Yes, we can (well not really but we'll pretend).

For all those who don't know, Ireland is in shite. Yes, we are. We owe billions out to the IMF and the EU (thank you by the way!). Up to 1000 people are going to be emigrating every week for the next few years, unemployment is around the 14% mark and those who are still employed have been hit by tax hikes on an incredible scale (I know and have heard of people that have been hit with 400 euros + in tax in January). The minimum wage has been reduced by 1 euro. Child benefit has been reduced by 10 euros a month (unless you have 3 children, your 3rd child for no explainable reason but being born 3rd, has taken a 20 euro hit!). People in receipt of benefits or allowances such as carers, blind people, and the unemployed have seen their payments reduced by 8 euros a week.Now, you might be wondering why I am painting such a poor picture of this country. The reason is because that's the truth. That's the way this country is.

Last Tuesday, after much debate and nonsense, Brian Cowen (Prime Minister and former Minister for Finance in the ''boom'' years) decided to dissolve the Dail (or Parliament). That came after some 6 ministers walked out on him, his ''partners'' in government, the Greens, didn't allow him to name replacements for the ministers that walked out, and we ended up with a government of 8 senior ministers heading ministries such as the Justice and Agriculture (am I the only one with pictures of prisoners frolicking in the middle of a field tending to cows?), or better Department of Health & Education (put the sick and the young in the same bag why don't you?). Eventually his party turned on him and the first minister to walk out on the current government was named Leader of the Party. So we had a Prime Minister, that not even his own party people trusted to lead them, leading the country with 8 senior ministers. Great! (feel the irony). Oh and, in his spare time, when he is not too busy fattening his pension,  he likes to play a round of golf and have dinner with one of the biggest crooks bankers that sunk this country and subsequently ''moved'' to the US.

Anyway, with this rant you might ask. Because you see, now that he finally let go after weeks of hanging on to power by his fingernails and anything else he could hang on with, we are going to have an general election. On the 25th of February, the people are going to go to the polls and vote for a new government. So the posters are up, the debates are everywhere, debates about important things and debates about debates (with or without Enda Kenny, with or without Vincent Browne, on RTE or maybe TV3). I had hoped, probably naively, that there would be a wind of hope that things could change, a la Obama. You know, yes we can. Sadly, it's far from that. For a start, none of them are half as good looking as Mr President of the US (yes, I admit it, I find him quite attractive). As my dad said, if any of your politicians try and have kids, they have to be killed at birth. It's a joke, people! All, he is trying to say is that they are as ugly as ugly can be and their offspring wouldn't have a wonderful start in life. That's all. Ok, it is a bit superficial, judging people by their looks. If at least, they were efficient or inspiring. But no, they're not. I used to work doing presentations, I'm sure I could give those guys a bit of training in that field. How can they believe that they are going to engage people, and inspire them when they speak in the most monotonous voices? Good orators, they are not. It's all finger pointing and aggressivity, and some kind of contest to see who can say the most words without taking a breath. Oh and a perfect display of how manners do not matter, since they just keep interrupting each other!

All you see now in the news, is hand shaking, puppy holding, baby petting (or should that be the other way around?). The world has stopped spinning since the campaign began. Reports of people being chased by election posters literally (well it was very windy), of a chicken walking into some party headquarters (or was that some kind of metaphor for the fact that the leader refused to take part in a televised debate?). The most interesting bit is how much they are being shouted at and how surprised they look that people don't like or trust them and shout at them.

I am glad I live in the country as they don't really come knocking on your door. But, you know what? I would welcome them and listen to them (as opposed to Mr Foodie who would tell them to fuck off and threaten to unleash the dogs at them. We don't have a dog but he is quite sure that Noelie can do as good a job as a Rottweiler, judging by the bite mark on his finger.). I might even ask them a few questions. And then, I would politely turn around and inform them that they have just wasted their time, just as they have wasted this country, because you know what? I'm not allowed to vote here. (By the way, if anybody can explain to me why British citizens have the same rights as an Irish citizens when it comes to voting and other Europeans don't, please feel free to let me know!)

Anyway, rant over.

A page has turned.

That's it. A page has turned in the book of my life. I was (finally) made redundant from my job on Friday after 10 and a half years in the company. I feel now that I can talk about it a bit more, officially close that chapter and write the final 'The End'.

