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I can say that the yellow lines have remained in place for more than a month now. However, I am pretty sure that the saga has far from ended. Many of the swimmers that swim at Low Rock are elderly and need to park close by. Some have cancer, some have multiple sclerosis and getting into the sea is the only relief they can get from their disease.

I sing my adapted version of the Wizard of Oz to myself when I see them now.

Follow the yellow double line, follow the yellow double line, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow double line.

We’re off to see the county council, The wonderful wizard of Low Rock.

The story below is just as unbelievable as this one.

Taken from – https://www.carthrottle.com/post/this-is-britains-most-stupid-double-yellow-line/

If you head over to this street in Cambridgeshire, you’ll find the birthplace of Britain’s tiniest double yellow lines. If you’re stupid enough to park on them, you’ll be slapped with a ridiculous £70 fine. So why the stupidly small lines? Cambridge County Council has painted 13 inches of yellow on the tarmac to stop drivers from encroaching on the bays either side. Forgive us for asking the obvious question, but isn’t that what the white lines at the end of each bay are for in the first place?

All the best

Stay fab

Adele

Two weeks later, the yellow lines reappeared, and I can only surmise that the county council painted them back. A week later, they were painted grey again. Over the next four months, the yellow lines were painted four more times, and each time they were painted over with grey paint. I began to imagine the Monday morning Fingal County Council meeting where the secretary would say, ‘Number five on this morning’s Agenda is – The yellow lines at Low Rock, and that everyone around the table would mutter with consternation under their collective breath ‘Oh, Christ, not this again’.

Every time I went for a swim, I could not wait to see if the lines were grey or yellow; it always put a smile on my face. It must be a first for the county council to be at war with residents who had previously asked for the yellow lines to be painted. And, having changed their collective minds, decided against it.

I would not mind, but there is more than enough room for the residents to park their cars and ample space for another six swimmers to park theirs. Swimming brings out the best in everyone. The craic and the banter before and after getting in for a swim is a cherry on top of the salty sea goodness.

 

All the best

Stay fab

Adele

This is a remarkable story that could only happen in Ireland, as I do not think any other country would put up with our shenanigans. Where I swim, there is an area for parking our cars. Behind where we park our cars, three private houses have their own parking. Last year one of the residents shouted at a few of us for parking our cars in the cul de sac in front of his house.

At the time, we were not blocking anyone, but he must have had enough and took it out on us. He began to place three bins in front of the area before their homes to overstate his point.  However, this still left six parking spaces for anyone that wanted to park their car while swimming in Low Rock.

A few months ago, yellow lines appeared. Everyone that swam at Low Rock was disgusted, and the residents living behind the yellow lines also swim in Low Rock. After a few weeks, somebody painted the yellow lines with dark grey paint, which was quite unusual to see.

I began to think that the owners of the houses originally painted the yellow lines, and somebody later told me that this was untrue and it was actually the county council that painted them.

A fellow swimmer had met a well-dressed man who had said that in all his life, he had never been asked to paint yellow lines for no parking and then have them painted over. The story goes that all the swimmers were criticizing the residents that were swimmers for having the lines painted in the first place. Perhaps they painted over them as their popularity decreased in Low Rock?

All the best

Stay fab

Adele

Warning – Suicidal ideation trigger.

The following poem was accepted for performance at the Leinster heat of the All-Ireland Poetry Slam at Sin E on Ormond Quay.

It was written during a period in my life when I was very low. At the time, writing this poem was a valuable cathartic experience for me.

 

Mosquito mind

I question, am I the only one?

With an unkind mosquito mind.

My mental health is a sham.

As I abhor who I am.

My pseudo happiness, pretending I am blessed.

Embalming my soul in binging alcohol.

Over-pleasing beyond reason.

You must love me, as I do not.

My blindness to my innate goodness is unsustainable.

I need to begin to feel well.

I have had a trillion thoughts.

Too many, where sanity was sought.

Is this the thought to undo my existence?

Am I not worth more than this moment spent?

Considering self-annihilation.

Lacking self-compassion and patience.

I deserve my life, the joy and the strife.

I can overcome my mind squall.

By seeking help and challenging it all.

I am better than this; can I give myself a soul kiss?

I have too much to give, but I have to forgive

Myself and my fragility, times when it is so hard being me.

I will try to transmute my pain into peace

To sit with my emotions, surrender and release.

