With less than 90 days to go to the start of our Paris2Nice odyssey, things are getting serious.
For years I played football, training twice a week, playing once at the weekend. It consumed me. I lived for the feeling of absolute tiredness after another 90 minute battle, sometimes made easier by the sweet smell of success. Even in defeat, the physical exhaustion that came with the games was something I enjoyed; I knew I had been in a battle. I eventually gave up competitive football but that desire to be challenged never left.
Thank God for the “Wicklow 200”. My grasp of distance is poor to say the least so I gladly signed up for 200km through the hills of Wicklow. I shrugged aside the idea that after three months intermittent training I might not be ready for 200km and signed up. Life is for living after all.
I knew that it would take in excess of eight hours, that there would be ferocious hills and that 200km was a long way, but I concentrated on the fact I had not seen a disclaimer discouraging me from taking on the challenge. If someone else can do it, why can’t I? In hindsight, I was erring more on the side of stupidity than bravery.
Arlene (another member of the Hays Paris2Nice team) and I set off to take on the two Wicklow courses. Arlene was ready to conquer the “Wicklow 100” and I was ready to keep cycling till the pedals stopped turning, hopefully 200km after the start line.
The first couple of kilometres were manageable, a nice gradient accompanied by plenty of lush scenery. Suddenly things changed. The heavens opened and we were pelted with rain. It smashed against our helmets as visibility became less and less. Within seconds I was drenched and could see only yards in front of me. This was going to be a long day.
I had underestimated the mental side of this cycle. I was pretty sure I could physically continue for 200km but looking back I realise I had not thought about what ten hours on a bike would do to my mind. The urge to get off and quit grew and grew with every passing kilometre. At first it was easy to dismiss as I smiled to myself thinking I had not come far enough to even think about quitting. But with 25km left all I could think about was giving up. My most frequent thought was “what am I doing?” I didn’t have an answer so I just kept on pushing the thought away.
I couldn’t give up, not because of my desire to finish what I had started, or because I would be letting my sponsors down or even because of the Barretstown children. The main reason I kept going was because we were in the middle of nowhere and it was the only way home.
Getting off the bike after 200km of torture was an amazing feeling. I was exhausted. The little things became a chore, sitting down, standing up, walking; I had become an old man in the space of 10 hours. I think it was worth it though.
My standout memory from the Wicklow 200 is two awful climbs, one pretty much after the other. The bike felt like it was going backwards as I pounded the pedals, willing myself forward. This continued for what seemed like an age as pain shot through my calves, my hamstrings began to scream and my gluteus maximus seized up.
The desire to make the suffering end drove me to the top of each hill. I was acutely aware that stopping on either hill would be a disaster, trying to get back on the bike would be nigh on impossible. So I told myself - I am fit, healthy and happy. I am in the perfect position to conquer the physical challenge that these ascents pose.
It was incredibly difficult. Yet the pain subsides at the same time as the feeling of accomplishment and your mind wanders towards the next challenge. Although one thing remains - a sense of perspective.
The children that Barretstown provide care for have experienced pain few of us can imagine, they have climbed hills 1,000 times higher than anything I will ever climb, experienced excruciating muscle pain and unimaginable fatigue. We need to make sure that when they reach the top of their climb we are there for them, that if they stop at any stage we can help them get back on their bikes. We are cycling to help Barretstown continue their incredible work with these children. You can help too.
We really need your support, our goal is to raise €15,000 for Barretstown and we can’t do it by ourselves. As little as €5 will go a long way to put a smile on a child’s face.
Monday 1 September 2014
Coping with Connemara
The Hays Paris2Nice team started training in March. Three months later we felt sufficiently prepared to take on the Tour de Connemara, one of a number of cycles we signed up to before taking on six days and 700km of French countryside. Mike, Arlene, Anne-Marie, Kelly and myself were heading west for what we knew was going to be between three and six hours in the saddle.
With two bikes attached to the back of the car, Anne-Marie and I bounced towards Clifden. As the road got worse, images flew through my head of our bikes smashing to pieces as bike rack and Ford Focus suffered an awkward break up. Thankfully, this didn’t come to pass and we arrived safely into Clifden, where the welcoming committee consisted of a few flickering street lights and a hostel owner who seemed more interested in the relationship between myself and my cycling partner than actually putting us up. The clock was ticking towards midnight.
