Airports – Hell in a Hangar

Airports. Domains of the damned. The early morning, bleary-eyed trip to the train station. The tacit recognition of fellow early-morning travellers. The scream of children-tiredness or badness, I can’t tell at 6am. I also don’t care at 6am, I just want them to shut up. Coffee. Bad, airport coffee. Taking your shoes off going through security in case you’re a terrorist. The feeling of the cold, hard airport floor beneath your feet. The cold. The persistent coldness of a permanently air-conditioned building. Never dress for your holiday when flying, you will get a runny nose. Plastic. Fucking. Bags. Paying £1 for said plastic bags. Queues. Lots and lots of queues. Queues to JOIN queues. Security guards who crack jokes in the small hours of the morning as I stare at them blankly, my brain failing to compute their peculiar, shit humour.

Ryanair.

The feeling you get when you remember why you’re at the airport. The thought of being met at the other side by someone you haven’t seen in far too long. The smile as you walk through the doors in Arrivals. The hug you know you’ll get that makes the journey, and all that goes with it, so very worth it.

Tags: Airports, Travel

Charity Run-No Turning Back Now

In a bid to get myself closer to that elusive dream of an adventure race (the dream that is very quickly slipping away quite quickly!), myself and Sarah (@Sacollins86) have entered a charity run. In 10 days… Which is a scary thought. You see, the last time I ran a race they were handing out bottle of Cadet and packets of Taytos and Mr. Dillon was shaking his head in disappointment at my poor form in the Under 7s Relay Race. I’m not even sure I know how to race. I’m very much used to seeing the things from the back so I’ve next to no idea what goes on up the front.

Sarah found the event and we paid the entry fee yesterday, all nervous and pleased with ourselves (although I did have a moment of panic when Sarah couldn’t register online and I already had…). BUT, what I didn’t want to do was piggy-back on the fund-raising of an organisation to practice my running technique. That wouldn’t be very charitable. That’s why I’ve set up this fundraising page: http://www.justgiving.com/roisin-o-39-donovan/

The race is in aid of The Stroke Association. In the UK, an estimated 150,000 people have a stroke each year, it accounts for around 53,000 deaths each year in the UK and is the third most common cause of death in England and Wales, after heart disease and cancer. Bringing it closer to my home, up to 8,500 people suffer a stroke in Ireland annually. Each year, over 2,500 stroke patients die and there are currently over 30,000 people with residual disability from strike, with 20% unable to walk and 50% in need of day to day assistance.

I know there isn’t a lot of time left before the race and that people are already pretty stretched but The Stroke Association really does some amazing work and fantastic research in the areas of stroke prevention, treatment and rehabilitation, stroke support and service provision. In a world of looming cuts in public sector spending, charities are having to depend more and more on charitable donations. If you can spare even £1, you can rest assured that it is going to a very good cause.

I’m looking forward to race day, in a weird way. It will be interesting to see how I play with others. Will I become super competitive? Will my lazy gene kick in? Where will I finish?! Will I raise much for the charity? Needless to say I’ll cross the finish line at some point. But probably on Sarah’s back…

Gym Etiquette: Nudey-a-no-no

When I go to the gym, it’s usually under duress. I’m either there because I can’t run outside (ice, ice, baby) or because the boiler’s broken and I need a shower. So, y’see, I’m usually not in the greatest form when I’m there. Especially at Stupid O’Clock in the morning, when the sun is low on the horizon, pale and watery like the semi-skimmed milk in my coffee. The last thing I want to see is someone’s arse.

There I was, on a dull Wednesday morning, going from the shower to my locker wrapped up in a big fluffy towel and this lady in her fifties walks past me into a shower cubicle in the nip. I mean completely in the nip. I quite honestly did not know where to look. I ended up looking at the ceiling, actually. I pretended I was stretching my neck. Yeah, I know, some pretty nifty thinking on my feet from me there! I went back to my locker to practice the fine art of getting-dressed-without-ever-taking-the-towel-off and wandered over to the hair dryers and there she was! Walking around AIR DRYING! “Maybe she’s forgotten her towel” I thought. “Maybe she’s from a nudey colony.” Although, you think you’d notice one of those around the place. Then I thought. “Well maybe she’s doing it to deliberately freak me out.” Because I get paranoid when I’m uncomfortable.

