Sunday, 15 June is Fathers Day. Best wishes to all the Dads, Dads-to-be, Grandads, etc., out there.

Off to Verona in the morning, to visit Vinitaly for the first time.

Back next Monday.

Tonight, four families from Limerick, Poland and Italy are mourning the loss of loved ones as a result of an horrific road accident here in Co Laois today.

I only heard about it this evening on the news. The poor performance of the Irish rugby team doesn't seem so important any more, does it?

A big milestone in my working life today - I finished up in my current job, ending an association going back 11 years. I had been working for the same employer since November 1996, except for a 22-month hiatus from June 1999 to March 2001. When I started with them originally, I was only taken on as a temporary staff member in the run-up to Christmas.

I start a new job on Monday, with new challenges to get the blood pumping again. My focus will be outside of Dublin, which suits me perfectly.

Someone else who has been ringing in the changes is my good friend Willie Joe, who has moved his Mayo GAA blog onto its own Wordpress-powered platform, just in time for the start of the inter-county action. If you are anyway interested in Gaelic football matters, particularly those related to the fair county of Mayo, you should keep his site in your RSS reader or bookmarks folder.

And speaking of sport, I was supposed to be going to Belfast this evening to see Doug Howlett make his debut for Munster versus Ulster, but the weather conspired against this plan. Which is probably better in the long run, as the inclement conditiions might have made the record try-scoring All-Black legend rethink his move to the Northern Hemisphere.

Aoife is learning the ins and outs of housework:

(QuickTime movie with sound)



Toon: "Laundromat" by Rory Gallagher (iTunes Store link)

A certain little lady got her first pair of shoes at the weekend, and boy is she proud as punch!



She got her first handbag from her auntie a little while back as well. So she's fourteen months old and already developing Carrie Bradshaw tendencies in footwear and accessories. As we say in my native Mayo "It isn't off the shtones she licked it."

As predicted last week, Aoife has started walking.

(QuickTime movie with sound.)



Get the toon here (iTunes Store link)

You know what I hate? Banks trying to tell us in their ads that they are different from their competitors by offering superior customer service.

Don't be fooled. They're all the bloody same. I applied for a loan for a new car with one of these self-styled "mavericks" recently. It was a tortuous process, taking a full week for conditional approval and another week for the loan to be actually handed over.

I asked to have it paid into an account that I hold in another bank that likes to see itself as different. After badgering the lender all day Thursday and Friday to get the funds released, I finally got a call from them at ten past four on Friday to say that the funds had been paid into the account. Off I trotted to the bank where my account is held to get the draft and go pick up the car. No sign of it in my account. I explained the circumstances to the person at the desk.

"Sure, that won't show up till Monday. Interbank transfers never show up straight away."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

It also begs the question - if the money has left Bank A, but doesn't show up at Bank B till the next day, where the fuck is it in the meantime, and who is earning interest on it?

I hate banks. I really do. Almost as much as I hate insurance companies. Almost.

Update, Monday 15 September: Go to Bank to get draft today - still nothing there. Get on to lender again - they get on to their underwriters - apparently it takes 48 hours for electronic fund transfer to go through!! It doesn't take that long when it's coming out of your account, does it?

Is it really a whole year since our beautiful little girl came into the world? In one way it only feels like a few months has passed, yet in another way we find it hard to believe that it's only a year.

A selection of some of our favourite photos from the 1500 or so we have amassed over the last 12 months. (And if you have the patience to watch through to the end, you'll even get to see her in the arms of her Dad!)

(QuickTime movie with sound)

Things have been quiet on the blog front for the last while, for one reason or another. Work has been quite busy, with a lot of toing and froing. I have found that I have had a dearth of ideas for posts, and those that do crop up seem like too much effort to write up.

But anyways, I'm on hols at the moment. I'm at home minding the little 'un. My sister, who looks after her during the week is away with her gang on their jolliers. My wife started a new job last month, so she can only get one week off, hence my status as a househusband this week. We will be on hols en famille next week.

The burtda went grand. I was working all day, but we managed to avoid the rain in the evening and get the barbie going. A nice piece of lamb was the order of the day, and we accompanied it with a nice bottle that we had originally planned to open last year on the 40th, but circumstances dictated otherwise. (Pontet-Canet 1966, in case you're curious.)

We were in Mayo last weekend, and took ourselves off to the beach on Sunday. Folly, you might think, but it was a lovely day on Cross Strand near Louisburgh. Not warm, as such, but very pleasant. I love the beaches around there, as the sea can be quite wild and dramatic, and also the fact that they are nearly always practically deserted. This weekend was no different, and with the exception of a few surfer d00dz, we pretty much had the beach to ourselves. It was Babba's first trip to the seaside, and she even got to dip her piggies in the Atlantic. Back home on Monday, and since then thankfully the weather has been holding up. Walks at Emo Court are a regular feature of our days this week, and in this weather, it's a very pleasant way to pass an hour.

So what's been going on? I had planned to write at length about the Darren Graham affair, and may yet live up to that ambition. That sort of nonsense should have no place in any sport. Hopefully the GAA will use the opportunity to do something positive.

The recent Irish Times series about "Rip-Off Ireland" almost inspired me to put fingers to keyboard, but so far I have manfully resisted. Maybe next week. Or then again, maybe not.

On the tech side of things, Fake Steve Jobs has been unmasked. Apple have released new iMacs, so my machine is no longer cutting-edge. Still, I got ten months or so on the frontline, so it wasn't too bad a stint. Also, the new iLife and iWork suites have been released. I have ordered my copy of iLife '08 already. And to top it all, my .Mac account goes up from a measly 1GB to a much more respectable 10GB of storage. Once I install Leopard, I will use some of that space to back up all my photos (to go with my current backup regime of external HDD, Flickr and monthly DVD burn.)

