Look up you gobshite.

I'm becoming something of a psychic. I worked with a colleague yesterday who reminded me that the last time we worked together we had a bit of a scary moment. The kind of moment where you both hear something that's slightly deja-vu-ish and the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention.

Yesterday morning I was singing an old REM song as I got ready for work. I hadn't been listening to the radio, trawling the Internet or watching the television. It just popped into my head and I walked around our apartment singing the words. It reminded me of a time in school when it was cool to write the names of bands you liked on your schoolbag. And this song was one of my favourites from the Document album.

So imagine my surprise when I hear that same song later that day - a song I haven't heard played on the radio or anywhere else for years - on a different continent. It was my wife who said it first - "weren't you singing that earlier?"

The song was 'It's the End of the World as we Know It' and it was being used as the background music to a news piece on CNN. Both of us dismissed it as another weird coincidence and went to bed.

So this morning the weirdness continued. I got up early to go for my run before the heat of the day got to it's peak. I run with my ipod turned up high but I am always fully aware of my surroundings and potential pitfalls ahead of me before they happen.

If a crowd of people are going to block my path in front, I always shout politely "Excuse Me!" If they don't hear me initially, I repeat myself. A little more tersely if I'm honest. 99% of people are kind enough to step aside or make room on the path or route. But today I encountered a different problem that is on the increase.

It's becoming more prevalent than I can ever remember. We live in a more technological age I know, but this is just plain ignorance and not being aware of what's going on around you.

It's the head in the phone people.

Those who browse the Internet whilst walking about. Their head and eyes are on the phone or gadget and not on the road ahead. I had two collisions with one man and one woman at different occasions on my thirty minute run. I did the usual roar of "excuse me" to absolutely no avail.

Both times the path was slightly crowded. But they weren't moving for others. The man even had the gall to suggest that the collision was my fault. And that's when I became a little profane - calling him an Irish curse of sorts. The woman didn't even hear me as her earphones were in her ears, whilst browsing through her phone - she was never going to hear or see anyone. She was in her own little world.

Once showered and clean after my run, we went for breakfast. I ranted to my wife Michelle about what idiots I had met earlier on my run, as we walked into the restaurant. Having picked up a complimentary copy of the USA Today from the hotel, I was stunned to see one of the lead stories on the sidebar of the front page as I sat down.

"Distracted Walking taking toll on teens." The article read that the number of accidents to young teenagers is on the rise, due to the fact they are distracted while crossing the road or doing something similar.

In other words, their heads are in their phones or handheld devices. In my opinion, it's not just teens that have this problem - you have to include the "get out of my way I'm late for work people."

The shiver went down my spine again. I am definitely doing the lottery when I get home.

600 hellos and goodbyes.

I think I set a new record. Definitely for myself, and maybe for others too. Four flights to and from London Heathrow in under nine hours. I am wrecked after greeting and bidding adieu to that many people.

Of those of you that think that isn't a lot, you should try it. As the expression goes - don't knock it until you've tried it. It's fecking exhausting, especially at the end of five long, difficult days. Of course, that's not all I did for the nine hours - I completed other varied, strenuous and stressful tasks under extreme time constraints.

What wrecks you isn't the actual meeting and greeting - it's the ignorance and indifference that you encounter on every flight to Heathrow. They are a breed of passenger that really doesn't exist on any other flight.

Don't get me wrong - I love the variety of passenger that flies to Heathrow. You get the seasoned business traveller right through to the young Irish emigrant leaving for work and sunnier climes. You meet many people and cultures who have stories to tell - but what you remember in particular, are the idiots.

We seemed to encounter more than our fair share yesterday.

We initially thought it was one particular seat that was the problem. Seat 1D. But then we had one flight where no one was seated there, so that theory was quickly rubbished.

Was it the connecting flights that was putting our passengers under pressure? Nope - because we arrived on-time or ahead of schedule on all sectors.

Did we have supplies on board for all our passengers needs? Mostly.

Then, what irks them so? Was it the hangover London was feeling after the Olympics? Probably not.

There are always a bunch of people on Heathrow flights that look down their nose at you. They feel they have the right to patronise you. To demean you with a flick of their hair or dismissive glance. A look that displays their dissatisfaction at your very presence near them.

