Upon my rock I build this church….

Right about now I am wary of how this post will come across. I make no assumptions, I don’t claim to be right, and I never wish to sound in any way hypocritical or judgemental. I don’t state fact; I just put what’s in my head onto a page. So here goes…..

Today it struck me just how wonderful church is. Should it have a capital letter? I guess it depends on what you feel the word means. Sure, it’s a building. But the word also represents a body of people. A congregating of those who come together and often have much in common. Somewhere everyone is welcome. The doors are always open. Same time every week, regardless. You don’t have to ask what time, or where, or what to wear. You don’t even need to be able to sing (but often it helps). Where else would you find that?

I’m not talking about any specific religion here, nor am I trying to claim to be perfect or shove any bible quotes or parables down your throat. For me it is more about the fact that church is always a celebration of sorts. Whether it’s the celebration of a long life, the start of a new life, or the beginning of a new life together, it always seems important for everyone to thank someone, somewhere, for what we’ve been given. For we are all truly blessed. Bla bla bla. But we are, right?

It doesn’t matter what or who we believe in, or if we even believe anything at all, we’re all pretty frickin lucky. The fact you’re reading this right now means you’re blessed enough to have a laptop, iPhone or other electronic device. And of course, t’internet. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in saying that so often I forget how lucky I am. How I am blessed with an amazing family, and some very special friends. And I can honestly say that I don’t realise it enough. But when I do, I am usually in Church. Celebrating something. Or someone.

This blog is for my granny, who passed away on Friday. She was one special lady, and I am truly blessed to have known her. To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die. She will always be in my heart. RIP xxx

Eimear Cregan...take a bow :)

                                          Best photo of Eimear you'll ever see :)

Every so often in life you will come across someone you admire. Someone who has the talent, commitment, passion and desire that you can only dream of. It is a unique combination, a blend of the will to succeed but also the talent to allow that will to flourish. These people are from all walks of life, in politics, sport, music, drama. They are confident, but not cocky. Affable, but won’t take any crap. The leader, the protagonist, the soloist. The captain.

Today, Irish hockey lost a leader. Captain Eimear Cregan (aka Creggie aka peanut head) has been forced to retire from the game she loves due to injury. Having amassed an incredible 171 caps for her country, she is the most capped female Irish player of all time. A phenomenal achievement made all the more special considering Cregs has played with constant pain for the past 6 years of her career.

I am so thankful that my hockey career thus far has been injury free (touch wood) bar a broken finger. In the past few weeks, however, I have had a couple of little niggles, nothing major or enough to stop me from training but always there none-the-less. It got me to thinking about how players cope with injuries that require constant monitoring. On the physio table every day. Icing their ails after every session. Playing through the pain barrier, pain that no-one else can feel.

This pretty much sums Eimear up. Anyone who has ever had the pleasure of playing with or against her knows how talented she is, about her determination and work-rate, and of course, her sublime skills. What people may not have realised was that she did all this nursing degenerative arthritis in both knees. And the rest. After matches and training she had the usual two bags of ice strapped around her swollen knees. Such commitment is unrivalled. But something I admire more than anything else is that she played exactly the same way every time she step foot on the turf. No-one was ever fully aware of her suffering, simply because she didn’t let it show. She never sought sympathy, never wanted to come off, always humble and always, always, a great leader.

I am so proud to say I have played with Creggie for my entire international career. I can vouch for the rest of the girls on the squad when I say I am gutted she has been forced to retire. Quitting is something she was never any good at, and I know for sure how devastating this decision has been for her. She is a true legend of the game, and a huge hole has been left in the heart of Irish hockey. We will miss her banter but I am sure she will never be far from the side-line, supporting us all the way. A special person and a special player.

Cheers Cregs. It’s been a pleasure.

Which one are you?

"O Alfe, you must come round for tea and prawn sandwiches later, they are simply devine!"

Almost everyone who is likely to read this (which, let’s face it, isn’t many) will have at some stage of their existence played some form of sport. Some fancy themselves as the next Usain Bolt. Some reckon they’ve a better stroke than Tiger (easy). And others still find themselves lamenting about that time silly skinny bitch with the blonde hair, long legs and big breasts beat them in the egg and spoon race in primary school. (She cheated. So I heard).

