The Leaky Teapot and the Presidential Election

In the last few days I've been to the Leaky Teapot a few times. Drinking tea while doing paperwork or waiting for things. 

I enjoyed seeing the Shannon as I sat in the window. In the summer the trees are in leaf and they block the Shannon out. I didn't know if I'd see my second winter in Limerick, but here I am. The Shannon has been fierce like the Corrib in the last few days and I've sat and watched it from the cafe and stood down there on the Quay as well. There was some filming going on down there. 

The Leaky Teapot was busy this second time, and I was lucky to get a window seat. I sat with my tea, I was waiting in between my messages and errands, and the afternoon Mass, and so I had a cup of tea, can't usually afford food, but to my surprise, people who knew me were eating and got me a meal. This is my Limerick, and this is how kind and generous people have always been to me while I've been in Limerick. I enjoyed curry, rice and chips. Chips with curry and rice is an Irish thing and very pleasant. 

leaky teapot

On the subject of kindness. I watched the presidential race with interest. I am not supposed to be political or personal or biased, but it was a very clear cut race. There should have been more candidates, yes, but the winner won. 

The man who left me on the streets of Limerick in the beginning is a strong FG personality. I found out through him about politics, about FG, and about where things are going wrong in Ireland. He claimed to be friends with the FG presidential candidate and have her number, before she was a presidential candidate of course. 

The independent candidate Catherine Connolly, carried herself well throughout the campaign, was clear on her mandate and very human, able to reach people. She is very natural and friendly and people warmed to her. The desperate mudslinging by Right Wing Fine Gael backfired and made them look very bad. 

Something I found a bit shocking when I came to Ireland and especially when I went to college in Dublin, was women of grandmother age trying to be sexy. I've not seen this in the UK or France or any country, but figure hugging and revealing clothes, lots of makeup, accessories, scarlet nails, in older women, it has made me sad to see, because they shouldn't need to be trying like that. It's my opinion and I'm totally natural myself and have never tried to attract men. What stood out about Catherine Connolly was that she's totally natural, didn't try to hide herself behind any kind of paint, and didn't try to show herself off, she conducted herself much as President Higgins himself would. I think people saw this. She presented as a person, not a mask. Anything in life that depends on wearing a mask is hollow. 

Her win was deserved. You have the Irish Times and the Irish Sun reading similar headlines of her win, but the Times, Right Wing, are adding about the spoiled vote, trying not to gain the disapproval of the nation while having a quiet sour grapes moment, while the Sun, Left Wing, adds a little bit about her rival giving her best wishes. The little difference between tabloid and broadsheet this morning.

The clocks changed last night, they still look the same to me but I got to stay in bed longer and laugh at the comments on the Journal headlines. 

That's the Shannon yesterday when I left the Leaky Teapot. A low rapid tide, often a paradise for kayakers. 

So Ireland has a new President but it was a messy and controversial election which left a number of potential candidates and candidates looking bad. It was an Irish breed of disaster.

The end result was okay. I guess at the moment I could say the same about my bumpy landing in Limerick. There has been a lot of bad but certainly some positives. 

He's gone

I heard today that my friend had died and I wrote this. 

He’s gone—

the news arrived today.

He’s gone,

so far away.

His voice, his smile, his gentle grace,

live only now in memory’s space.

No more upon the clifftop high,

laughing as the seabirds fly,

watching basking sharks below,

his joy a light, a steady glow.

No longer at the front he’ll stand,

words of comfort close at hand;

that smile we cherished, kind and true,

a gift the world no longer knew.

He’s gone—

and none can take his place.

He walks in heaven, face to face

with our Lord, his journey done—

no longer bound, but home, at one.

It's hard to know what to do when you're actually confronted by it

In this post I refer to a previous attempted suicide where myself and my friend intervened, on this old post: 

https://lifeforce198.blogspot.com/2024/12/gerry-and-incident-in-dublin.html

I often blog about reasons to live. This blog was originally a mental wellness and suicide prevention blog, but I have so much going on that I barely have time to come up with posts on mental wellness and quality of life.

This evening I was sitting in bed, I was tired and didn't intend to take my writing downstairs as usual, so I was sitting up watching the Addams Family and just vaguely warming up to write. I'm writing a new novel 'Empire's Survivor' if I haven't already mentioned it. Anyway my friend came into my room. Unusual but okay. He sat on my bed and told me he was suicidal. 

I'm supposed to have some training and knowledge, but in the training they teach you how to deal with suicidal strangers, bridge jumpers and so on. And as you know, I've dealt with such a scenario once and we saved her, but a friend coming to you in this state is a different matter and I was sitting with my laptop, not expecting this at all. I was totally thrown.

