During the summer of 2010, a forgotten archive of UCCs Clubs and Societies was discovered at the back of the Accommodation office on College Road. In it were extracts from a book which was being prepared for the “150 years of UCC” celebration in 1995. Unfortunately the book was never published and was abandoned along with the majority of the written work. An extensive search through the minutes, treasurer reports and old student publications along with an interesting read through John A. Murphy’s “The College” have unveiled a rich and diverse history of the most active campus in Ireland.

The previous article in this series documented the beginnings of Clubs and Societies in UCC along with how they shaped our university in its early days. This article shows how these student run institutions survived and developed as the college and student population around them changed with the times.

As previously mentioned, under President Windle (1904-1919) student services and societies were greatly increased in both magnitude and quality. Political involvement from students also increased dramatically near the end of Windles tenure and that was reflected in the UCC student publications at the time. With Windle moving to Canada in 1919, a new President, Patrick J. Merriman was elected; he would serve until 1943 and his tenure brought another explosion in the formation of student Clubs and Societies.

The Great War (World War 1) and the execution of the leaders of the 1916 Rising provoked a strong nationalist reaction from the students within the newly established University College Cork (1908). Republicanism in the college was a far more formidable movement than the Blueshirts at the time, as was the case nationwide. There is also an account, in the archives, of a discovery of explosives in the chemistry department, indicating bomb-making activities there during the civil war.

But away from the political unrest at the time, much of the public interest in UCC in the late 1920s was concentrated on the new dairy science institute; the inaugural meeting of the Dairy Science Society (more familiarly known as Cowpunchers Society) in the Aula Maxima in December 1926 was described as a “memorable Occasion”. Other academic departments also began forming societies of their own with the Chemical Society starting in 1925, Biological Society in 1928 and the Law Society in 1929. The expansion of the college allowed for the departments to expand themselves and therefore increase student numbers. The completion of the Chemical and Physics building in 1911 (now the civil engineering building) and the Dairy Science Building in 1928 (now the Geology Building) contributed towards this expansion. Other Societies started at this time include the French Society in 1934, by the first female professor in the UK or Ireland, Mary Ryan. Also founded was the Academy of St. Thomas (1931) which was originally a literary and philosophical society which would later become the Iona Society.

Other than societies and clubs, students had plenty of other opportunities for letting off steam in UCC. In the 1930’s, the Queen Victoria statue (replaced in 1934 by a statue of St. Finbarr) atop the Aula Maxima was clad in an undergraduate gown and the annual RAG days continued to flourish until they were abruptly terminated in 1944 by Alfred O’Rahilly. Conferring ceremonies in the 1920s and 1930s were marked by scenes of chaotic student rowdiness with fireworks and flour bombs thrown into the Aula Maxima during the events.

Throughout the 1920’s, balls took place primarily in the Aula Maxima, Main Restaurant and The Arcadia Ball Room near the train station; which was later demolished and rebuilt as apartments for student accommodation. It was suggested by the editor in the student magazine (The Chronic) in January 1920 that Dances should be held in the “Exam Hall” (Aula Maxima) as this would cost much less than hosting them downtown. Unlike today, where each society may have a ball, there were only about three in the entire year, the Graduate Dance, College Dance (for all college students) and the Guild Council Dance (now called the Clubs and Societies Ball). It wasn’t until the 1930’s that dances became organised by societies such as the Chemical and Biological Societies Dance, first started in 1934. This Dance continued annually until the 1970’s (later joined by the Medical Society), making it the predecessor to the modern day Science Ball. All these events were well advertised by the student magazines.

Student Publications in UCC also went through a very rough patch until the late 1920’s. Originally starting out as the Q.C.C., the student magazine then became The Quarryman for a time. This was then dropped in favour of The Chronic in 1919/1920 but was then dropped again in favour of The Locker in 1924. It then seems, due to the war, and a “deplorable laxness” there was no magazine again until March 1929 when the students of UCC revived the old Quarryman name. This new Quarryman, which continued well into the 1960’s is a gem in student publications and serves as a great reference for societies, clubs and the Students’ Union.

These student publications gave extensive coverage to the sports clubs which grew enormously with the formation of national and inter-varsity cups in various new sports throughout the 1920’s and 30’s. The UCC ladies keep the college at the top spot in both Camogie and Hockey in 1929 and the Athletic Club achieved two new records in the same year. Rubgy was regularly referred to as the largest of the clubs in the college, in terms of members, while the hurling and football clubs often finished near the top of their leagues.

