Hassled

I was out today trying to buy a Christmas present.mThe rain was making a horrible task that bit more unpleasant. I know it's nearly Christmas and people are busy, but the same rules apply now as a month ago.

Parking in disabled spots is not ok. Driving like a man or woman possessed and treating others as if they're an irritation only shows you up as the asshole you probably are. Walking through people, or not saying excuse me, just smacks of your ignorance. Was it always like this at Christmas?

I used to enjoy Christmas. But alcohol, fighting, shit T.V., putting up and dismantling the Christmas tree all conspire to drive me to distraction. I don't get the whole drinking on Christmas Eve thing either. How can it be a pleasant Christmas if you're in the grip of the hangover from hell?

45 years, and nothing done...

I'm that age when people used to say men were going through a mid-life crisis. In some ways I'm beginning to panic. In 45 years I've almost died twice. I've become disabled. My body is falling apart. But for all that, all my understanding of mortality, the sure knowledge that time is limited, I've accomplished nothing.

I've written nothing, painted nothing, discovered nothing, photographed nothing. I've fathered nothing..I have almost nothing.

I don't see anything from a child's point of view. I don't have children and it's been that long since I was a child that I'm finding it hard, sad, pityfull really to remember my life as a child. I grew up fast. I had to. Things don't excite me like they did. I'm not amazed by much anymore. Except for the lengths humanity will go to; to belittle and kill others. Human cruelty is boundless to be honest. Avoiding bitterness is a chore at this stage.

But soon I'll be alone, whether I'll be alone through leaving or being left behind remains to be seen. I'm fairly sure that I won't be remembered by many, and I'm not relishing either. I've seen the other side and there's nothing there.

My father

I remember the smell of my father. Smells stay with you. He smelled of beer and armpit sweat. Kinda. I know it may not be pleasant to picture but that smell will forever be a comfort to me. I'd say that there are many Irish people my age that have memories of their father linked to beer and sweat. Deodorant was only a twinkling in a scientists eye, and beer; it was the fuel of a nation. There's a saying, "beer was invented to stop the Irish conquering the world".

It's around Christmas time that I miss him the most. He died in 1978, but he always made Christmas magical. We never had a traditional Irish Christmas. My mum was Danish so we'd normally have duck or goose with red cabbage, caramel potatoes, gravy, sprouts with crispy bacon lardons and probably roast potatoes too. But my dad was always around at Christmas. He'd play with my sister and me with whatever toy Santa had brought us. It was a lovely time.

Caramel potatoes

5 tbs white sugar

25 - 35 g lightly salted butter butter

New baby potatoes, boiled and allowed to cool

Use a wodden spoon for this. Heat a non-stick pan with the sugar in it, but take care not to burn the sugar. All you need to do is make sure it's completely melted. When it is add the butter, it might fizz a bit but keep stirring it. When it's all blended together to a sticky shiny sauce, add the potatoes and keep them moving to coat them in the sauce and heat them through.

Voila, eat!