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Endings and Beginnings.

Isn’t parenting a succession of endings and beginnings? As we leave one part of their childhood behind something new begins, weaning, walking, potty training credit: aarongilson via photopin cc

This morning the children in my locality return to school. Between eight thirty and nine the pavement will be filled with older children greeting friends they’ve not seen for two months, as well as an army of parents walking alongside little ones in often large uniforms, skipping or dwaddling along, as they make their way to school for the first time.

  1. This year, for the first time in nineteen years, I have no child going to junior school. In my misery I’ve indulged myself reading many posts written by mothers about to wave their little ones off on their big adventure in life. Two posts in particular struck a chord with me. One called ‘And off he goes’ is written by ‘Office Mum’, as she prepares to send her youngest child to playschool, wondering if he is ready. It’s a beautiful read, which brought memories racing back. The other is called ‘The night before the day’ and is by Where wishes come from who as I write is saying goodbye to her twin girls as they begin ‘big school’. It was written last night and again speaks for all of us who pondered the night before, wondering where the years went. Again it’s a beautiful read well worth checking out.

Today is not an ordinary day in my house either. We are having our own ‘how did that happen?’ moment. Minutes ago I waved our eldest off as she drove away to attend her graduation. How can it be that she is driving? How can it be she is so grown up? What age was she last week? Surely I’ve got the maths wrong? When did she even finish school, no talk of four years college?14567602125_bb7be178bf_n

As I read the above posts it is she I thought of, remembering all too clearly the wrench she and I felt, as she went to big school; the many days of tears as we struggled to adjust. Then, bang, it is as if we suddenly awoke one day to discover she was not only finished school but college.

Shortly the five of us remaining, will pile into the car and drive off to see her graduate. I can barely find words to write, I am so overwhelmed by how I feel. There are many ups and downs in the life of a parent, each bringing different emotions, but today I feel only one, pride. Huge pride if I am to be honest.

Of course once I have time to collect myself I’ll also be more than a little proud of myself. I mean what wonderful genes I must have because to be fair, where else did she get those good looks, personality and brains from?

Now I’ve taken the time out to write I’d better give some time to ‘what the blazes does a person wear to a graduation when they don’t do dresses?’

Well done my first born, our first graduate. As you can see I’m a little bit proud. xxx


Good writing news.

A few weeks ago I entered a writing competition for the Liberties Festival in Dublin. We were asked to write 50 to 300 words on ‘the theme ‘Liberties’ – either the concept of liberties or The Liberties area of Dublin, Ireland’. libertiesbookcover

I decided that was well within my writing range so I gave it a go. I didn’t win but then this happened,

We were bowled over by the entries and decided the only decent thing to do would be to let the world read some of the best pieces we received. And so our collection “Liberties: Flash Fiction from Ireland” was born’.

The Liberties is one of the oldest areas of Dublin situated in the heart of the city. Many years ago I did my community nursing there for a few weeks. The many wonderful characters I met during that time, the stories I was witness to and the humour and spirit of those living there have left a lasting impression on me. The stories within this ebook give a wonderful flavour of the Liberties.

If you would like to read my piece or the flash pieces chosen just click and download a most enjoyable read for free. Download here and enjoy.


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Am I the only one?

Are your children going back to school soon? Do you ever forget, even for a moment? Or am I the only one counting down the weeks, days, or even at times hours, until the official day I get my house back?

Please tell me I’m not alone.

Today I woke up to yet another million facebook posts about kids going back to school. Like I didn’t remember, as I sat looking out at the pouring rain, that the Summer that never arrived in Ireland, was almost officially over.

As I flicked through the endless headings I began to wonder had I grown hard? My youngest is only days away from beginning secondary school. I am no longer the mother of ‘little ones’. Why was I not upset? When the other three had moved on I’d been heartbroken. (Well not quite, but unlikely as it is, they might read this). Now my baby is taller than myself and beginning to share more and more time with her older sisters discussing all manner of grown up sisterly things. Is she not slipping away from me?photo credit: adwriter via photopin cc

So I thought I’d better try to tap into that part of me which normally is overly developed and find my regrets. I took out old photo albums and gazed at the many baby photos before me. Still not feeling it I read in my diary memories of days I can never return to. It took longer than I thought but eventually I felt it, that sting behind my eyes of tears beginning to well up. Ah yes I wasn’t immune after all, I did feel regret. I was a good mother.

