he there through choice? Did he work there and just couldn't wait until he was able to get the fuck home? Was his stresses so great that he couldn't forget them for such a short time. I wanted to know his story but it was too late to ask for the night was over and my bed was calling. Not to mention the fact that he would've probably told me to fuck off!

The next morning the first image I had in my head was him, just standing there, staring, not moving. Why had his presence touched me so much? I just didn't get it, then with a sense of relief and explanation that I could comprehend I said to myself. "Maybe he was dancing on the inside" and off I went to make a bacon sandwich to feed that starving hangover.

Disturbing Dream.

I'm still in shock, I feel disturbed and I'm not sure when this feeling will leave me. I woke this morning trying to figure out if my dream was real or just a dream.

I dreamt a 13 year old girl I know went missing. The search parties were organised, the police informed. Initially her parents got sympathy from the press but then the press turned on them. Two years passed and nothing was heard from their daughter. It was such a mess until out of the blue her father got a call from his solicitor advising him that his daughter had been found dead in a local park. Police investigations intensified, the parents accused, until a neighbour admitted the killing. The murderer was a local women who held a grudge against the girl because she was always happy despite the face that she didn't have the most secure upbringing. The grudge turned into a jealous rage and Stacey was murdered.

When I woke from the dream the first thing I did was check my phone for messages in case something had happened, I even called my friend to tell her about the dream. I still feel disturbed and unsettled. Dreams can feel so real at times.

Redundancy Label

If you are here following the Irish Times student profile click on the redundancy label below in ordrer to read all the blogs regarding my redundancy.

Batting Cleaver Marriage Equality

Whatever you want to call gay marriage as long as there is full equality I don't really mind.

I think the tide is turning and we're getting smarter. I came across this ad this morning. Simple, clear message, non of the drama from this past few months.

Well done all involved. Oh and fair play to Sinead for letting her name be used :-P

Busy being unemployed!

Who said being unemployed was a doss! I've been fairly proactive in keeping myself busy this past few months but it was busy at my speed. This past two weeks I just haven't stopped. I've got that feeling that there just aren't enough hours in the day. I normally only get that feeling when I'm working (and getting paid for it).

What's keeping me busy? Everything. Maxie (the dog) still needs her walks. I've seen a job that I'm applying for - it's a long shot but god loves a tryer. I've really got into my book (the one i'm writing not the one I'm reading, though I would recommend it

The Billionaire Who Wasn't: How Chuck Feeney Secretly Made and Gave Away a Fortune) I'm in the zone, it's just a nuisance that there are about 30 other things in the zone. I'm still car booting it at the weekends. I've assignments to do. I've put myself forward to join a board of an NGO. I feel I should be blogging after the huge spike in traffic yesterday. Oh yeah and I'm building a website! House needs cleaned. Dinners need made and the car needs serviced.

I'm thinking of advertising a for a PA and giving the lucky applicant a days dole! Wonder what social welfare would think about that........

Welcoming new visitors

I'd like to welcome all new visitors coming over from Damien Mulley's Blog. You can imagine my surprise when my hits went through the roof this morning. I thought twitter can't be having that much of an impact yet, can it? I set up a twitter account directly linked to my blog to see if it really would have an impact on traffic.

Anyway, I hope you find something of interest on this blog and come back and visit again. Cheers Damien!

Bradys got some Balls!

The Primate of All Ireland, Cardinal Sean Brady said yesterday that the proposed Civil Partnership Bill would hugely change peoples concepts of the family. Has he not noticed that the makeup of the Irish family has been steadily changing long before any proposed Civil Partnership Bill was ever mentioned?

I find it quiet ironic that he chose to come out with such a statement, considering he is the leader of an organisation that has destroyed so many families because of its previous close relationship with the state. One doesn't need to look too far to see examples of this. Would this be a good juncture to mention the Ryan Report, Cardinal Brady?

While I recognise the church has a roll to play in society and that it's entitled to its opinion. I feel that the church should keep its nose out of government matters such as the Civil Partnership Bill. After all, who elected the Catholic church to run the country?

Bed, Breakfast, and Blogging.

It's Saturday morning, it's 10am and I feel that I've slept in until after noon. I've had the best nights sleep I've had in months and to top it off I was presented with breakfast in bed. Bliss!

Not having a job to get up and go to each day means that your weekends are no long your weekends. Mondays can be as fun as Saturdays and Tuesdays as lazy as Sundays and any day when you have to get up early can feel like a Monday. This is the first Saturday since I was made redundant that it has actually felt like a Saturday.

This week I decided that I was going to instigate a new regime, up by 8.30am read emails, check facebook, read the papers and have breakfast by 9.30am. Come 9.30am I refer to the list and see what can be accomplished and this week has been my busiest yet.

