Daddy would be working Saturday. Would I be on for helping entertain the two boys? We could take them to the forest park. Or if the weather is bad, just drive around and stop for lunch somewhere. Maybe we’d have lunch in that place we’d visited a couple of months ago - The Geraldine. Anywhere really, just to get them out of the house.

No problem, Kathy, says I. We’ll think of something to get them out. Little boys are like farts: better out than in, eh.

Lovely image, Primal. Thanks. I’ll never be able to look at my sons the same way again.

Saturday morning the weather didn’t look promising. Wind and rain and more forecast. The boys nodded off as soon as we set out. Kathy breathed a sigh of relief. The peace was welcome. Seán had passed the morning jumping off chairs declaring himself to be Capin Jack Sarrragh - a brave and fearless pirate, but one likely to crack his head against a windowsill. It can be difficult reason with brave and fearless pirate captains when they have just turned three. His brother, king Oisín, had banged the tray of his throne (high-chair) bellowing aawaaahh sna sna sna wheeyh which roughly translates as damn it, woman! Feed me now! Tír na nÓg can be a terrifying place.

But now they slept. Their oh- and ah-inducing angelic faces belying the demonic ones of just 20 minutes ago. When we got to The Geraldine they were still sleeping like teenagers so there was no point stopping. We’d go as far as the forest park anyway and see if the newly acquired annual pass, a smartcard, was working. It was and we drove in and pulled up in the car park.

Kathy had an idea. Look the sun’s coming out. You stay with the lads and I’ll go down to the café and get us a couple of toasted sambos and something for the pirate. I’ll ask them to warm the king’s bottle. All going well they’ll wake soon, we’ll feed them, then go for a walk. Now what would you like to drink with your toastie?

Not coffee anyway. Their coffee is shite. Do they do anything else

Yeah. They do soup. Don’t know what it’s like though.

Shur just ask them if it’s shite. If it’s not, then I’ll have some.

So I just say excuse me, is your soup shite? And if they say yes, I get something else? What if they lie and say it isn’t shite?

We’re in a forest with a pirate and a king. Anything could happen. This is the stuff of legend. Trust your instincts. Go now, and may the force go with you.

Kathy set out on her quest taking the force with her. And her wallet too - the force doesn’t work unless you have a few quid in your pocket. The sun was warm now. I let down the windows and lay back in the seat.

Just as I was nodding off there was a clap of thunder. Then another one. The skies opened and the hailstones hammered down on the roof of the car. The king woke up screaming and woke the pirate. The pirate leaned over, stroking his little brother’s cheek, explaining it’s only big noisy rain. Pirates have a tender side.

Pirates being used to the expanse of the high seas can also be a bit claustrophobic so I turned on the windscreen wipers so he could see out. A big mistake. He screamed in terror and set the king off crying again. Through the trees and coming straight toward us was a big black scary monster. Pirates know all about monsters and nothing I could say could calm him. We were going to be taken. Then we were going to be eaten. Monsters prefer takeaway it seems.

Kathy had been about to leave the café when the hail started. Seeing she had no coat the staff had cut holes for her eyes and mouth in a large back plastic refuse sack and pulled it down over her. All that was visible was her feet.

The force and/or wallet had worked wonders. There were toasted ham & cheese sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil. Big chunks of ham, not the photocopied stuff sandwich bars sell. One toastie cut into strips with a side order of crisps in a paper cup - pirates can be particular. A banana on a paper plate. A plastic fork to mash it and a spoon to eat it with. Kings like to dine in style. Two large beakers of hot homemade soup for the slaves.

We ate like kings … pirates and slaves. Actually, with four of us now in the front we ate more like octopuses. A sandwich in my hand had to take a carefully planned and calculated parabolic trajectory to get to my mouth. Even then it ran the risk having a bite taken out of it en route. Tell ye what, lads. When we win the lotto, we’ll treat ourselves to a picnic in a lunar lander or a one-man sub. Imagine the room we’ll have then!

There was a problem though: Kathy had forgotten a drink for the pirate. My turn to go to the café. If they don’t have rum, I’ll get Ribena. Okay? … There are no monsters, but if it’ll make you happy, I will be careful and not get taken. Reassured, he returned to the task of twisting every knob and pulling even lever on the dashboard.

