Remembering the Regina

The foyer of the Regina Cinema (Photo by Tommy Deegan)

Column originally published in the Waterford News & Star June 2014

OF all the buildings in Waterford that are no longer in use, I think the one that I miss the most is the old cinema on Patrick Street. I saw a picture of the old Regina on Facebook last week and it dragged up a heap of memories that I thought had been buried forever. I then took it upon myself to do some digging of my own and crossed my fingers that an old proprietor of the cinema might want to share some memories and possibly images of the place with us. Unfortunately, he didn’t, so that was the end of that.  Nevertheless, I’m going to share some of my own personal memories of the place, and if you feel so compelled, you can do the same in the comments below.

Being from the Cork Road, my Regina experience would begin with a dash around Dunphy’s, filling my little plastic bag with as much junk as I could find. People coming from other directions might have chosen to buy their goodies from O’Brien’s shop on Stephen Street. Back in those days it wasn’t frowned upon to walk into a cinema with a plastic bag full of super-cans, 100 penny jellies, a He-Man bar and a packet of wheelies.

On entering the Regina, you would first be met by a massive foyer that would probably be considered a waste of space in today’s ruthless times. Back then however it was an Art Gallery, exhibiting all of the magnificent movie posters of the time. From there you would move on to the positively tiny shop where you could buy your popcorn and wine gums. Unlike today’s cinema shops, the Regina didn’t require the deeds of your house before purchasing their delicious treats. You would then pick up your old fashioned ticket stub and be told which cinema your film would be showing in. Now, this is where my memory gets a little hazy. If you walked to the left, I think you would find Cinema 3. There was a big corridor running alongside it that was filled with couches for some reason. Am I wrong about this? This was the strangest part of the whole cinema and could definitely be considered a waste of space – you could have easily put a bowling alley down there. Regardless, it was a part of the Regina, so it was fine by me. According to the ad that you can see on this page, which was printed in a 1988 copy of The News & Star, there were only 3 screens. The other two were upstairs, the 2nd screen on the 2nd floor and screen 1 on the top floor.

I can remember seeing films like Superman VI and Neverending Story on the top floor, and my main memory of it was that it was absolutely humongous. As you walked in the door of screen 1 there was a long walkway to your left, which led to the men’s toilets I believe. It was quite a clever design though, because it allowed you to look down on all the seats in order to find a vacant one, instead of having to stand in front of 200 people with a gormless head on ya, like you have to do in today’s cinemas.

One of the screens had a huge landfill in front of it. This is a memory that is indeed sketchy but I’m convinced of it, despite never hearing anybody else talking about it. There was a ledge, and a big drop, which was obviously filled with old popcorn cartons etc. Absolutely legendary. Before each film started we were treated to a load of blobs floating across the screen. Anyone else remember this? It was probably some by-product of the traditional projectors but it was extremely trippy, and very much part of the Regina experience.

What say you Deise reader?


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When money was money (written 2014)

WHEN I was a child, I remember how my father used to talk about going to the cinema for two pence, and making a night out of it for not much more. This was how life was in the 60s, I would tell myself, and surely nobody would ever be able to tell stories like that again. At least that’s what I thought, until I found myself having a similar discussion with someone last week.

Essentially, the View from the Blue is a look at Waterford from a few different angles – past, present and future. Because I’m only 33, (Okay I’m 37 now, but I was 33 when I wrote this) I can only go so far back with my nostalgia and I know that will probably be frustrating for all the people who can remember Winstons where Rubys was, L&N where Broad Street was and maybe even the fields where Reginald’s Tower used to be… I was born in 1980, so my memories are of growing up in the 80s and becoming an adult in the 90s. In that time, what we spend our money on and how much it gets us has changed considerably – maybe not as much as getting into the picture house for two pence, but it’s starting to get that way.

