Welcome to The Dax Works

June 2011 Update

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Tue, 14 Jun 2011 15:26:00 +0000

So, after frantically scratching around I managed to find the money to pay off the debt I was sued for, but I still have to find more money (a long long story).

I have managed to get my company closer to breaking even. Just a bit more cost cutting, allied to achieving our drastically reduced revenue targets and we should put ourselves in a position to break even/make a profit this year. If we do, perhaps I can finally look at paying myself a salary, which would be nice after 3 years of living off my savings.

Actually, on second thoughts, that's a nice daydream! I won't be able to pay myself a salary because it wouldn't feel right when I still owe money to friends and banks etc.. I'll have to put any surplus into reducing debt first and just hold tight for a while longer.

But, you know, Hope is a strange thing. It is a great gift. If I have hope that I can turn this around, thereby managing and hopefully reducing my debt levels, it would constitute an improvement in my general situation and that alone would be a great step forward.

If I achieve it, I'm going to give myself the nickname of the "Turnaround Guy". When I became the boss of the company I ran before, it was losing over €500,000 a year and was over €2 million in debt and when I left it was making over €2 million a year profits, had no debt and had literally millions in cash in the bank.

Now this business that I am currently running was losing over €750,000 in 2007 before I took it over and, fingers crossed etc., should break even this year 2011. However, I couldn't do it without the people that are working with me in the company. It's a small team but they have been very loyal and hardworking and I feel like I finally have the right person running Sales. Of course the other vital ingredient was my friends and family whose support has provided a great foundation from which to build.

Now, not to get too much ahead of myself, it's back to the grindstone to make all of this come true.

"and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep"

April 2011 Update

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 09:35:00 +0000

You have to laugh...............if you didn't you'd cry!

Someone I always thought would have my back and be there for me in thick and thin, has sued me for a debt I owe him. I was negotiating a payment plan and working hard to figure out how to pay him faster than the plan offered. Next thing, he rejected it and went straight to court. This is going to do wonders for my credit rating.

I guess I'd feel better about it if he wasn't the person who introduced me to the deal that created the debt in the first place, and persuaded me to get involved. Come to think of it he's also the guy who persuaded me to buy the company which has sucked up all of my cash, thus preventing me from discharging this debt...............TO HIM. There is an odd kind of logic at work here.

I think it was Mark Twain who said that "Big shots are just little shots who kept shooting". I wonder what happens to 'little shots' who keep shooting while the boat is sinking.! Maybe one should start swimming! It's a poor metaphor but it serves.

March 2011 Update 2

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Thu, 03 Mar 2011 00:01:00 +0000

Did I say "one step forward - two steps back?"

Ye Gods. My departing Finance guy left me a little six figure present! A debt to the Taxman. And if I can't work something out fast, they'll shut the company down. Everything gone in one fell swoop.

The really tragic bit is that it was avoidable. They sent a letter to us and it went to the wrong address and someone there sent it back to them saying that there was no company of that name at that address, which was accurate but which they misinterpreted as they didn't know that it had been misdelivered! So they acted.

Oh Boy! Now what do I do?

March 2011 Update

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 17:43:00 +0000

So where are we? Well I managed to get some cash to pump into the company by securing a loan against the last asset I own - a tiny site in the back end of nowhere (left to me by my father). Unfortunately revenues are down year on year and the disparity has swallowed the capital injection I just made in under 2 months.

The other directors are now gone and I'm saving their salaries and other costs which are substantial enough for this tiny business to be very close to breaking even. I've restructured and not replaced certain people who thankfully left of their own accord. I may just be able to save the jobs of the remaining staff. The problem is that I'm doing 75% of the ex-Directors' jobs right now and possibly not very well, or not well enough (time will tell).

A quick and nasty summary of life right now is:

one step forward,
kick in the face,
pick your self up,
dust yourself off,
realise that you are now two steps back and
start trying to move forward again.

Woodrow Wilson was right. It's about perseverence. Not giving up. Not giving in. Damn fool stubbornness. And maybe when your back is to the wall it changes from being your worst to your finest hour in some indecipherable way I've yet to figure out. I certainly know that if I go down then I'll go down fighting. But we're a long way from that.

Maybe I'm deluding myself but I think that we may just be closer to success than I think. I've made some good decisions and the team that's left are good and loyal and hard-working and they have pride in our little business.

I'm learning too, about the corrosive quality of worry. If I allow anxiety and concern for negative outcomes of events and processes then I'm shooting myself in the foot. Worrying never fixed anything.

By just focusing on where I am, what I am doing and dealing with what is in front of me I can make myself impermeable to worry and crucially, to its negative impact on my efficacy.

Earthscape

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Thu, 09 Dec 2010 10:25:00 +0000

A simple picture taken by an Astronaut. It stimulates one to look beyond the immediate.