It's nothing to do with you at all - it's the company that you represent that makes them act like a proper plonker. Nothing they say or do makes any sense. They have no reason to treat you with such disrespect, but it happens on every Heathrow flight.

Then it hit me.

London was experiencing a mini heat-wave. With extreme levels of sweaty, sticky humidity.

The weather brought out even more eejits than normal - this week.

Ah Jaysus.

Most of us never fulfill our potential. Apparently only 0.10% of us actually achieve our potential of the talent we are blessed with. Never mind our dreams. Of course, most of our dreams of our future life occur between the ages of 8-13. They say that the potential chance of a young lad crossing to the UK and making it as a professional soccer player are about as likely as one in a hundred. 

  

That's kind of frustrating when you encourage youngsters to "shoot for for the stars." What else do you try and say to them? Kick him harder son?

Most of us will work jobs that we never initially thought we might work. it's a part of life. We all have to pay bills and accept responsibility. We all have to accept it and move on - or do we?

I say no.

Three years ago I decided to say no. It's still a work in motion, but I will and want to make it happen.

And I know I will. 

That may seem like stupid seemless obsession, but I'm determined.  

I may have been knocked back, but I'm stronger than that. I will achieve. I am good enough. 

And my work is good. Damn good.

Pure Inspiration.

The definition of inspiration is 95% perspiration. So I was told by a coach when I was aged just 13. His name escapes me, maybe because he didn't make that much of an impression on me. Or maybe I wasn't that good as an athlete. Or maybe I didn't have the dedication or application as a young runner. But in saying that, I'm still running - nearly twenty three years later. He probably had more of an affect on me that I actually remember. His words obviously stuck, to a certain extent.

The definition of inspiration is simple. It is an arousal of the mind to special unusual activity or creativity. Or it is the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something - especially to do something creative.

Both of those sentences sound the same to me - just written in different ways.

Yesterday I was a witness to history. History to Irish and world sport. History to remembering where I was when such an event happened. I remember where I was when September 11th 2001 occurred. It was a bit like when I grew up when adults around me stated where they were when JFK was assassinated, or when Elvis died. It was one of those moments in life that you remember where you were in the world.

I remember where I was when David O'Leary slotted home that penalty in Italia '90. I'd be very surprised if the circular green and brown carpet hasn't still got stomping marks - where I jumped up and down non-stop for two hours that day. I had it recorded and replayed it for all the neighbours, several times. I leaped about the place so many times, celebrating it like it was my first time witnessing the event.
I also remember vividly where I was when Ray Houghton scored against Italy in World Cup '94. I ruined another part of the swirly carpet.

Yesterday I knew I was witnessing history. This time I knew that I would have an opportunity to write as I witnessed it being made.

Lethargy. Ineptitude. Laziness. Over-confidence. Cockiness. Self-entitlement. I saw none of that in the young lady from Bray. We saw thankfulness, dedication and modesty ooze from her every pore.

She was sharp and quick. Her body was tuned perfectly. She had earned this moment plainly just for the past twenty odd years of training.

Her time was now.

Her defence was rigid. Elbows in close to the body. Even though her opponent was waiting on the counter-attack for the slightest opportunity, it never really came. She didn't allow it. Dancing feet for the four rounds that lasted eight minutes. I tried to dance like that for twenty seconds as an exercise, and I was bloody wrecked. And I consider myself fairly aerobically fit.

She may have been nervous a touch, but that was to be expected. This was an Olympic final after all. The crowd expected too. Even Princess Anne had to shield her ears from the noise generated from the roar of the hordes gathered.

But pure inspiration poured forth. All those years of hard work bore fruit. The young Katie did Ireland proud - especially for her family and herself.

Let's hope Ireland garners this enthusiasm and moves forward with as much positivity. Feck the cynicism and negativity - look what happened when we last embraced four amazing years of sport from  1990-94.

Oh - and did I mention in amongst those World Cups we won our last Gold medal in Barcelona 1992?

Maybe we owe all our congrats of prosperity during the boom years to Michael Carruth - not to either soccer team.
Here's hoping the Katie effect will be as generous to us all.

