High Flying Adored

Checking the post in the morning is always an exciting moment of my day. If a package I’ve ordered has arrived I can fool myself into believing it’s my birthday – even if I paid for it myself. Of course these days the mail is polluted with referendum literature. Try as I might I find my interest wavering after the second sentence and the booklets invariably find their way quickly to the recycling bin. Of course I never mention this when I complain later that we don’t know enough about this damn austerity/stability treaty.

Anyway a couple of days ago I was overjoyed to find a letter addressed to little old me and tore it open with unbridled excitement only to discover it was an invitation to a ‘Group Engagement Session’. It was from the Social Welfare Department and they cunningly followed up the word ‘invitation’ with a string of straight forward threats. If I didn’t attend I’d be forced to declare bankruptcy and locked in a room for a week with 2Unlimited played at speaker-busting volume.

Instantly I had images of ending up betroth to a random Kerry job seeker and wondered why we were being required to get engaged en masse. Shouldn’t my Very Own Newfoundlander be invited too? Before I let myself getting carried away with the idea of an engagement party, instead, I worried about what to wear and then became distracted by something shiny and promptly forgot about it until yesterday morning when I set off to find the venue.

As I walked through the doors I began worrying that it was going to be like Pauline’s sessions in The League of Gentlemen and we’d be divided into the occupational groups of Bramble Pickers and Babysitters. I’d have to ensure no matter what that I’d be chosen to join the pickers side as I have very little patience for screaming kids.

Instead of Pauline and her pens we had a stereotypical Kerryman with an impenetrable accent going through information that I had already received many times before. He informed us of our options to start our own business. But it has to be realistic he warned. You won’t be allowed set up a company offering helicopter rides of North Kerry. You’d be bust in a week – nobody can afford these sort of luxuries these days.

And just like that, without ever knowing before, it became blatantly clear that this is exactly what I wanted to do all my life. What’s not to love about helicopters? They’ve got to be easier to park than cars and there’s hardly ever a traffic jam up there! Mine would be a sturdy but sleek shiny green specimen with an alternating black and grey border.  I ran through some possible names – Conor’s Copters – Air Borne Identity –  Sky Sports. Legal issues surrounding names aside there would be no way this could fail. How on earth could this man dash my brand new life dream – literally before it even began?

In a full on excitable daydream I looked up from my doodles of helicopters to notice that people were leaving and the session was over. Not one wedding had been planned, although we were ‘invited’ to a one-on-one meeting next week, presumably to hone the marriage arrangements.

I’ll bring up my helicopter business idea then I decided. I have a week to perfect it. All I need to do is devise a business plan, obtain a helicopter pilot licence, overcome a mild fear of heights and change this egregious economy so people can again afford ‘these sorts of luxuries’.

Now, does that mean I should vote yes or no I wonder.  Will the third sentence in that booklet make things clear? The recycling bin it is!

Getting to know you, getting to know all about you

Fredericton is a tiny city. Or more realistically, a big town. It is also extremely hard not to like. I tried my best to be objective but its charms are out to get you. Every second building in the centre is a beckoning coffee shop and there is free wifi throughout the ‘downtown area’. This means that it is essential that you go for coffee at least once a day. It’s generally accepted that you laze about with your ‘dark roast of the day’ busily typing out your novel on your laptop – or in my case pretending to write while secretly stalking friends on Facebook!

After my first weekend I was already recognising people on the street. By the end of the first week I reckoned I’d met practically everyone who lives here. Going out last Saturday helped bridge the gap enormously. I asked the bar tender what beer he’d recommend which led to him asking where I was from.  Twenty minutes later a stream of people arrived to ask which of us was from Ireland. Drinks were frequently bought for us while I was asked my opinion of Canada, New Brunswick, Fredericton and my favourite coffee shop in town. I wouldn’t have been surprised to have had an autograph requested. It was official – I was the town celebrity – at least for the weekend!

I’m still getting used to all those funny little Canadian ways – they sell milk in plastic bags here (something I’d only seen previously in India) and prices in shops are frustratingly misleading. When you go to pay they suddenly come up with a new improved price which includes tax, as if an afterthought. This means that nothing in the dollar store is a dollar. It’s a dollar plus the surprise tax. Or if something is advertised as ‘Two for $10’ when you go to pay it will be more like $11.47. It doesn’t take much to confuse me at the best of times but I don’t think I’ll ever stop moaning about this quirk. It’s like Canada is being run by Ryan Air! Nothing ever costs what it seems.

Most importantly I have also discovered the secret to the successful Canadian economy. All the Off Licences (or liquor stores as they call them here) are owned by the government. Ireland listen up – the solution to your woes is simple! Monopolise the alcohol market and you’ll never again mutter the words ‘international bailout’.

You’re coming home to me, just remember

In a desperate attempt to distract myself from the fact that I am NOT on a beach lapping up the sun in Brazil but instead am moving my fingers every ten seconds or so to prevent them from freezing I have decided to warm myself with positivity.

Every since I touched down in Europe again I have been floundering on the brink of post-travelling depression. Whereas I used to wake up each day and needed to decide which town I would visit next or if the local museum was worth a visit, these days I wake up in a cloud of angst – what job can I get? Where will we live? Is money really necessary for survival? I try not to turn on the news as it’s all doom and gloom about how Ireland is single-handedly bringing down the world’s economy (I thought for a while that it was my fault but I’ve brushed that thought aside).

But of course there are countless advantages to not having an exciting, exotic life. Right? Of course there. For example;

It is amazing how much pleasure I am deriving from being able to flush toilet paper down the toilet again instead of depositing it in a bin. Sometimes I even flush a clean sheet – just for the sheer hell of it. Because I can!

I can find decent, glorious dark roast flavoursome coffee again. Apart from Vietnam it was not to be found in Asia and the South Americans are content to export all their best produce while guzzling cups of instant Nescafé.

I now have time to read blogs again. It’s been great catching up with my favourites while discovering some inspiring new ones. I’ve even had the pleasure of meeting some of the nicest bloggers in the whole wide world again in Dublin which reminded me of why I liked it so much in the first place.

The dire economic state of Ireland makes me feel at home. The country doesn’t have two cents to rub together and neither do I. It’s a match made in heaven. I belong!

I don’t have to think much about where I lay me head each night. There is no need to read endless reviews on-line and check out the best deals. My mother’s house is a warm, comfortable palace that would easily earn top ratings on Hostelworld.

I never have to look at those same flippin’ t-shirts ever again. Every photo of me this year sees me in the very same clothes. Day-in, day-out. Rediscovering my wardrobe was like walking into a clothes shop where you like EVERYTHING. And you can buy the lot to boot. Glorious!

But most of all, I get to see my wonderful friends and incredible family again. Not even the most amazing, atmospheric, exciting foreign country in the world has them and that without doubt is the greatest thing about being ‘home’ again.

That being said, if you don’t mind I’m off to take a walk and peer in the window of the travel agents down the road. Just to keep myself warm of course.