Emma, the Beast and Pops

Diary of a home bird
Ciara Galvin

First it was the Beast from the East, then her son, then her Easter-time grandson. For us in the west, it really was a case of the Met Office that kept ‘Crying Beast’. While we got away relatively unmauled, the weather ‘events’ at least presented a learning opportunity for some of us.
WFH, for example, is an abbreviation I had never heard of, and one that left me scratching my head looking at a text from my sister, when the first round of bad weather struck. She had been snowed in like most people in the capital. I had to seek clarification and learned it meant ‘working from home’. I must brush up on my abbreviations. Days later I too found myself ‘WFH’ thanks to the romance between Emma and the Beast that failed to ignite most of the county.
Leaving Mayo News HQ on the Thursday evening before the first forecast apocalypse, I hit for the nearest shop. Like the entire nation, I lost the run of myself and was carb thirsty, looking for a loaf. To my disappointment the shelves were as bleak as the weekend weather forecast. Mixing with all the other panicked shoppers, I perused pot noodles, Pringles and pasta before giving myself a talking to and realising it wasn’t the apocalypse. Just to be clear, if it was, I’d be hitting for Supermac’s for my last meal. I instead settled on the essentials, some vino tinto (an Argentinan Malbec) and a big bar of Dairymilk Oreo. Priorities.
The next morning the decision was made to ‘WFH’, only a light powdering of snow, but who knew what the evening would bring. In hindsight the evening brought damn all, and as Pat McGrath from RTÉ reported, “Some people commented that it was finest day they’ve had in a long time.” Regardless, I took over the man cave with Pops’ blessing and set about my day.
There’s a lot to be said for working with a lap blanket and hot water bottle. Pops was the ultimate host preparing my work station, rooting out said lap blanket from his other man cave (the man could rent out office space the way he’s going!). He didn’t feel the cold either, sporting shorts and icing his new knee!
The day was peppered with a weather watch in the kitchen as Keelin and ‘Katie Perry’ kept the nation in the loop. From six foot snowmen in Cork, to insulated igloos you could rent, I got the feeling there was a nationwide party and Mayo wasn’t invited.
No offence to poor Keelin, but I was sick of the sight of her by day’s end. The day wasn’t over at 6pm, though, Pops had other plans. A remedial computer lesson was the order of the evening. How to book an NCT was first on the list. We clicked into the website and entered his details, a number of times. Practice makes perfect. To my surprise we were informed that Pops’ motor doesn’t need to be NCT’ed until May 2019. I commented: “Now, isn’t that a nice surprise.” Turns out he already knew this but just wanted to practice, much to my dismay. “Maybe I’ll learn how to do it by then,” he quipped.
Next up was DoneDeal. What did Pops want to search, well, at first? “Everything.” Thankfully we settled on golf clubs and DIY, no relationship between either, I hope.
We’ve decided we’d never work great as a management team, as my instructions tend to get lost in translation, resulting in him basically turning off the computer mid-lesson.
Oh well, at least I didn’t think ‘WTF’ after ‘WFH’.

In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old still living with her parents.