The job front looks particularly bleak, there are very few jobs being advertised that I would actually be interested in. I've almost completed all my assignments from summer school and I'm almost finished my new website for my new business. So with that in mind, I've decided it's time to get into the zone and finish my book.

As I type from under the covers of my duvet, I'm cherishing the fact that on this fine Saturday morning that it actually feels like a Saturday morning. Lets hope that tomorrow it truly is a lazy Sunday that way I'll have had my first proper weekend in three months.

Namely, The Doggie Park

I've been going to our local doggie park for about 8 weeks, usually every other day. Maxie knows that as soon as we pull into the car park, exactly were she is heading. It's about a three minute walk from the car park to the doggie park. She pulls on the lead, in her haste she almost pulls the arm out of my socket. As we get closer to the perimeter fence she stops, checks to see who's in the park, and I'm sure contemplates whether or not she could jump over the fence.

The amount of dogs in the park fluctuates on any given day from just me and Maxie, to around 25 dogs and their owners. There are all sorts of breeds, shapes and sizes of dogs. Most have a good temperament as they've been well socialised with other dogs. As well as meeting all sorts of dogs, you meet all sorts of dog owners. We end up chatting about everything from the weather to the recession but mostly we tell each other how great our dogs are.

Returning home yesterday, Maxie bate out in the back seat I realised that of all the people I bump into at the doggie park I don't know any of their names. I know they don't know mine. We've never asked each other but we do know the names of each others dogs. Namely Molly, Dexter, Oscar, Gucci, Prada,(I know!) Ben, Sushi, Bailey, and Sasha, to name a few!

Paying Forward Part II

I received the copy of Lend me your Ears book from Scott, many thanks Scott, I really appreciate it. It still amazes me and brings a smile to my face that one comment on a blog led to a complete random stranger taking the time to go out of his way and post me the book. Inside the book was this card (photo) which tagged me and asked me to commit a random act of kindness.

I have since carried out a random act of kindness by giving a fellow student a book that she needed however I don't think it was in the spirit of Paying Forward as I knew her.

I'll be on my look out for some unsuspecting person to tag and surprise. You too can order some Smile cards for free by requesting them from www.helpothers.org

You can read how all this came about my reading my previous blog on Paying Forward.

MA NAH MA NA NA NAMA

Every time I hear the word NAMA, I can't help singing the Sesame Street song Ma nah ma na NAMA and it brings a smile to my face. I don't know why maybe it conjures up some childhood memories but I'd place my bets on how ironic it is.

NAMA (National Assests Management Agency) is the governments brain child to rid our banks of all their bad debts leaving us, the taxpayer with all the risk. Now I'm not a financial expert and I don't know if I agree or disagree with NAMA however it does make me feel uneasy that the property developers who made millions perhaps billions during the Celtic Tiger are being bailed out. It's argued that if NAMA wasn't implemented that the country could face dire consequences but what about the dire consequences that we may face in the future because of NAMA.

The government appointed economist, Colm McCarthy, who identified €5.3 billion possible savings from government spending, stated that the Irish Banks could still be nationalised despite NAMA being implemented. Is this some kind of sick joke? We spend billions creating NAMA to help save the banks but might have to spend even more billions nationalising the banks further.

Ever get the feeling that you're in a dark room trying to find your way out with everyone giving different directions, maybe that's how the government feels as none of them are qualified enough to deal with this situation. I can also imagine the ministers sitting around the cabinet table twiddling their thumbs, looking into their department papers not fully understanding the magnitude of the crisis we're in, the impact of NAMA or even gaging public sentiment correctly but one thing is for sure I bet when the going gets tough the burst into song Ma Nah Ma Na Na Nama, Ma Nah Ma Na Na Nama, Ma Nah Ma Na Na Nama just to make them feel better!

Hen Pecking!

Twice last week I came across the term "Hen Week". What on earth is a Hen Week? I asked a friend of mine who was about to go on one of these previously unheard of excursions.

We've all heard of hen nights, haven't we? A group of the girls and a bride to be all get together for one final wild night out before she's tied to the kitchen sink by her apron strings.

Hen weekends have become a more common trend in recent times, were the same group of friends all jump on a short haul flight for a city style break in a European city. Fair enough, some times it's cheaper to get a return flight to London, Barcelona, Karkow or Budapest than it is for a taxi ride home. Hen and stag weekends became the norm.

