Christmas Tolerance.

It’s normally in the first couple of weeks in December that people start to go a little crazy about their Christmas shopping. As the days close in on the climax of the festive period, the madness becomes even more maniacal.

Never mind that people don’t have the cash at hand that they used to five years ago, but the pressures of Christmas remain ever constant. There’s the food, the tree, the decorations and everything that comes with over indulgence. 

But it’s the buying of presents that seem to take precedence over everything else.

What struck me most about the panic for buying gifts over the last few days was the level of expectation and impatience that seemed to vibrate through everyone.

People have the capacity when under great pressure, to become plain rude.

People were obnoxious to anyone that held them up or made them stand in line for much longer than they wanted to.

Their levels of anxiousness were heightened due to the extra volumes of people milling around shops and shopping centres.

I had this conversation with a young lady who worked behind the counter of a popular children’s toy shop. She agreed that the buzz was great and that people in general, were more friendly but definitely more impatient. If they came shopping with their children, their patience always wore thinner.

And this is what I found amazing – we were in the first few days of December and all I could see in people’s eyes was a frustration for all things festive. This was something new to me – a level of impatience reaching a new peak so early.

In ten minutes I was almost run down by a young mum and her buggy and then pushed out of the way by an elderly woman to have a look at Christmas cards. Did they say “excuse me” or “sorry?” Nope.

Having purchased what I needed, I exited the shopping centre. I passed the carol singers who immediately lifted my mood and re-instilled the joy that is Christmas.  

The human spirit had been revived in me. I walked out of the shopping centre and saw a man collapsed on the ground. Four strangers had gathered around him coming to his aid. He had been preoccupied with Christmas pressures and misstepped.

He tripped and hit his forehead, smashing his face off the hardness of the pavement. I offered to help, but there was no need. One man was phoning the ambulance while another placed her handbag under his head. Another lady pressed a handkerchief firmly against the wound while another retrieved a first aid kit from a nearby restaurant.

And despite his injuries, the man wasn't panicking. Because of the kindness of four strangers and their swift actions, his day wasn't going to be as bad as first feared. I wish I could have assisted more, but they had it under control.

And it reaffirmed my Christmas belief in people. No matter what the pressures of everyday life or the holiday season, people are giving and generous souls.

 And their tolerance for anything is amazing.   

Alex the Sleaze.

It was the overpowering smell of musky aftershave from some distance away that first alerted me to his presence. Then I heard his recoil of spittle as he snorted loudly and then swallowed. His overt confidence and necessity to shout everything made everybody wince at seeing him arrive in the door. I could read the minds of many around me who were thinking "Please don't seat that idiot near me tonight."

Upon first glance, I saw a bright pink shirt nearly open to the midriff. This revealed a dark brown tan and small gold necklace. He flexed his cuffs, straightening the ends to underline his importance. His deep hue of sun kissed skin accentuated his bright shiny white teeth even more. His shoes shined as if a military man had spit polished them for days.

It was a busy midweek night in a popular restaurant chain. I had, as per usual, taken up my customary seat at the bar, staying quiet to myself. Seating anywhere in the establishment was at a premium, so even the odd seats at the long bar were being snapped up. There was only one vacant seat on one side of me, and having seen that Mr.Obvious was in company with another man, I thanked my lucky stars.


The restaurant hadn't a record of his table booking and apologised immediately. He blamed his assistant, who wasn't in their company, conveniently. They offered him an alternative - just as a second seat right beside me opened up.

And then my long day just got that bit longer.

Before I had set eyes on this character, I initially guessed that he would have a “power shirt and suit” on. I guessed that he might be a high flier who was out to impress a client. He was given an account and was told to go wine, dine and entertain. But that was just my stereotypical brain working overtime.

As he and his friend took their seats to my right, I got a chance to take in more detail about this peacock.

The top three buttons open revealed a bare chest - yet his arms and hands were quite hairy. His hair was thick and black, with wisps of grey tickling the sides. His receding hairline, although it had crossed the top of his forehead, showed a fair amount of hair for a man in his early fifties. My initial reaction was that he looked like a movie extra from an early 1990's Mafia gangster film.  