Feeling relieved I put my diary down and wiped my eyes, only to discover it was eye strain not tears I’d felt. Disappointed but not without hope, I went searching for my ‘baby’ to look at her with fresh eyes, as if I were a stranger. Maybe seeing the beautiful young lady she is becoming I’d feel that pang of regret, that desperate need to hold back time.

She was in the kitchen, (not tidying up). Looking at her I felt a little proud. Perhaps all the rain of the Summer had done her no harm. I know I’m bias but before me stood a beautiful, confident girl. She smiled in my direction and her face lit up. I hugged her and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead.

‘How I’ll miss you darling on Monday’.

Returning my kiss she said, ‘Monday? I’m not going back on Monday Mum, I don’t start until Wednesday!’.photo credit: patries71 via photopin cc

‘Wednesday!’ I shrieked,’Wednesday? Not Monday?’ I roared, with more than a little regret in my tone. Thankfully years of mothering experience has taught me well and I instantly tried to cover my reaction, shouting, ‘How fantastic darling. That’s great, I’ve an extra two days with you!’.

She looked at me and I could see by her expression she was not convinced by my poorly acted ‘joy’. As she walked away she said, ‘Yep Wednesday Mum, we can do things together Monday AND Tuesday’.

I’ll leave the vision of my disappointed, ‘I’ll not have the house to myself for another six days’, face to yourselves to imagine as she left me standing alone in my kitchen.

Suffice to say a new countdown has begun.

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What is it really like to be a mother?

As children we imagine it, as teenagers we think it’s over rated, as new mothers we wonder at our own mothers, until one day we look back and we know exactly what it took to be a mother.

This day twenty four years ago my first born child arrived in the world and I became a mother. That was the end of my life as I’d known it. I’d given away my identity when I’d taken my husbands name a year earlier, but this was different. Becoming a mother changed me completely. In that moment, as I held my daughter for the first time, the girl I used to be, the young nurse and wife, was gone forever. Now I was ‘Mum’. As I spent hour upon hour gazing at her. I couldn’t imagine loving anyone ever again, as much as I loved her. In that moment I thought I knew what being a ‘mum’ was.

As the years passed I added to my brood three more children and minded others who became as important to me as my own. As you can imagine with a large brood motherhood was busy, but it was not always easy or enjoyable. At times I will admit it felt incredibly lonely and I felt unfulfilled. Was this going to be my life forever? Surely there was more to this role of ‘mother’? Was this what school and my nursing studies had been for? Restless I believed I’d much more to give the world. Looking around at others in the workplace I’d think ‘I could do that’. I read of friends of mine doing well in life and was jealous as I stood with a crying child in my arms, supervising homework for many, while keeping an eye on toddlers, stepping over toys, cooking and wasting my time trying to tidy up. Somedays, especially in the winter, time ticked by very slowly.

Before the youngest arrived.

Before the youngest arrived.

The years passed and despite my doubts and frustrations I stuck with it, for even though I believed I could be successful in anything I did, I couldn’t imagine not being a full time mother, watching someone else caring for my crew. The days got a little easier as they got older, but no less 1 (4)

Then, it seemed without warning, the day arrived when one by one they left. The children I minded no longer needed full time care. Even though we stayed in regular contact my house became a whole lot quieter. It was only then I began to fully appreciate the many wonderful days we had shared together, the fun, the noise, the madness. I mourned the baby I’d never again feed, the little arms raised to be carried, the endless quarrels, the rush in from school, the noise in the back garden and the continuous requests for food or drinks.

Sitting here today I feel a mix of sadness, joy and pride. Being a mother was, at times, a hard slog, but now I have time to reflect I’d not change a day of it. The house is still full but in two weeks my eldest pair will head back to college, leaving two siblings behind. This time next year another will join them, leaving just one at home. The busy house, filled with children will be but a memory.

Xmas 2014 with Santa

Xmas 2014 with Santa

Twenty four years ago today as I held my first born child and caught my breath, I thought ‘I’m a mother’. As I reflect on the past many years, the joys, fears, frustrations, pride, anger and exhaustion they brought to my life I understand what being a mother really means. There was a time when I hated to admit being ‘just’ a mother. Now as I look back at what it took to be a mother and see the wonderful young adults this gang have become I couldn’t be more proud.

Happy Birthday Sweetheart.
Love always.

clock and time

This is what my father gave me.

Every day is twenty four hours long, but how many hours of every day do we really live?