Regardless of standard or quality, we have all come across all-sorts of players and opponents. Having conducted a secret experiment into such do-gooders and delinquents over the past 18 years of my life (I’m good), I here-by report my findings.

·         The ‘I’m a boy, you’re a girl, therefore you can’t play sport so skip along and play with your Barbie’s’ species: this kind, often born into a family where the dad watches telly all day whilst the wife slaves in the kitchen, are rather mean and often bear an uncanny resemblance to a fresh steaming smelly turd. (NB I scripted my findings of this species when I was 9).

·         The ‘child prodigy that just doesn’t quite make it’: such cases often have to be pitied, as after many years of being the next best thing, turns out…they really aren’t! Parents of such species are more often than not rather wealthy, have a lot of time on their hands, bear pointed noses and are most likely to be found shouting abuse at the ref, other kids, parents and generally anyone who just might be taking the glory away from their positively shining child.

·         The ‘I’m an absolute cow on the pitch but I’m a star off it’ species: this is the kind of player you absolutely hate, the one who acts like total idiot for the duration of a game, but when you talk to them off the pitch, turns out they’re actually dead on!

·         The ‘enforcer’: this person can be any size or play in any position, but damn are they scary. The best of the best cower in their comparative mediocrity beside this guy. Don’t cross this species.

·         The ‘workhorse’: not much talent, not much going on up above or down below, but blessed with the fitness and stamina of a Duracell bunny. Will often fall over at random intervals, forget to stop running and hit the post, and ask what the score was after every game. With this in mind, such species come with all safety equipment as standard.

·         The ‘untouchable’: the magician. Everything they touch turns to gold. Captain material, everyone respects this player and doesn’t dare question their authority. Often the ‘enforcer’ attempts to seriously hurt the ‘untouchable.’ Legendary status. If the team could afford to and this species retired, no-one would ever use their shirt number again. Unfortunately, more often than not the shirt (and all other kit) needs returned to the club for the ‘child prodigy’ species’ to use. All players should strive to become the ‘untouchable’. However, please note. First round, is always on them.

*** This blog is dedicated to my good friend and recently retired Irish international Bridget Cleland (well, McKeever). Bridge aka ‘child bride’, ‘bird shit’ or (my personal fave) ‘fidget ma beaver’ was truly a legend of Irish hockey, maybe not quite the ‘untouchable’ (hehe) but always a player who we all respected and admired. She is a hero to many, and will be for some time to come. J Seeing as she most likely will never read this, I can exclusively reveal she isn’t pregnant. But is practising.

Christmas time, airport chaos and crime..

                                         Elasticated pants..the way forward...


Well guys and gals it's that time again...the alter ego is out in force and our dreams of a white Christmas have swiftly deteriorated into our worst nightmares...

So here's a few hints, tips and observations of my bygone Decembers...

1. reconsider your thoughts of wearing those skinny jeans that you have to do lunges in an attempt to stretch on Christmas day. Not only will you feel rather depressed when they feel tighter than last time, you don't want your button poppin off and pingin gramps between the eyes. think Joey's thanksgiving pants instead.

2. no matter how old or mature you feel (my granny used to chuckle away at 'Baby's day out)', you still maintain that secret love of the films that crop up around Christmas. I'm talking quality such as george of the jungle, all the home alones, chicken run...etc etc.

3. Celine does the best version of O Holy Night. Fact.

4. You gotta love a good old beltin out of the carols at Church on Christmas mornin...

5. shops and christmas shopping turn perfectly sane individuals into crazed psychopathic maniacs who will stop at nothing to get what they want. trust no-one. if there is only one sled left, 80-year old Mavis from next door will undoubtedly come careering round the corner in her mobility scooter, hook the sled with her litter picker, and speed off in the distance leaving a wake of dust and despairing children behind her.

6. thank the lord for the invention of dishwashers.

7. New Year's is often an incredible anti-climax. if you think you're pissed when you get to your destination, you will soon sober up in the 45 minute wait at the bar. when you finally get served, you feel no shame in buying three drinks for each hand (i have seen it done), drinking much faster than usual as you realise you cant be bothered holding them any more, and end up waking up on the floor to be told its next year and they're closing up. Happy New Year.

8. As you get older you find less and less presents for you under the tree.

9. always have your shoes off. If you don't you will be the first asked to bring in sticks or coal.