His suit was neatly tailored for him - unlike his dining compatriot. His more sedate colleague wore less bright colours and a mismatched suit jacket and pants, preferring to merge into the background.

And then everyone was introduced to Alex and Nathan - whether they wanted to know or not. Alex, (with a NOT so slight over-annunciation on the letter A) was a real estate broker who had just sold a property worth six hundred thousand – and this young man beside him was his protege, Nathan. Nathan was in or around the same age as Alex, and just seemed to accept the inappropriate amount of back-slapping and incessant patronising from his boss.

They were out celebrating their sale and “painting the town red’, as Alex put it. Nathan managed to accept it and grinned a faint smile. His gait, slouch and downcast stare with Alex told its own story.

With little interaction with his colleague, Alex tried catching my eye. But I was too rooted into my paper. I knew that if I looked up, it was game over. He nudged me, ever so accidentally on purpose, sensing I wasn’t interested in knowing who he was. I simply sniffed, tilted my head in the opposite direction and flicked my paper. In truth, I was trying to get my nose out of the down draft of his strong aftershave that kept wafting my way.

Once Amy, our server gave them menus, he entered into conversation with her. I have known Amy for some time and she is a petite, bubbly blond lady – who is fiercely astute and efficient. Alex now, had a partner to indulge his over active mouth. In between the bouts of dialogue, Alex would titter to his friend Nathan and point toward Amy. Thank the heavens I didn't hear any mutterings, because I would have called him out on it. 

Before my food arrived, Alex made a big deal of taking off his navy pinstripe suit jacket. He had to point out to Nathan how much he’d paid for his Gucci suit and how someday Nathan would be able to afford his own. Nathan just took another deep breath and let it go.

As he sat back down I noticed the silver cuff links with the capital letter A etched onto the face. As he bounced back into his leather topped bar stool, I saw a flash of a gold bracelet. 

My food arrived just as the two men ordered their drinks. Alex wanted water, as he said he wanted to pace himself for the long night ahead.

But he didn’t want any ordinary water – he wanted bottled water. Amy listed the bottled still waters and he waited until she finished before he stated that he wanted sparkling spring water. So then Amy listed off their sparkling waters. He settled on one called Saratoga Springs but he wanted it ice cold - ice cold without any actual ice in his glass.

At this stage people around me were shaking their heads at his annoying attitude. All the servers on the floor and behind the bar were working flat out and he wanted to know every detail about every item they had in stock. I caught a passing glance from Amy that told me what she thought of this "gentleman".

And then he wanted a glass of Merlot – what did Amy recommend?

Nathan sensed the general mood around him and ordered a draft beer and tap water - very much akin to his clothing and demeanour - straight forward. Alex insisted that he try the chilled Saratoga Springs where you could nearly “taste the bubbles” – I had to shove some mashed potato into my gob to muffle my laughter. I think Nathan heard my garbled guffaw.

As Amy returned with Alex’s glass of red wine, I saw him do something curious. I saw him slip off his gold wedding band and slide it into his pocket, even though he didn’t realise that his tan line was now showing on his left hand. More chat went back and forth between Alex and Amy, but it was just banter and reference to the fact that Alex was from Long Island. Did I not mention that? Because he did – multiple times!

As I finished my second beer and dinner, I really wanted another drink. But the crap that was wilfully dripping out of Alex’s mouth made me want to go home. But I didn't - curiousity was getting the better of me.

As Amy was asked more inane and personal questions, Alex obviously thought that he was getting somewhere with this efficient and friendly server. As she revealed that she had a husband and a young son, Alex then changed his tune. Then he slipped his wedding ring back on!

He regaled us all with stories of his daughter and how she would paint his toenails on Sundays while he watched football. It all seemed very endearing, but I think we all knew it was bullshit.

As I paid my check and drenched the last dregs of my third beer, the two men beside me had just finished dinner. Alex made a big show of stating that “he was going to drain the lizard”. I said thanks to Amy and nodded to Nathan. He nodded back, almost in sympathy.

Then he did something hilarious.

Nathan grabbed the check on the bar top. He handed Amy his credit card and asked her to add twenty percent. She stated the total which he quickly agreed. He signed the docket as he put on his over sized jacket.

