Category Archives: rambling

D’Leaving

I’m worried, just ever so slightly, but worried all the same. With only one exam left, and a four day gap between now and then, I have lulled myself into a false sense of security in which I think it’s all over and I can go out, drink coffee and get drunk. Not necessarily in that order. Pre-drinking saves you money after all..

The past week has been a bit of a bitch. The hype surrounding the first two days and the speculation as to whether or not dear Ms. Boland would make an appearance (she did, but it was a manky question) died down very quickly and we were all left to struggle on, sourcing strength, support and encouragement from our good friends Berocca Boost and Red Bull.

Every evening at about 8pm, Facebook would be taken over by multiple statuses all saying the same thing: ‘Tips for Geog tomorrow pleeeeeease? SO FUCKED.’ ‘Boland Dickinson Frost. Boland Dickinson Frost. Boland Dickinson Frost.’ ‘Topics for French essays? Alcohol? Cyber bullying? Heellllpppp… :(‘ ‘All-nighter for Bio anyway.’ etc. Facebook: an uncannily accurate portrait of a procrastination-loving generation. Think that’ll be the title of my third book. (Two other ideas I gotta deal with first..)

Most mornings, I’d set six alarms, beginning anywhere between 6am and 6.30am, depending on the amount of cramming required, and scheduled to go off at 5 minute intervals so that I’d either eventually get up or else fuck the phone off the wall and return to my state of slumber. I think the fact that the phone’s only a week old dissuaded me from employing the latter technique and, instead, I’d begrudgingly drag myself from the bed at times I’d never before seen on the face of a clock.

Tuesday was not a good day. I’d now like to express the intense dislike I feel towards whoever thought it would be a good idea to have Irish Paper 2 and Business on the same day. Do they not know that it is genuinely impossible to study both of those courses in one evening? I focused my attention on the masses of Irish literature I had yet to learn, and planned to use the ever-popular exam technique known as ‘winging it’ for Business. By now, some of you may have worked out that I like to ramble. A lot. So, yes, there is a very high probability that my answer on the ways in which managers can use Maslow’s Theory to motivate staff reads much like one of these literary masterpieces that are my blog posts.

I quite enjoyed the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through my veins as I ‘winged it’ right through the short questions, only faltering slightly at a financial ratio calculation, before continuing with more of my meaningless babble in the Applied Business Question, and finishing the paper with the highest concentration of bullshit in the long questions. And then I went home and collapsed. Trying to sound like you know what you’re talking about is actually rather exhausting.

Actually, come to think of it now, winging it seems to have been my general plan of action since Business. French study consisted of watching Hors de Prix, while Biology was just a bit of a write-off, apart from a brief venture into the never-before-seen world of genetics. Having said that, I feel the paper seemed to slightly favour those of us with a ‘erra fuck it shur’ attitude to the whole thing. I mean, there’s nothing about migratory ducks in any LC Biology book.

And now I find myself in bed before midnight for the first time in over a week, not exactly sure how I used to waste days upon days on the Internet. This is the reason you’ve been treated to this highly coherent and witty blog post which most excellently displays the stability of my mental condition at this moment in time.

Come Dine With Me’s on in ten. Gotta find some energy and put on the kettle, although it’ll be a bit weird having tea instead of a heart-palpitation-inducingly strong mug of Nescafé Gold Blend..

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An Average Day in the Library

Alarm goes off. I groan, and consider staying in bed. Sleep, after all, is a much-needed investment in productivity. If I’m too tired, I’ll end up doing nothing. I then remember I’ve said this to myself the past three mornings. Surely that’s enough sleep.

I decide to get up. I go to the kitchen. Eggs. Right. What kind? Check bread situation. Bad bread leads to a hard boiled egg, or possibly fried. Good bread leads to a poached egg. Cook and eat egg.

Check time. Shit. Quick shower, which becomes a long shower. No point in not washing your hair properly. It’s another investment, this time in atractiveness, which may be required later. Dry hair. Straighten hair. Find clean clothes. Leave house.