By

Adele Leahy

 

Here is my third excerpt from my debut Romcom novel- Tara Tree, for your perusal. I hope you enjoy reading it.

 

I have no appetite, but I know I must eat something with the tablets. A lonesome lettuce is staring back at me when I open the fridge. Checking the back of the fridge reveals that, thankfully, there is no black mould. Leaving vegetables to go off in the fridge is a dreadful habit, but with all my flaws, this is merely the tip of the iceberg.

It makes sense to chuck them out when they are past their sell-by-date, but somehow, I like to imagine myself as someone who will actually eat the lettuce and enjoy it. I am still waiting for that day. I decide to talk to the lettuce. To ask it not to go off. Apparently, this is the thing to do nowadays. If we can talk to our plants to get them to grow, why can’t we talk to our vegetables in the fridge to stop them from going off?

Just as I am placing it back in the fridge, I notice a big black rotting spot at the back of the lettuce and decide to bin it. I could cut out the rotten bit and wrap it in wet paper towels so that it will last even longer, but as I have the flu, the chances of me consuming lettuce over the next week are slim. Just like I want to be. Not the obvious lettuce dodger that I am. I put my cuddly weight gain over the last year down to the Internet cookies. They are delicious. That’s my excuse, and I am sticking to it.

 

All the best

Stay fab

Adele

Here is my second excerpt from my debut Romcom novel- Tara Tree, for your perusal.

My short story will be called the 7:77 am Club and will relay the story of seven hippies who gather together at 7.17 am each morning for seven days to chant each other’s mantras for manifesting their ideal lives. Using the power of the number seven, I aim to transport the group to a place where their dreams can come true. Six of the group will chant the affirmation mantra for the seventh person and do this in a circle until everyone is complete. Three hippies will clash with the group due to their covert narcissistic nature, and sparks will fly. My theory is that when more people visualize and chant each other’s mantras, they increase their power of actualization.

After a few hours of writing, I get frustrated with the story arc and do what I swore I would never do today; I watch some TikTok on my phone to cheer myself up. My flu is getting worse, and I figure that I deserve a break from the norm. A Panda chewing on a giant carrot would cheer me up if only I could find it in the hundreds I have saved. Instead of cheering myself up, I get annoyed. Seeing TikTokkers pointing up to their video’s north, south, and west corners and telling me how and what to eat drives me wild. Self-righteous patronizing gobshites, every last one of them.

All the best

Stay fab

Adele

I would like to share over the next few weeks some excerpts from my debut Romcom Novel, Tara Tree, which is awaiting publication. I hope you enjoy them.

Today’s note on my calendar is, ‘I am carved to imperfecktion.’ I love how my favourite Irish word, ‘feck,’ is silently woven into the word ‘imperfecked’. My calendar is homemade as I was bored with generic daily affirmations and felt the need to celebrate and record my spiritual journey with quotes that resonate with me. Three hundred and sixty- five of them on A7 cards. Some are tongue in cheek, such as, on St. Patrick’s Day – ‘Seek your cock of gold’, ‘FIIF – Feck it, it’s Friday’,’ Seaze the day’- for my love of the sea or my favourite one ‘The sea is my frequensea’ which I got embroidered onto my swim robe. Others are more philosophical such as ‘Love yourself today and spend your spiritual currency wisely’. Embracing positivity and being nice is my daily goal; however, it can be exhausting.

Looking at the clock, it reads 7.17 am. I am reminded of the short story competition I want to enter to get some interest from publishers for my book. It has been finished for some time now, and I keep putting off submitting it to agents and publishers. Procrastination and imposter syndrome envelop me whenever I feel the urge to put it out there.

 

All the best

Stay fab

Adele

I promise that this is the last Electric Picnic blog. Maybe I am still too excited about it as it has not been on for three years. Sunday had torrential rain forecast, so we decided to head home after the Artic Monkeys. We packed up early and brought our stuff to the car so we could leave without hassle, as the Monkey’s gig did not start until 22.30.

I donned my mad flower hat and was thrilled to happen upon a random and wonderful Mad Hatter’s Tea Party table in one of the fields. We meandered to the Manifesto tent in Mindfield and then spent a few hours lolling around in Body and Soul. The band Cruel Sister was another lovely surprise.