Nathan took his opportunity to get out – while he still had a chance. I laughed all the way back to my hotel.

I'd say Alex's face was a pretty picture when he returned from the restroom.  
 

Verbal Diarrhoea.

We are all prone to it. It affects us all no matter what your intelligence level. It happens when you least expect it and hops out of your mouth before you realise that you uttered the words. And then twenty seconds later you wonder

"Why did I say that?"

It comes in many forms. There's the talking in a lift to strangers just because you can't stay quiet for ten seconds. It all stems back to the fact that you're nervous in a way about confined spaces and talking fills the void. But you leave the remaining people who are left in the lift wondering


"What the hell was he on about?"

Sometimes you start talking nonsense to a stranger who makes it obvious they have no idea what you're on about. Their face contorts and their eyes judge you immediately. They want to say "You're fecking nuts!"

But they politely and awkwardly ask "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

At times the crap pours out of your mouth despite your best efforts to halt it. It's like the dam has busted and you're trying to fix it with a band aid. That's when you know you should ring in sick and hide under the comfort of a duvet.

Two days ago, I made myself laugh at my own ineptitude of conversing with strangers. The inability to speak was staggering. Words were tumbling out of my mouth that made no sense. Thank God I didn't meet any of my friends - they would have asked me if I was okay, in a way that said I wasn't playing with a full deck.

It wasn't just a one-off occasion. It was viral. My mouth was betraying what I actually wanted to say. It's like when you're drunk, when your body does something you don't want it to. Having embarrassed myself through a mix of words that didn’t make any sense, I walked away then laughing at my own stupidity. Nothing looks odder than a grown man who, having sprouted versions of words, walks away laughing to himself. What would you think of him? Nutter.   


As a result, I made a decision to stop talking - so that would save me from further humiliation.

 

But my decision started affecting others as it oozed out of my pores. It spread like wildfire almost immediately. Within fifteen minutes some gobshite stopped me in the middle of the supermarket and asked me where the lettuce was! No word of a lie! And I was standing in the deodorant aisle with my iPod blaring in my ears!

Twenty minutes later I was back in the lift going back to my hotel room. I avoided eye contact with the other occupant and selected my floor by pressing the button. I held four heavy plastic bags, two in either hand. Suddenly, my fellow lift occupant, an elderly lady, moved quickly from the other corner of the lift and stuck her happy face into mine. She asked, out of nowhere, if I was having a good day! I laughed out loud, through nervousness and surprise, at the sudden intrusion into my personal space. I tried my best to cover it up by saying I was fine, and asked her in reply how her day was. But really I was just filling the time it took to get to my floor. The verbal nausea was flowing out from my veins!

And finally, I came across another headbanger in Logan airport Boston, as I waited in line for my sandwich. She stood far too close to me and kept on telling everyone who wanted to listen that she had paid for her chips and water. She kept pointing to me as if


I was her friend and I was someone who knew her well. I just kept moving aside every time she looked away. All the while she kept mumbling to herself.

The next time I wake with verbal diarrhoea I promise to fix it straight away. That way, it doesn’t affect you all.

 

 

 

 

You Get Nowhere By Shouting.

If you’re involved in Customer Services, which type of customer would you like to deal with and listen to first?

(Customer A)

Someone who roars loudly to be heard over absolutely everyone - even though they stand directly in front of you. Their problem is far worse than anyone else’s. This person uses wild and aggressive hand movements and their chins flap in the wind as they speak. They want you to solve their every problem – especially the ones that are nothing to do with you or who you represent.

OR

(Customer B)

This person initially empathises with how difficult your job is. They even ask how you do your job so calmly in sometimes, very strenuous circumstances. This person also apologises for taking up your precious time and for disturbing you in the first place. And they say thank you and mean it.

On those days where the proverbial dung hits the spinning metal, your patience and resolve are tested. On these days, all kind of silly, inappropriate and stupid questions are fired your way. Most are frequently asked questions but others are totally out of left-field.

How those queries are thrust at you and the tone in which they are spoken, dictate how you want to deal with that particular customer.