He told me that our other friend wouldn't help him, that he wanted a gun and our friend wouldn't bring his gun. (it turns out he no longer has a gun), anyway, he wanted me to get a gun. I talked to him about gun law and how if anyone brought him a gun they'd be arrested, and we didn't want him dead. 

He needed to talk and to be with someone, and that was fine, you know how I am, a troubled autistic person with many bad memories, so I felt at a bit of a loss here, but of course I wanted to help him. 

I asked him to talk to me. In the training you're taught to ask the person's name and introduce yourself to build a bond and make the person feel they're not alone, which didn't work with the semi-conscious suicide attempt in Dublin and would be no use with my friend. He sat on the bed and asked me if I'd get him a gun. He told me he'd asked at the gun shop but as he wasn't part of a gun club, they wouldn't let him have a gun. 

I texted the manager of the mental health charity but he wasn't much help. He said that I should phone the guards, this wouldn't help much. I texted our friend and he told me to just listen to him and be there for him and that he said these things to all his friends. Okay, I understand that but why can't something be done? Why is no one being more proactive? I guess many people find it hard like this when someone they know tells them they're suicidal. 

I explained gun laws to him, no one can get him a gun for suicide without being arrested. I looked up resources. I've done some volunteering with Pieta House, and so I emailed the person I had contact with there. In the end I phoned his psychiatry clinic with his consent and he left a message asking for a nurse to call out. 

He says he hasn't been able to sleep properly for years, he's troubled by a voice in his head. He's become very depressed with lack of sleep and lack of quality of life with the voice in his head. It's a tough one. Really I would imagine the only solution would be to change his medications, but he says no, and he saw his psychiatrist today and didn't tell them what was on his mind. So really it's hard to do much unless someone proactively liaises with his mental health team. 

He went back to his room to rest, and talked with me a bit longer later, mainly about the lack of sleep. You can imagine it's hard to do anything when you can't do anything. I just listened and sympathized. I hope the clinic can take his message seriously and someone can come round. 

Suicidal thoughts and actions impact on people around the person who is suffering. 

As previously mentioned, if someone is suicidal, they can get trapped in a dark tunnel of despair and not see a way out or a time when the problem isn't a problem. So if this man hasn't been sleeping for a long time, it's hard for him to see anything different. I remember what I'm like when I miss one night's sleep, I get physically and emotionally sick very easily, so it must be bad to have missed so much sleep. To choose life, there have to be things to live for, and without sleep, everything can be affected, it can be hard to see any positives. 

Update on that. 

I liaised with this friend's psychiatric team and pushed them to call out as they tried to ignore the request and phone him or ask him to go to them, which he wouldn't. They'd been unaware of how bad things were, and met with me and him and continued proactive contact, and as I left the situation, I left it with them and trusted they'd handle it. 

It's not far to Tipperary

 

The Cork-Tipperary Final which Tipperary won. The only time I have ever backed Cork. Window in Tipperary with derogatory remarks for Cork. 

Poor people such as myself don't really get holidays. But I've done okay for short breaks this year. It's certainly not the 4 star 'We hate tourists' hotel in Puerto del Carmen for me, but I had a nice week in Dublin with the little dog, three walks on the beach every day and a visit to my old haunts, and then this weekend I had a fantastic mini-break in Tipperary. 

I'd never been to Tipperary Town before. I know Nenagh, some people will be rolling their eyes there. I am not that keen on Nenagh. Tipperary is very different. 

Tipperary is like Mullingar with mountains, it's so similar to Mullingar. Shout out to the good people of Mullingar, I miss you, by the way. Mullingar is one of the kindest places in Ireland.

Tipperary has a similar layout to Mullingar in some ways, but especially the main street. It looks like Mullingar's main street. Then behind there's the Abbey School, which looks grim, it looks like part of the history of religious schools and institutions. There are various other grim and foreboding buildings, then there's the contrasting Excel Cultural Centre, modern, blue. 

Tipp has its problems. The main road is narrow and congested and they do have a share of antisocial behaviour including 'Rogue Car', one car which speeds round and round the roads all night. And then you get the 'Skins Lorry' coming through and it makes the town smell. The skins lorry came through while I was in Tipperary. I didn't see it, but I certainly smelled it, and the town keeps the smell the next day. 

See what I mean...Mullingar.

I stayed in a lovely old place, friendly and welcoming, comfortable and homeley. Every comfort. I had a good sleep and a tasty breakfast, and I thought of Mullingar. I loved seeing the Galtee Mountains up close. If you're up the side of Mount Meelick, you can see the Galtees with their eternal hat of cloud from there and various other places around Limerick. 

Life isn't perfect, especially not for the poor in Ireland, but sometimes we get a break. Sometimes luck throws something our way, and we can grab it and enjoy it. It was a little break, a little but pleasant experience. I grabbed it. And the buses to Tipperary are pretty good, it's not a long journey and on an august weekend it was a quiet bus. Grab those little gems in life and hold onto them, put them in that box of little gem memories. 