During a recession and a era of financial instability for many, I couldn't believe that a Bride or Chief Bridesmaid would organise a Hen Week. It would be fair to say in the two instances that I'm aware off, that the social network wouldn't be the most affluent in society, average incomes, average jobs. I thought that this was highly inconsiderate and put people under extreme pressure both financially and organising time off work. What if some in the party had kids? Childminders, school drop offs, and pick ups, etc to be organised

Weddings are expensive enough for guests, new clothes, gifts, hotel, transport, bar bill etc but adding on a week of festivities in a foreign country is taking the biscuit. Isn't it or am I just getting tight in my old age?

Ever Dream your Dreams?

The change in the air that I was talking about a few days ago is still here. Last night I dreamed that one of my dreams in life came true. It was an amazing feeling full of joy, happiness and a sense of achievement. I was only disappointed when I woke up and realised it wasn't real. I still feel great though. I believe my dream was a hint to get into gear and start making that dream a reality

Have you ever dreamed your dreams?

I could smell him...

I worked at the lock for about five minutes, the door just wouldn't open. I was about to give up, 'one more try' I thought and with a final twist, the lock gave up its resistance. I went into his flat and headed straight to the back bedroom to find pictures I left there a number of years ago for safe keeping. They weren't there. I started to walk about the flat thinking that they had been moved. I then started to smell the cigarettes and stale alcohol. I went into the sitting room, the smell followed me. I tried not to breathe.

The smell was comforting, it reminded me of my childhood. The smell appeared to get stronger the more I searched. I couldn't find them. I decided to go home. On the drive home I felt really sad, not because my trip to collect the pictures was unsuccessful but because all my memories of my granda came flooding back, the good times, the bad times, the times we hid behind the sofa when he was paralytic drunk, knocking the door shouting, "who loves ya baby" to my granny. I miss him and his nuisance!

My granda died over three years ago and several people have lived in his flat since. I could smell him and I knew he was there with me.

Tomagotchi, I got a Maxie....

My last pet was a Tomagotchi, I purchased the blue encased electronic puppy dog from Belfast's famous toy shop, Leisure World. We all had them in our office, cheap pieces of plastic that we fed, played games with, cleaned up it's mess and constantly checked it's age, health, nutrition levels etc. When a Tomagotchi died in the office, we relished in the fact that they had to start all over again and we were one step closer to owning the oldest 'living' Tomagotchi in the building. The craze soon died with Tomagotchis strewn over homes, offices and cars.

Thirteen years have passed since the days of keeping an electronic pet on your keyring and I started toying with the idea of getting a dog. My partner wanted one but all I could think of was the shit in the garden and the constant walks. I also thought of the heartbreak when my sausage dog died, our springer spaniel died, when our cross breed ate all my mummy's clothes of the washing line and went straight back to the pound. I didn't think I was ready for doggie trauma and reminisced about a simple life with a Tomagotchi.

Something got hold of me though, I started googling dogs, checking out breeders websites and daydreaming about what it would be really like to have a dog about the house. The notion inside me was building so strong that I had to make a decision but couldn't think what the deal breaker would be. It came to me on one unsuspecting evening when I turned to my partner and said "If you had a dog, what would you call it?" I had in my head, if he answers 'Max', then that was the sign and we would get a new addition to our family. Without taking his eyes of the TV he said "Max". "Funny that" I replied "me too".

I then went about my secret plan of organising our new dog, our breed of choice had been a Golden Labrador, our friend had one and her temperament was so calming it endeared me to the breed. The breeder told me that he only had a boy left and that he would hold him for me until after my birthday weekend. During the drunken birthday celebrations I told a friend about my cunning plan for bank holiday Monday and she was so excited to see my partners face that she cajoled me into telling him. The shock and delight on his face was priceless. That Monday we packed up the car to make the 3 hour journey to collect Max, excitement, interpretation and I'll give him all the love and care he needs but I'm not picking up any shit was the general aurora coming from me. Love was my department. General maintenance and shit picking up was his department.

When we were nearing the breeders hometown we got a call to say we can meet you, to save you a further hours round trip, great I thought, then I remembered the advice on one of the many websites I gleaned for information 'don't pick your new dog up in a car park it's a sign of a puppy farm!' Too late, we'd made the arrangement. The breeder met us in the car park of a McDonalds, handed the puppy to Ger. She instantly licked his face as if it were a doggie lolly pop. The connection was made, the deal was done! Max turned out to be a girl, so as good owners do, we feminised her name to Maxie.

Maxie has been in our family now for just over three months; she has brought us so much joy, love and shit. Shit, that I'm happy to clean up each and every time she deposits a new load, it's my little way of paying her back. I'm so happy you're not a Tomagotchi, Maxie.

Photo (Maxie, her first night in her new home)

A Kick In Yer Boot!