Next week is Aoife's first birthday, so there will be lots of excitement to be had. She has a new little cousin as well, who was born just three weeks ago.

Then there's the preparations for the World Cup coming up as well. Loads to write about, just have to find the time.

So that's it. The babba is having a snooze at the moment, but is due to wake up any minute, so I'd better sign off.

I remember reading a column by Hugh Fearnly-Whittingstall once, where he remarked that having had your fortieth birthday celebrated to the rafters the previous year, your forty-first is completely unremarkable.

Oh, well. Only a nine more birthdays to go till the next big milestone.

I downloaded this pic of Aoife from the camera earlier today…



…which I thought merited a "lolcat" type caption. See here.

I have been selling booze in one form or another for the last 22 years or so, and in that time have had a number of famous customers. I don't know why I have never blogged this before, but I promise you this is all true.

Martin Amis - a regular in the off-licence in North Kensington. A sound bloke overall. Signed a few books for me. The first time I served him, I asked my Geordie colleague afterward did he know who that was. He didn't.
"That was Martin Amis" says I.
"Martin Anus? 'Ooooo the fuck's 'eee?"

Nigella Lawson - in her pre-Domestic Goddess days. Also her late hubby John Diamond. He was a really nice guy and I was genuinely saddened by his untimely death from cancer.

Dr Robert from The Blow Monkeys (He was mentioned in Twenty's post today , and I suppose that's what made me think of this.) He was another regular to the offie, and for a long time I didn't know who he was, but felt that I did know him from somewhere. One day, a new member of staff recognised him, the day he walked in with…

…Paul Weller. We only ever saw him once, and the lad that served him had been a serious fan of The Jam. He bought four cans of Stella Artois. We thought about contacting the writers of Viz to see if they would be interested in doing a strip called "Paul Weller, The Bloke Who Drinks Stella."

Joely Richardson. Again I only met her once. This was when she was starring in "Lady Chatterly's Lover". Barely twelve hours had passed from when I had been ogling her naked person on telly, till she was standing before me in the shop. That was very awkward, and I didn't know where to look.

Mariella Frostrup. Every now and then she'd roll in at 11am for big bottles of Volvic and some smokes.

Michael Winner. He comes across in print and on screen as an arrogant, overbearing prick. I'm happy to report that he is indeed an arrogant, overbearing prick.

Rik Mayall. Bought a packet of fags off me once.

Brett Anderson from Suede. Bought a bottle of wine in our shop once.

Elvis Costello. Used to see him every now and then when I ran a wine shop in south Dublin. Had good taste in Bordeaux reds.

I'll probably think of more, and will add accordingly.

I was walking through the Westbury Arcade in Dublin the other day, when I noticed that Angles was gone.

Angles was a little jewelry shop (and I mean little - more than four people and it was full) that did some really nice quirky stuff, much of it in silver. My wife was a big fan, and I was a frequent visitor there as birthdays and Christmas approached. We bought our rose gold wedding rings there, all those years ago.

Does anyone know if they have moved to new premises, or have closed down completely? It would be a shame if they were gone altogether.

Big changes in the little 'un over the last few weeks. She's getting around. Not exactly crawling yet, more bum-shuffling, but she can still move. She's getting down on all fours, so the crawling proper will start any day now.



Needless to say, this brings new challenges. Aoife now has a more, erm, intimate relationship with the kitchen floor than heretofore, so that means that we have to be much more vigilant in terms of keeping it clean. We also have one of these shiny Brabantia bins. Aoife has discovered her reflection in it and has taken to high-fiving it.

Meanwhile, I have become Milton Man. We don't want to raise Aoife in such a sterile environment that she cannot develop immunity, but we want to be sure that she isn't going to pick anything up because of our negligence.

Five months old, started on solids, sleeping in her big cot, hair still as mad as ever...

And this smile:

We do this every now and again for our tea, and it's dead tasty I tell thee.

Get some spuds and peel them. Cut into strips vaguely resembling what you might get in a chipper. Dry them off and lay them in a single layer in a roasting dish. Glug some olive oil, salt and pepper on them and chuck into a hot oven for 20 minutes or so.

In the meantime, take a fillet of monkfish and cut it into chunks. In a bowl, mix together about 200 grams of flour and a half a can of Smithwicks or any other ale or lager (not stout). It should have a good runny consistency, if not add more beer. Heat up a deep pan of cooking oil. Immerse the monkfish in the beer batter, and when the oil is hot enough, drop the battered chunks of fish in using a slotted spoon. Fry until the batter is golden brown.

Serve with the oven-roasted chips and some tartare sauce. To be really posh, accompany with chilled fino or manzanilla sherry or even better, a glass of Champagne.

Being the besotted first-time parents that we are, my wife and I dressed the wee one up in a little Christmas outfit, took a blast of photos of her, and then used one of them to make a Christmas card. (Whether we will keep this level of activity up for any further offspring is a subject of debate among my siblings. My elder sister, herself a mother of three, drew my attention to a poem by Ogden Nash: First Child…Second Child.)

Anyway, this is from that photoshoot, when Aoife decided that sucking her thumb was more rewarding than having her photo taken.
Wait! There's More…

We bought a new pram for Aoife a couple of weeks ago. The one we had been using was a hand-me-down, and while it was perfect for the first few months, it soon became apparent that it was not going to be suitable for the vagaries of an Irish winter.

So we got one of these lads. It wasn't cheap, but it transforms into a pushchair, so it will be useful up till she's three or so.

Wait! There's More…

I know! I know! I'm turning into a complete baby-bore, and I can't help it.

Wait! There's More…