I started writing a new novel by the way. It's about a property tycoon. 5,000 words so far. 

The story of The Road to Shannon

Planes at Shannon Airport (model ones)

I linked to the new parody blog recently, but recent posts don't really belong on here so I'm moving them. If you want to read our comedy about Michael G.Tierney, Property Tycoon turned Shaman, he is still here: 

 https://beyondshannon.blogspot.com/?m=1

Likewise, poetry has been moved to: https://castletroywords.blogspot.com/

Shannon has been an important part of my life, but people don't know everything. They know we insult 'Newtown Shannon' in Castletroy, or that I lived there, or that I have a manuscript called The Road to Shannon. And I'm asked 'Is the Road to Shannon paved with good intentions?'

Last night, coming back from Shannon, I cried most of the way. Probably the fact I was listening to 'We had it all' by Ronnie Drew. If you ever need a crying song, there's one. Last night was very significant. After 15 years the final act of something significant to me was finally played out to closure, with strange sweet poetic justice. Unexpectedly, softly, and after so long of waiting. Things have changed significantly in recent months, not least because I'm finally telling my story and no longer alone with it, although there is a long way to go. I expected torrents of emotion, but maybe I didn't expect how that would feel. And so much has happened recently, not least JM and what happened being in the news.

With the first anniversary of my arrival in Limerick approaching, all I can say it's been a rollercoaster, some of the best and worst days of my life have been spent in Limerick. It feels like 10 years not one, and I've grown older, changed, and had experiences that have changed me.

Even my playlist has changed. When I arrived it was the 198 playlist. 'Snow in August', 'Long before your time', 'Ship to Shore', 'Goodbye Yellowbick Road', 'Limerick you're a Lady' and 'By your side' - the Limerick Love Song'. Then it was Shannon songs including 'Are you right there Michael' and 'Phil the fluter's ball' 

Then we went to the JM Golden Days: 'You never learned to Dance', 'Staten Island', 'The Ballad of John Williams' and 'By your Side'. And now 'The Old Bog Road', 'The town I left behind', 'The Ballad of St. Anne's Reel', and finally 'We had it All' - the song of the Road to Shannon. Life is a sound track. 

So the Road to Shannon was there a long time ago when I used to house sit in County Clare, but it didn't mean much to me, back then Ennis was a kind of Mecca, long ago. Now as some will know, I hate Ennis. 

The origin of The Road to Shannon could be told in legend form. It began when that man left me with nowhere to go when he'd told me he was moving me to Limerick. I'd moved my life to Limerick and he left me shattered and with nothing. In despair I went to my old home town and ended up at the hospital with my heart affected by the stress. 

'We stood there in the rain. Three of us. The Keeper of the Purpose is first to speak. 'You came home, and the Blessing is always honoured, you are called to Limerick, the Purpose is not the man who came to guide you, it is Limerick'. I consider this 'I have no connection beyond what I've built and I'll be homeless in a strange city'. He replies 'You will never be alone and you will be met in Limerick, follow the guides that come'. I turn to John, who is standing in the shadows. John speaks 'Go to Limerick, but you must know The Road to Shannon Airport blindfold as soon as possible'. 'How?' I ask, confused. 'You'll see' he says. 

I look towards the warm dry bus, the lights shining in the rain-starred darkness. I turn back to them 'I'm afraid I'll be coming back for your funeral'. The Keeper of the Purpose laughs 'You'll be home many times before I pass'. I bow to the Keeper and the Lantern-bearer 'I go first to the South, may I return when in need?' 'You will always return to the Town of the Blessing of the Purpose, O Wanderer'. They bow and are gone and in the rain I board the bus to Limerick. 

If you want to know what my Fantasy genre work is like, its on that theme. Rooted in reality. 

I arrived in Limerick as the 343 route was reinforced to bring a 24 hour regular service, and I learned the road to Shannon Airport in the dark before long. I learned with, music, with my playlist in my ears, alone, shattered and hopeless. 

I used to have many dreams and nightmares about the man who left me homeless in Limerick, my whole life had been in his hands. One of the most significant of these dreams was dreaming he took over Shannon Airport. I guess he does, when he takes his posh holidays in Lanzarote, but in the dream he just decided he would own Shannon Airport and wasn't listening to objections, which sounds like him. In my dream there was ski slope or ice slide down the middle of the airport, I'm not sure how he'd manage that, but in the dream he introduced flights to Madeira. Funnily enough, flights to Madeira were introduced shortly after this dream, I may have been dreaming of Madeira for other reasons. In the dream he sat with me at the restaurant there and he said to me 'I'm here'. But it was someone else who was there last night. 

