Links to all the Blogmas Carol stories

I wasn't very on the ball with this one I'm afraid, but the ever wonderful genius that is Mr Maxi Cane devised a fiendish festive exercise for us this year, which was to become the stories behind "A Blogmas Carol".



You can read the introduction here and then all of them in order from here:

1. Thriftcriminal - http://thriftcriminal.org/?p=614

2. Rick O' Shea - http://rickoshea.wordpress.com/2008/12/23/a-blogmas-carol-chapter-2/

3. Whoopsadaisy - http://whoopsadaisy.wordpress.com/2008/12/23/a-blogmas-carola-blogmas-carol/

4. Maxi - http://maxicane.blogspot.com/2008/12/blogmas-carol.html

5. Will Knott - http://willknott.ie/2008/12/23/bumblebee/

6. Darren - http://www.darrenbyrne.com/wordpress/?p=1178

7. Raptureponies - http://raptureponies.wordpress.com/2008/12/23/a-very-merry-blogmas/

8. Chris P Pancake - http://1blankpage.wordpress.com/2008/12/24/a-blogmas-carol/

9. Mise mé féin - http://darraghdoyle.blogspot.com/2008/12/blogmas-carol.html

10. K8 the Gr8 - http://www.cackaloo.com/2008/12/23/a-blogmas-carol/

11. Lottie - http://www.thenationallottie.com/?p=2372

12. Grandad - http://www.headrambles.com/2008/12/23/a-blogmas-carol/

13. Someone Living - http://theblogpound.wordpress.com/2008/12/24/a-blogmas-carol/

14. Jo - http://infantasia.blogspot.com/2008/12/blogmas-carol.html

I've got about four to go, enjoying them all. Memories of roller skates, books, bikes, lego, trains, teddies and all in my head now. Looking even more forward to going home!

A Blogmas Carol

CHRISTMAS: Noun, pronounced \ˈkris-məs\. Attributive. Christian festival celebrating the birth of Jesus. The English term Christmas (“mass on Christ’s day”) is of fairly recent origin.Since the early 20th century, Christmas has also been a secular family holiday, observed by Christians and non-Christians alike, devoid of Christian elements, and marked by an increasingly elaborate exchange of gifts. In this secular Christmas celebration, a mythical figure named Santa Claus plays the pivotal role.

Attributed quotes:

~ The Disneyfication of Christianity (Don Cupitt)
~ The one time of year when people of all religions come together to worship Jesus Christ. (Bart Simpson)
~ From a commercial point of view, if Christmas did not exist it would be necessary to invent it. (Katherine Whitehorn)
~ The season when you buy this year's gifts with next year's money. (Author unknown)
~ Roses are reddish, Violets are bluish, If it weren't for Christmas, We'd all be Jewish.(Benny Hill)
~ Have yourself a merry little Christmas (Hugh Martin, Ralph Blane)
~ We wish you a merry Christmas and a Happy New Year (Traditional)
~ I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, Just like the ones I used to know (Irving Berlin)

Have you ever noticed how it's the Concepts, the Characters, the Conversations, the Communications and the Creations that begin with the letter C that are best? All good things come in threes, C is third in the alphabet. The majority of your favourite indulgences begin with it. Comforts. Cake. Compassion. Chocolate. Concerts. Celebrities. Compliments. California. Candles. Charlie Brown. Coffee. Cinema. Cash. Comedy. Christmas. Carols. Cocktails. Cabarets. Candy. Cookies. Cards. Casablanca. Caresses. Cartoons. Campari. Carnal desires. Culture. The Carpenters. Cacophony. Christ. Caravaggio. Jim Carrey. Cadillacs. The Cure. For the Irish, the Commitments, Christy Moore, the Corrs, Cork. It's why I, of the 27 of us, is telling this story. It's probably why though third in, I was first out.

Christmas. This didn't start at Christmas. It was earlier when we were bought, the value of the late 1980s being in the twenty-easy-payments option. Nestled in cardboard we sat side by side, retaining the smell, storing the knowledge. We spoke of distant lands, far off places, new technologies, past victories. Our coverage unrivalled, our colours vibrant. We were more than just a purchase, we were an investment. Unmatched, unequalled, understandably, reassuringly expensive.

