Between that first flight and this one I must have flown between two and six times a year. I think that there are very few years when I did not fly at all, though it must have happened –  when I’d just had baby, when we travelled by ferry to Ireland, when I took a train instead of a flight on the European mainland. However, those years with no flights are few and far between. Let’s say that I have flown four times a year for the last (almost) 70 years. That’s 280 flights. Some short haul. Some medium. Many long haul. Dreadful really.

I pride myself in being someone who cares for the environment. I actively support efforts that protect nature. I shop local, avoid palm oil, plant trees and compost. Go me…except that I’m not really making a great sacrifice. It does not take much effort to read a label and buy the product that does not use palm oil. Recycling is probably the most demanding thing that I do, as it requires triage and packing up the car to bring it all into town. Not exactly a Herculean task. I am also someone who does not feel the need to buy more stuff, be it clothes, shoes or homewares and gadgets. That’s easy because I have a house stocked to the brim with stuff. Half the time I don’t even remember what I have. That does not stop me from grabbing a fast fashion item that catches my eye in the sales, or to occasionally buy a new gadget online without ever wondering where or how it was made. Going without a car is impossible. Even with my Free Travel Pass, most journeys are in my car.

I mention all this because, as I fly high above the clouds, I realise that though I do truly care enough about the environment to do positive things, I apparently don’t care enough to stop doing things that have a negative impact, like flying off to someone’s birthday party.

I lie to myself about how much I care and what a “good consumer” I am. In my defence, it is difficult and expensive to get off this island any other way than a cheap flight. A flight from Cork to Bilbao costs €54.30. A passage on the ferry the same day cost €159 and takes between 27 and 31 hours. Closer to home is the same problem. Though I have my FT pass, it took me seven hours to get back home from Galway on the bus, and trying to make a flight from my home using public transportation is a nightmare – even when it’s free.

I used one of those carbon footprint calculators to check my CO2 usage and I’m not the worst: 7.3 tons/year which is considered a climate conscious consumer (five-10 tons per year). Climate villains are over 10 tons of CO2). 3.4 tons of my footprint were generated by travel. I hang my head in shame, but don’t expect to forgo a sun holiday, or a visit to my sister at some point in 2026. ‘Mea culpa, mea culpa’. 

Lastly, I want to take a moment to mark the passing of a man who will truly be missed in Clonakilty and beyond. The town was in shock when the news started circulating that Tommy O’Donovan, of O’Donovan’s Hotel, had suddenly died. In our house we couldn’t believe it – didn’t want to believe it. Sure, wasn’t he the Grand Marshall at the Paddy’s Day parade with his sisters, Therese and Dena, just the day before. Sure, wasn’t I just chatting with him last weekend. Sure, wasn’t he up a ladder just a few days ago. Sure, wasn’t he over at the Women’s Shed just that morning? Denial put up a fight but in the end was the sad truth: Tommy was gone. Never brash or loud, he was nonetheless the essence of our town, very much a mover and shaker. An integral part of the motor that has made Clonakilty and West Cork one of the most successful and progressive areas of Ireland. A quiet environmentalist, a community leader who was more often in the background and yet got things done: the allotments, the men’s shed, the bike scheme…too many small and large contributions to mention here. The outpouring at his funeral service reflected how loved he was. The term ‘pillar of the community’ is often flashed about when someone passes. Tommy was and will always be a true pillar of our community, and with his passing we all feel a bit wobbly.

It is over a week into 2026, and we are still finishing off the excess food from the holidays. I ate the last of the mallow cakes this morning. I also ate a bit of fruitcake and nibbled on a chocolate praline that I don’t like much. Only the ones that I like least are left. There is still a full box of mince pies, and some crackers and bits of fancy cheese. And an entire Christmas pudding which we somehow forgot to serve at dinner. The cheese will be either eaten as snacks or given to the dog. Don’t know what we’ll do with the Christmas pudding as no-one in the house really likes it. I only buy it because it is traditional for the festive season. It will probably sit in the pantry until well past its sell-by date, at which point we’ll chuck it out in shame and regret. It will end up in the compost where I’m sure the birds, bugs and hedgehogs will appreciate the fact that it was matured for six months. There is also a half-full box of Rose’s that my beloved is working his way through. I’m a bit of a chocolate snob (I grew up in Belgium after all) and don’t eat them. However, I love the plastic tubs and use them to store vegetable seeds.

