Saving The World

Save the world.
End poverty.
Cure disease.
End global warming.

For some reason we have been afflicted with all of the above on our collective "to do" -list. It's only fair, after all, we've been blessed with a planet nice enough to tolerate our race of humanity for thousands of years, it's seemingly time to earn our keep. Does anyone else get the feeling we've been staying in a posh hotel for a few weeks only to find out we're stuck with the bill of the last two occupants of our room as well as our own? No? Just me, then.

I am environmentally conscious, of course I am. It's practically impossible to be these days. I recycle, I buy organic, I buy local. At the same time, I buy clothes I know I won't be wearing for more than one season before getting rid of them, I drive to work alone and I -prepare to be shocked- often get the disposable plastic bags when doing my shopping. But it's an expensive business this saving the world, isn't it?

Organic food is always more expensive than food that isn't organic. I'd like to think you can taste the difference, but it could be just my brain trying to justify spending twice as much on organic tomatoes than the bog standard, stores own-brand tomatoes. As much as many of us would like to contribute to this collective task of saving the world, it often proves too expensive. When faced with getting week's worth of potatoes as opposed to two day's worth for the same amount of money, the principal shopper of most families will more than likely opt for the former. And can you blame them?

We're getting the guilt trip for using our cars too much, not sharing lifts, not using public transport and all that comes with it. I wouldn't mind getting public transport to work. Too bad that where I live, it doesn't exist. Cycling surely is an option, but these roads are so badly kept and so narrow that cycling into work carries the risk of losing a limb or your life. It really is not being made easy, is it? This saving the world business.

And it is a business, isn't it? Huge big productions, events and shows are being staged all over the world to draw our attention to the cause du jour. To make us appreciate what we have and share our good luck with those less fortunate. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. I just think that it should be easier being green and that it shouldn't have to cost us the earth, either. What I'm saying is, that it could be made a lot easier on us.

Could the governments of the world not decide to make it easier to grow organic produce and therefore reduce the cost of the produce to the consumer? Or, instead of guilt-tripping people travelling by aeroplane, guilt-trip the ones who use their private jets to hop over distances that could easily be covered by train? Or while we're on the subject or air travel, I find it utterly ridiculous that travelling by train is often more expensive or not significantly cheaper than travelling the same distance by plane. And while private cars are critisised and public transport being bandied about as the greener way to go, nobody is extending the same comparison to private jets versus commercial airlines.

At a time of a global recession and international debt crisis, everyone is tightening their belts. Is it possible that now is not the time to save the world, but to try and save you own daily life more or less intact while we're waiting for better times? Let's combine the wages of the top 20 Hollywood stars for whatever movie they're filming next with the wages of the top earners of the Premier League footballers for a month and we'll see how much closer to our world-saving target figure we are.

Enough to keep us on track with the saving and curing and ending until we're all back on our feet financially and we can all actually contribute. How about that?

John Bishop has some funny points on the matter.

Misery And It's Company

I think we all know at least one pair. The ones who always seem to think the weather is too hot or too cold. The economy is really bad or it's so good it's only a matter of time it all collapses and we're all bankrupt. Their work is horrible but nothing compared to what their other half has to go through on a daily basis at work. You know who I'm talking about; Mr and Mrs Miserable.

There's a girl I know, I say girl, she is slightly older than me and calling her a girl makes me a girl as well by default. You can count on her to dig out the negative on everything. A mutual friend had a healthy, happy baby girl after four years of trying and failing to get pregnant. Miss Miserable whispered to me as we're stood outside her hospital room to go in and see the new arrival "I bet her boobs have gone all droopy already". Miss Miserable's brother was in a car accident and broke his leg. While everyone else was delighted he was still in one piece, Miss Miserable piped up to announce that the hospital had probably fucked something up when setting his leg again and that he probably would never walk right again. On a beautiful, sunny summer's day you can count on her to remind you that you will probably get melanoma. It is as if she's decided to be miserable.

She found her match a couple of years back in the shape of Mr Miserable. You can tell he's miserable just by looking at him. He's face may as well have "MISERY" stamped all over it, and in a only-slightly-less-than-literal sense, it is stamped all over it. The pair of them, were they in cartoon form, would have a dark cloud hanging over them, following them where ever they might go, spreading their misery. But it does seemingly prove the old saying according to which misery does love company. Miserable company, that is, because for the life of me, I cannot imagine how anyone not sharing their bleak view in life could stay in the company of such all-enveloping misery for any extended periods of time.

