Congratulations Stephen & Dinara

Husbands brother (Stephen) and wife (Dinara) just had their first baby last night. Its a boy. Paul Richard Doyle. Baby Paul has made us both an aunt and uncle for the first time. That's his chubby little face above.

Unfortunately, we have to wait a week before we can go meet him in person. But I'm sure he won't mind. Gives him a opportunity to catch up on some Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Today is a great day to be Irish or to celebrate all things Irish. So lets pause for a second and think about all the things Ireland has given to the world.

• Guinness, Whiskey & Baileys
• Cursing & swearing
• Ginger haired people
• Freckles
• Potatoes
• Irish stew
• Leprechauns
• Harp's
• Shamrocks
• Aran jumpers (sweaters, for my American friends)
• Colin Farrell (although, this may not be a good thing)
• JFK
• River Dance
• The ability to find the humour in EVERY situation
• The craic
• Pubs
• U2 (as in the band)
• Cups of tea
• Every shade of green you can imagine
• Full Irish (only the true Irish or those who have spent a considerable amount of time there will understand this)
• The Chipper (again, it will make sense to the Irish or people who have visited)
• And of course, St. Patrick's Day

So in honour of our patron saint, we went to our local Irish pub, Keegans, and had the absolute craic. My friend Jeremy, who is visiting us from Ireland, was only hours off the plane when we whisked him off for a night of ceol agus ol.

Jessica, Jeremy & myself.

The sign says it all.
Slainte, bottoms up ladies & gentleman.
Its hard to tell, but the beer is actually green
Mike, Jessica & myself.

Jeremy & Mike sporting the colours of Ireland.

I'm Sorry, I Don't Speak Man

Plumber arrived today. Halleluiah. And water has been restored.

I took plumber to the bathroom that’s under construction and pointed out where everything was going to go. Showers, sinks and toilets had all been marked out and Husband had drilled me on what I was to tell him and what I was to ask, since he wasn’t going to be here for plumber’s arrival. It was all going fine until plumber started reading from his own script. He was throwing question after question at me with words like “valves, pipe lines, drainage, systems”. My brain was spinning. I was in panic mode and my only thoughts were “oh shit”. I know he must have seen pure terror in my face, but he was still paused, waiting for answers. I was frozen. He repeated the questions again. Honestly, he could have repeated them all day long. Put them in a fancy poem, wrote a song, free styled it all and bust some moves and I still would not have understood.

In the mean time, electriction shows up. He too has a whole bunch of questions for me about wires, currents, voltage, breakers and lord knows what else. I’m in complete mental overload. My thoughts are racing and I think I feel a hot flush coming on. I need to get control.

“Ok, boys, as you can clearly see, I am a girl. Whatever you’re all asking me right now, I don’t know the answers to. I don’t understand. I don’t speak man. All I know is that I want a fabulous bathroom, with water that comes out when I turn the tap, a toilet that flushes when I push the knob and lights that come on when I flick the switch. Whatever you have to do to make all that happen, do it. Any other questions you may have, please, hold them until Husband, who speaks perfect man, comes back.”

As you can see they took me at my word and began to tear up my house. Ceilings were pulled down and walls were busted through. I can only hope it was all necessary and that they weren’t just having the craic, at my expense.


This is the ceiling in our foyer. Nice, hah?

This is the wall in the downstairs office. Bare in mind the bathroom is upstairs, but plumber assured me one of the pipes he needs to move, is running through here.

Fintan doesn't trust him and begins his own search for said pipe.

Held Hostage by a Plumber

You may have read a couple of blogs back that we are renovating one of our bathrooms. Lovely. Well Husband was in the throws of demolition yesterday, when he hit a snag, or more accurately a pipe. Yes, he was going man crazy with his power tools and managed to cut into a metal pipe, causing a slight leak. So all the water had to be shut off. Ok, not a problem, since the plumber was scheduled to come today (Wednesday) to re-pipe for the new showers and sinks. So we only needed to suck up the lack of water for less than 24 hours.