Picnic in the carpark? With two small kids and the woman in the rubbish sack? Yes, I admitted to the woman behind the counter, how did you guess? You look stressed. Don’t suppose you’ve any rum?

When I got back the pirate was gone. A cowboy had taken his place. The pirate ship was now a space rocket. His royal highness was laid out on the passenger seat having the royal nappy changed. The hail came again and I was forced to squeeze into the back between two child seats. The cowboy needed to ride off into the sunset or somewhere equally important and I was chosen as his mount before I had time to say no, nay or neigh. The back of a Fiesta is small at the best of times but in a space rocket with two child seats, a cowboy and a horse there isn’t room to change your mind.

I needed a pint after that. Thought you’d be in earlier for the racing, Primal? Couldn’t. Busy. Working on the house? No. I accidentally went on an Irish picnic in a space rocket in a forest with a monster, a pirate, a cowboy, a horse and a king. Right so. Wasn’t great weather for that kind of thing. No. But the sandwiches were lovely.

That day I didn’t wake on time that day and missed my lift. The first time ever. I was angry with myself. I would have to take the first bus but would be two hours late for work. Two hours late on one of the busiest days of the year. That day the bus came early. The first time ever. I had missed it. We all had. I would be even later.

A couple at the stop decided to take their car. The first time ever. I could travel with them. Half way into the journey the woman remembered something she had left behind and we turned back. Setting out again I seen mo mháthairín walk up toward the church. I waved and smiled. She waved and smiled back. She stood looking after the car. I guessed she was wondering why I was going to work so late. I was never late. That wasn’t the way she reared me.

The receptionist had a message for me. Call home. Urgently.

I sought out a workmate. I needed to tell someone. I needed company. My hands shook uncontrollably. She lit a cigarette for me. I couldn’t hold it. My head spun. My knees were weak. Memories came flooding. Tears too.

Crazy thoughts. Had some force had contrived to delay me that day? Delay me long enough to wave a last goodbye? Her god, perhaps? Not mine. I didn’t have one. But she did. One she believed in and trusted in with all her heart. That I couldn’t believe was something she accepted. That was the woman she was. Open-minded and wise. Uncommon for one of her era. Accepting of everyone. Black, white, Muslim or Jew - we’re all the same, a mhic. We’re just people, just people, a mhic was her mantra.

That day I thought of how the little people were drawn to her unquestioning love. They sensed it before the big people did. Our house was never empty. Always full of children. They concocted the flimsiest of excuses to be there. Never a harsh word. The boldest child would sit quietly, staring adoringly as she told some tale of times past. She’d drop a hint. Never give an order. The children would comply. They would open up and share their troubles and fears. Ones they couldn’t tell their own parents. She’d have advice and consolation for them. As teenagers they would come to her with their broken hearts and she’d fix them as best she could. She was never Mrs to them. Children instinctively used her first name. She was a friend not an adult. And remained one.

As young couples they would come to her with their problems. Even physical ones. Ones that couldn’t be spoken aloud in the Ireland of the 60s and 70s. Their secrets would be safe with her. They brought their babies to be minded. They would be safe with her. Later these children would come to her themselves and the cycle would begin again.

She couldn’t read or write but that didn’t matter. No one though less of her for that. She was wise is so many other ways. Wise beyond her years.

That day when I got to her house it was empty. Full of people, but empty. Silent touches. Hugs. Sobs. Sobs over the phone. Only the dog made noise. Whining, fretting, knowing something was wrong. She was missing. Wasn’t coming back. Animals had always sensed something about her. Stray dogs followed her. Wicked ones lay down at her feet. The ones that bit others licked her face. She had no fear of them. Nor they of her.

That day I recalled when I was six and a young horse shied and threw the rider. It reared and bucked and the other riders couldn’t get near it. I yelled in terror. Frozen to the spot. Afraid it would clear the hedge into the yard and trample me. She calmly walked onto the road and stood in front of it. Waited until the rein dropped into reach and caught it. She wouldn’t have the strength to hold it. The riders pleaded with her to back away. She didn’t need strength. It calmed down as she mumbled to it. Stood with its head bowed and nuzzled her as she admonished it for being bauld and warning it not to do that again. She was protecting me and the rider injured on the ground. She stayed. Soothing it when the ambulance arrived. Siren blaring. Lights flashing. Stroking its neck. The horse remained placid in her hands. Good boy. Good boy. There’s the fella. Easy now. Good boy.

