What happened next? Blogging 2015 re-visited

Was someone foolish enough to offer me a new job? Just how was that gig I rhapsodised over? Did my mother-in-law hear about my court appearance? What was with the weird name change?

Prepare yourself for an eyelid-droop-inducing revisit to those riveting cliff-hanger blog moments of 2015 to find out what happened next. Insert dramatic violin music here.

Coincidentally, it also covers top five things I wasn’t proud of this year, and the top jerk of the year (in a recurring role).


Post: The revolving door

Our girl turned three.


What happened next?

She turned three and a half a week later, and remained that age until she turned four.

Post:  Personal specification

Job interview season returned as my contract neared an end. Willpower competed with ambition in the race for last place. Some finer interview moments revisited.


Except it wasn’t

What happened next?

Last minute stay of execution. Within days of the excruciating whip-around and proverbial last supper. Not as close as the time it was granted after those very events took place. Mind you, that was one of the better leaving bashes. And would’ve been perfect had I not returned to my desk the following Monday. Awkward. Am back in the same position this year. Thrilling seat-of-the-pants stuff. I’ll warn them to hold back on the fake gushing this time lest their insincerity be tested.


Post: Gaol Bird

A short secular prayer service for Patti Smith in anticipation of her impending June gig. pattismith

Brilliant gig, probably.

(image: entertainment.ie)

What happened next?

I forgot to get the tickets. People have the power… to be almighty arses.


Post: Scenes from a court summons

Random snapshots from my self-inflicted brush with the law.


No laughing matter, obviously.

(image: southuniversity.edu)

What happened next?

Amnesty took on the case. Consequently, the local newspaper received dozens of shrill letters from a protesting public.

OK, OK. I learned my lesson and received a new driving licence with two points knocked off for bad behaviour.  On the plus side, my hair looks alright in the photo. No discernible difference in the reactions from my mother-in-law. But our wedding photo still hasn’t made it to the sitting room gallery. My paranoia levels remained consistent with pre-court appearance.


Post:  Places I’ve lived

A postcard from the hedge written as part of an exercise to loosen up the sharing muscles in a new writing group I joined.


Virgin Mary not featured

What happened next?

The writing group met for a further four sessions with the aim of facilitating participants to share their abortion story. Which it did. Folk responded kindly to the results here, and I was very grateful for that.

On a side-note, I eventually gave up trying to out-stare the Virgin Mary and fled to the city after three of the wildest years of my puff to date.


Post: Tagging along

Where I celebrated a year of blogging and vowed to bid farewell to it for a bit.


It’s this or…running? I think not!

What happened next?

Following orders from my impressively weak will-power, I returned the next week. Shrugs.


Post: The Professionals

In which The Professionals got themselves careers.


“Don’t worry about your annual performance review. He just rabbits on about targets and work/life balance like he actually gives a toss”

(Image: mark-1.com)

What happened next?

Another nauseating board-room meeting. Just for the sake it.


Post:  Yardsticks

A visit to a primary school eerily similar to my own, and the introduction of our girl to another.

school furniture

Does my arse look big in one of these?

What happened next?

I cried looking for my mammy. Sigourney kicked me up the arse.


Post: Squalor Victoria

We visited an abandoned gaol and spotted some famous characters in the Orange March.

What happened next?

We eventually made it home to a frazzled man worn out from trying to convince our three-year old her Ma hadn’t really been incarcerated.


Oh no, is the Wi-Fi down again?

(Image: designyourage.com)


Post:  This writing life

A whistle-stop tour through my life with some of the prominent pens and keyboards that have featured in it along the way. In response to a nomination for the Irish Blog Awards lifestyle category.


Jesus wept. That would’ve been the Irish in him.

What happened next?

A lengthy, and incomplete, meltdown over the creeping invasion of the limiting notion of ‘lifestyle’ blogging. To be continued. Probably.


Post: Did you read Róisín yet?

A reflection on the connection my mother and I have had with Róisín Ingle’s weekly column over the years. It ended with a phone-call in which I told her I also had an abortion following Róisín’s public disclosure of her own.


Oh Holy Mother of God she only went and had an abortion

(Image: Irish Times)

What happened next?

I told her I was only joking.

Only joking.

Some reasonable questions followed along with assurances that she would’ve supported me without judgement had I gone to her. I knew all that all along. And had long dismissed the stereotypical image of the rosary-bead wielding older woman apparently found everywhere beyond The Pale.

Post: Births, deaths, and marriages

Where I visited the top fromage in the Norn Iron Humanist Association with a view to giving serious consideration to training as a celebrant. With a straight face.


“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life. Electric word life. It means forever. Oops. Sorry. Force of habit.

What happened next?

Periodic chin-stroking. Like this, look *me chin-stroking*. My fella has a beard so I picked up the habit unconsciously. Handy for chin-hair watch.

Also, did the sums and couldn’t justify the spend on a massive gamble with no guarantee I wouldn’t fall at the first hurdle. Realised that while aspects of humanism are consistent with my outlook,  I’m not ready to surrender the life-time war against being labelled in any walk of life. More questions than answers linger. To be continued. Sorry.


Post: The green of Ireland

Brief exchange with a taxi driver who collected us from the cinema after seeing the brilliant Queen of Ireland. Not very funny retort included.

What happened next?

“And SHE must’ve thought it was some film, wah?”, chuckled the taxi-driver to me in reference my 80 year-old mother sitting in the back seat.

My mother and I whipped off our seat-belts and Hong Kong Phooey’ed the fuck out of him.


Panti is left discombobulated after hearing about the incident

(Image: irishcentral.com)

Actually, my mother railed against the display of casual ageism by quietly pointing it out to me when we got out of the car. Oh, right. That’s another thing that’s all ahead of me.


Post: Running to stand still

Our house went up for sale.

estate agent

Heeey, how can I annoy the hell out of you today?

(Image: dezrezblog.com)

What happened next?

The house was tidied for the first time in five years. In a manoeuvre comparable to immersion-left-on anxiety, I pulled a dramatic five-point turn a mile out the road and ran back into the house to hide the furry Celtic F.C. Santas before the prospective buyers arrived. Estate agents replaced Bono as the new receptacles for my affection.


Post: What to give the special blogger in your life this Christmas

Where I was unequivocal in my hints for potential presents this year.

What happened next?

Ignored again. But I did get this lovely coaster.

elvis costello

Very handy for cups and glasses of all sizes. A blogger’s must-have.

OK, you can turn back to Come Dine With Me now.

4 thoughts on “What happened next? Blogging 2015 re-visited

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