I used to be a scrubber.

My very first job, as a teenager, was washing dishes in a hotel kitchen. It was not glamourous work. In fact you could describe it with whatever adjective is the opposite of glamourous. Fetid? Sordid? Some word like that. Working in a boiling kitchen, in the height of the summer, with low-paid, stressed out colleagues was character building. Continue reading Hotel memories →

After the gruelling toil of single-handedly making a Christmas dinner for eight people (three of whom are vegetarian), I felt like I deserved a break. Honey-glazing an uncooked ham, roasting a turkey, kneading a potato stuffing, boiling vegetables, making gravy, mashing spuds, creating pastry for mince pies can take it out of you. Continue reading Pitch Perfect: The 3 pubs of Limerick →

Every evening I arrive in town, after my trek from the wastelands. I alight at O’Connell Street – the nation’s main thoroughfare – which is suddenly looking lovely, after the removal of the tram works and the festive decorations bedazzling the street. When the weather is mild I will take a left on North Earl Street and wander down Talbot Street on my way home. The denizens of Talbot Street are an eclectic mix – from tourist, to shopper, to office worker, to street entrepreneur. The main trade done by the latter, is the buying, selling and consumption of illegal substances – blueys and yellows in the main. These fine ladies and gentleman of industry are not the focus of today’s blog however. That dubious honour goes to the beggar-woman of North Earl Street. Continue reading The beggar-woman of North Earl Street, and my dilemma →