Everyone knew her. When asked, I always identified myself as her son not my father’s. It was easier. Rich and poor knew her and were treated equally. The wealthy neighbour would sit drinking tea in her kitchen with the unemployed labourer. The stable hand with the government minister. They would never been seen together in a pub or even in the church. But there was none of that auld shite in her kitchen - the door is always open; the kettle’s always on; take me as ye find me; lump it or leave it; no airs and graces around here.

That day I tried in vain to count all the times she’d been unwell. How she’d prepared me for the worst before her heart operations. Stern warnings to be brave. Just in case. But not to worry. Her god would take care of everything. Then laughing, ah shur they’re just putting in a new spring is all. That’ll keep it ticking for years and years.

That day I pictured the two of us. On the way home from a hospital again. An eye operation to remove an abscess. An operation that didn’t work. Now one eye less. Did the false one hurt? Feel funny? Could she see well enough? A fit of giggles. Your father will be right for once - Like he always says, I do only be half watchin’ the telly.

That day I was taken back to cold dreary Januarys. She’d take me to the travel agent’s after shopping. We’d gather brochures. Hers were always sunny beaches. Spain. Mine more exotic. Places we could never afford. We never had a holiday. But we’d make plans. Pick destinations. Pick rooms. Study flight times. Tried guessing the weight our suitcases would be. Suitcases we didn’t have. Couldn’t afford even if needed. They were dreams that kept us busy on dark evenings. Someday, a stór, we’ll have money and we’ll go. We knew we never would. But dreaming was good. Sharing the dreams, better.

That day I remembered us going to watch the marching bands on Bodenstown Sunday in the 70s. Mainly bands from the North. The players would rest between tunes. But the drummers kept up a marching beat. Drums so loud I’d cover my ears. Then the leader would toss the baton high in the air and they’d begin again. And (young) Rody MacCorley goes to die / On the Bridge of Toome today. The words meant little, but the music and the beat was uplifting. The colours. We cheered and waved at the kilted pipers. As we always did. A shot was fired! Women screamed. Men ran. Scuffles. Someone fell. Was he shot? A car was overturned. Set alight. A Dhia, I didn’t think they’d bring it down here she cried. Why? Shur we’re all the same. Why don’t they know that? I was slapped against the bridge wall. My cheek bloodied by the stonework. Covered by her coat. Covered by her. Smothered. Pressed to her bosom. In case there was another shot. She’d take it. Not me.

That day I remembered other music. Music she loved. Ag Críost an síol, ag Críost an Fómhar, In iothlainn Dé go dtugtar sinn. She’d hum it. Never sing it. Songs of her god. Songs of other things too. My first smile that day was remembering how she was so taken with one then in the charts - Brim Full of Asha by Cornershop. Everybody Needs A Bosom For A Pillow / Everybody Needs A Bosom. I remembered how she’d protected me with hers and realised I’d none now. No emotional pillow. My smile turned to tears again.

That day I cursed her god. Why so cruel? There was some money now. She could go to Spain if she wanted. Not that she would. Her house had just been renovated. Comforts she’d never had before. Mod-cons to do the work. Not that she used them much. Just five short months to enjoy it. Then her god did that? And to one yet so young. With so much more to give.

That day was exactly ten years ago today. The memories of it are still vivid. The memories of the years before it have come flooding back. That’s all I have. Just memories. No real keepsakes. Possessions meant nothing to her. Things didn’t matter. Where’s the new electric kettle I got ya gone? Ah, so-and-so’s one broke, so I gave her a lend of it. Shur I’ll be grand with the auld one ’til she brings it back. She won’t, you know. ‘Tis only a kettle. She needs it more than I do. Ara, doesn’t matter, a leana. People mattered. Especially children. That day I arranged her funeral. In the house of her god, as she would have wanted. The one outside whose gates she had fallen and breathed her last mere seconds after I’d seen her. There would be children bringing the gifts. Children doing the readings. The prayers. Singing. So what if they cried at the pulpit and couldn’t read? So what if they let the offerings fall with the shaking? So what if they sang with hoarse voices? I would would be crying, shaking and hoarse too. Everyone who knew her would. I was. They were. Today, ten years later, I still am.

