Tales are emerging form Brazil that Edson Arantes de Nascimento, better known to most of us as Pele, may have derived his famous name from where other than the influence of an Irish Christian Brother from Kerry.

Pele was born in Três Corações, Brazil, the son of a Fluminense footballer Dondinho. His initial nickname was Dico. Thankfully that didn’t stick. Just doesn’t have the same ring about it, does it? Carlos Alberto, to Gerson, to Jairzinho. Goooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaalllllll.

A Dico header.

Brother Ambrosius O Se from Kerry was stationed in the Mission in Três Corações. A keen scholar of Irish and naturally a follower of gaelic football, he was fascinated with the skill levels of the local Brazilian youth. One such player was the boy wonder Edson. He approached Br Ambrosius one day and asked him could he play with the ball that the good Christian Brother was kicking nonchalantly against the wall of the school and catching as it flew back to him.

‘Futebol’, shouted the young Edson.

‘Peile’ replied Br Ambrosius.

‘Futebol’, shouted the young Edson again.

‘Peile’ again replied Br Ambrosius in great humour altogether. This went on.

A passing group of the village’s young girls giggling, pointed at Edson and hearing what they thought was his new nickname shouted repeatedly at him “Peile, Peile, Peile.’

From there the name Peile stuck. Edson was happy he was no longer called Dico, of course he was, and he has made his name as the greatest foreign games player ever. It was eventually shortened to the more familiar Pele.

Br Ambrosius? He was last seen coaching sailing up the Amazon on a Steamboat, smoking a large cigar and sipping a Caipirinha. His fame made as the man who named Pele, however accidentally. He is the toast of Brazilians who wax lyrical whenever his name is mentioned.

Overlooking Teampall Chaomháin in Inis Oírr. The sunken church in the graveyard is beside the grave of Saint Caomhán, who legend has it was the elder brother of St Kevin of Glendalough.

The Saint is referenced in Seamus Heaney’s beautiful poem St Kevin and the Blackbird.

Inis Oírr remains one of my favourite places in Ireland, the peacefulness of wandering a bóithrín between high stone walls, drifting off the beaten track. The sound of birds & the nearby roar of the sea pounding Ireland’s exposed western shore.

It’s a different world & even a few short days can sustain you & clear the mind.The roads radiate outwards from the West Village, whether you head past Cill Ghobnait [St Gobnait’s Church] towards Tobair Éanna [St Enda’s Well] or by an Bothar Nua to view the Plassy & the lighthouse, it’s a contemplative place to walk & be alone.

In the summer the air is a-buzz & a-flutter with butterflies & hoverflies. Occasionally a cow might peer between the gaps in the limestone wall bordering small the fields of soil made from sand & seaweed an age ago.

We visited when the electricity was out & the lack of power shocked the system in an even better way. No wifi, pints by candlelight & an imagining of a simpler island life.

Inis Oírr, a place to sample & return. To immerse if possible in the language & a slower simpler rhythm of life.

It is beautifully bleak & that is the charm. Time to plan a return visit again.

#Inisheer #InisOirr #AranIsands #WildAtlanticWay #TourismIreland #Failte

Like cockroaches I firmly believe Tesco bagels could survive a nuclear holocaust.

Found this in the bread drawer more than a few days lurking there, but once in the toaster it sprung to life.

Angela & I were in Boston in ‘99 & went into one of the usual Finagle a Bagel or whatever the joint was called. Never heard of or seen a bagel before, AP speaks up and asks for what sounded like a ‘bagelle’. The Bostonion Bagel seller was confused, perturbed, uncertain. ‘Pardon me ma’m?’ •

You can take the Derry Girls out of Derry for sure. •

Feeling smug I asked what was ‘nish’, with a silent ‘k’.

Cue further furrowed brows & perplexed looks. ‘Knish sir?’

‘Ehh, yes that’s what I meant…’ mumbled I.

We stood corrected & enjoyed the food.

It was different, now of course the bagel is ubiquitous.

I wonder how the Bostonian Finagle a Bagellers would have fared in Jack’s chippy in Omagh or even Fiorentini’s in Derry.

Wherever you are in Portstewart you can hear the sound of the sea. Most noticeable in the late evening when the ambient sounds of life have died away & there is a deep sustained quiet roar in the background.

Sometimes you can’t hear it until you listen for it, but rest assured it is there. It’s the noise of water rolling rocks, crashing pebbles, shifting sand, colliding with cliffs & stones that won’t move. Occasionally there’s a big shift & something happens.

This week the tide swept right up the beach wreaking havoc among the National Trust constructions, toppling & floating away their wardens’ shed. It sits now with a hole in the roof offering shelter no more.

The waves don’t care, their incessant roar fills the airwaves & hangs there waiting to be heard. Even when it is quiet, listen & you will hear.

Passed a day returning to Homeplace in Bellaghy.

On a visit you could easily spend hours listening & browsing.

The rural context of Heaney’s origins give a layer of understanding & meaning that gives the poems full expression.