Today is my Dad’s birthday and I wanted to write a post reflecting on the Dad I miss even after twenty eight years. Then I remembered a post, which I’d written almost two years ago. This post tells more than anything new I could write, what I learned from losing Dad so early and the legacy he left me.

Happy Birthday Dad. You may have had to leave too soon, but I like to think that you live on in all of us, and continue to make an impression on our everyday lives.

I hope there is a message in here for everyone.


How Much Of Every Day Do We Really Live?

How much of every day do we really live?
Will there come a time when we regret,
the moments, minutes, hours or days,
that we wasted in our lives?

As a nurse, I became very aware,
that time is precious.
When I was working in accident and emergency,
I would drive to work,
knowing that in some homes,
the day ahead would change their world.
For some that morning would be their last.
For others life would never be the same again.

When I first walked out onto a ward,
and saw people of all ages,
with life threatening conditions,
I feared illness.
My friends and I would talk together.
We would hope,
that when our time ran out,
that it would do so in a sudden unannounced bang!

Then illness came knocking on my door.
My 52 year old Dad was diagnosed with Motor Neuron disease.
No treatment, no cure.
His life would definitely not be long.
We were not even given hope.
Maybe a year or two if we were lucky,
but he would eventually have no quality of life.

As we looked down that road,
everything changed.
The endless days, months and years ahead did not exist.
Our future was to be very short.
For us in that moment time changed.

You would think that with time limited,
we would feel each day fly by,
and the end of life to be rushing towards us,
at a frightening speed.
However strangely that did not happen.
The opposite occurred.
Time slowed down.

There was still 60 seconds in every minute,
and each day lasted 24 hours.
However for all of us in our family,
the clock ticked louder.
We had no minutes to waste.
Time became precious,
and something we did not take for granted.
Each day now was made up of exactly 24 hours,
with not one second wasted.

For my Dad I cannot say what it meant,
to know he would not be staying long.
But I do know he had no bucket list.
My Dad lived on.
Just as he always did.
Working for a few more months,
until his health forced him to retire.
Enjoying his days as best he could,
and continuing to be a large presence in our lives,
even when movement and speech were gone.

It was during this time that my attitude to illness changed.
As I spoke at length to my Dad,
sharing my everyday life with him,
in a way a twenty year old never would do,
with a parent,
I came to realize,
that to be given this knowledge,
that time was limited,
and every day precious,
was in fact a privilege.
By being told as a family,
that for us our time with Dad was to be short,
we were in fact being given time.

Instead of a father at work,
and a family living busy lives,
we were a family living every moment.
There was no time wasted.
Every second counted.
Right up until the moment,
that time ran out.

In those bleak days, months and weeks,
after my Dads clock stopped,
time changed once more.
Each day was still made up of 24 hours,
yet each day seemed endless,
and the future which was short before Dad died,
now seemed too long.

Since then the days have turned into years.
The clock has continued to tick.
I have married and had children.
As time has passed I have lived through,
what seemed like the never ending long days,
of sleepless nights and crying children.

Now time has changed once more.
It is once again racing by.
My small babies are distant memories.
In a few weeks another of my brood will leave home.
I cannot slow time down.
Each day is 24 hours,
yet some days are just too short.

The clock that has ticked all my life,
continues unabated.
I do not know for how long it will tick,
but for today and everyday,
I appreciate my twenty four hours in every day,
and I try to make every minute count.
Each night as I turn out the light,
I smile, grateful for the day I had,
and know I am lucky to have a tomorrow to look forward to.

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Tonight I have no words.

This day twenty five years ago myself and yer man walked down the aisle. I’ve written many posts about him here, often tongue in cheek, but today I am stumped.
What can I say to him, what can I write about him?

He who… turned my life around, and made me whole.
He who…makes me laugh and roar in equal measure.
He who…comforts me like no other can.
He who…makes me me.134271077_979713d791

I feel lucky to have shared my life with someone who still brings so much fun to my every day. If truth be known tonight I struggle to write as I am feeling more than a little emotional, (and I promise I’ve not even begun on the wine yet). Earlier my mum had a request played for us on the radio. The song played was perfect.