By the 1930’s UCC had a huge selection of Clubs and Societies including a growing number of non-academic ones such as the Art Society, which was formed in 1931 by the famous composer Aloys Fleischmann, and the Chess Club was also formed in the early 1930’s. Societies were starting to attract local and national media coverage of their events, such as Seán Lemass’ address to the Chemical Society in 1933 entitled “Industrial Possibilities”.  UCC was expanding- there were new departments and more students each year, but it was with the appointment of Alfred O’Rahilly as President that the landscape of UCC changed most. During the 1940s and 50s, the subject of the nect article in this series, Clubs and Societies would grow beyond all expectations.

There are two things you are not allowed to complain about if you are in college: one of them is your hangover, for the simple reason that hangovers are far, far too common for anyone to really want to hear about them, so buck up and get to class. The second thing that will not be tolerated is complaining about your steady income. Half the campus would kill to have a part-time job with fixed, reasonable hours and in the current economic climate (anyone else getting sick of that term?). It’s become more of a white whale than ever, so buck up and get to class.

I am one of the lucky minorities who have managed to land this proverbial Moby Dick, so I suppose I should have absolutely nothing to complain about. I have a job that tolerates my college hours and employers that quite gamely tolerate my hangovers.  There’s just one thing that I think is too often overlooked: if you work in retail and you are under twenty-five, you are the peoples’ bitch.  From the trivial and inane to the violent and insane, all complaints about everything everywhere are officially Your Problem.  After much study and conferral, I have sorted the customers that make the retail world feel like a Manson family get together into three main categories.

1) “WHY DON’T YOU CARE ABOUT THIS IS AS MUCH AS I DO?”

On a basic level, this customer represents a mere conflict of interest. The customer cares enormously about their problem, whilst you, with your broader scope of what an actual problem is, don’t. This customer is generally an overworked mother sporting four kids under the age of eight. She leads a life that offers a complete lack of control, and probably wakes up every morning with a three year old climbing into her bed so he can pee in it.  When she gets a spare moment, she has a cheeky cigarette, and she makes life hell for anyone behind a till. “You don’t have any bags? You expect me to just carry this?” This customer gets very frustrated when you don’t have the thing she wants, because as she will remind you several times throughout her rant she “came into town especially for this!” She will scowl and add that (and you should be really frightened if this happens, because it means she will immediately afterward ask to talk to your manager) that she “paid for parking and everything”. The problem here is that this customer, in her own home is absolutely central in importance, and often gets confused when in a shop she is received as a mild annoyance.

2) “I’m sorry, but I’m a terrible consumer and still have no idea how shops work. Will you be my friend?”

It’s not that these customers are bad people, they’re just incredibly dense. They will send you on the wildest of goose chases, giving you the most obscure information to go on, and more than likely not listen to your suggestions. As I work in a DVD and music shop, I get this kind of thing a lot. A co-worker was once asked if we sold any DVD’s, whereupon my co-worker then incredulously gestured at the walls of DVD’s that surrounded the conversation. The customer flew into an irritated rage, claiming “No, not the ones you watch! The ones you listen to!” Hmmm…

3) “Hello, I’m completely insane. Be prepared to deal with that for the foreseeable future.”

When you work in retail longer than three days, you acquire the skill of locating the Total Fucking Weirdo at a mere cursory glance. The oversized jacket, the damp smell, the vacant expression. This pattern of identification should make the TFW easy to avoid, but unfortunately the TFW will not be avoided, particularly if he or she has decided to take a shine to your hardworking self. There is no way to predict the TFW’s behaviour, and therein lies the danger. The other day I was forced to reassure a man in his fifties that just because George Michael is gay doesn’t make him any less of an artist, only to have him run out of the shop shouting when I asked if he wanted to purchase any of his albums. You get the idea.  Another downside of TFW’s is that if they know where you work, and might become accustomed to paying you visits. I have become a victim to this of late, as a TFW I made the mistake of dating five years ago has developed the habit of watching me work while snarling obscenities from behind DVD cases.

So, consumers of Cork, hear my plea. Be nice to your local till monkey.  Remember your pleases and thank you’s.  And for the love of God, don’t piss me off

Caroline O Donoghue

There are two things you are not allowed to complain about if you are in college: one of them is your hangover, for the simple reason that hangovers are far, far too common for anyone to really want to hear about them, so buck up and get to class. The second thing that will not be tolerated is complaining about your steady income. Half the campus would kill to have a part-time job with fixed, reasonable hours and in the current economic climate (anyone else getting sick of that term?). It’s become more of a white whale than ever, so buck up and get to class.