Last Saturday I rose with the dawn to attend my first ever car boot sale, not as a buyer but as a seller. I packed the car with haste the night before with all sorts of goodies ready for the early start. We arrived at the boot sale at 7am and never got our stall set up until 9.30, the queue into the sale totally surpassed all my expectations.

There was a great sense of camaraderie between the sellers when we were setting up our stalls. Among the sellers there were tales of recession, moving home and clear outs. To my right there was a lady next to me was selling Cat and Doggie goods imported from Italy. She was the Irish distributor for these boutique goods for furry animals. Some of the items she was selling were truly fitting for Paris Hilton wannabes. The bags retailed at 70euro, car boot price 15euro. Celtic Tiger cats and dogs! To my left was a fella who was upping sticks and moving back to London, he brought along some helpers in shifting some of the coolest goods in the car boot sale. He had a saxophone, roller blades, mono sticks and an array of antique computer products. I had my eyes on the sax and was delighted when it was purchased by a mother for her kid. It saved me a fortune and if I had of purchased it, it would have defeated the purpose of car booting it in the first place.

I had great craic with some of my buyers, flirting with the old ladies seemed to come natural to me. I love paying them compliments and seeing their faces light up. I explained my Northern accent umpteen times, justifing my being at the sale with "I only live round the corner", which I do. Afterwards I felt energised, positive and ready to take on the world. I got a real kick from the car boot sale and think I've found a new addiction.

I couldn't get over what junk people were selling but guess what, other people were buying it.

Whatever your story I urge you to try a car boot sale before the summer turns to autumn, it was great fun and a few extra euros always comes in handy 'during these recessionairy times' blah blah blah.

I'm an Irish Citizen and I'm not equal!

Today, I was proud to be gay. That statement doesn't sit well with me but I am proud and I am gay. I shouldn't feel proud to be gay though, should I? I don't think my straight friends feel proud to be straight. I should just feel proud for being me. I was proud that I went on a march today with my future husband and our dog, Maxie, demanding to be recognised as equal citizens and to have the exact same rights as our straight mates. I want the love for my partner to be recognised as the same love my brother has for his future wife, as my sister has for her future husband, that's all, nothing more, nothing less. I don't want to feel that I'm a second class citizen in a country that once stated to cherish its children. Did they mean cherish us until we come out? Oh, I almost forgot about my previous post! Ireland stopped cherishing it's children along time ago.

It's been reported that there were over 5000 people on today's march demanding that the government afford those from the LGBT community the same rights as everyone else and to take the extra step to give full equality. The civil partnership bill, as it stands, enshrines in law inequality, it says to everyone that I'm not the same as my straight friends. It just doesn't seem fair!

The real moment of feeling proud came when I heard the personal stories from some of the speakers, from a father with a lesbian daughter, a mother with a gay son, and from the young members of the LGBT community. It was those people who gave me a sense of pride. It was those mothers, fathers, sons and daughters that I hope get the message across to the wider society in Ireland who may disagree with us. It is those stories that I hope people can connect with and might sit back and think 'what if it was my son?' I'm not sure how many of those stories will make the mainstream media but at least there was no distraction this time from the message we were trying to communicate. I was disappointed that the first speaker, Brendan Courtney called Brenda Power a "stupid bitch", lets hope this off the cuff comment doesn't take up the headlines, anger towards one columnist in one paper was not the point of today's march. Brenda's two columns in the Sunday Times have definitely given the campaign a momentum that may have otherwise not have been there, perhaps Brendan should have thanked her, maybe he did and I didn't hear but I think those words would've been more powerful.

Panti / Rory O'Neil needs to be commended for his inspiring words when he published his No More Mr Nice Gay blog. He gave us all the kick up the backside we needed, ensured we understood the importance of attending the organised rallies and for facilitating placard making workshops at Pantibar.

Hopefully our TD's have had a nice rest over the summer and have had some quiet time to contemplate how they would feel if their son or daughter was being denied a basic right. In the meantime the fight goes on, keep up the pressure on your local TD's and lets not lose this momentum.

Ireland, it's about time you cherished the children, all your children

I was about 10 when I first read the Proclomation from the 1916 Easter Rising. The part of the following sentence mentioning children stood out like a beacon for reasons unbeknown to me, it made feel safe. It read"The Republic guarantees religious and civil liberty, equal rights and equal opportunities to all its citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue the happiness and prosperity of the whole nation and all of its parts, cherishing all of the children of the nation equally and oblivious of the differences carefully fostered by an alien government, which have divided a minority from the majority in the past."

