From the Irish Independent on Bank Holiday Monday (natch)...
CHILDHOOD SUMMER MEMORIES
THEY say the past is a foreign country. That’s the closest most Irish people over the age of 30 got to a trip abroad in the summers of their childhood.
The quintessential Irish summer holiday was one of simple pleasures. A caravan in a field, a two-week stay with country cousins, a hormone-awakening trip to the Gaeltacht. Few kids of the ’80s, ’70s and beyond ever made it onto an airplane – a ferry to visit emigrant aunts in England was about as glamorous as it got.
We asked a number of well-known Irish faces to recount their childhood summer memories. Ice-cream, eternal sunshine, mobile homes and saving hay all figure strongly in their recollections….
DEREK DAVIS, 4FM radio presenter
“My mother was from Bray, Co Wicklow and we would spend two weeks south of the border every year. She would meet with old buddies to go to the Theatre Royal or the Dublin Horse Show.
I was born in 1948, and rationing continued in the North until 1953, so we thought of the South as a place of indulgence and comfort. Ice-creams were always twice the size south of the Border.
I have very fond memories of going to a beach called the Silver Strand; just the clarity and warmth of the water, little mackerel fry swimming around in it.
In Bray, there was a swimming pool under Bray Head and a funicular railway ran up Bray Head. These were marvels to kids. Relatives would give you five shillings to buy flippers and snorkels from the kiosks and ice-creams from the Italian ice-cream parlours. I also remember the wonderful taste of sausages and puddings made by German families like Caprani and Haffner; we couldn’t go back up North without the boot of the car groaning with the weight of them at the end of the holiday!”
KAREN KOSTER, TV3 Xpose presenter
“We went to Kelly’s Resort in Wexford because it was so child-friendly. There was a ten-year age gap between me and my older brother and sister so I think my parents liked that there were plenty of kids for me to play with.
There was proper crazy golf and these massive chess pieces and chess board painted onto the tarmac. The ballroom had a mural of seaside and deckchairs if I remember.
Kelly’s has gone a bit fancy in recent years, with the new spa and so on. It felt strange to go back when they started to refurbish it. I felt a bit like they were changing my home!”
DAVY CARTON, Lead singer with the Saw Doctors
“I get flashbacks from that episode of Fr Ted where they are all stuffed into a caravan. We ended up in one in Ballybunion in Co Clare - and that would have been exotic! I remember my father, God love him, trying to set up a camping gas stove on the beach with methylated spirits. He almost set fire to the whole bush surrounding the beach.
When we grew up a bit, we were let loose in the Gaeltacht for a couple of weeks. It was great fun, the chance to go daft, but as for ‘firsts’ all I was interested in at the time was football and drink!”
TANYA AIREY, MD of Sunway Holidays
“My father was involved in the travel business but my mother wasn’t keen on going abroad. We had a mobile home in Carn in Wexford, where we went for six weeks. That was in the ’70s, and I think summers were different then, weren’t they? We felt like the sun was shining all the time.
It was about that sense of independence. Riding your bicycle everywhere, eating outside. Freedom!
I did go to Majorca once as a child and I have strong memories of the excitement of such a different place, the heat, the colours. It was really great.”
DEREK MOONEY, RTE radio and TV broadcaster
“I remember my first holiday out of Dublin for a reason. It was Galway and I went with my parents, my brother Mike, my sister and her husband and we were staying out in Salthill.
I was still in short trousers so I could have been anything from 8, 9, 10 up and we were walking down a country lane. There was a big black bull in a field and the next thing I knew, I fell off the stone wall and into the field. I will never forget the fright I got that day – I had fallen in a big bunch of nettles and I was crying my eyes out while my brother tried to fish me out.
We went into the centre of Galway later that day and I was put sitting on the knee of that Padraig O Conaire statue. I remember thinking, ‘Here I am sitting with Padraig O Conaire who used to write about the black donkey, and there I was today with a black bull’.”
LINDA MARTIN, singer and TV personality
“We used to spend a few weeks every year in the Bray/Dun Laoghaire area with my grandmother’s cousin Grace Tobin. We used to decamp from Belfast by train every summer. Her house used to seem huge to me – everything seemed to be made of wood, and there was this enormous staircase going right up the middle of it.
Grace had live-in help and she used to take my sister and me to the carnival. Of course all I can remember is sunshine and how we would spend all day on the beach in Bray with no sun oil on. I remember the promenade, the beach and ice-cream: just glorious memories. Grace turned 90 last year and we’re still in contact.”
Actress DAWN BRADFIELD
“Our holidays were spent at my granny’s in Galway, doing the hay, taking the cows out. I had a few posh girls in my class in Cork and they would be heading off to Disneyland but I didn’t feel like I was missing out.
I have a lot of English cousins who used to come to Granny’s too and they made it very glamorous with their English accents! I had one cousin who was a year older than me. She had lovely trendy clothes, long hair (when I had short) and perfect eyesight (I wore glasses!) I thought she was the most divine creature!”
JOHN CREEDON
“Both my parents were from west Cork so we 12 children were dispensed to the countryside to farms of family members. I absolutely loved it. I remember distinctly sitting on my uncle Jack’s cart with his beautiful big red horse, bringing in the loose cocks of hay.
We did have one big family trip and it was hilarious. My father had a big old red and cream Mercedes that he got cheap and he rented this monstrosity of a ten-berth caravan. On day one, we went to Dublin Zoo and Malahide. I sprained my ankle at the zoo and we all got sunburnt at Malahide beach so by night-time my mother nursing a caravan full of kids!
But the best bit of organisation was when they timed our arrival in Belfast for the Twelfth of July. It would have been the summer of ’69, the Troubles were breaking out and as we entered Belfast the sky was darkened with smoke. My mom and dad were anxious about being recognised as Catholics from the south but they were looking for the field where all the bands were amassed.
The next thing, my dad lowered the window, put on his ‘best’ Belfast accent and asked an RUC man where the field was. The officer looked in the back at the rake of kids, pushed back his cap and asked, ‘Are ye from Cork or from Kerry?’
My parents were both great, colourful characters. If life is a lottery, then my numbers came up with them.”
Ballydung Manor bachelors PODGE and RODGE
“There was a burnt out double decker bus in the field opposite us, and Mammy used to rent our bedroom out for the August bank holiday every year and make us camp in it.
She said it was a holiday but then Rodge’s lungs nearly collapsed due to the asbestos roof we’d used to keep the rain out, so that was the end of that.
One year, when Daddy had won a few bob at an illegal gambling night, he said he’d take us all up to Bundoran. The problem was we had to walk, so by the time we got there we had to turn around and come home. Which was just as well as he hadn’t booked anywhere to stay.”
• This August Bank Holiday Monday, Derek Mooney and John Creedon will be manning their shows on RTE Radio 1 as usual, and The Saw Doctors will be releasing their new single, She Loves Me, on CD and iTunes. Derek Davis will be relaxing after presenting his Sunday show, Davis on 4 from 10am-noon.
- Susan Daly
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Rants
Some recent op-eds from the Evening Herald...
FROM TUESDAY'S EVENING HERALD - REACTION TO THE DAWN ARRESTS OF THOMAS COOK WORKERS...
WHO would have thought that the cheerful Thomas Cook assistant who booked your two weeks in the sun was a dangerous outlaw?
They don’t seem the criminal types. Yet while the rest of us were still snoozing in our beds at 5am this morning, around 20 Thomas Cook workers were being arrested by gardai. You would normally associate early morning raids with drug dealers or wanted violent offenders – not with the genial men and women who advise you on the most family-friendly holiday resorts.
Nonetheless the Thomas Cook Twenty (plus) are now languishing in the Bridewell waiting for the full rigours of the law to be meted out on their heads.
The gardai are of course just carrying out orders on foot of a High Court order for the workers to vacate the Grafton Street premises where they have been staging a sit-in protest since last Friday.
It all seems so terribly heavy-handed, not to mention precipitous, to have these frustrated employees hauled before court before the bank holiday weekend is barely out. Who knew our justice system was so efficient?
What a shame the wheels of justice were not able to grind as quickly for the fat cats who brought down the economy. I don’t see the legal repercussions for the greedy bankers and developers whose actions now have the rest of us on our knees, cancelling our holidays and keeping good people like the Thomas Cook employees out of a job.
It is a bizarre reversal of justice that the Marie Antoinettes are allowed to keep their heads while all around them, honest workers like those at Thomas Cook must face the legal guillotine.
There is no comparison between the debauched behaviour of certain moneymen and the measly few extra weeks of redundancy the Thomas Cook workers are looking for. As with all the people who are losing their jobs these days, these employees are looking only to keep their families’ heads above water.
They want to make their mortgages, get their children to school with books and a uniform. They are not asking for help to keep their multi-million empires from crumbling around their ears. They are not audacious. They are decent skins who feel cheated.
Why wouldn’t they? In May there were proposals to shut the Thomas Cook shop on Grafton Street and the Thomas Cook-owned subsidiary, Direct Holidays, on Talbot Street. Staff were willing to take the pain, freeze salaries, do what they could to keep the operation limping along.
Then last Friday they had the rug well and truly pulled out from under them when the Grafton Street shop was closed with immediate effect. That’s it, folks. Go home. Your work here is done.
I wonder if the Thomas Cook employees were thinking about all the August bank holiday breaks they had carefully organised for their customers’ enjoyment. And how they would be spending theirs facing into a bleak hole of unemployment – and desperation, considering the likelihood of securing a new post in the struggling travel industry.
Of course they felt bitter. Of course they felt frustrated. The sit-in protest was completely impromptu. There are women involved with small children who had made no plans to abandon their families for what would normally be the last long weekend of fun before school reopens.
The atmosphere surrounding the Grafton Street shop at the weekend was benign. Local businesses dropped in food. The public, many of whom no doubt had pleasant dealings with the staff in the past, sent messages of solidarity which were pasted up on the walls. The Thomas Cook workers have a lot of sympathy and support behind them.
All of this matters for nothing of course when someone on high decides that you are to be Made An Example Of. Mere office workers shall not be allowed to embarrass Big Business. The Thomas Cook workers are paying a heavier price than they deserve because others failed to pay their share.
KIDS BEHAVING BADLY
http://www.herald.ie/opinion/comment/kids-dont-know-whats-good-for-them--but-parents-should-1849154.html
By Susan Daly
Saturday August 01 2009
HOLD the front page: A new study says that Irish parents are sleep-deprived.
But read on. The research also finds that most of these parents could change their children's bad sleeping habits in just a few days.
Many are using "unhelpful techniques" in bringing up baby, according to the eggheads.
They reward their children by giving them a drink or toys or taking them into their bed when they wake up at night -- ensuring they'll do it again, night after night.
In a nutshell, or in this case an old chestnut, spare the rod and spoil the child.
Poor parents. Under siege again from the childcare bullies. Well, don't come looking for sympathy from this quarter. I feel like we are a nation overrun with terror tots as a result of misguided -- and I'm being kind there -- parenting.
I'm not talking about the kids who go around setting cars on fire and blinding small animals. They obviously have Jeremy Kyle-level problems.
I mean the more insidious examples of kids behaving badly. The child who talks all over a group of adults because mammy hasn't ever told them to wait their turn to speak.
Too many Irish kids are not well behaved (hate mail to the usual address, please).
Of course there are plenty of nicely mannered children out there. But you don't notice them because they're not the ones yelling at the top of their lungs in a restaurant for chips while their parents act like they have gone spontaneously deaf.
People, mainly parents, rant on about how welcoming restaurants and cafes are to children in continental Europe, compared to your average Irish establishment.
That's because kids in Italy and France are taught from an early age how to behave in public. And it doesn't involve calling your mother anything that rhymes with 'itch', or kicking your dad because he won't let you juggle the steak knives.
Look, I don't hate children. I actually quite like them (although I couldn't eat a whole one). But in the 99pc of cases where your child is not actually the result of a one-night stand with the devil, it IS the parents' fault if they turn into the anti-Christ.
Watch a TV parenting programme like Supernanny and the basic message is always the same. When parents let their kids take control, the kids go out of control.
Now, I realise that an entire industry has cynically grown up around child-rearing, and the advice given out by self-appointed childcare experts can be conflicting.
I feel for first-time parents faced with shelves of instruction books for babies, as if they were some kitchen gadget that is perfectly manageable as long as you know which button to push.
The advice can be confusing. Let them cry it out, says one. Pick them up straight away or they'll feel abandoned, says another. It's like the warnings given out about meeting a bear in a forest: are you meant to climb a tree or play dead?
Sheer information overload gives people an excuse to say, 'There's no right way to raise children'. That's a load of rubbish, too. A dose of common sense is always the way to go.
I'm not advocating a return to the days of 'seen, not heard', but I applaud parents who treat their children as the immature little folk they are.
They don't know what's good for them -- we do. They're not the adults -- we are. The kids will just have to suck it up, and thank you later.
SQUANDERING THE SKILLED ON DOLE QUEUES
http://www.herald.ie/opinion/comment/squandering-the-skilled-on-dole-queues-is-a-waste-and-a-disgrace-1849787.html
By Susan Daly
Monday August 03 2009
IT can't be an enormous surprise that FAS has seen so few applications for its latest scheme. The idea was that unemployed people would be occupied in unpaid work experience while retaining their benefit payments.
This makes sense for recent graduates who are treading that vicious hamster wheel of not being able to get their first foot in the door of their chosen industry. No experience, no job; no job, no experience.
But a quick poll of lines at the nearest social welfare office would testify to the fact that many of the newly unemployed have reams of experience and qualifications.
The dole queues are not solely occupied by the school-leavers and semi-skilled workers who swelled the ranks of the Live Register two decades ago.
Now the lines are full of professionals with whole careers behind them, arts and sports employees, crafts and tradespeople. These are not people who need to become trainees all over again. So why not make them the trainers?
If the Government looked hard enough -- or at all -- it would see a bright idea staring it in the face.
You wouldn't leave a valuable car out to rust on a beach, so why squander these people's assets on a stagnant dole queue?
There is a seasonal industry that has mushroomed in recent years where these highly skilled people could find a new home for their expertise. There is a summer school for everything these days and they are hugely popular.
Check out the prices being charged by the next summer camp to drop its leaflet through your letterbox. (Around our way, the fliers and circulars took over from where the local election campaign literature left off.)
Parents are shelling out hundreds of euro a week for their budding Ronaldo to attend soccer camp, or for their artistic daughter to daub watercolours in an art course at the bottom of someone's garden.
Kids' extra-curricular activities on school summer break are no longer confined to kicking a ball against the side of the house.
They can learn to climb a rock face, dance a polka, programme a computer.
Parents are anxious to cultivate their talents, keep them entertained and -- you know it's true -- get them out of their hair.
So if we take for granted the idea that the summer course is here to stay, why isn't the Government getting in on the act?
Think of all the schools lying idle during summer: those are your rent-free premises on tap right there.
Add to that the thousands of unemployed, but skilled people, just dying to throw some shape on their day, and you have a winner.
They might receive a nominal fee for their time, but they go home with a sense of purpose and a value-added CV in their future job hunt.
Parents already pay premium rates to private summer camps to allow their kids to indulge their passion for everything from gym to Gaeilge.
Government-run schemes could easily turn a profit by charging parents fees, albeit slightly reduced ones considering how cost-efficient the use of school grounds would be. Parents would get a few euro back, the State coffers would receive a boost, and the instructors would feel more valued by society and less a part of the benefits merry-go-round.
Setting up such a scheme would take a good deal of planning and a fair bit of lateral thinking. But we could be looking at a whole new range of summer camps.
Imagine teens who are into modified cars getting responsible instruction from a mechanic who has seen enough death-trap bangers in his time to be passionate about kids staying out of danger.
Private gyms have been suffering from dropped memberships: wouldn't a recently redundant fitness instructor be the perfect fit for a sports camp? All those out-of-work IT techies -- straight to science camp for you.
As it stands, it is entirely ludicrous not to have some plan B for the newly redundant. This is just one. Isn't it the Department of Trade and Employment's job to -- apologies for the Celtic Tiger phrase -- think outside the box?
FROM TUESDAY'S EVENING HERALD - REACTION TO THE DAWN ARRESTS OF THOMAS COOK WORKERS...
WHO would have thought that the cheerful Thomas Cook assistant who booked your two weeks in the sun was a dangerous outlaw?
They don’t seem the criminal types. Yet while the rest of us were still snoozing in our beds at 5am this morning, around 20 Thomas Cook workers were being arrested by gardai. You would normally associate early morning raids with drug dealers or wanted violent offenders – not with the genial men and women who advise you on the most family-friendly holiday resorts.
Nonetheless the Thomas Cook Twenty (plus) are now languishing in the Bridewell waiting for the full rigours of the law to be meted out on their heads.
The gardai are of course just carrying out orders on foot of a High Court order for the workers to vacate the Grafton Street premises where they have been staging a sit-in protest since last Friday.
It all seems so terribly heavy-handed, not to mention precipitous, to have these frustrated employees hauled before court before the bank holiday weekend is barely out. Who knew our justice system was so efficient?
What a shame the wheels of justice were not able to grind as quickly for the fat cats who brought down the economy. I don’t see the legal repercussions for the greedy bankers and developers whose actions now have the rest of us on our knees, cancelling our holidays and keeping good people like the Thomas Cook employees out of a job.
It is a bizarre reversal of justice that the Marie Antoinettes are allowed to keep their heads while all around them, honest workers like those at Thomas Cook must face the legal guillotine.
There is no comparison between the debauched behaviour of certain moneymen and the measly few extra weeks of redundancy the Thomas Cook workers are looking for. As with all the people who are losing their jobs these days, these employees are looking only to keep their families’ heads above water.
They want to make their mortgages, get their children to school with books and a uniform. They are not asking for help to keep their multi-million empires from crumbling around their ears. They are not audacious. They are decent skins who feel cheated.
Why wouldn’t they? In May there were proposals to shut the Thomas Cook shop on Grafton Street and the Thomas Cook-owned subsidiary, Direct Holidays, on Talbot Street. Staff were willing to take the pain, freeze salaries, do what they could to keep the operation limping along.
Then last Friday they had the rug well and truly pulled out from under them when the Grafton Street shop was closed with immediate effect. That’s it, folks. Go home. Your work here is done.
I wonder if the Thomas Cook employees were thinking about all the August bank holiday breaks they had carefully organised for their customers’ enjoyment. And how they would be spending theirs facing into a bleak hole of unemployment – and desperation, considering the likelihood of securing a new post in the struggling travel industry.
