Showing posts with label Hurling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hurling. Show all posts

Saturday, 16 June 2012

Simmer down for Summer

This is basically what rearranging my bedroom furniture is like.

Time for a creativity tube refill, exams are now officially over. I have survived this period largely thanks to the first series of Monty Python's Flying circus on DVD and quite a lot of food. Whatever fitness I had pre-study leave. It has now disappeared. In its place I have found a desire to be fit again but barely any motivation.

Nevertheless it is the end of an era, an era more commonly referred to as a school year. To mark the occasion I have tried to encourage a new beginning. By a number of methods.

Firstly, I have allowed myself to read again. For the last three months I was forbidden from reading anything that wasn't exam related, a self-imposed guilt trip. In reality and in hindsight, a different book probably would have been a welcome relief and a better way all round to not study. Thus, the day after my exams, on account of it being Bloomsday today, I began to re-trudge my way through Joyce's Ulysses. There are few feelings more rewarding than the relief, exhaustion and sense of achievement experienced at the end of the near 700 page novel. I have set out a reading list, that basically includes the backlog that stares at me from the shelf in my room. All must be read by September or I, no matter what anyone says, will be a sorry excuse for a living organism.

Number two, to get my mind and body out of exam mode, I binned a large proportion of school work; notes, essays, pointless handouts and ridiculous piles of mark schemes. This is all part of a semi regular process. I am fortunate in that my bedroom has ample space for what we in the industry call 'The Big Shift Around'. My room has approximately four and a half different combinations. Each one is only slightly altered, the main component being the bed. Unfortunately I am limited by a static, immovable wardrobe but then I remember that other people have real problems. The change reflects my change in mind, my change in mood and the change in weather. In preparation for this Irish summer, I have stationed my bed beside the radiator. The desk has taken up a less pivotal role and the emphasis is very much on relaxation. This is a subject very close to my heart. I plan to spend much of my free months in the new environment in a largely unconscious state (asleep, nothing serious). There have been a few logistical issues, as one would expect when embarking on such a task but I hope that any flaws will be ironed out in the coming days.

As Spiderman's uncle once said, with a new room layout comes a new mentality, and I couldn't agree more. However, the danger is that this new lease of life will be short-lived and within a fortnight I will be back to my squalid ways. In order to prevent any relapse I have introduced a strict (not strict) regime. The runners have been dusted off and the weights put in a place so that should anyone be in my room they will get the impression that I have been sweating embryos trying to get in shape. Of course this may be nothing more than a symbolic gesture but the hope is that their presence will be enough to implement point number three: the aforementioned lack of fitness. Here is a battlefield where I have fallen before. Last Summer my routine was disrupted by a three week spell in the Donegal Gaeltacht, this year, I have no such worries.

If my three point plan achieves a new mentality for even one month, it will be lauded as a success by all (me) and there will be much celebration and eating of food.

I would describe myself as an idealist. I hold precious the image of what times like Summer and Christmas will be like that are never fully fulfilled. The same will probably be true for this year's expectations. In my mind, this Summer will be one of drinking and thinking, sleeping, hurling, days where I can wear shorts because it is over 15 degrees outside, some good books and of course, to kick it all off, there's still two weeks left of the Euros, and quite possibly, the Euro.

Tuesday, 10 April 2012

Bringing Fenian back!

I have realised that this blog, at first, is going to be a blog about having a blog. But that's the nature of the beast. It would also appear that I got a bit carried away as most of my pageviews were by ME. I've sorted that now but it has somewhat burst my bubble.

Anyhoo, most posts are going to be a bit of a mish-mash, a collection of musings and tit-bits.



tit-bits anyone?

How is Abu Hamza going to get through airport security???? (that was my semi-topical obvious un-funny reference of the day) Mr. Rusbridger are you paying attention yet?

On another note, I have decided to reclaim the word 'fenian'. The fenians were a band of warriors in old Ireland that could be called upon in times of war. In the 19th and 20th centuries the fenians was a term for organisations committed to the creation of an Irish Republic, free from British Rule. However, the term is mostly used nowadays as an insult to Catholics, Irish Nationalists, and Irish Republicans.

I am as fenian as they come, tá gaeilge agam( I know 'fenian speak', pronounced 'shpake'), I play hurling( fenian-stickin') and I love potatoes (fenian food). Our fenian-ness is not something to be ashamed of. Irish culture is celebrated all over the world yet has become politicised on our own confused little island. We throw about the word fenian casually and sometimes ironically, but beneath the craic, there is a genuine sense of pride.

Nationalism in the truest sense of the word. This is not the sense of Irish identity that is proud to be anything but British. Neither is it the bland, non-identity that we are told to accept in the North. St. Patrick's day for example, in my local town, there were no shamrocks and very little green so as to be all-inclusive. A beige St. Patrick's Day appeals to no one.

-fenian stickin'-

This is why I am on a mission to bring fenian back. Its an Irish word for Irish people, north and south.