When I was growing up on the Cork Road, there were four shops that we would frequent for our “goodies” – the VG, Mossy’s, McGraths (nee Nolans) and Dunphys. Whatever money we were given, whether it was a pound or fifty pence, we could come home with a bag full of stuff. Fifty pence could get us a bottle of orange, a Wham bar, some sherbet, a bag of crisps and the rest in jellies. Off we would skip home with a bag full of sugar that would ensure numerous trips to the dentist for the rest of our lives. But all with just 50p. If we were lucky enough to have a pound, say for instance if our nanny was visiting that week, we could be in the shop for a solid half hour. There were different levels of chocolate bar, from your 10p He-Man bar, to your 15p Animal bar, then onto the 20p child’s size dairy milk and all the usual bars like a Yorkie, Whispa etc, which were in and around 30p. With a pound you could get a SuperCan of coke, a packet of Frosties, a packet of fives crisps, a Turkish Delight and the rest in jellies.

Now, the prices of confectionary didn’t change that much between then and the time that the Euro came in. The price of a bar probably increased from 28p to 36p at the most. When we started using those horrible euro coins in 2000, bars of chocolate had not broken the 40p barrier. The exchange rate told us that €1 was equal to approximately 78p. Then why on earth did we suddenly go from paying 36p for our chocolate to 78p?! That’s a huge leap that I’ve never been given an explanation to. And it can sometimes keep me awake at night I can tell ya!

We will forever remember this new century as the one where we were scammed and hoodwinked out of our money. As people will tell you now, “Fifty Euro lasts pissing time”. I’m not entirely sure what that means but the basic sentiment is that our money doesn’t do what is used to be able to in the last century.

Thankfully though, the prices of things are not all going in one direction. Remember when the mobile phones came in first? We were all running around with our big snowboard shaped plastic boxes of Ready to Go 088 phones. Text messages started at 20pence a pop and then went down to 12 pence. Imagine paying that much for text messages today? We’d all be bankrupt and rebuilding our lives in England. Phone calls rarely lasted any longer than 10 seconds – “Well boy, are you going out tonight? Good stuff. See you in Egans at nine. Bye.”  This new way of saying goodbye, where we all say “bye, bye, bye, bye, bye, bye….yeah….bye…bye…” wouldn’t have been tolerated in the 90s when we were paying a pound a minute for the privilege.

And what about DVDs? I remember being asked to pay €25 for a new DVD in the early 00s, now you can pick up three for a fiver, and I’d doubt you’ll be asked to pay €6 anymore to rent a film for one night. Madness! And don’t get me started on houses…


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A day in the life of a scumbag

Column – Originally printed in the Waterford News & Star December 2016

This week’s column is based on real events that happened right here in Waterford over the Christmas time. It’s a composite of a number of separate incidents, used to create one hugely frustrating insight into the life of a parasite.

“John” walked the neighbourhood for second time that week. He brought the dog this time to dispel any possible suspicion. As he turned in a cul de sac he took a quick glance at the hedge that he would watch the neighbourhood from the next night. He was no criminal genius, after all, he had already spent 10 years of his life as a drug addict. The six months or so that he had been clean had been spent organising crimes as opposed to just targeting random people on the street. He didn’t mind doing that too though, whenever the opportunity presented itself. His previous criminal record currently stood at 18 – mostly theft offences with a couple of public order charges in there for good measure. Today was December 20, a busy few days ahead for everyone, but especially him.

John usually worked with an accomplice but tonight, as he sat in the hedge dressed all in black, he was glad that he was working alone. He didn’t have any particular houses in mind, the plan was to wait until a family left and then he would make his move. At 7pm a young family with one child left the house and locked the front door. They packed their little one into the back seat and then drove off. John took a quick look around to see that there was nobody else on the street and made his way toward the house.

There was a dog barking from the side of the house – always an inconvenience, mainly because of the barking. John knew though, dogs that were kept outside in the back garden were always appreciative of being left out. He opened the gate and let the dog run free around the neighbourhood, meaning he could investigate the house, free from all that annoying yelping. Thank God they didn’t have a padlock on the back gate, he thought to himself.

Using a chisel and a hammer, John attempted to remove the lock off the side door. If that didn’t work he knew he had a patio door, which he could just smash. Luckily for him, the lock came off relatively easy and he was able to open the door with a couple of hard shoves. No beeps upon entry, no alarm system, his second piece of luck.