I get very, very uncomfortable around nudity and I know I’m not the only one. A very unscientific ask-around my office one lunchtime (my timing is nothing if not impeccable) revealed a similar attitude (if not quite as extreme as mine). A similarly unscientific Twitter ask-around revealed that lots of people (mostly men, not surprisingly) are perfectly fine with it. In fact, it seems to be a feature of most male locker rooms. And now I’m very uncomfortable again…

Sometimes the answer seems to lie with the fact that I’m Irish. I went on holidays with two girl friends to Northern Italy when we were but students. We stayed in those youth hostel campsites you find all over Central Europe. The three of us would creep into the communal shower rooms at the crack of 11am, checking furtively around corners to see if there was anyone around before whipping off our towels to reveal… our swimming togs. Other girls hailing from Germany, Spain, France used to walk around topless. Dry their hair topless, tie their shoelaces topless. We were absolutely mortified, almost every time we had a shower. But those girls didn’t give a shit. I envied them their confidence but never felt the need to take them as role models. I’m just too much of a prude.

I often wonder why I’m so prudish… and then I get embarrassed thinking about it so I stop. I can’t see myself becoming any more comfortable with it in the near future. Looks like I’m going to have to stretch out my neck muscles a whole lot more in that locker room!

Tags: Etiquette, Gym

Video of the Week – Creepy Old Sean Connery Movie Trailer

The internet is a weird and wonderful place and a mine of oddities for those that have the time to peruse it to seek its fullest potential. Not me though, I steal stuff my friends’ Facebook pages. This gem comes courtesy of Chris. He doesn’t know I’ve stolen it. Perhaps he never will…

Sean Connery? In a loin cloth? Acting badly (in every sense)? Why, this is what internet dreams are made of! A giant floating head, a starey-eyed woman in red, that hair… all forms the trailer for Zardoz. Tag line: Into a World of Immortal Life, He Brought the Gift of DEATH.

Most excellent.

New Year Good Intentions Update!

Fadó fadó, back in the distant mists of January, I wrote a little post about what I hoped to achieve this year. The list wasn’t exactly reaching for any dizzying heights and I did give myself the year to get these things done… Anyway, I shall now revisit and see how far I’ve gotten with them.

1. Have less hangovers. You’d think this would be a fairly simple thing to achieve but you’d be wrong.

I am currently so hungover that the noise of typing this is boring a hole through my brain and out the other side, my mouth feels like a carpet and I have imbibed 3 mugs of coffee, numerous glasses of water and a can of coke. Despite this, I am so dehydrated I’m considering the installation of a drip in my right arm.

2. Take part in an adventure race. I drunkenly and stupidly committed to doing one of these loon-fests in Mayo with some work friends in August. I’ve a feeling the friends will look to back out of it too so I’ll look at this one as more of an aspiration…

Eh… It’s only February! There’s still time to fail stupendously at this one.

3. I hereby declare that I shall eat more cheese. I’ve noticed a drop in the amount of cheese I eat. This disturbs me greatly. It shall be remedied. I’d love some Ardrahan right now…

This I have achieved! Tick that right off my list. Tomme de chevre, brie, gouda-even some stilton- have been packed into my ever-expanding belly through the purchase and slow enjoyment of cheese boards. I’ve also found that it’s quite the sociable way to enjoy food. What could be better?! The wine that comes with it, that’s what. Please see Number 1 for details.

3. Wear my new bitchin’ 4 inch heels out at least once. They’re too pretty to stay in a box for the rest of their lives.

Done-twice! Soooo pretty but so incredibly impractical and dangerous. Dangerous in two senses. In the first, I could quite easily fall and break my ankle/ neck/ dignity. In the second, either could be used as fairly effective improvised weapons…should the need ever arise.

