Well, it’s been a year. Or 13 months, to be more accurate. I kept meaning to write, but every time I did, I would look out at the world around me and feel that my words, whatever they were, would be inconsequential and inadequate to the moment. And it’s not like things have been getting better, has it? Everywhere, from every front, the walls seem to be closing in.

I wish I had a more cheerful way to start this post. For me at least, things aren’t too bad. I’m still employed, I’m still as healthy as I was at the time of my last post (plus a couple of stone lighter, for reasons I may get into later), and I’ve even started travelling properly again, slowly filling out that map of Europe to the point where one more trip should more or less finish it. Even so, with the moral void of Trump on one side and the utter absence of guiding principles of Starmer on the other, it’s been a little uncomfortable to be viewing the world from Ireland in the past year. Layer on top of that the continued disgrace to the world that is the treatment of Gaza and the feeling that the still-there threat of global environmental collapse has gone onto the back burner, and it’s not a recipe for a settled state of mind.

So, the world around me is not supportive of optimism right now. When I started writing this (early, to give a bit of time for editing) I was sitting at home with my mum, at the beginning of an Easter weekend when I was hoping to get to see all the members of my family, one week shy of the five-years anniversary of dad’s passing, almost five and a half years into my own treatment for a cancer that ten years ago almost certainly would have killed me by now … well, there are still good things in the world. Good people are everywhere, and the ties that bind are also the ties that hold us up when things get hard.

To start at the beginning then, home is home. I’ve lived in Dublin more than half my life, but the eastern end of Dundrum Bay, the southeast corner of Lecale, is and always will be where I’m from. I didn’t get a car until around two decades after I moved away, but now that I have one, it’s easier by far to get back for the weekend. There’s powerful healing in being around one’s loved ones, to be by the sea and shore, to sit in familiar seats and let the day fade over the evening without needing to turn the lights on. I bring friends here when I can, because it’s something of value I have that deserves sharing. And I lose nothing in the sharing of it.

Mum remains the heart of the family, as always. A steady presence, even when pulled one way and the other by the need to help out with grandkids, whether it’s homework, lifts to and from home, and impromptu meals. I’ve never been the best at saying “I love you,” so I started to say it at the end of every video call to mum and dad a few years back. I still keep that habit. It’s worth saying it, even if it’s a known thing. Hearing it can be even more important.

Easter’s an odd time, of course. I stepped away from the Catholic Church almost as soon as I hit Dublin, and from religion in general some years after. Not angrily, though some of the causes for that departure were causes for anger too. Over time, I found my balance. Religion provides something for some that it never did for me. The why of it, I never succeeded in dissecting, and I’m not sure of the benefit had I managed it. I listened and learned and built myself an outlook that works for me, and I hope for those around me too. All those nieces and nephews are part of the school system up here, of course, so they’ll go through the same rituals I did. Who knows where they’ll end up?

I still miss dad, of course. I wanted to do something to mark his fifth anniversary, but there’s reluctance to pull people out of the new shape of their lives when so much time has passed. Wakes are for the immediate moment of grief, a gathering of the living around the sudden absence in their lives. These days, the absence is there, but it’s not a gaping hole, it’s a green patch of good memories and faded regrets. I’ll visit his grave at some point over the weekend, stare out over the bay and tell him how I’ve been and what the news is. What I miss is talking to him, but I can still fill in my half of the conversation.

As for myself and my health, that remains, as I said, as positive as could be hoped. Last year I’d had a bit of a thyroid downturn, but things seem to have balanced out now, with my new array of pills and dosages keeping me on an even keel. My doctor’s visits have crept out to six weeks, and I’ve even tried running a few times (laziness is a factor here). As mentioned, I have succeeded in losing a chunk of weight, which has a lot to do with feeling better about myself and was a direct result of being told I was on the verge of diabetes given how much sweet stuff I was cramming in every day. So—sugary foods minimised, and as a result, the pounds fell off. Who knew it was so easy?

Truth be told, I’d let my health and fitness drift a bit, after the dual blows of cancer and Covid lockdowns. Hermitry isn’t an aid to a healthy life. I’m clawing it back inch by inch, still hoping to hang around long enough to avail of an eventual miracle cure. That’s assuming Trump doesn’t shut down all the research labs or sell them off to Elon to research hair replacement medications. I mean, I could do with that too, but I know where my priorities lie.

Anyway, having ensured that this post will get picked up by some lowly spook somewhere, I may have come to the end of things I wanted to say. I would promise to write more often, but without looking I’m pretty sure I made that promise last time, and look how that turned out.

Oh! There is one last thing to talk about. Travel! More specifically, the two trips I’ve been on since I last wrote. Actually, I tell a lie, it’s three: thirteen months, after all. I meant to post proper descriptions up to the travel section of this site, and I still do, but in the interim some brief descriptions.

Trip one, in March 2024, was to a city, a state, a site, and whatever else came after. More specifically, Barcelona, Andorra, Carcassonne, and Marseilles. It was the first proper trip I’d been on post-Covid and post-cancer, and I was a bit wary. It wasn’t easy at times, especially given my thyroid-affected tendency to sweat way too much when exerting myself (and being a bit overweight at the time) but it was hugely freeing. Barcelona was a pleasure to wander around, Andorra a fascinating oddity (with an excellent city centre spa), Carcassonne every bit as impressive as its reputation, and Marseilles a character-filled coda to a trip that outdid my expectations.

Trip two, in September 2024, was occasioned by a wedding. My cousin getting married in a Tuscan villa, and myself with an invite (mum was supposed to come but was unwell and unable to travel). The wedding was a delight, and I span the trip out into nearly two weeks of travelling: to Venice via a few hours in Florence, a day in Padua, a few days in Trieste, then over the hills into Slovenia and lovely Ljubljana, and from there into Croatia, for stays in both Zagreb and Split. The latter was a particular highlight, the centre of town being built in and around the remnants of the palace of Diocletian, one of the more storied Roman emperors. I splashed out a little more cash than usual and made sure my hotel was in the walls of that palace. In fact, if I may offer a little advice, if you’re doing a city-hopping trip like those I favour, it’s a good idea to save a little spending money to make the last stop more plush, so that you return home rested, refreshed, and positive. It seems to work for me anyhow.

This year’s trip, again in March, was one of the two trips left to mainland European countries I haven’t visited. (Ukraine and Belarus being out of reach for the moment.) In this case, it was a tour of the Baltic states and Finland, which I dubbed a “Last Chance to See” tour in a moment of black humour. I started off in Helsinki, still in the grips of the fading chill of winter but with a population already dreaming of summer and willing to take any opportunity to stroll in the sun. Across the Gulf of Finland lies Tallinn, a return visit from more than a decade before, where I had a lot of fun wandering around one of Europe’s most intact medieval cities. After that it was railways all the way, first to Riga by the banks of the Daugava River, where wandering through Soviet-era architecture brought me to a trio of museums: a rickety collection of fire engines and fire brigade memorabilia, a paean to a brand of chocolates that once delighted the children of the USSR, and a tour through the cells and depravities of the KGB’s effort to keep the people of Riga down. Last of all was Vilnius, where I roamed forested hills, independent districts, and restored palaces as I learned about the history of Lithuania and the determination of its people not to lose their identity.

If you’re still here, thank you for allowing me to ramble on about my trips. Getting to venture out and see more of the world has been one of the big wins of the modern era of technological advancement and no wars between major powers. For me, Covid and cancer conspired to take it away for a few years, but the past 13 months have given it back. So that’s a victory I don’t take lightly. I hope to get back to writing properly again too, so that’s a task for the next 13 months. Will see you there, with any luck.