“Insanity is inanity with an ‘s’. These posts will have plenty of both.”
Corona virus means normality hiatus and boredom stupendous! So I’ve taken it upon myself to do my bit for humanity by recording my daily (ish – I’m really terribly busy) musings from West Cork isolation. Expect a plethora of wit as evidenced above and an inundation of time-wasting nonsensicalities as illustrated below. Stay well. Stay educated. Stay off yer bleedin’ phones!! Unless you’re talking to me – please ignore real people for virtual me at all times thank you goodnight x
“I’m just chilling with my puzzles, buttered snacks – bread, cupcake, Mars Bar, croissant, butter – and new handstand-learning timetable. And. by handstand timetable, I of course mean loosely suggesting to my sister that now would be a good time to practice handstands and – hey, that wall looks like a perfect handstand wall! That wall is waiting to be handstood against. Let’s totally set aside time each day to handstand around/in/on that one by two metres patch of luminous green plasterboard. “
I’m trying to write and my sisters are intent on derailing my creativity with intense chats about our next choreographed lip-sync video. If you haven’t yet experienced the joy of our first masterpiece, here you go. I have been called whore, boring, shit craic, rude, and selfish in the space of three minutes. All for… Continue reading Day 31: The abominable facemask
I went to enter a short story competition yesterday because I am going to be a writer and put myself out there until one day I too have a novel adapted to a TV show and my portrayal of sex is the main topic on Joe Duffy. It is a personal goal of mine to… Continue reading Day 30: A useless short story, a one-liner rejection and a boulevard of broken dreams.
Approximately two weeks into our lockdown – thus now almost 756,000 million years ago – middle sister introduced us to TikTok. By ‘us’, I mean myself and my parents because every other family member – including our cats – was aware of this phenomenon and I am now within their generational bandwidth in terms of… Continue reading Day 29: Mamma Mia, here I frigging go again
I get most of my news from David O’Doherty’s Isolating podcast and the snippets of Joe Duffy and Sean O’Rourke I catch as I potter making coffee and elaborate quarantine breakfasts. It is perhaps, not the best of cocktails: a smattering of wildlife trivia (the Irish term for ladybird literally translates to ‘little cow’), fun… Continue reading Day 28: Me and Trump vs the Lamestream Media
I don’t know why I continue to willfully underestimate the power of a mini brioche roll to fix all manner of physical, emotional, or imagined ills. I mean, hangover = gone. Inexplicable grief caused by a global pandemic = vanquished in a bite. Randiness = butter will suffice. They are heaven shaped into pudgy faux-baguettes… Continue reading Day 27: Never underestimate the magic of a mini brioche
It’s the question that’s been on everyone’s mind since diary entry #3 when a mysterious stranger decided to light up my phone one brisk and impossibly early Saturday morning. Now, after weeks of suspense and as you all mourn the death of Normal People and find yourselves endlessly trawling the Internet for another impossible love… Continue reading Day 26: Am I still being bootycalled?
The photo of my dog is sadly unrelated to this post – I just really wanted to get your attention. Look, I know what you’ve all been thinking. Hol, it’s great, we love your work, we live for your run-on sentences that are often ten lines long and usually don’t seem to have any real… Continue reading Day 25: I thought it would be fun to list things
I’ve taken to writing down words I like in the margins of whatever notebook is closest to hand. I just came across a small pile of them in a now-defunct diary. They were stacked like a turmite hotel and read like this: Febrile. Spurious. Nadir. Purposive. Torrid. I will try to use them in a… Continue reading Day 24: The leg hair has returned and my vocabulary is improving
I am hungover. Two freely-poured aperol spritzes, 1.5 cans of Guinness (the remaining 0.5 woke me up with its RINGING judgement from the lofty heights of my bedside locker this morning) and I am a pale and anxious mess. I went to bed fully-clothed, having been Facetiming a friend in Australia and, when my battery… Continue reading Day 23: I should be ordering fifteen euro eggs and nursing a mimosa right now
I am either very, very tired or very, very energised. Those are my two states of being in quarantine. I either want to give hours to making intricate TikTok dance videos or else I’m lying down on my bedroom floor barely able to lift my arm to separate the tangle of the 3,000 piece jigsaw… Continue reading Day 22: Today is absolutely the last day of not getting dressed properly
I am bubbling over with things I want to tell you – I keep writing them down on scraps of paper and in my phone notes. These diaries are transforming me into a poor parody of Jo March from Little Women – dashing through the house to reach some form of pressed parchment and record… Continue reading Day 21: Things I Must Have Written But Can’t Remember and Won’t ReRead.
Oh, hi there. Nothing to see here, just a woman now sort-of in her late twenties but still very much under the impression her age, looks, and penchant for terrible hair cuts paused at 22, crying into a supermarket trolley, improvised buddha bowl, chocolate pavlova. Whatever happens to be close-to-hand and weirdly inappropriate. Thankfully, salt… Continue reading Day 20: Things I’ve cried at in the past 24 hours
Ok, it is 21:09. I have 21 minutes to write the absolute bejaysus (do we think this is a plausible spelling) out of this entry before I positively PLUMMET back into Modern Love and the chocolate pavlova awaiting assembly downstairs. (Note to the long-time readers: I know you’re thinking that I’m breaking my strict, vehemently-principled… Continue reading Day 19: Ok, I’m turning this into a food blog now (because there’s not enough of those)
Pros of lockdown: No longer having that feeling, as you fall asleep celibate and alone, that every other twenty-something is out there having passionate sex with all and sundry. Cons of lockdown: Falling asleep, celibate and alone. Pros of lockdown: Sisters being legally prevented from seeing their boyfriends and love interests, making them seem every… Continue reading Day 18: She sleeps alone.