Bucking the Stereotype.

We all like and appreciate a good stereotype. It doesn't mean that they are all true. In fact, we all like to see and see a stereotype that bucks the trend. Hell, I'm one myself at work and I should be gay - according to the atypical stereotype, of course.

We all come across typical stereotypes everyday. Ninety percent of the time the stereotype fits the mould that you have formulated in your head or that society tells you is true. If I suggested: white male, early forties, pin-striped suit, neatly coiffed hair and briefcase - what would you come up with? Banker / accountant / solicitor / professional of some sort - would you ever consider drug dealer?

I, like most of the world, have been watching the Olympics with great admiration. A friend of mine stated on Facebook that she thought that they should be held every year. Hell no!! Most of you will echo this (including my sister-in-law who lives in London at the moment and calls the wandering tourists around the city Olympricks) - but wait for the explanation.

The reason she said this was for one reason alone - she is crying happy tears for all the heartfelt stories she hears every day coming from different nationalities and cultures. Take the example of Hamadou Issaka, the rower from Niger who has captured the hearts of many around the world. This man only took up the sport of rowing three months ago and trained in an old fishing boat. And please remember that the country of Niger is entirely land-locked - the Longford of Africa, if you will.

The individual athletes overcome horrendous situations and battle the odds to represent their country in a worldwide event. And then you have the winners - everyone loves the stereotypical nationalist hugging the gold medal and singing their national anthem with great gusto. And tears fall down their cheeks as the cameraman pans around to the proud parents - who wouldn't start to well up with that image?

I have travelled around many countries of the world through work and holidays with my wife. We have been fortunate enough in our life to witness and experience many different cultures. That also means we do a lot of people watching. There is nothing better than sitting out in the open air and having a beer and watching the real men and women of the world go by.

And then we start guessing. What the next person does for a living; if they have a significant other; what they are thinking; what their day has been like and where they will be in ten years. The vast majority of what we come up with is complete and utter nonsense - but we have the benefit and experience of many years of working with the public.

Our own versions of stereotypes are well honed. Who hasn't walked down the road in any country of this world and spotted an Irish man a mile off? They have a particular way of dressing, walking and carrying themselves. It's an innate part of who we are.

But my favourite part of the stereotype guessing game is - what country is this person from?

So yesterday when I was travelling on the Orlando I-Ride (public bus), my own preconceived ideas of national stereotypes were well and truly challenged. Many nationalities travel on this mode of transportation and I started forming my own ideas of where everyone was from.

When I got on the I-Ride, about a dozen passengers were already on board. I decided to make it more difficult, depriving myself of their speech patterns and accents, by putting my ipod in my ears on full blast. When the bus was near full four stops later, I started guessing the nationalities. I took in their gait, clothing, tattoos and facial expressions. I was aided somewhat with the amount of extended maps of Orlando - clearly tourists. Then when I was satisfied with my guesses, I removed my ipod.

I had spotted two families and I had guessed English - I was right. The sleeveless Dad t-shirt, tattoos, beer gut and slightly aggressive stances gave them away way too easily. Near the front I picked out a middle aged German couple, and was correct. Their stiff backs and silver-rimed glasses gave them away. The fact he didn't take off his backpack, even when sitting, was also telling. I also picked out the locals and those who were using the bus to get to work. It was all going swimmingly until I came to the final couple, sitting up beside the driver.

What probably threw me was the plastic IDs that hung around their necks. These are normally an indication of someone attending a local conference, and these people are most likely Americans. They sat relaxed and even chatted to the driver, as if they knew him. I took longer to assess them than anyone else, and that's why I was so surprised. Their faces, ages, friendliness and clothes all told me American couple from Carolina or somewhere similar along the East coast. They looked fairly well-to-do, so why were they taking the bus?

When I took my ipod out, I still couldn't hear their accents. Moving forward, I was shocked to hear what came next. It has made me re-evaluate my thinking on stereotypes. A American lady sitting across from them, with another plastic ID around her neck, had started chatting to them. As I neared them, I spotted a tell.
His hands - red and callused. He leaned forward and then sat back like someone sitting on a high stool, as if chatting to another in a pub at home.

