When love breaks down

Posted on March 12, 2015 by Department of Speculation

You raise your children. Bite your lips at the choices they make as they get on with growing up. Pick them up without judgement after they trip over their mistakes and land in a heap at your feet. Give them a financial leg up on their swagger into adulthood. Lend them your ears and your re-assuring nods that speak a thousand hugs. And when they’ve made it past the post of independence, you help them help themselves to raise their own children.

But when the love between their parents breaks down, you pick the children big and small up again, steady as the touchstone and the rare source of surety they have left . You turn the other cheek from the verbal slaps dispensed with venomous hurt and anger from their significant other. Continue to provide their children with a place of sanctuary from the maelstrom of torment from a marriage that’s never done collapsing.

And though unsteadier on your feet now, the years yielding to all the attendant ailments of growing old that usher you onward to the end of your decade; and while steely in your resolve to keep your home a haven; and willing though you are to look the other way as you take the bruisings in dignified silence, the gradual extraction of your love from their lives and the incremental mounting of barriers along communion and confirmation tables can only cause a hurt that can’t speak its name because you don’t know what the words are.

Do it all again, you would, all the while surrendering to the uncertainties of life. Even in the winter of your days.

Scenes from a court summons

Posted on March 10, 2015 by Department of Speculation

Scene One

“Ignorance of the law is no defence”

“For the love of God. Someone have mercy and take me away from this upstanding citizen morally riding my degenerate arse.”

“I’m just saying”

“Ah yeah. Of course you are. Mister petty pinstripe lording it over the lowly Primarks”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

[I actually haven’t a notion]

“Nothing. You couldn’t possibly understand” (dramatic nose-fling narrowly missing a neck-cramp)

Scene Two

A second-glance in the rear-view mirror. Definitely flashing lights. Hang on, there’s only me on the road. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

That’s right, roll the driver’s window down just as Poncherello opens the passenger door there to register evidence of my nasty Werther’s Original habit. Helpful. Even better, he sits on the evidence. I think there might’ve been one left in that bag.

Observed using mobile two miles back. Caution. Fine. Seven days to present licence.

“Do you wish to say anything?”

~~“Toffee?”~~

“Absolutely guilty”

That sounded weirdly jaunty. Even by jaunty standards.

Scene Three

“Silence in the court room. All rise”

This is like mass. I’d swear he just bowed before the altar. Why are all the female legal eagles wearing black? It’s hardly their funeral. If those three were a few years younger with shorter skirts and a low-strapped guitar each, they could pass for a tribute act to Robert Palmer’s Addicted to Love video. How do they all say “Your Worship” with a straight face? He can’t be a solicitor; he’s like… 12.

*cuts to mirage of advice dispensed in kitchen that morning* “Speak to prosecuting solicitor. Fine paid next day. Explain EU licence [slightly zone out at this stage but manage to conceal it well] Nordie licence applied for.”

Done.

“So you’ve no legal representation?”

“Eh. No. I’m representing myself” *Robert Palmer video model pout*

“OK, well, we’ll get it sorted. You step forward before the judge when you hear your name called. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

I’m not so confident.

“Will I have to say ‘Your Worship’?”

“Yes. I’m afraid so”.

I knew it. She thinks it’s all a bit ridiculous, too.

I take my place among my fellow crims and we immediately form an alliance against the press gathered adjacent. My Mother-in-Law hadn’t entered my head until now. All I can think about is her leafing through the paper to discover I have brought further shame on the family. She knew this day would come once I’d refused another helping of her Malteser Cheesecake and we’d settled on a registry office wedding.

Scene Four

“You can’t just drive right in. This is a police station!”

How remiss of me to mistake that vast concrete area with white boxes for a carpark. “Staff only, I’m afraid”. Right enough. Paramilitary threats don’t usually show up in a ten-year old clapped out family car littered with Werther’s Original wrappers driven by a Wurzel Gummage look-alike, but it’s a bit soon to be letting any ~~old~~ middle-aged civilian in.

“The thing is, I’ve an Irish driver’s licence”. Side-ways head seeking maximum sympathy and understanding included. This trusty tactic belly-flops in front of both of our faces.

Proper licence needed for this jurisdiction. Summons likely. Best change it over.

Scene Five

Four rings in with no answer. Sufficient time for a smirk to hatch around the lip edge. By seven, I’ve gone to the giggle side.

On the eighth…

“Hen!” (even friends have odd terms of endearment)

*Mutley wheeze*

“What is it?”

*more Mutley wheezing*

“I’m up in court in the morning”

She Mutley wheezes.