Get to library a little later than planned. Hope the ‘All study places taken’ sign isn’t up. It’s not! Success! Go inside. Realise all decent study places are taken. No window seats left. No people watching today then. Gutted.

Spot a seat at one of the big tables. Well, there’s a chair. No real table space. Awkwardly enquire as to whether there’s someone sitting there. (Eh, yeah, he’s invisible.) Sit down as others move their stuff to accommodate you. Ignore any sighs from fellow students.

Sigh yourself. Realise there’s a long day ahead. Decide which subject you hate least. Notice you don’t have book for said subject. Consider giving up. No, no, must work. Leaving Cert soon. Maths book. Pick topic. Binomial Theorem. ‘What the fuck is this shit?!’ Ah, week I was in Amsterdam. Start teaching yourself maths. Get bored. Look around.

Look at fellow Leaving Cert students. Attempt to judge them based on what subjects they’re studying. Realise all of them are using revision books and exam papers, while you’re learning everything for the first time. Become freaked out. Find something else to look at.

Wonder about the librarians’ lives. ‘He wears such shit clothes. Runners with trousers. I mean come on. Ay! Be nicer to that person. Just because you never got any further in your career than the first floor of the library.’

Old man number one comes in. He’s the nicely-dressed one though, kind of grandfatherly. He takes the paper. Sits down. Clears his throat. Looks around. ‘Hmm, does he have a wife? Why doesn’t he buy the paper and read it at home? Ah, wife dead, craving human interaction.’ He tries to talk to young girl next to him. She laughs nervously. He finishes the Examiner. He goes and gets the Times. He’s in this for the long run.

Smell of piss wafts past you. ‘Ah, it must be old man number two: smelly hobo. He too gets one of the papers. Does he have a wi-. Never mind. He just wants to experience the novelty of actually being inside a building, and what better place than the library.’

Shit. Realise you’ve done nothing. Look at book. Concentrate. Right. So. A binomial is… No, gone. See your set square out of the corner of your eye, and are brought back to first time you met Library Guy. He borrowed your set square. How romantic. What a cutie. How come you only ever saw him here three times? Talked twice. 66.7% of the time, there has been chat. Would be 100% but one time he didn’t see you. Choosing one’s seat is clearly important.  Think again, ‘Where is he?!’

Analyse male-female ratio. Not good. Far too many females. Examine remaining males. Make mental list. Cross off librarian, old men, hobos, foreign men learning English, and slow-looking Leaving Certs. Realise there’s no-one left. Pine after Library Guy. Tweet same.

Look at clock. Count how long you’ve been here. Count how long is left. Accordingly, schedule lunch break and coffee break. An hour to go. Text a friend and try to convince them to come to town. Oh. No. They’re studying at home. Well fine. Just because you don’t have an internet addiction and can actually do that.

Get bored of maths. Check bag. Options are Chemistry and Biology. Hmm. Well I’m not studying the Reproductive System ’cause that would be so ‘awks’ if Library Guy came in, so Chemistry it is. Other advantage being this makes me look smart. Take out book. Curse subject. Question why you are doing it. Open first page of Organic Chemistry for what feels like the millionth time. Sigh. Make some notes, also for what feels like the millionth time.

Wahey! Half past one! Lunch! Happy. Then sad, when you realise you are going to have to eat lunch alone. Miss Library Guy all over again. Contemplate texting that person you know will be around. Realise this is stupid, and go to Tesco. Sandwich or pasta. Hmm. No forks available with the pasta. Sandwich it is. And a Tesco smoothie. 99c. Fuck yes.

Leave Tesco. Try to think where you can eat potentially messy sandwich without anyone seeing you. Eliminate all dodgy alleys. Try to think of somewhere with seating. Ah yes. That sort of street with blocks for sitting. Arrive at said location. Notice you are not the only person who has had this idea. Feel ‘at one’ with your fellow lonely lunch-eaters. Eat sandwich. Begin to enjoy sitting in sun. Contemplate not going back. Freak out when you realise crazy Spanish dude may have stolen something of yours. Rush back.