If it’s Customer A above, you generally won’t tolerate their kind of behaviour if it starts getting personal and abusive. I cannot stand anyone who broaches a situation with the general impression that because you work in Customer Services, you are an actual thick imbecile.

They think that you hadn’t the intelligence in school or college to get a real job afterwards, and so settled into this job because you hadn’t the qualifications to do anything else.

In reality, it is actually quite the opposite. Those who work in Customer Services are very astute and shrewd characters. They have the social skills and abilities to deal with every situation. Those who shout and roar abuse at Customer Service representatives are the ones who possess no social graces or communication skills at all.

Two days ago, I was bulling for a row on the phone with two different companies. I had received two pieces of mail that had put me in a bad mood. Luckily for me, all I got yesterday was two monotone machines.

Yesterday I got up and exercised first thing. It must have put me in a better mood as I approached the two conversations in a totally different manner. I realized that by being polite and kind, I actually got the same tone in reply. The problems I had were solved far more quickly in this way, rather than by me ranting down the phone at two strangers. I have also realized that sarcasm never works – even over the telephone. The tone of your voice never lies. I was considerate and understanding, and both companies rang me back with final resolutions.

And what did I learn? You really get nowhere by shouting. No matter if it’s a stranger, friend or loved one. It only puts their back up and makes them more defensive. You also give a bad first account of yourself, if it’s a stranger. If you do go down this path, you will only regret your actions later in the day asking yourself

“Why did I say that?”

And if you do shout at a stranger and achieve no resolution – where does that leave you? Only back at square one with a problem and an issue unresolved. You also may have to approach that same customer service representative a second time. How do you think they might react upon seeing you again? Will your card already be marked? Think before you raise your voice.

The Ungrateful.

"Do unto others what they do unto you," is how Christian ethics puts it.

I'm not overtly religious, but I do live by a certain code of principles that many other people probably also do. It's a golden rule of sorts with me.

I don't go to church regularly or pray that often, but I do treat others with respect. At least I hope I do. I thank my lucky stars (and not the chocolate cereal ones) for what I do possess in life, and those who are my family and friends.

I have always been friendly to those I haven't previously met and always try to make a good first impression. Maybe that's a type of flaw I have, but I see it as a positive aspect to my personality. 

But one thing that completely gets my back up, is the ungrateful idiots and selfish gobshites of this world.

Am I being too sensitive? Or does society now have a breed of tolerance in all of us, that allows for this rudeness in assholes to exist? Do we all now shrug off this unacceptable type of behaviour and walk on?

I try to crack jokes and one-liners to break the ice with people - but when this doesn't work after three or four tries (and when you've resorted to explaining the joke), you've lost the audience already.

In this case, when they don't want to even try to communicate with you - why bother? What gives some people the right to be rude (for no apparent reason at all) to a face they have never seen before?

 

In working with the public, we all remember the bad days far more quickly than the good. They are the days where everything goes wrong, and you feel like you're in a bad dream. And if you enjoy your job working with the public, you get more pleasure out of your job when you put more in.

But what happens when you try your best and these ungrateful feckers still don't appreciate your hard working efforts?

Because inside every ungrateful asshole - is a little bit of goodness or a smile itching to get out. We keep persisting with them because we know we can extract it.

And secretly, you win them over. Welcome to the brighter side of life.

 

 

Boston is Healing.

It's as if the natural elements felt Boston needed an emotional lift. The birds are singing, the sun is shining and the cherry blossoms along the streets are in full bloom. The city is starting to heal.

If the mayor and all the city councillors could have engineered it, this is how they would have wanted it. A bright dry weekend to entice people back onto the streets of the city to say "Boston is back open for business."

And how they have come.

The streets are thronged. The shops are heaving. The city has many sporting events on over the weekend. And people are making that extra effort to attend an event or to just come and pay their respects.

Boylston Street is back open since last Wednesday. People have come from far and wide to visit the makeshift memorial just off the street, on Copley Square. They come to take pictures of the two sites where carnage impacted the lives of many on Marathon Monday.

People still cannot comprehend why. Until we know the ultimate motives for this sickening tragedy, the city will not have closure. But with the speed and professionalism of justice, I hope that day is not too far away. And you can see that healing process beginning.