So tonight I’d like to post that song here for you. To the one known here as ‘yer man’, ‘himself’, or my other half’. As I struggle to say any of what I wish to, let this song speak for me, as I add, ‘Thank you and congratulations to both of us’. (Don’t worry I’ll say other nice things to him offline)

For anyone celebrating an anniversary along with us, or a long relationship enjoy this wonderful song written and sung by Imelda May. If you haven’t time to listen I’ll give you a look at the chorus, I’m sure you can relate.

‘But we stuck with each other with all our might
We pulled it together and held on tight
And I’m glad for us, yeah I’m glad mo chroi
But its nothing to anyone cept you and me
There are wrongs for every right, theres ups & theres downs
But you’re the one for all my life
My true love I have found, yeah you my love I found’.

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How was our night away?

I know you’re bursting to know how our romantic night away went, and more importantly did he make it back on time for his feckin important championship match?

Well not wishing to upset you but after 25 years we may differ in how we define ‘romantic’. Secondly, kind and all as you are to have read this far, no one really wants to know how wonderful a night was, so not to disappoint you here are a few snippets of our night away, warts and all.

Friday 12.30pm. We’re off.
Himself, at the bottom of the road: Which way?
Me: Ha I knew you’d ask me that you eejit. I downloaded google maps. Listen to this woman and she’ll tell us exactly where to go.
Himself: Really? Great stuff.

Fifteen minutes later.
Miss Google maps: Take the next exit.
Me: Ignore her, she’s wrong, we don’t get off until exit 9.
Himself: She must know something we don’t. The traffic is very bad. I’m going to do what she suggests.

Twenty minutes later, or less than one kilometre up the road.

Himself: She’s some eejit sending us up here.traffic jam
Me: I hate her!

1.30pm (one hour after leaving)

Miss Google map: Take the next left.
Himself, exasperated and cross: I will when I can!
Me (for the 100th time): I can’t believe that stupid cow made us go through the busiest part of the city on a Friday. For fecks sake.
Miss Google Map: Take the next left.
Himself:I’m taking it, would she ever shut up.
Me:where are you going? Don’t go off here.
Himself: She told me to take the next left.
Me: Yes but now you have taken another left because you were shouting at her when she said to take second exit.
Miss Google map: Continue two kilometres (in the wrong direction)
Himself: Jesus can we not turn for two kilometres? Ah she is really annoying me now.
Miss Google map: Take the next left.
Himself: I am!
Me: Shut up and listen to her.

Eventually we left the bumper to bumper traffic and began to imagine the luxury that lay ahead. Thankfully the phone went out of battery and Miss Google maps left us to find our own way. Life was good. Things were looking up. lough erne

On arrival three hours later.
Man wearing fancy suit, waiting at door of hotel: Madam may I take your bags?
Me, mortified: Ah no I’m grand thanks.
Man in fancy suit: It’s quite alright madam I’ll take your bag (while wrestling it away from me).
We surrendered.

Having checked in we ran to the mega posh golf course. I was beautifully decked out in my one and only Tommy Hilfiger top while OH discovers he’s forgotten his ‘golf’ trousers and will have to golf in the not exactly perfect trousers he is wearing. I am pulling my reasonably respectable clubs. He is carrying his thirty year old second hand ones, within a banjaxed, not the cleanest bag with one leg of it sticking out unless he holds it.
Slightly mortified we enter the golf shop where a lovely golf pro greets us, immediately getting the measure of the two of us. Thankfully she liked us (my OH has a way with people, don’t ask me how) and instantly took pity on us. Having suggested numerous times we take a buggy and us rejecting her she eventually tells us she’ll let us have one for nothing. We jump at it and head off feeling like millionaires.

lough Erne.


For the next four hours we walk alone, surrounded by the most beautiful of views, looking out over Lough Erne, with the sun shining. It has got to rate up there with one of the best afternoon/evenings of my life.

Our dinner was booked for nine, so with time running out we raced back to our room at 8.15pm. I managed a bath, a shower and time to wear my fancy hotel bath robe while drinking wine. My OH watched the golf on sky before going for a bath.
Me, shouting as he gets into his bath:Isn’t it lovely?
Himself: Yes, this is the life.

One minute later,

Me shouting again: Oh no it’s 9.15pm, last orders at 9.30pm.

Thankfully we were both dressed and sitting in the dining room less than fifteen minutes later.

The following day we enjoyed an enormous breakfast. Well I had breakfast, my other half had breakfast, elevenses and possibly lunch, before I pulled him away. Unfortunately it was raining so we decided to leave earlier than planned. No pressure to get us back for the big match at 5pm as we had plenty time.