How small and insignificant we really are, obsessed with our petty problems. Strangled by our ability to make mountains out of molehills. Our arrogance is huge. We are the centre of our tiny universes. Taking time out to stop. Just stop. Smell the flowers. Look at the snow. Quieten our minds and see beyond our little existence. Step into the vastness of Life and gaze with awe on the glory that abounds.

August 2010 Update

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 22:56:00 +0000

So the company has survived thus far.

There were genuinely moments when I thought that I was staring ruin in the face again.

It's funny how it is the element of fear that causes one the most stress and discomfort. Yet once you have faced the monster a few times and survived, you begin to realise that what you have to do is to not allow fear to control you, that wasting your time worrying is just going to keep you paralysed and unable to think your way through the problems that may beset you. I'm certainly far from sorted but at least I'm moving forward again. At least, if I go down, I'll go down fighting, and will not have any regrets on that score.

In my attempts to move from being a "one-trick pony", I have initiated a new joint venture which I signed contracts for recently and am looking at beginning the process of launching another tomorrow.

I am going to try and sell off one part of my business as I have finally gotten it to a point where I should realise a good price for it. Furthermore I have now run out of money to keep it funded and have had to work really hard to keep it going and pay the salaries. Amazingly I encountered some decent guys in my local bank who have really done a lot recently to help me secure funding from the bank. They have certainly helped to restore my faith in people (especially bankers!).

Anyway If I can sell this asset at the right price then I will hopefully achieve my twin objectives of paying off all of the debts I have incurred and preserving the livelihoods of the staff under my stewardship. If I can achieve those targets then I can begin to move forward again and know that I have done the right thing by the Team. Fingers crossed.

May 2010 Update

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Tue, 25 May 2010 12:36:00 +0000

So it's what, 6/7 months since my last post? A lot has happened since then. I merged my company with another smaller company and the person who ran that company took over the Sales of both businesses. I replaced the "lazy" salesperson and have someone who's actually hungry and talented. I had to borrow money from friends in order to fund things and keep going but if the second half of 2010 goes according to my hopes then I will be able to begin paying them off but without jeopardising the cash position of the company.

I have some tough decisions and negotiations ahead but I'm going to persevere and keep working to try and turn things around. At least I have some support from my partner, who is very committed and hard working. The bottom line is I'm going to give it everything.

October Update

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 15:07:00 +0000

Maybe I should change the title of this blog to "Diary of a failing businessman".

Anyway.

I told the Admin girl that I was letting her go. I felt so bad, but what could I do? I also told one director and will be speaking with the other to make him redundant also. I am also considering replacing our sales person as I feel that he is just sitting on his ass and living off his basic salary until things get better. I am actively looking for approximately 2 new sales people. Cash flow is so tight that it's just week to week now and I'm really hoping that another deal comes across the line to relieve the pressure. The deal I was most hopeful for went south last week as I was let down at the last minute by the people that were funding me, hence another guy got the prize. C'est la vie.

When the alarm goes in the morning and I wake up, more and more I feel like I am in a prison, albeit of my own making. A guy who was a good friend is now sending me solicitors letters about a joint investment which I can no longer afford to fund.

Every time the slightest thing goes wrong, my wife just loses it and "throw's her toys out of the pram". Her behaviour is just adding to my stress levels. My eyes feel like I've been crying all of the time, even though I haven't. I'm sure that there are others in far worse situations than I but that is no consolation. Misery never looks for company, only for sympathy and solutions.

I am worried that as the days go by that I am becoming less and less capable/able to work my way through this, to come up with innovative, new ways of making revenue. I am concerned that I am becoming depressed.

I need something to go my way...............soon.

September Update

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 09:13:00 +0000

Well, lots has happened since my last post. The summer period June, July and August have been much worse than expected and now the whole company is on a 3 day week. I am looking at letting other Directors go now too. I'll also need to let one other Admin person go, probably the Receptionist. Everyone will just have to answer the phone themselves.

The first two weeks of September have been way better than expectations but were a bit of a false dawn as now we've missed target again. So what to do now eh? I've started talking to other people in the media business and am looking for an opportunity to merge with someone else and save further costs that way. Time to talk to the landlord too.

Bills and debts seem to be appearing out of nowhere and I need to clear some of them in order to take some of the pressure off. I'm hoping to get one particular deal over the line and that will generate more personal cash for me

I have lots of possibilities out there in terms of possible new revenue streams but we'll see what happens.

I need something to go my way, something to break for me. I'm still not drinking alcohol and miss it less and less. I walked to work most days over the summer and began to regain my fitness but slacked off lately as I've been having early morning meetings. I'm determined to get organised and get back into it next week. It's just a bit of a pain as I have no shower facilities at work.

I will persevere.