The Coronas were awesome, particularly as the lead singer Danny ‘O Reilly brought his Mam, Mary Black, onto the stage. She sang a few bars from No Frontiers, and I have to say I shed a few tears. His sister Roisin O and the guitarists from All Twins and True Tides supported him. I love that many bands and artists are now collaborating with their peers.

I have never seen a front man overcome with joy and emotion as Gary Lightbody from Snow Patrol. He literally could not stop smiling. They had never played Electric Picnic before, and the crowd were singing along to all of their songs. You could tell that he was completely overcome. The crowd sang two verses of the chorus of Run, and he said that he had never heard a crowd sing two verses in all his years of singing this anthemic song.

Arctic Monkeys started with Brian and then sang no further hits until we left, seven songs in. I have since seen the setlist on Twitter, and they only played ‘Bet you look good on the dancefloor’ at the very end.

https://www.hotpress.com/live-review/live-report-snow-patrol-in-fine-form-at-electric-picnic-2022-22927228

The torrential rain began at 11 pm, and we decided to leave. It was difficult for Artic Monkeys to top The Coronas and Snow Patrol, but I still feel that they could have played more of their hits. I had seen Alex Turner in his other band, The Last Shadow Puppets, in Glastonbury in 2016, and they were awesome. I completely lost it when they played the song, The age of the understatement. He is an awesome frontman, but he did not engage with the crowd at all.

It was and is a truly awesome festival regardless of the rain or the trek to get in and out. I always say that it is the most fun you can have in a field in Ireland.

All the best

Stay fab

Adele

Electric Picnic has two seated areas, in front of the main stage, for vintage picnickers, like myself and my friend. This is where we were headed to watch Dermot Kennedy in all his glory.

Megan Thee Stallion, and what a stallion, was the act before Dermot. If twerking were an Olympic sport, she would take the gold, no problem. She brought up a load of little hotties from the crowd to twerk with her. Much to my delight, every second word was ‘ Mutha f*cka’; therefore, I used this phrase for the entire evening, much to the annoyance of my friend. Perhaps going to the coffee truck and asking for ‘A ‘mutha f*ucka Caffe latte’ was a step too far, but as they say, I like to live and learn.

On Saturday, Becky Hill ( awesome) and Ann Marie treated us to amazing sets. Following these, we trotted off to Trailer Park and then onto Hazelwood, finally finishing in Fishtown, R.C.A.G was a wonderful surprise. One man with a set of drums and maybe foot pedals that acted as a base? He gave a performance that could rival The Chemical Brothers.

The side acts of burlesque dancers of various shapes and sizes were a joy to behold. Maybe stapling paper hearts to one’s boobs, fanny and ass was a step too far? Not at all, as the next lady proceeded to skewer her neck with metal star lights and then light them. Frank and Walters were, as always, their spectacular best. The fact that Radiohead was their support band in the very early 90s is still my favourite rock trivia fact.

All the best

Stay fab

Adele

I was so excited. After four years, I was going back to Electric Picnic with my best mate, and it was her fourth and my fifth visit. As a festival junkie over the last two decades, I was about to enter my idea of Nirvana. However, this was not to be the case.

As usual, we had booked our glamping (old fogeydom is beckoning) and were looking forward to not having to pitch a tent.  We knew the trek to the site would be about an hour or so, but in the end, it took us two and a half hours. I had tried everything the night before to download a map, but it was impossible. As one of the Picnic stewards informed us, the Electric Picnic app needed to be downloaded a week before as it was not working properly on Friday. I was not Appy. As a result, we went to the wrong campsite, which was at the other end of the field, 3kms away.

This steward was one of eight that we asked for directions to our campsite. None of them knew where anything was, and it was as if they were mimicking Dougal from Father Ted. Walking through the Jimi Hendrix campsite was like a scene from Mad Max crossed with Armageddon and the night of the living dead. When we got to our campsite, the registration tent was closed, and we had no clue where our tent was. The field had about fifty tents, and we slowly checked each one to see where we could rest our weary bones. When we had started the trek to our tent, I had joked to my friend that it would be like climbing Croagh Patrick. Little did I know that the quip would come back to bite us in the arse.

The campsite organisers had texted my friend with vague directions but failed to mention that there would be nobody to check us in at the end. Miraculously, my friend found our tent after some time. We threw ourselves down onto the inflated mattresses and rested a while before entering the main arena to see our favourite acts.

All the best

Stay fab

Adele