We sat in our comfort, confident in our impending release. We were to be pride of place, the crowning glory. We were for Christmas. We knew this. We knew of everything. Everything. Every American president, every population size, every breed of mammal, every work of Shakespeare, every part of a steam engine, one of use would tell you. We whispered together of what was to come. A family gathered. Children educated. Information imparted. We argued sometimes, crticising the others' pessimism, Deriding the others' optimism, belittling others faith but deferring to the index we waited. We learned and waited.

We would hear them outside at times, passing our place in the hall cupboard. Chats. Conversations. Arguments. We heard it all. We were unsure of how many there were to begin with. Sometimes two, sometimes more. Children seemed to be a permanent fixture though some would go to school (S, page 362) while some would come to play (P, page 617). We thought there'd be at least two. When they spoke of something we were unsure of we would consult the relevant text and inform the others. We were to be a gift (G, page 279) for Christmas (me, page 348) and we were to be delivered by Santa Claus (S, page 534, see also F for Father Christmas)

Santa Claus: Legendary figure who is the traditional patron of Christmas in the United States and other countries, bringing gifts to children. His popular image is based on traditions associated with Saint Nicholas, a 4th-century Christian saint. Father Christmas fills the role in many European countries.

~ Aren't we forgetting the true meaning of Christmas? You know… the birth of Santa. (Bart Simpson)
~ I once bought my kids a set of batteries for Christmas with a note on it saying, toys not included. (Bernard Manning)
~ Santa Claus has the right idea: visit people once a year (Victor Borge, Danish born American Comedian and Pianist, 1909-, see B, page 629)
~ Dyslexic demonologists often end up selling their soul to santa. (Author unknown)
~ The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live. (George Carlin)

and so we waited. We listened and waited.

The door slammed when he came in. It was slamming more and more this school semester (S: American (p.864), Term (T:UK and Republic of Ireland) (page 436)) at this time. Sometimes late, sometimes much later. We listened when he lost his shoe (See F, footwear, page 723) to the bullies (B, page 867). We heard the questions about his uniform (U, page 516) being torn, his belongings stolen. We heard the accusations and denials, the scepticism at his explanations, the emotion in his voice as he endeavoured to explain. His quietness his handicap, his shyness her excuse.

There's something wrong with you, she told him. You're not right.

After coffee (me, page 682) with neighbours sometimes she would ask jokingly if she could give him back. His sister wasn't this much trouble. It seemed she owned him and he owed her. She didn't seem satisfied with her purchase, comparing him to other versions, to previous expectations, to those she saw, with better veneer, presentation and style. There was something wrong with him. Though inanimate we somehow drew tighter listening, afraid the same accusation would be levelled at us. What if we became obsolete, weren't wanted, didn't fulfill the criteria? What if there was to be no place for us?

He who had bought us would try reason with her sometimes. He's young, He would say. It's that age. It's hard for him. He'll grow out of it. He'll be grand. He would come and look at us sometimes, removing the cover, running his hand along the spines, pride in his decision emanating from him. Not long now, he'd whisper. She threatened to burn us, to sell us, to convince him he wasn't worth it, he'd have no use, no interest, no respect. He'd ruin it us like he ruined everything. Sure wasn't everything he had broke or thrown out or given away or wrote on? What did he have to show for it? Sure it was no wonder he didn't have friends, look at the state of his room, the state of his hair. Who knew what he got up to. He doesn't think we can see.

People, she told him, are talking about us. Because of him.

We would hear from the Television (T, page 314) about the other toys, the possible alternatives. Something called the Atari (not in me said A, mustn't exist), the Action Men, the Transformers, the Meccano (M, page 243) the Casio keyboard, the Castle Grayskull. From time to time He would suggest one of them. She said no. The boy never asked, though enthused with friends about the commodore, the Ghostbusters, the board game called Operation. The girl in the house wanted Barbie and My Little Pony and Baby New Born and Pound Puppies and a surprise. We knew she was younger. We could tell.

The door slammed. The boy came in, hanging up his coat, kicking off his shoes, turning for the stairs. So come on, tell me then. Why haven't you asked for stuff from Santa? she said, not greeting him. Is it cos you know you don't deserve it?

We couldn't hear his response. Mumbling again she said, Just speak. Why can't you speak? What's wrong with you?

I know there's no Santa he said louder. I know it's you and dad. I don't need anything.

What did you say? she screamed at him. You little bastard. You ungrateful brat. Coming in here with your lies. You think you're so clever. So smart. One up on your parents. Don't ever forget where you're from. What we did for you. Don't you dare say anything to your sister. You'll ruin it on her like you ruin everything else. I see what you're doing. Get out. Get out of this house.