I am one of the lucky minorities who have managed to land this proverbial Moby Dick, so I suppose I should have absolutely nothing to complain about. I have a job that tolerates my college hours and employers that quite gamely tolerate my hangovers.  There’s just one thing that I think is too often overlooked: if you work in retail and you are under twenty-five, you are the peoples’ bitch.  From the trivial and inane to the violent and insane, all complaints about everything everywhere are officially Your Problem.  After much study and conferral, I have sorted the customers that make the retail world feel like a Manson family get together into three main categories.

1) “WHY DON’T YOU CARE ABOUT THIS IS AS MUCH AS I DO?”

On a basic level, this customer represents a mere conflict of interest. The customer cares enormously about their problem, whilst you, with your broader scope of what an actual problem is, don’t. This customer is generally an overworked mother sporting four kids under the age of eight. She leads a life that offers a complete lack of control, and probably wakes up every morning with a three year old climbing into her bed so he can pee in it.  When she gets a spare moment, she has a cheeky cigarette, and she makes life hell for anyone behind a till. “You don’t have any bags? You expect me to just carry this?” This customer gets very frustrated when you don’t have the thing she wants, because as she will remind you several times throughout her rant she “came into town especially for this!” She will scowl and add that (and you should be really frightened if this happens, because it means she will immediately afterward ask to talk to your manager) that she “paid for parking and everything”. The problem here is that this customer, in her own home is absolutely central in importance, and often gets confused when in a shop she is received as a mild annoyance.

2) “I’m sorry, but I’m a terrible consumer and still have no idea how shops work. Will you be my friend?”

It’s not that these customers are bad people, they’re just incredibly dense. They will send you on the wildest of goose chases, giving you the most obscure information to go on, and more than likely not listen to your suggestions. As I work in a DVD and music shop, I get this kind of thing a lot. A co-worker was once asked if we sold any DVD’s, whereupon my co-worker then incredulously gestured at the walls of DVD’s that surrounded the conversation. The customer flew into an irritated rage, claiming “No, not the ones you watch! The ones you listen to!” Hmmm…

3) “Hello, I’m completely insane. Be prepared to deal with that for the foreseeable future.”

When you work in retail longer than three days, you acquire the skill of locating the Total Fucking Weirdo at a mere cursory glance. The oversized jacket, the damp smell, the vacant expression. This pattern of identification should make the TFW easy to avoid, but unfortunately the TFW will not be avoided, particularly if he or she has decided to take a shine to your hardworking self. There is no way to predict the TFW’s behaviour, and therein lies the danger. The other day I was forced to reassure a man in his fifties that just because George Michael is gay doesn’t make him any less of an artist, only to have him run out of the shop shouting when I asked if he wanted to purchase any of his albums. You get the idea.  Another downside of TFW’s is that if they know where you work, and might become accustomed to paying you visits. I have become a victim to this of late, as a TFW I made the mistake of dating five years ago has developed the habit of watching me work while snarling obscenities from behind DVD cases.

So, consumers of Cork, hear my plea. Be nice to your local till monkey.  Remember your pleases and thank you’s.  And for the love of God, don’t piss me off.

So it happened. You watched Amadeus and Marie Antoinette back to back, and you turned off the DVD player to see that Strictly Come Dancing is having a six-hour marathon. You have no choice to stand up and curse God for the awful fate of having been born in the wrong generation. You rue the day your parents copulated in 1989 and not 1889, because there’s nothing that you want more than to get all gussied up and waltz to The Blue Danube by Johann Strauss II with that girl who keeps staring at you at your Tuesday 10 am lecture. (You know the one.)

Luckily for you, UCC also likes waltzing quite a bit, and the Creative Arts Societies are throwing the 27^th annual Strauss Ball on the 20^th of January in the Gresham Metropole Hotel.

Fashioned after balls of the 19^th century, the UCC Strauss Ball gets its name from Johann Strauss I and his son Johann Strauss II, German and Austrian composers who are regarded as popularizing the waltz in 19^th century Vienna, the city of music. Balls of that time were more than a time to dance; similarly to modern clubs they are an excuse to see and be seen by the elite (or not so elite), to wear the latest and outrageous fashions, and to possibly procure a potential mate.