The start of the year is the time for resolutions and predictions. Resolutions tend to be about being a better version of ourselves, generally centred around the physical self. Resolution #1, as every year, is to eat healthy, cutting out sugar and fast carbs. Prediction #1 is that none of that will happen until I have eaten all the leftover holiday goodies. Resolution #2 is often about getting fit with Prediction#2 being a bit of a gamble as to how long that will last as fitness resolutions can often sound like boot camp: More exercise! More steps! More protein! Less treats! Such resolutions are only attractive if you are a masochist (which I am most certainly not). So, this year, let me suggest that instead of concentrating on fighting the flab, we focus on having a good time. I don’t mean resolving to drink more, take up smoking, and lounge around on the couch watching Love Island and eating ultra-processed food. I’m talking about those activities which lift our spirits and warm our hearts, which put a spring in our step and a song (literally) on our lips.

Studies suggest that participating in a creative activity can have a positive effect on our health and wellbeing. In fact, engaging in the arts nearly halves the risk of developing clinical depression. Art therapy combined with anti-depressants and counselling, can double the improvement in the symptoms of depression.

Singing, dancing, playing music, writing poetry, playing with clay, or watercolours or pencils, along with crafts like knitting, woodwork, or felting are all easily accessed in West Cork. We are blessed with a wide range of creative activities and groups to enjoy them with. If you don’t see yourself taking up the ukulele or joining a choir  – no worries. You don’t actually have to participate by making art. You can still get the benefit by watching others. Going to gigs, attending a play, or visiting a museum are all great for our mental and spiritual health. Engaging with the arts is a brain workout, which builds cognitive reserves that combat cognitive decline. Singing, or dancing are as good a breathing workout as a brisk walk. Crochet and other activities which require psychomotor skills are great for muscle/brain coordination. Art practice engages a number of physiological systems that together boost immunity and lower inflammation. Better yet they are fun. Boosting your mood is as important as boosting your fibre – especially when the news is often so dire and upsetting.

So, in 2026 take up a hobby, join an art class, or just go out and enjoy some live music. You may not lose any weight, but you’ll find that life is more pleasurable and we can all use a bit more of that!

It is a sentiment that most of us accept as inevitable. We all know that nothing lasts forever, yet we keep facing every day as if nothing will ever change. Though you might not guess it, I am rather a traditionalist. I don’t much like change. For someone with what might be called progressive values, I don’t much like progress. I like things to stay just the way they are thank you very much. It generally takes me a while to accept – much less like – changes to the landscape, or society. It took me years to like the changes to Patrick Street in Cork city, though I will happily admit that they have been an improvement. When I go back to Brussels, where I grew up, it is a shock to see how much certain neighbourhoods have changed, and it is often difficult for me to accept the benefits. Though I will happily point out all the good things that the expansion of my village has brought, I’m still not used to it, nor really like it. It’s still a surprise to drive up to the pub and see a shiny new housing estate where I expect fields.

Much in the same way, I am saddened when a beloved business closes. It was not so long ago that I was mourning the loss of Atkins – that stalwart of Clonakilty. From nails to teacups, and from paint to toilet seats, Atkins was my go-to when I needed anything to do with the home and garden. Best of all were the staff, who were always attentive and kind. It was the ‘Cheers’ of West Cork. A place where everybody knows your name. I still miss it.

And now I hear that two more stalwart businesses on the main Street are set to close. Paddy Meade’s Newsagents was probably one of the first businesses that I got to know way back in the days when I was a tourist. It was still the days of print newspapers, picture postcards, and monthly magazines and Paddy Meade’s had them all. After I moved, Paddy was there for notebooks, pens, envelopes and cards for every occasion. Best of all was Paddy himself. Always up for the chats. He used to regale me with stories of his travels, including a period spent as a docker in Rotterdam. He kept the International Herald Tribune for my parents when they visited and was sorely missed when he passed. I know that I will always remember him and the great staff every time I pass whatever becomes of the shop in the future.

Another one who was always great for the chats is butcher Dave Scully, also on Pearse Street, Clonakilty. His Dublin accent always made me smile and made me feel like I had been magically transported to a butcher on Henry Street. His warm welcome and great advice were like a balm anytime you stepped into his shop. Dave was a central part of the community as well, never turning down a request for help with any community event. After twenty years Dave is hanging up his apron, and I wish him and his family well.

As painful as these business closures are, they are not as cruel as when we lose cherished members of our community. ‘All things must pass’ also refers to loved ones and we have had more than our fair share of loss these past few months. I don’t think I remember a time when I went to as many funerals of prominent people that I loved. I can’t list all the ways they will be missed – it would take a whole book to explain how much these people did for our community, our friends, and our families. They were the type of person you would call at a drop of a hat if you had a question, or needed some help, knowing that they would come through. They were out in the street, behind the scenes organising events, or out on the town dancing the night away. I laughed, I was comforted and helped by them. I planned and partied with each one. When someone passes, they are often remembered by saying that we will not see the likes of them again, but with Anne Cullinane, Cionnaith Ó Súilleabháin, Martha Healy and Denis Noonan, the mould was truly broken. We will miss you all for many years to come. May you rest in peace and smile down on us wherever you are.