He left without food, without his jacket. We heard. He almost rang. She lifted the telephone (T, page 344). Dialled the number, we heard the dial turning. She spoke to Eileen, the woman down the road. She spoke to Carol, to Laura. Telling him of his cheek, his screaming, his slamming of doors, his swearing, his running when she tried to console him. When He came home she told him that he'd come in shouting, threatening to tell the young one, going to cause a fight if he didn't get what he wanted. We won't be blackmailed by him she said. We won't be held to ransom. Don't you be blind to what he's up to.

He went out.

Several hours later - we counted the ticks from the wall clock - he came back with him. Quietly entering, he sounded weary, sounded sad. Sounded disappointed. Look, I'm not saying you're a liar, I'm just saying you must have said something to get her so worked up with you. No, I don't know, you'll have to think about it. Just calm down a bit. Try and be good. Say nothing to your sister. Just try, will you? Here, give me a hug and go to bed. The boy's footsteps up the stairs bore no youthful bounding or happy creeping sound. Just a dull thud as he threw one foot on the other, the noise of his walk across his bedroom floor, the sigh at collapse on the bed. We maintained our objectivity, our independent perspective. We recognised his despair. (D, referenced as definition, page 232).

They didn't speak for a while.

Time moved closer to Christmas. Songs on the radio. Late Late Toy Show ("I'd give it a five out of ten, Gay, because the doors fell off"), new Star Wars film on the TV. The door to where we sat opened more frequently for coats, wrapping paper, decorations, hiding. The young one was excited. She was ready for Christmas, for presents. She was brought to see Santa. She was bought new clothes for Christmas. She was in a school play. She got to write a list. You're a great girl her mother said, you can have whatever you want. Her father asked her not to be greedy, to think of others. She ran like a whirlwind (see T, tornado, page 965). The boy watched what he had never had. He wrapped her presents without complaint. He had not asked for anything. He wouldn't get it.

'Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Except the boy. She had wanted to go out. Wasn't it enough they got their presents she said? Don't we deserve to go out? Does it always have to be about them? You never bring me anywhere. You don't care. You're so boring. She got her way. Look after your sister, son, He said. We'll try be back early.

What about the stuff, da. the boy said quietly, not wanting his mother to hear.

What stuff, son? He said.

You know, the Santa stuff? The milk and carrots and the letter?

Ah we don't need that, do we? He said, almost running out the door as She started beeping the car horn. We'll do it later.

Footsteps into the kitchen. Footsteps out. Footsteps in. Brush and hoover heard. Christmas tree plugged in for the first time - Leave it off so we won't have a bigger bill than the one you put on us, she had told him, tinny music playing as they flashed. Light off. Footsteps up stairs. Soft knocking. "But I can't. Mammy said go to bed. Santy won't come if I go down. He'll think I'm being bold!" came the young voice. "Just come down for a minute. It'll only take a minute." he pleaded. Running downstairs. Now, see, he said. Milk and biscuits for Santa. Carrots for the reindeer. The fireplace is clean. Everything's good. You go up to bed and when you wake you'll have loads of presents.

Ah that's great, isn't it? she said. Mammy and Daddy are really great to do this. They said they would.

She ran up the stairs as if her young life depended on it.

He turned off lights, closed the door, went to his room. Radio on low, Band Aid's second single. He sat on the bed. We could hear the creak.

Hours later parents returned. She pushed her way past him at the door, telling him he shouldn't have been worried about coming home, sure it was only a day. She went into the front room. What's this shite? she said, Did he put this mess here? Did he? Is he trying to be better than us? To tell her I didn't do it? To turn her against me? The words stumbled out, blurred by alcohol (A, page 344), while he, placating her, hoping she wouldn't wake the children said No, no. I did it before we went out. It wasn't him. I'll get the presents out of the press. You go to bed.

You better not have got anything for him. d'ye hear me? He doesn't deserve it.

I didn't. Now you go on.

Front door opened again. He returned from the car with packages. He opened the door to where we were and removed more packages from behind big boxes and under old coats. We felt him lift us, but put us down again, removing something from behind us. All this for one girl he said almost under his breath. All under one tree.

Light footsteps down the stairs.

Are you okay da?

I'm grand son, what are you doing up?

I waited for you to come back. I wanted to see if you needed a hand with Emer's presents. Do you want me to do them?