Just like Independence Day here on July 4th, where it is an unwritten rule to wear red, white and blue for the day - Boston has come together. Everywhere you go you see people wearing blue and yellow - the colours of the Marathon this year.

The slogan of "Boston Strong" has never been more evident. By wearing the colours you are standing together with those who were affected by the events on that Monday. Whether people donate a dollar to the One Fund or by placing a memento at the memorial, it makes people feel they are helping Boston to heal. Everyone is so utterly proud of the community spirit.

People have come to support the businesses that have lost out because of the bombings. Even the mayor and city councillors have set up special interest free loans for small businesses who have been financially affected.

I went to the small business that is close to my heart. I went into Marathon Sports today. The shop was busier than I ever remember it. They have had to put in an extra cash register to cope with the influx of customers. Stock is only placed on hangars before it is quickly taken down. People want to buy the blue and yellow sports gear with the Boston Marathon logo emblazoned on it.

I briefly got to talk to the manager, who I have gotten to know over the last number of years from my many visits to the store. I passed on my condolences and mentioned that I had been thinking of them. It was clear that his emotions were just bubbling under the surface. To be that close to such a terrible tragedy has to be scarring to an extent. But he quickly changed the subject and talked about the future. 

Which is how healing begins. You move on. But you remember those who you've lost.

But what will stay with me most about Boston healing was an image I saw many times today. The sight of young men and women taking it in turns to run up and down Boylston Street with a large green flag. Written across the flag is "We are Boston."

It's as if they are reminding us all that the human spirit cannot be broken.

Eerie Boston.

The streets are empty. People glance nervously and suspiciously at each other. The sound of rotor blades fills the sky. Sirens blare intermittently in the distance and then fly by you with no notice, as you jump within your own skin. Everyone is on edge.

A light breeze throughout the city brings you noises from afar. The sound of flag lines thumping off their poles make more noise than the traffic on the street. A strange lulled silence has fallen over Boston today. The city is on lock down - people are advised to stay indoors. Cars are not allowed to be removed from garages.

This is what living in a curfew is like.

People are eager for information. Every television station has up-to-date news pictures. Various street scenes fill our screens, as we await the end game of the second suspect.

For most, the conclusion cannot come quickly enough. Emergency crews and police officers have to be applauded for their swift response to such an extraordinary event. The advent of social media and the everyday availability of camera phones and CCTV footage has no doubt aided the investigation. In these circumstances, having cameras everywhere will bring these insane individuals down.

Police crews have pulled out all the stops. They are working on twelve hour shifts, constantly bringing a security presence and keeping everyone on alert. In times like this, you are comforted by their professionalism and dedication to duty, to bring these evil perpetrators to justice.

I am sitting in my hotel room in Boston right now. I glance between the television screen and out my window onto Huntingdon Avenue. Public transport has been shut down for the day. Workers have been advised to stay home. Only a couple of convenience stores are open.

The next few hours may tell another tale.

Hopefully the city of Boston will get closure and get back to some degree of normality.

The What If.

 

Last night I finished work with a heavy heart.


The events in Boston hit me hard. This was a world event that directly affected me.

Boylston street was bombed twice yesterday. I have walked down this street many times - most recently last Wednesday.

Last week I stood in a shop on this street. I talked to the manager of Marathon Sports. This is the store next door to where the first bomb went off. The store is located near the finish line of the Boston Marathon.

The manager was in great form, talking about the impending marathon. It's normally their busiest time of year, where they get an inordinate amount of runners into their store. They were crazy busy, and the staff were smiling and working hard.

But now people will visit this area for another completely different reason. They will visit to take pictures and say "This is where it happened!"



Some person, and I'm being extremely polite here, decided to take the lives of others whom they don't know. They took the lives of innocents for their own selfish and ludicrous reasons.

Upon watching the television reports, the realisation started dawning on me. Seeing the senseless loss that occurred and the familiarity of the surroundings that were being shown on every screen, I started wondering "What If?"

My first concern was for myself and my wife. She arrived home from Boston just yesterday. She could well have been down at the finish line, taking pictures.