Return to the death hole. Scan room. No sign of Library Guy. Begin to hate him for doing this to you. Sit back down. More Organic Chemistry. Alkanes, alkenes, and the like. Maybe some calculations. Wait, no, fuck that shit. Begin clock-watching. Make mental plan of what you want to get done and by when. Forget mental plan. Decide you should start making physical plans. Find this to be too much effort.

Notice how much you hate people your own age. No, that’s not true. Well, not really. You just hate these people. ‘Please tell me I’m not like these people? Like, what is that girl wearing? It’s some sort of Adidas sports top. Now I’ve no problem with people exercising, but you’re in the library. The public library, i.e. you are in public. Wearing sports clothing in public should be illegal.’

Then feel sorry for the girl. She obviously doesn’t know any better. I mean, she’s left-handed, isn’t wearing any make-up and looks terrified by the wheezing fat man. Consider taking her under your wing and making her cool. Realise you have no patience and/or tolerance and that this would not end well.

Analyse guy sitting next to you in similar fashion. Speaking of fashion, he clearly doesn’t do it. Again, more of this sportswear thing. Get annoyed by prevalence of sportswear among Irish teenagers. Try to come up with solution to this horrible cultural phenomenon. Consider entering politics in order to combat said problem.

Develop headache. Water is required. Go to Centra for cheap water. 89c. How bad. That’s even cheaper than the smoothie. Decide you should treat yourself as you’ve been working so hard. Spot a bag of white chocolate buttons. G’wan so shur. Buy said items.

Stroll back to library, successfully avoiding certain people with the help of your trusty €1.50 sunglasses. Enter dark cavern of library once again. Wish you could be like all the carefree people outside enjoying the sun. Curse education system.

Take seat once again. Become distracted by woman with startlingly green eyeshadow. She gets herself a magazine and sits at one of the reading tables. She takes out an Alpro Soya Chocolate Milk drink. It’s in one of those little cartons with a straw, like a kid’s OJ would be. As always, notice what she’s wearing. Pale blue shirt with a dreadfully pointy collar. Short sleeved red jumper over it. Camel pants. Red and camel, very chic. But the green eyeshadow negates all this. She gets up. You follow her with your eyes. She picks up a copy of ‘Arthritis Today’. WHAT?! Oh my God. There’s a magazine called Arthritis Today. Tweet same.

Another hour left. Hmm. Hear some movement from behind you. Two girls are vacating a window seat. Success! Move belongings, offending people at your old table. Sigh, this time with relief. Enjoy having more space. Look out window. Become distracted.

Notice two knackers, one with his top off. The tattoo of his lover’s name on his back complements his tight-ended tracksuit pants very well. Not. He and his friend attempt to chat up two girls having a coffee. Try to decide whether or not they’re knackers too. Come to no definite conclusion. Make mental note to never go for coffee where aforementioned girls were having coffee.

Notice fluorescent  jackets. Ah, the Gardaí. Mighty pillars of society. Genuinely. I’m a big fan. Nothing like a man in uniform. On their bicycles and all. They stop the two male knackers, and a friend. Notebook is taken out. This means business. Try to work out what is happening. Knackers walk off. Similar scene takes place with two older, and not as knacker-ish knackers. Cork is such a charming city.

Try and make a stab at learning something before you leave. Do some pH calculations. Decide to never do this question in the Leaving Cert. Yawn. Stretch. Notice flickering light. They better fix that. Notice place is getting quieter. People are leaving. Tables are emptying. Half an hour til closing time, but whatever. You’ve been here hours.

Pack up stuff. Leave. Decide the day is worthy of a blog.

The End.

(This is a true story. And if anyone actually got this far, then fair fucks.)

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A Life Update (Possibly in list form)

Wow. Hi. Remember me? Probably not. Apologies to the four people who’ve been checking this horrifically neglected blog on a daily basis in the hope that I’d published some more of my world-class ramblings. I’ve been busy. Because I like lists at the moment, I’m going to tell you in list form what I’ve been doing. Or some of what I’ve been doing at least.