John made his way to the sitting room where he saw 10-12 presents wrapped under the tree – jackpot number one! He took a black sack from under the kitchen sink and opened all the presents one by one. An expensive looking jacket, a toiletries set, a kid’s toy…they were all worth taking because he could either sell them on or keep them for himself.

He had another quick look around before moving upstairs. First, into the master bedroom, where he pulled out all of the drawers in the hope of finding some jewellery. From the man’s side of the wardrobe he just grabbed a handful of suits and threw them into the sack. On the dresser he cupped his arm and just shoved it all into the bag. Not for a second did he think about what he was doing. “I’m invading someone’s privacy in the worst possible way…but it’s okay, because I’m stuck for money right now and these people have loads.”

Then, John made his way into the bedroom of a four year old. Knowing that he was walking into a child’s bedroom and knowing that he had already stolen some of her presents from downstairs, this was no bother to him. At first it didn’t look like she had anything worth taking, until he spotted a money box on her windowsill. Without a second thought, he opened it and emptied the contents into the bag. “A lot for a child,” he thought to himself. Before leaving the house he pulled out a few more drawers and ran his grubby fingers through more of this family’s possessions. As he left the estate, he mimed a kick in the direction of the dog that he had just let out. The family would return home later that night to a scene of devastation. Christmas ruined, all because one person thought he had the right to invade someone’s home and take the possessions that they worked hard for. John doesn’t have a job and that’s the way he likes it. These, hardworking people are paying John’s wages and if he ever gets caught, they’ll be paying for his legal representative as well.

If John is caught – and that’s a mighty big IF – he’ll go to District Court and because he’s not working, he’ll be granted free legal aid. His solicitor will then tell the judge that his client has a very tough upbringing and there was a history of alcoholism and abuse in the family. “He’s battling addiction at the moment judge but he has been clean of heroin for six months now. He carried out these crimes whilst under the influence of drink and some pain medication for a prolonged leg injury. He has told me that he deeply regrets what he has done and knows that he must be punished.”

The judge, taking note of the 18 previous convictions, sentences him to two years but suspends them pending a report from the parole board. He’s released on a very small cash bond. John leaves the court with his girlfriend, herself a girl of ten previous convictions, some for robbery, some for assault, both laughing at the fact that he has ruined another Christmas and gone total unpunished.

Welcome to Ireland in 2016.

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What is life?

YOU know that phrase, “it was an eye-opening experience”? Well in that last few weeks it feels as if someone has gouged my eyes out – King Lear style – and sent them on a worrying tour of other people’s minds.

I think it’s now fair to say that everyone suffers a bit with anxiety, stress, worry, depression or just plain old butterflies for no particular reason at all. I have some close friends that when we meet up, will tell me that they’ve been on a bit of a “downer” for a few days but don’t particularly know why. Sometimes all it takes is a chat, and a bit of a laugh, to bring that person back to normal, but of course that’s only temporary and soon they’re back home where all their worries seem to stem from.

I get anxious about the strangest of things. For example, on my birthday, when people were posting messages on my page, for some reason that had be going around with a racing heart for half the day. I only calmed it down when I eventually got around to thanking everyone for their kind wishes. There really is no logic to this, but I know that it’s probably self-esteem based. In fact, it gets a bit stranger when I tell you that as soon as my beating heart was stilled, I then questioned why only 250 people out of 1250 had actually wished me a happy birthday. They must secretly hate me. That’s it.

Once again, I know that there’s no logic to that. I don’t even need anyone to tell me I’m being a silly billy for thinking this, I already know it…but it doesn’t stop me from thinking these things anyway.

I’ve never been content with who I am and I fear I never will. I could change my clothes about five times a day because I hate how fat I look. I hate my fat head, is a sentence I say quite a lot and is the reason I avoid cameras like cats avoid dogs. The thing is, I’ve thought the exact same thing since I was about 14 so it can’t really be related to size (because I certainly wasn’t overweight when I was 14) –  it’s obviously some kind of deep rooted self-esteem thing.