I have run a few marathons, and always wanted to run Boston because it always has been a runners marathon.

If I was in Boston yesterday, I would have been down at the finish line.

I would have been watching the elite marathon finishers.

I would have been in the crowd, outside Marathon Sports. I would have stayed for a while watching people achieve their own personal glory of finishing a marathon.

But then I realised that we can't live your life wondering "What If?"

Otherwise these bastards will have won. Life is for living - not for gauging your own mortality and questioning your potential actions.

 

 

 

 

 

Car Crash Theatre.

Two nights ago I was entertained by a form of theatre I had never experienced before. It made me wince and feel uncomfortable. It made me shake my head in disbelief and question my own sanity. But did I look away? No, I didn’t. Why? Because it was fun.

At the TD Garden in Boston on Tuesday night, a good friend of mine and I made a decision to go watch WWE Wrestling on a whim. We got cheap tickets and for two hours we watched grown men and women dance, cavort around a ring and mock punch each other. It was hilarious. For pure unadulterated entertainment, it has changed my own perception of wrestling. But only just slightly.

What was more worrying (and more entertaining) were the attitudes and characters in the audience around us. Some views were abstract and quite narrow minded. Grown men jeered the wrestlers onstage calling them homophobic names – yet they had bought a ticket to come watch buff, athletic men fight other fit men in tight shorts. And I’m talking budgie smuggler tight.

But despite some ignorant name calling, the vast majority knew their wrestling. They knew all the names of the moves, throws and the types of slams. But the kicking and punching is the funniest part of the show. They barely even make contact. But on television, the reaction of the person being punched or kicked sells it. But some of these punches ‘land’ from two feet away.

This form of entertainment is huge in America. This show tours all over the country, selling out everywhere they go. They sold more tickets last year than U2. So why is it so popular? And then it hit me with a mock punch – it appeals to all people, young and old. No one really gets hurt, good normally triumphs over evil and everyone goes home having being entertained by a spectacular show.

The vast majority of the crowds are middle class Americans, who had come with their young children to be entertained. Of the twelve or thirteen thousand that attended, I would say three or four thousand were children under the age of ten. A lot of the slogans and hooks that each wrestler has have a positive message. John Cena’s slogan is “Never Give Up.” That’s positive reinforcement for any budding young American.

But leaving the stadium, we saw the fanatics. I know every sport and form of entertainment has their own eccentric type of fans, but these were bananas. And most of these eclectic fans were grown men who worshipped these wrestling icons. They truly believed the spectacle of what was being sold.

I’m not really sure if I need counselling after it. But the crowd, the show, the outfits, the acting and the pure madness will live with me for a long time.

Only in America.

     

 A Six Year Old Celebrity.

The golfer, Seve Ballesteros, was a man I admired greatly when he was alive. I was lucky enough to meet him once. But it was a quote he made many years ago that stuck with me more than actually meeting him.

A journalist asked Seve after he won the British Open in 1979, what motivated him. Seve had played a shot from the tarmac of the car park, which had everyone around the world talking about his prowess and talent.

“It’s not how good your good shots are, it’s how good your bad shots are.”

The same could be applied to your working day. It’s not the good days you remember as they can be quite forgetful. It’s normally the bad days that are stressful or eventful. But every once in a while, you remember a very good day for all the right reasons.

I had the occasion of meeting a young lady this week that made everyone smile. Her name was Saoirse and she was six years and three months old. This young girl had just spent five days in Euro Disney with her grandparents and was on her way home to Dublin.

She had an amazing time and told us of what characters they had met. But she was also looking forward to seeing her friends again.

Saoirse was not an incredibly chatty young lady. She was quite shy, but once we all kept talking to her, she slowly came out of her shell. Her face lit up at every turn of phrase, seeing wonderment in everything the world threw at her.

Her grandparents were very kind and sincere and you could see this characteristic of theirs rubbing off on Saoirse. She offered me one of her Wheelies (crisp snack) and some of her chocolate. Her gran stated that she had been like that since infancy.

I wondered why her grandparents had accompanied her on the trip, and not her parents. I asked rather delicately and politely why her parents hadn’t made the trip instead. The gran was quite upfront and honest.