Dance cards were provided by the host to the ladies in attendance. These were small booklets which listed the type of dance in the order they occurred, and were to be filled out by men who approached the ladies requesting a dance. This provided a way to remember the social engagements for the night, and for a polite way to decline a suitor, citing that her dance card was already full. Dance cards (or “Ballspenden” in German) eventually grew more and more elaborate, and ladies carried them in ostentatious, bejewelled cases that hung from their wrists or waists. In keeping with the period, a dance card will be presented to each lady (and gentleman) at UCC’s Strauss Ball.

Social dancing was an extremely important aspect of 19^th century Europe. The Regency Era (1811-1837) featured form dancing similar to modern line dancing, where partners were an arm length’s apart. In the Victorian Era (1837-1860′s), the waltz took a main hold. The closeness of the partners shocked the elder generations, calling it licentious and overly sensuous. As a result, more lively dances such as the Galop and the Polka started to become popular to dilute the romance of the waltz. As the 1900′s progressed, the lower American classes started popularizing Ragtime music: much faster and animalistic dancing which quickly spread to Europe. Swing dancing quickly followed with the emergence of jazz in the Roaring Twenties.

The UCC Strauss Ball features a two hour chocolate and punch reception at the Metropole Bar, followed by a three-course meal. The Cork Pops Orchestra will play a two hour set of waltzes, tangos, and swing dancing, followed by a DJ playing the latest dance tunes of our generation.

Cork Story: Cork Resident

Found: Carrigaline

Christmas season starts earlier than most for Honor Carroll, a pleasant and cheery mother of six from Carrigaline. For her, the Christmas baking doesn’t start days or even weeks ahead of time, but a solid three months before the big day. Using her grandmother’s traditional Christmas pudding recipe, Honor makes this desert in September with the help of her children. “If you stir the pudding three times clockwise and make a wish, it’ll come true by Christmas. Or so they say, anyway.” The alcohol and the sugar from the fruit preserves the dish, and allows the flavour to mature until it’s ready for eating during the Christmas season. Similarly, the mince meat for her pies is made in late November and frozen.

Honor’s dedication to family tradition doesn’t stop in the kitchen. The Christmas crib is set out promptly on the 8^th ofDecember. On Christmas Eve, her youngest son, Chucky, lights the Christmas candle, and the majority of the preparations are made for the next day. The stuffing for the turkey is made, the final baking is done, and even the table is set. Honor said that when her children were younger, they used to wake her up at six o’clock in the morning in excitement, but now that they’re all adults their Christmas Eve looks a bit different. The pub after Christmas Mass is a main highlight, followed by a house crawl on the way home from the pub, not coming home until around five or six the next morning. “I’m sure if they looked up they’d see Santa Clause on his way,” she mused.

Christmas Day is a day of relaxation. Her son Chucky told me that his mother spends her whole day in the kitchen. “She pretends she doesn’t, but she actually loves it,” he told me as an aside. Dinner is eaten at around six in the afternoon, followed by presents under a real tree.

“When John was thirteen and Padraig was twelve [her sons], we lived in Fermoy in the north of Cork. They used to go into the woods to cut down a tree; there were some fierce wild woods back in the day before trees got so commercial. Anyway, I just remember them coming back through the woods with a tree on their shoulders, and it just started to snow. I remember them walking with the tree with the snow falling down around them.” Honor said that last year she introduced the idea of having an artificial tree instead of a real one, and was met with an uproar. (Chucky once again added that “Fake Christmas trees are shit,” and that they should fornicate themselves.)

Christmas is a joyous season for many, but it can also be a time to remember those who are absent at the holidays as well as present. The Christmas of 2009 was hard for Honor as her dear friend, who was a large part of her life and who loved Christmas, passed away, but she says it is important for one to move forward in life. She says it might be hard this Christmas, but it will be a significant one for her family, as it may be the last time her family is all together for the holidays. Her only daughter will be married shortly after Christmas, and one of her sons is flying home from Australia for the season. While it may be exciting to see what presents you receive, the real pleasure of Christmas, Honor says, is to be with family.

Just as diligently as the decorations are put up, everything is put away precisely on January 8^th. Another whilforeign holiday season passes, and a woody new year begins in the Carroll household.

