Short and Sometimes Sweet

I'm Not Short, I'm Fun Sized Some of the trending topics on twitter make me shake my head. Like yesterday, tweet my height was trending. I mean, why? Why does the twitterverse need to know that I'm only 4'11''. Yes people, I am under 5ft tall. Then I thought well why not? I used to have a thing about being short. Not any more though.                                                                    In my house, everyone is taller than me. It's not fun. I am constantly being reminded of the fact that I am over a foot shorter than most of the residents. Even my 15 yr old daughter, who I used to call mini me (for obvious reasons) is taller than me. Now I like to think I hide it well. Heels are a life saver. But when you get caught jumping because it's the only way to get the item you need from a high shelf you leave yourself open to having the mick taken. It's the ....ahem ...little things that annoy me. Getting onto bar stools is a nightmare. then

This week has been a sad week for me. My sister-in-law passed away suddenly last Friday morning. She was 48 years old. It was a very big shock to our family.  Anne When I was 15 or so my brother came home from work and said he was being let go. I have three brothers, two older and one younger. I don't have the eldest in my life at the moment but I am very close to the other two. Derek is the youngest, me next, then Tony. (who's name is actually Peter, yea IDK either!). So Tony left Ireland and moved to Greenwich. He got a job in a pub called "Hardys", owned by a couple from Sligo called Peter and Angela. Sometimes Angela's sister worked there too. Her name was Anne.We would go there on holidays every few months to visit. Anne was always the lovely bubbly blonde girl who had a sunshine smile for everyone. Anne and Tony became good friends. Anne met and married Vince and later on she had a little boy and called him Ryan.Peter and Angela were very very good to my

I am usually an easy going kind of person, and there's not a whole lot that gets on my nerves to be honest. As I have said before I love football and rugby and it was a weekend for both this weekend. And as a result a couple of my pet peeves came to the fore.                            Like for example on Saturday evening when my favourite rugby club Leinster were playing. I decided to go to the pub for the second half. Now I generally don't go the pub to watch either football or rugby. I prefer to stay at home and shout at the tv, but I was invited out and sure it would have been rude not to. Why does everyone turn into an expert? Leinster have been doing very well this season, and suddenly everyone is wearing Leinster jerseys. Those that wore Munster tops last season seem to have morphed into those that wear Leinster tops this season. The game wasn't the best for a number of reasons, the Heineken Cup Final next week being one of them. When fair weather fans sit there and

I have always thought of myself as a bit of a contradiction. Growing up, I thought I was a tom boy. I was definitely into football and rugby and all kinds of so called "male" dominated sports: But then, I liked make up, and looking pretty. Not pinky pretty, you understand. I hated pink. My mother was so delighted at having me after two boys that everything was girly pinky crap. Dolls and prams and other such girl toys were bought. I gave them all away. When I was just 4 years old my baby brother was born. My mum had miscarried twins, so the excitement was huge. I immediately took over and became surrogate mum. Why play with dolls and prams when you could have the real thing, eh?                                                        So time passed and my brother grew. I had a passing interest in football at this point. We used to go to Manchester every summer for our hols, and as my relatives lived right beside Old Trafford we were given the tour every time. I was unimpresse

One of my favourite poems of all time.. Invictus O UT  of the night that covers me,     Black as the Pit from pole to pole,   I thank whatever gods may be     For my unconquerable soul.      In the fell clutch of circumstance          5   I have not winced nor cried aloud.   Under the bludgeonings of chance     My head is bloody, but unbowed.      Beyond this place of wrath and tears     Looms but the Horror of the shade,   10 And yet the menace of the years     Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.      It matters not how strait the gate,     How charged with punishments the scroll,   I am the master of my fate:   15   I am the captain of my soul. William Ernest Henley . 1849–1903

...I went to see my doctor. He suggested more pills. I suggested he shove said pills up his arse. I changed doctors; a decision that changed my life. After many attempts I finally actually told my new doctor everything. Absolutely everything. He listened. He actually listened. I FELT HEARD. For the first time in my life, someone heard what I was saying. He suggested I see someone. A friend of his. A very nice lady, who I could talk to if I like. And yes, some pills. Not zombie inducing pills, pills to help turn my head off. WHAT? After 26 years someone was actually going to help me. I cried. I cried with relief, joy, I cried for the child in me that was no longer being ignored by medical professionals. I went to see this nice lady. It took me 4 months to build up the courage, because I knew it would be difficult. If ever there was an angel sent here to look after me, she was it. A quiet, older lady with twin sets and pearls. A gentle soul, who listened at the right times, spoke at the

....My head hurt so much...I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. I wanted the pain to stop. I told the doctors this. What did they do? They gave me more drugs.This amazed me. I kept trying to tell people about the incessant busyness in my head, but all they wanted to do was fob me off with more drugs. My family were very good. my mam looked after the boys and me. My poor husband kept his job going while in the evenings he looked after me. I felt like a complete zombie. Time passed, and I did start to feel better. All the time I was trying to get off these stupid pills they had me on. I started to get into a routine, and for a while felt ok. Not great, just ok. I did what I had to do to get through the day.I even did housework and baby minding. I hated it, but not as much as I hated working in Tesco. Then one morning I woke up with a face the size of a balloon. Seriously infected cystic acne they called it. I again had to take all manner of pills and potions. None worked. Walking aro