April Update

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 16:42:00 +0000

It's the end of April and I've been lucky enough to get away for two quick breaks over the Easter period which really helped me calm down. I'm still very focussed and still not drinking alcohol. Funnily enough the longer I'm off alcohol the less I miss it. I need to focus on my diet now and try to exert more control in that area in addition to increasing my exercise levels to increase my personal fitness and ability to sustain and increase my current work rate.
The company is not doing much better, we are hitting brick walls all of the time in trying to get more revenue in, but hopefully we are on the cusp of achieving this and breaking through to profitability.

My gut feeling is that perseverance and tenacity is what will get us through this very difficult time. I just hope that I don't have to cut any more staff. I am considering a 3 day week for directors as a short term measure.

Ch ch ch changes

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 13:18:00 +0000

So anyway, I cut the people who I had to cut and reduced salaries all across the company, with the Directors taking the biggest hit. Working harder and harder each week. Still not drinking alcohol and starting to walk to and from work as often as practicable. Trying to get this little business to profitability. I'm so close to break even that I can smell it. Just need a few more things to go my way.

As Calvin Coolidge said :

Press on: nothing in the world can take the place of perseverance. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.

New Year

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 17:49:00 +0000

I posted 17 times in 2007 and just TWICE in 2008. What a great blog. Hmmmm.

It's Jan 2009 and I'm off alcohol for January and possibly February. I'm increasingly focussed on this company I bought as it needs to be brought into profit ASAP. I'm being urged by my fellow directors to let some people go in order to reduce the pressure on cashflow and I'm reluctantly giving in to their pressure. If I don't the company could go under. The process starts on Monday.

On another topic, I did get a good idea for a story today so I'm going to start fleshing it out on my laptop.

LAST RITUALS

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Sun, 27 Jan 2008 22:06:00 +0000

I just finished a crime novel called "Last Rituals" by Yrsa Sigurdardottir, translated from the original Icelandic. I have no idea why I picked it up in the bookshop or purchased it, for that matter, but it was a very good read.

The elements of Witchcraft, Torture and the German and Icelandic portions of the Inquisition were somewhat gruesome and stomach churning as was the matter-of-fact treatment of the murder that was central to the plot. However, it was so well written, so simply written that the pages just flowed and I read it very quickly. Furthermore I found myself getting curious about Iceland and the places there that were mentioned in the book. I actually ended up surfing the net researching them. Go figure?

Good book though. Worth reading. A simple, well written murder mystery in a, to my Irish eyes, unusual setting.

Sanity Check

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 19:21:00 +0000

Oh my God, he's quoting Chumbawumba! Definitely time for a sanity check.

perseverance

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Mon, 17 Dec 2007 16:01:00 +0000

A pretty perceptive man once said to me that Success was about "keeping on keeping on". He was Japanese American. I didn't really understand him properly at the time, unacquainted as I was with the different variations of American English Vernacular. I rather suspect now, after some 15 years, that he was simply talking about Perseverance. Or as the lyrics of that song released by the unforgettably named band "Chumbawumba" goes:

"I get knocked down, but I get up again.
I get knocked down, but I get up again.
They ain't never gonna keep me down"

So if I was to be so arrogant as to offer advice to anyone I would simply say:

Never give up.

Never give in.

Keep on keeping on.

................................................I think.

Guilty as charged

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Wed, 05 Dec 2007 22:36:00 +0000

I am feeling so guilty about not having posted anything for what? - nearly 3 months now. I just let it slip. Or maybe my circumstances changed and I felt that I didn't need the blog as much anymore, which surprises me because I didn't realise that I "needed" it in the first place. I thought that I would just be putting some old writings on the web and recycling lots of paper that was cluttering up my attic and that maybe some people would chance across it during their meanderings around the Web and be sufficiently stimulated by what they read that they left me some feedback. Well, it's been months, very few visitors and bugger-all feedback, which, amusingly enough is a form of feedback in itself, I suppose.

So my court case is over and I won and now it seems that I'm diving headfirst back into my old life, but with a twist, in that I'm not making millions for other people and big media companies any more - I'm doing it for myself and my partners. Now that's not necessarily a good or a bad thing, I'm just not sure that I'm doing the right thing with my life. Just because running media companies is what I know best, that doesn't justify the course of action I feel that I am drifting into.

OK, I know that I need to earn a living and fund my family and this is probably the quickest and surest way of achieving that but what I've just gone through was such a massive event in my life and so emotionally seismic that I cannot help but feel that I'm missing an opportunity to capitalise on what has happened. Maybe I'm scared of the unknown. I've come through a major life-changing event and I am at an epiphany point.

I suspect that what's bugging me is that in deciding which way to go from here, I am aware of a growing feeling of frustration that maybe I have settled for a safer option, for less; that I have missed out on a chance to live a fuller and richer life. And now, I'm committed to this option, because people have left companies to come and work for me and in some cases taken a salary cut too. They are showing a lot of loyalty and belief in me. .............................

Boy do I ever feel trapped!