We decided we would never again trust Miss Google maps so wrote out the directions in case my battery didn’t make it home. We were reliably informed the journey time was four hours and nineteen minutes.

Two and a half hours later.

Himself: Do we turn off for the N52?
Me:I’ve told you a million times, yes, but not for ages.

Three minutes later. Himself: Is this the N52?
Me:No, stop asking me every five minutes.

Eventually we make it onto the N52.

Me: now we must look for R435
Himself: okay.
We drive around numerous roundabouts at breakneck speed having the same conversation over and over.

Me: Will you slow down I can’t read the signs.s
Himself: Tell me what exit
Me: I can’t you’re going too fast for me to read where to go.
Himself: ah here’s the N52
Me: Why are we going down here
Himself: It says N52
Me: But we might have missed the right exit back there. For Gods sake, you drive too fast around the roundabouts.
Himself, with a touch of sarcasm: Ok, we’ll drive a full circle in future so you can read.

Silence for a while, might have been a bit frosty.

Me: I don’t think we should still be on the N52.
Himself: It seems a bit long doesn’t it?
Me: I think we went wrong at one of the roundabouts.
Himself: So where are we going?
Me: God knows, I’ll google it.
Himself, two seconds later: Well?
Me: It’s loading, give me a minute.
Himself, three seconds later: Well?
Me: it’s still trying to load. I’ve no connection.
Himself: Right that does it. I’ll stop at the next garage.

Silence for another five minutes as we drive on in the wrong direction looking for a garage.

We arrived into a very small towns garage and soon had a number of people interested in our plight. Interested perhaps but of no use to us whatsoever.

Us: Could you tell us the quickest way to Cork?

All of them: ‘Cork? Oh God no’ or,’Cork. That’s a fair distance away I’ve no clue’,
Then, most Irish of all was the reply,
‘Cork did you say? Well you’re definitely on the wrong road’.

Eventually we got the loan of a phone and consulted the AA map which told us we were very wrong, but in another three quarters of an hour we’d be back on the right road. We drove away, with our many new friends waving us off and wishing us well.

The atmosphere was tense in the car. Tired and fed up we hadn’t a lot to say. However just as in life, time passes as do moods and by the time we arrived home after our mere five and a half hour journey, we were once more able to speak to each other without a minor or major explosion.

Thankfully he made his match and they won, making this the perfect weekend for him.

As we reflect on our fantastic night away and our twenty five years together,I suspect both of us would be in agreement, we could do the twenty five years marriage again in a heartbeat, but the five and a half hours to Enniskillen I’m not so sure!

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The highs and lows of marriage

Last Friday night…

Himself: Darling I’m taking you away for our 25th anniversary. Next weekend you and I will use that hotel voucher we won.

Me: Really? Wow I’d love that. It’s five stars!

Himself: You deserve it

Half an hour later…

Himself: There’s no easy way to say this … I’ve championship on Saturday, we’ll have to cancel.

As you can imagine I didn’t cope with the news very well. I think at one point I may have entered the kitchen. Himself looked at me warily, but I held my tongue. Rise above it, I thought, be the bigger person.

Himself: Sorry!

Me: Its fine,forget it. I’m over it,okay! (Said in a snarling, I am definitely not okay voice) I may then have banged the door, before shouting NOT!

Such is married life. I sulked and lamented and then saw the bigger picture. We had shared twenty five years of marriage we would have that night away, just not next week. Sigh.

Then joy of joys he tells me our night away is back on. I was so thrilled. He loves me more than GAA football. True love lives even after twenty five years.

Wrong, the match is later than he thought so we can leave early and make it back!

Ah well, I’m not proud and I’m not stupid, so as you read this I am off to be wined and dined. I’m sure the minor detail of our twenty five year union will come up at some stage and those who know me will know there will be wine. Hopefully the twenty five years was worth it for this. I’ll let you know, if I ever come back.

Luxury here I come. Whoops I meant here we come!


The cost of a smile, an update.

Remember last week when I thought I’d have to sell at least one of my children in order to pay €800 for a new tooth? Well I’ve good and bad news. The good news is I don’t have to sell one of them and the bad news is… I don’t get to sell one of them.

Today I went for a second opinion. A friend had put me in touch with a dentist she knows who lives in a small country town about an hour away. I drove off full of hope and dread if I’m honest. It would appear from most of your comments that teeth are a crazy price, especially when you think how many of them we have, so I wasn’t overly confident.