I know that the weather can dampen the mood but, really the weather makes no never mind. West Cork is beautiful in the summer, whether sunny or grey. It’s also fun, with festivals, BBQs, weddings and all the ‘craic agus ceol’ you could ever wish for. Thanks to gentrification we also now have saunas on the beach and really good food. Gone are the days when a coffee was instant Maxwell House mild and a limp ham sandwich was standard fare. You can get a decent iced latte pretty much anywhere and we now boast Michelin-starred restaurants. It’s what attracts so many visitors every summer (and very welcome you all are who may be reading this on your hols).

For those of us who live here all year round, we know that there’s more to it than breathtaking landscapes, tasty seafood, and great music sessions. The true magic of West Cork is in its people. We’re a mixed bunch of homegrown and blow-ins and it might not be obvious what a farmer and a hippie artist have in common. But here’s the thing – people in West Cork care. They care about the so called ‘little’ things. Whether it’s calling in to visit an elderly neighbour, or driving a friend to the airport, people in West Cork are always ready to help each other out. 

They also care about ‘bigger’ things. Many of the local organisations are set up to help people make West Cork better for all, from the Tidy Towns that keep villages and towns looking their best to beach clean-ups and the Apple Festivals that allow us to press the apples from our orchards. Look around you. This place is wonderful – but that’s no accident. It’s due to hours of hard work put in by people who care.

Sometimes caring takes a more collective role – especially when what makes West Cork so very special is threatened. We saw it years ago with the movements to stop a plastics factory being operated on the Ilen River, as well as the actions taken to stop the mining of kelp in Bantry bay.

Recently, several new issues have popped up that threaten our community. I take this opportunity to highlight just a few:

More than 3,000 people have signed a petition objecting to the granting of planning permission for a mussel farm in Kinsale, Co Cork, which they say will be the size of “12 GAA pitches”. The proposed site is located directly adjacent to beautiful Dock Beach.

The wetlands around the Bandon River are under threat from a sand and gravel quarry. The Save Murragh: West Cork Community Group was formed to help preserve this little bit of West Cork wonderland.

The Save our Sprat was set up in June 2025 when it became evident that the loss of sprat in our waters was an urgent matter that has already affected the wildlife on our coast. It is a credit to them that they have already pushed measures to be adopted that are intended to protect the sprat in our waters, though it’s far from a solution so the fight goes on. “It is important to point out that, while this is a very positive step to protect our inshore waters, for sprat and other species, we must remain vigilant and ensure the measures are implemented and enforced effectively.” 

The Clonakilty Community Arts Centre will be forced to close if suitable premises are not found. It has been given notice to vacate after being a hub for community arts for 12 years, providing artists’ studios, workshops, gallery exhibitions, and classes for both children and adults. A rally to ‘Save our Arts Centre’ will be held on August 2 at 2pm.

When I think of it, a beautiful beach, a biodiverse wetland, sprat and art and people who care, are a good way to start describing the soul of West Cork. So, enjoy the last of the summer and get involved in ensuring that our West Cork soul is protected. It’s worth saving.

Still, we did have a good run of it. And apparently there’s more to come. The rumour is that the good weather will be back. Here’s hoping. I had a look, and the long-term forecast for June is pretty good. Even yer man from #carlow weather is cautiously optimistic. Sunshine and mostly dry – with regular showers but nothing major. The temperatures are still a bit low for my liking. I love me a good heat wave. I was born in Spain and feel like a contented lizard when the temperature gets above 25C. To be perfectly honest my favourite is probably 30C and a sea breeze.

There is so much to look forward to in the next three months. June, July and August are the top three months in my book. I know that some love the Autumn, and one can’t deny the joys of Spring, but Summer is where it’s at. The long days and gorgeous evenings stretching into a short night are delightful – especially if the weather is good and you can get out to enjoy it.

As every year, I’m looking forward to the many festivals and events taking place around West Cork. I was travelling and so missed the opportunity to go to the Fastnet Film festival in Schull. It would have been fun to swan around with so many Hollywood stars. Mind you, West Cork has always attracted famous stars who appreciate not only the landscape, and craic agus ceol, but also the fact that they are largely not bothered by the local population and can just get on with their lives. I appreciate the fact that celebrities want to be left in peace when they shop, but I’ll confess that it does give me a giggle to see a picture of Paul Mescal in my local Supervalu! Who knew that Ballydehob would become internationally trendy?