1. I went to Amsterdam! I think that’s the biggest bit of news really, hence it’s number one. Although this list will not be arranged in order of importance. Anyway, I visited a friend in Amsterdam and spent five-nights-six-days there. It was lots of fun and Amsterdam is an amazingly chilled out and beautiful city.  If I get a chance, I’ll do an Amsterdam post, because it really does deserve one of its own.

2. I did my pre Leaving Cert exams before that. They were ok. I don’t mind exams; they’re better than having classes and they seem to go pretty fast. I’ve nearly all of the results back at this stage and I’m quite pleased, especially considering the vast majority of subjects were studied solely the night before.

3. The Irish orals are on this week and French next week. My Irish is coming up this Thursday I think, a fact which is slightly terrifying, but not as terrifying as the fact that French is next Monday. There’s a high probability of me crying.

4. I’ve been listening to lots of music, probably just in an attempt to avoid doing any work, but it’s nice all the same. I’m also very much looking forward to various gigs and festivals that will be taking place during the summer.

5. I’ve been talking about getting a summer job. Yeah, just talking about it. God forbid I should hand out CVs or actually do anything about it.

6. I’ve joined StumbleUpon and have whiled away many hours looking at nothing. It’s horribly addictive and I wouldn’t recommend joining unless you consciously want to destroy your education and/or home life/marriage.

7. I hung out in the library there a bit while I was doing the pres. Studying, like. Not actually hanging out reading the newspapers with the old men or anything. Life’s not that bad yet. It was good though. I made a friend when this guy borrowed my set square, I saw hobos being arrested on Grand Parade, I went for lunch and coffee in Gusto lots, I engaged in polite conversation with an old man, I wondered just why that Vans was up on the window ledge next to me, I cursed the loud buttons on my phone, I looked out the window alot and, from time to time, I studied.

I couldn’t be bothered concluding this nicely so instead:

The End.

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For the day that’s in it..

Dear St Patrick – I don’t mean to offend you or anything, but I can never quite get it into my head that your feast day is an actual holyday of obligation. To be honest with you, the only thing people are going to feel obliged to do this Thursday is drink until they can no longer remember why it is they are wearing a ridiculous green hat that flashes intermittently, lighting up the dingy street that they stagger along.

Don’t think that you’re a failure though. Unfortunately, this country isn’t in the best condition and everyone is, quite frankly, a tad depressed. You should be extremely proud that your legacy gives us a semi-legitimate excuse to forget all our troubles and worries – that is until the following morning when the dry mouth, pounding headache and tender stomach only exacerbate problems. You needn’t worry about that though. You did enough for us by getting rid of the snakes.

Speaking of snakes, I’m pretty sure a lot of people would appreciate it if you came back for a week or two and did some more banishing of the odd snakey character that we have hanging around the Kildare Street area. Maybe you could even return full-time and give us a hand sorting out this business with the IMF and the ECB. I hear we’re looking for a new president too so, if the Áras takes your fancy, I’m sure you wouldn’t have to go through the whole rigmarole of standing for election. I mean, there’s got to be one or two perks to the whole patronage thing.

Come to think of it, you’d probably be quite shocked if you did manage to rise from the dead and pay us a visit – not that the rising from the dead thing would be majorly surprising seeing as you are a saint and that must mean you’re in the good books with God. Actually, the more I go on, the better being a saint sounds. I might give it a go if employment prospects still look bleak once I finish college. Anyway, if you do come back, be prepared to see a land very different to the one you remember. I won’t spoil the surprise though, but just wait until you see the airport (and the ad for it is even better). – Yours, etc, Niamh

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Journalism, or am I crazy?

Last week, I came home to news of The Sunday Tribune’s financial difficulties. The vast majority of my Twitter stream alternated between tweets about The Tribune and others about the impending closure of two Waterstone’s outlets in Dublin. While both pieces of news were as bad as each other, and reminded us of the real effect of this recession, the Tribune story struck more of a chord with me.

Not a week goes by anymore without someone asking me what I put down on my CAO or what I want to do with my life. I usually babble on for a minute or so about how I was torn between choosing a science course and a humanities course, but eventually disclose the dream of one day getting paid to write.