Of course they felt bitter. Of course they felt frustrated. The sit-in protest was completely impromptu. There are women involved with small children who had made no plans to abandon their families for what would normally be the last long weekend of fun before school reopens.
The atmosphere surrounding the Grafton Street shop at the weekend was benign. Local businesses dropped in food. The public, many of whom no doubt had pleasant dealings with the staff in the past, sent messages of solidarity which were pasted up on the walls. The Thomas Cook workers have a lot of sympathy and support behind them.
All of this matters for nothing of course when someone on high decides that you are to be Made An Example Of. Mere office workers shall not be allowed to embarrass Big Business. The Thomas Cook workers are paying a heavier price than they deserve because others failed to pay their share.
KIDS BEHAVING BADLY
http://www.herald.ie/opinion/comment/kids-dont-know-whats-good-for-them--but-parents-should-1849154.html
By Susan Daly
Saturday August 01 2009
HOLD the front page: A new study says that Irish parents are sleep-deprived.
But read on. The research also finds that most of these parents could change their children's bad sleeping habits in just a few days.
Many are using "unhelpful techniques" in bringing up baby, according to the eggheads.
They reward their children by giving them a drink or toys or taking them into their bed when they wake up at night -- ensuring they'll do it again, night after night.
In a nutshell, or in this case an old chestnut, spare the rod and spoil the child.
Poor parents. Under siege again from the childcare bullies. Well, don't come looking for sympathy from this quarter. I feel like we are a nation overrun with terror tots as a result of misguided -- and I'm being kind there -- parenting.
I'm not talking about the kids who go around setting cars on fire and blinding small animals. They obviously have Jeremy Kyle-level problems.
I mean the more insidious examples of kids behaving badly. The child who talks all over a group of adults because mammy hasn't ever told them to wait their turn to speak.
Too many Irish kids are not well behaved (hate mail to the usual address, please).
Of course there are plenty of nicely mannered children out there. But you don't notice them because they're not the ones yelling at the top of their lungs in a restaurant for chips while their parents act like they have gone spontaneously deaf.
People, mainly parents, rant on about how welcoming restaurants and cafes are to children in continental Europe, compared to your average Irish establishment.
That's because kids in Italy and France are taught from an early age how to behave in public. And it doesn't involve calling your mother anything that rhymes with 'itch', or kicking your dad because he won't let you juggle the steak knives.
Look, I don't hate children. I actually quite like them (although I couldn't eat a whole one). But in the 99pc of cases where your child is not actually the result of a one-night stand with the devil, it IS the parents' fault if they turn into the anti-Christ.
Watch a TV parenting programme like Supernanny and the basic message is always the same. When parents let their kids take control, the kids go out of control.
Now, I realise that an entire industry has cynically grown up around child-rearing, and the advice given out by self-appointed childcare experts can be conflicting.
I feel for first-time parents faced with shelves of instruction books for babies, as if they were some kitchen gadget that is perfectly manageable as long as you know which button to push.
The advice can be confusing. Let them cry it out, says one. Pick them up straight away or they'll feel abandoned, says another. It's like the warnings given out about meeting a bear in a forest: are you meant to climb a tree or play dead?
Sheer information overload gives people an excuse to say, 'There's no right way to raise children'. That's a load of rubbish, too. A dose of common sense is always the way to go.
I'm not advocating a return to the days of 'seen, not heard', but I applaud parents who treat their children as the immature little folk they are.
They don't know what's good for them -- we do. They're not the adults -- we are. The kids will just have to suck it up, and thank you later.
SQUANDERING THE SKILLED ON DOLE QUEUES
http://www.herald.ie/opinion/comment/squandering-the-skilled-on-dole-queues-is-a-waste-and-a-disgrace-1849787.html
By Susan Daly
Monday August 03 2009
IT can't be an enormous surprise that FAS has seen so few applications for its latest scheme. The idea was that unemployed people would be occupied in unpaid work experience while retaining their benefit payments.
This makes sense for recent graduates who are treading that vicious hamster wheel of not being able to get their first foot in the door of their chosen industry. No experience, no job; no job, no experience.
But a quick poll of lines at the nearest social welfare office would testify to the fact that many of the newly unemployed have reams of experience and qualifications.
The dole queues are not solely occupied by the school-leavers and semi-skilled workers who swelled the ranks of the Live Register two decades ago.
Now the lines are full of professionals with whole careers behind them, arts and sports employees, crafts and tradespeople. These are not people who need to become trainees all over again. So why not make them the trainers?
If the Government looked hard enough -- or at all -- it would see a bright idea staring it in the face.
You wouldn't leave a valuable car out to rust on a beach, so why squander these people's assets on a stagnant dole queue?
There is a seasonal industry that has mushroomed in recent years where these highly skilled people could find a new home for their expertise. There is a summer school for everything these days and they are hugely popular.
Check out the prices being charged by the next summer camp to drop its leaflet through your letterbox. (Around our way, the fliers and circulars took over from where the local election campaign literature left off.)
Parents are shelling out hundreds of euro a week for their budding Ronaldo to attend soccer camp, or for their artistic daughter to daub watercolours in an art course at the bottom of someone's garden.
Kids' extra-curricular activities on school summer break are no longer confined to kicking a ball against the side of the house.
They can learn to climb a rock face, dance a polka, programme a computer.
Parents are anxious to cultivate their talents, keep them entertained and -- you know it's true -- get them out of their hair.
So if we take for granted the idea that the summer course is here to stay, why isn't the Government getting in on the act?
Think of all the schools lying idle during summer: those are your rent-free premises on tap right there.
Add to that the thousands of unemployed, but skilled people, just dying to throw some shape on their day, and you have a winner.
They might receive a nominal fee for their time, but they go home with a sense of purpose and a value-added CV in their future job hunt.
Parents already pay premium rates to private summer camps to allow their kids to indulge their passion for everything from gym to Gaeilge.
Government-run schemes could easily turn a profit by charging parents fees, albeit slightly reduced ones considering how cost-efficient the use of school grounds would be. Parents would get a few euro back, the State coffers would receive a boost, and the instructors would feel more valued by society and less a part of the benefits merry-go-round.
Setting up such a scheme would take a good deal of planning and a fair bit of lateral thinking. But we could be looking at a whole new range of summer camps.
Imagine teens who are into modified cars getting responsible instruction from a mechanic who has seen enough death-trap bangers in his time to be passionate about kids staying out of danger.
Private gyms have been suffering from dropped memberships: wouldn't a recently redundant fitness instructor be the perfect fit for a sports camp? All those out-of-work IT techies -- straight to science camp for you.
As it stands, it is entirely ludicrous not to have some plan B for the newly redundant. This is just one. Isn't it the Department of Trade and Employment's job to -- apologies for the Celtic Tiger phrase -- think outside the box?
The sexual gulf war
Orgasms and the sexual proclivities of OAPs are slightly surreal topics of conversation to have with a stranger at 9am but that's what happened when I got Australian sex therapist Bettina Arndt on the phone for an interview...
Saturday August 01 2009
They say men and women are from different planets, but if Bettina Arndt's research is anything to go by, most couples are light years apart in bed. SUSAN DALY talks mismatched libidos with the Australian sex therapist.
ADRIENNE dreads the "creeping hand" groping across the marital bed to check if she's in the mood for love. Rachel says, "I feel like I'm enduring sex most of the time". Megan's friend tells her husband to "Hurry up and get it over with". Unsurprisingly, he now has erectile problems.
Women want less sex than men, says Bettina Arndt, and couples spend their lives negotiating who gets what, how much of it and how often. Arndt (59) is Australia's most prominent sex therapist and the women quoted above are three of the 98 people she persuaded to keep sex diaries for six to nine months.
If The Sex Diaries, the book based on the chronicles of her male and female subjects, is representative, then we're all treading through a sexual minefield. For every couple that records joyful physical intimacies in their diaries, there are 10 describing hugely mismatched libidos.
Adam (36) has only had sex twice in six years of marriage. Once on his wedding night, when his wife fell pregnant with their first child, and on the night when his second daughter was conceived. His wife won't speak to him about the sex drought, so he's thinking of turning to prostitutes, but can't justify spending the money. "It takes milk from my babies' mouths, if you can understand," he writes.
Craig has not had sex with his wife for five years. "The last time we had sex she obviously did not enjoy it, and she got up the instant I had finished to go and wash any trace of me off her. Her manner and extreme reaction made me feel like I was dirty and worthless."
Another man made the mistake of telling his wife after yet another rejected advance that he would not ask again -- she would have to initiate sex the next time. That was eight years ago, and he's still waiting. Yet another is trying to keep a spark of intimacy alive in his marriage to a wife who suffers from severe OCD: they have agreed to have sex once a week, at 9.15am exactly every Sunday.
There are sad men lamenting the loss of the early passion of their relationships, and women who wish they felt desire -- but don't. While there are a few reversals of this state of play in the diaries -- where the woman has the higher sex drive -- Arndt believes that this is just how it is with men and women. She's very sure of herself when I ask her about the generalisation.
"I tried to spell it out in the chapter called The Search for the Elusive Pink Viagra," she says in her frank Australian accent. "I think there is something biological there that means women have a more distractible, fragile libido.
"Evolutionary psychologists argue that we are supposed to be mothers, and mothers aren't meant to be bonking all the time. We might be in the bedroom, but we have an ear to the door."
Men, she says, are the complete opposite -- they use sex as a form of relaxation, a way to sweep away the worries and arguments of the relationship. "Men are able to use it as a distraction. That's a big gulf there. They can perform in all sorts of adverse circumstances. They can have sex with people they don't even like, for goodness' sake!"
Arndt doesn't exactly offer quick fixes, but she is fond of the phrase, 'Just do it!' It puts the onus on the partner with the lower libido to have sex even when they don't feel like it. Once they decide that sex is on the cards and put themselves in a positive mindframe, they will enjoy it, says Arndt.
This nugget of advice, which is at the heart of Arndt's book, sparked outrage in her native Australia, where The Sex Diaries is currently a bestseller. "I was expecting that," says Arndt. "Did you see that I mentioned the internet blog that started with, 'F*** you, Bettina Arndt'?"
She says she is not advocating women having unwanted sex forced on them -- a return to the days before marital rape was criminalised. She paraphrases Michele Weiner-Davis, whose book The Sex-Starved Marriage is one of a range of studies and works referenced in The Sex Diaries, when she says: "Desire is a decision. You have to put sex on the 'to do' list."
She was so affected by some of the heart-breaking diaries written by the sexually-frustrated men, she is putting together a book based on their experiences, The Male Sex Diaries. "This is not about sex, getting your rocks off," says Arndt. "It's about yearning to be wanted by the woman they love. I had a man tell me the other day that he'd had no sex in 16 years and he is still there in his marriage because he loves his wife. He was joking about the gulf war -- the 16 inches in bed between them feels like thousands of miles."
Arndt is past caring what her critics think. A clinical psychologist who specialised in sexual therapy, she carried out ground-breaking sex studies. By the age of 23 she was advising Australians on sexual issues. "Sex was such a great area to work in. There had been so much ignorance and discomfort around it."
She attracted a ban from live TV and radio for two years for speaking on radio about masturbation. "Back in the early 70s, Australia was a more conservative place," says Arndt. "That was too much for the censorship authorities. They never spelled out what exactly I had done and people thought I had used four-letter words! It was these nervous middle-aged men ready to push the button." I can only imagine what reaction she might get with a similar subject in Ireland, even today.
Born to parents who fled Nazi Germany, she was widowed at a young age with young children and is divorced from her second husband. "I've learned a lot through life itself and the things that have happened to me," she says.
Arndt says the feedback from men and women who say The Sex Diaries reflect their own lives far outweighs the Outrageds from Brisbane. "One woman told me that she was sitting in the car with her husband driving and listening to me prattling on the radio about the book. As soon as she got home, she ran into the house and sent me this email. Sitting next to him and knowing that this was their problem, and neither of them saying anything, it was excruciating."
But if, as Arndt seems to contest, a drop in libido as a relationship progresses is a biological and therefore natural event, should women (and the occasional man) be worrying if they're not swinging from the light fittings every night? Yes, she says, because apparently we are conditioned to think that desire needs to come first for sex to happen. "I've had a lot of response from women saying I know I might not feel like it, but I know when I relax, I will enjoy it. I'm not saying suffer through unwanted sex, but it's not a big ask to just make the effort."
How much effort is enough is debatable. I was far from turned on by the celebratory tale in Arndt's book of young parents Shirley and Luke, who ended up having sex while her husband held their crying baby. They weren't going to let parenthood ruin their sex lives, no way! I had reservations too about a woman called Antonia (58) who gets up at 5am to do the household chores, makes her husband a cup of tea afterwards, comes back to bed to have sex with him -- every day -- and gets back up to go to work. And her husband, to be honest, comes across as a bit of an ass, who has about a tenth of Antonia's workload but makes nasty comments when she is too tired to have sex twice in one day.
A frequent contention of Arndt's male diarists is that women are harder to please in bed. One man amusingly speaks about pleasing his partner being as difficult as "a blind man in the dark searching for a black cat that isn't there". A chapter describes some particularly nasty male sexual habits, which must have contributed to the lack of desire in some of the women. "When foreplay is bad," says Claire (32), "I feel like skipping it altogether." A wife recounts her husband's hatred of kissing her: "He doesn't like kissing -- he says I'm stealing his air."
It begs the question: where's the pleasure? Arndt points to the example of Michael and Heather, both in their 60s and still enjoying a passionate sex life. They have even kept a calendar of their sexual activities for the past 23 years, each day marked with enigmatic symbols. A green square marks a mutual orgasm -- there are plenty of those -- green lines denote a 'serious' cuddle, and four interlinked circles means they had sex in their Audi car.
"That couple are what I call my juicy tomatoes," says Arndt.
The Sex Diaries: Why Women Go Off Sex and Other Bedroom Battles, by Bettina Arndt, is published by Hamlyn and is in bookshops now
PANEL: Pillow Talk - Tales from the bedroom.
THE SELF-CONFESSED 'GROPER'
Clive (48) has been married for 22 years. He and his wife make love once or twice a fortnight, while he would love it twice a day.
"I try hard not to exceed allowable limits; to sense her mood. I wonder whether us men are sometimes the more sensitive sex. We seem to have a lot of practice at it. Grope too much and you'll be 'off sex'. So you must do it carefully.
"It's almost like being a young man and trying to work out how far your girlfriend will let you go before the shutters come down, she crosses her legs and says 'NO'. I know that a caress won't get me any sex. It's more like, 'I love you, I'm desperate for you. Just touching you is a connection from me to you. I'm still here. I still adore you. Hullo! Where has she gone, this lover I married?'"
THE LONG-TERM SEXLESS MARRIAGE
Arthur (63) has been married for 37 years. He and his wife haven't had sex for 15 years.
"I wake up before her. We have to get up soon and go to work. I reach out -- she leaps out of bed and says, 'I have to go to the toilet'.
Me: 'When you are finished come back and make mad, passionate love to me.'
She: 'Ha ha!'
Two minutes later she does come back, dressing gown over nightie. I persuade her to cuddle into me. It's pretty awkward and not at all sexual."
THE NEWLYWEDS
Kevin and Amanda, both in their early 30s and together a year, are still in the 'limerence' phase of their relationship, when the initial cocktail of chemicals inspires lust in a new couple. One of their special rituals is a quickie at the kitchen sink.
"Eventually we make it to bed, hot with the expectation of what is about to happen. I can actually feel my heart rate go up as I get into bed, in anticipation of Amanda's touch. We make love a second time and it is just incredible. I feel so high when I make love to her; it must be like being on drugs. I feel like I am in a place when I am untouchable, invincible almost."
SEX VERSUS THE HOUSEWORK
Mary (42) has been married to Peter for four years. It is a second marriage for them both. Their sex life has ground to a halt over arguments about housework.
"I'm working a full five-day week, 6am to 6.30pm. I come home, usually to cook (because he cannot and will not cook; at least, not reliably).
"Occasionally, he might put himself out but it's generally, 'Let's go to Subway', which I end up spewing about because I don't want the kids learning to rely on takeout and I spend a fortune each pay day stocking up with fresh foods and meats.
"My weekends are guaranteed: all day Saturday cleaning the house itself, then Sundays attacking the ironing.
"Yes, he does 'do the washing', which consists of putting the washing into our 10kg washer/dryer and putting the finished dried washing into a pile on the lounge floor, where the dog promptly lies all over it. Now, if he took the clothes out straightaway and hung them up or folded them, life would be sweet.
"But, he piles them load on top of load, so by the time I get to them, I've got steam-dried, cardboard lumps covered in dog hair and he wonders why I'm so bloody ungrateful and why that night I'll knock his block off when he wants 'it'."
- Susan Daly
Saturday August 01 2009
They say men and women are from different planets, but if Bettina Arndt's research is anything to go by, most couples are light years apart in bed. SUSAN DALY talks mismatched libidos with the Australian sex therapist.
ADRIENNE dreads the "creeping hand" groping across the marital bed to check if she's in the mood for love. Rachel says, "I feel like I'm enduring sex most of the time". Megan's friend tells her husband to "Hurry up and get it over with". Unsurprisingly, he now has erectile problems.
Women want less sex than men, says Bettina Arndt, and couples spend their lives negotiating who gets what, how much of it and how often. Arndt (59) is Australia's most prominent sex therapist and the women quoted above are three of the 98 people she persuaded to keep sex diaries for six to nine months.
If The Sex Diaries, the book based on the chronicles of her male and female subjects, is representative, then we're all treading through a sexual minefield. For every couple that records joyful physical intimacies in their diaries, there are 10 describing hugely mismatched libidos.
Adam (36) has only had sex twice in six years of marriage. Once on his wedding night, when his wife fell pregnant with their first child, and on the night when his second daughter was conceived. His wife won't speak to him about the sex drought, so he's thinking of turning to prostitutes, but can't justify spending the money. "It takes milk from my babies' mouths, if you can understand," he writes.
Craig has not had sex with his wife for five years. "The last time we had sex she obviously did not enjoy it, and she got up the instant I had finished to go and wash any trace of me off her. Her manner and extreme reaction made me feel like I was dirty and worthless."