Mr Lovely saw me immediately and I filled him in (did you get that, ‘filled’ him in!) on my woes. I then sat back and he looked and poked in my mouth and immediately said he’d be happy to do a crown for €500 if I wished but that if it were him or a member of his family he’d put in one of the new, super strong white fillings he has and it would work perfectly. The cost would be a little over €100.

Yes you read that right. €100! I nearly bit his hand in my excitement, and as if that was not fantastic enough he then told me I had lovely teeth. It was the best compliment I’ve got in years. I am now Mr Lovely’s newest fan.

So come September I will be the owner of another filling, which will look like my tooth. I was so thrilled, but wow what a difference. Today I saved €700. Imagine how long it would take me to earn that?

Moral of the story, it quite literally pays to shop around. I’m smiling all day, showing off my lovely teeth.

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How many read your blog today?

I was toying between that title or perhaps,  ‘How not to increase traffic to your blog’. I’ve been blogging over two years and for the most part have enjoyed every day of it. However in the last month, due to life, holidays, my children annoying me and my husband expecting me to feed him, I’ve had less time to write, to read and to post here on wordpress. This has naturally meant my usually high stats, (not!) have nose dived, leading me to wonder, and wondering is not always a good thing!

For as I wondered I grew envious (and bitter). Why do I not have a following of thousands reading my blog? Am I not interesting? At times funny? At times inspirational? Ok perhaps not.

This week I read a couple of posts from bloggers who had big stats. They were kindly telling me, and everyone else, but I really felt they were speaking to me, that we needed to work our blogs better in order to expand our readership. This post on Dolly Dowsie was particularly helpful and clearly explained how she tripled her blog views in one month.

So having read the title I thought ‘Yes, I’m going to pay attention to this and make an effort’.photo credit: <a href="">Social Media Night IMG_4505</a> via <a href="">photopin</a> <a href="">(license)</a>

It began so promisingly, as she suggested Stumbleupon.She explained how it had greatly increased traffic to her site, but it took effort. Great I thought, I’ve already set up a stumbleupon account (two years ago) and I have ticked that box for wordpress to share it. Mmmm now where is it again? So off I went to visit and luckily I was still signed in since I last visited. I dusted off the cobwebs and looked at the site, then looked some more, then fiddled around with it, pressed ‘stumbleupon’ and arrows and whatever else I could press, but I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. #Fail number 1.

Next tip was for twitter. I admit I do enjoy twitter on occasions but I only post my post on it once. I struggle with the idea of promoting it more than once feeling I’m annoying people (crazy I know), as well as the fact I’m not on twitter often. Dolly Dowsie suggested adding a photo to my tweet, which I’ve yet to try, but I had heard others speak of tootsuite and scheduling posts on twitter, so off I went and downloaded it. I then managed to schedule two tweets ( I know that’s not exactly huge marketing but it’s a start). I was so proud of myself for figuring out how to do all that, then I sat back and waited for the masses to arrive to my blog… and I waited…and waited…

Two lonely souls clicked on the links in twenty four hours, one from each tweet! #Fail number 2.

Following on from such heady success I returned to her post to see what else I might use. Reddit. I’d never even heard of it and still hadn’t recovered from stumbleupon, so I moved on to the next suggestion, Pinterest. I felt my mind closing and my birth cert flashing in front of me. Not because I believe Pinterest is for young ones, but because it was dawning on me, I am not enthusiastic enough, nor do I have the energy or time to put the work into promoting my blog.

It’s a sad reality, but tonight I have faced facts, my blog is as popular as I make it. You get out of blogging what you put in and I have not had a personality change since school, many moons ago, when it was regularly reported to my parents that I was making minimal effort.

So there you have it, my thoughts on a page will never rule the blogging world. It will remain forever a tiny grain of sand on the wordpress beach. Am I happy with that? Probably not. Am I prepared to do something about it? Not at the moment, but that doesn’t mean I never will.

Good luck to the rest of you bloggers. I hope you appreciate my top tips on how not to get lots of traffic to your blog. However if you would like to give your blog a chance and get the return you deserve for your efforts read Dolly Dowsies excellent advice, and the best of luck to you.

Maybe when you are famous and successful you might see my little tweet some day and retweet it to your millions, after all I told you what not to do.

***** Dolly Dowsie did not ask me to write this, nor is she a family member, although she is Irish!

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