No, you're grand, son. I have them all done. Look, they're under the tree. She'll be delighted that Santa came. Thanks again for wrapping them.

No problem, dad. I hope tomorrow will be a good day. I hope Emer enjoys it.

You're a good boy, you know that?

Footsteps up the stairs.

You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout I'm telling you why. Santa Claus is coming to town.
(J. Fred Coots, 1934)

She bounded out of bed. Out of her room. Into the boy's room. Come on, let's see what we've gotten, Come on, come on. Footsteps down the stairs. What do you think you got she asked. Do you think I got roller skates? What did you get? Did you get anything? Did you get nothing because you're bold? I don't think you're bold but mammy says you are.

Words rushed from her mouth as they crept downstairs. Experience had taught them that too much noise this early wasn't tolerated. Sitting room door opened. She screamed and ran for the tree. Footsteps down the stairs.

Look what I got, look what I got! She exclaimed, the sound of ripping paper making some of our lesser used volumes nervous. Father and son reunited in the doorway, watching.

Oh look! she said. Oh look! she said again. Look at it. I'm going to show mammy.

Tiny footsteps up the stairs again.

Well that's it, the boy, said quietly.

Well, what about the box? his father said

What box? That big cardboard one? Isn't that the box from her toys? Sure She told me I'm not getting anything.

Well why don't you look and see?

We could imagine him peering at the box, looking at where we'd been carried to the night before, looking at where his father had scribbled his name hurriedly in the dark.

Is this mine? What is it? his youthful excitement apparent in his breaking voice.

Open it up.

Light. More light than we'd seen since we were taken from the salesman's car that day. Light and a room and a boy. Looking. Not believing. Not daring to touch. Not wanting to believe.

Oh wow. Are these mine? Really? All for me? he asked. Really, all mine?

I was the first book he opened. I was the first one he saw. I was the third encyclopaedia but the one that could show him Canada and Caterpillars and Caius Claudius Nero and China and the Caddis fly and Cadmium and Cairo and Caesar and CS Lewis and, of course, Christmas. Just like his dad just had.

~ The only real blind person at Christmas-time is he who has not Christmas in his heart. (Helen Keller)

~ They err who thinks Santa Claus comes down through the chimney; he really enters through the heart. (Mrs. Paul M. Ell)

~ Remember, if Christmas isn't found in your heart, you won't find it under a tree. (Charlotte Carpenter)

~ Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more."
(Dr. Seuss (1904-), American author of children's books. From 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas')

Happy Christmas.


T, page 342. : Teddy Bear: an enduring, traditional form of a stuffed animal, often serving the purpose of comforting children. Name originating in 1902. In recent times, some teddy bears have become expensive collector's items.

The Blogosfear

Intro | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8.



"It was a dark and stormy night.

The wind howled through stark leafless trees as cold, fat raindrops hurled themselves against the window pane. I stood shivering as around me the old house creaked in the storm. Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the old farmhouse while the lights of passing cars threw strange shadows on a wall where no shadows should be. All of a sudden

- "No, Darragh. Just, no."

- "Sorry, honey?"

-" You shouldn't be reading that sort of thing to him. You know it might give him a bad dream. Besides, it's awful writing. It's typical, contrite and forced narrative with no creativity, hyperbolic overtones and with the worst opening line ever. "It was a dark and stormy night?" Please!"

Daddy turns to me and says "Sorry buddy, but maybe she's right. Besides, it won't be long 'till we're there."

I didn't mind. I was happy with Wupet in the back seat looking out at the road. I'd been playing i spy with him and so far we'd spotted 8 red caws, 3 scarecwows, 2 black baa lambs and loads of moo cows. If I can see just one amblense I'll win and Wupet will be a big silly billy poo face again. He never wins, but he is a bayo with only one eye so that might have something to do with it.

I smile at Daddy who is still looking at me. I like being in the car with Daddy and Mammy. We are taking a trip to a hotel, Daddy says, so we can have some fambley time. He's been working really hard on his pooter and I only see him when he reads me my bedtime story. Mammy got him this weekend as a present even though it's not his birthday or chrissmas. I like presents and mammy says if I'm good, she'll get me and Wupet a new toy soon.

- "I'm okay Daddy. Awe we nealy day yet?"

I'm tired now. We've been driving forever.

- "Nearly, honey" says Mammy in the front. "And what have I told you about pronouncing your r's?"

- "Ah leave him" says Daddy, "He's tired and he's been very good".

He winks at me and turns back to the puter on his knees. I look out the window again. It's getting night.

