Over and Out

To understand the end, let’s go back to the start.

It was August 2020, and Brendan Tierney put me in touch with the Sligo Weekender. The newspaper were looking for a columnist, and I was writing a daily blog at the time.

I spoke with editor Peter Henry, and we agreed that I’d write a weekly column for the paper starting in September. 400-500 words. Rooted in Sligo but outward-looking. Music and Sport would be the main themes but not the only ones.

And so I did just that. This is column 76, which equates to one every week for a year and a half or so.

I read recently that you should spend your 20s saying yes and your 30s saying no. Gain all the experience you can when you’re young but as you get older begin to focus and leave more space. Unfortunately I no longer qualify for either category but it’s an interesting idea, and one that was in my mind when I spoke again to Peter last week.

Because in August 2020 it was easy to say yes. We were a few months into the pandemic and at the time there was no end in sight. There were no gigs, which meant we had more time on our hands but also that we had to come up with new ways to stay in touch with our audience. So a newspaper column that would be read each week by the people of Sligo was an attractive proposal.

Rory Maitland, Luke Devaney and I started a podcast around the same time for similar reasons. We produced 35 episodes of the podcast, but none yet in 2022. We don’t know if it will return. I spoke with Rory last night and we reflected that even if we never do an episode again, no one can take that body of work away from us. It gave us something to do during lockdown, and created friendships that didn’t exist before.

And I feel similarly about the column. I enjoyed all 76. Making the time to sit and think. Writing. Great things to do with your time. I look back at previous columns every so often and it’s like reading an old diary. A lot happened in the last 18 months, and I love that I have a record of it.

But now the world is opening up. Things are happening again. Monday nights in Connolly’s are back. We had a great time at Teenage Theme Night #25 last weekend. I’m in Dublin this week to play some exciting gigs with the Second Captains podcast. And the big one, Theme Night #29 in May, will need some serious work soon.

It’s time again to say yes to these things. Which means saying no to others, but that’s OK. Things don’t have to last forever.

So thanks for reading. And to everyone who took time to tell me they enjoyed it. Thanks to Peter and the Sligo Weekender for the opportunity. And you can still hear from me each week at kieranquinn.ie/letter.

Till next time – look after yourselves and each other.

Kieran.

Risking his life for love...

Our dog is in love.

I will admit to some self-doubt about whether the good readers of this column would be interested in said dog, but then I saw Seamie O’Dowd posting a picture of his cat on Facebook and I took it as a sign.

Anyway back to the love story. He’s in love with the dog across the road. And I think it’s somewhat reciprocated. At least I hope for his sake that it is.

His name is Olaf. We didn’t name him, but decided to stick with it because like his Disney namesake he is white, fluffy and funny. There is also something Viking about the courageous way he loudly defends us from all invaders onto our property  – postladies, crows, cyclists and other such life-threatening beings.

My father-in-law once described him as the randiest little fella he ever saw. He had the snip a few years ago, which unfortunately hasn’t quelled but merely diminished his enthusiasm. He often takes a notion around 11pm and tours the bedrooms to see if any of the sleeping children have left a leg in a decent position for him.

It’s not like that between Olaf and Cookie though. It’s more like two toddlers who can’t yet verbally describe how excited they are to see each other so run around screaming instead.

Like the forbidding moat separating a would-be prince from his castle-bound princess however, the problem in this relationship is the busy road that exists between them. And although if Cookie was hit by a car my concern would be with the driver, the same can’t be said for Olaf. He has no road-sense whatsoever and so one mistimed sprint to see his buddy and he’ll be as functional as a snowman in summer.

Like any non-adult friendship, it has more chance of flourishing if the parents approve. And our neighbours are amazing. They take Olaf for walks and bring him over for playdates. And just as a teenager allowed to drink by his parents won’t have the same urge to go chugging cans in some dodgy flat, the crazy canine charges across the road don’t happen as much any more.

But while I know they had to stop, part of me misses them. There was something infectious about them. Life had to stop for a few minutes when Cookie arrived because he demanded your full attention.

Like anything in life however, there is something we can take from it. Because if we all greeted the ones we love with half the enthusiasm Olaf displays when Cookie arrives into our garden, the divorce lawyers and illicit dating sites would quickly be out of business.