In an innocence that is only absolute in children I felt that no matter what, my country would look after me. I had little understanding at that time that the Prolocmation is different to the current constitution. A full understanding of the difference between the two didn't come until I attended secondary school. I felt that despite living in the North, the six counties, Northern Ireland, whatever you want to call it, that this statement still applied to me.

Following Mary Harney's decision not to roll out the cervical cancer vaccine for young girls I questioned the governments willingness to cherish it's children. Then came along the Ryan Report, the document which showed the States facilitation of constant and consistent child abuse. Then came the cuts to special needs assistants in our schools, then came the cuts at Crumlin childrens hospital and I'm sure there are other instances of this. There is a trend developing here.

I feel a sense of shame, a shame that our current government and those before them did not, and do not, appear to want to cherish its children. They have consistently failed to uphold the vision of the men and women from 1916, for if it weren't for them we may not be in charge of our own destiny as a nation.

As an Country we need a change in our mindsets, we need to stop sitting back and thinking that change is beyond our control; we need to take what's rightly ours, our country's reputation, its values, it's characteristics, its fibre but above all its destiny. As individuals and as a country, I believe we can create an island we are proud off, an island we want to live on, an island that cherishs equalitty, tolerance and a society which is fair.

My grandmother tells me often that all my aunts and uncles are still her children no matter how old they get. It's on that basis that Ireland should take action now to cherish it's children from cradle to grave and be a nation that we all can be proud off.

Get on yer bike! The Redundancy Cycle

I've been having really nice dreams this past few nights and have even woken up laughing. I feel a distinct change in the air, something is happening to me and I don't know what. My three week headache is gone and I've a new air of optimism about me. I started to wonder is there a redundancy cycle similar to the cycle of grief. I googled, there's not! Though looking at the grief cycle it pretty much is the redundancy cycle.

The 1st Stage: Shock and Denial, yep I was there. I was shocked and I denied. I was shocked at losing my job, not the fact that it happened, as the CEO ignored us for the best part of 6 weeks before hand (guilty conscience maybe?) Denial, I spent my last salary as if the next one was coming and didn't really thinking about being a little more frugal. Total Denial!

2nd Stage: Anger & Anxiety. Yep I was definitely there. Anger I was so fucking angry and when I think about how angry I was then, I'm getting angry now. Oh and the Anxiety, I'd say it manifested itself in the resulting three week headache I've just got rid off. I keep popping back to the 2nd stage every now and then though!

3rd Stage: Depression & Detachment, I don't think I was depressed but I was a little down. I placed so much faith in one person and felt let down. My energy levels have fallen and I fell a little overwhelmed at the prospect of not having a job since I was about 12 years old. So I've definitely reached this stage.

4th Stage: Dialogue and Bargaining, Telling my story, I did tell. I got fed up of people blaming the current economic climate for our redundancies. I made a conscience decision to tell the truth about what happened. I told other people in the sector, I told family, I told friends. I also got a lot of support from my fellow colleagues, we met had coffee and chatted about the situation. As for struggling to understand what happened. I didn't struggle, it's been very clear to me.

5th Stage: Acceptance, I think I'm there - Not sure what my new plan is but I'm working on it.

I've hit each of these stages but not all in the exact order, in fact I keep jumping back a few stages and then fast forward to the last one again. There is light at the end of the tunnel. I definitely believe that my psyche is changing, laughing in my dreams, that hasn't happened in months.

If you've just been made redundant, get on yer bike and pedal as fast as you can out of the redundancy cycle and let those laughing dreams come.

Social Capital in the Captial City!

Living in Belfast I felt rich, rich in the fact that I had social capital in abundance. I'd worked in the NGO / voluntary sector for the best part of 16 years and built up a huge network of contacts, friends, acquittance's with whom I could lean on for favours. This was extremely beneficial when I needed help setting up a new project, getting introduced to influential people and to earn a few extra pounds. It was easy to pick up facilitation work, IT training, and other bits and pieces, very easy. There was a time I was turning work down and passing it on to other people in my network. I felt secure, confident and valued in my social group of friends, colleagues and acquaintances. My social capital was probably worth more than my salary. In fact if I had of lost my job in Belfast I think I could have earned more working for myself than getting a paid salary.

The excitement of moving to Dublin meant that when I was weighing up all the pro's and con's I undervalued my social capital. I remember giving it a glancing thought but I certainly didn't sit down and think it through! What doors could I go knocking on asking if they'd any work? Who could I let know that I was available for, well, whatever work that came along? The answer was no-one, nada, not a single person! It wasn't until redundancy came that I realised I'd very little social capital in the Capital city.

Social Capital, how much have you got? How would you use yours? How can you get some more?

Cure me, I'm gay!