Mammy showed me pictures of the hotel we're going to on the pooter. It looks nice, but there's no pool. I like to swim. I don't wear my arm wings any more cept in the sea but this isn't at the sea, it's in the country and it's near mountains so mammy said we might go for a big walk except we can't tell daddy, it's his surprise.

it's raining outside. I'm tired. I go sleepy now.

- "C'mon son, we're here. Wherever here is..."

Daddy sounds surprised. "Supwise Daddy!" I say as I wake up. "Do you like it?"

He doesn't say anything but when I see where we are, I know why not.

- "Mammy is wong" I say, "This isn't your supwise!" I don't like it here.

"Oh I'm sure it will be fine, d", daddy says, calling me my favourite nick name cos it's like uncle darr calls daddy. He lifts me out of the car and I look at a place that doesn't look like the photos on the pooter at all at all. It scary and it looks worse in the nighttime. I put my head into Daddy's shoulder and close my eyes as we follow Mammy into the place. She's at a desk talking with a strange man.

"I'm sorry Missus" he says "But I don't know about no photos on any auld inter neh now. I just got your name here from the telephone. You'd have to speak to the boss about that. We only look after the place, meself and me wife and me childer. The boss is the wan you need to see."

She turns to Daddy with a sad look on her face.

"I'm sorry honey" she says "I can't believe this is where we ended up after all that driving. What do we do?"

Daddy let me down on the floor and I looked around. It was dark in this hall. I could hear people in the place. Someone was singing but they weren't very good - even worser than daddy. There was a noise like an evelator. The carpet looked like playdoh burgers. Mammy told Daddy his surprise, that we were meeting Daddy's friends here tomorrow and we could go after that. Daddy gave mammy a hug and turned to the man behind the desk who was using his pencil to pick his nose. He was gross. A big snot face. I don't like him.

Daddy got the key and we walked to the evelator. I don't like evelators - they make funny noises. I was carrying my own bag because I'm a big boy now. It's a special bag. It's got the boy from uncle David's book on it.

We're waiting for the evelator when all of a sudden I hear a sound.

Wap wap wap wap wap

It's so loud! It gave me a big fwight. I turn around looking for it. What's making that noise? Is it the evelator?

WAP wap wap wap WAP

"What's wrong, Darr?", mammy says, "are you okay?"

I want to cwy but I won't. I got a fwight fwom the scawy evelator noise I say.

"What noise?" she asks. "The singing?"

"No" I say, "the big wap noise!"

"The what, honey?" she says. Daddy turns and says the evelator's not working so we walk all the way up the stairs to our rooms on the very top floor. I look at the number on the door. It's like granny's house - 33.

We go in. Mammy uses her phone light to find the switch. The room is smelly. It smells like a nappy but I don't wear a nappy or pull ups any more because I'm a big boy now. There's 5 beds in the room and they all look stinky. I don't like it here. There's no toys like in the other place we were in. There's one light with no cover and a big lamp and a rope in the ceiling that daddy said must be to the attic.

"No TV, no minibar, no towels. Lucky we bought our own toilet trees" says mammy. I'm tired and she puts my blanket down on the bed and pulls out my sleeping bag and I get Wupet and I go sleepy again. Since I got out of the hopsadiddle I have been very tired but I'm getting better the doctor says. I got a medal from the nurse for running the fastest.

WAP WAP wap wap wap

I wake up suddenly. That noise was in bed with me! I look around but it's sooo dark and I can only hear nothing and mammy and daddy aren't there!

"Daddy?" I say. He wakes up and comes over. "What's wrong Darr?", he says. The noise woke me up! I say. The big WAP noise.

"I didn't hear any noise, son" he says. "You must have had a bad dream."

"No daddy, I head it when we got here. It sounds like wap wap wap."

He smiles at me. He thinks I'm being funny. He puts his hand on my head where the hair is starting to grow back. I need to go wee wee. I tell him.

He says there's no light in the bathwoom so we have to go to the one outside the door. Daddy is with me so I don't mind. We leave the woom quietly so we don't wake mammy and we go into the hallway. We go down to the steps and

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

I jump up and now I don't need to go wee wee in the bathwoom any more. I start to cwy even though only babies do that and I'm not a baby.

When daddy asks what's wrong I tell him about the big WAP noise again. But he says he didn't hear it. He brings me back to 33 and he has to switch on the light in the woom and mammy wakes up and asks what's wong and I have to get baby wipes all over and then new peejay bottoms and they ask me about the WAP noise and they say it must be my medsin but it's NOT my medsin I can hear it!