Things had been slowing down quite drastically since January. In 3 months, the company had recruited 10 times less people than they had in the same period the previous year. Being pregnant, I had decided to take it easy anyway (hence considerably slowing down on the parts of the job that I didn't really like). I was getting increasingly tired and my boss was very understanding and didn't put any pressure on me (which is quite surprising considering the fact that she didn't have any children herself and was well known for being extremely ambitious and ruthless.) Mr Foodie's dealings with her over the years were less than amicable and often conflictual (we worked for the same company but at different ends of the process). And he was quite surprised at how much support and leeway she was giving me and always wondering why? What was she to gain from it? Being a union representative always makes him wary of management anyway.

I eventually left for maternity leave at the end of May. I went back to do the obligatory 'showing off of the baby' a few weeks later, with Mr Foodie in tow. I was meant to go back to work at the beginning of December, however, this being the busiest time of the year in the business, we had decided that I would extend my maternity leave by a few unpaid weeks and some annual leave. Until we went on holidays in August...

This particular day, my mum had just been released from hospital after a very bad kidney infection. She was enjoying spending time with her grand daughters hence giving us a chance to enjoy the sun and relax for a bit. While we were sitting on the patio, soaking up the sun and having a nice chat, we were rudely interrupted by Mr Foodie's phone. It was his dad asking if we had been watching the news. Mr Foodie replied that we hadn't, since he can't understand the french news anyway. Was it another shooting? Another tiger kidnapping? More recession news? No, it wasn't. It had just been announced that the building I was working in was to close with the loss of 260 jobs. We rushed to the computer to check the news on the Internet and there was the reporter, in front of my building, announcing that it would close by the middle of 2010. I charged my phone (which had been dead for a couple of days), and checked for messages. Nothing. I then sent a text to my then manager and one of my friends. My manager called me back within minutes and confirmed the news to me. 60 jobs were to remain but not ours. She went quickly through the redundancy package the company was going to offer and asked me to come in for a meeting as soon as I was back from holidays. Panic set in. What were we going to do? My friend called me back. She couldn't shed any light on the matter since she was away herself and hadn't even heard anything about it. We discussed it with Mr Foodie and realized that, if the redundancy was good enough, it was actually a blessing in disguise, allowing me to stay at home for a bit. Then came the awful task of telling my parents. They were quite shocked and panicked at first, but I think that the fact that we were not extremely confused, crying and utterly panicked (although quite shocked ourselves) allowed them to absorb the news and take it in a quite positive light.

I went in for a few meetings afterwards where I was given some more details such as amounts etc. The only detail I could not be given was the biggest one of all: WHEN? I had to 'come back' from maternity leave before they could legally tell me. And then I was to be given 6 weeks notice. Did this mean I had to find childcare for 6 weeks and return to work? In October, I went in for another meeting and informed them that I didn't intend to come back to work until January. My boss confirmed that it would indeed be wiser (*wink wink*) to push my coming back date as much as I could. She subtly implied (about as subtle as a big pink elephant in a cupboard) that we could come to some kind of arrangement.

I eventually went 'back to work' in January, for the whole of 30 minutes. I was given my notice and my final date, February 26. I was also told that I was going to be paid for my notice but without having to set foot in the building . They literally paid me my full wages to stay at home and look after the girls for 6 weeks. My boss told me that she had known since the beginning of 2009 but could not discuss it despite me hinting at it a few times. So I went back on Friday, to collect my P45 and my final cheque. It was strange to walk back into the place I had spent so many hours in, for the last time. The outside, usually busy with people, on break or about to start, coming or going to the shop, sitting on the benches, greeting each other, waiting for each other, smoking, chatting was deadly quiet. Inside, the place was always filled with people coming and going. You had to wait to go out into the main corridor due to the number of people coming back into the main area. You always met somebody on the stairs. But on friday, it reminded me of saturday mornings when only a handful of people were there. It reminded how much I didn't like working on a saturday morning. The building was just 'not right'. It was too quiet. This eerie feeling was even stronger this time around. The half empty seats, the usual hustle and bustle muffled to the point of near silence, the empty corridors. The formalities didn't last long, I was served with my marching orders fairly quickly. I went up to see my boss one last time and say my goodbyes. We shed a few tears and I left. For the last time. I left through the back door though not wanting to bump into anyone (although unlikely to happen) and get emotional (and also because Marie was on a half day and I had to pick her up from school). I think it would have been more of a shock to my system though, had I been in there everyday and suddenly finding myself at home. But, I had had time to process it and get my head around it. I haven't been working since May so it won't really feel any different for me.