Each and every time I answer this question I ask myself where this whole journalism idea came from. The only relative of mine who ever wrote anything was my dad’s second cousin, who published two novels for pre-teens, along with a primary school textbook and a school play. So writing’s not exactly in my blood..

It’s hard to pinpoint when I first got this dream of being a journalist into my head. I suppose I always liked writing. Many a time as a young wan I tried writing a book, and for a few years there kept a diary religiously.

Being editor of the school magazine in TY is probably what made me seriously consider a career in publishing or the media. There were, of course, other people involved with the magazine, and there’s no way it would have ever happened without them, but I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t do a hell of a lot of work to get that magazine printed and sent off to The Irish Times before the deadline for the competition closed.

Having been taught the basics of InDesign by an art teacher in school, I spent my mid-term painstakingly putting the magazine together, bit by bit, before flying off to Paris for a school trip. Last year was much the same, only Paris was replaced by an even better trip to London. In some ways, though, last year’s magazine was a more influential experience. It’s hard to say which magazine was better overall, but if I had to pick one, I’d probably choose last year’s ‘Snap!’ While ‘Ink’ from the previous year was impressive, the bit of experience we had shone through in ‘Snap!’ Above all, I put together every single page of it, and maybe even more importantly wrote an award-winning article about Plugd’s closure.

I know that sounds quite conceited but it’s not. If I could write about Plugd for the rest of my life, then my articles would all be pretty good. It’s easy and enjoyable to write about something you know very well and love even more. And as much as this would be a fabulous career, I don’t think it’s very feasible. Having said that, if you know someone who’d like to hire someone (i.e. me) to write a regular column about Plugd, then do pass on my details.

I remember going to the school magazine awards in the Science Gallery in Trinity in TY. I think it was Shane Hegarty of the Times who told us a story of how his career in publishing started when he put together his 6th year yearbook. It was a nice story to hear because it reminded me a bit of myself, only my ‘career’ started even earlier, in 6th class when I designed the cover of out primary school yearbook. And it wasn’t that I was the only one willing to do it, because everyone in the class had to do one, and then there was a vote among the class. If, one day, I become a mighty successful journalist, this will be my story of my beginnings in journalism. I could embellish it a bit though, and claim that I knew from that very moment it was all I ever wanted to do. How romantic..

Now though, I’m eighteen and need to be a bit more realistic about job opportunities. I could have done the sensible thing and went for Medicine, but when have I ever done the sensible thing? I probably should be contributing to this whole smart economy lark, but instead I’m aiming for the most insecure career possible.

It worries me that I’ll spend my life writing the odd article here and there, struggling to find permanent work or make ends meet. I’m scared that I’ll regret choosing this airy-fairy future over a solid, well-payed, highly-sought-after job. The current vogue of blaming the Irish Government for everything doesn’t really apply here, unfortunately enough. The newspaper industry was changing long before the IMF arrived in the country, so I can’t go shouting at politicians who come canvassing to the door that they’ve ruined my chances of being a journalist. That’s a bit annoying really, because it would have been nice to have someone to blame.

Last June I spent one amazing week working with the Irish Times, and I’d have given anything to stay there and not have to come home and face the raucous music that is the Leaving Cert. When I do imagine my future self, it’s not in a hospital or a lab but somewhere else, less concrete, but there’s usually a notebook in hand or laptop in front of me.

I don’t think I’m in any way gifted at writing or English which sometimes make me reconsider this whole ‘plan’, if you can even call it that. Yes, I’m well able to ramble on and successfully bullshit my way through an exam, but this doesn’t mean I’ll be pumping out literary masterpieces any time soon. Or any time at all.

I may be deluding myself. More than maybe, I’m probably deluding myself. But I think I’ve got to at least try to achieve the dream first, and if it doesn’t work out, I can always marry a farmer…

 

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A rant about music

For the past weeks or two I’ve been contemplating doing a 2010 music post. Not necessarily what I thought were the top 10 albums or anything, but more like my soundtrack of 2010. I still might. First though, I need to get a thing or two off my chest..