I've just read a great piece of news from a fellow blogger that the American Psychological Association announced in Toronto yesterday that practitioners will no longer tell their clients that they can change their sexual orientation from gay to straight! A long time coming, but it's progress.

It reminded me of years gone by, about 15 to be exact, when I started to realize that I was gay. Now bear in mind the only gay person I knew was Julian Clary from Channel 4 fame (picture above) and I knew I was definitely not like him.

I had dial up internet and started to look for a cure, and you can just imagine how long it took to find that cure using dial up. While waiting on the pages loading up I was able to iron a t-shirt, make tea, go for a pee and sometimes even a poo! Some of the web pages I came across offered deprogramming, 'Yipee' I thought. I could be deprogrammed no need for a cure! I sent of emails, rang The States and even thought I could save up enough money to make the trip to be deprogrammed. At one point I even thought could I become a deprogrammer as these services were not being offered in Ireland at the time or at least Irish deprogrammers weren't offering their services on the net.

Needless to say, I was never deprogrammed. Coming out was a long and slow process but it taught me many life lessons which I cherish. I feel that many gays have similar stories and this is just a piece of antedotal evidence that shows sexual and family diversity should be taught by our schools, youth clubs, and peer development programmes.

You can read Adjusting Myself's blog by clicking here

Would I want to work for you? It's a BIG FAT NO!

I just opened a letter this morning advising me that I wasn't successful in my application for a post at an NGO. The thing is I applied for the job almost 12 weeks ago. I didn't get called for interview, which is fair enough but waiting 12 weeks to tell me. I bet the successful candidate is already in post. Ireland is a small country and if I did a bit of digging I probably could have found out who the successful candidate was before I got my thanks but no thanks letter. Is it me or is this acceptable? Not only do I find it unacceptable I find it totally disrespectful.

Furthermore, they're an NGO, Id much prefer they cut costs and send it by email, saving time and money. Would I want to work for an organisation that appears to be inefficient and disrespectful? It's a big fat no!

This is just another item added to by list about why the NGO sector in Ireland need to pull their socks up! You will here about this list one day, I assure you.

Rant over!

Pride, Prejudice, and just plain Bitchy!

I returned home this weekend to take part in Belfast Pride. It was the usual routine, headed into town, met my friends for food, then took to the streets to watch the parade take place. Once it's passed we tend to walk the rest as it loops back on itself. The parade was full of colour, music and costumes, and it also had the usual christian protesters outside City Hall.

My last few visits home I've noticed a distinct prejudice among some of the gays, shock, horror I hear you say. Gays. Prejudice. Absolutely! After the parade we went to Party in the Square, were you get the opportunity to see the drag acts perform, have a few drinks, browse the stalls, say "Hi" to old acquaintances, cringe at the one night stand from years gone by and have a burger or two, maybe that was the problem!

I get a real buzz bumping into people I haven't seen in years and catching up. It's great to hear that people have moved on, settled down and are generally a lot happier than we all were when we were all in our twenties. I suppose we're all just growing up and there is a new bunch of gays in town. HOWEVER and there's always an however when it comes to us gays, there are a few who always try to kill that buzz with bitchy comments only used to make you feel like shit!

Transcript of one such meeting

Fellow Gay Hey, how are you?

Me Grand, not too bad, what about yourself? Any news?

Fellow Gay Not much, working away as usual. No Just for Men in Dublin then?

Me What?

Fellow Gay Are they not selling Just for Men in Dublin?

Me Eh, Don't need it. Don't look my age as it is, bit of grey hair might do me some good on the job front.

Fellow Gay Oh, I'd have to get that covered up, wouldn't be seen outside the front door with my head looking like a badger. Any holidays planned this year? Where ya heading after the Square?

I haven't been able to convey the tone and manner in which this was said but believe me, it wasn't coming from a good place. Putting the grey hairs to one side the next assault was about to come.

Fellow Gay Well Michael, how's you? Jesus, you've put on a few pounds, not going to the gym?

My response was pretty much

"no I'm not but thanks for taking such an interest and making me feel great about myself"

"Cheeky fucker" I thought.

There were also a few other swipes about my hair and weight which I was able to brush off or retaliate. It's just as well I'm not over sensitive and that I am very comfortable in my own skin. I just thought why on earth do they have to be so bitchy. I'd give them a by ball if I had of done something on them in the past, but I haven't. I also worry about the effects they have on other gays who maybe do have an issue about their weight, looks, hair etc. A few friends of mine have had similar experiences

Maybe I'm just getting to old and the new way to great people is to insult them!

Happy Pride all you fat, skinny, grey haired readers of this blog. You are just way too old!

I still don't know who's worse, the protesters or the gays!