This journalism lark can be strange sometimes. I was at a mental health talk recently and all I could think about while people were telling their stories was ‘yeah…I should be up there…’ It felt weird being the one documenting their personal journeys, as if I was somehow disconnected to them.

The reality is that we all struggle in one way or another, and logic never comes into it.

The worst thing we can ever do is compare our lives to others because the simple fact is, it’s like comparing a book you’ve written to one that you’ve only seen the cover of. We genuinely have no idea how good or bad someone else’s life is. Like, you wouldn’t know how messed up my head sometimes gets if I didn’t tell you about it every second week. I’ll also happily tell you that many of my closest friends, some of whom have some very high powered jobs, are as messed up, if not more so, than you and I.

I need to start getting to a point here.

For some people, a ‘downer’ can happen if they don’t feel in control of their lives. Their mind will take them on a journey of all the worst possible conclusions to their current circumstances. That can sometimes fix itself by doing something as straightforward as cleaning up the house or sending all those emails you should have sent last week.

I know for a fact – although they may not know it themselves – that three of my closest friends suffer a bit with anxiety because they feel that they are not being the best versions of themselves that they should be. They think they are in jobs that they don’t deserve and soon the world will be exposed to how much of a fraud they all are. They’re being too hard on themselves but they’re never going to see that. They’ll do something good in work and feel better about themselves, but that will soon wear off and they’ll be left, alone and sullied, in their homemade world of self-doubt. And this brings me to my point.

The message of ‘it’s good to talk’, has been around for decades. It’s a good one, but it doesn’t get to the heart of the issue. We need to talk to people about the demons in their heads and the monkeys on their backs. I’ll tell you about why I get anxious every Tuesday when the newspaper comes out, if you tell me why you’ve turned off all the notifications on your phone.

Talk, but talk about something meaningful because there’s no substance in small talk and its effects are only temporary. I’ll tell you why I hate socialising in large groups, if you tell me why you spent all day yesterday in bed.

Honesty is the most powerful weapon we have in the fight against depression, anxiety and self-doubt. That, and good friends. Take a look at your current circle of friends and if you think that you can’t tell any of them your deepest darkest worries, then you need new friends. Seriously.

I know that right now, if I rang up 2-3 of my friends and told them I had killed a man, they’d be over with a shovel and a bag of lime. Ok, maybe not to that extreme but you know what I mean.

I’m going to make a personal guarantee to some of you now (I say some because I don’t want to be too presumptuous about people’s problems). Those butterflies in your stomach…that thing that you worry about last thing at night and first thing in the morning…it’s really not as bad as you think. Pick out a close friend…tell them about it and I bet they’ll tell you something about them in return.

Two weeks ago, six people contemplated suicide on the River Suir. One man jumped into the river and almost instantly regretted it. That’s six that we know about. What about all the people at home that put their head into a noose, never giving their friends a chance to show them a different perspective.

What is life? I still don’t know, but what I do know is that we’re all in it together.

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Nothing ever happens

I was  listening to an old classic earlier – Del Amitri’s ‘Nothing Ever Happens’ – and I was reminded of how brilliant the song is. Musically, and especially lyrically it’s an under rated gem. As I was listening to the words, it occurred to be that it was painfully relevant to today’s society. Here’s a verse –


Bill hoardings advertise products that nobody needs

While angry from Manchester writes to complain about

All the repeats on T.V.

And computer terminals report some gains

On the values of copper and tin

While American businessmen snap up Van Goghs

For the price of a hospital wing


Nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all

The needle returns to the start of the song

And we all sing along like before

And we’ll all be lonely tonight and lonely tomorrow


Last week’s Prime Time Investigates on hospital waiting lists was tough but compelling viewing. Every so often, whether it’s an exposé on childcare or corrupt councillors, RTE’s investigative journalists hit a note that has the whole country talking the next day. If we ever needed a reminder about the importance of journalism, and the despicability of our political system, that programme was it. It was actually sickening.

