A long time, I know

It's been a long time, I know. How are you?

2009 has continued to grip me to its bosom of heaving chaos.

There's an umbrella caught on one of the silver Christmas wreaths over hanging Henry Street. Did you see it? Caught by a force beyond control, whirled violently around, it finally came to rest, not like so many of the other skeletal remains around the city, in a bin, but in an interesting and bright place. It hangs there now, ambiguously festive, and I am paused too.

Since I've been here last, I:

• went on my first ever spa break, to the Radisson in Galway. It was beautiful and now I know why Cleopatra bathed in asses's milk every day. Well, mine was a coconut milk bath. People in pubs fell over themselves to order Malibu every time I walked in. Maybe that's just a Galwegian preference though. Found an amazing restaurant near the Spanish Arch - Ard Bhia - which I highly recommend,
• have been worried about my brother who had a break down and went missing for days. He is now found, though still unwell,
• did not watch that match,
• saw some amazing plays, including Knives in Hens in Smock Alley and Someone Who'll Watch Over Me in the Tivoli, both of which I highly recommend,
• saw some great films including Cold Souls and A Serious Man,
• enjoyed the Bacon exhibition very much, and Nighthawks in the Cobalt Café, and David O'Doherty in Whelan's,
• and fell in love.

I recognise that in many ways I am not easy to have a relationship with; knowing myself well, I know the reasons why, and I told him what these are. He makes me feel safe. He wants me, he wants everything. Our sex is amazing. I miss him when I don't see him for a couple of days. I am in love and I'm not walking away. I'm pausing and breathing. And it is good.

The house on the hill

It would be wonderful if there really was such a thing as a chocolate fire guard.

It would just melt!

I know. But that's the point.

Well, I think, if there is anywhere it could be found, it would be in the house on the hill.

The house on the hill? The house of the withered curtains?

Yes.

No! The house of painted layers all peeling?

Yes, the very one.

But how?

The old man who lives there once was a famous chocolatier.

The old man who takes every step as though the earth will subside beneath him? He doesn't look like a chocolatier.

Do you know what a chocolatier looks like?

I suppose... A bit like Santa without the beard.

This old man is a chocolatier. I could ask him to make us a chocolate fireguard.

I'm not sure. Somehow I expect that his chocolate would be like sugar barley sweets from the corner of an old lady's bag, abandoned and sticky and coated in fluff.

Don't be silly. He is an expert. Renowned!

But his house is decrepit and he looks condemned.

Only in the Summer. In Winter time, when the clocks go back, that house comes to life and so does he.

It all sounds very magical.

It is magical. Chocolate is magical. And a chocolate fireguard is the most magical thing in the world.

Okay, let's go to the house on the hill, right now! Are you coming?

Wonderful news

Wonderful news! They are free...

Irish Times today

Mickey Malteser

I'm really proud of my friend Michael who blogs here. During the week, he did this.

I am not yet walking away...

Though he thinks I am unaware, I have seen how he watches me, his smile laced with gentleness and desire.

I am not yet walking away...