Another man made the mistake of telling his wife after yet another rejected advance that he would not ask again -- she would have to initiate sex the next time. That was eight years ago, and he's still waiting. Yet another is trying to keep a spark of intimacy alive in his marriage to a wife who suffers from severe OCD: they have agreed to have sex once a week, at 9.15am exactly every Sunday.
There are sad men lamenting the loss of the early passion of their relationships, and women who wish they felt desire -- but don't. While there are a few reversals of this state of play in the diaries -- where the woman has the higher sex drive -- Arndt believes that this is just how it is with men and women. She's very sure of herself when I ask her about the generalisation.
"I tried to spell it out in the chapter called The Search for the Elusive Pink Viagra," she says in her frank Australian accent. "I think there is something biological there that means women have a more distractible, fragile libido.
"Evolutionary psychologists argue that we are supposed to be mothers, and mothers aren't meant to be bonking all the time. We might be in the bedroom, but we have an ear to the door."
Men, she says, are the complete opposite -- they use sex as a form of relaxation, a way to sweep away the worries and arguments of the relationship. "Men are able to use it as a distraction. That's a big gulf there. They can perform in all sorts of adverse circumstances. They can have sex with people they don't even like, for goodness' sake!"
Arndt doesn't exactly offer quick fixes, but she is fond of the phrase, 'Just do it!' It puts the onus on the partner with the lower libido to have sex even when they don't feel like it. Once they decide that sex is on the cards and put themselves in a positive mindframe, they will enjoy it, says Arndt.
This nugget of advice, which is at the heart of Arndt's book, sparked outrage in her native Australia, where The Sex Diaries is currently a bestseller. "I was expecting that," says Arndt. "Did you see that I mentioned the internet blog that started with, 'F*** you, Bettina Arndt'?"
She says she is not advocating women having unwanted sex forced on them -- a return to the days before marital rape was criminalised. She paraphrases Michele Weiner-Davis, whose book The Sex-Starved Marriage is one of a range of studies and works referenced in The Sex Diaries, when she says: "Desire is a decision. You have to put sex on the 'to do' list."
She was so affected by some of the heart-breaking diaries written by the sexually-frustrated men, she is putting together a book based on their experiences, The Male Sex Diaries. "This is not about sex, getting your rocks off," says Arndt. "It's about yearning to be wanted by the woman they love. I had a man tell me the other day that he'd had no sex in 16 years and he is still there in his marriage because he loves his wife. He was joking about the gulf war -- the 16 inches in bed between them feels like thousands of miles."
Arndt is past caring what her critics think. A clinical psychologist who specialised in sexual therapy, she carried out ground-breaking sex studies. By the age of 23 she was advising Australians on sexual issues. "Sex was such a great area to work in. There had been so much ignorance and discomfort around it."
She attracted a ban from live TV and radio for two years for speaking on radio about masturbation. "Back in the early 70s, Australia was a more conservative place," says Arndt. "That was too much for the censorship authorities. They never spelled out what exactly I had done and people thought I had used four-letter words! It was these nervous middle-aged men ready to push the button." I can only imagine what reaction she might get with a similar subject in Ireland, even today.
Born to parents who fled Nazi Germany, she was widowed at a young age with young children and is divorced from her second husband. "I've learned a lot through life itself and the things that have happened to me," she says.
Arndt says the feedback from men and women who say The Sex Diaries reflect their own lives far outweighs the Outrageds from Brisbane. "One woman told me that she was sitting in the car with her husband driving and listening to me prattling on the radio about the book. As soon as she got home, she ran into the house and sent me this email. Sitting next to him and knowing that this was their problem, and neither of them saying anything, it was excruciating."
But if, as Arndt seems to contest, a drop in libido as a relationship progresses is a biological and therefore natural event, should women (and the occasional man) be worrying if they're not swinging from the light fittings every night? Yes, she says, because apparently we are conditioned to think that desire needs to come first for sex to happen. "I've had a lot of response from women saying I know I might not feel like it, but I know when I relax, I will enjoy it. I'm not saying suffer through unwanted sex, but it's not a big ask to just make the effort."
How much effort is enough is debatable. I was far from turned on by the celebratory tale in Arndt's book of young parents Shirley and Luke, who ended up having sex while her husband held their crying baby. They weren't going to let parenthood ruin their sex lives, no way! I had reservations too about a woman called Antonia (58) who gets up at 5am to do the household chores, makes her husband a cup of tea afterwards, comes back to bed to have sex with him -- every day -- and gets back up to go to work. And her husband, to be honest, comes across as a bit of an ass, who has about a tenth of Antonia's workload but makes nasty comments when she is too tired to have sex twice in one day.
A frequent contention of Arndt's male diarists is that women are harder to please in bed. One man amusingly speaks about pleasing his partner being as difficult as "a blind man in the dark searching for a black cat that isn't there". A chapter describes some particularly nasty male sexual habits, which must have contributed to the lack of desire in some of the women. "When foreplay is bad," says Claire (32), "I feel like skipping it altogether." A wife recounts her husband's hatred of kissing her: "He doesn't like kissing -- he says I'm stealing his air."
It begs the question: where's the pleasure? Arndt points to the example of Michael and Heather, both in their 60s and still enjoying a passionate sex life. They have even kept a calendar of their sexual activities for the past 23 years, each day marked with enigmatic symbols. A green square marks a mutual orgasm -- there are plenty of those -- green lines denote a 'serious' cuddle, and four interlinked circles means they had sex in their Audi car.
"That couple are what I call my juicy tomatoes," says Arndt.
The Sex Diaries: Why Women Go Off Sex and Other Bedroom Battles, by Bettina Arndt, is published by Hamlyn and is in bookshops now
PANEL: Pillow Talk - Tales from the bedroom.
THE SELF-CONFESSED 'GROPER'
Clive (48) has been married for 22 years. He and his wife make love once or twice a fortnight, while he would love it twice a day.
"I try hard not to exceed allowable limits; to sense her mood. I wonder whether us men are sometimes the more sensitive sex. We seem to have a lot of practice at it. Grope too much and you'll be 'off sex'. So you must do it carefully.
"It's almost like being a young man and trying to work out how far your girlfriend will let you go before the shutters come down, she crosses her legs and says 'NO'. I know that a caress won't get me any sex. It's more like, 'I love you, I'm desperate for you. Just touching you is a connection from me to you. I'm still here. I still adore you. Hullo! Where has she gone, this lover I married?'"
THE LONG-TERM SEXLESS MARRIAGE
Arthur (63) has been married for 37 years. He and his wife haven't had sex for 15 years.
"I wake up before her. We have to get up soon and go to work. I reach out -- she leaps out of bed and says, 'I have to go to the toilet'.
Me: 'When you are finished come back and make mad, passionate love to me.'
She: 'Ha ha!'
Two minutes later she does come back, dressing gown over nightie. I persuade her to cuddle into me. It's pretty awkward and not at all sexual."
THE NEWLYWEDS
Kevin and Amanda, both in their early 30s and together a year, are still in the 'limerence' phase of their relationship, when the initial cocktail of chemicals inspires lust in a new couple. One of their special rituals is a quickie at the kitchen sink.
"Eventually we make it to bed, hot with the expectation of what is about to happen. I can actually feel my heart rate go up as I get into bed, in anticipation of Amanda's touch. We make love a second time and it is just incredible. I feel so high when I make love to her; it must be like being on drugs. I feel like I am in a place when I am untouchable, invincible almost."
SEX VERSUS THE HOUSEWORK
Mary (42) has been married to Peter for four years. It is a second marriage for them both. Their sex life has ground to a halt over arguments about housework.
"I'm working a full five-day week, 6am to 6.30pm. I come home, usually to cook (because he cannot and will not cook; at least, not reliably).
"Occasionally, he might put himself out but it's generally, 'Let's go to Subway', which I end up spewing about because I don't want the kids learning to rely on takeout and I spend a fortune each pay day stocking up with fresh foods and meats.
"My weekends are guaranteed: all day Saturday cleaning the house itself, then Sundays attacking the ironing.
"Yes, he does 'do the washing', which consists of putting the washing into our 10kg washer/dryer and putting the finished dried washing into a pile on the lounge floor, where the dog promptly lies all over it. Now, if he took the clothes out straightaway and hung them up or folded them, life would be sweet.
"But, he piles them load on top of load, so by the time I get to them, I've got steam-dried, cardboard lumps covered in dog hair and he wonders why I'm so bloody ungrateful and why that night I'll knock his block off when he wants 'it'."
- Susan Daly
Monday, July 27, 2009
Lovely Lydia
This was what my other trip to France was about in recent weeks. The cover story from the Irish Independent's Weekend magazine last Saturday...
http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/the-day-the-sky-fell-in-1840183.html
'The day the sky fell in'
After dealing with a high-profile divorce, Lydia Roche and former husband and cycling champion Stephen Roche faced even stormier times when their youngest son, Florian, was diagnosed with leukaemia. Susan Daly hears how they got their lives back on track
Saturday July 25 2009
The lavender plants lining the path to Lydia Roche's home in the south of France send up clouds of butterflies and fragrance as the visitor brushes past. From the shady terrace of her airy apartment, she takes in a view that sweeps down the rolling hillside to the town of Antibes and, beyond that, the sparkling azure sea where wealthy playboys anchor their yachts.
Even on this beautiful day, a cloud passes over Lydia's face as she describes the moment two years ago when "the sky fell in". Her youngest son, Florian, then just seven years old, was diagnosed with the most severe form of leukaemia.
He had complained of a tummy ache while on holiday in Ireland with his father Stephen Roche, the former cycling champion and Lydia's ex-husband. "When he came back I thought he was a bit skinny, very pale, but I think of the travelling -- I never think of leukaemia," says Lydia in heavily-accented English.
When he developed a blinding headache, doctors began to run tests. The diagnosis was shocking. Florian's white blood cell count was so high -- Lydia takes my pen and writes down the number 560,000, the number that is engraved on her mind from that day, September 2, 2007 -- that "his blood was not even red anymore".
Her first instinct was to ring Stephen, their daughter, Christel (23), and eldest son, Nicolas (25). "Within hours everyone was at the hospital, all shocked, all crying. It was terrible, terrible news," says Lydia. They were a family suddenly brought together by the worst nightmare imaginable.
Lydia married Stephen when she was 17-and-a-half. They have been divorced since 2003, after 23 years of marriage, a temporary split, a reconciliation and four children. A handsome young couple, they had brightened the gloom of the 1980s with his sporting success and her exotic French beauty. Early in 2007, the Irish public's fond memories were shattered by an interview in which Stephen suggested that the marriage had been marked by much unhappiness, particularly after he retired from cycling in 1993.
In a riposte, Lydia revealed her deep hurt that Stephen had spoken so negatively of their relationship. She was also upset by his suggestion that he had not been fully on board with the decision to have two more children, Alexis (11) and Florian (nine), after they moved to Ireland in 1998, not long after they had reconciled after a first attempt to divorce.
"Reading what Stephen said," Lydia said in April 2007, "I don't think it was like he says. Maybe I was wrong, but I thought things were great between us and, because he did not see so much our two first ones growing up, I thought if we had a baby, we could enjoy it together."
Neither had the remotest idea that just a few short months later, everything would recede in the enormity of Florian's illness. Lydia recalls one of the worst moments of her life, sitting in the ambulance with Florian as he was transferred to hospital in Nice. "I thought I should not cry, and there was a pain there," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose, "where I was holding back the tears. Florian was asking, 'What's wrong Mammy?'. And yet we still did not know how bad it was."
It was stage three leukaemia, and Florian's white blood cells were 98pc blast -- or cancer cells. Lydia would later be told that had she not brought Florian to the hospital that weekend, he might not have made it to Monday. That was just the beginning of a battle that would last two long years and, Lydia hopes, will end when Florian returns to school next month.
But back in September 2007, while his classmates embarked on another academic year, Florian was facing a fight for his life. "The initial treatment got [the cancer cells] down a bit, but it was out of control," says Lydia. The hospital in Nice contacted a special cancer advisory centre in Brussels, who offered to put Florian on a new trial treatment. "Stephen and I agreed. It was a trial, they were not sure, but for us the normal treatment was not working -- you would try anything at this stage."
Side by side with this severe treatment, doctors were readying Florian for a bone marrow transplant. All of the family were tested to see if they were suitable bone marrow donors. Only Alexis was a 100pc match; their first piece of luck, says Lydia.
"You have your child looking at you and you wonder, 'Why are we going through this?'. I know now what it is like to be with your child when he is only seven and it seems so unfair to him. You would like to take the sickness from him. Sometimes he would say to me, 'Save me, mammy' because he was in so much pain. I know he's not the only one, that others are going through that."
Florian and Alexis are playing quietly on a computer in the sitting room a few yards away from us inside the apartment, Alexis' fair head bowed in concentration over the dark one of his younger, paler brother. Florian cannot be in the summer sun because his skin is still photosensitive as a result of radiotherapy.
It is still difficult for Lydia to speak about how she watched her little boy in pain. But it is a story that must be told. When Florian got sick, Lydia found a shoulder to lean on in another mother whose daughter was on Florian's ward. "She had taught a lot to me because she was a few months ahead of what I was going through," says Lydia. "I had no clue, and she was my guide. We would cry on each other, we were there together every day."
Lydia hopes that by recounting Florian's battle, she might in some way give hope to other parents. "I think of her a lot," she says with gratitude to that unnamed mother, whose daughter's story unfortunately ended very sadly. On the day Florian had the catheter fitted to facilitate his bone marrow transplant, the girl died. She had received a transplant six months earlier. It was devastating for her family, but also for the Roches, who were steeling themselves for Florian's procedure. "I went to see her a few minutes before she went, and already that was too much for me," she says. Even now, her deep brown eyes swim with tears.
For weeks before the bone marrow transplant, Lydia took it on herself to keep Florian safe from infection. He had been on steroids to counteract the nauseous effect of the chemotherapy drugs. His body was struggling with the warring impulses of the hunger-inducing steroids and waves of vomiting. Lydia would feed him, morsel by morsel, as one would a baby bird.
"They can feed you by drip but we didn't want that. I had to try. We were eating bit by bit, for hours. Everything he liked I ran to the shop [for], everything had to be very fresh," she says.
"Sometimes he was depressed and crying -- when he was having the steroids and the chemotherapy together. You learn on the way, you are not prepared."
Although she recounts these horrors in a calm and soft voice, it is clear that Lydia is haunted. The lowest ebb for Florian came shortly after the bone marrow transplant. He had been undergoing six hours of radiotherapy in preparation: a seven-year-old boy forced to lie perfectly still while the laser was inched painfully across his body.
"We had to kill Florian's own marrow, so slowly; you could almost say he was dying," says Lydia. He was so weak that he did not speak for a week. On three of those days after the transplant, waiting for Alexis's cells to show up in his body, he was suffering badly. His jaw area collapsed as his body disintegrated, and the morphine dosage was increased to the highest level possible.
When words fail her, Lydia lays a folder carefully on the table. There are pages and pages of foolscap covered in her writing, each day of Florian's illness charted in columns of figures, descriptions of treatments and remarks on his wellbeing. One day, March 9, 2008, has a stark entry. "Souffre beaucoup." Suffers a lot. The folder helped Lydia to understand what was happening to her son, to not miss a beat. And, one suspects, to keep a small sense of control in a situation that was almost entirely out of her hands.
"I prayed a lot," she admits. "It's strange -- you could be cleaning his little table, but your brain is working, 'Please God it will be fine, please God it will be fine'."
The whole family has been deeply affected, Alexis in particular. He was afraid of needles, says Lydia, but never once complained about the transplant procedure he had to undergo to save his brother. "He did it like a big man, he was very brave," says Lydia proudly. "Alexis had to speak to a psychiatrist and they explained that Florian could die, and that it would not be his fault. Imagine being 10 -- that was heavy to hear."
Christel returned to help from Canada, where she had been studying for a masters in marketing. Lydia shows me a photograph that Christel took of Lydia, Alexis and Florian as they celebrated a belated Christmas when Florian was spared a few days at home from the hospital. "I keep it in my purse," says Lydia with a small smile.
In it, she is wearing a smart shirt and hugging her boys tightly, but the strain is etched on her face. Florian's head is shaven and his fragile body bloated from the steroids. His parents simply told him that his hair was too long and needed a cut. "At seven years, you have to go about it a funny way. We said, 'Oh it's nice, it suits you'. There is enough shock; you have to protect him." The dark curls he inherited from his dad have now grown back in abundance.
Nicolas, a professional cyclist like his father, had to spend much time away from home, although he was with Alexis for his marrow donation when Stephen caught a flu virus. Lydia recounts how Nicolas developed ulcers from stress. "In May last year, he had 10 ulcers in his stomach, three were bleeding. He was so upset about his brother, but still he had to do his job."
Everyone's lives have regained a semblance of normality. Christel is on a work placement in Dublin, and Nicolas, winner of the Irish National Road Race Championship this June, has been riding spiritedly in the Tour de France for AG2R-La Mondiale. That must have its own particular stress, considering his father's previous success? "Nicolas, I think this year his brain is better because he is happy." Lydia beams as she speaks of travelling to Monaco for the opening stage of the Tour this year, but won't see him again until it finishes, which it does tomorrow in her native Paris. "But Stephen has gone to the Tour."
She mentions her ex-husband's name without hesitation, where two years ago she found herself shaken by a newspaper clipping put through her letterbox by a friend. It contained the interview Stephen had given alongside his then-girlfriend Sophie on a trip to Dublin. "Everything was a fight and when there's no love it's very hard," he had said of the dying days of his marriage to Lydia.
At that time, Stephen was moving between Sophie's home town of Paris and the seafront hotel near Nice which he and Lydia had bought in 1999 on their return to France from Ireland. He moved into the hotel permanently when Florian got sick. "He's not with his girlfriend anymore," says Lydia, referring to Sophie. "He has a new girlfriend since last year who seems to be very nice. Apparently, she lost her mother to a kind of leukaemia, so she was very sensitive to the fact that Florian was so sick."
It is clear that, even if they have separate lives now, Lydia and Stephen will always be bound by their children. "When something happens like that, in the family, everybody gets the pain. You have to change your priorities, it makes you think," she says. "Sometimes you have a small problem and you cry or fight over it, but here you have the biggest problem in the world and you deal with it."
They bought a cake together for Alexis and Florian on the first year anniversary of Florian's transplant. "We celebrated this year, Stephen and I, with a little cake. We celebrated the two of them. We are so proud of them," she says.