In sitting down with one of the children to listen to a recording of Digging, I realised that the lines ‘My grandfather cut more turf in a day/Than any other man on Toner’s bog’ are a childhood boast by a child. My dad’s bigger than your dad. Brilliantly rendered. Previously unnoticed.

Here & there to see people ensconced, listen intently to a poem, it shows how to bring the words alive. I pointed out to the guide how Seamus Heaney had gifted a handwritten manuscript of ‘Markings’ to our GAA club. We weren’t the only ones for sure.

The word hoard installation suspended from the roof hangs there, offering you a word to reach for, grasp & use. Dandering. Blathering. Blessed.

#Heaney #Homeplace #Poetry #IrishPoetry #IrishTourism #wildatlanticway

Woke up this morning. Time for the frosty back to school post Christmas Happy New Year blues.

Only one thing worse than no lead in your pencil is no ink in your pen. Narrowly avoided the latter fate by finding a bottle of blue ink. What else would you use for writing the blues.

The advantage of working at home is the possibility of moving from office to kitchen to living room and to bed even if the motion takes me. Peripatetic pen pushing. The living room complete with fire lit is hard to beat. If I could improve my office it would be with fire. I don’t mean by burning it & all that’s in there no, I mean for heating purposes. Otherwise it is a comfortable & reasonable creative space.

I was able to go all in-house Bear Grylls by foraging an egg carton & milk jar to ignite the turf which wouldn’t even previously give me a smouldering look.

Now the flames lick around it lasciviously, hot, smoky, a warm & tinder embrace.

Meanwhile the resident handyman repairs the basketball busted window from the other day.

Today is about getting back on track & scheduling myself for January & beyond.

I read this in the Irish News: “it’s time to give your gut a boost & keep your microbiome in check.” Indeed. & this: “engage in diaphragmatic breathing, yoga, tai chi, meditation & mindfulness to combat a chronic stress state.” Are they all to be done together?

So much for the blues.

Mr Bommit lived in a bucket

He came from a land called Uppsett Stomach

Inside his bucket was very smelly

Like all the bad things from a rumbly belly
All the carrots went crunch crunch 

The last time we saw them was for our lunch
Mr Bommit made an awful sound

As he poured himself out on the ground
He burbles and burps and gurgles goo

Sometimes I found it on my shoe
Even when my dinners very tasty

Mr Bommit ruined it he’s so hasty
When Upsett Stomachs not too good

It’s the wrong place to be storing food
It rumbles and roars and chunters up

You just can’t stop it when you burp
The only thing to stop Mr Bommit is

A little Sprite with sugar on it
It makes him want to go away 

Don’t come back Mr Bommit another day. 

“The limits of my language are the limits of my world.”

Wittgenstein

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So. You’re interested in writing?

• Are you missing an opportunity because your written communication is letting you down?
• Is your business suffering from an inability to communicate?
• Can you describe what you do in a concise and appealing way. The elevator pitch. A cliché but it is true.
• Can you describe what you do in a way that engages interest?
• Or would it take every flight of stairs in a fifty storey building to explain what you do?

Everyone Communicates

Everyone uses words to communicate. Some do it better than others, but in our experience most writing fails to achieve its potential – business communication, CVs, letters, job applications, press releases. The list is endless and so is the failure to communicate effectively. Social media has made it worse. The immediacy of it means the message is out there, often without thought or meaning.

Finding Your Voice

Finding a voice means that you can get your own feeling into your own words and that your words have the feel of you about them. Seamus Heaney, Feeling Into Words

Organisations can benefit from better writing. If you are up for it, we will take your communication, rewrite it and help you understand what was wrong with it in the first place.

Organisations will spend loads of money on print, design, PR advice, web design – but all too often the written words that are the bedrock of communication are neglected.

The result? You fail to communicate your brand or you cannot explain your product. Large organisations slip into bureaucratic jargon that looks great but when you read it? It is meaningless.

Experience

Experience includes journalism, public relations, social media, blogging, SEO, advertising, corporate publications, direct mail, writing for the web, speeches, CVs and covering letters, job applications and funding applications. If it can be written down – we are fairly confident that we can do it and if we can help you we will.

Why Do We Do This?

Much corporate writing is cold, unappealing – it doesn’t whet your appetite and in fact the person who write it probably found is a chore in the first place. Why then anyone expects you to read it is a mystery.

Writing can be much more interesting. Enjoyable even. Reading it becomes enjoyable too. Well we enjoy it – we can turn tales of morbidity and mortality into reader friendly stories of sickness and death.

 

The Illusion of Communication

‘The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.’

George Bernard Shaw

Communicate Well

Most organisations communicate badly. The senior management are usually blind to this problem, they think they are doing a great job, issuing information. So, it is down to the hapless communications person to address these issues.

 

1            What do we need to accomplish? What is the objective/need

2            How can communication help?

3            What do we need to communicate?

4            With whom do we need to communicate? (Audience segmentation)

5            What tools do we use?

6            In what order do we communicate with our audiences?

7            Measure: Define what success will look like?

8            Carry out the plan. Listen for response/track effectiveness.

Adjust as required.

Simple.