It’s true what they say. You find out who your real friends are when you get into trouble.

“Now, what did I tell you about sucking too many Werther’s Originals?”

Discussions that don’t matter shit to working class women in Ireland today

Posted on March 8, 2015 by Department of Speculation

1. Gender quotas

Be it on to state boards or corporate boards. Elevating white, educated, relatively privileged women to positions of power and influence isn’t really going to have much of a revolutionary impact. Unless the reasons for the current imbalance includes a sober squaring up to reasons for the lack of diversity in the level below i.e. equality in the broadest sense.

2. The dilemma of hanging on to a ‘career’ after having children

The prevailing narrative is concerned with the assumed entitlement to hang on to a career, with the ever-so-subtle understanding that it is more important, worthy work; therefore a no-brainer. Buoyed up on a third level education and therefore invested with more meaning, the safeguarding of one’s career is a priority. Threats to this include the risk of “having to undertake low-skilled work” and the understanding that these women shouldn’t have to do this. Presumably this is for other women to undertake instead, without any of their fanciful notions of pursuing their personal aspirations for improvement or access to the high table of success considered a right or a fight in the mix.

3. The consensus on the apparent elimination of discrimination, misogyny or sexism in the workplace or society

White middle class workplaces tend to have a considerably lower tolerance for that these days. They also have more effective recourse to action and protection, if it does arise. Just because other white middle class women don’t experience it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. Some of my friends’ friends are black and working class. Ghastly. More rioja?

4. The right to funded childcare services for the purposes of returning to employment only

Creche care and childminding support is also an integral component in the support apparatus women depend on to return to education to enable them broaden their employment and well-being prospects. And maybe one day attend that conference on gender quotas. That’s without due consideration to the incompatibility of current provision with the haphazard unsociable hours within the services industry that many have no choice but to work in.

5. The revolutionary impact of social media

When it is predominantly concerned with narrow discussions around points 1 – 4, and a platform for selective research findings that support the portrayal of white middle class mothers as the most put-upon group of women in Ireland , it’s hardly surprising.

Mná na hÉireann: Súil eile

Posted on March 7, 2015 by Department of Speculation

Pinkpanther

50 year old woman from Dublin. Hi. Looking for love. Isn’t everyone. I would like to meet that special woman. between 40 to 55 years old in the dublin area ireland and that the lady is a nondrinker also . not interested in women who drinks. Females only.

Rafe58

Hi I am honest, genuine, caring, very easy going with good sense of humour. I like to socialize but I also like nights in, I am comfortable with who I am and like my own company at times.I would like to meet someone who is somewhat like me.I like a woman to look like a woman so no butch please. (I am Gay no men, I wont respond and you will be blocked)

Tall Protestant Lady

Likes things nice with a lot of TLC WLTM same type Gentleman. Lady likes man to be 5’10 – 6ft, 63 – 68, NS, no ties.

Reserved Lady

Kind and respectable, 63 years. Would like to meet gentleman with similar qualities for long-term friendship.

Widow, no ties

No ties retired professional. Age 73, 5 ft tall. Slim and attractive. Good sense of humour. Would like to meet an attractive, nice gentleman for outings, foreign holidays etc. Likes theatre, cinema, music, meals out and in and walks along the beach.

Christian Lady

Overweight, sincere. WLTM Christian gentleman aged 53 and over for love and marriage.

Hey there

49 year old female looking for a male aged 40 – 50. I’m a country girl at heart, and I live in a little house at the edge of a deep, dark wood. There’s nothing wrong with the city for a visit, but I wouldn’t like to live there. I like good books, good movies, good conversation – I enjoy the odd meal or night out, but my pubbing and clubbing days are well behind me. Marital status: separated. Education:degree. Children: 3.

Alexil

Professional woman, loves to laugh, black sense of humour. Enjoys good conversation, good company, and the simple things in life. Age: 45. Marital status: divorced. Children: 2

Marbrid02

69 year old female looking for a male aged 50 – 75. I’m an energetic, happy, good-humoured single female who would like to meet “youthful” male of similar disposition and qualities. Life is good but would be better if shared with someone who likes to travel, walk, dance, holiday at home and abroad, who enjoys the theatre and all the finer and lighter things in life. Marital status: never married. Children: none.

Aroma

52 year old female looking for a male aged 47 – 54. I am a loving, trustworthy woman. I am looking for a man with a decent sense of life. Key words: chatting, music, reading, cooking, eating out. Marital status: separated. Occupation: retired.