Number one. I believe that music is made to be shared (we’ll get into the legal vs illegal debate later) but it can also be an intensely personal and private thing. I’ve made friends through music, and sometimes there’s nothing better than a chat about what you’re currently listening to or what you bought last.

Introducing others to music is all part of it too. A lot of new music is discovered via word of mouth, from friends’ recommendations or listening to some records while in someone’s house or at a gig or whatever. Not wanting to sound too corny here, but I honestly believe a strong bond is created when people share music. It’s unspoken, but it’s just there.

Which brings me onto the slightly contradictory point of music being private and personal. I’m not talking about a couple having ‘their song’, but more so that people can become extremely emotionally attached to a song or album. Music can be a stronger reminder of an event or a period in someone’s life or a person than any photo or diary entry or physical thing. I know people will disagree with me here and say the idea is ridiculous, but I understand why certain people may want to keep certain music to themselves.  It may be the most over-played Lady Gaga song or an obscure classical song; it doesn’t matter. To that person, this album may have changed their lives, helped them through the tough times, or might just serve as the most effective reminder of some time in the past. People can be protective of and slightly possessive over music, but that’s why it’s so important.

Number two. I far, far prefer to listen to music on a CD than on my laptop. It usually takes that little bit longer to find the CD you want and put it into the player, but it all adds to the true experience that listening to music should be. If that record player sitting in the corner of this room actually worked, I’d go for vinyl, but for now, it’s CDs. At least they’re a million times better than MP3s.

I see people with iPods full of stolen music. I’m the first to put my hand up and say that yes, I was a semi-regular downloader at one stage, but not any more. I can see why people, especially younger people, feel the need to obtain music for free. The media never shut up about how easy it is to download illegally, and with people trying their hardest to save a few pennies it’s inevitable that spending on entertainment will be hit.

It annoys me. It really does. I feel sorry for these people too though. When you buy a CD or a record, you part with your hard earned cash, so it makes sense that you’ll value the music. You’ll make an effort to listen to it, get to know it, develop an opinion on it. It’s a physical object too. You can leaf through the inlay, examine the artwork, read the lyrics or notes while you listen, the list goes on.. You download an album without leaving the comfort of your couch, listen to it once, and then forget it’s there. Also, depending on where you buy it, picking out a record and buying it is an event in itself. You talk to other music fans about the artist, the latest releases, or just life in general. You might report back on what you thought of the album, and generally just appreciate the whole process more. Head to a P2P for your illegal download and you’ll get none of this. Your choice I guess..

Then we get into the legality and the morality of downloading from the internet. Well it’s illegal. Full stop. Morally though? That’s up to you. Some people couldn’t give a crap about the artist who created the music, but others do, and rightfully so. If you’re listening to music, getting enjoyment out of it, you should be giving something back. That’s just my opinion. I’m not talking about bands or producers who are just starting out. There is, of course, a time when artists just need to get as many people as possible to hear their work and that’s when people should enjoy music for free. Artists lose out, small record labels fold, and independent record stores close, all because you couldn’t be bothered paying a few bucks for your music.

Number three-ish. I love music. Alot. Years ago, I didn’t love music as much. It just didn’t feature. But thanks (probably) to a lovely little record store here in Cork I now love going to buy new music. For me, it’s worth every penny and I love coming home on a Saturday evening with a new album to get me through the week. I don’t claim to have a hugely extensive music knowledge, because I don’t, but I love what I know so far. So here’s to many more years of new and old music, live gigs, in-depth discussions of an album, charming record stores, CDs, vinyl and maybe the odd song through a tinny laptop speaker.

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Twenty-ten.

I know I’m like a week late with this post, as technically it should have been done some time before New Year’s Eve, because now it’s time to look ahead to 2011 and make a load of resolutions I’m never going to keep. But I like to make myself stand out from the rest of the blogosphere, and I generally achieve this by writing about a certain topic a week or two too late.