LETTERS TO MY CHILDREN - October 1993

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 22:27:00 +0000

Dear Jack & Clare,

I treated myself on Sunday Morning last and stayed in bed late, reading the Weekend Edition of the Irish Times, magnamoniously allowing your Mother to get up in response to someone's wailings to be released from their cot. Once I heard the usual scampering noises accompanied by high pitched yips and yelps, my super detective powers told me that this was not, in fact, a burly puppy rampaging through the house but presaged a blond haired explosion into the bedroom (neither of you ever walked into rooms) so I start leafing through the paper more rapidly.

When you do that, skipping quickly from page to page, scanning the text, it's funny how you quite often end up with a more enjoyable and sometimes more informative read or at least I have. One tends to ignore the major 'serious' articles in favour of other tidbits - anything that catches the eye really.

Not that this process takes long, interrupted as it is by a body plunging through the paper curtain with happy abandon and a gurgled "DA DA DA!" And then the soft aroma of your warm hair as you snuggle in. There was contentment, joy, fulfillment and simple happiness. I can still remember that soft fragrance that symbolises your childhood for me and I have a catch in my throat.

I'll always be grateful for that. For feeling you falling asleep on my chest. Or when you woke at night crying and I would go downstairs with you and turn on some music and dance slowly around with you in my arms until you fell asleep with your head on my shoulder. Or the pure joy in your face when I came through the door at night after work, followed by you rushing down the hall for a hug.

You both made my world complete when you came into it.

Thank you,

Love,

Dad.

LETTERS TO MY CHILDREN - 29th September 1992

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 22:00:00 +0000

Dear Jack & Clare,

I had to go to the National Library in Kildare Street the other day to do a little research. On the surface the system of security and admission looked impressive. There was a security desk at the stairs up to the library proper and you had to fill out a form stating your purpose for using the library and get your photograph taken for an identity card.

Having said that, for all of the notice that the library attendant took, I could have filled out "research into the domestic manufacture of Semtex and to get a look at any nudie pics in the books" and I would still have gotten a reader's card.

When I went in, I stood for a moment by the Card Index area, just looking around. I was impressed by the great domed ceiling and the long wooden desks with their lovely green reader's lamps. It all looked so right. So perfectly in the vein of what a library reading room should look like. Like all of the films I've ever seen. There were the habitues in one area, whispering earnestly to each other. There, one or two terribly focussed legal types. There, two slick boyos in blazers, cravats and well coiffed hair, probably doing the research prior to some elegant stroke they were about to pull. And there was the obligatory nubile young female student trotting up and down to the Librarian's desk in her symbiotically attached leggings, on an interestingly circuitous route that took her past a rather large, handsome, young guy in a rugby shirt who was totally immersed in what looked like a diatribe on the feeding habits of the immature fluke worm. Funny how there's always a gorgeous girl in every Library I've been in, usually minding her own business, getting on with it and oblivious to the havoc she's wreaking on the concentration of most of the males in sight.

Dublin became a happy hunting ground for motorcycle policemen last week. They had great fun. Stopping the traffic whenever they felt like it. Breaking the speed limit. Stopping for a chat in the middle of the busiest intersection they could find. If these talks ever result in a referendum I hope that they put in an option for us to vote upon a preferred location for the next round. I know which way most of the harrassed motorists of Dublin will lean. I have visions of angry members of the Capital's Traffic Army grunting "let's see 'em race around shaggin' Sceilig Mhicil," as they fill in their voting forms.

As the umpteenth wailing convoy raced past I overheard one old lady say to another "it really is like a Banana Republic, Maire. That Bob Golden had it right y'know".
"Who dear?" says Maire.
"Bob Golden, Maire. From the Booterstown Rats, " pleased to be one up and in the know. Then, "I think he's a cousin of Paul Golden."

Now that I come to think of it, Jack, by the time that you and Clare are old enough to have any interest in reading these letters, you'll probably regard the Boomtown Rats (a.k.a. Booterstown Rats) in much the same way as I regard Rudy Valee.

Rudy Who?

LETTERS TO MY CHILDREN- 21st September 1992

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Thu, 06 Sep 2007 22:51:00 +0000

Dear Jack & Clare,

One of the things that I love the most about being back is the language. The way that it's used and, on occasion, abused. Phrases purloined from here and grafted on to there. It's a tremendously rich and colourful brew that goes to make up the everyday phraseology of the people I meet.

A journalist that I knew in London often used to say how much he loved the Irish peoples' way with words. Although he would come out with this in a manner that made my hackles rise, I find myself agreeing with him more and more since my return. The difference being that he said it with a patronising, "tolerant smile" and I state it simply with great pleasure and admiration, for it makes my day richer and adds colour to it.