“We thought that we’d give them a break themselves. Sure they haven’t had a holiday since Saoirse was born.”

“A break?”

“Saoirse has Cystic Fibrosis.”

This young lady showed no outward signs of having anything physically wrong with her. She was a beautiful child with blonde pigtails, sparkling blue eyes and the most disarming face. She was of average build and height for a six year old. She was one contented and relaxed child.

The granddad was fiercely proud of his granddaughter.

“It was our absolute pleasure to take Saoirse away for a few days. I’ll never forget this trip. The time together was amazing – she loved every minute of it.”

I could tell by the pride in his eyes that he enjoyed it too. But then he revealed something that made me just realise that I had been chatting for the past hour or so, to an actual celebrity.

Saoirse is the new face of Cystic Fibrosis Ireland. She recently had a photo shoot with Miriam O’Callaghan for the organisation to help promote their cause.

So when you see a bus shelter advertising, an ad in a newspaper or a big poster on the side of a double decker bus – you will see the prettiest and most gentle looking face peering back at you. And I’m not talking about the RTE television host.

 

 

I’m talking about Saoirse – the six year old celebrity.   

Blinking Indicators.

It's something that annoys us all - bad drivers. They are everywhere, as we scream from the comfort of our own cars. I had a great teacher from Navan, called Paddy Pryle- himself a former taxi driver. He frightened the bejaysus out of me on my first lesson. He instilled in me the life and death responsibility you have when you are behind the wheel of a car. You are responsible for the lives of others.

But not everyone has such a fine teacher as I did. I was only driving with a provisional licence for six months but I had picked up so many bad habits in that time. It took many hours of driving practice but Paddy knocked them out of me.

I don't often get frustrated in life, but I do behind the wheel of a car. People are idiots behind a steering wheel, and I am no different. But I am a considerate driver.

One thing that utterly irritates me most, is the lack or incorrect use of the indicator. It is such a simple tool. Today, I nearly had two accidents and neither of them were my fault and I still got abused.

Incident one was when I approached a roundabout in the right lane. I was turning right and had my indicator on to go that way. In the left lane at the traffic lights beside me was a woman who had her indicator on, going left. Nothing wrong there so far.

But then she turned right. Into my lane. I had to jam on.

As we approached another set of red lights, I pulled up alongside her. I made the universal sign of 'wind down your window down'. I asked her if she realised what she had just done - but she didn't see any wrong on her part. And then she told me to piss off.

Fifteen minutes later I encountered a taxi driver who was multi-tasking. I drove behind him for about two minutes while he talked on his bluetooth device, whilst pressing buttons on his digital display. His car was wriggling in and out of two lanes, his focus clearly not on the road. I stayed well back.

 

As we approached another roundabout and he took the second exit off the roundabout - again without indicating. Then he started his lane-squirming again. I beeped my horn to get his attention and he jerked his wheel left to pull into the left lane. I moved into the right as I was turning right. At the lights, he beeped at me. He opened his window and began shouting expletives at me for beeping my horn at him. How dare I use my horn for safety!

I think he used the words "Are you blind? Could you not see where I was going?"

If he had used an indicator at all at any stage, I would have known where he was heading. But my powers of telepathy were on the blink.

 

 

The Mood Changer.

It's amazing the power it has on us all. I always thought the theory of something you consumed could change your character or mood so much, but it does. It's only as I get older that I'm beginning to enjoy it more.

What is this miraculous product? It's chocolate.

Chocolate had been scientifically tested for the impact it has on us. These range from supporting cardiovascular health to showing a reduced risk of certain types of cancer. Of course, the type of chocolate you consume has differing medical benefits. Best for your heart and body is dark chocolate with a high level of cocoa of 70% plus. It's a bit bitter, but so good for you.

These benefits are well researched and I wish I had been involved as a test subject in one of these studies. One study involved men and women melting chocolate in their mouths. These lucky people were hooked up to all manner of analytical machines. They found out that chocolate races your heart a little faster and gave an increase in brain activity. Nothing alarming there, but they also measured the long term effects it had compared to another activities that also races the heart. They compared the satisfaction of eating chocolate to kissing. Melting chocolate in your mouth was found to have a far more intense sensation by up to four times than that of kissing. That sounds like a terrible day at work - eating chocolate and kissing people.