A 13-year old girl called Megan, who suffers from scoliosis, cannot attend school because the curve in her spine is so severe. Two years ago, she had a 20 degree curve and now, because she’s been kicked down the hospital waiting line so much, it’s now the shape of an ‘S’, which is a painful, and dangerously serious regression. I’m getting angry just writing this. With absolutely no disrespect to her parents, if that was my child, I’d be out in that f**king hospital with a flame thrower.

Last week the TDs and Ministers announced a pay-rise for themselves, and not one of them deserve it. If a soccer team was relegated, you can be sure that the players wouldn’t be getting a wage hike. All those TDs are on a team that is struggling badly. In the top three worst countries in Europe for waiting lists and they all get a pay-rise – what the hell kind of message does is that to be sending out?

If that Prime Time programme wasn’t aired, nothing would have been done about it, like always. But thankfully, it was. Those brilliant journalists worked days, weeks and months, and the whole country stood up and took notice. Here’s the problem though – what department of the health system (just one of a number of systems in this country that are failing) is going to be on next week’s show? Unfortunately they’ll have to move on, for the same reason we can’t put the hospital on the front page every week – the majority of people rarely care, until the pain comes knocking at their door.

After that show, Minister Harris was forced to do some soul searching. When the cabinet was announced last May I wondered to myself what poor Simon had done to Enda to get the hardest job in politics. He will never amount to much after this because his name will forever be attached to the worse period of Irish Health since the decade before Sean Lemass came to prominence. The HSE is a disgrace, and has been for a number of years…constantly papering over massive cracks and running for cover every time another health scandal is exposed. Harris could be a good politician, but we’ll never find because he’s like a 100 year old woman bringing an Irish Wolfhound for a walk.

After Prime Time Investigates, he promised that a new operating theatre –especially for scoliosis patients – would be open at Our Lady’s Children’s Hospital Crumlin from April. He says the opening of that operating theatre was delayed because of staffing issues. The people of Waterford have heard that one before, haven’t we? UHW lost 10 beds last October because of staff problems. That in turn meant that we couldn’t get 15 beds that were promised to us to offset the winter surge of sickness. It’s now February and just four of those beds have been put back into circulation. I’d hate to be the one to say it to Megan and her family, but I wouldn’t be holding my breath on that scoliosis unit. The only thing she has in her favour is that its declaration was so public and Minister Harris will scrub up himself if it means delivering the promise.

And this right here, is the importance of journalism. I feel that it’s my duty to remind politicians of their promises. Harris came in to Waterford last November and said that we’d have the 10 beds open and the additional 15 beds before winter’s icy hands loosened its grip on our hospital. That never happened…the promise, like so many more before (remember James O’Reilly promising that we’d have 24/7 cardiac care?) was worthless.

To quote the song above, the needle keeps returning to the start and we all keep singing along like before. We need to do more. Protests don’t work because they’re too easily ignored. We need to expose lies, broken promises and the sharpest knife of all – the painful reality of our health service victims. We need our TDs (David Cullinane has been a master of this to be fair) to issue parliamentary questions and Freedom of Information requests because, in theory, they have to tell the truth (for fear of being exposed of covering anything up)

Last October, a contact of mine in the hospital told me that we had lost those ten beds. I immediately put the question to the HSE. What did they do next? They issued a south east wide press release about the beds. Rather than have me ‘expose’ the story, they tried to ‘manage’ it, dismissing it as simply a temporary staffing problem. It’s not temporary – it’s a national crises. Doctors and Nurses are graduating and going as far away from Ireland as possible because the pay is rubbish and the working conditions are even worse.

The majority of nurses in this country earn between 24K per year and 31K per year. Meanwhile, Luas Drivers ended their strike recently when their €42K per year salary was increased to €50K. There is something seriously wrong lads, but nothing ever happens, and nothing ever changes.

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The depths of depression


REGARDLESS of how funny this sentence sounds, I have to write it:

I was only a child growing up.

I was doing child things, and then I was doing teenage things and then I was doing stupid things. I don’t remember people talking about depression back then because I was distracted by He-Man, and then by girls, and then by bad habits.