What has spurred me to this observation is a wonderful, if somewhat coarse, piece of advice I overheard on Sunday morning last. Encouraged by a clear, breezy sky, I strapped you into your seat on the back of my bicycle and headed off along the the coast paths towards Dun Laoghaire. By the time I had sweated my unfit, wobbly way as far as the Martello tower at Monkstown beach you had fallen asleep. So I stopped, picked you out of the seat, eased off your helmet and lay back on the grass, looking out to sea with you, out for the count, lying on my coat beside me.

After some time I noticed out of the corner of my eye another father and son coming up from the beach towards a very shiny, slick looking Japanese car parked nearby. "Ah Jaysus," said Dad. "We've only a flat!" He proceeded to the boot and started taking out the spare wheel plus some tools. Now, to an adult, such a situation is, at best, an annoyance and, at worst, a calamity depending upon the amount of time required to get to where you're going. To a little boy of what looked like two or two and a half years old, it's wonderful. Unusual. New.

The little lad was intent on helping Daddy. He carried each tool, thrown carelessly and possibly a little angrily on to the grass by Daddy, over to the site of the wheel changing operation. When Daddy became aware of his efforts, to his credit, he paused and thanked him loudly, calling him his "little hod carrier. A proper little hoddie, arntcha!" Thus encouraged. Junior then proceeded to pick up each tool again and to examine each one with impressive concentration. At last he was finished. The Mallet. It had to be. It had a big, dirty white rubber head with a silvery metal handle that glistened in the sun. Not only did it make a satisfying thud when you hit something with it but it also bounced back! Fantastic.

This bouncing business merited further investigation. So the grass was thumped with the mallet, as was the concrete kerb and the tarmac, the spare tyre, a nearby lamp post, a metal fence. And so on, until the bumper of Daddy's car got a clout while Daddy was halfway underneath checking out an apparent oil leak. Out came Daddy, spied the beaming mallet wielder of Monkstown lining up for delivery of another two handed slap to the bumper and let out a roar:"Mikey! Stop! Enough now or I'll take dat offaya!" Undeterred, the aforementioned Mikey continues his swing, misses the fender, hits the concrete kerb and catches the rebounding mallet with his face!

A wail that would do a convoy of ambulances proud rises up and takes possession of the ears of all and sundry on Monkstown beach. Mikey is picked up and checked for damage and then cuddled fiercely with loads of "yer alright! Yer alright!" thrown in. The wail begins to descend a few decibels and gradually becomes a whimper. Daddy decides that Mikey is ready for a little advice on the subject of tools and delivers the following brief homily which I think will stay with me to the end of my days.

He fixes Mikey, now esconced on his lap, with a frank stare and says, "look Son, be careful will ya. A hammer is like your dick. Just cos it's designed for it doesn't mean ya have to go banging everything in sight! Sooner or later it'll rebound on ya." Satisfied that he'd done his parental duty, he packed Mikey into his car seat, finished the wheelchange and drove off. I looked down to find you gazing up at me with those huge blue eyes so I copied Mikey's Dad and we headed off too.

LETTERS TO MY CHILDREN- 16th September 1992

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 15:54:00 +0000

Dear Jack & Clare,

I was sitting in my office mentally composing a shatteringly elegant and witty opening to this letter when the heavens erupted with one of the loudest thunderclaps I can recall ever hearing. It was followed toute suite by every car alarm in Northumberland Road shrieking in protest at being roused from their usual passive vigilance.

It was good fun though, watching young exec's scurrying out to their cars, hopping from one foot to the other in the downpour while they tried to locate the appropriate key, insert it and turn off their petulant possessions. Despite the fact that they were drowned by this time, they would sprint back to their offices in the faint hope of preserving some piece of apparel (the underside of their wristwatch perhaps?) from the oppressive sheets of water falling on them.

One poor soul had the galling experience, when he turned for the sprint back to the dry haven of his office, of watching a female colleague languidly extend her arm out a window and shut off her alarm by remote control. From a distance it looked like a sympathetic smile, or was she........................ ? Surely not.

I met an interesting pair during my lunchbreak at Sandymount Strand today. With the characteristic abruptness of the Summer version of the Irish weather front, the thunderous gloom disappeared and I took myself off to Sandymount Strand car park to enjoy a couple of sun soaked sandwiches. An elderly gentleman and a young lad of eighteen or so pulled up beside me and started to eat their lunch, staring fixedly out to sea. Occasionally, well - about every ten minutes or so, I would hear a brief phrase uttered by one, never answered by more than a monosyllable from the other.

"Are they workmates?" I pondered. "Friends, acquaintances, or related to each other, as say brothers, uncle and nephew or father and son?" On a subsequent visit I discovered that the last category applied. They were a father and son who worked together, lived in the one house and lunched together.