Two of my favourite summer events take place in June: the Agricultural Show and the Clonakilty Street Festival. The Ag Show is everything a summer festival should be and more. From little kids to grannies, there is something for everyone – from prize chickens to prize scones, from monster tractors to pony and traps, and from full lunches to chipper food. I love checking out the competition winners. The devil has no place in the exhibits of what ‘busy hands’ can create. I love the breads, crochet, jams and flower arrangements. My favourite category is the “Best decorated wooden spoon”, with ‘Carved decorated fruit’ and ‘Best tea tray’ coming a close second. The mad fancy chickens make me laugh, and the cattle judging has become a livestock version of a makeover Glow-up show, with cattle being groomed, blow dried and enhanced with glitter pomade. I swear one year they’ll be using eyeliner and mascara to give the bullocks and heifers that sultry eye so loved by supermodels. The Ag Show is loud and messy, interesting and silly, has both a music stage and the Merries. What more could you cram into one day? If the sun is shining, it’s a perfect day out.

Talking about perfect days out when the sun is shining, few festivals can compete with the Clonakilty Street Festival. What could be finer than to close down the main street to enjoy a lovely late lunch with the entire town. The long tables, the bunting, the music and children’s games compete for attention, and I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. As long as it’s not cold, wet, and windy.

So, as every start of June, I live in hope. It will be sunny. It will be warm, and we’ll be able to enjoy each other’s company surrounded by everything that makes West Cork such a great place to live. And if June is a washout, there’s always July and August to look forward to.

And so here we are. It’s May. (“Tra la! It’s May!” sang Guinivere in the musical Camelot. The lusty month of May!) In the over thirty years that I’ve lived in West Cork, the month of May has always been pretty good. Sometimes it’s been spectacular. This time of the year is filled with positive anticipation. The summer is ahead of us, and all memories of rainy, wet Julys are erased by the flowers blooming, the trees coming into leaf and the calves and lambs gambolling around the fields. The fields themselves are growing lush and green at a rate of knots. I also love seeing the newly ploughed and planted fields, full of the promise of harvest.

More than any time of the year, May is about wildness. Now is the time to get out and taste some of that West Cork wildness. I’m lucky. All I have to do is step out the door. We’ve been rewilding since before we knew that’s what it was called. I’ve never been one for manicured lawns and tight herbaceous borders. I prefer a bit of untamed nature with all its messy bits. If you tidy up a fallen tree, all you get is a pile of wood chips. Leave it lying in the woods and after a few years you have an amazing display of mosses, mushrooms and ferns. Not so much a ‘bug hotel’ as a five-star resort for all sorts of wildlife.

To be honest our ‘rewilding’ was also a case of managing a hectare with few resources and little desire to get too complicated. Apart from the vegetable patch, tunnel, and apple orchard, the rest of the land has largely been left to its own devices with selective strimming, keeping unwanted plants like nettles and brambles at bay, while encouraging anything else to have a go. This has led us to have a little a fairyland of West Cork around the house. Best of all, every May we get a new collection. We walk around delighted to see where the foxgloves have decided to assemble or if a huge fern is coming back to life. The regeneration of the back field after ‘Ophelia’ has graced us with sorrel, three-cornered leeks, primroses, blue bells and – this year – wild garlic! Thanks to letting nature do its thing, we get a new ‘collection’ every year. After months indoors, I love going outside and seeing what has popped up this year. 

Mind you balancing the wildness is a tricky business. The big problem is keeping ahead of the brambles and nettles. We have managed to keep them at bay in the back, around the apple trees and vegetable patch, but they have basically won in the front field. Over Covid we let the field go and we never really got back on top of it. Last year we had someone valiantly tackle the edges of the field, but it seems to have only encouraged the brambles. Now it looks like Sleeping Beauty’s castle could be buried underneath all the growth. It is impossible to go into the front field without armour and a machete. The only way to deal with it is to get a digger to pull everything out, and to sow meadow grass. The problem is that yet again we didn’t do it back in January/February before it started growing again. Now it’s May and we are looking at a wall of thorns that could deter a zombie horde.

Frankly it doesn’t look good – if you are a human. If you are any other living creature it looks like Disneyland with a free buffet and deli counter. One of the main reasons to rewild is to provide habitat and increase biodiversity. Our front field may be messy, but it certainly attracts wildlife. The number of birds, bugs, small mammals and amphibians is second only to the immense biomass. One can only guess at the richness of the soil, full of creepy crawlies and extensive mushroom network that lies beneath after thirty years of not being sprayed. All that growth is already showing its potential. Though it is still early in the season we are seeing bumblebees, bees, a range of butterflies and other insects buzzing around. The bird life is a twitchers dream, with most Irish native bird species happily hopping about and filling the air with bird song. We can’t rip all that life out now. It would be a sin to destroy such a rich and diverse habitat when nature is in full swing. We will therefore, yet again, let it go wild this summer and try and deal with the front field next winter when the nests are abandoned and the brambles die back. ‘En Mai fait ce qu’il te plait’ is the last line of a French proverb that translates as ‘In May do what pleases you’. For the front field that means: Go wild!