I’m not even sure what I want to say about 2010. It seemed to whizz by before my eyes and I didn’t even get a chance to properly appreciate the fact that we were into that awkward year where everyone was united by the confusion as to what it should be called. Twenty-ten or two-thousand-and-ten. That’s before you even take into account the decisions that had to be made in car salesrooms; does zero-ten make sense?

Some of the stuff that happened in 2010 seem like they were a lifetime ago, whereas other events are so clear in my memory, it’s like it was only last week. It doesn’t feel like too long ago that Plugd closed its doors on 4A Washington Street for the very last time. My 2010 began with the closure of Plugd, the death of my dog, and my ill-health. That all sounds rather drastic, but I guess it was, apart from the fact that my ‘ill-health’ was really just a bit of a virus, not helped by the other two depressing factors. I ‘rang in the new year’ from the comfort of my living room, with a quick glass of champagne before crawling back to bed.

I can’t remember January all that well, or February for that matter. Reading back on blogposts is the only way I can get a clear picture of what happened, or at least a feeling of what life was like then. I went to Maths in UCC on Saturdays; I went to a ‘Plugd’ gig in the Triskel for the first time since Plugd had closed; I worked on the magazine; I did my first outfit post; I generally went to town and had coffee with my friends.

I can’t remember much about March either, but I know I went to London. So here’s two photos from that:

 

On the ol' Tube..

And that's, like, Buckingham Palace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

London was good. Fun. A laugh. You get the idea. And I actually liked the whole school trip thing. There was a small enough group so we had alot of freedom and everyone got on with each other, and it really benefited our English alright, as we went under the guise of it being an ‘English trip’. I did try my best to soak up some of Shakespeare’s, I dunno, inspiration or vibes or something when we were in his house. So that could have worked, fingers crossed.

Okay, so this ‘Niamh’s life month by month’ thing is getting boring, so I’m going to give some brief summaries from now on. If you wish to read about said months in further detail you can click on the required month in the archive thing to the right..

April: Slightly crappy start; new puppy; magazine nominations for overall, design, and Plugd article; sunny days.

May: Fun with puppy, Dublin for magazine awards, staying with a friend, Poké-party, Confirmation, exams, summer.

June: June was a damn good month. New people, new places. Crappy music ‘festivals’, Cork Midsummer Festival, Dublin with the Irish Times, escape, fun, haircut by a 9-year-old, the usual..

July: Good and bad. Decisions, Kinsale, home.

August: Parents away, house to myself, Dublin, Westbury, Aviva, stupid party, door issues, some new friends and nice times. RE-OPENING OF PLUGD. Hey, this was a good month actually..

September: Sixth year. What can I say?

October: I stopped blogging so I don’t actually know what happened..

November: Again, lack of blogging. Got a virus, I think. Me that is, not the laptop. Wish it had been the shagging laptop though.

December: Missed the National, snow and ice, conquered fear of the dentist, turned 18 and danced to the house music, Christmas, shit party, good party, too much alcohol, banged my head.

I shouldn’t have done this stupid, well-laid out list thing of what happened during the year. I should have, like I normally do, babbled on about whatever popped into my mind, because that’s be a more accurate overview of my 2010. It doesn’t actually matter what happened on each and every day. What matters is the impact that 2010 left on you, what you considered important. Honestly, 2010 was, for the most part, good. But on the other hand, I’m glad to leave it behind. I’d like to think I learned some important stuff during the year, stuff that I can take with me as I travel through the voyage of life. Lol.

Seriously though, it was a good year dotted with a few bad bits, but that’s life. Highlights would be my new puppy, winning an award for my Plugd article, producing an award-winning magazine, working with the Irish Times and getting published, new camera, meeting lots of new people, new friends, old friends, living on my own, nights out, figuring out how to get the culchie bus (fuckyeah!), getting to know some family a bit better, soulmates, re-opening of Plugd and the after-party, and last but not least, turning eighteen.

I was intending on adding my soundtrack to 2010 in here, but seeing as it was one of the best and most important parts of my year it deserves a post all of its own. Later on, hopefully, and it’ll be alot more interesting than this vague and disjointed summary of twenty-ten. Or should that be two-thousand-and-ten? Whaddya think, eh?

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