I worked in a shop on Hennessy’s Road called Finefare when I was in my early teens. I remember people coming in that, as was okay to say at the time, ‘weren’t playing with the full deck.’ These were the people that we considered to have mental health issues. They were, as I was told by older people in the know, ‘struggling with their nerves.’ I remember not having a clue what that meant. My experience of nerves was waiting for the principal to get back to the office I had been sent to, or that feeling I had before I went to a job interview. In my unpolished mind, these people were constantly walking around nervous, and to me, that seemed like hell on earth.

Were there as many people suffering ‘in themselves’ back then or is all this mental health stuff just a modern phenomenon? Do we have the recession and the rise of the internet to blame for our ever more fragile minds? Is it all Facebook’s fault?

Honestly, I haven’t a clue, but I do think that it’s logical that this new social world that we’re all living in can put added pressure, even subconsciously on our minds. From a young age I used to think about how the mind was the most vital tool that we have. Let me talk about mine and we’ll see if it resonates with any of you.

I remember, even as a teenager, needing to have my thoughts in order before I faced the day ahead. If I could somehow create a positive barrier around my worries, then all would be well. If I was dreading a particular day in school, I’d reinforce that with something to look forward to in the evening, even if that was just a bag of crisps, a Toblerone and a big glass of milk. I could genuinely make my day more endurable, even enjoyable, by just placing a positive thought in there…something to look forward to.

I felt like my whole life was dominated by thoughts, or, as one might argue, excessive thoughts. The mind was in complete control. I wasn’t able to just get up and get on with it like it seemed that everyone else was doing. Of course, if I knew then what I know now, I might have felt a little better. Everyone is not as ‘okay’ or as ‘perfect’ as they try so hard to let on.

Skip forward to today and the key words are ‘depression’ and ‘mental health issues.’ If there was a scale between 1-10 and we all had to pick a number that represented the status of our minds,most would probably land at around 5 or so, as we all get stressed and worried but not everyone would consider themselves ‘depressed’ or having ‘mental health issues’.

The one strong message that has been delivered by mental health organisations the world over is ‘TALK’. Nobody should be allowed to think that they are fighting a unique battle. Talk, and I guarantee you’ll feel better. The wonders of communication have been marvelled the world over. Remember when you were in secondary school and you didn’t study for that big test. Remember that panic? Now, remember when you told your friends that you didn’t study, and they replied that they didn’t either? I can still feel that sense of relief. It made me feel better, even though I still hadn’t a hope of passing the exam. The feeling that someone else was in the same hole-ridden boat as I was, was a great comfort.

I’m not depressed but I do think I suffer from some form of mental health issues. I’ve diagnosed myself with a simple case of ‘overthinking’. Sometimes, a good day for me can be cut short by thinking too much about something that I did previously, or maybe getting paranoid about something that I said to someone. “Did they think I meant this when I actually meant that?” That kind of crap can take over my mind like a virus. I can sometimes endure a beating from the forlorn stick, just by realising that all the people I love could die in the morning.

I have friends who are dealing with some seriously complex and stressful issues and I know for a fact that their minds are being stretched like elastic-bands. I make sure I meet with them on a regular basis just so we can bat our problems across a couple of pints like a tennis ball. A problem shared is definitely a problem halved, even if the other person can do very little to help our problems.

For what it’s worth, here are my ‘mental health’ problems in a nutshell: I worry too much about the future and I regret too much about the past. When I look back at previous relationships and situations I remember only the bad from me and the good of everyone else. I care far too much about what other people think. If someone unfriends me on Facebook, or blanks me on the street, I’ll agonise about what on earth I did to annoy them. I used to have a best friend in school, a chap who one day decided that he no longer had time for me. Maybe other things happened in his life to break our connection but to this day, I still think about what I said or did to make him walk off my radar. He doesn’t have a Facebook or Twitter and only for the fact that his brothers regularly confirm his existence to me, I would have been convinced that he was dead. I hope to meet him again soon, just so I can count one less demon in my mind.

Seriously, you may not be depressed and you may not have ‘mental health issues’ but nobody is immune to this crazy world so please…talk more, it could be the best medicine you’ll ever take.