When you’re an Arts student, going to the bathroom is a daunting task. While toilet cubicles are usually a place of sanctuary for people to relieve themselves in a variety of ways, in UCD, each cubicle is littered with profanities about Arts students, with “Arts Degree: Take One” being written above every single toilet roll holder, digging at our collective academic souls. Now this slander has reached its way onto Facebook with the newly created group “The Awkwardness When an Arts Student Talks About Their Future Prospects.” We’re not even safe in our own homes anymore.

When people view an Arts student, they imagine unwashed individuals who stroll into college at 2pm to sit one of five of their only lectures that week, more than likely relating to Greek Philosophy or some tripe like that. People are wrong though; Arts students are industrious, much like the Chinese. Whereas General Mao taught his people to produce and prepare, Arts students are self-taught to bullshit and get lucky. Week after week we work hard to scrape together essays minutes before the deadline and getting A’s on them just because our tutor likes the sound of our name (Storm Power anyone?). We are able to explain any piece of Joyce’s work with such authority that you won’t know that we haven’t read anything he’s ever touched let alone know the proper pronunciation of Ulysses.

It’s skills like these that make Arts students the most equipped of all, and actually have gone onto prominent positions in every day Irish life. For example, wife of Bono, Ali Hewson, has a BA in Sociology from UCD and has gone onto the very important role of Bono’s Wife. Former Miss World, Rosanna Davison has completed a BA in Art History and has given back to the community by raising awareness about the benefits of pork by standing on Grafton Street in a Bikini holding a breakfast roll. It’s people like these that I look up to as I write my presentation on why Alice in Alice’s Adventures of Wonderland was anorexic, knowing some day I too can give back to the world, just like them. Kieran Murphy, BA: Employed by the IMF….

Kieran is an Arts student in UCD; he is the Fashion Editor for the University Observer.

(1) The Invisibility Cloak

I remember the Predator movie being sub-par, as well as Pierce’s last MI6 mission. This is not to mention Daniel Radcliffe’s first bout of wizardry from the acting school of Hogtwats in the Philosopher’s Stone. But the good news to the final installment of the Harry Potter franchise is the prospect of your very own invisibility cloak which made the antics of the thaumaturge trio possible!

The concept is fairly simple, the metamaterial bends light around and object so it projects what is behind it. The problem is the making of a molecular structure that is substantially smaller than a wavelength of light, or that with a substantially high negative refractive index (never mind the physics).

This little wonder may be hitting the stores as early as 2020 according to the physicists in Perdue University Canada. The metamaterial itself is already widely used in cameras but it still needs a little tweaking. Alas in this recession you would have to fork out a decent 6 billion bucks to get funding for it. Also, the main market of interest would be the army corps initially and they have the pockets deep enough to satify their agents. Bond, eat your heart out!

(2) The Holoprojector

I remember the more modern Star Wars franchise being a shameless black hole for fans spare change. But one can look forward to being able to talk to your long-distance friends and family in a 3D setting thanks to the work underway in Arizona.

By simply using several cameras at different angles one can construct a 3D image. Then using lasers that interfere with eachother one can construct that image again in a 3D setting consisting of nothing but light. Another interesting point of information is the invention of the ‘hogel’ (the 3D version of the standard pixel). So far the refresh rates of such machines is 2 seconds making the video very slow. Much as we love Alexander Bell, this may replace the telephone sooner than we think.

(3) The Mind Reader

Move over Professor Xavier! Professor Moran Cerf, computational scientist at the Univesity of California, has constructed a database of hundreds of brain-scans correlating to participants looking at a range of images, including celery, strangely enough. A pattern is already brewing, and some preliminary mind-reading machines are apparently already used by Russia’s police force. Keeping our thoughts to ourselves might be a thing of the past and so any further advances are riddled with moral battlefields regarding the right to privacy.

(4) The Artificial Intelligence

Natal studios had been working on as part of the Xbox Kinect franchise which can recognise movements from your feet to your face. It also has fabulous voice detection which can spot voice inflections of emotion.

To debut the product back in 2009, Peter Molyneux and his team designed Milo, a 10 year old boy on a TV screen that could recognise facial expressions and voice inflections such as those of an upset or sarcastic individual. It even has a mind of its own, with the ability to ask how your day has been as well as the ability to not do his homework. Unfortunately Milo has been withdrawn as a project simply on account that it currently isn’t marketable as a video game. Some even say the project was faked.

Again, philosophers out there might have a small problem with the project though. When does this become the God Dialemma where humans are capable of creating human consciousness?