This conversation was the only delay we suffered in the race to get the top bunk before midnight. The same could not be said for the rest of our cycling party. Arlene and Kelly arrived an hour or so later, oil trouble the reason for their tardiness. Mike arrived at his Galwegian aunt’s place rather deflated, a flat tyre the reason for his poor time keeping. So with six hours to our wake up call, myself, Arlene, Kelly and Anne-Marie chose our bunk beds and let sleep take hold. The harsh reality of a 7am alarm on a Saturday morning was tempered by the glorious aromas that filled the room as the girls readied themselves for the day ahead.
This conversation was the only delay we suffered in the race to get the top bunk before midnight. The same could not be said for the rest of our cycling party. Arlene and Kelly arrived an hour or so later, oil trouble the reason for their tardiness. Mike arrived at his Galwegian aunt’s place rather deflated, a flat tyre the reason for his poor time keeping. So with six hours to our wake up call, myself, Arlene, Kelly and Anne-Marie chose our bunk beds and let sleep take hold. The harsh reality of a 7am alarm on a Saturday morning was tempered by the glorious aromas that filled the room as the girls readied themselves for the day ahead.
We headed off to register with hundreds of other cyclists. I began to wonder what we were getting ourselves into. Every other cyclist seemed to have the name of a cycling club emblazoned across their back, modesty was not high on the agenda as they strutted confidently through town and their calves… wow, bigger than my thighs in some cases. I had woken up in a room full of ladies, now I was ogling men in Lycra. Cycling was doing strange things to me.
There were two courses to choose from, 80km and 140km. I had decided to do the 140km while Mike, Arlene, Anne-Marie and Kelly signed up for the 80km. The 140km ride began half an hour before the 80km version so I set off knowing that it would be over six hours before I saw their friendly faces again.
During the opening section of the cycle I was unsure of cycling etiquette, I felt every inch the novice I was. I started pedalling but didn’t seem to be going anywhere as I was engulfed by groups of men with the bulging calves. I felt like Simba during the stampede in the gorge.
There was some beauty, the hum of hundreds of pairs of wheels powering away from the start line is magical. It is the soundtrack that plays out as the strongest surge to the front and the rest of us find our natural position somewhere in the group. It is not difficult to spot the strongest cyclists; they are the dots on the horizon that were beside you not long before.
As the crowd scene dissipated I became mesmerised by the spectacular scenery. Gold sandy beaches, pretty bridges made from rocks and a landscape to blow any tourist’s mind, Clifden was making some impression. I was cycling through a postcard.
I can’t count, so at 90km I initially thought I had 30km left. Then I thought about it and came to the conclusion that I had 40km left. I had probably knocked off another 10km before I realised I had closer to 50km left to cycle!
Each time a group of cyclists appeared on my shoulder I would drop into their formation and fly along with them, until my energy sapped and I would be spat out. Like a hamster who had taken one too many turns on his wheel. The twenty minutes that followed was torture as I tried to regain some pace.
Having dragged myself uphill for what felt like an age I finally came to the last descent into Clifden. Drifting down the slope and turning the corner into the Station House Hotel was a brilliant feeling. I was tired, wet and sore. When my feet hit terra firma I instantly felt my leg muscles scream. This scream was drowned out by another seconds later.
“PHILIP!!!” I looked up and I was greeted by Anne-Marie, Arlene and Kelly* with a massive hug. Everything was right with the world again.
“PHILIP!!!” I looked up and I was greeted by Anne-Marie, Arlene and Kelly* with a massive hug. Everything was right with the world again.
Next up I’ll let you know what 200km across Wicklow feels like. We are putting ourselves through these physical challenges to prepare for the charity cycle from Paris to Nice in aid of Barretstown, the seriously fun camp for children recovering from childhood illnesses. Meet the team here and don’t hesitate to make a donation and give us a much needed lift.
*Poor Mike had to go and sort out the car’s flat tyre.
Paris2Nice
It was back in December 2013 when the email came through asking if anyone was interested in cycling 700km from Paris to Nice. My initial reaction was “Yes please, count me in!” A quick review of my cycling history should have dictated a more measured response. I remember falling off the bike as a kid and picking gravel out of my hands and knees. Twenty years later, I was at it again, arriving at my parents’ house bloodied and bruised for dinner one Sunday evening, following another spectacular bike crash…
So why did I say yes? There are plenty of reasons. The challenge of cycling at least 120km a day for six straight days. The cycling team from Hays Ireland has “great craic” stamped all over it. And lastly, and most importantly, how many times will I have the opportunity to be part of something that will raise at least €15,000 for Barretstown?