"We don't see that much of each other really" claimed the son, whose name was Padraig. "Only one person can work on any one piece at a time, so we don't really have any contact during working hours." They were engravers. "We live on different floors of the house. Me Ma is dead and Ivor, that's me Da, has his pals and I have mine. He eats at a friend's house all the time, neither of us would touch a breakfast, so lunch is the only time we spend together. It's kind of a tradition at this stage.

I asked if they talked much and did they always go to Sandymount for lunch? "On the talking front, I'd have to say not really a lot, no, and if we found ourselves saying a lot to each other about something, then we'd probably be having a row. Mind you, we don't row often," Padraig added.

"We went to Monkstown once, just after I started working with Ivor," he recalled. "It was my idea. I thought it would be nice for a change. But Ivor didn't like it, so we came back here."
I left him then, strolling along in the September sun on his own (apparently Ivor doesn't like going for walks either. "Can't see the point in them"), dreaming of the exotic climes of Monkstown's sea front car park.

All the best,

Dad

LETTERS TO MY CHILDREN - 15 September 1992

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Tue, 28 Aug 2007 17:03:00 +0000

Dear Jack & Clare,

I'm renting offices in a lovely old redbrick house with beautiful high ceilings, embellished with intricate and flamboyant plasterwork, lots of original paintings and pictures and great, big, solid pine doors. I'll only be here for a short while longer and I think I'll miss it greatly. Sometimes I catch myself gazing around, lost in the elegance and grandeur of the recent past.

Well the present intruded on the past rather abruptly as I was greeted by an unusual sight when I arrived at the office this morning. We had been broken into. the thieves had an interesting modus operandi. They got into each room by using what seemed to be a bazooka (but was more likely a crowbar). The beautiful panelled pine doors and surrounds were shattered. In our office, files were strewn about, drawers opened but absolutely nothing taken. There were thousands of pounds worth of computer equipment in boxes ready for removal, portable printers and PC's, even a mobile phone with batteries and charger. All ignored.

And it was the same in each of the other offices in the building. Door blasted open, place ransacked, nothing taken. Even a cheque was left behind. One company was the exception in that they had some cash hidden up a chimney and that disappeared.

Well later on that day, much later, the Guardians of the Peace arrived or at least one plainclothes detective showed up who looked like he was heading for the golf course in his Pringle sweater and slacks, casually fiddling with his walkie talkie like it was a portable phone or a driver (he wished). He was taken around by our very efficient Receptionist cum Office Manager. Did he suggest fingerprinting? No. Mind you, he did agree with her, although none too enthusiastically, that it might be worth interviewing the next door neighbours.

His casually delivered parting remarks constituted a careful and considered summation of the situation. "Dem doors are shagged. I know a lad down the Merrion Road who's good at fixing Georgian doors like dem wans". I wondered how much work his friend down the Merrion Road got out of the cases that this "Columbo" investigated.

What interested me most about the whole affair was the almost casual acceptance of the crime by all those affected. Beyond mild annoyance at having to re-file some paperwork, people just continued on. Just one of those things. C'est la vie.

Ten or twenty years ago we would have been shocked at this trespass. All of our friends would have heard about it. Now it's no longer a rarity. It's commonplace. A sad reminder of the excesses that those standing on the wrong side of the widening gulf between rich and poor are driven to.

Democracy and the Market Economy can only work properly if those "have-nots" can feel that this gap, as it were, can be bridged and they can see others from their side of the divide attempting this feat and succeeding. I guess that this process is more likely to occur if they arrive at adulthood well equipped, i.e. with a good/broad education and that prized product of such an education, a lively, enquiring yet disciplined mind. We must ensure that the quality of all resources devoted to the education of the less well off in this Society are maintained to the highest standard and improved upon if at all possible. Otherwise we are putting people in a social cage and taking away any possibility of release or escape.

The frustration that this would cause could pave the way for an upwardly spiralling crime rate and social disenfranchisement. Every penny invested in education now is a pound less that we'll have to spend in policing our streets, in repairing our property and possibly our lives in years to come. Sounds a bit simplistic? Sometimes the most complex problems have the simplest solutions.

All the best,

Dad

LETTERS TO MY CHILDREN - 14 September 1992

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Wed, 08 Aug 2007 22:55:00 +0000

Dear Jack & Clare,

Sitting in the back of the cab from the airport, listening to the driver's umpteenth "knoworrimeyan", I surprised my self and began to feel good. I began to feel a sense of achievement. I had come home. So often when I returned from lunch to my office in Kilburn I would be saddened by the sight of big, strong men, men that belonged at home in Ireland, sitting, sipping their lives away in dark and dirty pubs.

I consoled myself with thoughts that they were an older, different generation to mine, less educated and less prepared to benefit from the opportunities to be had in the more prosperous countries we had all been forced to emigrate to. However, even my generation of graduates, the "Puppies" or Paddy Yuppies of London would complain about the "quality of life" in London and how much better it would be if one could "get back". I have to laugh, sure we wouldn't know what "quality of life" actually meant if it jumped up and bit us in the face! Mind you, this slip, this chink in the armor we had all adopted on arrival in London, would immediaely be covered over with coments on the "terrible unemployment that forced us to leave", "the fact that the Irish Welfare State is non-existent" and "the cruelly high levels of taxation. Sure yer disposable income would be slashed by two thirds and you left with the small bit!"