Eggnog for Dummies ©Ali Arnold

As a big dirty yank, one of the things associated with Christmas for me is eggnog. Nothing says “Jesus has been born” like a sip of raw eggs covered in cream and alcohol, and it’s just shocking that Ireland hasn’t copped on to this delicious traditional drink. With a taste similar to Bailey’s and a name that comes from the words “egg” and “naggin,” it’s sure to catch on any second, particularly if there’s a movie made about it. Since you can’t seem to be able to buy just-add-alcohol eggnog in Tesco, here’s a recipe of your own to get a little silly (and fancy) at your next Christmas party.

12 egg yolks
900 g milk
900 g cream
680 g light rum
400 g sugar
2 and 1/2 teaspoons vanilla essence
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1. In a big ol pot on LOW heat, mix the milk, cinnamon, cloves, and half a teaspoon on vanilla essence.
2. Remove from heat just BEFORE the milk starts to boil.
3. While that milk is heating, whisk the sugar in a separate bowl with all them egg yolks. (You’re going to make a really healthy omelet with all those whites, right? Think of the starving children in Africa.)
4. Whisk the milk mixture into the sugar and eggs. When it’s nicely mixed, put back onto the stove.
5. Keep stirring this until it starts to get thick and creamy, like um… cream.
6. Strain this mixture into a jug, removing the cloves. (Seriously, remember to take them bad boys out, otherwise you will have clove soup.) Refrigerate this for about an hour or two.
7. Stir in the cream, rum, the rest of the vanilla, and ground nutmeg. Refrigerate this overnight.
8. Serve with a little ground spice or chocolate flakes on the top to garnish. Drink responsibly!

©t Sodahead.com

There are some things I don’t understand. Love, for instance, I can’t grasp. (Personally I think anyone that says they understand love is a liar.) But one thing that continues to confound me, without it being a theoretical ideal of human emotion, is Christmas. I have never been a “Christmas person,” but I’m not exactly the Grinch either. My problem is that there seems to be a far reaching consensus to deny any problems with the event; everyone just turns a blind eye to the faults and idiocies that seem so obvious to me. So here I ask you, the reader, can you explain the reason why Christmas is not just tolerated but liked?

Firstly, I would like to say emphatically: I am not an environment freak. I care about as much as the next person about the planet (which isn’t very much) and not an iota more. Consider that literally every day we are reminded that we are killing the planet. Reduce, reuse, recycle, don’t litter, don’t drive, don’t leave your house but don’t turn on anything inside that consumes power, and don’t you dare exhale that filthy carbon dioxide. Yet from December 15 to January 5 none of this seems to matter anymore. Instead we seem to buy as much crap (and make no mistake 99% of it is crap) that our overdrafts will allow and wrap this frivolous drivel in trees that have been cut very thinly and painted shiny. Seriously, most of these presents/hindrances will end up clogging a landfill somewhere, and much of the wrapping will go straight into the bin, not the recycling, because we are too preoccupied with admiring the shit other people deemed we needed.

How many times this week have you seen an advertisement telling you not to leave your lights on? Or trying to get you to buy one of those remotes for the wall sockets? I counted (because I’m weird that way) and stopped after 12 (because my weirdness is not stronger than my lack of an attention span) in the last three days. Yet around Christmas we decide to drape millions of tiny lights all over our houses, ignoring the fact they are often gaudy and always wasteful. We are told to replace every light that serves an actual purpose inside our house with those terrible energy efficient ones that take an hour to heat up, and even then never really get bright enough to make you feel that we have technologically surpassed the candle, but I have never seen energy efficient fairy lights, have you? (If anyone out there wants to patent the idea go on ahead just send me a line so I know I’ve passively done my bit for the world and can now watch TV after 12.) And aren’t we only allowed to leave our lights on like twenty minutes a day? This may be extended if you’re performing surgery and there’s a complication (quadruple bypasses are tricky I hear), yet no one bats an eyelid if someone leaves a thousand lights draped to their walls on all night. What purpose do they serve? The only person who is out at 4:30 on a Tuesday does not deserve light.