4. Try all of these mad dating things my friend Vanessa emails me about every now and then. Speed dating, singles nights… I can’t think of any other ones but I’ll feckin do them! Maybe. And perhaps i’ll wear the bitchin’ heels while I’m at it!

Oh ho ho, been there, done that, never doing it again! Speed dating, last bastion of the strange and slightly sweaty. I exaggerate, it wasn’t that bad. It was nice to meet people I wouldn’t normally come across (don’t frequent the zoo that much, not really into accountancy and don’t have a pet that needs tending). But, for now, it’s the more traditional routes for me. Because they’re working out sooooo well…

5. Visit my friend Estelle in New York. I’ve never been and I hear there’s a gigantically fat cat in Bleecker Street Records. Screw the Empire State Building, that’s the first thing on my list of sites!

Also, achieved! Well, kind of. Tickets are booked-heading for the bright lights of NYC, then San Francisco, then Las Vegas! Wooo! And joining me on this, my modern day Iliad, are Eleanor (@eleanorklondon) and Sarah (@sacollins86). Fun will be had, cats will be stolen, Eleanor’s birthday will be celebrated Vegas styyyyle.

6. Learn business speak. I want to pow-wow forward into the future and diarise my segwaying with the best of them!

Ok, I haven’t really gotten anywhere with this one. In a way, I’m happy about that, in another way, I’m a little bit disappointed. How am I supposed to think I sound like I know what I’m talking about without some jargon? I need unnecessary hybrid words so if anyone has a few, throw them my way! The more ridiculous the better.

That’s where I’m at so far. Not bad for February if I may say so. I need to get going on this adventure race business although I’m not wholly sure how to go about that. Where does one find a kayak in Central London? The business speak will require a little bit of research and the hangovers… Well, I can’t achieve everything in the first six weeks. After all, I have to save something for the next ten months of the year!

Encounters of the Tube Kind

If there’s one thing that makes London so quintessentially “London”, it’s the Tube. This mode of mass transportation keeps the city ticking. It manages to be simultaneously one of my favourite and one of my most hated things about living here.  Each line has its own unique flavour, too (not that I go around licking them or anything. Some people do, I imagine. Not me though). Here are my favourite three.

The Bakerloo line is the granddaddy. It’s the oldest line on the underground and my god does it show. It rocks back and forth so violently you could dislocate your shoulder…assuming you have room to dislocate your shoulder. It is a bit like stepping back in time when you’re down there, though. Some of the stations have a distinctly Victorian feel about them. And many have a distinct odour, too… Between that and the rocking, this is a line best avoided when hungover.

The Northern Line is that little bit meaner and grittier. No seats for you, man on crutches! Back off, 8-month-pregnant woman! That seat shall not be yours unless you’re willing to put in the hard graft, to push yourself that extra inch, to really squeeeeze yourself into any available space and make the most of the opportunities that come your way. And if that means avoiding eye contact with little old ladies (I’m talking to the boys here) who flail and trip they’re way from Camden to King’s Cross, it’s a price you’re willing to pay for those 10 minutes of sitting down. Dignity, pride and decency-these are weaknesses on the tube. You will pay for them with your personal space.

Then there’s the Central Line. Oh yes, the Central Line. Similar to the Northern Line in many ways, the Central takes it another step further by being packed full of people who have no souls and being sweatier than a dart player’s arm pits. Every journey is a gamble on the Central Line. It makes for an interesting, if unpredictable, commute. Will I get on this train? Will I lower myself to attempt to imperceptibly inch that elderly gentleman out of my way, using my shoulder and some ingenuity? Will anyone notice? Will the train door close on my head at every station? Will I have a lost a little bit of my humanity (and a few brain cells) by the time I disembark?

