Animals, Protocol & Lyric FM

7a.m. and half way down the stiars I am met by Amber my golden lab, an old headless furry pheasant lodged in her jaws. You would think I was away for a month the way she whinges and sticks to the back of my legs almost knocking me down the last few steps into the hall. Socks is hot on her heels.  She is my beautiful black and white cat who despite her charmed existence always has a worried look on her face. I think it's due to the fact that the top half of her face and head is black but her lower lip and chin is white. She joins in the chorus telling me she's ready for breakie too.

"Mornin' Ali". Our marmalade cat stretches and yawns  from his crow's nest on top of the fridge as he eyes the other two suspiciously. Pussycat no. 3 comes running from the sun room, jumps up onto the clothes horse and leaps up onto my shoulder purring and meowing furiously. He wants to be cuddled and stroked and sang to.  One year on from being a very poorly injured little scraggy kitten Picolo is thriving, spoilt rotten, loved to bits and has a fantastic black shiny coat.  Last but not least timid, short, shy, built like a mini tank Ching hides on the windowsill behind the sunroom door, pounding her stubby little feet, she wants breakfast.

With the risk of tripping over the whole lot of them I make my way to the radio and within seconds Marty's cheery voice fills the whole kitchen.The fun begins in earnest. Dishes, sachets, nuts.A quick dash to the cooker to turn kettle on.  There is a protocol that has to be followed. Ali is the older male so I feed him first, (plus he can get narky, having the red hair and that.....sorry). Socks and Ching respect each otherenough to have breakfast together.  Ching likes a shallow dish while Socks likes the nuts from the blue shiny pack with the white cat on the front. Picolo is  doing a balancing act on my shoulder, playing with my hair and kneeding his claws through my t shirt a bit too close to my shoulder and Amber is running out of patience and barking. I strian my ears as Marty gives the clues for the 'musically speaking' quiz. Yellow dish is emptied within seconds and amber heads out to garden like the pied piper with her entourage of cat siblings behind her.

The Good the Bad and the Ugly. Ah Marty what an approriate tune.....  I now turn off my whistling kettle and try to prise Picolo from my neck and bribe him with sachets and nuts and little coloured toy mice. Meow, meow, meow.....he is my most vocal cat. He eats and dashes after the others to annoy the hell out of them.  I take this breather to make my tea and porridge.... Ah Fur Elise and The Elizabethan Serenade.  I pretend Marty is playing it especially for me. (Dream on...)

7.35 a.m. Socks slinks back in, she hates winter. Amber sits on the mat in the hall hoping I'm on day off.. Picolo back like a whirl wind he wants to dance.  I pick him up and waltz round the kitchen as Marty introduces a Strauss waltz. He makes me smile, Marty makes me smile too. It's easier to tackle a messy kitchen when Doris Day sings of the Black Hills of Dakota. Filling a dish washer.  Piling dirty clothes into the washing machine is a pleasure when Michael Buble is repeating over and over 'I Just Haven't Met You Yet'!

Even on those mornings I'm heading to work Marty's comforting voice fills the kitchen.Amber drifts of to sleep the pussycats wash and clean themselves.  All is calm all is right......Thanks Marty for making hectic mornings so wonderful.......

Can an Irish mammy deirish mammy herself?

Just a thought. Can we poor women with the irish mammy syndrome deirish mammy ourselves?  I am just about catching up on the sleepless night I had two nights ago. Our eldest offspring flew literally half' way round the world,(well nowadays you have to go where the work is) and naturally I was upset and feeling lonely mammyish.  But I had a nice hot shower and took myself to bed with mug of belgian hot choc and an exciting book.  Fell into a deep sleep. Very nice you are thinking....Aha.....sudddenly the texts came in fast and furious......3a.m. Bleary eyed I stretched out the hand and in an instant cleared the entire top of my locker.....books, mug, foot cream, earphones plus one very bewildered black and white fluffy cat who had settled herself down for the night on edge of my bed. ( Pain seared through my body next morning when I stood on the earrings as I sprang from the bed having slept through alarm and all.....late for work.  That's not my style!)

Anyway to get back to texts.  They were from my son who is nearer three zero  than two zero. Stranded half way round the world at an airport he was not familiar with.  He had a phone which for some reason would not allow him make outgoing calls and a newly purchased phone card which would not work. Now remember his irish mammy was in her leaba in ireland, thousands of miles away.  How could I fix it for him?  Well I did..  HA ha....

To be honest I woke the sleeping hubby and ignored his bewildering glares.  It took him a few mins to catch up but I put on my "what if something awful happens him if we don't help". So we spent most of the next hour speaking on the phone with a very very very sleepy and unhelpful ON CALL lady who's job it was to sort out just such an emergency.  The final straw was when she asked my purely exasberated husband "where exactly is he waiting?"  With one leap hubby sprang from the bed,(sending our slightly silly golden lab running down the stairs to join the furry black and white cat to seek a safer and calmer  resting place)  stood up to his full 6ft 1" height "Well I'll hazard a guess and say ARRIVALS!"

Going back to sleep was out of question until I got confirmation that my adult son was tucked up and snug in a comfortable bed thousands of miles away. Happy text came at 5.30a.m. " All sorted.  In bed in lovely hotel. Night and THANKS  MAM".  Yeah I would do it again and again.  I guess there is no cure for the irish mammy syndrome after all!