Excuse my language but WTF have they been doing to the hedgerows? It’s Armageddon out there. Except that Armageddon is defined as the last battle between good and evil before the Day of Judgement, and if the hedgerows represent Good and the machines shredding them represent Evil – then it’s not much of a battle. Frankly nobody seems to be fighting on the side of Good.

You may not have noticed it if you live in town, but out here in the countryside an army of chomping, shredding and chipping machines were sent out to cut the trees and shrubs growing on the hedgerows down to little nubs. I know I sound a bit hysterical, but the level of destruction is really upsetting. There is hardly a tree with a trunk wider than half a foot left. The shrubs have been cut back so much that they have practically disappeared on certain roads. There is hardly a big tree left lining our roads. Yesterday as I came into Bandon, I noticed that several bigish trees, about two feet in diameter, had been cut down. The trunks were being chipped on the spot. Further along was a big blank bit where a row of firs had always stood. Sad piles of wood chip marked the spot. Up and down the roads of West Cork banks of big trees have been cut down, changing the landscape in a shocking way.

Section 40 of the Wildlife Act 1976 prohibits the “cutting, grubbing, burning or other destruction of vegetation growing on “any land not then cultivated” between March 1 and August 31 annually. This is to protect bird life during the nesting season, to help prevent forest fires, and to protect vegetation and wildlife habitats during the months of growth and reproduction.”

Fair enough, but if the hedgerows are basically ripped out and fed to a chipper, where is the wildlife going to build their nests? Perched on the top of a bare wall? In addition, the hedgerows are populated with hawthorn, blackthorn, elders and brambles  (and a tiny number of crab apple and damson). All which provide not only nesting, but shade, roosting, and an abundance of berries to feed the local wildlife. Not to mention foragers like me who make sloe gin, elderflower cordial, blackberry and apple crumble and damson jam.

Hedgerows are not just handy for nesting birds. They are important in many respects. They sequester carbon, provide wildlife habitat, control flooding, and improve water quality. According to Hedgerows Ireland, hedgerow and non-forest woodlands have the potential to sequester 0.66–3.3 t CO2/ha/year (EPA, 2014). The removal of hedgerows reduces the soil organic carbon storage capacity and releases carbon into the air due to soil compaction and disturbance, particularly when heavy machinery is used.

The Countryside Bird Survey reported that 55 of 110 regularly recorded bird species use hedgerows, with 35 of these using larger hedgerows (1.4m high and 1.2m wide) as nest sites (Teagasc, 2022). And it’s not just birds. Mature hollow trees provide roosts for bats. The dense base provides safe hideouts for small mammals, such as hedgehogs. Hedgerows also facilitate greater insect abundance. This in turn further attracts bird species.

Hedgerows also help to prevent flooding during heavy rainfall events because of their dense vegetation base and less compacted soil. This helps to slow water movement and allows the excess flow to infiltrate and percolate into the soil. The increased infiltration and percolation improves our freshwater quality.

Hedgerows are also important for another reason – they are beautiful. They define the landscape in West Cork. They are a daily reflection of the seasons. They provide beauty and surprises around every bend no matter the season, or the weather. I have always loved driving along the back roads. The joys are not just in manoeuvring around the windy bits and marvelling at the views. The big plus has always been the hedgerows. The joy of seeing the first daffs. The delight of a bank of primroses. The glory of the hawthorns – popcorn white in Spring, and berry red in Autumn. The beautiful, dappled light of high summer when the trees are in full leaf. And, of course, the wildlife: foxes, badgers, buzzards, stoats, herons and all manner of small birds are generally spotted alongside a nice bushy hedgerow. Thank goodness cutting will stop on March 1. We have six months to figure out how to stop this Armageddon before it starts again.

I used to joke that we lived in an isolated rural pocket. I knew that we did because every time the electrics went down during a storm, the ESB got the power back rapidly except for in “isolated rural pockets” – in other words us. We often went for several days/weeks without power. Not to worry. We knew what to do. I used to call it going into Little House on the Prairie mode. We always have a stock of candles, wind-up torches and radios. Back in the day we didn’t have power banks, but then again, we didn’t have mobile phones or computers. Now we are well-equipped with large power banks and rechargeable lights and devices, while our phones and computers keep us linked to the rest of the world. It makes power cuts much easier if somewhat less romantic. I rather liked the cosy candlelight for a few days.

The worst thing about not having any electricity in our isolated rural pocket isn’t the loss of light. No power means no pump. No pump means no water – to drink, to cook, to wash, or to flush the toilets. We always have a stock of big bottles of water in the house, along with some empty vessels to fill up in town, or at more fortunate neighbours’ homes. We also used to avail of the old public water pump in town, which was great fun for the kids and made me feel like throwing on a shawl before giving the big iron Wheel of Fortune a twirl. I’ve heard that the pump is no longer operational, which is a real shame if true. We also have old plastic drums full of rainwater that we can use to flush the toilet. When they are empty, we can go down to the stream and fill them up again.