Today has been a funny day. Funny as in strange (not sure if you’ve come across this word in emails much recently – it’s usually found sandwiched in between the words ‘these’ and ‘times’ which are themselves preceded by “I hope this finds you well and safe.” For example, I was glass of wine in… Continue reading Day 17: Why is my sister hitting a sliotar with a surfboard?
It is 7.51pm. My window is wide, attempting to swallow the world; to suck it through its gaping, starving mouth and gulp it into my room. I am opening my own mouth to it – glugging in the nectar of birdsong, sipping the soupy sky – the seep of it like whiskey across the grass.… Continue reading Day 16: The window is open and the world is swimming in
Since you took my pints away. Ah-ah-ah-ahhhhhhhha. Can’t go out any night so sleep all day. Since you trapped me in 2k. (wistful side-eye) Since lockdown can’t barely do a thing I waaaaaahnt. I can’t see any ma boos. (looks down tearfully) Wah-ah-ah-ahaaaaaaa Can’t even eat my brunch in an overpriced restauraaawwwwnt (defiantly raises head,… Continue reading Day 15: It’s been SEVEN hours and FIFTEEN days
I’m going to keep this short (mainly because I’m very behind on life admin and also – beer?) I’m worried with these diaries I’m not giving you a good enough insight into the daily goings-on of my life. I’m too fond of the detail to give an overall context. By you, I of course mean… Continue reading Day 14: Simon Harris is HOW old??
Here’s the thing about bad moods. While I can understand them objectively and am a firm believer in their importance and solidity in the vast landscape of our feelings, I am just not very good at them. As much as I try to accept I’m having a bad day, as much as I call it… Continue reading Day 13: Of course Monday the 13th is a frigging shit show.
Here’s the deal. My sister and I have nominated Friday as fag* night or, more alliteratively, Fag Friday because imagination and any soupçon of political correctedness and/or fear of ridicule went out the window with coronavirus. By doing this just once last week, we’ve now created a whole tradition that feels as old and inherent… Continue reading Day 12: My level of fear does not correlate to the amount of alcohol I drank
It is 4.49pm on Friday, April 3rd, year 2346, and both sisters have somehow wandered into my room and are lying prostrate on my bed, not understanding the fact I am very much still working but also understanding the fact I am so very done with working and just want a big, fat bag of… Continue reading Day 11: A Categorically Unlit Friday
11:59 am: Today I am firmly assailed by the light, whimsical wondering of what this thing of life and living is all about. I’ve popped out of a work document I’m editing entitled “Climate Innovation” where I’ve just written a sentence that uses terms like “capital markets”, “social impact investment”, digital technologies for massive development… Continue reading Day 10: What’s it all about, eh?
I always imagined that if I was cast away on a desert island, I would relish being away from the misogynistic undertones of mascara. Coveting a voluminous fan of long eyelashes – while a functional and beneficial accessory on a windswept and sandy isle – I know is a latent hangover from patriarchy of the… Continue reading Day 9: Putting on mascara now constitutes a task on my to-do list
Hello, old friend. This is the past, writing the future. …This is the sentence I find awaiting me in my drafts. I have no recollection of writing it or the completely paradoxical title which clearly I did at some stage in the past 48 hours. However, I believe the basic gist is this: This Sunday… Continue reading Day 8: The Day I Shall be Born Again and/or Lethargy Though
The truth is I’ve been trying to write this for five minutes but a piece of toenail got stuck in my keyboard. I tried to get it out but in so doing instead aided it in its escape from my newly-manicured fingers so that now its rump is lodged under the ‘@’ key – which,… Continue reading Day 7: Self-Care is not a euphemism for hair removal.
Allow me to set the scene. I don’t believe I’ve done that before. What a terrible narrator I am. It is 20:51, I sit alone at my desk in the activewear I’ve been wearing since what feels like 2003 but is really just whatever day I arrived home, hungover – god, remember hangovers?! – to… Continue reading Day 6: Thursdays are for solo candlelit dinners and flirtations with classical music
I find myself looking forward to random people’s morning stories. Hah, call my sleep-deprived but that reads as morning glory to me and I am at the stage of housebound, recycled-air inhalation insanity which makes that veeeeeeeeeery funny. Anyway. Pretending I’m not a nine-year-old boy who’s just had his first erection – I follow one… Continue reading Day Four/Five: The cesspool of social media has me drowning
8.30 am I wake up, groan myself to movement, roll out from under the covers and, heavy from last night’s snacking, heave myself to vertical. A lurch to the toilet and then I am seated at my desk, staring out at the mist, the dank dullness of early morning grey. Time to work. It is… Continue reading Day Three: Am I being bootycalled?
I cannot quite decide if rolling from bed to desk, hopping on a Zoom call unwashed and unbrushed but saved by the mercy of a laptop camera so bad my face is all but obliterated is the best thing that ever happened to me or the beginning of what I always knew would be an… Continue reading Day Two in the Quarantined House
And so I thought – in the truly despicable scourge of individualism and selfie-taking that have instilled in us a brazen entitlement to think that every mealtime, every fleeting synonym for a thought is worthy of comment I decided that now was a truly fantastic time for percolation (me) to meet isolation (all of ye) and inspire a creation.… Continue reading Day One in the Quarantined House