I made some good friends in there, met more people than I can count (you are bound to in a call centre environment, over a 10 year period). I was pushed to the limit, I cried, I laughed, I despaired, I shared good times and bad times. I got in trouble, I helped people out of trouble. I learned so many things in there about me and about others. I found support there, I walked into brick walls there. I got frustrated at the amount of time and work it takes to get something to change in a big american multinational. I rejoiced at little victories, when my opinion and hard work helped change things for the better.

And now, it's all officially the past. A page has turned. What had been a constant for the past 10 years in my life is now gone. But I am extremely grateful. Grateful for the fact that they are allowing me to spend time with my girls without having to worry too much financially for a while. Grateful for the friendships I formed there. Grateful for what it taught me about myself. Grateful for the skills it helped me acquire. And most of all, grateful for meeting Mr Foodie there. He is now, with my girls, the new constant in my life.

M9BCAZVT2NA5

I cry

Today I broke down, in tears not once but twice. Now, if you ask Mr Foodie, he will tell you I cry... a lot. That's probably one of the things I'm best at. I cry in front of anything, movies of course being one of the biggest triggers. I cried the morning after seeing 'Schindler's list', over breakfast, while telling my parents about the film. I cry reading books, I cry listening to music (Raglan Road used to get me crying my eyes out when I was pregnant with Noelie, just the first measures and I was gone). I just cry. Not the one tear that rolls down your cheek cry. The big crocodile tears cry, heaving and all. I can't help it. It starts as a heaviness in my chest, then moves its way up to my throat. And once it gets to the eyes that's it, I'm gone.

Today I cried twice. Once explaining to Marie about the Haiti earthquake and all the devastation it caused. I told her that I gave some money to help people of there, to help give them food, water, shelter, medical help, whatever the meagre amount I could give would provide. And if it saves only one life, at least I did something. She said that she would give the contents of her piggy bank too, that she doesn't need it. I was so proud of her, it made me cry. I was crying for the people over there and I was crying at the beauty of Marie's gesture. She is very sensitive and started crying too. In fact, she started crying first. Is she too young to understand? I don't think so. Should I have left her to her ignorance? I don't think either. I think it is a good thing to get our kids to understand that there are people worse off than we are, and that, if you are in a position to, you should help them. Using words they can understand, without too much drama. But explain it all and let them make their own decision as to whether they want to help or not. And I believe in leading by example.

You see, Marie and I, to our developed world standards, have been in a position where we lost everything. At some stage in my life, I decided that possessions were not as important as our safety and our happiness. And I took Marie, and whatever I could carry and left it all behind. But I was always able to provide us with a roof and food and heat and water. Yes, I lost my house and my car and countless material things, sentimental things and she lost her toys and was uprooted. But some immaterial things are paramount. Anyway, this is all behind us and we have rebuilt our lives, thanks to Mr Foodie and others.

I also cried this evening, watching the french news. I have to point out that it was the french news, and not the Irish ones as the angle at which they approach the whole Haiti disaster is completely different. A lot of French people adopt children in Haiti. At the moment, there are between 1200 and 1500 files for adoption in Haiti by french parents. Those people are struggling to find out the fate of their children and pleading with the government to fast track the adoption process, remove the red tape so they can be brought to their new homes in France. It seems that this is now going to happen. Tonight, on the news, they visited a devastated orphanage. A little boy , Jerry, 3 1/2 years old, had been pulled out of the wreckage. He had a head wound and a broken leg and was lying on the dusty ground with no medical assistance whatsoever. The director of the orphanage told the journalist that she was going to give him paracetamol to bring the fever down, that there was nothing else she could do. The reporter (a woman might I add) was very professional and still you could hear in her voice that this was hard on her. She told the woman that the poor child was going to die. The director looked at her with a emotionless look yet a sad look and said that this was all she could do. She had lost 53 children so far to the deadly shaky ground. By chance, a team of civil defense members arrived, sent by the french embassy. One of them was a doctor but they had only been sent to check what the needs were and didn't know that there were injured children, and they had no medical equipment, no ambulance, no escort. They tried to get an ambulance, to no avail and the poor little boy's condition was getting worse. So they took a decision that might land them in trouble, they took the reporter's car and drove Jerry to the hospital. It was touch and go. That was yesterday. Today, the reporter visited Jerry at the hospital and the doctors told her that he was going to be fine. She managed to get people to contact his adoptive parents in France and it was the first news they had managed to get. I had to leave the sitting room. I went into the kitchen and broke down. And Mr Foodie was here once more to pick up the pieces. I'm fine now.. Just about...But we have to help, no matter how little we can give, it will make a difference.