The future is not the fixed entity it was before the Earth-shattering trauma of Florian's illness. Lydia can only think to the next month, when Florian returns to school after a two-year absence. Perhaps later she will start to think as far as a year ahead, tentatively hoping for no return of cancer cells.
She has spent two years practically living inside hospital walls. When I ask what Lydia feels now about getting her life back, she looks blank at first, then a smile grows slowly across her face. "The little bit I go out, it's like Christmas!" she laughs. "When I came out of the hospital, you would not have recognised me. I was really thin, I looked 50, I was really marked."
Today, Lydia Roche is slim,in a pretty sun dress with freshly-washed blonde hair and a fresh, unlined face that could belong to a woman in her 30s. She is 45 this year.
"We went through the divorce then the sickness. We have not had many happy times in the past few years here, so now I really want the blue sky and the sun, and the finish!" she says. "We have to be happy, please God. We went through the wars."
http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/the-day-the-sky-fell-in-1840183.html
'The day the sky fell in'
After dealing with a high-profile divorce, Lydia Roche and former husband and cycling champion Stephen Roche faced even stormier times when their youngest son, Florian, was diagnosed with leukaemia. Susan Daly hears how they got their lives back on track
Saturday July 25 2009
The lavender plants lining the path to Lydia Roche's home in the south of France send up clouds of butterflies and fragrance as the visitor brushes past. From the shady terrace of her airy apartment, she takes in a view that sweeps down the rolling hillside to the town of Antibes and, beyond that, the sparkling azure sea where wealthy playboys anchor their yachts.
Even on this beautiful day, a cloud passes over Lydia's face as she describes the moment two years ago when "the sky fell in". Her youngest son, Florian, then just seven years old, was diagnosed with the most severe form of leukaemia.
He had complained of a tummy ache while on holiday in Ireland with his father Stephen Roche, the former cycling champion and Lydia's ex-husband. "When he came back I thought he was a bit skinny, very pale, but I think of the travelling -- I never think of leukaemia," says Lydia in heavily-accented English.
When he developed a blinding headache, doctors began to run tests. The diagnosis was shocking. Florian's white blood cell count was so high -- Lydia takes my pen and writes down the number 560,000, the number that is engraved on her mind from that day, September 2, 2007 -- that "his blood was not even red anymore".
Her first instinct was to ring Stephen, their daughter, Christel (23), and eldest son, Nicolas (25). "Within hours everyone was at the hospital, all shocked, all crying. It was terrible, terrible news," says Lydia. They were a family suddenly brought together by the worst nightmare imaginable.
Lydia married Stephen when she was 17-and-a-half. They have been divorced since 2003, after 23 years of marriage, a temporary split, a reconciliation and four children. A handsome young couple, they had brightened the gloom of the 1980s with his sporting success and her exotic French beauty. Early in 2007, the Irish public's fond memories were shattered by an interview in which Stephen suggested that the marriage had been marked by much unhappiness, particularly after he retired from cycling in 1993.
In a riposte, Lydia revealed her deep hurt that Stephen had spoken so negatively of their relationship. She was also upset by his suggestion that he had not been fully on board with the decision to have two more children, Alexis (11) and Florian (nine), after they moved to Ireland in 1998, not long after they had reconciled after a first attempt to divorce.
"Reading what Stephen said," Lydia said in April 2007, "I don't think it was like he says. Maybe I was wrong, but I thought things were great between us and, because he did not see so much our two first ones growing up, I thought if we had a baby, we could enjoy it together."
Neither had the remotest idea that just a few short months later, everything would recede in the enormity of Florian's illness. Lydia recalls one of the worst moments of her life, sitting in the ambulance with Florian as he was transferred to hospital in Nice. "I thought I should not cry, and there was a pain there," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose, "where I was holding back the tears. Florian was asking, 'What's wrong Mammy?'. And yet we still did not know how bad it was."
It was stage three leukaemia, and Florian's white blood cells were 98pc blast -- or cancer cells. Lydia would later be told that had she not brought Florian to the hospital that weekend, he might not have made it to Monday. That was just the beginning of a battle that would last two long years and, Lydia hopes, will end when Florian returns to school next month.
But back in September 2007, while his classmates embarked on another academic year, Florian was facing a fight for his life. "The initial treatment got [the cancer cells] down a bit, but it was out of control," says Lydia. The hospital in Nice contacted a special cancer advisory centre in Brussels, who offered to put Florian on a new trial treatment. "Stephen and I agreed. It was a trial, they were not sure, but for us the normal treatment was not working -- you would try anything at this stage."
Side by side with this severe treatment, doctors were readying Florian for a bone marrow transplant. All of the family were tested to see if they were suitable bone marrow donors. Only Alexis was a 100pc match; their first piece of luck, says Lydia.
"You have your child looking at you and you wonder, 'Why are we going through this?'. I know now what it is like to be with your child when he is only seven and it seems so unfair to him. You would like to take the sickness from him. Sometimes he would say to me, 'Save me, mammy' because he was in so much pain. I know he's not the only one, that others are going through that."
Florian and Alexis are playing quietly on a computer in the sitting room a few yards away from us inside the apartment, Alexis' fair head bowed in concentration over the dark one of his younger, paler brother. Florian cannot be in the summer sun because his skin is still photosensitive as a result of radiotherapy.
It is still difficult for Lydia to speak about how she watched her little boy in pain. But it is a story that must be told. When Florian got sick, Lydia found a shoulder to lean on in another mother whose daughter was on Florian's ward. "She had taught a lot to me because she was a few months ahead of what I was going through," says Lydia. "I had no clue, and she was my guide. We would cry on each other, we were there together every day."
Lydia hopes that by recounting Florian's battle, she might in some way give hope to other parents. "I think of her a lot," she says with gratitude to that unnamed mother, whose daughter's story unfortunately ended very sadly. On the day Florian had the catheter fitted to facilitate his bone marrow transplant, the girl died. She had received a transplant six months earlier. It was devastating for her family, but also for the Roches, who were steeling themselves for Florian's procedure. "I went to see her a few minutes before she went, and already that was too much for me," she says. Even now, her deep brown eyes swim with tears.
For weeks before the bone marrow transplant, Lydia took it on herself to keep Florian safe from infection. He had been on steroids to counteract the nauseous effect of the chemotherapy drugs. His body was struggling with the warring impulses of the hunger-inducing steroids and waves of vomiting. Lydia would feed him, morsel by morsel, as one would a baby bird.
"They can feed you by drip but we didn't want that. I had to try. We were eating bit by bit, for hours. Everything he liked I ran to the shop [for], everything had to be very fresh," she says.
"Sometimes he was depressed and crying -- when he was having the steroids and the chemotherapy together. You learn on the way, you are not prepared."
Although she recounts these horrors in a calm and soft voice, it is clear that Lydia is haunted. The lowest ebb for Florian came shortly after the bone marrow transplant. He had been undergoing six hours of radiotherapy in preparation: a seven-year-old boy forced to lie perfectly still while the laser was inched painfully across his body.
"We had to kill Florian's own marrow, so slowly; you could almost say he was dying," says Lydia. He was so weak that he did not speak for a week. On three of those days after the transplant, waiting for Alexis's cells to show up in his body, he was suffering badly. His jaw area collapsed as his body disintegrated, and the morphine dosage was increased to the highest level possible.
When words fail her, Lydia lays a folder carefully on the table. There are pages and pages of foolscap covered in her writing, each day of Florian's illness charted in columns of figures, descriptions of treatments and remarks on his wellbeing. One day, March 9, 2008, has a stark entry. "Souffre beaucoup." Suffers a lot. The folder helped Lydia to understand what was happening to her son, to not miss a beat. And, one suspects, to keep a small sense of control in a situation that was almost entirely out of her hands.
"I prayed a lot," she admits. "It's strange -- you could be cleaning his little table, but your brain is working, 'Please God it will be fine, please God it will be fine'."
The whole family has been deeply affected, Alexis in particular. He was afraid of needles, says Lydia, but never once complained about the transplant procedure he had to undergo to save his brother. "He did it like a big man, he was very brave," says Lydia proudly. "Alexis had to speak to a psychiatrist and they explained that Florian could die, and that it would not be his fault. Imagine being 10 -- that was heavy to hear."
Christel returned to help from Canada, where she had been studying for a masters in marketing. Lydia shows me a photograph that Christel took of Lydia, Alexis and Florian as they celebrated a belated Christmas when Florian was spared a few days at home from the hospital. "I keep it in my purse," says Lydia with a small smile.
In it, she is wearing a smart shirt and hugging her boys tightly, but the strain is etched on her face. Florian's head is shaven and his fragile body bloated from the steroids. His parents simply told him that his hair was too long and needed a cut. "At seven years, you have to go about it a funny way. We said, 'Oh it's nice, it suits you'. There is enough shock; you have to protect him." The dark curls he inherited from his dad have now grown back in abundance.
Nicolas, a professional cyclist like his father, had to spend much time away from home, although he was with Alexis for his marrow donation when Stephen caught a flu virus. Lydia recounts how Nicolas developed ulcers from stress. "In May last year, he had 10 ulcers in his stomach, three were bleeding. He was so upset about his brother, but still he had to do his job."
Everyone's lives have regained a semblance of normality. Christel is on a work placement in Dublin, and Nicolas, winner of the Irish National Road Race Championship this June, has been riding spiritedly in the Tour de France for AG2R-La Mondiale. That must have its own particular stress, considering his father's previous success? "Nicolas, I think this year his brain is better because he is happy." Lydia beams as she speaks of travelling to Monaco for the opening stage of the Tour this year, but won't see him again until it finishes, which it does tomorrow in her native Paris. "But Stephen has gone to the Tour."
She mentions her ex-husband's name without hesitation, where two years ago she found herself shaken by a newspaper clipping put through her letterbox by a friend. It contained the interview Stephen had given alongside his then-girlfriend Sophie on a trip to Dublin. "Everything was a fight and when there's no love it's very hard," he had said of the dying days of his marriage to Lydia.
At that time, Stephen was moving between Sophie's home town of Paris and the seafront hotel near Nice which he and Lydia had bought in 1999 on their return to France from Ireland. He moved into the hotel permanently when Florian got sick. "He's not with his girlfriend anymore," says Lydia, referring to Sophie. "He has a new girlfriend since last year who seems to be very nice. Apparently, she lost her mother to a kind of leukaemia, so she was very sensitive to the fact that Florian was so sick."
It is clear that, even if they have separate lives now, Lydia and Stephen will always be bound by their children. "When something happens like that, in the family, everybody gets the pain. You have to change your priorities, it makes you think," she says. "Sometimes you have a small problem and you cry or fight over it, but here you have the biggest problem in the world and you deal with it."
They bought a cake together for Alexis and Florian on the first year anniversary of Florian's transplant. "We celebrated this year, Stephen and I, with a little cake. We celebrated the two of them. We are so proud of them," she says.
The future is not the fixed entity it was before the Earth-shattering trauma of Florian's illness. Lydia can only think to the next month, when Florian returns to school after a two-year absence. Perhaps later she will start to think as far as a year ahead, tentatively hoping for no return of cancer cells.
She has spent two years practically living inside hospital walls. When I ask what Lydia feels now about getting her life back, she looks blank at first, then a smile grows slowly across her face. "The little bit I go out, it's like Christmas!" she laughs. "When I came out of the hospital, you would not have recognised me. I was really thin, I looked 50, I was really marked."
Today, Lydia Roche is slim,in a pretty sun dress with freshly-washed blonde hair and a fresh, unlined face that could belong to a woman in her 30s. She is 45 this year.
"We went through the divorce then the sickness. We have not had many happy times in the past few years here, so now I really want the blue sky and the sun, and the finish!" she says. "We have to be happy, please God. We went through the wars."
Ooooh, Mr Rigsby, you are awful
From today's Evening Herald...
http://www.herald.ie/opinion/comment/so-itrsquos-a-rentersrsquo-market-try-telling-that-to-the-landlords-1843040.html
So, it’s a renters’ market? Try telling that to the landlords
By Susan Daly
It's a renters' market out there – but some of the landlords haven't cottoned on yet.
Not long ago, renters couldn't be choosers. The demand for accommodation was such that a queue would snake back from the door as soon as an advert for a newly vacant home hit the Herald's property pages.
I remember going to view a studio flat in Rathmines about eight years ago, when I still harboured illusions about the romance of a bed that drops out of a cupboard in the wall.
Six of us crammed in to see the wonders of a living room with a freestanding shower in one corner, while the landlord asked us unseemly questions about our backgrounds.
It got worse in the boom when housing prices – both rental and for sale – inflated beyond all reason.
There were young estate agents who had never actually had to sell a place on its virtues.
They just had to stand at the door looking bored, while people vied to show how they would be the best, quietest, most responsible residents for the gaff. It was a bit like the All- Ireland Tenant Show.
Of course, it's different now. Apparently. There are hundreds of thousands of homes lying empty across the State, and hard-up developers and overmortgaged owners desperately trying to fill them.
I don't doubt their despair.
It would be as easy to persuade people to step behind a red-hot gate marked ‘Hell' as it would to get tenants to pay dead money for some of the more isolated apartment blocks and housing developments.
These are tumbleweed estates, unreachable without a car, removed from all amenities, so soul-destroyingly identical that you'd need a ball of wool the size of a basketball to find your way out again.
Why would you want to live in a flat overlooking a roundabout off the M50 when rental prices are tumbling in more established parts of Dublin?
Many landlords and ladies understand this state of affairs. I have been hunting for a new rental this month, one closer to town.
With the state of the market, they'll be falling over themselves to have me, I thought.
Several of the places I looked at had been newly refurbished, wooden floors installed, manky bits of plywood furniture thrown out, white goods replaced.
These landlords – and they are the majority – know that competition for renters is fierce.
But, to my surprise, there are a number of Mr Rigsbys still plying their measly trade (if you're too young to get the reference, ask the nearest aul' one about the slum landlord in the sitcom Rising Damp).
Here was one apartment advertised as ‘two-bedroom': the single bedroom was actually a narrow, cold hallway out to the back yard.
Another had radiators – but not control of the heating.
“You'll have to sort it out with the tenants upstairs if you want it on,” he said nonchalantly.
I was almost waiting for him to lean in and say, “Oooo, Miss Jones, you are lovely.” (Again, kids, ask a Rigsby fan).
The worst of the places I saw are still up for rent – I've been keeping tabs out of horrified curiosity. In the recession, it's adapt or die, and these bizarre throwback landlords are losing ground. I'm not sure why they just don't learn.
Oh, I found a new place to live. We bargained them down on the rent, and they are giving it a fix-up before we move in.
There is value for money to be had – just avoid the smell of rising damp.
http://www.herald.ie/opinion/comment/so-itrsquos-a-rentersrsquo-market-try-telling-that-to-the-landlords-1843040.html
So, it’s a renters’ market? Try telling that to the landlords
By Susan Daly
It's a renters' market out there – but some of the landlords haven't cottoned on yet.
Not long ago, renters couldn't be choosers. The demand for accommodation was such that a queue would snake back from the door as soon as an advert for a newly vacant home hit the Herald's property pages.
I remember going to view a studio flat in Rathmines about eight years ago, when I still harboured illusions about the romance of a bed that drops out of a cupboard in the wall.
Six of us crammed in to see the wonders of a living room with a freestanding shower in one corner, while the landlord asked us unseemly questions about our backgrounds.
It got worse in the boom when housing prices – both rental and for sale – inflated beyond all reason.
There were young estate agents who had never actually had to sell a place on its virtues.
They just had to stand at the door looking bored, while people vied to show how they would be the best, quietest, most responsible residents for the gaff. It was a bit like the All- Ireland Tenant Show.
Of course, it's different now. Apparently. There are hundreds of thousands of homes lying empty across the State, and hard-up developers and overmortgaged owners desperately trying to fill them.
I don't doubt their despair.
It would be as easy to persuade people to step behind a red-hot gate marked ‘Hell' as it would to get tenants to pay dead money for some of the more isolated apartment blocks and housing developments.
These are tumbleweed estates, unreachable without a car, removed from all amenities, so soul-destroyingly identical that you'd need a ball of wool the size of a basketball to find your way out again.
Why would you want to live in a flat overlooking a roundabout off the M50 when rental prices are tumbling in more established parts of Dublin?
Many landlords and ladies understand this state of affairs. I have been hunting for a new rental this month, one closer to town.
With the state of the market, they'll be falling over themselves to have me, I thought.
Several of the places I looked at had been newly refurbished, wooden floors installed, manky bits of plywood furniture thrown out, white goods replaced.
These landlords – and they are the majority – know that competition for renters is fierce.
But, to my surprise, there are a number of Mr Rigsbys still plying their measly trade (if you're too young to get the reference, ask the nearest aul' one about the slum landlord in the sitcom Rising Damp).
Here was one apartment advertised as ‘two-bedroom': the single bedroom was actually a narrow, cold hallway out to the back yard.
Another had radiators – but not control of the heating.
“You'll have to sort it out with the tenants upstairs if you want it on,” he said nonchalantly.
I was almost waiting for him to lean in and say, “Oooo, Miss Jones, you are lovely.” (Again, kids, ask a Rigsby fan).
The worst of the places I saw are still up for rent – I've been keeping tabs out of horrified curiosity. In the recession, it's adapt or die, and these bizarre throwback landlords are losing ground. I'm not sure why they just don't learn.
Oh, I found a new place to live. We bargained them down on the rent, and they are giving it a fix-up before we move in.
There is value for money to be had – just avoid the smell of rising damp.
She's got electric boots, a mohair suit...
... Didn't we all think years back that we'd be dressed like Benny (and the Jets) by 2009?
I settled for test-driving an all-electric car in France instead...
SHE'S ELECTRIC AND WE'RE ON THE ROAD TO SILENT DRIVING
Belt up, there's about to be a revolution on our roads as manufacturers battle to be the first to get their 'green' car to the masses, writes Susan Daly
Monday July 27 2009
If you saw it in the street, you'd stop and stare. After all most of us think that electric cars belong in the realm of science fantasy, but that won't be the case for much longer. Within 10 years nearly a quarter of a million of us will be zipping around in one of them.
That is the hope of Green Party minister Eamon Ryan. The thing is, didn't we all think we would be cruising through town on hovercrafts by now? Electric vehicles (EVs) has been with us since the 19th century: in the 1830s a Scotsman called Robert Anderson invented a crude electric carriage.