They put me back in my bed. I ask Wupet if he hears noise but Wupet says he was asleep. Silly billy bayo.

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

I scream. "I don't like the wap noise. Make it go away. Make it go away. I don't want it any more!"

Mammy and Daddy both come over. They give me big hugs and tell me there's no sound but I hear it and they bring me back to their bed and I can't go asleep because my eyes are putting water out and they wonder if they should give me medsin and mammy says but Darr he's been okay for such a long time maybe we should wait until morning and we'll ring the doctor and daddy says okay. I lie down in the middle and they go sleepy too.

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP
WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

I run and turn on the light. "Did you hee wit?" I shout at them even though I know shouting is bold and only for babies "Did you hee wit now?"

The big ugly tefelone in the room rings. Daddy answers it and talks to the person shouting. "Yes, no, just a bad dream. Yes we'll try. Sorry."

"You'll have to come back to bed, Darragh" he says. "That was the front desk. They've had some complaints about your shouting."

I start to cwy just as the WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP noise starts again. I run to the bed and I pull the covers over my head and I don't mind seeing that mammy and daddy forgot their peejays I just do not want to hear the noise again.

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

I hold on to my daddy so so tightly. He asks me if I keep hearing the noise. I say yes and he and mammy talk and

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

they want to give me medsin and I say no and I say to daddy he should ring the snot man at the desk and he should ask about the wapping noise and daddy looks at mammy and he picks up the tefelone and he rings the desk and I hear the man talking and he says he doesn't know what the sound is but he'll send someone up and Daddy hangs up and tells me and

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

right in the room, right in the bed and now I see that Daddy and Mammy can hear it too.

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

"What the feck is that?" says mammy sounding scared. She used the bad word. The eff word.

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

it's the loudest ever and Mammy and Daddy and me have to put their hands over their ears because it's even louder than fireworks and I don't like fireworks noise and

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

Daddy picks up the tefelone and says now he can hear it too and the man says that he doesn't know but he'll send up his wife and she'll be there once she wakes up and Daddy puts the phone down and

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

Mammy has put all the lights on now and is using the torch on her mobile and she's now wearing daddy's jeans and he's wearing his trackie bottoms and I'm scawed and they are looking and they go to the door

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

and into the hall and say they can only hear the noise in our room so they come back in and

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

they open the wardrobes and look under the bed and they can't see anything!

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

I'm holding Daddy's hand and I say that the noise is coming from the roof and he looks and he says that I'm right and I'm a good boy and

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP
WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

he and mammy talk and they decide they'll have to go up and they get the chair and they put it on the ground and daddy reaches up for the rope and pulls but the door only opens a little and

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

comes the noise from the attic and Daddy and mammy try to pull the door open but it's stuck and the noise is definitely coming from there and mammy says maybe we should wait for the lady but daddy says the man probley hasn't told her and that we'd leave soon but we needed to show me there was nothing to be scared of even though I can see that mammy is very scared now but they couldn't get in the attic and

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

I decide that I'm bwave and I say to them "I'll go into there and see" and mammy says no but every time we hear

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

I can see she wants to cwy and mammy did a lot of that in the hopsital and I don't like seeing it so I say to daddy "Daddy I'll go. I can fit, like under my bed at home. It will be my adventure. I'll go and I'll see" and daddy says "But we don't know what's up there" and I tell him I'm a big boy and I'm not afwaid and I'll go up and I'll bring mammy's phone for a light and he hugs me very close and he says he's pwoud of me for being such a fighter just like in the hopsital and mammy hugs me too and starts to cwy again. She has very leaky eyes.

WAP! WAP! WAP! WAP! WAP!

and she gives me her phone and she turns on the light and daddy puts my cool runners on my feet and he lifts me up and I climb onto the door and I bend weally low like under my bed at home when I'm playing hide and seek with Wupet and I put the phone in my jammies pocket and I go up into the attic which is much bigger and more dark than the one at home but I go for my mammy and my daddy.

WAP!! WAP!! WAP!!

There's not very much light in the attic. I can only see boxes and shapes. I think I hear mice but I'm not scared of mice cos they are of me and daddy is a little girl, he's scared of mice like a girl. I think I see a pooter but that's silly because why would a pooter be in the attic?

