Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Back to Reality

Due to certain extreme sports (drinking) festivals, travelling and the busy season in work, I've been somewhat (totally) absent from t'auld blog for the last while. Never fear, however, for I am back with a vengeance (reluctance.)

For those of you who have been following my articles on Gumption Magazine, there is a new one now available for your reading pleasure. I'm very flattered to say loads of people (four) have been raving about it. So give it a read, see what you think.

As always, comments, likes and shares are always welcome (gloated about) so feel free.  

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

On the Gratuitous Pleasing and Flattering of Authors

Ladies (and the odd gent *disclaimer - this does not in any way attempt to dent your manhood) have you ever struggled with a pesky jar that refuses, just refuses to open, and there's not an able-bodied acquaintance for miles to come to your aid?

We all know what it's like to crave something we cannot have. Well this should never, ever be the case with the delicious contents of certain jars, and henceforth, it never shall be again, for I, in my latest article for Gumption Magazine, show you how to do it minus man, and minus Bruce Banner hands.

People are liking the article. This pleases and flatters me. Please and flatter me more. Thanks.

Friday, May 8, 2015

All Things Promotional

It's been a while since I graced t'auld blog with my impolite and often-times half-arsed promotional thingamajigs. Well, I henceforth set out to rectify said neglect. 

You're welcome.

World Book Day


Omma O'Gill


Omma Maximoff

Om Malik-Clarkson-Walker

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Officially a Feature Author

I posted a while back with the exciting news that I'd landed a spot writing articles for a new online women's magazine called Gumption Mag. Well, yesterday my first article went live.

Of course I'm super impressed with it, because if I don't support myself, then who will? But it's gotten a few likes and comments already, one of which tickled me pink because the author said they'd stumbled on it out of the blue, right at a time when they really needed it. Now if that's not the kinda thing every inspirational feature article writer wants to hear, then I don't know what is.

Anyway, why are you sitting here listening to me bladdering on about it? Go and take a look for yourselves. The article is called 'Tending to the Little One' and it can be found in the 'inspire' section of the magazine.

Well go on then... throw it a like too if you're feeling generous. Comment also, if that tickles your fancy. Go!

Thursday, April 16, 2015

This Gal's Got Gumption...

What's got two thumbs and has landed a position as a feature author on a new women's online magazine? Muggins, that's who!

Yep, you heard me. In the next weeks, if it hasn't already yet,

magazine will be going live. The magazine's mission statement is to 'Inspire Women Who've Got Gumption.' 

It's a pretty cool concept and I'm ridiculously excited about it. The magazine is split into three sections - 'Inspire', 'Do', and 'Opinion'. They speak for themselves really, but for those of us who are perhaps a little hangover impaired, Inspire is about spreading positivity, encouragement and all those warm, fuzzy feelings that kick-start our get up and go. Do is more on the practical side of things, from DIY to travelling alone to opening a fecking jam jar - basically just knowledge we can use so we can stand on our own two feet. The last, Opinion,  is where we get to vent, debate, argue or do whatever comes our way.

At the moment, giving what I know about myself, I suspect I might be found hanging around Inspire mostly, but I have been known to spout information of a practical nature now and then. And I do like the auld debate too, so who knows?

The most important thing for now is to click on this link:

Go there, sign up, follow on Facebook, Twitter and all those other doohickeys I don't understand, read it, fall in love with it, then have some gumption and tell your friends about us! Go!

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

"The Dress"

Well, the last week or so on t'interwebs certainly has been super, piss-your-knickers exciting, what with all this discussion about "The Dress" and all. What do you make of it?

I found it quite interesting and amusing I have to say. (Before we go any further I must state that I am firmly enrolled with team white and gold. There was this one time when I looked at the picture from a certain angle and I could see sky blue, and another when I almost saw blue and black, but it always went back to white and gold in the end.)

A local radio show host actually phoned up the owner to ask her the colour of the dress - blue and black - and the nation, as a whole, sighed with relief, thinking, there now, that'll be the end of it. But no! Since then there have been numerous scientific, psychological and God-knows-what-else studies into the reasons and the meanings behind the colours we see.

The other night I read an article that dealt with the various types of responses to the hype and what those responses say about you. The diagnoses covered stress levels, self-doubt/self-assurance, hypochondria style panic levels, open-mindedness, as well as one's ability to handle controversy and uncertainty. Nowhere in the article, however, did it address the type of character who sees potential promotion possibilities in the issue of "The Dress", which, incidentally was my response. (What's wrong with me? This is stupid. Of course my response is the right one, other people just aren't as intelligent as me. End of discussion! (Maybe there's a lesion on my brain?))

Diligent and resolute (stubborn) as always, of course I acted on this promotional impulse, the fruits of which can be seen below. All that remains to be said on the matter, in my opinion, relates to the above-mentioned article, and how it also failed to deal with how jealous I am that I'm not the owner of "The Dress", as I'm sure it would net a tasty profit these days.

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Marrakech One-Oh-One

It’s strange to think that one can hop on a plane in Dublin and less than 4 hours later (providing you can meet Ryanair’s numerous and oftentimes mind-boggling guidelines) touch down in a place that is as different from home as chalk is from cheese, as Christmas is from Easter, as Ozzy is from Britney.

Marrakech, Morocco, on the tippy-top hairline of Africa.

Stepping out of arrivals in Marrakech is like stepping into another world, to coin a rather stale phrase. Gone are the square-box pebbled-dashed buildings, replaced by ochre structures with curious peepholes dotted across their faces that made me itch to enact my own version of Assassin’s Creed.

The vegetation of home, although incomparable with most countries, still finds a worthy rival in Marrakech’s thick and laden orange trees, fountain palms, and tall trunks of nothing that suddenly umbrella out at the top above everything.

There is no inch of space that isn’t decorated by tiles, tracery or ornament. Colour, colour, everywhere. The smells – incense, rotting oranges, spices. And beware the population of stray cats that pull without mercy on your heartstrings. The place truly is an assault on the senses. For a girl who considers herself ‘of the word’ Marrakech certainly wasted no time in shutting me up. My people-watching tendencies went into overdrive however, sometimes to an embarrassing degree for my companion; it is tough enough to get by in a country so foreign without having to travel alongside someone who consists of nothing but gawping eyes and gaping mouth.

Of course one cannot visit Marrakech without braving Jemaa el Fna – the mother, father and extended family of all markets. I’d heard many horror stories about such places and the hassle a single woman would get from the vendors, so I was expecting my day to be a challenge not unlike reaching the bar in a nightclub, ungroped, five minutes before closing time.

I soon, however, developed a failsafe method of survival involving dropping my eyes and plunging onwards. Me, I’m more accustomed to grinning at anyone who passes my way, sometimes to the extent that it sends little old ladies skittering in the opposite direction with their tails between their legs. So this tactic was no mean feat for me.

The more calls and comments that were thrown my way, the harder that giggle inside would boil up; it was inevitable that it would eventually spill over. It was always well received when it did however. In fact, on one occassion my companion was offered 4,000 dirham to relieve himself of me. 

Although this would be considered quite a pot of nectar in a poverty stricken area such as the one we were mired in at the time, nonetheless, I was a little stung that there wasn’t at least one camel thrown into the dowry.

I wisely deduced though, that on this occasion in Marrakech, haggling wouldn’t be in my best interest. Best instead, to accept the offer as compliment and keep plunging.