But the technology and conditions to make electric cars a viable option for the masses is only now being delivered. Energy Minister Ryan vowed earlier this year to put 10pc of Ireland's motorists behind the wheel of an EV.
That's ambitious -- but then 15 years ago did we think we would all be walking around with a tiny telephone-camera-music player in our pockets?
For a significant number of drivers to be enticed into abandoning the internal combustion engine, several factors must coincide. Electric cars must be practical and affordable and the infrastructure for charging them efficiently must be in place.
To the first end, a number of leading car manufacturers are currently fine-tuning electric models which they hope to have for sale in the next year or so.
I was let loose in the French countryside to test drive the prototype of Renault's Kangoo Be Bop ZE which they hope to bring to the mass market in 2011.
First things first: this was no tin matchbox on wheels. "It's not a golf cart, it's a real car," Renault's Sebastien Albertus, GM of their electric vehicle section, told me. Right then.
The second surprise was the nearly silent engine. "Is it on?" I asked the Renault engineer as I peered doubtfully at the lit-up dashboard. It was indeed -- and it took off like a greyhound out of the traps when I tipped the accelerator.
Electric engines have no moving parts so they don't need a clutch-operated gearbox. The effect of this is to make you feel utterly calm as the car smoothly moves from 0 to 50kmph in seven seconds. Revving inspires aggression -- the linear acceleration on an electric car doesn't. It's a world without road rage.
There are other new habits to learn: when I'm not pressing the accelerator, the car naturally slows down (the resistance also helps recharge the car whenever you're not accelerating) so I don't really need the brake apart from emergencies. And then there is the aforementioned silent engine.
Apart from a barely perceptible whirring, we zip past apple orchards and wheat fields noiselessly. (The car can reach speeds of 130kmph should you so wish.) At one point, I frighten the bejaysus out of two cyclists who don't notice me until I begin to overtake them on a quiet country lane.
This, I imagine, is a safety issue that would need addressing, especially in Ireland where jaywalking is practically mandatory. But just as we got used to bringing reusable bags to the shops, we would get used to looking before crossing the road. It's almost impossible to imagine our cities without the constant dull roar of traffic -- but this could be the noise-free future.
Renault are hoping to improve the distance the car can travel on a full battery from the current 100km to about 160km, but they are confident all this will be in place by the 2011 launch.
So sure are the major manufacturers that all-electric cars will take off (sadly, not literally as flying cars) that they believe it is only a case of who gets their models to the masses first.
Developments like the lithium-ion battery -- more compact, reliable, recyclable and safer than the old nickel-cadmium batteries -- make the new electric cars more efficient in every way. Some concerns have been raised about the finite supplies of lithium, however, and it is worth noting that half the world's lithium is located in Bolivia; hardly the most politically stable of countries.
But what most of us really want to know is: Where will we plug in our car to recharge, and will it blow an obscene hole in our electricity bill?
This year, the ESB, the Government (probably freaking out about their CO2 emissions), Nissan and Renault have signed a collaboration to improve the infrastructure needed in Ireland for electric cars to be viable.
Homeowners will be encouraged to provide ESB-metered charging points at parking spaces. While it takes a car like the Renault Kangoo between six and eight hours to recharge via household mains, a faster charge (80pc of the battery recharged in 30 minutes) is being developed. Charging the vehicle at off-peak nighttime should only cost a euro or two. As for longer journeys, the plan is to set up recharging stations along routes across the country.
Traditional filling stations might also become quick-drop stations, where an electric car can 'swap' its run-down battery for a fully charged one in three minutes.
And you'll have a little thingey -- that's my scientific term for it -- on the dash to tell you how much power you have left and the location of the nearest charging station.
Some 26 governments in Europe and beyond are offering grants to make up the price between a regular car and the currently costlier electric car. Ireland hasn't announced exactly what incentive it is going to offer buyers, but England is offering a £5,000 handout.
Of course, if you're worried about your carbon footprint, the cars are only as 'green' as the method through which the electricity used to power them is generated in the first place. And it takes as much CO2 to produce an electric car in the first place, as it does an ICE model. But the air pollution emitted by an electric car in motion is absolutely zero.
Quiet, fume-free roads filled with peaceful motorists -- can we get electric buses too?
THE FUTURE ISN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE
http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/is-the-future-what-it--used-to-be-1842033.html
It's human nature to imagine what the future will look like. At the 1964 New York World Fair visitors stood slack-jawed in front of a miniaturised replica of an American city in the 21st century, called Futurama, which featured moving pavements and computer-guided cars.
Travelators and sat-nav systems -- and now electric cars -- are a reality. Have any of our other space-age dreams come true?
FLYING TO THE MOON ON OUR HOLIDAYS
Forty years on from the first human landing on the moon, we presumed we would by now be eating ice-cream cones at zero gravity, and viewing infinity from our deckchairs.
While there have been some commercial space flights -- for the very few and very wealthy -- only 12 humans have ever walked on the moon. So much for spending two weeks just staring into space.
TELEPORTATION
Scientists have teleported a photon but unlike -- say, an atom -- that has no moving parts. Ben Buchler, who works on the Australian National University's teleportation project, says: "If you consider it as a voyage, transporting a human is like a journey from one side of the universe to the other -- and we've come less than a millimetre." So no chance then of uttering the immortal words, "Beam me up, Scotty"?
CONSEQUENCE-FREE SEX
Aldous Huxley's Brave New World envisaged a world where test-tube babies and a contraceptive pill were realities.
Of course, Huxley's new world was homogenous and amoral -- a dystopia sometimes referenced in the current heated debates on cloning or genetic engineering.
MOBILE PHONES
Every kid who has ever strung two tin cans together to create a phone line has dreamed of instant communication. Once the technology was developed to the point where it was made accessible and affordable, mobiles took over from landlines within a few years.
Science fiction writer Arthur C Clarke saw it coming in his writings about satellite communications. But 2001: A Space Odyssey didn't -- Dr Floyd has to pop into a videobooth to call home.
SILVER FOIL JUMPSUITS
Why we all thought we might be wearing suits made from tinfoil in a technologically advanced world I don't know.
Perhaps it was the best protection we could imagine against rebellious robots. Scientists have, however, developed many 'smart' textiles that are in common use, from sports fabrics that 'wick' sweat away from skin to crease-free holiday clothing.
JETPACKS:
Frankly, the absence of the jetpack in my everyday life has been of great personal disappointment. Buck Rogers had one in 1928. Sean Connery had one in 1965 Bond film Thunderball -- a variation of the rocket belt, invented in 1961.
Scientists have yet to develop a version that has a useful application. Boo.
I settled for test-driving an all-electric car in France instead...
SHE'S ELECTRIC AND WE'RE ON THE ROAD TO SILENT DRIVING
Belt up, there's about to be a revolution on our roads as manufacturers battle to be the first to get their 'green' car to the masses, writes Susan Daly
Monday July 27 2009
If you saw it in the street, you'd stop and stare. After all most of us think that electric cars belong in the realm of science fantasy, but that won't be the case for much longer. Within 10 years nearly a quarter of a million of us will be zipping around in one of them.
That is the hope of Green Party minister Eamon Ryan. The thing is, didn't we all think we would be cruising through town on hovercrafts by now? Electric vehicles (EVs) has been with us since the 19th century: in the 1830s a Scotsman called Robert Anderson invented a crude electric carriage.
But the technology and conditions to make electric cars a viable option for the masses is only now being delivered. Energy Minister Ryan vowed earlier this year to put 10pc of Ireland's motorists behind the wheel of an EV.
That's ambitious -- but then 15 years ago did we think we would all be walking around with a tiny telephone-camera-music player in our pockets?
For a significant number of drivers to be enticed into abandoning the internal combustion engine, several factors must coincide. Electric cars must be practical and affordable and the infrastructure for charging them efficiently must be in place.
To the first end, a number of leading car manufacturers are currently fine-tuning electric models which they hope to have for sale in the next year or so.
I was let loose in the French countryside to test drive the prototype of Renault's Kangoo Be Bop ZE which they hope to bring to the mass market in 2011.
First things first: this was no tin matchbox on wheels. "It's not a golf cart, it's a real car," Renault's Sebastien Albertus, GM of their electric vehicle section, told me. Right then.
The second surprise was the nearly silent engine. "Is it on?" I asked the Renault engineer as I peered doubtfully at the lit-up dashboard. It was indeed -- and it took off like a greyhound out of the traps when I tipped the accelerator.
Electric engines have no moving parts so they don't need a clutch-operated gearbox. The effect of this is to make you feel utterly calm as the car smoothly moves from 0 to 50kmph in seven seconds. Revving inspires aggression -- the linear acceleration on an electric car doesn't. It's a world without road rage.
There are other new habits to learn: when I'm not pressing the accelerator, the car naturally slows down (the resistance also helps recharge the car whenever you're not accelerating) so I don't really need the brake apart from emergencies. And then there is the aforementioned silent engine.
Apart from a barely perceptible whirring, we zip past apple orchards and wheat fields noiselessly. (The car can reach speeds of 130kmph should you so wish.) At one point, I frighten the bejaysus out of two cyclists who don't notice me until I begin to overtake them on a quiet country lane.
This, I imagine, is a safety issue that would need addressing, especially in Ireland where jaywalking is practically mandatory. But just as we got used to bringing reusable bags to the shops, we would get used to looking before crossing the road. It's almost impossible to imagine our cities without the constant dull roar of traffic -- but this could be the noise-free future.
Renault are hoping to improve the distance the car can travel on a full battery from the current 100km to about 160km, but they are confident all this will be in place by the 2011 launch.
So sure are the major manufacturers that all-electric cars will take off (sadly, not literally as flying cars) that they believe it is only a case of who gets their models to the masses first.
Developments like the lithium-ion battery -- more compact, reliable, recyclable and safer than the old nickel-cadmium batteries -- make the new electric cars more efficient in every way. Some concerns have been raised about the finite supplies of lithium, however, and it is worth noting that half the world's lithium is located in Bolivia; hardly the most politically stable of countries.
But what most of us really want to know is: Where will we plug in our car to recharge, and will it blow an obscene hole in our electricity bill?
This year, the ESB, the Government (probably freaking out about their CO2 emissions), Nissan and Renault have signed a collaboration to improve the infrastructure needed in Ireland for electric cars to be viable.
Homeowners will be encouraged to provide ESB-metered charging points at parking spaces. While it takes a car like the Renault Kangoo between six and eight hours to recharge via household mains, a faster charge (80pc of the battery recharged in 30 minutes) is being developed. Charging the vehicle at off-peak nighttime should only cost a euro or two. As for longer journeys, the plan is to set up recharging stations along routes across the country.
Traditional filling stations might also become quick-drop stations, where an electric car can 'swap' its run-down battery for a fully charged one in three minutes.
And you'll have a little thingey -- that's my scientific term for it -- on the dash to tell you how much power you have left and the location of the nearest charging station.
Some 26 governments in Europe and beyond are offering grants to make up the price between a regular car and the currently costlier electric car. Ireland hasn't announced exactly what incentive it is going to offer buyers, but England is offering a £5,000 handout.
Of course, if you're worried about your carbon footprint, the cars are only as 'green' as the method through which the electricity used to power them is generated in the first place. And it takes as much CO2 to produce an electric car in the first place, as it does an ICE model. But the air pollution emitted by an electric car in motion is absolutely zero.
Quiet, fume-free roads filled with peaceful motorists -- can we get electric buses too?
THE FUTURE ISN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE
http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/is-the-future-what-it--used-to-be-1842033.html
It's human nature to imagine what the future will look like. At the 1964 New York World Fair visitors stood slack-jawed in front of a miniaturised replica of an American city in the 21st century, called Futurama, which featured moving pavements and computer-guided cars.
Travelators and sat-nav systems -- and now electric cars -- are a reality. Have any of our other space-age dreams come true?
FLYING TO THE MOON ON OUR HOLIDAYS
Forty years on from the first human landing on the moon, we presumed we would by now be eating ice-cream cones at zero gravity, and viewing infinity from our deckchairs.
While there have been some commercial space flights -- for the very few and very wealthy -- only 12 humans have ever walked on the moon. So much for spending two weeks just staring into space.
TELEPORTATION
Scientists have teleported a photon but unlike -- say, an atom -- that has no moving parts. Ben Buchler, who works on the Australian National University's teleportation project, says: "If you consider it as a voyage, transporting a human is like a journey from one side of the universe to the other -- and we've come less than a millimetre." So no chance then of uttering the immortal words, "Beam me up, Scotty"?
CONSEQUENCE-FREE SEX
Aldous Huxley's Brave New World envisaged a world where test-tube babies and a contraceptive pill were realities.
Of course, Huxley's new world was homogenous and amoral -- a dystopia sometimes referenced in the current heated debates on cloning or genetic engineering.
MOBILE PHONES
Every kid who has ever strung two tin cans together to create a phone line has dreamed of instant communication. Once the technology was developed to the point where it was made accessible and affordable, mobiles took over from landlines within a few years.
Science fiction writer Arthur C Clarke saw it coming in his writings about satellite communications. But 2001: A Space Odyssey didn't -- Dr Floyd has to pop into a videobooth to call home.
SILVER FOIL JUMPSUITS
Why we all thought we might be wearing suits made from tinfoil in a technologically advanced world I don't know.
Perhaps it was the best protection we could imagine against rebellious robots. Scientists have, however, developed many 'smart' textiles that are in common use, from sports fabrics that 'wick' sweat away from skin to crease-free holiday clothing.
JETPACKS:
Frankly, the absence of the jetpack in my everyday life has been of great personal disappointment. Buck Rogers had one in 1928. Sean Connery had one in 1965 Bond film Thunderball -- a variation of the rocket belt, invented in 1961.
Scientists have yet to develop a version that has a useful application. Boo.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
My lumps, my lumps, my lovely lady bump
http://www.herald.ie/opinion/comment/should-nicole-put-it-away-1832477.html
BLOOMING FUSS: Why are pictures of this pregnant belly causing such a huge furore?
Tuesday July 21 2009
Another day, another photograph of a young starlet attracts comment. Hey ho, what's new?
It's the subject matter of the picture that surprises. No-one has mislaid their underwear and no-one is tottering drunk out of a nightclub.
The snap that has launched a thousand blog posts is of Nicole Richie frolicking on a beach in a bikini and displaying her sizeable baby bump. I mean, how could she?
Commentary on the public sporting of her sticky-out belly has ranged from the 'hot mama' type to the less positive 'put it away!'.
As outrageous pictures go, it's up there with a still life of a bowl of fruit.
Richie looks healthy and happy in a sensible black two-piece. Shocking, really.
How can it be that the sight of a pregnant woman's belly is still so remarkable?
Did we not have this conversation in 1991 when a with-child Demi Moore posed naked on the cover of Vanity Fair?
The furore surrounding her bountiful charms had some newsagents dispensing copies of the magazine in brown paper bags.
It was as if she was spread-eagled on the cover of Hustler.
Moore later said she was startled by all the fuss, and hoped the world had moved on since. Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera also posed nude while heavily pregnant, their publicists presumably relying on the hope that it hadn't.
They were right.
Tokyo considered banning posters advertising the Britney photoshoot.
By the time it relented, Britney's belly had made headlines all over the world. Job done.
The people who turn apoplectic at the sight of a swollen belly must be so traumatised by being born that they don't want to reminded of exactly where they came from.
If Nicole Richie was swaddled in a floaty maternity dress, it would be 'ooh' and 'ahh' central.
It's the fleshy sight of what lies beneath that seems to disturb people most.
Well, tough.
There was once a time when expectant women were ushered out of public sight for months, for fear society might be offended by a glimpse of their undainty figures.
Only when the baby was born were they allowed out of confinement, their bundle of joy all cleaned up and suitable for presentation like the happy ending to a Jane Austen novel.
Even up to fairly recently, the closest a father was allowed to the delivery ward was the pub next door.
It wasn't regarded as seemly for women to do their swearing and panting and screaming in front of the person who, by definition, had seen already them in something of a compromising position.
Now men are right in at the business end, cutting cords, witnessing miracles -- and, for the most part, liking it.
All it needed for there to be that sea change was for society to get over itself.
Childbirth's not a dirty big sin; and neither is being obviously pregnant.
That's the problem. Pregnant women are seen as a necessary evil for the world to continue, rather than people to be celebrated.
Remember when that empty plinth in Trafalgar Square in London was filled with the nude sculpture of a pregnant woman?
Grumpy old men speculated that Nelson would be turning in his grave at the spectacle. It offended people's sense of propriety that the sensual figure of a pregnant lady might upset the decorum of the square with its military heroes casting a cold eye on the masses scurrying below.
It's all a bit hilarious -- what's the big deal? Much more shocking to me were the photos published of a skeletal Nicole Richie a few years ago.
She was a lollipop lady then, riven with eating issues, head bigger than her body, ribs protruding like those of a half-starved stray dog.
And if you want to talk about offensive, is there anything more obscene than the pictures emanating from far-flung war zones every day of children's corpses red with blood or covered in grey dust from shelled-out homes?
Those, apparently, are easier to ignore than a candid snap of a woman up the duff.
BLOOMING FUSS: Why are pictures of this pregnant belly causing such a huge furore?
Tuesday July 21 2009
Another day, another photograph of a young starlet attracts comment. Hey ho, what's new?
It's the subject matter of the picture that surprises. No-one has mislaid their underwear and no-one is tottering drunk out of a nightclub.
The snap that has launched a thousand blog posts is of Nicole Richie frolicking on a beach in a bikini and displaying her sizeable baby bump. I mean, how could she?
Commentary on the public sporting of her sticky-out belly has ranged from the 'hot mama' type to the less positive 'put it away!'.
As outrageous pictures go, it's up there with a still life of a bowl of fruit.
Richie looks healthy and happy in a sensible black two-piece. Shocking, really.
How can it be that the sight of a pregnant woman's belly is still so remarkable?
Did we not have this conversation in 1991 when a with-child Demi Moore posed naked on the cover of Vanity Fair?
The furore surrounding her bountiful charms had some newsagents dispensing copies of the magazine in brown paper bags.
It was as if she was spread-eagled on the cover of Hustler.
Moore later said she was startled by all the fuss, and hoped the world had moved on since. Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera also posed nude while heavily pregnant, their publicists presumably relying on the hope that it hadn't.
They were right.
Tokyo considered banning posters advertising the Britney photoshoot.
By the time it relented, Britney's belly had made headlines all over the world. Job done.