I had done it though. I had returned. Now all that remained was to find a home for you and your Mum and to get you both over here as quickly as possible.

I was surprised at the amount of building that was going on. Ambitious projects with elegant facades in long-dormant, run down parts of the city. Even the quality of the houses in the numerous new developments that I viewed was high, much higher than I remembered in the late seventies and early eighties prior to my leaving.

There was a lot of bikes on the roads still, but maybe that was just the fine summer weather. When I drove along the coast roads, out around Malahide or along Sandymount Strand, I noticed lots of people out walking. Some strolling along as though on a casual promenade around a small Mediterranean town and some getting in some seriously brisk exercise.

There seemed to be more restaurants too. More reasonably priced, offering better quality food, better service and a wider variety of cuisines.

I know that this is starting to read like a bit of a Bord Failte Handout, Jack, and maybe your old Dad is looking at his native land through rose coloured glasses but it's how I see it all right now. Maybe it'll change as time goes on. We'll see.

All the best,

Dad

Duck - Final Instalment

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Tue, 31 Jul 2007 16:54:00 +0000

He arrived at the nest, a low circular mat with low twig walls, resting on a bed of dead reeds which he had patiently collected from around the river. Never too many from any one place. Always the cautious one, it took longer but he knew it was worthwhile. It was a good solid nest which had endured many a stormy night and would endure many more too.

She was looking at him as he dumped the food on top of the nest wall in front of her. She had, of course, been aware of his approach before she had seen him. Together they gave the food to the four young ducklings gathered around her flanks. This had been his fifth time going out to look for food today and they gobbled it down voraciously. He felt that they were growing fast, much faster than he had grown as a young duckling.

He had retained a small piece of greenery for her and himself which she took from him gratefully for she was hungry. He looked at her for a moment, their heads close and nuzzled the feathers on her neck gently. Then he turned and paddled back down the path to begin again his search for food. He looked back and was pleased again to note how well hidden the nest was.

It had been a good idea to move here after their other nest had been destroyed by that big, fast, false thing. It had been too hard and smooth to be an animal, although he thought that he had seen animals on its back or were they inside its belly? It had churned up the water so much that a great surge of water had picked up the nest and smashed it against a tree root.

It was lucky that she and the ducklings had been swimming further up the river when it happened. He had been the only one to see it. Still this was a good place to live, for a while anyway and...he stopped, “where are all the fr?” CRAAACK!

The smoke from Jimmy’s rifle was blue in the heat haze. “Go boy” he urged his Labrador and the dog obediently slid into the water, swam to the other side and returned with the dead duck in his mouth. Jimmy examined the carcass. “Got him in the neck. Good, nothing worse than duck meat tasting of lead shot.” He threw the duck into the heavy canvas bag at his side and turning, tramped away, calling the dog to heel.

She waited anxiously, wondering where he was. Hoping that that loud sound and the bark noise didn’t spell trouble. The Ducklings were getting hungry again, but still she waited..... She waited.

Duck - First instalment

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Mon, 30 Jul 2007 17:38:00 +0000

He moved slowly into the middle of the stream, feeling the slight increase in pull on his webbed feet from the stronger current. Reeds on both sides sheltered his progress from erratic wisps of Autumn winds.

He looked around him, not too casually, as he paddled along, making sure that there were no unfriendly creatures about. He’d had a nasty brush with a big brown and white barker last year because he hadn’t been on his guard when he was swimming along like this. That had been a lucky escape. The next occasion might not be so lucky, so it was best to be cautious.

He moved into midstream now, having left the reedy streamlet where he made his home. All this area is full of reeds now, he thought, great for camouflage, very marshy. I wonder does it have anything to do with that big false thing downriver. It certainly makes a lot of noise.

The water around him was gold speckled and he wondered did he look golden like that, too, when the Sun shone on him. He worried about it because it would make hiding very difficult if he shone like that. Still the Sun didn’t shine every day and when it did he could hide from it too, but it wouldn’t be very pleasant because he liked to be out in the Sun. It was warm and bright and it made everything thing he saw look more colourful and more cheerful than usual.

He felt the Sun’s heat fade from his back as he moved into the shadow of the great-sized trees that overhung the far bank and filtered the rays of the sun turning it into a cooler green dappled light. The water wasn’t golden or clear over here. It was dark and murky but it held the choicest and most tender bits of greenery and he knew it.

He was going to bring her back the nicest food he could find, to show her what a good mate she had got and to celebrate her first day on the river. Well on this stretch of it anyway.