Of course, sometimes, the London Underground and its lines and carriages can be full of little surprises. Am I the only London commuter who has chuckled to herself as a slightly unhinged conductor has eased the tedium of a long day’s driving into the blackness through the medium of inappropriate use of the tandem on the Jubilee? Surely I’m not the only one to be offered a free hug on the District Line? I know I’m not the only one who’s been-ahem!-rubbed up the wrong way at 8.30am on the Northern before she’s even had a coffee… I shouldn’t think so, and yet these are the little curveballs and oddities that make that commute more interesting and, I suppose, more bearable (yeah, you know it, even the rubbing).

Some of my more memorable Encounters of the Tube Kind:

One thing you always hear tell of before you move to a city like London is how many mentally unhinged people live there. For a few days after I became a citizen of this fair city, I was disappointed not to have come across a single one. Then, one wet, miserable day, after getting on the tube at Tottenham Court Road, an elderly man got on just after me. Something about the way he looked (mental) made me think “This guy’s Irish.” He smiled around the carriage, walked down the centre aisle and began to bless people (oh so very Irish!) in the most gentle and lovely manner. He got off at the next stop. I looked up and caught the eye of a woman sitting opposite me and she burst out laughing and roared out “Could have been a lot worse!” This gives me hope for future crazies.

Another time, as I was heading home one day after work, I found myself standing in a completely packed carriage (as usual) beside a buggy. I thought, “If this train jerks at all I’m going to land in that child’s lap.” The only way to avoid this was to try to hold the pole in the middle of the carriage. The main hindrance to the execution of this plan was the man standing directly in between me and the pole. I didn’t really have a choice-I was wearing flats and couldn’t reach the pole above me. I reached around and grabbed the pole, all the while keeping my eyes firmly on the ad for Match.com on the opposite wall. The realisation suddenly dawned on me that a) I was basically embracing this dude and b) he was trying to make conversation with me. On the tube! The audacity! I kept my eyes trained on an ad for some vitamin pills and tried my best to ignore his attempts to make eye contact. Eventually he tired of me and started on some other misfortune. I say misfortune-she actually seemed to enjoy the conversation. Who knows, maybe they went off and had babies.

Tags: commute, london underground, Travel

Video of the Week – Spreadsheet Invasion

I haven’t been as proactive as I should have been since I got back to this (woops) and received another handslap for my troubles (thanks Ste!). There is a real post coming (with words and everything!) but, for now, it’s Video of the Week time!

Those of you who get the tube regularly or have gotten it before will know the drudgery and monotony of standing on the platform, staring across at a soot-laden wall, waiting for the next train. Man, those two minutes can really drag! With this in mind, London Underground have commissioned a series of silent videos to be broadcast on platforms along the network in a bid to enliven the misery of morning commutes. The campaign is called Smile for London. It will run from the 17 – 28 January 2011 on weekday mornings and evenings during the rush hour commute. Further information can be found by clicking on this linky thing right here: www.smileforlondon.com.

Cheers, London Underground, you’ve made my mornings 20 seconds less crap!

The first video is by student, Amy Thornley, and is titled ‘Spreadsheet Invasion’. Check it out below:

www.vimeo.com/16845078

For the record, I think my favourite one is ‘Lazy’, although watching it drunk probably wouldn’t be the best idea in the world. If anyone happens to see any of these in stations around London, let me know what you think!

Tags: Art, Travel, Tube

Video of the Week – Inception Cat

I think the last time I did this was around six months ago… so it’s Video of the Half Year really!

Alright, this week’s video isn’t exactly new and I’m guessing anyone who’s reading this knows me and I’ve probably made you watch it several times as I roll on the floor, gasping for breath like a fat bird trying to make it up the stairs… But I love it, I truly love it. There’s drama, there’s suspense, there’s a cat-what more you could you ask of YouTube?

 

Resolutions of the non-pixel kind.

Now, I’m not usually one for New Year’s resolutions but my friend Ste, from the brilliant Myopic Psychotic blog, has been on to me quite a bit to resuscitate this auld blog business.