The people who turn apoplectic at the sight of a swollen belly must be so traumatised by being born that they don't want to reminded of exactly where they came from.
If Nicole Richie was swaddled in a floaty maternity dress, it would be 'ooh' and 'ahh' central.
It's the fleshy sight of what lies beneath that seems to disturb people most.
Well, tough.
There was once a time when expectant women were ushered out of public sight for months, for fear society might be offended by a glimpse of their undainty figures.
Only when the baby was born were they allowed out of confinement, their bundle of joy all cleaned up and suitable for presentation like the happy ending to a Jane Austen novel.
Even up to fairly recently, the closest a father was allowed to the delivery ward was the pub next door.
It wasn't regarded as seemly for women to do their swearing and panting and screaming in front of the person who, by definition, had seen already them in something of a compromising position.
Now men are right in at the business end, cutting cords, witnessing miracles -- and, for the most part, liking it.
All it needed for there to be that sea change was for society to get over itself.
Childbirth's not a dirty big sin; and neither is being obviously pregnant.
That's the problem. Pregnant women are seen as a necessary evil for the world to continue, rather than people to be celebrated.
Remember when that empty plinth in Trafalgar Square in London was filled with the nude sculpture of a pregnant woman?
Grumpy old men speculated that Nelson would be turning in his grave at the spectacle. It offended people's sense of propriety that the sensual figure of a pregnant lady might upset the decorum of the square with its military heroes casting a cold eye on the masses scurrying below.
It's all a bit hilarious -- what's the big deal? Much more shocking to me were the photos published of a skeletal Nicole Richie a few years ago.
She was a lollipop lady then, riven with eating issues, head bigger than her body, ribs protruding like those of a half-starved stray dog.
And if you want to talk about offensive, is there anything more obscene than the pictures emanating from far-flung war zones every day of children's corpses red with blood or covered in grey dust from shelled-out homes?
Those, apparently, are easier to ignore than a candid snap of a woman up the duff.
Death as a career move
http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/independent-woman/celebrity-news-gossip/why-michael-jackson-is-set-to-make-even-more-money-now-1833935.html
By Susan Daly
Wednesday July 22 2009
So the gold-plated casket has been carried from the building -- but Michael Jackson's not gone away you know. In a year's time he will probably score another number one, topping the chart of the biggest-earning dead celebrities.
The US business magazine Forbes compiles a list every year of the deceased famous faces whose estates have raked in the most millions in the previous 12 months.
It is ironic that Jackson might join this moneyed elite, considering the $500m debt he was drowning in at the time of his death. The gruelling 50 concerts he had been due to play at London's O2 arena were to pull him out of that quagmire.
By dying, Jackson released a tidal wave of nostalgia-fuelled buying. Within days of his passing, amazon.com was recording orders for his back catalogue in the region of 700 times their previous rate of sale.
AEG Live, the concert promoters for his O2 gigs, pulled off a coup by offering more than 750,000 fans who had bought tickets the choice of a special 'souvenir' ticket or accepting a refund. At last count, almost half of the fans chose the souvenir ticket.
Early this year it emerged that Jackson had recorded over 100 songs in secret, which are only to be released posthumously as a legacy for his children.
Hopefully, Jackson's advisors have protected his brand for posterity. Niall Clerkin of Clerkin Lynch, a Dublin firm of solicitors with expertise in the entertainment business, says: "If you have intellectual property, you need legal advice on how best to protect it.
"The evidence is on the Forbes list -- it is obvious that there were people out there who had good ideas, but they didn't make it to that list. They or their advisors didn't take the steps to protect what was rightfully theirs."
Jackson has a lot to protect -- he's a good example of the powerful mix of an unmistakable brand image and of serious royalties from decades of hits. Sure, his image had taken something of a hit with a cocktail of alleged abuse, disastrous cosmetic surgery and overall weirdness. But as with Elvis and Marilyn Monroe, both Forbes list regulars, his fans are likely to cling to his image when his career was at its peak, circa Thriller and Bad.
Neither Elvis nor Marilyn's deaths found them at their finest hour either -- she was severely depressed; he was an obese drug addict.
Posthumously, however, they are forever the sexy snake-hipped soulster and the fun blonde in the billowing white dress.
In Elvis's case -- like Jackson -- a mixture of image and licensing and publishing deals earned him the top spot with $52m earnings in one year.
James Dean (at number 12 in the list with $5m) died in 1955 but his iconography is desirable to marketers looking for rebel cool for their products. He and Marilyn (who earned $6.5m to put her at number nine) were both recently used in an ad campaign for Mercedes-Benz.
It helps that they were big stars when they died -- but it is also the case that they are established trademarks.
In 1979, a famous case taken by the son of Dracula star Bela Lugosi against Universal Pictures over their vampire merchandise changed how fame could be inherited.
Lugosi's son lost his case, but a paragraph from the judgement caught the eye of showbiz lawyers. It said that had Lugosi sold his image in his lifetime, then he would be a trademark that could be passed on to his descendants.
Lugosi had never endorsed anything in his life, but it opened the door to riches for the heirs of dead stars who had.
One such family was the kin of comedian WC Fields, who started to rake in the cash when the US Postal Service put him on a stamp not long after the Lugosi case.
Special anniversary events can also revive an extinct star's capacity to earn. Marvin Gaye's estate has been a modest earner since he was killed by his father in 1984. He made the 2008 Forbes list (for earnings in 2007) on the back of the 30th anniversary of Motown Records.
Just as Gaye will probably be a one-hit wonder on the Forbes list, so too will Heath Ledger whose death came in his biggest money-making year. His daughter Matilda can expect her trust fund to have been swelled by $20m from his share in the takings of The Dark Knight.
But celebrity isn't the only criteria for making money. Two regulars on the list are Charles M. Schulz and Theodor Geisel, who were 2nd and 6th on the 2008 list, earning $33m and $12m respectively. Who, say you? Some might recognise Schulz as the creator of Peanuts cartoon character Charlie Brown. Geisel is the author behind the Dr Seuss books, now expanded into a huge merchandising empire.
And who is this at number four, with earnings of $18m? Albert Einstein! His steady presence in the earning league is not, as you might think, from the use of his brush-haired image on everything from tea towels to coffee mugs.
In fact, much of the money is being made by the Disney-owned Baby Einstein company which sells educational toys.
So, clever management and an entrepreneurial spirit seem to be key to keeping a celebrity working hard for their money after death (and they no longer claim expenses -- score!).
On the most basic level, the Irish Patents Office says that anyone who has an idea or creation they want to protect should register it immediately.
In Ireland, the copyright of a literary work lasts for 70 years; and a musical work is licensed to its registered creator for 50 years.
In the United States, musicians are lobbying to increase that copyright to 95 years. Some record companies are getting around the post-50-year free-for-all by releasing 'remastered' versions of works.
But never fear -- there are still plenty of artistic works out there we can all enjoy for free: Shakespeare and Mozart are way too late to claim their royalties.
Lucky for some: The 13 'Forbes' 2008 top-earning dead celebs...
1. ELVIS PRESLEY ($52m) Graceland, royalties and merchandise make him the King.
2. CHARLES M SCHULZ ($33m) What would Charlie Brown do with all that money?
3. HEATH LEDGER ($20m) The Dark Knight made sure he was no Joker.
4. ALBERT EINSTEIN ($18m) Puts a price on Einstein's desire for the "free, unhampered exchange of ideas".
5. AARON SPELLING ($15m) His TV legacy keeps him switched on.
6. THEODOR GEISEL -- Dr Seuss -- ($12m) The Cat in the Hat makes him snug as a bug.
7. JOHN LENNON ($9m) Although the Jackson estate still has the Beatles catalogue ...
8. ANDY WARHOL ($9m) The pop artist's 15 minutes of fame are not yet up.
9. MARILYN MONROE ($6.5m) Posthumous millions are a girl's best friend.
10. STEVE McQUEEN ($6m) Somebody down here still likes the quintessential anti-hero.
11. PAUL NEWMAN ($5m) Newman actually made $120m from Newman's Own food range in this year -- but all those proceeds went to charity.
What a guy.
12. JAMES DEAN ($5m) The rebel yell still sounds after all these years.
13. MARVIN GAYE ($3.5m) What's going on? The 30th anniversary of Motown.
By Susan Daly
Wednesday July 22 2009
So the gold-plated casket has been carried from the building -- but Michael Jackson's not gone away you know. In a year's time he will probably score another number one, topping the chart of the biggest-earning dead celebrities.
The US business magazine Forbes compiles a list every year of the deceased famous faces whose estates have raked in the most millions in the previous 12 months.
It is ironic that Jackson might join this moneyed elite, considering the $500m debt he was drowning in at the time of his death. The gruelling 50 concerts he had been due to play at London's O2 arena were to pull him out of that quagmire.
By dying, Jackson released a tidal wave of nostalgia-fuelled buying. Within days of his passing, amazon.com was recording orders for his back catalogue in the region of 700 times their previous rate of sale.
AEG Live, the concert promoters for his O2 gigs, pulled off a coup by offering more than 750,000 fans who had bought tickets the choice of a special 'souvenir' ticket or accepting a refund. At last count, almost half of the fans chose the souvenir ticket.
Early this year it emerged that Jackson had recorded over 100 songs in secret, which are only to be released posthumously as a legacy for his children.
Hopefully, Jackson's advisors have protected his brand for posterity. Niall Clerkin of Clerkin Lynch, a Dublin firm of solicitors with expertise in the entertainment business, says: "If you have intellectual property, you need legal advice on how best to protect it.
"The evidence is on the Forbes list -- it is obvious that there were people out there who had good ideas, but they didn't make it to that list. They or their advisors didn't take the steps to protect what was rightfully theirs."
Jackson has a lot to protect -- he's a good example of the powerful mix of an unmistakable brand image and of serious royalties from decades of hits. Sure, his image had taken something of a hit with a cocktail of alleged abuse, disastrous cosmetic surgery and overall weirdness. But as with Elvis and Marilyn Monroe, both Forbes list regulars, his fans are likely to cling to his image when his career was at its peak, circa Thriller and Bad.
Neither Elvis nor Marilyn's deaths found them at their finest hour either -- she was severely depressed; he was an obese drug addict.
Posthumously, however, they are forever the sexy snake-hipped soulster and the fun blonde in the billowing white dress.
In Elvis's case -- like Jackson -- a mixture of image and licensing and publishing deals earned him the top spot with $52m earnings in one year.
James Dean (at number 12 in the list with $5m) died in 1955 but his iconography is desirable to marketers looking for rebel cool for their products. He and Marilyn (who earned $6.5m to put her at number nine) were both recently used in an ad campaign for Mercedes-Benz.
It helps that they were big stars when they died -- but it is also the case that they are established trademarks.
In 1979, a famous case taken by the son of Dracula star Bela Lugosi against Universal Pictures over their vampire merchandise changed how fame could be inherited.
Lugosi's son lost his case, but a paragraph from the judgement caught the eye of showbiz lawyers. It said that had Lugosi sold his image in his lifetime, then he would be a trademark that could be passed on to his descendants.
Lugosi had never endorsed anything in his life, but it opened the door to riches for the heirs of dead stars who had.
One such family was the kin of comedian WC Fields, who started to rake in the cash when the US Postal Service put him on a stamp not long after the Lugosi case.
Special anniversary events can also revive an extinct star's capacity to earn. Marvin Gaye's estate has been a modest earner since he was killed by his father in 1984. He made the 2008 Forbes list (for earnings in 2007) on the back of the 30th anniversary of Motown Records.
Just as Gaye will probably be a one-hit wonder on the Forbes list, so too will Heath Ledger whose death came in his biggest money-making year. His daughter Matilda can expect her trust fund to have been swelled by $20m from his share in the takings of The Dark Knight.
But celebrity isn't the only criteria for making money. Two regulars on the list are Charles M. Schulz and Theodor Geisel, who were 2nd and 6th on the 2008 list, earning $33m and $12m respectively. Who, say you? Some might recognise Schulz as the creator of Peanuts cartoon character Charlie Brown. Geisel is the author behind the Dr Seuss books, now expanded into a huge merchandising empire.
And who is this at number four, with earnings of $18m? Albert Einstein! His steady presence in the earning league is not, as you might think, from the use of his brush-haired image on everything from tea towels to coffee mugs.
In fact, much of the money is being made by the Disney-owned Baby Einstein company which sells educational toys.
So, clever management and an entrepreneurial spirit seem to be key to keeping a celebrity working hard for their money after death (and they no longer claim expenses -- score!).
On the most basic level, the Irish Patents Office says that anyone who has an idea or creation they want to protect should register it immediately.
In Ireland, the copyright of a literary work lasts for 70 years; and a musical work is licensed to its registered creator for 50 years.
In the United States, musicians are lobbying to increase that copyright to 95 years. Some record companies are getting around the post-50-year free-for-all by releasing 'remastered' versions of works.
But never fear -- there are still plenty of artistic works out there we can all enjoy for free: Shakespeare and Mozart are way too late to claim their royalties.
Lucky for some: The 13 'Forbes' 2008 top-earning dead celebs...
1. ELVIS PRESLEY ($52m) Graceland, royalties and merchandise make him the King.
2. CHARLES M SCHULZ ($33m) What would Charlie Brown do with all that money?
3. HEATH LEDGER ($20m) The Dark Knight made sure he was no Joker.
4. ALBERT EINSTEIN ($18m) Puts a price on Einstein's desire for the "free, unhampered exchange of ideas".
5. AARON SPELLING ($15m) His TV legacy keeps him switched on.
6. THEODOR GEISEL -- Dr Seuss -- ($12m) The Cat in the Hat makes him snug as a bug.
7. JOHN LENNON ($9m) Although the Jackson estate still has the Beatles catalogue ...
8. ANDY WARHOL ($9m) The pop artist's 15 minutes of fame are not yet up.
9. MARILYN MONROE ($6.5m) Posthumous millions are a girl's best friend.
10. STEVE McQUEEN ($6m) Somebody down here still likes the quintessential anti-hero.
11. PAUL NEWMAN ($5m) Newman actually made $120m from Newman's Own food range in this year -- but all those proceeds went to charity.
What a guy.
12. JAMES DEAN ($5m) The rebel yell still sounds after all these years.
13. MARVIN GAYE ($3.5m) What's going on? The 30th anniversary of Motown.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Confessions of a rollercoaster virgin
It's a tough job, but somebody's got to write those travel pieces. Never saw myself as a theme park gal - and especially thought myself too cynical for happy-clappy Orlando. I'm pleased to report I was entirely wrong....
http://www.independent.ie/travel/travel-destinations/confessions-of-a-rollercoaster-virgin-1828863.html?start=2
Susan Daly pulled down the safety bar and braced herself for an adrenaline rush as she took to some of Florida's finest coasters, for the very first time
Saturday July 18 2009
Somebody once gave me a book listing all the things you should do before you die. I've always thought those checklists ridiculous; they serve only to remind you of a squandered youth and of all the things you must squash into your mediocre life in the next 50 years, so you don't lament on your death bed that you never climbed Everest or chained yourself to a rainforest.
But I couldn't help thinking about the book as I rode my very first roller coaster at the grand old age of 32. Strapped into a padded straitjacket of a seat, palms sweaty, eyes boggling as we ascended a 140ft rise, I gibbered: "How about 'Things To Do As You Die'?"
The previous day, I had taken a sort of dress rehearsal at Universal Studios in Orlando. Universal's two main theme parks -- Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure -- are prime destinations for coaster addicts, who pile on to rides such as Revenge of the Mummy and the Incredible Hulk Coaster.
Try The Simpsons ride, I was told; it will give you sea legs. The Simpsons is a motion simulator that uses CGI animation on surround screens to fool the brain into thinking the body's on a wild ride. It is enormous fun and you get thrown around a bit, but in terms of breaking virgin territory for me, it merely reaches first base, as a Floridian might say.
I was saving myself for Manta. This is the monster new roller coaster just unveiled by SeaWorld Orlando, their first new thrill ride in nine years. Fact fans will want to know that it maxes out at speeds of 56mph, has four inversions (where the coaster cars travel on the underside of the track) and a descent that plunges riders within three feet of the water below.
All I wanted to know was if I would die. "Of course not, sweetheart," said Lynne, the middle-aged English lady next to me, as we were locked and loaded into the great hunk of metal that is Manta. Lynne, a roller-coaster veteran, was at a loss as to how someone could have entered their 30s and never been on one.
"We don't have coasters in Ireland," I explained, "We have see-saws."
As if Manta heard me, our seats began to tilt forward until we were suspended face-down, feet and hands dangling like useless puppets. Then we were off; climbing, climbing, climbing over the heads of the queue below us. The advice to not look down is no use as you watch the ground retreat in an alarming fashion. The tension is so heart-bursting that the sudden plunge over the first loop is a blessed, if stomach-churning, relief. We corkscrew through turns, skim tree tops and a waterfall, and invert into a pretzel loop until the G-force puffs out my cheeks.
But there is a real beauty to Manta, too. Situated in the very heart of the SeaWorld park, it was designed to emulate the graceful flight of the manta ray through the ocean. The queue for the ride snakes through a peaceful grotto, where riders can say hey to the ray as real mantas glide above their heads in a purpose-built aquarium. And once you've settled into the ride itself, the most intense feeling descends -- a sense of weightlessness, of gliding and soaring as a bird (or manta!) would.
Unlike most roller coasters, the ominous clanking of metal on metal is muffled here, because the engineers cleverly filled the supports with sand.
Manta is only two minutes and 35 seconds long, but I am completely spaced out when I disembark. I'm elated, my knees are knocking and my heart is pounding -- it may be that I'm in love. I get straight back on for a second go.
I also flirt briefly with another new ride opening this summer on Orlando's 'roller coast' -- the Hollywood Rip Ride Rockit. It is launched this month at Universal Studios, but I had a sneak preview and can report that it looks terrifyingly brilliant. It is being billed as the world's most technologically advanced ride: you can select your own soundtrack to blast from your stereo-fitted chair, then 'rip' a music video of the entire trip afterwards, thanks to cameras located on the ride itself.
However, you might not want to see your face as the Rockit catapults through several original moves, including the treble clef, the jump cut and the double take (try watching on www.hollywoodripriderockit.com, if you're brave enough!).