"So what part of Ireland are you from?"
"Ardagh - 'tis about six mile out of Longford town."
"And where is that?"
"Wesht of Dublin."

I totally didn't expect that. So much for my stereotypical preconceptions. We all live and learn.

Multi-tasking Irish Mammy.

We all are good at something in life. We all excel at either (a) our jobs or (b) our hobbies. It could also be a sport or exercise. But what if it was a combination of all of the above?

Two days ago I came across a lady with talents I will never possess. Her ability to juggle multiple tasks at will and still retain her sanity was truly remarkable. She even had the time to have a glass of wine after she had performed minor miracles.

The lady was about 33-35 years of age and had five children under the age of ten. This in itself was admirable, but she was about to embark on a long-haul flight with these children on her own. No help from any other adult - none whatsoever. Until we gave her a helping hand - she even stated that she didn't really need help!

She was well able and confident enough to do everything on her own. She got a little frustrated on one occasion, saying "feck" for the first, and only time. And that was the end of it. No more cursing or expletives. No more terse adjectives said out loud in front of the kids. No more stress - the lady just wasn't wired that way.

The kids were a fine example of herself. They were calm and independent. They weren't needy and hyped up mad on Pringles and Fanta. Two of the older kids came directly to me and asked for water. And what they then did was outstanding too. They poured water for the others before pouring for themselves - what percentage of kids anywhere in the world, do that?

This lady had one boy and he was the eldest, at ten years old. He was a little gentleman and the lady said he was the apple of his father's eye. He was so mature for his age and helped out his mother at every turn. In fact, I don't think I was as mature as him even when I was sixteen.

Then came the two girls, aged eight and four. But the amazing part of how she managed this trip was that she had twin baby girls aged just fifteen months. And she had car seats. For both of them.

This lady came on a long-haul flight with two special zipped bags that contained car seats for the twins. The eldest boy carried the bottle and nappy bag - he carried nothing for himself. The two younger girls carried toys for the twins and colouring books for themselves. This lady carried only her purse for herself.

Six people - one bag and three small personal items. Fecking amazing. I nearly carry more going to the gym.

But the best part was that not one of them cried. The twins fell asleep with bottles from Mammy that were pre-prepared before the flight. They were asleep within an hour after takeoff, as if tuned to a clock. Irish Mammy sat in between them and watched her TV, with only one earphone plugged in with the other ear listening out for noise or disturbance.

Her three eldest kids sat happily behind her and watched films on their TVs until two of them fell asleep. Even the area that they sat in was clean, neat and tidy - an indication that they treated everything with respect. Guess who stayed awake throughout the flight to keep an eye on his sisters?

They say that we are reflections of our parents. We take different aspects of their personality and mould ourselves into the people we are today.

I took the time to say to this lady before she disembarked our plane, that she had done an amazing job bringing up her children. They were a fine example of her kind and gentle direction, and no doubt her husband's too.

But her skills as a mother and general of her small band of troops was utterly jaw-dropping.

I just wish all kids behaved this way on a plane.

Work Idiots.

We all work with idiots. No matter what your job is in life, you have a work colleague that is a bit of an imbecile. There's no getting away from that fact - they are everywhere.

Whether they are more junior or senior to you makes no difference - their very presence makes your skin crawl or makes you suppress your rage. But you maintain and control those little bits of anger hiding beneath your apparent calm exterior - because you are the better person.

They are the one person you meet in a hallway that you don't want to meet - and it always happens at the most inconvenient time for you. You say hi to each other - but you are muttering multiple expletives under your breath after you pass them.

They are the person who loans your stapler and never puts it back where they took it from. They are the people who mess up in front of your bosses and who never seem to get punished for it. If that was you, you'd get demoted, put on probation or get the sack. But not these plonkers - they probably don't even see the stupidity of their actions.

Or my favourite idiot - the person that constantly does things slowly and incorrectly - and then gets promoted. That makes me want to pull all strands of my hair out - one by one.

No doubt, I have this ability to make people's skin itch. There are plenty of people in my workplace that probably think I'm an idiot. It doesn't bother me in the slightest. I probably think the same about them too.