The Barretstown link is key. In the past, I have worked with children of all ages. The majority of them fit and healthy kids with plenty of energy and enthusiasm but also the same worries and insecurities all kids have, including making friends, being cool and generally fitting in. How much more difficult must it be to show confidence, energy and enthusiasm when cancer has dealt you the cruellest of blows? The world can be a very unfair place and Barretstown make it their mission to rebuild the lives of children affected by serious illness. Compared to what the children helped by Barretstownhave to go through, a 700km cycle will be easy.
The moment I took possession of my new bike things changed. There was no backing out now, I was about to become someone capable of cycling over 100km in one day. Not just myself but five colleagues from Hays were going to take on this mammoth challenge. Mike has previously cycled from Malin to Misenhead, while the rest of us looked more likely to fall on our heads! We may have no real experience of cycling, but myself, Anne-Marie, Kelly and Arlene have all picked up sports before, from Gaelic football to tag rugby and soccer to softball but this was going to be something special.
The baby steps took place in the Phoenix Park, one Saturday morning in February, as Mike patiently showed us how to clip our feet into our new pedals, how to use our gears and most importantly how to stay perched on the bike. With this mastered we soon graduated to training spins across Wicklow and beyond, before we knew it we were covering upwards of 50km on a Sunday morning. While the majority of Dublin was nursing a hangover, we were out in the fresh Sunday morning air and it felt good.
These training cycles took place alongside the extended Paris to Nice group and here we were exposed to stories about how great previous trips were, the best ways to prepare and how addictive cycling can be.
It is a great feeling to be out on the bike seeing the world from a different perspective. The great outdoors is an altogether harsher place when you are on your bike. The wind blows harder, the rain falls heavier, hills rise higher but the sun shines stronger. It is impossible not to notice the rugged beauty that surrounds us on Dublin’s doorstep.
We have only just begun but myself, Mike, Anne-Marie, Kelly and Arlene are giving everything we have to make sure we are in a position to take on this mammoth challenge. Each year it costs €4.5 million to run Barretstown’s programmes, the €15,000 we hope to raise will make a small dent in that massive amount, but every little contribution helps.
Coming soon in blog… we took on everything the Tour de Connemara had to throw at us, and we won!
To find out more about our Hays cyclists and to sponsor us, click here.
So why did I say yes? There are plenty of reasons. The challenge of cycling at least 120km a day for six straight days. The cycling team from Hays Ireland has “great craic” stamped all over it. And lastly, and most importantly, how many times will I have the opportunity to be part of something that will raise at least €15,000 for Barretstown?
The Barretstown link is key. In the past, I have worked with children of all ages. The majority of them fit and healthy kids with plenty of energy and enthusiasm but also the same worries and insecurities all kids have, including making friends, being cool and generally fitting in. How much more difficult must it be to show confidence, energy and enthusiasm when cancer has dealt you the cruellest of blows? The world can be a very unfair place and Barretstown make it their mission to rebuild the lives of children affected by serious illness. Compared to what the children helped by Barretstownhave to go through, a 700km cycle will be easy.
The moment I took possession of my new bike things changed. There was no backing out now, I was about to become someone capable of cycling over 100km in one day. Not just myself but five colleagues from Hays were going to take on this mammoth challenge. Mike has previously cycled from Malin to Misenhead, while the rest of us looked more likely to fall on our heads! We may have no real experience of cycling, but myself, Anne-Marie, Kelly and Arlene have all picked up sports before, from Gaelic football to tag rugby and soccer to softball but this was going to be something special.
The baby steps took place in the Phoenix Park, one Saturday morning in February, as Mike patiently showed us how to clip our feet into our new pedals, how to use our gears and most importantly how to stay perched on the bike. With this mastered we soon graduated to training spins across Wicklow and beyond, before we knew it we were covering upwards of 50km on a Sunday morning. While the majority of Dublin was nursing a hangover, we were out in the fresh Sunday morning air and it felt good.
These training cycles took place alongside the extended Paris to Nice group and here we were exposed to stories about how great previous trips were, the best ways to prepare and how addictive cycling can be.
