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MUSINGS Let there be light



Let there be light

Diary of a home bird
Ciara Galvin

THIS week’s column is a special one, it’s been a whole two years since I began documenting the trials and tribulations of the home bird. Imagine, what started as a little joke when the roomies went on holidays, turned into the ‘monster’ that it is (according to the roomies)!
A huge thanks obviously has to go to Mom and Pops for putting up with me, and having their lives inked on these pages fortnightly, and also to colleague and mentor Willie McHugh for encouraging me and to Living Editor Ciara for agreeing to house my musings on these pages. The reason the anniversary of my column sticks in my head is it coincides with the anniversary of my grandfather’s passing. It seems like only a few months ago I picked up the paper to see my first column, surrounded by family. Despite the previous days of high emotion around the funeral, it perked up my mood, knowing that the roomies would have something to say about their inclusion.
It wasn’t just my grandfather’s second anniversary that made me think of him so much lately, but oddly my car (Black Beauty). I know you’re thinking, ‘What does your car have to do with anything?’ But as that special man would always say, ‘Let the story come to ya’.
The day after Granda’s funeral Black Beauty was parked outside the homestead, turned off and locked. I, equipped with keys, was nowhere in the vicinity. Yet, to everyones’s astonishment, especially my own, the car had somehow gained its own lease of life.
The male roomie phoned me to enquire where my keys were, as Black Beauty had turned into Kitt from Knight Rider – hazards flashing, window wipers in full swing and the horn sounding.
I made my way home and there it was, like a beacon, lights still flashing. I locked, unlocked and relocked Black Beauty and thankfully this tamed her! Some said it was an electrical fault or maybe brought about by a passing truck. Me, I think it was Granda having a joke. His insurance details were tucked away in the glove box since the previous month and perhaps it was a ‘subtle’ reminder that they were still there.
Anyhow, it’s happened again recently. Car parked, keys inside the boyf’s house and there it went, having a little disco for itself. I texted the female roomie and my sister, just to let them know Granda was up to his old tricks again, nearly two years on.
The drama surrounding Black Beauty didn’t finish there. Last week I popped out to get one of its bulbs replaced on my lunch break. I came out to find the battery dead: I had intelligently left the lights, or at least what lights were left, on.
Cue annoying my fellow colleagues for assistance. Boy was it a saga. One asked, ‘Is it raining?’ (and they say chivalry is dead); another couldn’t find the battery in his car in order to jump mine. Then a friendly van driver pulled up, and after ten minutes of trying to open his bonnet he remembered the battery was behind the driver’s seat.
Eventually, after half of the Mayo News staff had some sort of input, Black Beauty was brought to life.
All systems go. Lights fully functional, and as of yet, the car is only responding to me actually driving it. Success. Now, just to remember to put fuel in it. We don’t want another episode of the roomies meeting me with a canister of petrol just shy of the Ballinrobe environs. But hey, that’s a tale for another day.

In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old still living with her parents.