Time speeds on, the future becomes the past..

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages." William Shakespeare.

I always loved that line. There's just something so profound about it, whether Shakespeare intended it to be profound, or it just sounded good in the context who knows, who cares? Either way it's a great quote ;-)

Mostly for this week at least it is a very apt quote to me. A friend of mine died last Saturday night, he drowned while swimming in Brighton. Ruairí Kelly was one of those wonderful people who always had a smile on his face, and I do mean always. I dug through a load of photo's of him early and there he was smiling and laughing up at me from each one. He was 28 years old, but I think he lived more in those 28 years than many people do in 50 or 60 years. He was great craic, if you were having a party, going away for a weekend, or simply meeting up for pints in the pub, you just had to have Ruairi there. He was the guarantee of a great night.

Ruairí is the one on the far left. Thats a pretty typical image of Ruairí. It still seems unreal to me that he's gone. That laugh and smile, the smart comments and one liners are never again going to be part of a night out or weekend away. His death has left a huge hole in a lot of lives. It's not the kind of hole that anyone else could ever fill. I hope he knew how much he was loved by those around him, how much his eternal cheerfulness and his infectious laughter affected the lives of those fortunate enough to have known him.


We will miss you Ruairí, we already do, more than you could imagine.
I think I'll leave that topic there for now. I think I need more time to get my head around it, maybe after the funeral I will believe it more.

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It has been (as some may have noticed) a year since my last update. A lot has happened since then, a lot has changed, some things have not changed. I am still living my little apartment looking over Owenacurra estuary, I still spend sunny evenings sitting out the back staring across the water to the forest, watching the swans on the far shore, the fish in shoals rippling across the water. What has changed is my music, I play a lot now, 2 to 3 gigs a week with a band, we are called Am Ar Bith (Irish Gaelic for "Anytime"). I love it, I love to be in front of a crowd and entertaining them, does it make me egotistical or narcissistic that I enjoy the praise of a crowd? That I love to hear the whispered compliments while I sing a ballad? Perhaps it does.. I don't really care, as long as that egotistical side remains on the stage I can live with that flaw in my character ;-)

My personal life has been through an upheaval too, earlier this year myself and Sibylle broke up. These things happen, life moves on, to my relief we have remained friends, Sibylle's been a close friend of mine for so many years now, I would hate to lose her friendship. She is now living up in Beautiful Tipperary (Lucky hag). I intend moving there myself as A) Most of my closest friends now live there, B) I play most of my gigs there and C) Property is so much cheaper, I could get a gorgeous house up there with a few acres for 70% of the cost of where I own now.

Well, thats all for now, I hope I start to get the time to write in this again soon, I really do have every intention of keeping this blog active when I write, I just find it so hard to find the time.


I think this poem is 'right' for this post.. Many will recognise it more from the Robin Williams film "The Dead Poets Society" ...... This is for Ruairí...

O Captain My Captain...

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

By Walt Whitman


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