It is a great feeling to be out on the bike seeing the world from a different perspective. The great outdoors is an altogether harsher place when you are on your bike. The wind blows harder, the rain falls heavier, hills rise higher but the sun shines stronger. It is impossible not to notice the rugged beauty that surrounds us on Dublin’s doorstep.
We have only just begun but myself, Mike, Anne-Marie, Kelly and Arlene are giving everything we have to make sure we are in a position to take on this mammoth challenge. Each year it costs €4.5 million to run Barretstown’s programmes, the €15,000 we hope to raise will make a small dent in that massive amount, but every little contribution helps.
Coming soon in blog… we took on everything the Tour de Connemara had to throw at us, and we won!
To find out more about our Hays cyclists and to sponsor us, click here.
Saturday 4 January 2014
Crowning 2013
When the Queen of England sits down to deliver her Christmas speech analysing the comings and goings of the year just gone, I often wonder how much input she has had in choosing the events she speaks about. While it is easy to imagine her stumbling out of bed... OK maybe that's not something any of us should be imagining, but while we are on the subject, why not take a small diversion?
In my head, every morning the Queen falls out of bed, her eyes slowly getting used to her environment, and each time she does she is struck by the sumptuous surroundings in which she laid her head to rest the previous night, a childlike awe must descend across every inch of her perfectly sculpted body. Like an Olympic hurdler, she gracefully avoids several sleeping Corgis and one aging Prince, all laying prone on the carpeted floor.
She makes her way to her first reflection of the day, in her favourite mirror, as it never lies. I imagine she wakes up in the same t shirt she was wearing the night before, with the face of some forgotten rock band on the front. There is saliva around the corner of her lips and the remnants of last night's TV snack still stuck to her sleep soaked t shirt. She looks at her reflection and allows herself a wry smile, knowing full well when the doors of her great room swing open, all hands will arrive on deck to transform her into a nation's favourite granny.
Was that fun?! No? Can you sense I am avoiding a very important question? What size is her bed? Well, whenever you see the Queen, smiling wistfully to herself, attending an event bursting at the seams with her loyal subjects, she must be thinking, "These people haven't a focking notion about the size of my bed!"
So, back to her speech. Each year, the Queen takes time out to run through the events of the year. Picking out the good and the not so good. Each event is one that has made an impact on the world we call home. I thought to myself, I can do that. So let's have a go.
This time last year I set myself some serious goals. I wanted to go out at most once a month on an almighty bender, spending the rest of the time engaging in more relaxed activities, like theater and dinners out with good friends. I also wanted get fit, fitter than I had been in a long time, I wanted to get to a level of fitness where one burger was not going to set me back two months of hard graft. I wanted to read more books and watch more films. Lastly, I wanted to make a difference in a charitable way, I wanted to help out at a soup kitchen or become part of an event.
Oh... and I set myself the task of writing 10 blogs...oops!
So let's get the calculator out and see how I did with the nights out. Maybe it is a better indication if we count the amount of times I went for dinner with my friends or went to the theater. OK, straight away we can drop the notion of the theater...oh no hang on... I dipped the big toe of my right foot into the whirlpool that is English amateur theater and by God was it fun. We all have hidden talents, some are so far hidden we ourselves don't know they are there. One friend's talent was worth a trip to one of the biggest cities in the world. Stand in front of your peers and pretend you are not who they know you to be, and convince them thoroughly that you are someone else. The majority of us will falter, he didn't, as he pulled of an incredibly entertaining and heartwarming piece of acting.
Dinner... tick. There is a lot to be said for a group of old friends sitting around a table sharing stories of days gone by and even more about what the future is likely to hold. Banter, laughter, craic, slagging, stories, throw a hashtag in front of all of them and you have the ingredients of a modern day Twitter sponsored dinner. Pare away the melee of people and face yourself with one friend, something I always thought would be a strange experience. It was, strange in that I wanted more of it. Making time to step off the rollercoaster and shoot the breeze with one of my best friends is something I will always be thankful for. It started with one good friend and before I knew it, I was holding individual court with plenty more individual friends. A smartly managed hour on lunch or a careless attitude to hours post work, it didn't matter, time well spent is time well spent.
Time to stop avoiding the drinking question. I failed, miserably. Not only did I not manage to only partake in one night a month's debauchery, I increased the level if anything. One night on the tear all to frequently became 2, on holidays (of which there were many), that number was known to grow. Like a fine cocktail, the hangovers were mixed with both drama and fun times, shaken and stirred in equal measure. No getting away from the fact I failed in my task, so black mark against me there.