Mr and Mrs Miserable
www.life.com

I don't know what it is about these kind of couplings that make me very sad and sometimes a but angry. I feel like going over, shaking them vigorously (soap opera dramatic -style) and telling them there are so many things in this life to be happy about. Sure, it's easier to point out the negative, but you keep doing that and you end up with what I like to call a "misery face". I can only imagine the conversations at the breakfast table where the coffee is too weak/strong/cold/hot and the corn flakes too soggy, the toast too dark/too pale and the jam is always, always the wrong flavour. 

I don't know if a negative attitude in life is something genetic or something a person adopts somewhere along the way. Miss Miserable's family seems normal enough, nobody else in her family has ever told me that they were sure a mutual friend's husband was "bound to be bankrupt" just because he had just changed jobs. Her mother is great company and a wonderful woman to be around with. I don't know how Miss Miserable turned out the way she did. I suppose you're bound to be pleasantly surprised every so often if you keep preparing yourself for the worst but that is no way to live.

I think I am actually allergic to miserable, negative people. I find myself getting very annoyed and irritated when faced with people who do nothing but complain. Maybe I'm the strange on with rose-tinted specs perched on my nose but I'd rather be an idiot in blissful state of ignorance than always looking for the steaming pile of crap that just fell out of the backside of the beautiful, thoroughbred champion racehorse. 

Misery in welcome to it's company, more misery. I for one am quite happy gazing at the silver lining. 

Sadness

There is so much sadness. In the news and closer to home. When the news from Norway hit on Friday I was in disbelief. A bomb? A mass murderer killing innocent teens on an island? A nightmare that had me checking my Twitter feed every couple of minutes. Maybe it was a hoax? Surely not 80 people dead, surely not? A peace-loving, (in my head) idyllic, modern Scandinavian country in the grips of a hateful, spiteful lunatic. One person causing so much pain and suffering to so many others. It was hard to believe but I had to.

It makes me worry, it really does. Right-wing extremist views have gotten more and more foothold in Europe over the last couple of years. Anti-multiculturalism, anti-Islamic and overly nationalistic political views have seemingly gotten more mainstream, somehow more acceptable. Historically speaking, I think it is a symptom of the global recession. Think back to continental Europe in the 1930's. Recession, unemployment, general feeling of malaise. One man placed the blame on the Jewish people. Stealing "our" jobs, forcing "their" culture, "their" way of life on "us". "They're" different to "us", "they" should be gotten rid of. Sound familiar? We all know how that panned out.

I was reading this piece on both Finnish and English news and I cried when I could only scarcely imagine the horror. The girl, 16 years of age, sending text messages to her mother who is following the news, pleading her daughter to send her a sign of life every five minutes. Horrific.

I've stopped following the story in the news now. It's getting out of hand, and I have had enough. I read the story about the couple who rescued tens of those trapped on the island, risking their own lives in the process, by going back and over the water on their boat. That was where I wanted to stop. A little ray of positivity to restore my faith in humankind. I have no interest in what the media will dig out next. I agree wholeheartedly with Charlie Brooker; the shooter does not deserve this publicity he so clearly was after.

Solar Powered

Exceptionally good weather we've been having, eh? Good weather by Irish standards. I know I've been living here long enough when I describe summertime temperatures of over +20 as "roasting". In Finland, that's average summer weather for July and August. It's been sunny and warm and it hasn't rained. So, by Irish standards, we've been having great weather. And I have been stuck at work until 7, 7.30 in the evenings.

But not yesterday! When I got up on Tuesday and saw the near-cloudless sky and that it was +17 already at 9am I got giddy. I skipped to the kitchen, got myself a cup of coffee and went outside. Just to feel the sun on my skin. It was bliss. And that pretty much set the tone for the rest of the day. Mr S ran a few errands and went to a meeting, and I refused to leave my seat in the sun.

I know I'm from Finland where it's cold and dark for most of the year. I know most people think Finns are some sort of trolls who can see in the dark, live in caves, drink a lot of alcohol and are generally quite surly and depressing. But something happens to the normally introverted Finn when the first rays of warm summer sun start to break through. The Finn becomes more excitable, more extroverted and smiles for no reason. I believe the Finn is a solar powered creature.