I began 2011 the way I normally do: with The Fear. House parties with Connemara people will do that to you. I’ve been wandering aimlessly around the house, wincing every time someone does something loud, like flick a light switch or walk across the room. My hangover has made me vulnerable, overly-emotional and prone to introspection. (As an aside, watching Eastenders with a hangover? Fatal mistake. Watching the news? ERROR. Too traumatising, all of it.)  Ste’s encouragement, coupled with the hangover and the introspection, has rekindled my desire to bore anyone who decides to read this, so that I too may pass on the suffering. So, just for you Mr. Tucker, I am giving it a festive kiss of life and resolving to keep it going for, oh I dunno, a few weeks.

I know that 201o has been a particularly shite year for most people and many are looking forward to seeing the back of it and giving it a good kick up the hole as it goes. Me, I had one of the best years of my short adult life. I took a plunge and moved country. I volunteered at an international film festival. I got to spend time with my little niece and the rest of my family and appreciate them all the more for the distance that comes with living abroad, albeit in England. I made new friends, enjoyed visits from old friends and started running. I’ve pushed myself further than I thought I could (which wasn’t far but my expectations were veeeeery low). It could be a symptom of no longer being in my early twenties or it could be all of the changes but  I’ve never felt more comfortable in my own skin. So cheers, 2010, you’ll be missed by me at least. Everyone else hates you.

On to the “ideals” for 2011. I have friends who go through the whole resolution deal every year. I don’t know if it’s just me but I don’t relish the idea of disappointing myself annually because of my over-reaching ambitions to curse less and pay off my credit card bill. It’s just depressing. What I think I’ll do instead, seeing as I’m all about the money challenges at the moment, is set a few for 2011. Let’s see what I can come up with on the spot…

1. Have less hangovers. You’d think this would be a fairly simple thing to achieve but you’d be wrong.
2. Take part in an adventure race. I drunkenly and stupidly committed to doing one of these loon-fests in Mayo with some work friends in August. I’ve a feeling the friends will look to back out of it too so I’ll look at this one as more of an aspiration…
3. I hereby declare that I shall eat more cheese. I’ve noticed a drop in the amount of cheese I eat. This disturbs me greatly. It shall be remedied. I’d love some Ardrahan right now…
4. Wear my new bitchin’ 4 inch heels out at least once. They’re too pretty to stay in a box for the rest of their lives.
5. Try all of these mad dating things my friend Vanessa emails me about every now and then. Speed dating, singles nights… I can’t think of any other ones but I’ll feckin do them! Maybe. And perhaps i’ll wear the bitchin’ heels while I’m at it!
6. Visit my friend Estelle in New York. I’ve never been and I hear there’s a gigantically fat cat in Bleecker Street Records. Screw the Empire State Building, that’s the first thing on my list of sites!
7. Learn business speak. I want to pow-wow forward into the future and diarise my segwaying with the best of them!

That’s the general outline for 2011. I think you’ll agree that it would be pretty astounding if I achieve any of it in the next twelve months (apart from the cheese, that will happen). The bar isn’t even set that high, I’m just a bit lazy. An achievement as of this very moment would be getting up off my arse and getting the glass of water I’ve been craving for the past hour. Baby steps, baby steps…

So, as I gaze across my messy bedroom floor and contemplate eating my third packet of crisps today, I can’t help but feel a little bit hopeful that yes, I will eat some cheese and yes, I am going to find that fat feline and smuggle it out of New York and those heels will make it out of the house on my feet even if I break my ankles in the attempt. And that’s what ringing in the New Year is all about, isn’t it? Hope. That and necking some Buckfast and chasing it with a whiskey if my experience is anything to go by.

Athbhliain faoi mhaise dhaoibh go léir. I hope it’s a good one.

Tags: 2011, New Year

World Cup Time (bleurgh!)

World Cup time and, since I don’t have any national team to follow (merci, Henry), I’m going to need some help deciding who should get my half-assed support. I’m too indecisive for this kind of thing so if you could decide for me, that’d be swell, thanks!