Surely all this drinking must have contributed to a physical shut down not seen since Samson slayed Goliath. Well no, while there were copious amounts of alcohol drank, my fair share of beads of sweat hit the floor. It started with baby steps and the goal of completing a 10k run in under 45 minutes. To my surprise and ultimate delight I managed several baby steps that lead to several kilometers which in turn lead to not one but seven 10k runs. I thought I would hate it, hours of running on a treadmill to prepare for running in wet and windy conditions with no one to take up the slack when I wanted to quit. That was the my biggest challenge, for years I was part of a team, teams where I was the best at times, frequently the average performer and sometimes a passenger. We lived and died on OUR results, on my good days I could walk with pride buoyed by an excellent team effort, on the not so good I could choose to lay blame at someone else's door. I could pick and choose how I had performed.
Not on a ten k run, my time was my time and no one else's. What terrified me drove me onwards as I ran like a mad man towards the finish line with all I had. I found I loved it. Sailing by other competitors while listening to a medley of 5ive, B*witched, Ini Kamoze and Billie Piper to name but a few, brings it's own sense of achievement.
Raising money for a very worthy cause was also part of the sense of achievement. When I came across the finish line under 45 minutes in the Great Ireland run, I narrowly avoided having to match the quite considerable €500+ raised by my friends and family. Seamless as ever, I'm sure you can see where this is headed. That charitable contribution was probably the height of my efforts to help the less well off. So, I'm gonna say another fail. Not one man hour was used physically helping in a new endeavor, therefore task failed.
I have watched more films and read more books in 2013 than I thought I would do, so go me! Pass! Although in recent days I have misconstrued quotes from Scent of a Woman and Scary Movie as general everyday comments. Maybe "must try harder" is more apt.
Crossing the threshold from 2013 to 2014 I have a smug look plastered across my face. If I wanted to complete one task in 2013 it was to spend more time with my friends and family. It is easy with my family, I live at home and they are people I easily spend time with. It is more difficult with my friends, they don't live at home, some don't live in Dublin, some don't live in Ireland, I think you can see where this is going. Alternatively read any number of doom and gloom tales about Ireland's brain drain. I was determined to reconnect with friends no matter where they were.
So from Dublin to Mitchelstown, Atlanta to London, Limerick to Hvar, Zurich to Kinvara, Havana to Barcelona not to mention San Diego, I raise a glass to you all as you gather around my imaginary table in celebration of 2013.
If you played even the smallest part in making 2013 what it was then allow yourself a moments break from whatever it is you are doing and drift away to this.
In my head, every morning the Queen falls out of bed, her eyes slowly getting used to her environment, and each time she does she is struck by the sumptuous surroundings in which she laid her head to rest the previous night, a childlike awe must descend across every inch of her perfectly sculpted body. Like an Olympic hurdler, she gracefully avoids several sleeping Corgis and one aging Prince, all laying prone on the carpeted floor.
She makes her way to her first reflection of the day, in her favourite mirror, as it never lies. I imagine she wakes up in the same t shirt she was wearing the night before, with the face of some forgotten rock band on the front. There is saliva around the corner of her lips and the remnants of last night's TV snack still stuck to her sleep soaked t shirt. She looks at her reflection and allows herself a wry smile, knowing full well when the doors of her great room swing open, all hands will arrive on deck to transform her into a nation's favourite granny.
Was that fun?! No? Can you sense I am avoiding a very important question? What size is her bed? Well, whenever you see the Queen, smiling wistfully to herself, attending an event bursting at the seams with her loyal subjects, she must be thinking, "These people haven't a focking notion about the size of my bed!"
So, back to her speech. Each year, the Queen takes time out to run through the events of the year. Picking out the good and the not so good. Each event is one that has made an impact on the world we call home. I thought to myself, I can do that. So let's have a go.
This time last year I set myself some serious goals. I wanted to go out at most once a month on an almighty bender, spending the rest of the time engaging in more relaxed activities, like theater and dinners out with good friends. I also wanted get fit, fitter than I had been in a long time, I wanted to get to a level of fitness where one burger was not going to set me back two months of hard graft. I wanted to read more books and watch more films. Lastly, I wanted to make a difference in a charitable way, I wanted to help out at a soup kitchen or become part of an event.