Another study in the USA was on the impact it has on headaches. They found out that the increased daily intake of chocolate reduced the symptoms of migraines. Talk about it being brain food! The same study also stated that regular dark chocolate consumption showed a modest reduction in blood pressure.

Survivors of heart attacks were tested too. They found that those who consumed chocolate two or three times a week reduced their risk of death by up to three times than those who didn't eat any chocolate. Like hello? Why would you not eat chocolate to reduce your risk of actually dying? Unless you were actually allergic, of course.

One Swiss study tested a group of smokers. Twenty smokers were each given 40 grams of chocolate and told to go away and enjoy it. The scientists then hooked each person up to an echo-cardiogram machine to measure their blood flow two hours after consumption. They found that their echo graphs showed that black chocolate with a cocoa content of 74% or more dramatically improved their blood flow. They tested the smokers as they would have narrower valves than those who didn't smoke.


By-products of chocolate are also beneficial. Another USA study was on chocolate milk and they tested athletes post exercise. They gave one group your atypical high carbohydrate sports drink and the other group low fat chocolate milk - all with the same amount of calories. They found out after just one week, that the chocolate milk speeded up muscle recovery twice as fast as the sports drink.

One final study was concerning the link of chocolate consumption to intelligence. We all feel more empowered after eating a square of chocolate. Nobel prizes are awarded each year to the brightest and most imaginative of minds all around the world. Who has the most Nobel winners per capita in the world? And who has the highest per capita consumption of chocolate in the world? The answer to both questions is Switzerland.

So go out there and get some chocolate into you. As many of it's long term benefits far outweigh the negatives of putting on a few pounds.


I suddenly feel peckish. How about a Kit Kat and a cup of tea?

 

 

 

Deflating a Male Stereotype.

Yesterday morning, over breakfast in London, I changed my thinking about a particular set of people and the perception that we all have about them. I was advised by one of my work colleagues to visit a cafe on the Kensington High Street.

We all have this image of the site construction man - he is a gruff, fall out of bed, unshaven Neanderthal man who barely has respect for himself or others. He wolf whistles at passing ladies and has never heard of wearing a belt to keep his trousers up. He eats the breakfast roll stuffed with sausages and bacon while the ketchup drips down the front of his hi-viz jacket. And he doesn't wipe it off.


The media portray this type of working man as semi-educated - he swills beer at lunchtime with his pork pie. They work hard and they play hard. They display the farmer's tan in summertime and stick to working nine to five.

This establishment had everything you could possibly think of for breakfast. I entered, with only one other table occupied. Within fifteen minutes, the place was full of hard hats and orange jackets.



I was surrounded by approximately a dozen workmen. My preconception was what may come out of their mouths might be uncouth, sexist and chauvinistic. It was anything but any of those notions.

After all of these men had ordered their food, a young beautiful woman walked in and sat at the only remaining table - a small two seated table in amongst all the men. They barely even glanced at her. I found this utterly remarkable.

As I enjoyed my breakfast, I took a quick glance around at what the men were eating. They ate toast, cereal, fruit and muesli. Some ate poached eggs while others ate scrambled. They ate wholemeal bread. They chatted quietly without being anyway raucous.


They read papers that didn't fit the stereotype of the building site male. No sensationalist tabloids here - they read The Times, The I and The Guardian. No Daily Sport or Sun.

Their conversations were the most surprising. They talked about five-a-side football leagues and getting to bed early. They talked about religion and attending church more often. Others talked passionately about their children and the cute things infants, do and say. They even talked about the stock market and buying and selling shares.

They also chatted about the one thing everyone talks about - the recession. They came up with their versions of how to solve it in the short term and long term. They were far more informed than I was.

Not at any stage were they ignorant. If anything, they were the most polite men I had the pleasure to encounter yesterday - and I met many men afterwards, in over-priced suits that were far ruder. Your clothing is definitely not necessarily an indicator to someones personality.

And did I mention that I was the only one in the cafe - eating the full English breakfast??