Mr S first noted this the first summer I spent in Ireland after moving here permanently in spring 2004. He said he noticed a change in me as soon as I got some sun. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he noticed a change which, according to him, lasted for weeks afterwards. I'm inclined to agree with him. I need sunshine. I need to feel the prickly, tingly heat of direct sunlight on my skin. I don't care about a tan, I have more or less accepted the fact that I will only ever go a slightly darker shade of pink, that's it. I don't want a tan, I just want sun.

I nearly melted into my seat with the same pleasure I see my cats melting onto a hot, sunny windowsill. I feel relaxed, supple and very very mellow. Sun seems to be my natural high. Needless to say, I spent the entire day outside. A small breeze from the sea every now and then was a lovely contrast against the heat. I felt as if I had plugged myself into a generator of sorts to be recharged. And that is exactly how I felt in the evening. My skin still hot and tingly, smelling of suncream, sea and heat. I went to bed that night and had a wonderful sleep and I woke up in the morning energised and ready for work.

I'm inclined to agree with Mr S. I think I am, indeed solar powered.

Lazy Days

I booked myself three days off this week. It has so far proved to have been a brilliant idea, even if I do say so myself. I found myself getting very annoyed at the fact that I seemed to spend one of my days off running errands, doing the shopping and generally being out of the house for the whole day. The other day off was spent firmly in the house, cleaning, washing, tidying up and such lark. Any time left over I try to catch up with friends and maybe get some me-time, but seeing as there still is only 24 hours in a day and I really do ideally need 8 hours sleep per night, it really is limiting my options.

I shared my first day off with Mr S. Few errands, bit of shopping, bit of cleaning. Our old neighbour had contacted me the day before to ask us to help her move her dog house from the old house to her new place. Apparently our old landlord had just flung the dog house over the wall to the side of the old house where Mr S and I used to live, despite her telling him she was coming back for it. Charming man. So I went up to help her move it, my little car is surprisingly spacious when the back seats are flattened. When I got home, after a tour of her new house, which is lovely, we just lounged. I tried out a new recipe for a pizza base which was a huge success. I got the recipe from one of my Twitter-friends only to realise that I'd had the same recipe in Jamie's Italy -book for a few years now, earmarked and everything. Nothing like a recommendation to get you moving, eh?

Yesterday I spent catching up with friends. Good old chats, lots of laughs, insane amounts of tea and coffee and plenty of biscuits and cake. My Finnish friend, Marjo is something short of a wizard in the kitchen. Mocha-squares they're called in Finland, I suppose the closest thing here would be a brownie, but these things are a lot lighter and more sponge-like in texture and topped with a chocolate-coffee icing. See, I'm drooling already. So so tasty!

So, my third day off is today and I am blissfully aware that on a normal working week I would be getting stuck into trying to explain to a German tourist, who doesn't speak any English, what a parsnip is. (Apparently, calling it a white carrot isn't informative enough) Yet here I am, in our office, in my comfiest (and by default, the ugliest) baggy tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie, sporting a rather fetching bedhead, sipping my second cup of coffee, trawling the internet for stuff and not caring how long it takes me.

Conveniently enough, it's raining outside so I'm not likely to feel the need to go out and rake the grass we finally got cut on Monday. Or go out for a walk. Or, indeed anything that requires getting out of the house. The wheelie bin is at the bottom of the driveway, I may stretch to going out a bringing it back up. But I'll wait for it to stop raining first.

I have a stack of magazines to catch up on, the last two issues of the National Geographic on the top of the pile. I'm still reading Jo Nesbo's The Redeemer, which is proving very good indeed and nicely filling the void left by Stieg Larssen's Millenium-trilogy. I'm doing two loads of laundry, and two only, washing the sheets (I love Clean Sheets Day). I also have a pile of DVDs to watch, I'm contemplating on either having a Harry Potter marathon, or a Bones marathon. But the important thing is, I don't have to do any of these things if I don't choose to. I could quite happily veg out on the couch, listen to the radio and pet the cats. How about that for a lazy day, huh?

Time Warp?

What happened to June? Seriously, I seem to be missing a whole month. I was at work, signing off something and dating it 1/7/11 and then realised I seemed to have by-passed June entirely. If I was in an episode or Doctor Who, there would, no doubt, be some fantastic explanation as to where my month of June 2011 disappeared off to and we would probably find out that it was indeed the Cybermen who were to blame. Alas, not quite.