Oh... and I set myself the task of writing 10 blogs...oops!
So let's get the calculator out and see how I did with the nights out. Maybe it is a better indication if we count the amount of times I went for dinner with my friends or went to the theater. OK, straight away we can drop the notion of the theater...oh no hang on... I dipped the big toe of my right foot into the whirlpool that is English amateur theater and by God was it fun. We all have hidden talents, some are so far hidden we ourselves don't know they are there. One friend's talent was worth a trip to one of the biggest cities in the world. Stand in front of your peers and pretend you are not who they know you to be, and convince them thoroughly that you are someone else. The majority of us will falter, he didn't, as he pulled of an incredibly entertaining and heartwarming piece of acting.
Dinner... tick. There is a lot to be said for a group of old friends sitting around a table sharing stories of days gone by and even more about what the future is likely to hold. Banter, laughter, craic, slagging, stories, throw a hashtag in front of all of them and you have the ingredients of a modern day Twitter sponsored dinner. Pare away the melee of people and face yourself with one friend, something I always thought would be a strange experience. It was, strange in that I wanted more of it. Making time to step off the rollercoaster and shoot the breeze with one of my best friends is something I will always be thankful for. It started with one good friend and before I knew it, I was holding individual court with plenty more individual friends. A smartly managed hour on lunch or a careless attitude to hours post work, it didn't matter, time well spent is time well spent.
Time to stop avoiding the drinking question. I failed, miserably. Not only did I not manage to only partake in one night a month's debauchery, I increased the level if anything. One night on the tear all to frequently became 2, on holidays (of which there were many), that number was known to grow. Like a fine cocktail, the hangovers were mixed with both drama and fun times, shaken and stirred in equal measure. No getting away from the fact I failed in my task, so black mark against me there.
Surely all this drinking must have contributed to a physical shut down not seen since Samson slayed Goliath. Well no, while there were copious amounts of alcohol drank, my fair share of beads of sweat hit the floor. It started with baby steps and the goal of completing a 10k run in under 45 minutes. To my surprise and ultimate delight I managed several baby steps that lead to several kilometers which in turn lead to not one but seven 10k runs. I thought I would hate it, hours of running on a treadmill to prepare for running in wet and windy conditions with no one to take up the slack when I wanted to quit. That was the my biggest challenge, for years I was part of a team, teams where I was the best at times, frequently the average performer and sometimes a passenger. We lived and died on OUR results, on my good days I could walk with pride buoyed by an excellent team effort, on the not so good I could choose to lay blame at someone else's door. I could pick and choose how I had performed.
Not on a ten k run, my time was my time and no one else's. What terrified me drove me onwards as I ran like a mad man towards the finish line with all I had. I found I loved it. Sailing by other competitors while listening to a medley of 5ive, B*witched, Ini Kamoze and Billie Piper to name but a few, brings it's own sense of achievement.
Raising money for a very worthy cause was also part of the sense of achievement. When I came across the finish line under 45 minutes in the Great Ireland run, I narrowly avoided having to match the quite considerable €500+ raised by my friends and family. Seamless as ever, I'm sure you can see where this is headed. That charitable contribution was probably the height of my efforts to help the less well off. So, I'm gonna say another fail. Not one man hour was used physically helping in a new endeavor, therefore task failed.
I have watched more films and read more books in 2013 than I thought I would do, so go me! Pass! Although in recent days I have misconstrued quotes from Scent of a Woman and Scary Movie as general everyday comments. Maybe "must try harder" is more apt.
Crossing the threshold from 2013 to 2014 I have a smug look plastered across my face. If I wanted to complete one task in 2013 it was to spend more time with my friends and family. It is easy with my family, I live at home and they are people I easily spend time with. It is more difficult with my friends, they don't live at home, some don't live in Dublin, some don't live in Ireland, I think you can see where this is going. Alternatively read any number of doom and gloom tales about Ireland's brain drain. I was determined to reconnect with friends no matter where they were.
So from Dublin to Mitchelstown, Atlanta to London, Limerick to Hvar, Zurich to Kinvara, Havana to Barcelona not to mention San Diego, I raise a glass to you all as you gather around my imaginary table in celebration of 2013.
If you played even the smallest part in making 2013 what it was then allow yourself a moments break from whatever it is you are doing and drift away to this.
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