Life of Lu

Immigrants. Right now, in the UK, it appears to be a dirty word. A taboo word. Well guess what. I am an immigrant. I am a proud immigrant. I have heard countless times over the past few weeks that I don't count as an immigrant because I am an Irish person living in the UK. I assure all you doubters out there, I am an immigrant. I am Irish. I have no intention to renounce my nationality. I am proud of who I am and where I came from. I say 'banjaxed' when something is broken I plug things out rather than unplug them I have to remind myself that household objects are stored in a cupboard, not a press My dream of heaven is a bag of cheese and onion Tayto and a bottle of club rock shandy. My favourite meal is bacon and cabbage. A bit of chowder and brown bread (soda bread to my UK friends) is my go to starter back home. I teach people how to say 'An bhfuil cead agam dul amach go dti an leithreas?', for the craic of it. I love watching a bit of hurling,

I spent last weekend in Ireland. It was a last minute idea I had, created from a pang of loneliness for my dad and my granny. It was also an urge brought on by a need for a break and a bit of craic, Irish style. Oh what a weekend I had! I saw so many friends I hadn't seen in ages, I got to see little cousins who are just spurting like sprouts into fully formed children rather than the babies that I like to think they are, and I got to see my dad, and my grandmother which was the whole point of my visit. As is expected, I got the usual grilling about my life. Am I dating? Am I going to mass? Am I happy in my new job? The general consensus is that my love life is a disaster (I could have told you that!) That I am a very naughty girl for not going to mass and that I look the best I have in a long time and isn't it great that I am enjoying the job so much. I was thinking about the dating thing since I came back. Not much, I mean there is househunting happening, I

I have tried to write this post three times now. Each time, I get about 5 paragraphs in, and I realise that I don't have the words to say what needs said, so I have decided to use the words of others to help. We have heard a lot over the past few days that we need to be tolerant of each other. I get it, but I disagree. Before you get angry, let me give you a definition of tolerance tolerance ˈtɒl(ə)r(ə)ns/ noun 1 . the ability or willingness to tolerate the existence of opinions or behaviour that one dislikes or disagrees with. Yvonne Pierre We don't need to be tolerant of each other We need to love each other We need to accept that we are all different.  Not by race, not by creed, not by sexuality We are different by person.  We are unique. We need to stop disagreeing with each others uniqueness. There are many red-haired, freckled, overweight, Irish women in the world. But there there is only one me. I was bap

Sometimes, not very often, I get a bit homesick. Not so much for Ireland. For my dad. Those of you who know Paddy, know that he is simply amazing. He is the most important person in my life. I adore him, and he adores me. So tonight, as I was toying with the idea of spending a night in Amsterdam next weekend, I said 'Feck it. I want to see Paddy'. So I booked a flight back to Ireland. He doesn't know yet, so if you read this then shhhhhh Life is a funny wee thing. 13 years ago, we had such a different relationship. We weren't nearly as close as we are now. But life gave us lemons, and we used them for tequila. Father's day is soon. The weekend after I'm home But it is close enough for me. I thank myself every day for my Dad. He is my constant. He is the person whose opinion I care about. He gives me advice He doesn't expect me to adhere to it, but he expects me to listen. While I may not agree with everything he says, I try every

It is said by some, that we don't meet people by accident. That everyone we meet as a purpose in our life. For some that purpose is fulfilled in a short time For others, that purpose requires a bit more time for it to be fulfilled. Today, I learnt that one of those people from my past passed away. His name was Fergus, and he was my manager in my first proper job after university. I was a department manager in Primark, and he took me under his wing and showed me the world of retail. I adored working with him. I remember he had a ridiculous dislike for Kerry Katona, and would get so grumpy if her face was looking up at him from a magazine. He could also fill an entire lunch break talking about Coca-Cola, the tobacco industry and bizarrely syphillis. It didn't sound quite so odd in his Cork accent! Fergus taught me the importance of putting your colleagues first.He was firm but fair. He showed me that it was possible to inject humour into good management. He t

I am writing this from my very comfy hotel in Glasgow, four days into my week here. I found out yesterday that I will only be here for one week, yet again Lou is on the move! I have a weird love for this sprawling city. Perhaps it was home in a past life, or something. I don't know. What I do know is that I always seem to feel rather tranquil here. I always feel at home. I love it. I really do. I think this week has been badly needed. I have slept so much, walked so much, and spent time with my friends. I have missed that lately. My lifestyle has left a lot to be desired. I adore my new job. It gets better with each day. It is by no means perfect, but I love learning new things, and this is a constant lesson in a whole different side of retail. The team in the store have been so kind, and supportive. They are more proof that the people are what make Glasgow great. I recently read a book recommended to me by my pal Craig. It is called the ' The 7 Habits of H