Where I work is now open until 7pm, and usually being the last one out of the building after cashing up and locking up, it means that I don't get out until about 7.30 the earliest. Factor in a stop at the local shop and the drive home, I'm usually not home until well after 8pm. Shower, dinner, washing, feeding the cats, ironing, some telly and off to bed. See how I have no time for blogging and it annoys me. I've had so many ideas floating about in the incoherent mess of my mind, but forgetting to write them down on the spot means I lose them almost as fast as I think of them.

It hasn't all been work and no play, mind. We've had some great nights out, some even enjoying warm, sunny weather (gasp!). On one of these nights, we hammered out a Murtaugh list for one of my friends, Teresa. She also has a blog here, but is even more sporadic in her writing than I am. Anyway, the list started out with about 20 items on it, this was at the start of the night. Oliver brought in the list and a pen. As the level of intoxication rose, the items on the list multiplied and got more insane as the night went on. Few examples of said items

• camp outside by yourself in a tent
• dye your hair a crazy colour
• get something pierced

And these are the ones that are somewhat printable. Others involve things that play into Teresa's fear/dislike to men in white vests, for example. You can tell a lot of thought went into this. The list deserves it's own Facebook page, we think. Or maybe a blog. Watch this space.

So, you can tell my June was very productive. I try to mend my ways in regards of blogging in July. I'm not making any promises, though.

Absence

Oh, hello! Long time, no see. I've been preoccupied for the last few weeks, and for that, my sincere apologies. I will, however, make no apologies for thoroughly enjoying my self-imposed blog absence. During which, by the way, I didn't go anywhere near my laptop for anything other than a spot of online banking. It's handy having an iPhone, isn't it? Email, Facebook and Twitter all there, with me all the time with no need to sit down at a keyboard and type anything. For blogging, I find the iPhone just too small. I like having more room to play with when it comes to posting. I have a few blogging apps on my phone but none of them have felt right. Any suggestions are more than welcome, by the way.

Anyway, the last week of august saw my dear old brother visit us with two of his friends. Him and his friend flew over from Finland, rented a car in Dublin and headed towards the lovely west coast. Meanwhile his other friend was on his motorbike, somewhere between Cork and Mr S's hotel en route. My brother arrived around dinnertime with his friend. Friend on motorbike appeared about a pint and a half later, walking like John Wayne. 650km in one day on Irish roads on a motorbike will do that to you, I guarantee it.

The following day was dedicated to travel up north to Enniskillen via Sligo and Bundoran. In Enniskillen the lads very nearly became local celebrities when people realised the lad on the motorbike is the spitting image of Brian O'Driscoll. Newspapers were pulled out to demonstrate the uncanny resemblance. Couldn't argue with it, he does look a lot like him. Needless to say, for the rest of the trip he was known as Brian.

After a night in Enniskillen it was back to base where Brian had to follow his obsession to climb a mountain. The rest of us decided on a slightly less arduous activity of visiting our house and having a couple of drinks at the local before heading back to the hotel with the promise of heaps of mussels and prawns accompanied by nice, chilled Pinot Grigio. Brian had found his way back down from the mountain, but it was the road leading to the hotel that had him stumped. Determined, he was marching along the road in the wrong direction when a friendly local picked him up and dropped him off at the hotel. A detail Brian failed to mention until quizzed on it.

My brother didn't think there was enough lemon
on his friend's prawns

Brian deep in thought after is mountain trek

We ate (some more than others) until fit to burst, after which Brian retired up to his room. Three of us continued propping up the bar until it was decided it was far too late to be up, considering the lads were to travel to Dublin the following day. Bedtime.

Some of us ate more than others

Friday morning saw my brother and Brian having their now customary topless wrestling match on the front lawn of Mr S's hotel, to great amusement of Mr S's mother. And hotel guests. And passing motorists. After a brief visit to the abbey, where Brian decided to sit that one out and my brother and his friend came up with a brilliant idea of a karaoke bus, it was time to say goodbye. The visit was brief but most welcome. The tail lights of the Astra and Honda were the last thing I saw. They all made it home, safe and sound.

Tail lights say goodbye

 Do call again!