DIARY OF A DEMENTED HOME WORKER: No mask on your face? You’re a big disgrace!

DIARY OF A DEMENTED HOME WORKER: Week 19 and I’m averaging two swats a week in my battle with the flies and am lamenting the loss of the Brown Booby who was one of the few welcome guests on our shores this summer

• IT wasn’t a great week for Eamon Ryan was it? Looks like all that bike pushing finally got to him as he was caught sleeping on the job, ironically during a vote on workers’ rights. Ah sure, it could happen to the best of us, it was just rather unfortunate for him that he was caught on camera. But, before we go all Judge Judy, we should remember what we learned from Dr Tony Holohan’s situation – and that is that we never know what’s going on behind the scenes – and to basically lighten up a bit. In the meantime, he should remember to eat his greens (sorry), and we should all try to grab a snooze if we can. Nothing like it.

• But I mean would you actually be a politician? Not only are you expected to stay awake, but it’s recommended that you declare all past misdemeanours if you want to keep your job. Tough gig. Barry Cowen mustn’t have read his job description properly. I doff my hat, though, to Darragh Calleary for being man enough to accept the agriculture portfolio without wearing an expression of seething resentment. Hard not to feel that it’s all going to blow up some time pretty soon in FF and it ain’t going to be pretty.

• A bit like the daily massacre in my house so, where it’s a battle between me and the invasion of flies who are threatening a takeover. I’m averaging at least two swats a week, the blood spattered panes are almost enough to put you off your lunch and the window cleaner can’t come until mid-August. Ugh. Someone said to chop up raw onions. Does that work? Or will it just add to my suffering? And as if that wasn’t enough there’s an ‘ominous’ swarm of flying ants due soon who are visiting during their mating season. Charming. Let’s hope they’re at least heeding the advice from researchers at Harvard and wearing face masks during sex and avoiding kissing during coitus.

• Speaking of masks, I think there’s still a need for a proper information campaign as most people are not wearing them properly. It’s over the nose, not under; and once you touch it or remove it, can’t be re-used unless it’s washed. The best advice is to stock up on lots of cloth masks, as the amount of disposables you could go through on a trip out, really don’t make them an environmentally friendly option. Now that’s probably something that would keep Eamon Ryan awake at night.

• So, too, could all this chatter about having to wash school uniforms at a high temperature every day; or else kit the kids out in fresh attire daily. I know getting them back to school at all is the ultimate goal, but uniforms are a great leveller. I’d fear for the label-conscious students, and the angst they’ll direct at their parents. What was I saying about keeping things light again?

• Anyway, staycation mania continues and I’m as confused as ever about the mixed messages coming from different quarters. Avoid unnecessary trips, but hit the road and explore our gorgeous country? Not quite adding up for me, but seems I’m the only one as West Cork’s highways and byways are complete gridlock these days. Reversing around corners is not my speciality so I’m busy practising my ‘Blue Steel’ gaze, taking a deep breath and hoping for the best.

• For anyone interested, we had our second garden camping trip of the season last weekend. I’ve always liked the idea of waking up to the peaceful sound of water and it finally happened. It wasn’t quite the gentle gurgling of babbling brook that I had imagined, though, more like torrential rain cascading down the side of the tent, threatening to leak in at any stage. Adding to the moment of realism, was the unmistakable sound of the milking parlour cranking into action, and yup, we were living the staycation dream alright.

• I’m just back at work after a few days off and am whole heartedly regretting not becoming a teacher purely for the holidays. I know it mightn’t be that desirable an occupation come September, but right now it would be a complete gift. Other not-so-sought-after positions right now, I’d say, are those who are managing crowds at GAA games. What do you say to the 201st person looking for a ticket? You didn’t make the selection? Awks. Oh and on the topic of jobs, I’m really rooting for Sarah McInerney to get Sean O’Rourke’s Radio 1 slot. Nothing against Claire Byrne, but surely she has enough gigs going on.

• And the poor old Brown Booby died? The name alone was enough to make people smirk and he had such a cute little head on him. Besides, he was way more welcome than the hordes of other uninvited visitors who have landed on our shores this summer, not pointing any fingers or anything.

• I’ll leave you this week with this little ear worm, which I hope gets right under your skin: ‘No mask on your face, you big disgrace, spreading your germs all over the place.’ You know what to do.