10. if your shoes are on, pretend you are sleeping as the fire begins to die.

11. you are never too old to slide down a snow-covered hill.

12. If you own a pet less than 12 inches tall, keep it on a lead cos when it steps outside you will lose it. Especially if it's white.

13. If you're scraping the snow off your car, don't leave your door open and keys in the ignition. some little shit might possibly steal you ve-hicle. Disusting, but it's happened.

13. Santa is real. He's keepin a list, checking it twice. and he already knows who's naughty or nice.

 I can't wait for my pressies ;-)

Merry Christmas bitches and hos, make sure you get ur swag on and whip ur hair back an forth this festive period. How hip am I...

Reality bites...

it's that time again, the shops are busy, everyone is in a rush. students are stressed about exams and assignments, parents worried about meeting their kids needs and wants on Christmas day (Santa is still real, i said nothing). The budget has hit the helpless hard, and as we approach the end of the year, it seems as though some aren't feeling the festive cheer.

I'm not writing her to say everything is rosy. Cos let's face it, it's really not. But every so often something happends in your life that makes you take a step back and take a severe reality check. How fickle of us to moan about being 'broke' when those on the street can't afford a bed for the night. We say we're wrecked after work and we're underpaid, when thousands would give their right arm for a job right now. we complain about having so much on, not being able to fit everything in. But at least we are alive, fit and healthy to try.

winter is a harsh season, and can bring even the best of us down (i had a runny nose last week, ran out of berroca). for the elderly, it is especially difficult. death is a sobering thought, and only when it happens to someone you are close do you realise how lucky you really are. So many this christmas are without someone they love. so many will spend christmas in hospital, fighting a battle they might not win.

People talk about the real meaning of Christmas. Whether you're religious or not, family is one of the real meanings of Christmas. So the next time you complain about being under the weather, flat out at work, unable to afford the latest version of the i-phone, but then head for drinks with freinds or home to your warm cosy place with your family, take a step back. Be thankful for everything you have. Ring your mum and have a chat. Enjoy every minute of your time with those you love most.

Because it's true. You don't know what you have until it's gone.

No be a good nieghbour and go visit Mavis next door. She'd love a cuppa.

Still cool in the heat...?

As I sit wrapped in a fleece (literally and metaphorically) of austerity, it appears as though the future of the Irish population is about as bleak as the Irish weather. The budget may have come and gone but its legacy will long live in the young lives of those it affects worst.  At the height of the “Celtic Tiger” Ireland experienced the largest population growth of any country in the EU. Oh, how times have changed. Some 65,000 people left last year, the highest rate since 1989. The Irish Union of Students estimates that 150,000 young people will up sticks and scarper in the next 5 years.

As we enter the Christmas period, many would say ‘tis not the season to be jolly. Whilst some of us dread the visiting mother-in-law, others inevitably rue the decision to get pissed at their Christmas work party, photocopy their arse (just like last year) and throw some cheesy one-liners at the boss in a fickle attempt to get a pay rise. We’re all broke. We plod through snow and ice, get a little ahead of ourselves, think we’ve made it to the comfortable safety of the indoors...then slap, bang, we’re lying on the ground, bewildered and confused. We either pray no-one has seen, or that someone will help. Usually it’s neither. In fact it’s probably been videos and in 5 minutes will be posted on Facebook.

In light of this, there is no doubt that many are green with envy when someone they know updates their Facebook status. “35 degrees and lying on the beach sipping cocktails...bliss!” Nice for some. However, for those thousands of disgruntled Irish who will migrate to warmer climates, it could soon be nice for many. For those who have already migrated to a warm country, Christmas conditions could not be further from the depths of snowy Dublin. Do they long to return to their traditions of Christmas past, or are the soaring temperatures and beautiful beaches just an added luxury to the holiday season? Do chestnuts roast, or just the people?

Ian Mckeown (28) is a native of Belfast. He moved to Canberra two years ago to do a PhD in strength and conditioning, with a view of finding a job there upon completion. (NB At the risk of toning down the extent of his ill-feeling towards Christmas in a hot country, many expletives have been removed.) “It’s not Christmas here, not like how I know it. They play Slade and the usual festive numbers, but it seems ironic when you hear Bing Crosby croon ‘Let it snow’ when it’s 38 degrees outside. It’s all a bit artificial really.”