The aftermath of any storm can be quite challenging but none as much as the Beast from the East. A combination of frozen pipes and storm damage meant that we were out of water for many days, even after the power came back. Ice and snow made it impossible to go into town. Not to worry, the property was covered in snow and so I spent my days collecting buckets of snow and melting it. That’s how we discovered that the ratio of snow to melted water is about ten to one. 

You may have noticed that I’ve mentioned losing power, light and water, but not anything about heat or cooking. That’s because we have an oil-fired Aga, a wood burning stove, and an open fire in the house. A few years ago, when the first SEAI grants came in, I was enthusiastic. I would transform the house to an energy-efficient, electricity-producing hub. I even considered changing the Aga from oil to electricity (I didn’t get very far due to the confusing red tape). However, when it came to replacing the stove and open fire with an electric fire we paused – blackouts in the past had shown us that having a stove and open fire is essential, giving us heating and cooking facilities.

Storm Eowyn left many in new builds without any basic services. That’s because the new energy-efficient homes are totally dependant on the power being on. They have no stoves or open fires. I understand the need to cut out fossil fuels, but it seems very short-sighted to build an entire estate, which can no longer function if the power goes. We need better planning and joined-up thinking if we are going to face the coming climate emergencies. The new emergency hubs set up after the storm are a good start. Local ‘preparedness plans’ with village hubs in halls, schools or pubs, and a team of volunteers could rapidly ensure that vulnerable people in our community had heat, water, light and hot food. A central emergency back-up system for estates would help them weather power cuts.

I take this opportunity to congratulate Christopher O’Sullivan on his appointment as Minister of State in the Department of Housing, Local Government and Heritage and hope that, as someone who has always cared for the environment, he will take a hard look at what is needed not just to avoid, but to prepare for the environmental crisis ahead. As for me, I’m looking into solar/rechargeable home batteries to run the pump when the power is out. They are cheaper than they used to be but still quite expensive. Here’s hoping that the government will roll out grants for homeowners’ emergency power banks sooner rather than later.

There are many reasons for Quitter’s Day. Lack of commitment, unrealistic goals, or basic human inadequacy are often declared to be the cause. However, these smack of guilt and self-recrimination, and there’s too much of that about these days. It doesn’t help unless feeling bad about yourself is your goal. The fact is that it’s not your fault. It’s a programming error.

I think that one of main problems with New Year’s resolutions is that they start too soon.

January 1 is a terrible time to start anything. It looks great on paper (especially if you still have a paper monthly calendar in the kitchen). It has a catchy ring to it. Start on the first day of the new year sounds great, but it’s actually a terrible time to go from zero to hero.

To start with, it is still Christmas. The twelve days are not over yet, and there’s five days of ‘Middelmas’ to go until the Epiphany and Women’s Little Christmas. The kids are still home from school. All the decorations are still up. The back hall is chock-a-block with extra recycling. You may have had a great New Year’s Eve and be feeling a bit more fragile on the first day of the new year. You are still in the twilight zone of the holidays. Here’s rule #1: don’t start until the Christmas tree is taken down and the house is back to normal.

Another reason not to jump into action on January 1 is the fact that It’s cold and dark most of the time. The day is very short. January 1 is near enough to the winter solstice to plunge us into night by 4:30pm. Personally I find heading out to do anything in the cold and dark challenging. Exercising in the cold and dark is unthinkable. I know that not everyone feels the same. I see you, jogging in the dark and I don’t know how you do it. When the sun goes down and takes the temperature with it, all that I want is to wrap myself in a blanket, sit near a fire and move as little as possible. Rule #2: don’t be getting notions about getting more active until it’s still light at 5pm.

Getting more exercise is one of the top five resolutions along with eating healthier and losing weight. Which is another reason why the first of January is a bad start date.  In early January we haven’t finished all the chocolates and biscuits yet. So, what are you going to do with all the leftover Christmas goodies? You can’t just chuck them out. Rule #3: Don’t start any sort of diet, or healthy eating plan if you prefer, until you have cleared out all the Christmas goodies. Remember to consume guilt free.

This year not starting any resolutions too early was easy. The temperature dropped dramatically beyond the point where you can ignore it. I wore my alpaca hat most days. There was no way I was going anywhere to start anything. It was proper cold and dark for the first week of January and I’m not ashamed to confess that I was practically immobile as soon as the sun went down. It was lovely, much helped by the overabundance of lovely chocolates and assorted biscuits. 