Mo mháthairín, cinnte. Ach ár mháthair freisin. For that she was to everyone who knew her.

Warning: Not for the weak of stomach

I was up to my eyeballs yesterday what with making a shopping list, reading blogs and generally avoiding work when the mobile rang. I grunted my displeasure and frowned at it, but being a cheap Huawei import it has difficulty understanding western social norms and kept ringing. I had to answer it. It was Kathy inviting me out to lunch. Well that was okay then. Very pleasant in fact. As we all know, doing lunch is a 100% legitimate excuse to avoid work. And of course she would have the wee man, Oisín, with her. At just 3½ months old he’s already becoming an individual in his own right with his likes and dislikes, big gummy smiles, eyes that follow everything that moves, little fisted hands that rub his eyes when tired. Mighty craic all together.

Now those of you who are mums or dads will know that the SAS, climbers on Everest and Arctic explorers have it easy - they have damn all supplies and equipment to carry compared to the parent of a baby. When picking a lunch venue you need one with space. Preferably big couches to rest the baby-carrier or to lay the child down on and room for bag(s) with nappies, wipes, creams, soothers, bottles, spare bibs, clothes, shovels, rakes and implements of destruction. The list is endless.

I was commended on my choice. It ticked all the boxes apparently. We chatted away over a lovely lunch all the while being checked on by the staff who were really making up excuses to ooh and aah at Oisín. It never ceases to amaze me how people, even the grumpiest of old men, turn into blubbering idiots in the presence of a baby.

Coffees arrived and an unrequested jug of hot water in case we needed to warm a bottle. Which we did. I was impressed with the service.

I fed himself while Kathy slipped to the loo. On her return she moaned that they were tiny with no room next the wash hand basins to comfortably, or safely, change a child and obviously no fold down contraption for the job. Then inspiration hit her - a quick check and his nappy was just damp. I’ll slip a new one on discretely where we are. That’s a runner, I figured. The crowd had all gone and we were in an alcove hidden from view.

Just as the fresh one was being slipped on there was an almighty explosion and the proverbial hit the fan. Well not totally true. It hit everything except the fan as there wasn’t one. But it would have if there was. Now I’ve had the hottest curries in my day and ended up with an arse like the Japanese flag, but never like this. Good f*ck! This happens once a day, explained Kathy. Like clockwork at 4 in the afternoon. It must have come early as he’s on extra feed since today.

Just then I noticed, well more sensed, one of the staff approaching. I jumped up on my hind legs and intercepted him. Ah, there ya are now, Derek. Ya have the bill with ya. Good man, I’ll get ya on the way back. Just have to nip to the mens. I hovered at the door for a minute or two then returned. Kathy gave me the Iarnród Éireann line - we’re not there yet, but we’re getting there.

Derek was making his way over again. With a cloth in his hand. I grabbed the coffee mugs, pulled a wipe from the baby bag, cleared down the table and made intercept number two. There ya go now, Derek. All done.

Ah thanks, Primal. There’s a job here for ya any day. Want to settle up now? I stalled and made like I couldn’t find the bill. He ran off a copy. I glanced at Kathy shaking her head vigorously. It looked like Oisín was sorted and she was working on the (luckily PVC) couch. Oh, I think this isn’t right. We didn’t have coffees did we? Derek looked at me sideways. But shur you just handed me the empties. Bad stall, Primal - 1 out of 10 - must work harder. I glanced at Kathy now sitting back looking flushed but smiling. Or trying to. Oh, yeah we did. Yer right. I paid and we left.

At the car she remembered her handbag. I went back in. Derek met with it at the door. It must be something in the air today, Primal. You forgot the coffees. Her ladyship forgot her bag. And I forgot to tell ya we have a new baby changing room down the hallway.

I got a call yesterday. One I was expecting really. An elderly relation had just passed away.

She reared a large family and I have always been close to them, but closer to one in particular. I let things settle for an hour after his brother had broken the news to me then phoned him.

- Howya. Ya all right? Larry called me with the news.

- I’m grand. Why? What news?

[Panic! What do I do now? What do I say? Two big size nines straight into my gob. Think quick, Primal]

- Hello! Hello! Can you hear me? … You’re cracking up on me. … This phone’s shite … If ya can hear me I’m going to move down the road … see can I get a signal … call you back … five minutes.