For a while I went to live at Shannon with a friend, and the planes flew low over the house. I remember one day she said that someone who had been working on the house was just leaving, and I said yep, here's his plane. I got to know Shannon very well indeed. 

Peter McGarry's book 'Falling Stars' about Shannon Aviation disasters, is grim but a must-read. The real stories and lives behind the crash. Unfortunately for me, I dream of plane crashes often, as there was one in my past. Planes, airports, crashes, are significant to me. To me it has more meaning than the lucky ones who jet off on holiday and business without knowing how lucky they are, while I live in poverty and can't dream of choosing to fly. And despite all that, Shannon Airport has been so important to me and may well be more so in the future, if John knows anything. 

On Christmas Eve, the Departure and Arrival boards at Shannon read that Santa would arrive at 1 am and depart at 2 am, Special Flight. 

That road to Shannon with my friend ended in a sad and painful way, but the Shannon link continued, and I will know that road in my sleep forever. John's instruction was for something that never happened, perhaps, or maybe it will, in a different way or maybe he knew about last night. Last year something changed dramatically in my situation, with one of the men responsible for injustice to me being dramatically toppled for other injustices, and the pressure I was under became less and I felt safer, the emergency flight that created John's road to Shannon didn't happen, I think the slow road to healing started there. But last night at Shannon Airport, a long open wound was closed. 

'The Road to Shannon' is the diary story of my life in Limerick, started last year and on 40,000 words. To avoid confusion, it is not the same book as the novel I set in Limerick 'My arms are holding you' a fiction work, named in honour of the people of Limerick who from the moment I arrived, held onto me and held me to life. 

Letters of Complaint

 Formal Complaint to God: RE: The Matter of Shelter

Dear God,

I’m not asking for a mansion. Not even for comfort.
I’m asking for safety, for quiet, for continuity.

For a roof that doesn’t feel borrowed.
For walls that keep people out — the wrong people.
For a space where I can breathe, write, eat, and sleep
without being hunted, stared at, or punished for existing.

You know how long it’s been.
You know how hard I’ve fought.
So why, after all that,
am I still at the mercy of landlords and madmen?

I don’t want a miracle.
I want a key.
To something I won’t lose.
To something I don’t have to beg to keep.

Sincerely,

Someone who still tries to believe you listen.

Another fantastic weekend.

We reached out today in memory. To a year ago. To the start of 198. On Nassau Street, where old ghosts meet. You and I, we reached out. With the help of a friend I worked through those memories of gratitude and hope from the beginning of 198. I will never forget. I met a special man once, he was troubled but I saw the light in him, even if it was faded and faltering. I saw the light in him. Sometimes you meet people and see light in them. There are a number of people in Limerick who have light in them and some show by example what redemption looks like as well. 

So it hit 30 degrees this weekend. And in Limerick I joined the team on a very special project on Saturday. A special human being was in hospital and they hadn't been able to look after their house, so we went in and deep cleaned it. The weather was roasting and we worked hard, we sweated and we ached. We did this because we could and we wanted to. It was a fantastic day and very hard work, and of course great company, I am happy to say that I know people who are the salt of the earth. And now that special precious human being can come back to a clean and tidy house and wonder where we put everything, where everything is! 

Sadly, nearby, another special precious person, a man in his 70s, was violently murdered, and that cast a pall over our beloved Limerick on a weekend buzzing with events and sunshine. The person who caused the death has been charged, but it won't bring back a special Limerick character who has passed away, leaving his poor doggie pining for him. RIP and my deepest sympathies to the family and friends. 

When we finished the volunteer shift, I had a wash and changed, got some food, and watched the Pride Parade pass by as I waited for church. Pride looked a little diminished, perhaps because of the football final and other events. Then I caught up quickly with a friend or two before I went home for a shower and change before I went out on another errand. I could have had another busy sociable day today but I allowed myself to rest, well, physically anyway, I was doing trauma work for a large part of the day. Let yourself rest, especially if you are prone to overdoing things due to trauma. Rest. Look after yourself. 

We lost the football! Very sad. I love the sports, and I'm rooting for Cork next weekend for the only time in my life, because they're playing Tipperary. Ha. However, the lost football led to a lovely warm conversation with someone, which strayed almost inevitably to County Clare. You know how it is with me and County Clare, if I can, I will. 

Live, love, every minute. Life force, power, pure joy. 

A. 

A poem, if you have time. Not one of mine, but it reminds me a little of my late father, especially the last verse. 

Tony Harrison

1937 –

Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.

You couldn't just drop in.  You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.

He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief
though sure that very soon he'd hear her key
scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.
He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea.

I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven't both gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there's your name
and the disconnected number I still call.