As we get past mid-January, things are starting to look more positive. We are slowly getting to the end of the goodies. I finished the dark chocolate-covered dates last night. I just need a few more friends to drop by for coffee to get through the giant box of Danish butter cookies. The temperature has been rising. I can feel myself slowly thawing. The light is on the way back. Yesterday it was still light at 5pm. Not quite a grand stretch, but uplifting all the same. If you go looking, you’ll see the stubby green shoots of daffodils poking through the ground. The Camellia at the bottom of the drive is in full bloom – all pink and yellow flounces. Spring is not in the air quite yet, but you get a sniff of it every now and then. I’m not quite there yet either, but I do feel like a new me is just around the corner. Rule #4 don’t give up even if you gave up. You still have plenty of time. Set your new year’s resolutions for some time in late February when there’s more light and no more Christmas chocolates left. Wishing you all a happy and healthy 2025.

After a warm, dry and sometimes spectacularly sunny extended Autumn we got all the winter weather at once. Temperatures plummeted and the snow covered the landscape in a soft white duvet. No sooner had the snow started to melt than storm Bert made its entrance with a red alert for rain and some fierce winds. I had stocked up the day before, anticipating the need to shelter in place during the storm, or getting trapped by floods after. I was clearly not the only one prepping for Bert. Quite a few shelves were looking a bit bare, notably milk and fish. Go figure. It was a Friday so maybe that explains it. Grapes were also out, but it seems that this is due to heatwaves in Italy, Spain and Greece, which is ironic when you remember the recent dreadful floods in those parts. Thankfully Bert wasn’t too bad, and things got quickly back to the rainy, gusty, grey normal, with the bonus of temperatures swinging wildly from -2C to 15C. There really is no telling what the weather will be these days. One thing for certain is that the holidays are coming. In fact, they are already here.

Christmas has been officially welcomed in West Cork with the lights being turned on and Christmassy festivities happening in most towns just two weeks after we celebrated Halloween. So be it. Adding a few extra weeks to the most profitable time of the year is good for the retail sector. I know that I complain every year that we should not get the season started until December 8 (instead of November 17!), but I sound like a cranky old boomer, so I’m just leaning into it, which is a good thing, as this year we are rolling all the holidays into one that we’re calling ‘Thanksmas’. Most of my daughters are away this Christmas so we will be doing a joint Thanksgiving and Christmas at the beginning of December. That means that I’ll be getting into the spirit earlier than usual. Which is why I’m very glad that I decided to watch the documentary ‘Buy Now: The Shopping Conspiracy’ on Netflix. At this time of year it’s good to pause and reflect on how our shopping affects the planet. I learnt that corporate waste (ie unsold perfectly good merchandise that is thrown away because it’s cheaper than redistributing it) is at its highest after big holidays, and no holiday is bigger than Christmas. In addition, no holiday pushes the button to buy cheap, shiny stuff we don’t need as much, as Christmas. It’s an impulse that is hard to control. Like eating just one After Eight, it’s hard not to pick up a few more baubles, or funny knickknacks, or adorable little watsits for ourselves and those we love. Here are a few suggestions to help curb the worst of it:

• If at all possible don’t buy new. Have a wander through second-hand shops, your own closets to find things to re-gift, or to get crafty and make gifts. I am fully aware that this does not work for all family members. In that case consider:

 • Buying from craftsmen and artisans. There are many local Christmas and craft markets, along with all the regular markets, and loads of lovely local shops that sell Irish artisan gifts. However, though you may find something perfect for your mother-in-law, craft markets can be useless if you have kids. In that case:

• At least shop local. If you must purchase a branded item, go to a local shop. Even if it’s a big chain it provides jobs and shopping convenience to the community. The city has enough consumers. It doesn’t need us to go up for our Christmas shopping, but your local toy shop does.

It’s ‘Deck the halls with boughs of holly’. Not deck the halls with plastic, shiny cheap stuff that you will throw away. (As the documentary points out – Where is this fairytale AWAY place where we send our stuff? It’s in Thailand, India and Ghana, and of course in the ocean.) Similarly, ’Tis the season to be jolly’. Not Tis the season to shop. I know that it is hard to resist. The draw of the shiny is strong. I don’t want to be the Grinch who spoiled Christmas. In fact, I want to be the opposite. Whether your Christmas is a religious or a secular holiday the essence is the same: Peace on Earth and goodwill to all people. Wishing you a very Merry Christmas.

Every year I find it difficult to accept that summer is over. I know that Autumn is a lot of people’s favourite season, but I’m slow to give in to the joys of the season. I’ve lived in Ireland for over thirty years, but I still can’t accept that it’s not the Med (my childhood summers). Especially when the summer wasn’t great like this year. I feel cheated. I live in denial until October: not wearing socks, not lighting the fire, or getting out the winter jackets.