Terrible Teachers

I've been blogging now for just over two weeks and I must say, I've been really enjoying it. 'Why didn't I listen to all those people who told me to start blogging years ago?'

Books were always part of our household, my Mummys husband is an avid reader. I've seen him read four / five books in one week. He told me he could speed read, I just thought, 'showoff'! My granny always had a book in her hand, usually something by Catherine Cookson or the St Martin magazine! I was always buying books from the school book club or getting them out from the library, wherever you turned in our house there was a book.

I was never a straight A student, more middle of the road until about the age of 14. I'd put this down to many things but that's a whole other blog. Anyway, during my secondary school days I had an English teacher by the name of Mr Brannigan, I'm sure he's dead now but maybe not. He had aged before his time, the wrinkles on his face told a story of one too many students, and his hair was well, non existent, apart from the few strands he grew so he could have a brush over. His most defining characteristic however was his attitude or perhaps lack of personality, it had kind of flat lined at some point and none of his good friends (assuming he had some) had decided to tell him.

The flat lining of Mr Brannigan has had repercussions that I'm sure have stretched far and wide beyond his classroom. Mr Brannigan didn't give us the basics of English, but what he did give us was lots and lots of book reviews. That was our weekly task, read a book, review it, read a book, review it, read a book, review it, for the guts of three years. I did read some fantastic books during that period, Brendan Beehans Borstel Boy, The Lion, Witch and The Wardrobe, and many others that I can't quiet think off at the minute. If you were lazy and didn't want to read a book he was more than satisfied if you handed him in the synopsis printed on the back of a book rewritten. What he didn't do was teach us the basics of English, comas, nouns, pro-nouns, adjectives, etc. I distinctly recall learning paragraphs however.

I was fast approaching 14 and entering 4th year, getting reading to study for my GCSE's in 2 years time, when it was announced to us that we'd be getting a new English teacher, Mr O'Doherty. I was delighted, over the moon, excited, as O'Doc, was the coolest teacher in the entire school. He dressed with a flair of style, was always tanned, had highlights in his hair and best of all, you could smell him coming before you seen him for he used Jazz aftershave like water.

It only took O'Doc a week to discover that our entire class had very little basic skills with the written word and I mean basic. We even seen the shock in his face when we didn't know the difference between there and their. I bet he initially thought it was just the odd one or two students but he was soon to realise that it was the entire class. The whole class seemed to let out a sigh of relief when this dawned on him, thank god it wasn't us, we knew Brannigan wasn't interested all along. He went straight back to basics and for the next two years gave us a crash course in English along with sticking to the curriculum to ensure we passed our exams.

The lack of enthusiasm Mr Brannigan showed in his class has lived with me to this very day. He didn't inspire me, didn't encourage me to ask questions, and simply didn't appear to care. I lack confidence in writing but I do enjoy story telling kind off a catch 22 situation there or is that their. (Only kidding) I just wish that Mr Brannigan realised he was in a rut and done something about it. What he has taught me though is that no matter what, you can do whatever you want by just putting your mind to it, accepting your mistakes, learning from them and moving on.

So three cheers to the written word, the hard work of O'Doc and one in the memory of Mr Brannigan, for I'm sure he did inspire many students before he became worn out.

It's a hard nut life....during a recession, even for Annie

A week has past since I went to the Olympia Theatre in Dublin to see Annie. The tickets cost the guts of 35Euro each and I expected a top notch production for that sort of cash. It's still getting on my nerves, who do I complain too?

You can just imagine my horror when Annie came on stage with a bob, a Victoria Beckam Bob from the 90's! "Are they being fucking real" Annie has curls, a spiral perm would do if Au Natural was not available from the cohort of young stage school kids around Dublin. It ruined my whole experience of Annie. I just couldn't get over the fact that a casting director would allow this to happen. What was it? The kids mother wouldn't allow the spiral perm or wig and that GHD's were the must have accessory for the all new Annie. No way - there was more to this?

The production was cheap, even the Christmas Tree wasn't in tip shop shape, it was a complete mess. Then the mystery of the bob transpired into a cunning plot. Daddy Warbucks told his PA to do something with her hair (my two friends shouted out get a perm, much to the disgust of the Dublin mothers sitting around us) and out came Annie with a cheap 2 euro wig. It didn't even have the tight curls Annie is known for..

Recession has hit the long time classic Annie, cheap wigs, cheap set, expensive seats. Ba Humbug, it's a hard nut life.

Oh and Daddy Warbucks didn't have a six pack! Ragin I was, Ragin!