Samantha, 54

Been without a steady man in my life for several months. Not looking anything serious, just a bit of fun and naughtiness. Not interested in anyone who is in a relationship, as have strong feelings about cheats. So if you are unattached and up for a good time, get in touch. Discreet relationships and One night stands. Interests: Dogging, Oral – receiving, Oral – giving, Anal, Role Playing and Voyeurism.

Joanne, 52

I would like to meet non smoking men between the ages of 36 and 45 You must have a full head of dark hair that means no baldies/crew cuts/shaved heads or greying/receding/white or red haired men. You must also have no facial hair. What I really want to meet is Tall (I won’t meet anybody below 5ft 7 and won’t go above 6’1) dark and handsome with a nice slim body. You must enjoy being with the older female and accept that I have to like what I see when you send me a picture. YOU MUST send me a RECENT face picture if you respond to my profile. One other thing men covered in tattoos do nothing for me (sorry guys) a few discreet tattoos are fine. I am also not into guys with one or two or any piercings at all. I will not just shag you because you sent me a few emails and a RECENT picture. I like to take my time to get to know you first using the likes of Skype messenger, if the chemistry is not there then sorry we won’t ever be meeting. I am not interested in guys from Scotland.

Frances, 49

Dont really know what to write on here but hey here goes, normal kinda woman from belfast, im single and thought id give it a go on here, im looking to have some fun, but nothing serious im not into long term relationships at all, far to messy for me, i like my life the way it is. xx

Sources: All genuine adverts posted by Irish women in the following: Spark, Belfast Telegraph, Marital Affair, Mingle, Dating4u

On the bench

Posted on March 6, 2015 by Department of Speculation

Even the restaurant staff seemed to be in on it. No sooner had the pair of waiters strutted off in their confirmation trousers when our eyeballs collided over a bowl of onion rings. One of his brows elevated in sympathy with certainty they’d forgotten my order; the other furrowed in mild panic he might have to share them with me.

So I did what any considerate ~~martyr~~ partner would do in the circumstances: robbed our little one’s chips when she wasn’t looking, and pretended to be nonchalant about the mishap until we collared a passing waiter. Quick on the heels of a fulsome apology came the insistence I accept a few fancy beers on the house. In time honoured tradition of poker-faced comparison of orders, we both conceded I had won. A rare victory for the persona non grata on this maiden voyage.

Relegation took effect on the plane where I was condemned to three rows behind. I spent the flight straining to hear what the conspiratorial chuckling was about as they downed a bag of Haribos between them. Not so much as the offer of a fried egg insincerely made over their shoulder.

On landing, my stroller-rolling skills were deemed inferior by its passenger, so a quick pit-stop in arrivals elevated her Da to the driving seat. I shuffled behind, struggling to keep pace along with the bag, the coats, and the just-in-case blankets. And the two books and twice as many papers in case we had to huff about something, or sit through relentless teletexting for the latest results. If the hotel had teletext. Always a tense moment. “That remote is for the radio”. Ah, his mystified look; one of my personal favourites.

So much for the extravagantly sized bed and the neighbouring mattress that passed her battery of bouncing tests. By 2am, she was the horizontal to my vertical, until I was displaced by irredentist toes and exiled to her bed while their snores chittered on enthusiastically.

In Hamley’s, their giggles pervaded the shop like a sonar signalling their whereabouts. Fearful she had located the Barbie aisle, I was relieved to find them talking to a plastic fish doing endless laps of an over-sized bowl, momentarily pausing the rhythm of their laughter to explain the joke in a manner that implied I really needed to have been there.

They really needed to have been there to fully appreciate the spectacle of me getting stuck in the turnstile with my bag as we entered the grounds the following day. Having skipped on through the roar of the crowd in the opening minutes of the game, they missed out on the ignominy of me having to be rescued by a security official. Purposeful skipping that had no time for time-wasters unaccustomed to the ways of the modern day gladiatorial pit.

Who could blame him? He’d been planning this day since before she was born when he smuggled in a new-born babygro from the official merchandise. It was official. In exchange for sparing her conscription to Catholicism, he’d recruited her to a more militant faith with its own band of over-zealous followers scarf-deep in suspicion over referee decisions and ball positions.

Beside them I sat, watching a grown man being reduced to a toddler barely older than the one he held aloft as the first goal went in. The one he danced with as the second sailed past them towards the back of the net. The one he plonked in between himself and the goal-scorer as he beamed down the lens of the camera I was ordered to point at them. The one who has been talking non-stop all week about their return visit.

“Maybe you could go to the cinema instead”.

Yeah, maybe.