I know it’s only November, I know we don’t want to think about it, I know it feels surreal and almost sacrilegious to even mention it what with the lockdowns and low hums of recession, the rising loneliness and lowering of morale but I’m going to do it, mention the unmentionable and open the Pandora’s… Continue reading A Drop in the Ocean: ‘Tis the Season to be Practical – How the Humble Care Package can Save Christmas and the World
For the past week I have had the troubling sensation of feeling there is a hair in my mouth. Curled around my lip and into the cavernous vortex of my gob, a rogue follicle is rakishly entangling itself in my food until the moment of mastication when it detaches, like a lover who's just heard… Continue reading Groundhog Daze: Mary, Mary, surprisingly hairy, how does your moustache grow?
You know that Tame Impala song, "feels like we only go backwards"? Well, word on the deserted city streets is Tony Holohan has started a secret petition to make it our new anthem-elect until 2047 when all of this shite ends and we remember what it is to shake hands and walk up to a… Continue reading Groundhog Daze: Blah like Enda Kenny
I am sitting in the back of my parents’ Hyundai eating potato salad with my bare hands. I am on day two of the worst hangover of all time and I am insatiable. I wanted a 99 but Circle K thwarted me again. Why is the world so against me indulging in some soft-serve sugar?… Continue reading Day 41: Potato salad fingers.
I'm back in Dublin. After over three months spent in complete isolation in Cork, where the only people I have spoken to outside my family are siblings' other halves, two family friends and the lovely cashiers in my three trips to Ireland's best, prize-winning Supervaloo, I am back once more in the cacophonic breach, floating… Continue reading Day 39: Keeping an anti-social distance from “normality”
I know now is not the time to be flippant about death so please read the above caption with the required level of concern. I THINK I AM DYING. I have had to eat so much sugar just to keep my poor heart in motion; I may be having a very modest, quietly unobtrusive, delicately… Continue reading Day 35: I ran 17 kilometres and now my end is definitely nigh
It is 21:58 and all around me I am surrounded by chaos. Boxes that contain my life, my loves, my infinite passion for vintage dresses and bombastic patterns, trinkets that sit somewhere between sacred relics and culturally appropriated junk and the thousands of books and journals I am perpetually on the verge of starting, finishing,… Continue reading Day 33: I am one convulsing nostril
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 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?