You are never going to get on with all people in life. Especially your work colleagues - life just doesn't work that way. In life we can just walk away if someone is annoying you. But at work, you have to see these people everyday. And every day you spend in their presence builds your resentment toward them. How you deal with it reflects on you as a person.

We are all individuals with different opinions and values in life - not everyone will agree with another person's take on life. That's what makes us unique - the ability to think for oneself. Those that get influenced unduly by others are sometimes too afraid to make up their own mind for themselves. That's where bullies get their way - they can sense an opportunity to strike and influence someone. And this is what gets me boiling - the bullies.

There are those that love an altercation - whether it be physical or verbal - to get them through the day.

They love the interaction and provocation involved. That gets their juices flowing. They just love making someone else's work or life miserable. But remember that all that hate and resentment will eventually eat them up inside, and you will come out the far side a better person.

I hate to see injustice and unfairness, but it exists in every workplace. The longer I live on this planet, I'm coming around to the conclusion that it's not what you know, but who you know. That may sound a touch cynical, but I'm also realistic. I know it impinges on my (relatively) positive outlook on life, but not everything is actually sweetness and light.

The one certainty in life that I truly believe in is karma.

How you treat others reflects on you. Sometimes we all get frustrated with karma's actions and inactions.

But remember that karma does come around in the end. It might take its' time, but it gets there.

Eventually you get the satisfaction of saying "about feckin' time he/she got their comeuppance."

And then you will smile. A warm self-satisfied grin will cross your face.

You were right - they are a complete arsehole.

Old Attitudes.

There is only one thing in this world that is constant - change. If you don't adapt to the ever-changing world, you stagnate. Some people never change, no matter what circumstance throws at him or her.

Today I came across a man who seems stuck.

Stuck in the world of work that he left twenty years ago. Still referring to himself in the third person and still giving himself the title before his surname, that he used to have. Very telling to me and my colleague, but we couldn't show our amusement.

You could tell this man was used to the finer things in life at one stage and was used to getting his own way. But that was twenty years ago and he still expects to get everything for nothing.

He spoke like he had golf balls in his mouth and stood with his chest firmly stuck out. His nose was pointed north with spectacles perched on the bridge. The man barely smiled or interacted with his wife for two hours.

Everything he did talk about was spoken in a patronising tone. The only time light shone brightly in his face was when he talked of his former glories -  of when I was but a glimmer in my father's eye. I listened intently to him - firstly out of politeness and secondly - it interested me.

But when I spoke of more recent times, he suddenly became disinterested. When I spoke of when I started working, he rudely picked up his paper.

He may as well have said "Go away now, young man. I've finished talking."

That's what annoys me. When people stop learning things about themselves or others. When they stop growing as a person. When their tolerance of simply listening to another person reaches a "full" level.

They are, in effect, giving up on life.

It fascinates me that this man has travelled the world and probably seen many things in his life - yet seems intent on focusing only on his own existence.
Old habits die hard. Kind of sad really.

Irish Breakfast.

Having spent the best part of the past week travelling around Ireland going to two friend's weddings, I have now become immune to the Irish hotel breakfast. We pay to stay in nice hotels, but the staid Irish breakfast buffet is beginning to do my nut in. I know the hotel buffet is in vogue because it offers choice and keeps costs down - but is it really?

I do travel a lot and spend a huge chunk of my time in the mornings eating. I could spend anything up to two hours enjoying my breakfast. It's my favourite meal of the day - and according to all the various health enthusiasts - the most important too. No matter where I am or what time of the day it is - I make time for breakfast. But the difference in America is that - they cook to order.

Say what you like about American people as a whole - but they love their breakfast! You have to appreciate the mix of foodstuffs they offer for all people. It is a country of extremes, but I like the variety of choice. They also cook and serve the freshest of fruit, meat and produce - and cook it to order. Their offering of choice is far better than what we get offered here in Ireland.

I am not attacking Irish chefs - Ireland has come on in leaps and bounds as a world culinary force. But simple things have been overlooked. Not all hotels are like this - this is just some of my experiences.

In the sage words of my friend Sean who said about ten years ago - "If you're not happy, send it back." He was so right.