Imagine 30 years from now when you’re living half-way up a mountain because the sea level has risen and the peaks are irradiated by the sun. There’ll be no electricity or indoor plumbing, and food will be scarce and unappetising. You’ll say to your kid: “Sorry Billy, we fucked up. But at least you got that action man when you were six.” Imagine if little Billy had not got that action man! That would’ve been a real disaster! You saved his innocence by allowing him that one magical memory of Christmas. That was until 2 years later when he found out you were too lazy to block the porn channel, but at least you had those two years of innocence…

Someone told me once that Santa (the commercial God of Christmas) was originally green, and that Coke bought him and turned his suit red. Personally, I think Santa took off his green suit out of shame for what was being done to the planet in his name (or maybe he just started bathing in the blood of the naughty, I don’t know). Everyone turns into an accepting fool, mass hysteria grips the nation. And for what? Trinkets? False promises of happiness? I am trying to be logical and understanding, but I cannot find anything to redeem Christmas. I do not hate Christmas for no reason; I hate it because it has no reason. After all, why bother doing something when not doing something is always easier?

‘A blind man is more likely to see what he has and be thankful than those that can see.’

Copyright kittin.deviantart.com

Like most people who have had their lives untouched by blindness, I had taken the beauty of the everyday for granted. Little things such as seeing my friends, reading a book, watching TV, and simply seeing life in all its simple beauty. It is exactly a year ago today that my view of the world changed, when I realized that I was ignorant of what I had. On the 11^th of December, 2009, I helped a blind lady across the road in Cork. The woman was quite young, in her late twenties. Despite her disability she had style, but it was more than that; she had a presence about her. She held her cane as if it was a jewel to be admired. Her look and posture oozed confidence. I was awe struck. I had never genuinely really thought about blind men or women before. I obviously had felt sorry for them and their burden and wished them a better life, and often I would donate a feweuro here and there if I was to pass a charity stall, but that’s as far as it went.

Missy was the youngest of five to an average family in west Cork. She has never seen her parents, herself, or anything for that matter. She was born blind. Missy still attended school and finished her degree in social sciences. She said that she used to cry a lot when she was younger; she was jealous of others and was angry at the world for hardships in her life. Her family and herself stopped going to mass and lost faith in religion. I can understand that. She often heard her parents crying at night, wondering about the future for her after they had gone. Her parents and herself each have two jobs to help pay for a new medical treatment for blindness in Ohio. Missy remains doubtful and does not leave herself hope because it is simply too painful if unsuccessful.

There were a lot of sad moments she recalled, but there were happy memories too. She reveals she is much closer to her mother than most children; her Mom is actually her best friend. Missy believes she will live with her Mom till the very end. “One day I just stopped feeling sorry for myself and angry at the world,” she told me. “Life opened up another way to me that you can’t possibly imagine.” She told me try it out.

That same day, I decided to experience what being blind is actually like for a twenty four hours. I blindfolded myself and promised myself not to untie it till the next day. It was genuinely the most surreal experience I have ever encountered in my life. I felt utterly helpless. I moved at a snail pace to get around my house. Despite my house being a fairly large country house, I felt an unnerving sense of claustrophobia. I tried going to the bathroom, cooking, washing up and household chores, simple things, and I struggled with all of them. I found all my electrical items and books were useless to me now. My iPod and radio were the only source of comfort, as listening to the TV without seeing it was a strange experience.

During those few hours I relied on my other senses to cope. Touch and sound felt almost magnified. While eventually I became slightly braver in my movements, I still hopped my shin or my head off every second thing, but I was more confident. I still didn’t dare attempt to go outside. I was actually scared to do so. Inside your own home you feel somewhat in control but outside feels like a death sentence. After about six hours of being temporarily blind, I took off my blindfold. I simply couldn’t hack it. Everything was just too difficult. My food that I ate was actually half raw, my legs were black and blue, and the house was in a bit of a state. Nonetheless the experience was actually a valuable lesson for me, and one that I would encourage people to try out. You understand a lot about yourself in doing so. My respect and awe for Missy and indeed all people who are blind tripled. She is a much stronger person than I am. To have the courage to go outside, be it the city or country is incredible, such little control over what happens and yet they still venture out and are determined to live a normal life.

Missy accepts things how they are, she tells me. She is still not comfortable going outside but still does so. She also reveals that she hopes to meet a nice man to settle down with. Despite being young Missy sounded as wise and understanding as a woman twice her age. Missy then rose from her seat, head held high and walked like a queen into the number nine bus, without me even telling her it had arrived. To this day I am still in awe of these people who leave their fear at the door and venture out to the unknown. Missy taught me a valuable lesson that no school or college could teach. So please if you do see someone blind and struggling, ask them if they need a helpful hand. The blind deserve your respect, not your sympathy.