However, plumber called to say, “so sorry, but won’t be able to make it until Thursday”.
Are ya kidding me?? An extra day?? No can do. Not only am I not able to do my dishes or laundry, but I can’t shower, wash my hands, face, brush my teeth or pee. The pee thing is killing me. For those of you near and dear to me, you know I pee, A LOT. I’m a constant drinker of water and as a result, I’m a constant presents on the loo. When I fly, I must always have the aisle seat, cos I’m up and down to the bathroom so much. At home we have it down, but when we travel, Husband knows that the side of the bed I sleep on, is determined by the quickest route to the bathroom. It’s just the way it is.

But now my tiny bladder and over active kidneys are being pushed to the limit. It’s killing me. I’m like a dehydrated camel. I’ve really cut back on my fluids and I’m in a constant battle to fight the urge to pee until I have to go out and run an errand. Never have I been more excited to be at work, purely for the accessibility of a bathroom.

How dare plumber do this to me. He is using the power of his wrench and his low-rider jeans with the peek a boo crack to hold me hostage. Its not hilarious and he better not call to cancel again. My crampy stomach just can’t take it another hour.

Language Barrier

Let me just say, the people of Valencia have zero English and I have teeny tiny Spanish. Which made for a very long and difficult trip back from the stadium to my hotel last night.

A bunch of us jumped on some public transportation i.e the bus, after the events of Saturday night wrapped up on the track. We had no idea if it was the right bus for where we were headed but as long as it was city bound we’d figure it out. It did take us into the city. The others were staying at a different hotel to me, so they hopped off while I remained on, confident the bus was headed onwards towards my hotel. But it took a left, then a few rights and some more lefts. Ok, now my internal compass had well and truly been turned on its head. I asked the person next to me if she spoke English? She looked like a student, so I was secretly hoping she was a student of my language.

But she looked at me blankly. I said it again “english?”. She said, “No, no englais” but still proceeded to give me what I can only assume was her life story, in Spanish. She went on and on nodding and pointing and throwing hand gestures all around the place. Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla…….bla blao. I was looking at her in amazment. Was she serious? I tried to cut her off. I shock my head from side to side and said “Por favor, no espanol”, so shut up. But she was having none of it, “si si” was all she said and went on with her story. So I stopped giving her eye contact hoping that even in Spain, that ment the person you were talking to was no longer listening or interested. But she was not to be stopped. I decided to bail and find a taxi. I got off at the next stop and Student was still trying to tell me something as I was getting off. I just waved “peace out”. As the bus pulled away it dawned on me that I didn’t have a clue where I was. Shit, what if Student was trying to tell me “No, you must not get off here. These are the ghetto’s of Valencia. You will be robbed, raped or murdered within 5 minutes”. Now I was starting to feel nervous. My first thought was, thank god I didn’t wear heels today, cos I have a feeling I may need to run.

I begin walking and franticly looking for taxi’s. But no sign. I’m heading towards the busiest areas. I need to have lots of people around, so there will be plenty of witnesses to my abduction. It took about half an hour, but I eventually got a taxi, this guy, no English either. I just told him the name of my hotel “Holiday Inn por favor”. That was all the encouragement HE needed to start HIS life story. Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla HOTEL bla bla bla bla bla HOLIDAY INN bla bla bla bla. These were the only key words I picked up and so I was all “si, si Holiday Inn”. So off we went. But wouldn’t you know there are a billion Holiday Inn’s in this town, so I got taken to the wrong one, twice.

This was getting seriously frustrating, so I decided to get out of the taxi at the second Holiday Inn so I could ask them for the address of the one I’m actually staying at. The reception lady had excellent English, my god, the relief. She told me it was a 15 minute walk. I refused to walk. I had been lost enough times tonight and at this stage all my friends are waiting for me in a bar downtown. I told her to just call me a taxi. “No, no, its 15 minutes you must walk. Here is the map”. Me, “no, no, I’m done walking, taxi por favor”. Her “no, its 15 minutes, here is the map”. I see the damn map. I don’t want it. I want to be safely delivered to my door. But she refuses. I take the f*#king map and walk off in complete hostility. As I march my way toward my hotel I am hot. I’ve had it up to my face with this place for one night and even though he is not with me, he’s in meetings somewhere, I decide its all Husbands fault. I haven’t figured out how yet, but give me a second and I can become very creative. I mean, it’s hardly my own, right??