Orlando is the ultimate playground, and the choice of parks can seem almost overwhelming. An excellent deal is to buy the Orlando FlexTicket, which gives you unlimited access for 14 days to the two Universal parks and SeaWorld -- which also houses the famous Shamu killer whale show, Believe, and the two immense waterparks, Aquatica and Wet 'n' Wild, with the option to add a sixth, Busch Gardens, in Tampa Bay.
But there is only so much adrenaline a girl can produce in a day, so I took to Universal's CityWalk venue for the evening, just a free water-taxi ride from any of their resorts or on-park hotels. If the parks are chock-full of children and their parents, CityWalk is the adults' fairground. It is peppered with restaurants, themed bars and clubs and an X-Factor-style karaoke venue called Rising Star, where the less retiring members of our party performed their party pieces to a full backing band.
I reserved my energy for my following day's appointment with Dixie the dolphin at Discovery Cove, a short taxi ride north of the Universal parks. I have always wanted to swim with these gentle creatures, and Dixie's caretaker taught me the hand signals to communicate with her loveable charge. She gave me a kiss, I gave her a fish. Two of life's ambitions fulfilled in as many days?
Take that, Things To Do Before I Die.
- Susan Daly
KNOW YOUR ROLLERCOASTERS
http://www.independent.ie/travel/travel-destinations/know-your-roller-coasters-1828864.html
The oldest: Leap-the-Dips, Lakemont Park, Altoona, Pennsylvania, US. Built in 1902, this is the oldest wooden roller coaster still in operation in the world with a -- brace yourself -- 9ft drop and top speed of 10mph.
The fastest: Kingda Ka at Six Flags Great Adventure in New Jersey. This is more like it -- this monster accelerates to 128mph in 3.5 seconds and boasts a 456ft drop.
The longest: Steel Dragon at Nagashima Spa Land in Nagashima, Japan. The ride takes four minutes -- a long time on a coaster -- because the track is 8,133ft long. It reaches 95mph and rises 318ft.
First duelling inverted: Duelling Dragons at Universal Islands of Adventure, Orlando, Florida. This crazy beast has two roller coasters zooming within inches of each other at 55mph. Riders on opposing tracks come screamingly face-to-face at several points on the track.
The fastest-accelerating: Ring Racer at Nürburgring Race Track in Nürburg, Germany. This one is due to open this year, but is worth a mention because it will use an F1 Thrust Air compressor to accelerate from 0-135mph in 2.5 seconds. Go F1gure.
The most: Cedar Point, Ohio. Holding the world record for most coasters in a single park, Cedar Point (left) has amassed 17 in the past decade. If you've had your stomach's fill of roller rides, there are also a record-breaking 75 carnival rides to relax on.
- Susan Daly
THE NITTY GRITTY
http://www.independent.ie/travel/travel-destinations/orlando--getting-there-1828865.html
GETTING THERE
Aer Lingus (0818 365 000; www.aerlingus.com) operates three flights a week direct from Dublin to Orlando on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. One-way fares start from €259, including taxes and charges. The Orlando FlexTicket, for 14 days' unlimited access to five parks, can be bought online at www.orlandoflexticket.ie for €178 per adult and slightly less for children.
STAYING THERE
I stayed at the mind-blowing Loews Portofino Bay Hotel (001 407 503 1000; www.loewshotels.com), modelled on the real village of Portofino in Italy (pictured below). The story goes that Steven Spielberg holidayed in Portofino and loved it so much that he suggested Universal build a replica. It isn't cheap -- a double room can cost from €250 -- but ask about long-stay discounts and other offers.
There are several other fantastic hotels on the Universal site, including the Hard Rock Hotel and the Loews Royal Pacific Resort.
If you browse for a package (www.americanholidays. com, www.americansky.ie, www.touramerica.ie, www.ebookers.ie) and stay off-park, check that your hotel offers free resort shuttle buses as an incentive.
WHERE TO EAT
The price range across the eateries in the Universal parks is mercifully broad, depending on whether you're eating fast or fabulous. A reasonable option is Mythos in the Islands of Adventure -- it is housed in a Flintstones-style cavern and has been voted best theme- park restaurant in the world for the past five years.
I also loved the weird sensation of eating fine seafood in Sharks Underwater Grill at Seaworld, as barracudas, sharks and moray eels eyed me reproachfully through the giant glass windows of the aquarium.
WHEN TO GO
Predictably, theme parks in Orlando are busiest during school holidays: Easter; July and August; and the October mid-term break. June is hurricane season, so give that a miss. September to November is a much more pleasant (and less crowded) time in terms of temperature and humidity, as is March to May.
- Susan Daly
Family pack
It's been all babies, babies, babies round this neck of the woods recently...
My feature on large families in today's Irish Independent:
http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/studying-for-the-bar-and-working-full-time-why-its-childs-play-for-this-mum-of-10-1831770.html
Tuesday July 21 2009
By SUSAN DALY
Kids -- who'd have 'em? Time-consuming, cash-swallowing little dynamos -- and all they offer in return is their unconditional love. Certainly the average number of children in the typical family has fallen drastically since our parents' generation.
So it is always with goggle-eyed admiration -- and confusion -- that we regard a large family in contemporary Ireland.
Ann Stapleton (42) and her family made for an eye-catching photograph in last week's newspapers. She and her husband John were pictured as she was called to the Bar in the Four Courts -- surrounded by their 10 children, ranging in age from four to 17 years.
To add to her superwoman credentials, Ann held down a full-time job and studied for her exams at night. Husband John, who took early retirement several years ago, stays at home with the children.
Far from being ground down by conflicting responsibilities, Ann told RTE's Morning Ireland: "It sounds like punishment, but I have to be honest, it wasn't punishment. I loved my time at the Inns, absolutely loved it."
She acknowledged the importance of having husband John working at home. "I worked in Bank of Ireland out in the computer centre in Cabinteely and I had organised my hours with them so that I was working from seven o'clock until three. I got up at six. Back home here after three, get a couple of hours here, the kids would be coming back from school from half two-ish. To be quite honest, John did the dinners, the school runs. I have so much support."
Family psychotherapist Dr John Sharry poses the question: would we have been as gobsmacked by Ann Stapleton's large family were she a man? "Her husband carries out the role a traditional mum would have done," says Dr Sharry.
"There is evidence that kids looked after primarily by the dad do very well. This is partly because a mum who works outside the home tends to be a very committed person. She really works hard with her children when she does come home, so they have two full parents."
Ann Stapleton also spoke of her children's unerring support. "When I would be sitting up at Easter time studying for exams, they would be coming up and putting a cup of tea up beside me, and asking, 'Do you want a sandwich?', that kind of stuff."
The children of large families tend to be more independent than children of the same age with fewer siblings, says Dr Sharry (www.solutiontalk.ie). "Largely, the children adopt much more caring roles towards each other too," he says.
Expanded clans certainly get the blessing of Pope Benedict XVI who has made it his business to call on Italian lawmakers to provide more incentives to encourage the creation of larger families.
Historically, there was an idealisation of the larger family -- child labour contributed to the family finances, and they provided security in old age.
Hollywood enshrined the jolly camaraderie of a large family in films such as Cheaper By The Dozen (1950), Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954), The Sound of Music (1965), Yours, Mine and Ours (1968) and in TV shows like The Brady Bunch and The Waltons.
These days, not everyone feels as positively towards them. A 2007 report from UK green think tank, the Optimum Population Trust, said that if couples had two children instead of three they could cut their family's carbon dioxide output by the equivalent of 620 return flights a year between London and New York. Having more than two children is seen by some as an eco-crime.
There is some concern about child poverty in larger families. The Families in Ireland report released by the Department of Social and Family Affairs late last year found that the number of large families is on the wane.
However, it also reported that there is a higher than average risk of poverty found among lone-parent families -- and in two-parent families with four children or more.
It has been estimated that the cost of raising a single child to 21 is around €225,500. The children's allowance increases slightly with the number of children you have -- for one child it is €166 a month, but for eight it is €1,550 (which works out at €187.50 per child) -- but no-one knows how long that benefit will last.
The emotional impact of being one of many children vying for a parent's attention is also an issue. Ann Stapleton says: "I think it was harder on the kids than it was on me, because I'd rush home from work, try to get the homework done and then fire out the door."
David Kavanagh, systemic family therapist, says that in many large families, children assume roles (he is not referring to the Stapleton family). The elder children take on a mantle of responsibility and become over-responsible and controlling; the middle children can feel lost and adopt the role of peacekeeper, while the younger ones tend to be more selfish.
"There is something in adopting these prescribed roles in which the individuality of the child gets sacrificed," he says.
He warns of "sub-systems" that develop in which two or three of the children become closer to the detriment of their relationships with the others.
"A family split is often the result later in life -- often it comes about with an event or maybe just a gradual shifting of priorities within the family," explains Kavanagh (www.avalonrc.com).
"Say a wife of a brother misbehaves at a family party, and on one side you have a parent and some of the children saying she was disrespectful, and you have other siblings saying, 'Leave her alone, she had taken too much drink'. It polarises tensions that already existed."
Accusations of irresponsibility against parents of large families came to the fore when 'Octo-Mom' Nadia Sulaiman gave birth to octuplets in January. The derision aimed at the 33-year-old Californian could be explained by the revelations that she had the babies through IVF, as she did her six other children at home, was single and not financially independent.
But elsewhere in the US, there have been reports that large families are in vogue with the very wealthy -- as status symbols.
What is certain is that all families -- of any size -- require hard work, organisation and a lot of love to function properly.
"Dysfunction can happen in a family with several children," says Dr John Sharry, "but it can just as easily happen with parents who have just one child."
CASE STUDY
Erika Whitaker from Rathmines in Dublin has nine children with husband Brian: Luke (17), Dan (15), Anna (14), Lia (13), Gavin (11), Sam (8), Ross 6 (nearly 7!), Conor (4), and baby Adam (17 months). They are also the proud parents of Andrew and Greg, now adults, whose mum, Brian's first wife, died young. Brian works full-time and Erika had worked part-time up until January.
Erika describes how she copes: "I'm obsessionally organised. The kids' clothes would be stacked in drawers in the utility room. Once the older ones hit 10, they bring theirs up to the rooms.
"The kids pitch in -- they have a dishwasher day, or a day in charge of tidying the sitting room. When Sam turned six, he was delighted, saying: 'Now I can have a dishwasher day!' The novelty wears off!
"Saturday mornings are a bit hectic, running to various lessons and activities -- 11 of us and a dog packed into the van!"
But for the most part, their hobbies are during school, or just after so it's not a problem.
"I want them to have their own interests. My only rule would be that if you pick something, there's no quitting halfway through.
"I use internet shopping, but I would go down to Dunnes to check bargains -- we're not millionaires. I've always been conscious of budgeting. We wouldn't have taken fancy foreign holidays but we have had a place in Clare for years and we do house swaps.
"That's what I'm doing now -- I'm in a house in Donegal for a week with the kids. Mind you, if the children's allowance is cut, we're fecked.
"I always wanted six children -- I just carried on and had a few more! You think that you couldn't love a child as much as you do your first, but you just do.
"They are all so individual; I've always been conscious of protecting that. I know a number of families with eight or nine children -- and a lot with five -- because people had money and they could afford to have them.
"But I find my life easy because they are particularly good kids, and they don't fight because there is always someone else to bounce off. The truth is I hate them growing up!"
My feature on large families in today's Irish Independent:
http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/studying-for-the-bar-and-working-full-time-why-its-childs-play-for-this-mum-of-10-1831770.html
Tuesday July 21 2009
By SUSAN DALY
Kids -- who'd have 'em? Time-consuming, cash-swallowing little dynamos -- and all they offer in return is their unconditional love. Certainly the average number of children in the typical family has fallen drastically since our parents' generation.
So it is always with goggle-eyed admiration -- and confusion -- that we regard a large family in contemporary Ireland.
Ann Stapleton (42) and her family made for an eye-catching photograph in last week's newspapers. She and her husband John were pictured as she was called to the Bar in the Four Courts -- surrounded by their 10 children, ranging in age from four to 17 years.
To add to her superwoman credentials, Ann held down a full-time job and studied for her exams at night. Husband John, who took early retirement several years ago, stays at home with the children.
Far from being ground down by conflicting responsibilities, Ann told RTE's Morning Ireland: "It sounds like punishment, but I have to be honest, it wasn't punishment. I loved my time at the Inns, absolutely loved it."
She acknowledged the importance of having husband John working at home. "I worked in Bank of Ireland out in the computer centre in Cabinteely and I had organised my hours with them so that I was working from seven o'clock until three. I got up at six. Back home here after three, get a couple of hours here, the kids would be coming back from school from half two-ish. To be quite honest, John did the dinners, the school runs. I have so much support."
Family psychotherapist Dr John Sharry poses the question: would we have been as gobsmacked by Ann Stapleton's large family were she a man? "Her husband carries out the role a traditional mum would have done," says Dr Sharry.
"There is evidence that kids looked after primarily by the dad do very well. This is partly because a mum who works outside the home tends to be a very committed person. She really works hard with her children when she does come home, so they have two full parents."
Ann Stapleton also spoke of her children's unerring support. "When I would be sitting up at Easter time studying for exams, they would be coming up and putting a cup of tea up beside me, and asking, 'Do you want a sandwich?', that kind of stuff."
The children of large families tend to be more independent than children of the same age with fewer siblings, says Dr Sharry (www.solutiontalk.ie). "Largely, the children adopt much more caring roles towards each other too," he says.
Expanded clans certainly get the blessing of Pope Benedict XVI who has made it his business to call on Italian lawmakers to provide more incentives to encourage the creation of larger families.
Historically, there was an idealisation of the larger family -- child labour contributed to the family finances, and they provided security in old age.
Hollywood enshrined the jolly camaraderie of a large family in films such as Cheaper By The Dozen (1950), Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954), The Sound of Music (1965), Yours, Mine and Ours (1968) and in TV shows like The Brady Bunch and The Waltons.
These days, not everyone feels as positively towards them. A 2007 report from UK green think tank, the Optimum Population Trust, said that if couples had two children instead of three they could cut their family's carbon dioxide output by the equivalent of 620 return flights a year between London and New York. Having more than two children is seen by some as an eco-crime.
There is some concern about child poverty in larger families. The Families in Ireland report released by the Department of Social and Family Affairs late last year found that the number of large families is on the wane.
However, it also reported that there is a higher than average risk of poverty found among lone-parent families -- and in two-parent families with four children or more.
It has been estimated that the cost of raising a single child to 21 is around €225,500. The children's allowance increases slightly with the number of children you have -- for one child it is €166 a month, but for eight it is €1,550 (which works out at €187.50 per child) -- but no-one knows how long that benefit will last.
The emotional impact of being one of many children vying for a parent's attention is also an issue. Ann Stapleton says: "I think it was harder on the kids than it was on me, because I'd rush home from work, try to get the homework done and then fire out the door."
David Kavanagh, systemic family therapist, says that in many large families, children assume roles (he is not referring to the Stapleton family). The elder children take on a mantle of responsibility and become over-responsible and controlling; the middle children can feel lost and adopt the role of peacekeeper, while the younger ones tend to be more selfish.
"There is something in adopting these prescribed roles in which the individuality of the child gets sacrificed," he says.
He warns of "sub-systems" that develop in which two or three of the children become closer to the detriment of their relationships with the others.
"A family split is often the result later in life -- often it comes about with an event or maybe just a gradual shifting of priorities within the family," explains Kavanagh (www.avalonrc.com).
"Say a wife of a brother misbehaves at a family party, and on one side you have a parent and some of the children saying she was disrespectful, and you have other siblings saying, 'Leave her alone, she had taken too much drink'. It polarises tensions that already existed."
Accusations of irresponsibility against parents of large families came to the fore when 'Octo-Mom' Nadia Sulaiman gave birth to octuplets in January. The derision aimed at the 33-year-old Californian could be explained by the revelations that she had the babies through IVF, as she did her six other children at home, was single and not financially independent.
But elsewhere in the US, there have been reports that large families are in vogue with the very wealthy -- as status symbols.
What is certain is that all families -- of any size -- require hard work, organisation and a lot of love to function properly.
"Dysfunction can happen in a family with several children," says Dr John Sharry, "but it can just as easily happen with parents who have just one child."
CASE STUDY
Erika Whitaker from Rathmines in Dublin has nine children with husband Brian: Luke (17), Dan (15), Anna (14), Lia (13), Gavin (11), Sam (8), Ross 6 (nearly 7!), Conor (4), and baby Adam (17 months). They are also the proud parents of Andrew and Greg, now adults, whose mum, Brian's first wife, died young. Brian works full-time and Erika had worked part-time up until January.
Erika describes how she copes: "I'm obsessionally organised. The kids' clothes would be stacked in drawers in the utility room. Once the older ones hit 10, they bring theirs up to the rooms.
"The kids pitch in -- they have a dishwasher day, or a day in charge of tidying the sitting room. When Sam turned six, he was delighted, saying: 'Now I can have a dishwasher day!' The novelty wears off!
"Saturday mornings are a bit hectic, running to various lessons and activities -- 11 of us and a dog packed into the van!"
But for the most part, their hobbies are during school, or just after so it's not a problem.
"I want them to have their own interests. My only rule would be that if you pick something, there's no quitting halfway through.
"I use internet shopping, but I would go down to Dunnes to check bargains -- we're not millionaires. I've always been conscious of budgeting. We wouldn't have taken fancy foreign holidays but we have had a place in Clare for years and we do house swaps.
"That's what I'm doing now -- I'm in a house in Donegal for a week with the kids. Mind you, if the children's allowance is cut, we're fecked.
"I always wanted six children -- I just carried on and had a few more! You think that you couldn't love a child as much as you do your first, but you just do.
"They are all so individual; I've always been conscious of protecting that. I know a number of families with eight or nine children -- and a lot with five -- because people had money and they could afford to have them.
"But I find my life easy because they are particularly good kids, and they don't fight because there is always someone else to bounce off. The truth is I hate them growing up!"
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Birthing pains
My cover story from today's Irish Independent Weekend mag...
http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/in-many-countries-expectant-women-have-a-wide-choice-of--how-and-where-to-give-birth-to-their-baby-but-are-irish--mumstobe-getting-a-raw-deal-susan-daly-investigates-1828682.html
BIRTH OF A NATION
In many countries, expectant women have a wide choice of how and where to give birth to their baby. But are Irish mums-to-be getting a raw deal? Susan Daly investigates
By Susan Daly
Saturday July 18 2009
Mention the words 'home birth' to many people and their eyes widen in horror. At least, that was the experience of Lisa Sterrit when she began to tell acquaintances that she was planning to have her second child at home.