I hung up. Shaking. What happened there? I began to doubt myself. Did I get Larry’s message wrong? Was the woman still alive and just because I was expecting to get a particular phone call that’s what I heard?

No I couldn’t have gotten it wrong. Larry never rings me. Why else would he ring me now? No, I did hear right.

I was refusing to believe the glaringly obvious. In such a big family someone always gets left out. Larry probably assumed Máire rang Pat. Máire probably assumed Fran had.

But what was I to do now? Do I call Larry back? Do I call Pat and tell him he should phone home? I decided to let it go. No matter who I phoned it would spark a row. I just had to hope Pat would put two and two together. He did. And while he guessed the news, at least he didn’t officially hear it from me.

UPDATE: Sex: Male. Weight: 3.9kg. Name: Oisín. Rank: Brigadier General. Serial Number: 17082007KE

I’m in Kathy’s. They phoned me to come over at 4:00. And they were on the road to the baby-factory at 4:30. So the waiting is either over or just beginning depending on what way you look at it.

Either way, Kathy is smiling through it. She nearly cried when the specialist mentioned inducing the baby. She won’t have to go through that now. And there’s no worry about traffic. This time of the morning is what the estate agents go by when advertising property - Only 40 minutes from Dublin. Easy access to the M50. All true at 4:00 in the morning.

I’ll update you during the day when I get news. Well, there’ll be one update with sex, weight, name, rank and serial number. This is not a Twitter type thing.

The only part of the plan going awry is the mural project. Seán lost patience and started on his own last weekend. So the materials have been confiscated.

We’ll just have to think of something else.

No. Still no news. Not a stir despite Kathy trying to hurry things along by trying a variety of tricks from old wives tales. And some from new wives tales too, which are a heck of a lot more fun I’m told.

My being confined to barracks the long weekend and the one just gone hasn’t actually been a bad thing. It gave me a full five days to work uninterrupted on a couple of things.

The inspiration for my main project was when Annie wrote: If you’re still using Internet Explorer please do the world wide web a favour and download Firefox instead. It’s free and it will get you laid.

The folks at Mozilla will adopt this as their tag line as soon as they find out. It beats my one hands down: Internet Explorer is just a big girl’s browse.

I figured the time had come to rebrand my business website. I had already repositioned myself. Rebrand. Reposition. What consummate corporate crap.

By repositioning, I mean I moved the desk to the far side of the room - not ideal, but a little further from the noise of the builders. The real work was in rebranding. I redesigned my logo, developed a new CSS theme, recoded the site in PHP and added all new content.

The new logo happened by accident. The intention was to recreate the existing one but with a new tag line. A font selected by mistake looked ten times better than the old one. Not that I ever doubted Darwin, I am now sure he was right. In logo terms, this was survival of the slickest.

The theme evolved to suit the logo. It might sound like buying a house to suit your curtains, but it worked.

Recoding in PHP wasn’t as tricky as I thought. Switching from Perl was pretty painless. If only learning spoken languages could be as easy. I still prefer Perl, but some customers baulk at my using it - usually as they’ve read some magazine article in the waiting room of the STD clinic or wherever and it was about PHP not Perl.

Now the content. And this is where Annie really inspired me. Okay, her Firefox slogan may be funny, and if your read her post, made out of frustration. But it is so true that Firefox is better than IE. So is Opera. So is Safari. I could go on.

So I took a chance and used a tone of humorous honesty throughout. I included a page entitled Mad Stuff that lists some of the jobs I’ve been asked to do e.g. research a topic on the Internet for a time-starved journalist and mail them a 100 word summary.

This is a big gamble. Mad Stuff certainly does not have a professional ring to it, but I’m hoping it will attract clicks out of curiosity.

I’m taking an even bigger flyer with a short list of things I don’t do. Too many folks out there are still IT illiterate and will call the first company they find on Google and ask for someone to come fix their printer, even if it is a webdesign house they’ve contacted. Hopefully this too will pull clicks and clarify things without alienating business.

The new site will be going live mid-week. Wish me luck. If it works, then Annie, you are owed scoops. If it doesn’t, then I’ll hunt you down and stuff, or maybe just switch back to the old one.