Exorcisims, Entrepreneurs and my local Chinese

I just thought I'd share this with you. It was a sign in my local Chinese takeaway. I'm all for free speech and spreading the word of God, if that's your calling in life. I then got thinking perhaps the person wanted to make an extra few quid on the side during these recessionary times, but something about this seemed a bit odd so I took it down. Did I do the right thing? Who am I to take the sign down? It just didn't sit well with me so I went with my gut.

You Know Who You Are.....Sneer By Franc

Full of empty promises, dripping of ego.

Led us on a merry dance, for how long

we do not know,

Was it recent or more long term?

You've caused us all a degree of harm.

Warning signs, along they came

I should've realised, it was just a game,

You compared yourself, to Tony Blair

but you were just, propping up your lair

Mirrored yourself with Bertie Ahern

your public image, your only concern

Bertie and Tony they moved on

You missed the boat

no chance to gloat.

Manipulation, your greatest skill.

You killed an organisation,

not to mention good will.

Belief in you was once so great

and for a short time after

you filled me with hate.

Your motivation appears misplaced

you were only concerned with all the grace

You didn't keep up, the pace of change

Soon you will find egg on your face.

If your mother was dead

She'd be spinning in her grave

Her hard work destroyed

by one misplaced

Oh, but she is living

and soon they will stop giving

She will not believe all your waste.

An OPEN book, you were not

Ducking and diving was your plot

Pathetic ethics is your script

Your values stink and were full of shit

A reputation in tatters

is all that you'll reep

from the harvest you sowed

which was oh so cheap

Your fate is yet all unknown

The only thing you gave me,

is the fact I have grown.

One day you'll read this and feel the shame

That you were caught playing a foolish game.

Your actions, implications they will have

not just for you, but the sector we serve

Tested my virtues, in which I trust

Threw us to the dole queues with such a thrust

Temperance and Prudence, you did not show

I only hope you learn to grow

Fortitude and Justice, I do believe

will one day stop the grief I feel

You know who you are

I cannot forgive

Time is a healer and

forgive I will.

How many marbles have you got left?

I was asked to do this task at a Leadership / Management course,

Write down what age you think you'll live too?

Write down you're favorite day of the week?

Calculate how many favorite days of the week you'll have until you think you'll die? (take the age you think you'll live to minus current age x 52)

3462 Sundays left in my life if I live to 101

Now what you're meant to do is go out and buy the exact amount of marbles relating to the number of your favorite days you think you'll have left, put them in a jar and each week take one of the marbles out and throw it away.

After being told to do this task I was told a true story about a guy who two years after doing the task, buying the marbles and then throwing them away, started to panic, realised his life was drifting away before his very eyes. He left his well paid executive job in Dublin, married his long-term Japanese girlfriend, moved to Japan, got a new job and thinks life couldn't be better.

Life is valuable, don't lose your marbles before you have too!

A sign of the Times....well, the Sunday Times.....

As regular readers will know my recent blog post, We Need A Harvey Milk, Not A Panti Bar caused a gay political storm, albeit a minuscule one. I was surprised that my views appeared controversial however I was even more surprised when I received a call from the Sunday Times last Thursday asking if they could publish my blog!

"Who? What? publish? ah yeah sure" I said to the guy on the other end of my phone. "What do I need to do?"

He advised me that my blog would be edited and I told him that I would like to see the edited version before agreeing to publish it. The last thing I wanted was for my point to be lost or skewed after an editor got his or her hands on it. He told me I would receive an email the next day giving me all the details. He told me his name, I even asked for it again, but in my excitement I totally forget it by the time we hung up.

I excitedly ran into my partner and told him all the details. "The Times, The Sunday Times want to publish my blog, oh my god, I can't believe it, I've only been blogging a week" I then told a few close friends and my mother. The last thing I wanted was egg on my face if it wasn't published. I eagerly awaited the verifying email following the telephone discussion. The email didn't arrive Friday nor Saturday and I started to feel deflated about the whole saga. Come Sunday morning, I got up earlier than usual, turned on the Internet, I couldn't find anything relating to my blog on their website. Feck it I thought, it sounded too good to be true, however the curiosity was eating out of me so like a proper pyjama mama I went to the shop to buy the paper.

I scurried through the paper and to by astonishment I did find "some" of my blog in the opinions section of the paper, under the letters heading. All two paragraphs of it! I'd look over it if I actually sent it into the letters section, but they contacted me! I sat there having my Sunday morning cup of tea, with the paper in hand totally perplexed at the whole scenario, thinking that one day, just one day I might be known as Carrie Bradshaw* Conlon, columnist!

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*Carrie Bradshaw is not referring to any previous or future drag name, it's referring to the fictional, famous New York Columnist from Sex in the City!