There's a window like a circle and I can see the light outside and it's over in the corner and I go forward with the phone like a jedi knight like luke skywalk and I use the force and I walk a bit in and then I see a big wardrobe in the corner like the ones in the books about Nawneea that daddy reads to me but don't tell mammy cos they're too big and I walk towards it and it's huge with two big doors and lots of marks on the front and one door is open slightly and it might be a Monsters Inc door into here and I might get to meet Sully and Mike Wowchowski and I walk forward and the light on the phone switches off!

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP
WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

It's definitely coming from the wardrobe and there's enough light in the window without the phone and I hear daddy asking me if I'm okay and I say yes it's coming from the wardrobe and he says don't open the wardrobe and I say

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP
WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP
WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

that I have to stop the noise and I walk forward though I'm scared and I'm glad I went wee wee earlier because I want to now. The door is moving but I can't feel any wind.

WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP

The handle looks like a big ugly anmal face but I know mammy is crying cos I can hear her and I want to be a big boy and I make myself step up to the door and I put out my hand and suddenly there's a lot more light from another place and a new woman comes through another door into the attic holding a torch and she sees me and she's big and has grey hair and is wearing a big dressing gown with a fox on it and I think the fox is real and she smiles a smile at me and says

"Well hello day young man. Who awe you and what awe you doing hee?" and she sounds like me cos she can't pwonounce r's either and I tell her and she says "Oh don't be skade by that" and she brings me to the big press and she takes out a key and she holds my hand and I'm a little scared but she has the light.

Mammy is calling at me and I say "I'm with the woman" and she says WHAT WOMAN? and she tries to open the door and bangs on it and shouts and tells me to run away and Daddy tells me to come back to where he is and I don't because I'll find out what the WAP WAP noise is and mammy will stop being scared and the woman turns the key and I can hear mammy crying and calling my name again and again and the big door swings open with a loud creak and a big

WAP WAP WAP WAP
WAP WAP WAP
WAP WAP
WAP

and then inside there only things that must be making the noise and she takes them out and she goes over to the door to where mammy and daddy are banging and she turns a handle to make the stairs go all the way down and I go down first to a big hug from mammy and the lady goes down after and says to daddy

"I am the woman of this house and I'm sowwy for you twubble this night. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. But you have a vewy bwave little boy. I'd look after him if I weh you."

And daddy says but what was the noise as she opens the door to the hallway

And I let go of my mammy and I walk over to my daddy and I tell him I want to tell him and he bends over and scoops me up and gives me a big huge hug and I whisper right into his ear

"It was big woles of wapping paper."

and the woman steps out of the woom holding them and closes the door behind her.

Another Saturday...

Story links: Intro | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 7

Walking down this road I wonder once again how I could be silly enough to forget to charge my iPod the night before. It goes everywhere with me, certain songs like old friends, certain lyrics companions and evocations of memories I’ve been using to shield myself from the world. I’m consoled by the knowledge I’ll be there soon, that I’ll see her, that we can spend some real time together. The way I’ve been feeling recently healthwise is difficult to explain to anyone – part of me is afraid it’s all in my own head, that there’s nothing wrong with me.

It was partly this that caused the distance between us, both physical and emotional. She wanted to help. I didn’t know how she could so I didn't let her try. I was surprised she put up with me, for all my words of emotion, of connection, of being intrigued and enthralled. I was delighted to get a reply from her when she came back from her holidays that seemed to indicate she was excited about seeing me. That’s what tonight would be about. I hoped we’d be able to spend some quality time. I’d missed doing that.

I’ve always liked walking around different parts of Dublin, especially places I rarely get to. Thomas Street, the Liberties, The Coombe, Kilmainham, on towards Inchicore, Rialto or Crumlin have always been places of fascination – a glimpse of old Dublin overlaid with the multicultural city I’ve chosen to make my home.

I always tend to compare it with London, a city I’d move to in a heartbeat given the right circumstances. Even streets like this one, old style houses a stone's throw away from the hustle and bustle, the cafés, the Luas line and the madness hold their own charm, despite it being just an ordinary council estate, a short-cut to her house.

In the absence of music I listen to the sounds of the streets, the traffic, the TVs blaring, the conversations over fences. Here’s a part of Dublin that hasn’t lost all its focus on people – mothers chatting to the neighbours, old folk having a natter on the corner and children playing on the road. It reminds me of home and contrasts sharply with the anonymous neighbourhood I now live in.