Irish people are beginning to cop onto this. Having had wealth grip the country recently, we have learned to say no. Now that our spending habits and patterns have changed, I honestly hope we don't go back to the idiotic "Ah sure it'll do - aren't you lucky to have it."

That's why I sent back white toast the other morning. I had asked for brown - a simple request and not one that should tax someone greatly. The server looked dumbstruck and plainly couldn't tell the difference. I then asked for scrambled eggs and the cook/chef pointed me toward the covered bain-marie. I shook my head and lifted the silver lid - the scrambled eggs were swimming in a fluid that I think was water. He couldn't see my point. I wanted freshly cooked scrambled egg.

The previous weekend was three nights staying in a four star hotel in Mayo. A beautiful hotel but their breakfast buffet was baffling. Irish breakfast buffets have a certain penchant for a large bowl of prunes in a sugary sweet fluid. Don't get me wrong - I like prunes - but every hotel has this fare and how long has it been sitting there? And tinned fruit cocktail and grapefruit! What happened to local Irish fresh fruit like strawberries? The saving grace was some lovely sliced melon.

My wife loves black pudding and constantly gets disappointed with how hotels serve it. If it is served to order, there is no problem. But left sitting over a warm flame for a long period of time - it dries up very quickly. It's no wonder American people don't like it - it gets served poorly for breakfast. Whatever happened to cooking an Irish breakfast to order where all ingredients are cooked freshly? Bed and Breakfast hostelries do it - why can't hotels?

So that's why I write this. Say no to rubbery chicken. Say no to a salad that has ingredients in it that you didn't ask for - why do nearly all Irish establishments have cucumber and peppers in their side salad?

Say no to vegetables that the server says are meant to be "al-dente."
My arse mate, I can't cut into them.

You are the customer.

I'm not happy with this. Send it back - no matter what our economic times throw at us.

Funny Names.

We all have funny names, in one way or another. You never might actually know until you find out by accident that your name means 'asscheek', in some other language. My own probably means 'gobshite' in one dialect or another.

Some people choose names for children that are so wrong, yet they inflict that name upon the child for the rest of their life. They deserve punishment of a different sort that thrusts the same pain upon them that the child endures.

But when situations throw up a funny incident with a funny name, that is different.

It was only recently when I was joking with a few colleagues over a few drinks, that we shared and compared stories about incidents that have occurred us. I relayed my two stories that happened me in the space of a week that stick way out in my mind. These are actual names.

Having nearly fully boarded the early flight to Heathrow about two years ago, one of our colleagues from the boarding section asked me to make an announcement (P.A.) for a missing passenger. She had a small piece of paper with her, that had the passenger's name on it.

The plane was almost completely full of suits and business types that no matter what you do, look down their noses at you. So if you give them an easy opportunity for them to laugh further, you don't do it.

I asked my boarding colleague, who was of Polish extraction, if it was someones idea of a bad joke. Especially this early in the morning - 6am. She looked at me, rather puzzled, and plainly said no. Realising that she was deadly serious, I didn't make the announcement. Instead I rang the back of the plane to where my fellow steward, was positioned.

"Hi Ian - this is Shane here at door one - would you mind having a look to see if we have a passenger in seat 36C?"
"Yeah sure - what's the name?"
"Eh, Haithcock."
"Are you serious?"
"Yep."
"No one sitting there."
"Grand stuff."
"Do you want me to ask around?"
"Unless you really want to."
"Eh, that'd be a no."

I took my Polish boarding colleague onto the airbridge to explain why I didn't make the announcement. Explaining that when pronouncing that particular surname that you don't pronounce the second 'h' - she was aghast. But she did shake her head and laugh at herself all the way back up the airbridge to the gate.

About one week later, I was operating a flight back to Dublin from Brussels. It was a case of same scenario, different place. One of our handling agents asked us to make a P.A. as we boarded the flight. We were near the time of departure and everyone was under pressure to get off the gate in time.

"Do you have passengers in 5 DEF?"
Visually checking from the front, I could see the seats were vacant.
"Eh, no."
"They are after travelling in from the Congo. Can you make an announcement for them?"
"Sure - what's the name?"
"Yumibumbum."

The pressure in the front galley was released. We laughed heartily.