This year it was easier to stay in denial. First, we took off for a week of ‘Fly and Flop’ in the sunshine. It was great to fill up on some vitamin D, local food and wine, and poolside ‘R&R’. Judging by the queues at the airport, I’m not the only one who wanted one last chance at summer. Then returning home was lovely. Warmer and sunnier than August. In the week we’d been away the landscape had changed, the swallows were gone, and the blackberries were ripe. I had to finally admit that the leaves were turning, the evenings getting darker and that it all is rather lovely. I pulled on some socks, brought out the jackets and lit a fire.

One of the joys of the Autumn is the return of Community with a capital C. These are the various classes, groups, charities and associations which start up again after the summer break. It is lovely to get back to the various activities and groups that I participate in and catch up with everyone. Nothing makes the point that Autumn is here, and Winter is coming than when we get together for the community apple pressing. We only got 30kg of apples this year. That’s 25kgs less than last year. It was also great to get back to the exercise groups I participate in. None of us are in any way athletic, but it’s great to get the body moving – and having coffee and chats after. September always feels like a new beginning, much more so than January. I suppose it’s all those years in education, both mine and my children’s. Autumn was all about starting something new. These days it’s the start-up of the year’s groups and activities that gives me that sense of renewal.

West Cork has an incredible variety of groups and associations, as well as classes and workshops. From book clubs to choirs and from painting to Zumba, there is something for everyone. Learning a new skill or helping a local charity is a great way to feel the heartbeat of a community. In a world that is becoming more and more polarised, joining a community group, whether it’s bingo or yoga is to meet new people, some whom you might not have met otherwise. In fact, I think that one of the reasons that West Cork has such a vibrant community is because people participate enthusiastically in local efforts whether it the Darkness into Light or the Clonakilty Guitar festival. Participation in and support for local initiatives is one of the blessings of living here.

For the past eight years one of those local initiatives has been the magnificent Samhain parade at Halloween in Clonakilty organised by Geata Arts. This year they did not receive any funding from the Arts Council, but they are still determined to bring the magic of Samhain to the streets of the town. They have launched a GoFundme page to raise the money to cover the costs of production. You can donate by going to GoFundme and search for Samhain 24.

Halloween is one of those times in the year where community celebrates together. It’s definitely one of my favourite times of the year and thanks to the great local initiatives like the Leap Scarecrow Festival and the Clonakilty Samhain parade, I will delight in embracing the season.

It’s been quite a pleasant summer despite the mostly rotten weather. Thanks to the sauna we’ve enjoyed the beach and dips in the ocean regardless of whether the skies were sunny or grey. We had a lovely weekend out in Allihies. When the sun shines there are few places as magical. My plan was to turn the boot of my car into a bed and camp. It was not 100 per cent successful, and so we booked into the hostel for the second night. It was not a total failure either. We just need to add a few bits and pieces. I’m hoping that next summer we’ll get it right.

This summer has also been rather pleasant because we’ve had a lot of friends and family about. Two daughters have been back in the house, which has been delightful. ‘Many hands make light work’ was probably first said by a woman who had adult daughters. There has also been a steady stream of visitors. Again delightful. Wonderful to share good times in good company. Just how good can be measured in the mountain of drinks cans, and other Re-Turn receptacles that have accumulated in the back, back hall. Since the return scheme was launched, we’ve had to add a new category to our recycling: stuff that goes with us to the shops rather than the recycling centre. Eight adults in the house (and a few more over for dinner) equals a lot of soda, juice, beer and other things with the big R on them.

The deposit return scheme was introduced on February first of this year and has been a great success. Re-turn, operators of Ireland’s Deposit Return Scheme, recently announced that over 400 million plastic bottles and cans have been returned since the scheme launched. The 400 millionth drinks container was returned on Thursday, August 15, which sounds like most households had as many visitors this month as we did.

I’m not going to say that it was a bad idea. It’s clearly doing something right. I do, however, have several quibbles about how the scheme works. For starters there’s the can and bottle scanner, which is very pernickety. 

The machine scans each item for carefully checking for flaws. It can get upset if you put the can in wrong, or too fast, or if it detects a flaw. Only the most pristine cans are accepted. Unfortunately, a number of people have the nasty habit of crushing cans before putting them into the recycling. The scanner does not like crushed cans, R, or no R.

The scanner also takes offence at being rushed. It will not be hurried. If you have the audacity to try and give it another can before it’s finished with the first one it will shut down and glare at you with a red warning. If it decides to reject an item, it spits it back out. What you do with it is your business. Basically it goes back into the bag. Back into the car. Back into the house. Back into the back, back hall to await a trip to the recycling centre. The machine’s commitment to only accepting perfect cans and bottles, one by one, means that there are often queues. Watching someone else slowly do their civic duty is enough to make you want to watch paint dry.

I have two suggestions. First: get the European machines that allow you to dump an entire bag full of cans in one go. The machine then sorts and scans them. Second: provide bins for the rejected cans and bottles and send them off to the recycling centre rather than back home with me.