Someone is calling up a stairs in the house I pass. “Are you okay up there?” a voice enquires, followed a few seconds later by a faint “Yeah, I'm fine”. My own mother’s yell up our stairs would have pierced soundproof lead-lined bunkers. No matter how loud I had music on, no matter how deeply asleep or engrossed in a book I’d be or how far into the computer game; when that woman wanted my attention, she knew how to get it. Before I appreciated the lifestyle she led, almost housebound due to mobility and illness issues, alienated from friends and neighbours due to small town politics, backbiting and bitchiness, I resented these intrusions. I was in my room, my control centre, my haven. Why bother me for something as mundane as going to the shop for milk? I was saving the world up here – or at least saving Roland On The Ropes.

The older I got though, the more I realised her reliance on me was a mark of respect, of trust and I became happy to help, no matter how captivating the book or high the level. I realised I missed her. I always do in the evenings. I smiled, looking up at the house that had prompted the good feeling inside me, wondering if, behind the net curtains was someone as happy as I was right then.

The sun had started its decline behind the trees of the Phoenix Park in the distance. I checked my watch, quickening my pace. I didn’t want to be late this time. I’d brought a bottle of wine in my bag, spending ages choosing a nice label, one that showed I’d put a bit of effort in. I’d decided not to do the whole shirt and trousers thing either – based on her feedback I was in jeans and the innocent t-shirt she liked. It felt peculiar – I’m not very fashion conscious but I do like my appearance to convey a certain image or representation of me. Even on the days I don’t work, I’m happier with a shirt on. I'm rarely aware of what’s cool, hip or trendy so I just dress in what I know, rather than what apparently suits me. My shopping habits continued to be variations of the same style except for the rare occasion someone would come with me. Gifts of clothes were always appreciated, though I’d look at some of the things Aoife would pick out and say “Really, you’re serious?” She always was and they tended to always suit. I’m never in the mood for clothes shopping – in and out of Penneys with shirt, trousers, socks, boxers, top. Sorted, and usually under 60 euro. Me mammy would be proud. Herself less so, though she’d never said it outright. I liked that about her.

I liked a lot about her to be honest. I’d missed her while she was away. I didn’t think I would – I never gave her a proper, concrete impression. Wrapped up in worries about illness, afraid of committal, engrossed in others more than her or myself, I’d managed to give her an idea that I didn’t like her, that I didn’t want to spend time with her, that she didn’t matter to me, when, in fact, she mattered so much that it was scary. I thought by not moving in any discernible direction I was doing the best thing for all concerned, when I was only making things worse and solving nothing.

No matter what else I knew that my friends would want to see me happy. I was delighted by how easily she was accepted into the circle, how much they liked her and were happy for me. We looked good together. Fine, there were issues, but sure aren’t there always? Nothing I wasn’t prepared to overlook, to overcome, to work through. I liked her, she liked me. I wanted to keep it that simple.

It really was hometime now. Cars were pulling into driveways, porch lights being switched on in anticipation, the Centra on the corner full of people grabbing the Herald, the milk, the cigarettes or pizza for the evening. I wondered what she’d cook. She’d been flirting with the idea of veganism, her commitment to the environment and to conservation becoming a bigger part of her life. I had a hankering for pasta and pesto, as long as it wasn’t the red stuff. There are certain things that even the best vegetable mix can’t mask and that for me is one of them. The taste rose in my throat. I fished for and found the mint tic-tacs I’d stocked up on in Lidl last week. Feck it, if nothing else at least my breath would be okay.

The last few yards found me slowing down. I was early enough to be considerate. I stood in on the pavement, allowing people to pass. Children ran around with bonfire materials, cyclists whizzed by, car radios could be heard through windows. Catching an echo of U2’s 'One' caused a smile. I gave myself the once over, checking the clothes were okay, wiping the shoes in the grass, tossing the hair a little, swallowing a couple more tic-tacs.

It had been ages. We’d arranged this meeting by text and SMS is always a tricky medium to judge. Meanings can be lost, messages misjudged, motives questioned unnecessarily. Was it too late for me to tell her I wanted her in my life and not just as a friend? Was that what she wanted to hear? Had time, distance and new surroundings changed her outlook, given her new priorities and ideas? Had she met someone else? As I walked up the steps to her front door, I resolved to accept whatever she’d say, but to hug her when I saw her tightly, as if that would make her know how I felt and say what my words probably wouldn’t convey.

I rang the doorbell. Someone came down the hallway.