Whilst many traditions remain (they have the same Santa, send cards and over-indulge on turkey and ham), Ian ponders wistfully on life’s little pleasures. “They don’t have Mark’s and Spencer’s Christmas treats. And of course, Christmas is all about tradition. Spending time with the family. I miss that the most.”

Someone who agrees with Ian is 35 year-old Emma Clarke, who moved to Sydney last year with her husband and two children. “This will be our second Christmas in Australia. Last year was difficult for us, being away from our parents and extended family. But there is no doubt being with my husband and watching our kid’s faces light up on Christmas morning is a feeling that remains no matter where you live. Christmas is all about family, isn’t it? We may not have the snow, but at least we have each other.”

It appears as though Christmas is only Christmas if the family is around, regardless of location. Sure, a bit of snow wouldn’t go amiss, but is it really all that important? If tradition means family, and your loved ones are afar, Brian Lenihan has done you a favour this year. Airport tax is cut from €10 to €3. It’s never been easier to emigrate.

Still cool in the heat...?

(quite a lot of fictional quotes, but hey gotta be done)

As I sit wrapped in a fleece (literally and metaphorically) of austerity, it appears as though the future of the Irish population is about as bleak as the Irish weather. The budget may have come and gone but its legacy will long live in the young lives of those it affects worst.  At the height of the “Celtic Tiger” Ireland experienced the largest population growth of any country in the EU. Oh, how times have changed. Some 65,000 people left last year, the highest rate since 1989. The Irish Union of Students estimates that 150,000 young people will up sticks and scarper in the next 5 years.

As we enter the Christmas period, many would say ‘tis not the season to be jolly. Whilst some of us dread the visiting mother-in-law, others inevitably rue the decision to get pissed at their Christmas work party, photocopy their arse (just like last year) and throw some cheesy one-liners at the boss in a fickle attempt to get a pay rise. We’re all broke. We plod through snow and ice, get a little ahead of ourselves, think we’ve made it to the comfortable safety of the indoors...then slap, bang, we’re lying on the ground, bewildered and confused. We either pray no-one has seen, or that someone will help. Usually it’s neither. In fact it’s probably been videos and in 5 minutes will be posted on Facebook.

In light of this, there is no doubt that many are green with envy when someone they know updates their Facebook status. “35 degrees and lying on the beach sipping cocktails...bliss!” Nice for some. However, for those thousands of disgruntled Irish who will migrate to warmer climates, it could soon be nice for many. For those who have already migrated to a warm country, Christmas conditions could not be further from the depths of snowy Dublin. Do they long to return to their traditions of Christmas past, or are the soaring temperatures and beautiful beaches just an added luxury to the holiday season? Do chestnuts roast, or just the people?

Ian Mckeown (28) is a native of Belfast. He moved to Canberra two years ago to do a PhD in strength and conditioning, with a view of finding a job there upon completion. (NB At the risk of toning down the extent of his ill-feeling towards Christmas in a hot country, many expletives have been removed.) “It’s not Christmas here, not like how I know it. They play Slade and the usual festive numbers, but it seems ironic when you hear Bing Crosby croon ‘Let it snow’ when it’s 38 degrees outside. It’s all a bit artificial really.”

Whilst many traditions remain (they have the same Santa, send cards and over-indulge on turkey and ham), Ian ponders wistfully on life’s little pleasures. “They don’t have Mark’s and Spencer’s Christmas treats. And of course, Christmas is all about tradition. Spending time with the family. I miss that the most.”

Someone who agrees with Ian is 35 year-old Emma Clarke, who moved to Sydney last year with her husband and two children. “This will be our second Christmas in Australia. Last year was difficult for us, being away from our parents and extended family. But there is no doubt being with my husband and watching our kid’s faces light up on Christmas morning is a feeling that remains no matter where you live. Christmas is all about family, isn’t it? We may not have the snow, but at least we have each other.”

It appears as though Christmas is only Christmas if the family is around, regardless of location. Sure, a bit of snow wouldn’t go amiss, but is it really all that important? If tradition means family, and your loved ones are afar, Brian Lenihan has done you a favour this year. Airport tax is cut from €10 to €3. It’s never been easier to emigrate.