But I made it “home”. And had like 5 minutes to get ready and head out to meet the others so we could test out the cities nightlife. This city owes me something. And you best believe I took 50 business cards with me that had the address, phone number and e-mail of my hotel. Lesson well and truly learned.

Hola Hembras

I’m in Spain. Valencia to be more precise. Husband and I have traveled here for the World Indoor Championships (in Track & Field). So exciting. I’ve been to Valencia before, in fact, this is where I started off my career as a professional athlete back in 1998. The European Indoor’s were held here that year and I ran the 400m, for Ireland obviously. Oh, the memories. But I didn’t get to do much of the tourist thing back then, it was all business and I’m not too sure I’ll get to do much of it now either. I have a lot of friends competing , so I’m going to be up to my eyes with cheer leading duties.

Anyway, I’ve literally just arrived at our hotel and I’m so tired. It feels like I’ve been traveling for 56 hours. In reality it’s probably been about 16, but when your head is foggy from jet-lag, every little thing feels more dramatic then it needs to be.
I have to say I don’t enjoy flying. I love being in new and not so new places, but the actual flying? Hate it. Its not that I’m scared, it’s just that I hate to be stuck in a tiny seat for all those hours with lord knows what type of random character showing up in the seats next to you and around you. And all that recycled air. That really bothers me. Especially when I hear someone sneezing or coughing. The very thought that those airborne germs are now going to get recycled and re-pumped right back at me for the next however many hours, makes me just want to reach for my SARS mask. I can only hope my immune system is up to par.
Also I’m one of those people that doesn’t sleep on flights. I wouldn’t say I get zero sleep, but 10 minutes here and there to me, is not sleeping. In those rare minutes I do get to pop off, I’m a real twitcher and jumper. Yes, I am that person next to you who suddenly jolts around like they’ve just been poked with a cattle prod. Its pure embarrassment and I regularly try to play it off like I suddenly got a cramp and needed to quickly adjust my position. I know nobody’s buying it, but it helps ease my shame a little.

I’m going to wrap it up. My eyes are heavy and my brain is going to that weird silly place it likes to go to when I’m sleep deprived. You know where your own body starts to feel way too heavy, you say and laugh at the stupidest things and your so messed up you don’t know if your tired, hungry, happy or sad? But recoverd or not, I will step up and do my best to have a blast this weekend.

(A trip down memory lane. Me in the blocks at a race in Prague, Czech Republic, 2004. I couldn't find one from Valenica 1998, but I'll keep looking.)

One Busy Day

Today, Husband and I were truly domesticated. We kicked the morning off in the garden tackling 2 trees that have been in dire need of a trimming. The branches were so out of control, you could easily have lost an eye by just walking out the front door or picking up the mail.

In the afternoon I played my first ever game of Softball with some friends of ours and I have to say, I didn’t suck. I’ve never played the game before and was nervous I would just end up spinning around on the home plate as a result of big missed efforts at hitting the hell out of the ball. But I managed to hit the hell out of the ball.

Then we got back to the house and began to tear up the bathroom. Yes, we are finally renovating our main bathroom into 2 much-needed separate bathrooms. So armed with hammers and drills and crowbars we began to bet the crap out of the place. We tore down walls, ripped up floors and pulled out sinks and toilets. Right now the place resembles a war zone and it’s hard to picture the final fabulous result. It’s going to be quite the process, we're already bickering and fighting, but hopefully it'll be worth it.

And lastly, its mother’s day in Ireland today, so “Happy Mother’s Day Mam". I'm not going to write anything mushy. You know its not my style. Plus, we talked for over an hour on the phone this morning, so you know yourself. XOXO