The feeling of being pressurised to speed up the long labour with her first daughter had prompted Lisa to seek an alternative for the birth of Thea, now a jolly, seven-month-old girl. Her eldest, Eva (five), was born in a private hospital, where Lisa found the experience "impersonal and rushed".
She had wanted a natural birth but, when her labour slowed, the medical staff wanted to break her waters, and she felt under pressure to follow their advice.
When Lisa, from Greystones, Co Wicklow, became pregnant with Thea, she vowed she would be in charge this time. With an ambulance on call in case of an emergency, and her midwife and husband by her side, she felt relaxed and comfortable. "Even the process of checking into the hospital was stressful the first time round. I had been awake all night with contractions and was worried about when I would go -- I was fretting about rush hour, so we ended up going in at 4am!"
Second time around, Lisa woke at 7am with contractions. Eva was taken by a friend for the day and when her husband came home from work at about 1.30pm, they lay on the bed while she practiced her breathing. Their bedroom overlooks the tranquility of Greystones Harbour and both fell asleep, until stronger contractions woke Lisa at about 4pm. The midwife came and Lisa's husband filled the birthing pool, where she remained until about 9pm, when Thea was born.
"It just happened so naturally," says an obviously delighted Lisa, "The midwife gave me confidence that I could do it. The baby was big -- 10-and-a-half pounds -- so I was pushing for a long time and I do feel that if I had been in hospital, there would have been pressure for a Caesarean." Her husband, too, had a better experience this time round. "The midwife and my husband worked well as a team," says Lisa.
Although Lisa remembers some people being "horrified" when she first announced that she was having a home birth, she says she had done her research. "I also knew my midwife enough to trust that at the first sign of anything making her wary, she would have carted me off to hospital."
Lisa is among a growing number of Irish women reaching out for an alternative to the obstetrician-led hospital delivery wards. With an expanding national birth rate, our large, centralised maternity hospitals are stuffed to the gills. And that is not the only reason women want to get out of the stirrups -- we are becoming aware that other countries do it differently and offer mums-to-be more choice.
"There is no European standard," says Niamh Healy,of Cuidiu, the voluntary Irish childbirth trust. "In Holland, for example, around one-third of all births are home births. In Spain, it's more medicalised, where women have probably even less choice. But certainly we know a lot about the UK system, and women there have much more choice than here."
It's very difficult for a mother to know what choices are available here; unlike in the UK, there is no official register of data about the birthing services in this country. What we do know is that in the UK, the majority of mothers-to-be are attended to by community midwives. They have several options on where to give birth, depending on risk factors: at home, in NHS midwife-led clinics, maternity hospitals or in 70-odd independent birthing centres funded by the NHS.
In Ireland, there are just two midwife-led clinics and no independent birthing centres. Even if you live in west Cork, for example, the only delivery centre near you may be two hours' drive away in the shiny new maternity hospital in Cork city.
Shelley O'Connor, from Cabra in Dublin, speaks with missionary-like zeal about her experience with a midwife-led Domino scheme for the birth of her baby, Adam, in May of this year. Domino means domiciliary care, in and out of the home, where midwives visit mothers before and after the birth in their homes.
Shelley noticed a marked difference to the maternity service she received with her previous child, Ella (three). "With the first baby, I was semi-private and I couldn't fault them, but with the Domino midwives it was much more personal. They came to my house from the word go -- if you have other children, it's very handy not to have to go to the hospital. And you can feel intimidated by a doctor. With the midwives, you're not worried about asking silly questions."
It is a public scheme and sounds like something that would work brilliantly in more geographically isolated areas of Ireland. But there are still only four Domino schemes in Ireland: one operated from Holles Street Hospital, one from the Rotunda Hospital, one in Waterford and one in Wexford. To hear Shelley speak, the majority of the country is severely missing out.
Shelley's son, Adam, had to be induced because he was 10 days overdue, but Shelley found that her Domino midwife kept her fully informed and in control at each stage. "They talked to me about the epidural, they gave me alternatives of gas and air, but they didn't make me feel as if I couldn't have the epidural if I wanted it. They were just giving me confidence the whole time."
Midwife Bernie was with Shelley all night during her labour. "She knew me and my body, and when I was in pain, she was able to calm my husband. She's your pal, you trust her. The doctors were great, but she just made it for me.
"The aftercare was fantastic -- they visited me every day for days after I went home, constantly giving reassurance. It's very important to be looked after, because you are vulnerable."
Shelley's favourite memory of the birth is when Bernie ensured that she was given skin-on-skin contact with the baby straight after his arrival -- and her husband was given the same opportunity. "It was just a beautiful experience," she says.
The philosophy of care in the Domino schemes addresses the fear of being dealt with by a bunch of strangers at a vulnerable time, a fear that drives some women to shell out for the reassurance of their own private consultant obstetrician.
"Going private is very expensive and health insurance only covers your accommodation," says Fiona Hanrahan, assistant director of midwifery at the Rotunda Hospital. She helped set up the Domino scheme there, which is still only available to women in their catchment area. "Semi-private means you are seen by a non-consultant and can be in a shared room, so they are falling between two stools."
Even the stated policy of the Institute of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists is supportive of midwife-led schemes such as Domino for the vast majority of mothers-to-be. The Institute was critical of under-investment in maternity services in a 2007 report. "Obstetricians here are very supportive of it," confirms Fiona, "and if a woman develops a complication, we dovetail services."
The mothers can have their babies in hospital under the Domino schemes, but the time they spend on wards is minimal. Hanrahan says: "Women are far more rested at home. I've never had a woman who is at home say, 'I wish I was in hospital'." Her own sister gave birth recently in a hospital and, says Hanrahan, "It's like a form of torture -- she was awake all night with other babies and mothers".
Mothers might feel that the conventional Irish childbirth is not ideal, but they are wary of alternatives because there hasn't been the opportunity to try them. The Midwife-Led Units (MLUs) in Drogheda and Cavan, for example, have received overwhelmingly positive feedback for their supportive, relaxed ethos. Rooms feature birthing aids such as pools and inflatable balls, en suite bathrooms and facilities for the woman's partner and the new baby to stay together in one room. But these are the only two MLUs in the country.
And Georgina Farren, a midwife on the National Council for the Professional Development of Nursing and Midwifery, explains that there are only between 11 and 13 independent midwives available for home births. While community midwifery is on the increase, "people aren't aware of it, geographically it's not widespread and there is not much money around".
Krysia Lynch is a member of both the Home Birth Association and of AIMS Ireland, which calls for improvement in the provision of maternity services in Ireland. "Home birthing isn't for everyone, just as elective Caesareans or hospital births aren't. Your body will be at its best where you feel safest," she says. "What we are trying to get across is that mothers need to feel that the way they give birth is their choice, that they are not being pushed into anything."
Tracy Donegan, mother of one son, Jack, has an interesting take on childbirth. She is a student midwife but has also worked as a doula (a professional labour companion) and self-hypnosis teacher. She laughs heartily at the stereotype of the doula chanting and blowing incense over the labouring mother.
She was exposed to the concept of a doula when pregnant with Jack, when she and her husband, Philip, lived in California. "She can be an informational support for you, give you the best chance to avoid routine interventions and pharmacological relief by using hydrotherapy, acupressure, positioning and so on," says Tracy. "It's helping the woman have the best birth for her."
And if that best birth turns out to be quite medicalised, then a good doula will be fully supportive. Tracy decided to be induced when Jack was a couple of days overdue and the consultant said he could book her in to have her baby at a specific time. "My doula was happy as long as I was happy. On paper, it was medically managed, but nothing was assumed, I signed on for it. I had the best of both worlds."
Tracey has also taught the GentleBirth method, which shows women how to use self-hypnosis to relax during labour. "The common misunderstanding with self-hypnosis is that you will be walking around like a zombie," she laughs, "but you are never out of control -- it is focused concentration."
While she hopes that maternity services here will become more rounded, we are lagging behind our nearest neighbours. "Ten minutes up the road in the North I can have a water birth -- which we call the midwives' epidural," says Tracy, who lives in Meath. "In the UK, they have set up a midwives' clinic in some branches of Sainsbury's. There are birthing pools in the Rotunda and in Cork, but they are still not being used."
In June 2007, the HSE called for anyone who had expertise in the area of childbirth to join a clinical advisory group on expanding maternity services. There has yet to be a convention or report from such a group. Krysia says that some Polish women of her acquaintance have been shocked at how infrequent antenatal check-ups are here. "They are used to being seen more regularly, and earlier for scans. Here you are not seen until after the first trimester. They just can't believe that."
See www.cuidiu-ict.ie for antenatal classes, free breastfeeding support and networking for parents. AIMS Ireland, at www.aimsireland.com, offers free, confidential support, with many volunteers fluent in several languages.
The HomeBirth Association of Ireland (www.homebirth.ie) provides information and support to those considering a home birth.
Tracy Donegan can be contacted at www.gentlebirthhypnosis.com
http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/in-many-countries-expectant-women-have-a-wide-choice-of--how-and-where-to-give-birth-to-their-baby-but-are-irish--mumstobe-getting-a-raw-deal-susan-daly-investigates-1828682.html
BIRTH OF A NATION
In many countries, expectant women have a wide choice of how and where to give birth to their baby. But are Irish mums-to-be getting a raw deal? Susan Daly investigates
By Susan Daly
Saturday July 18 2009
Mention the words 'home birth' to many people and their eyes widen in horror. At least, that was the experience of Lisa Sterrit when she began to tell acquaintances that she was planning to have her second child at home.
The feeling of being pressurised to speed up the long labour with her first daughter had prompted Lisa to seek an alternative for the birth of Thea, now a jolly, seven-month-old girl. Her eldest, Eva (five), was born in a private hospital, where Lisa found the experience "impersonal and rushed".
She had wanted a natural birth but, when her labour slowed, the medical staff wanted to break her waters, and she felt under pressure to follow their advice.
When Lisa, from Greystones, Co Wicklow, became pregnant with Thea, she vowed she would be in charge this time. With an ambulance on call in case of an emergency, and her midwife and husband by her side, she felt relaxed and comfortable. "Even the process of checking into the hospital was stressful the first time round. I had been awake all night with contractions and was worried about when I would go -- I was fretting about rush hour, so we ended up going in at 4am!"
Second time around, Lisa woke at 7am with contractions. Eva was taken by a friend for the day and when her husband came home from work at about 1.30pm, they lay on the bed while she practiced her breathing. Their bedroom overlooks the tranquility of Greystones Harbour and both fell asleep, until stronger contractions woke Lisa at about 4pm. The midwife came and Lisa's husband filled the birthing pool, where she remained until about 9pm, when Thea was born.
"It just happened so naturally," says an obviously delighted Lisa, "The midwife gave me confidence that I could do it. The baby was big -- 10-and-a-half pounds -- so I was pushing for a long time and I do feel that if I had been in hospital, there would have been pressure for a Caesarean." Her husband, too, had a better experience this time round. "The midwife and my husband worked well as a team," says Lisa.
Although Lisa remembers some people being "horrified" when she first announced that she was having a home birth, she says she had done her research. "I also knew my midwife enough to trust that at the first sign of anything making her wary, she would have carted me off to hospital."
Lisa is among a growing number of Irish women reaching out for an alternative to the obstetrician-led hospital delivery wards. With an expanding national birth rate, our large, centralised maternity hospitals are stuffed to the gills. And that is not the only reason women want to get out of the stirrups -- we are becoming aware that other countries do it differently and offer mums-to-be more choice.
"There is no European standard," says Niamh Healy,of Cuidiu, the voluntary Irish childbirth trust. "In Holland, for example, around one-third of all births are home births. In Spain, it's more medicalised, where women have probably even less choice. But certainly we know a lot about the UK system, and women there have much more choice than here."
It's very difficult for a mother to know what choices are available here; unlike in the UK, there is no official register of data about the birthing services in this country. What we do know is that in the UK, the majority of mothers-to-be are attended to by community midwives. They have several options on where to give birth, depending on risk factors: at home, in NHS midwife-led clinics, maternity hospitals or in 70-odd independent birthing centres funded by the NHS.
In Ireland, there are just two midwife-led clinics and no independent birthing centres. Even if you live in west Cork, for example, the only delivery centre near you may be two hours' drive away in the shiny new maternity hospital in Cork city.
Shelley O'Connor, from Cabra in Dublin, speaks with missionary-like zeal about her experience with a midwife-led Domino scheme for the birth of her baby, Adam, in May of this year. Domino means domiciliary care, in and out of the home, where midwives visit mothers before and after the birth in their homes.
Shelley noticed a marked difference to the maternity service she received with her previous child, Ella (three). "With the first baby, I was semi-private and I couldn't fault them, but with the Domino midwives it was much more personal. They came to my house from the word go -- if you have other children, it's very handy not to have to go to the hospital. And you can feel intimidated by a doctor. With the midwives, you're not worried about asking silly questions."
It is a public scheme and sounds like something that would work brilliantly in more geographically isolated areas of Ireland. But there are still only four Domino schemes in Ireland: one operated from Holles Street Hospital, one from the Rotunda Hospital, one in Waterford and one in Wexford. To hear Shelley speak, the majority of the country is severely missing out.
Shelley's son, Adam, had to be induced because he was 10 days overdue, but Shelley found that her Domino midwife kept her fully informed and in control at each stage. "They talked to me about the epidural, they gave me alternatives of gas and air, but they didn't make me feel as if I couldn't have the epidural if I wanted it. They were just giving me confidence the whole time."
Midwife Bernie was with Shelley all night during her labour. "She knew me and my body, and when I was in pain, she was able to calm my husband. She's your pal, you trust her. The doctors were great, but she just made it for me.
"The aftercare was fantastic -- they visited me every day for days after I went home, constantly giving reassurance. It's very important to be looked after, because you are vulnerable."
Shelley's favourite memory of the birth is when Bernie ensured that she was given skin-on-skin contact with the baby straight after his arrival -- and her husband was given the same opportunity. "It was just a beautiful experience," she says.
The philosophy of care in the Domino schemes addresses the fear of being dealt with by a bunch of strangers at a vulnerable time, a fear that drives some women to shell out for the reassurance of their own private consultant obstetrician.
"Going private is very expensive and health insurance only covers your accommodation," says Fiona Hanrahan, assistant director of midwifery at the Rotunda Hospital. She helped set up the Domino scheme there, which is still only available to women in their catchment area. "Semi-private means you are seen by a non-consultant and can be in a shared room, so they are falling between two stools."
Even the stated policy of the Institute of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists is supportive of midwife-led schemes such as Domino for the vast majority of mothers-to-be. The Institute was critical of under-investment in maternity services in a 2007 report. "Obstetricians here are very supportive of it," confirms Fiona, "and if a woman develops a complication, we dovetail services."
The mothers can have their babies in hospital under the Domino schemes, but the time they spend on wards is minimal. Hanrahan says: "Women are far more rested at home. I've never had a woman who is at home say, 'I wish I was in hospital'." Her own sister gave birth recently in a hospital and, says Hanrahan, "It's like a form of torture -- she was awake all night with other babies and mothers".
Mothers might feel that the conventional Irish childbirth is not ideal, but they are wary of alternatives because there hasn't been the opportunity to try them. The Midwife-Led Units (MLUs) in Drogheda and Cavan, for example, have received overwhelmingly positive feedback for their supportive, relaxed ethos. Rooms feature birthing aids such as pools and inflatable balls, en suite bathrooms and facilities for the woman's partner and the new baby to stay together in one room. But these are the only two MLUs in the country.
And Georgina Farren, a midwife on the National Council for the Professional Development of Nursing and Midwifery, explains that there are only between 11 and 13 independent midwives available for home births. While community midwifery is on the increase, "people aren't aware of it, geographically it's not widespread and there is not much money around".
Krysia Lynch is a member of both the Home Birth Association and of AIMS Ireland, which calls for improvement in the provision of maternity services in Ireland. "Home birthing isn't for everyone, just as elective Caesareans or hospital births aren't. Your body will be at its best where you feel safest," she says. "What we are trying to get across is that mothers need to feel that the way they give birth is their choice, that they are not being pushed into anything."
Tracy Donegan, mother of one son, Jack, has an interesting take on childbirth. She is a student midwife but has also worked as a doula (a professional labour companion) and self-hypnosis teacher. She laughs heartily at the stereotype of the doula chanting and blowing incense over the labouring mother.
She was exposed to the concept of a doula when pregnant with Jack, when she and her husband, Philip, lived in California. "She can be an informational support for you, give you the best chance to avoid routine interventions and pharmacological relief by using hydrotherapy, acupressure, positioning and so on," says Tracy. "It's helping the woman have the best birth for her."
And if that best birth turns out to be quite medicalised, then a good doula will be fully supportive. Tracy decided to be induced when Jack was a couple of days overdue and the consultant said he could book her in to have her baby at a specific time. "My doula was happy as long as I was happy. On paper, it was medically managed, but nothing was assumed, I signed on for it. I had the best of both worlds."
Tracey has also taught the GentleBirth method, which shows women how to use self-hypnosis to relax during labour. "The common misunderstanding with self-hypnosis is that you will be walking around like a zombie," she laughs, "but you are never out of control -- it is focused concentration."
While she hopes that maternity services here will become more rounded, we are lagging behind our nearest neighbours. "Ten minutes up the road in the North I can have a water birth -- which we call the midwives' epidural," says Tracy, who lives in Meath. "In the UK, they have set up a midwives' clinic in some branches of Sainsbury's. There are birthing pools in the Rotunda and in Cork, but they are still not being used."
In June 2007, the HSE called for anyone who had expertise in the area of childbirth to join a clinical advisory group on expanding maternity services. There has yet to be a convention or report from such a group. Krysia says that some Polish women of her acquaintance have been shocked at how infrequent antenatal check-ups are here. "They are used to being seen more regularly, and earlier for scans. Here you are not seen until after the first trimester. They just can't believe that."
See www.cuidiu-ict.ie for antenatal classes, free breastfeeding support and networking for parents. AIMS Ireland, at www.aimsireland.com, offers free, confidential support, with many volunteers fluent in several languages.
The HomeBirth Association of Ireland (www.homebirth.ie) provides information and support to those considering a home birth.
Tracy Donegan can be contacted at www.gentlebirthhypnosis.com
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