He carefully selected the nicest pieces of vegetation he could find, stuffing his beak so much that he had to bend his head forward to see out over the top of it. He moved to the edge of the shade cast by the trees and carefully scanned the far bank and each end of the river, upstream and downstream and finally skyward.

Everything seemed calm, normal. Plenty of flies around and more importantly frogs to eat them. That was a good sign. Frogs were always the first to get out of the way at the first sign of trouble.

He paddled back out into the stretch of gold carpeted water again, more alert this time, realising that the burden in his beak would slow him down and hinder any sudden movements he might need to make. Finally he reached the reed-fronted entrance of the lazy little tributary where his home and mate were hidden.

About 20 yards up the little tongue of water he turned right abruptly and disappeared into the reeds following a twisty path that was just wide enough to allow him to swim past without touching the tall waving reeds that waved, acting too as his protector from any alert predatory eyes. He always followed this path even though it would be shorter to go directly to the nest, so as to avoid breaking or moving the reeds and create any telltale signposts to where his nest might be hidden.

SPRINGER - (the last bit)

noreply@blogger.com (Dax) — Sun, 15 Jul 2007 15:36:00 +0000

After school Johnny made his way to University, studying in Cork. Johnny was half-way through his final year and the Hilary term was just ending. March and April were very warm and balmy that year. The College was looking beautiful. Spring was a time of year when everything seemed young and vibrant, alive and full of promise, Johnny thought and this was a particularly lovely Spring.

He woke up one Tuesday morning, just as Dawn began to nudge the night over the horizon. He had been in the middle of a bizarre, morbid dream which had started with him flying over a darkened,sleeping landscape. The sensation of flying had felt so real, so tangible, that he could remember the physical sensations vividly and with rare precision. He had been flying for some time, when up ahead he saw a silvery-grey line on the horizon, the sea. The lights of a town began to appear, It looked familiar, very familiar. Then he had it. It was Kilkee. He had spent many a summer holiday there as a child.

He began to lose height, and came in low towards a caravan. Everything else faded into a homogenous grey mass. Buildings, lights, trees all greying out and blurring until there was only the caravan. As he approached it, the roof and side of the caravan closest to him dissolved into nothing and he could see inside. There was a coffin in the middle of the caravan. It was lying on a table, with its top open. Sean was lying inside, his arms crossed on his chest, and his face as white as his shirt collar. An odd thought came into his head. "Where does the shirt begin, and the neck end?" Johnny wondered. They seemed as one, so pale was Sean's flesh. Bleached as it were in preparation for Death's coming. He could hear an old man's voice repeating quietly, "Puir Springer, the puir man." Then the corpse opened it's eyes, and raising it's heavy arms, slowly extended them toward Johnny as if expecting an embrace. He became aware of a whispering inside his head. A thought not his own, alien to him, put there, not born, not innate. "Here, come here. Closer Kid. Come and talk." Johnny recoiled. Fear seized him, sudden and vicelike and he fell from the sky.

He bolted up, awake but still in the grip of this falling sensation and grabbed the sides of the bed in terror. His mind full of what he had just experienced. He got up and dressed quickly went downstairs and out. He got into his small, white car and started to drive, heading for the coast. When he reached a large, wide beach he knew well, he pulled up. Johnny rested his chin on the wheel, and looked out at the distant waterline, now at it's farthest out point. "Sean's dead" he thought . Convinced of this, after a moment he got out and strolled along the deserted beach, alone in his sadness. Sorrow walked beside him as he mourned the death of a man who, in a strange and intangible yet very definite way, meant a great deal to him. Some hours later, when the sun had fully risen, he returned to the city and went to his lectures. All through the day, at the back of his mind, was that sense of forboding that is peculiar to those who are cursed with foreknowledge of an imminent, inevitable event, and are powerless to avert it.

At 9pm that evening, in the bar of the University's Men's Club, he glanced up from his drink and through the circle of his friends, saw a face on a newspaper that he knew too well. A terrible dread overwhelmed him as he stood up and walked over to the girl with the paper. He stood behind her and, looking over her shoulder, quickly read the obituary. His face went white and he left the bar immediately, unnoticed by his friends. Once outside Johnny kept walking and didn't stop until he reached the "Lee Fields", a large , open , grassy area upriver from the University. The river was high that night, and he stopped and stood watching the murky water flow swiftly by with scarcely a murmur.

He thought that he understood it a little better now. If Sean had never meant anything to Johnny, he wouldn't have dreamt about him. As it was, when Sean's life was snuffed out like a candle Johnny had felt the absence of it's heat, it's light.

"There was a sort of link between Sean and I," he thought. "So when that was snapped, I felt it, the way twins can sometimes feel each other's pain and joy, each other's emotions." He felt like a man groping his way in the dark towards a distant light, and it was going to take a while to get there, and, finished grieving, he began to miss Sean, his brother.