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The Unthinkable

city square

IT’S a beautiful sunny day, the kind of weather that makes you regret your choice of clothing this morning. You stood at the front door earlier on looking at the fog in the sky, not quite knowing if it was going to turn to heat or rain. Let’s face it, the weather man has basically been guestimating all summer.

You’re in City Square and for the first time in your life, you brought a shopping list. There are six very specific things on it. “Do not dilly-dally” you tell yourself. “You have three precious hours away from the little ones and you’re determined to get everything done.”

First thing on the list is dishwasher tablets so you make your way towards Dunnes. It’s midday on a Friday afternoon and the sun is shining through every aperture of City Square. The place is packed. Waterford is looking and feeling especially good.

You haven’t been in Dunnes in a while as ALDI is usually your spot so it takes you a while to find the tablets. You find yourself walking through the aisles in a bit of a daze because suddenly you’re thinking about whether or not you plugged out the iron this morning. You almost bump into an old lady – you’re not paying attention – but as you instinctively say sorry, you get a snap shot in your head of the plug hanging over the side of the ironing board. You plugged it out…all is good again…and you found the dishwasher tablets.

Next up is Porters. Wait, it’s not called Porters anymore is it…Cards n Things. You need to get two cards for two birthdays that are coming up. Just next door…you’re well ahead of schedule. As you peruse the cards, amazed at how Hallmark can get away with charging so much, your mind starts to wander again. What is it with you lately, you can’t seem to keep your concentration on anything except baby bottles, baby clothes and baby not sleeping. You start reading the verse of one of the cards let out a cynical sigh. And then you jump.

It happened involuntarily. Your body jerked before your ears even heard the sound. It was a loud popping sound followed by a piercing scream. You look over at a woman who was standing behind you, she’s looking at you nervously, just as confused as to what just happened. Looking over the shop you see the staff looking very confused, but not scared. This is good. If they’re not scared then something has happened that they’re used to. You don’t get into town anymore so this is probably normal for Waterford these days. And then you see the image that, if you make it that far, you will remember for the rest of your life. There’s a man, dressed from head to toe in black and he has just walked passed the shop, in the direction of Dunnes. He has a gun and he’s shooting at everyone and anyone that he sees. The woman who was behind you has jumped to the ground and she’s now hysterically crying…something that you should be doing. You cry at everything…why are you not crying now?

You crouch down and begin to make your way passed the newspapers, to the front of the shop. You see the man is outside of Dunnes now and is about to make his way in. “Oh God…those poor people,” you think. This is Waterford. This is City Square. Nothing exciting happens here…why is this happening?

There’s a pram sitting on its own outside ‘Jump’ the smoothie bar. You can’t see if there’s a baby in it but you immediately think of your own child, thankfully at home with his grandparents. You creep a bit closer to the edge of the shop, leaning behind a display with a lot of books on top. There are about 5-6 bodies laying motionless on the ground…blood starting to pool around them. After a few moments you hear a manager shouting at you. He’s agitated…as if he has been shouting for longer than you could hear him. He’s telling you to follow them out to the back store…you take one final look at the pram and then do as your told. Within minutes, you are standing in a storeroom, now locked from the inside. From outside you can hear more popping sounds and less screams than before. The unthinkable has happened.

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I wanted to write this piece, not for gratuitous reasons, but to put you into a situation that you’ll surely never have to experience. The odds of it happening to us are millions to one. However, all of the victims of these mass shootings thought that it would never happen to them either. The people of Nice, Tunisia, so many states in America. They were in the towns and cities that they knew and loved so much and suddenly they became the scene of nightmares. Mass murder, military coups, racism on a scale that we never thought possible. Does it feel like the world’s clock is ticking faster than it ever has before? Does it make you want to embrace the life that you have in Waterford right now and appreciate every little thing that happens to you from the moment you wake until the moment you have that last cup of tea at night?

I think we need to spread smiles, laughter and positivity everywhere we go in the hope that it spreads faster than smallpox. Go out this weekend and savor every minute of the Spraoi Festival, which at its heart, celebrates everything that is weird and wonderful about the human condition.

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