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manolomummy manolomummy

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Lindsay  Irish. Fell from Prada to Pampers circa 2009. Writer. I can say that now...kinda. Scribbler for The Irish Examiner. Budget Bradshaw.

Whilst Woody bonds with that hussy Zanussi; I'll be over here in the corner eating my feelings. #sistersbeforemisters #shedidntgetthememo

'Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours'. The reality. I got the lie-in this morn. I then woke in a panic to hiss at the kids to come downstairs to write the cards. Tried to redeem myself by making breakfast. No eggs. Whatsapped my neighbour who handed some in. Woody said, 'Don't bother; I've already had breakfast'. He then spent the best part of the day with a group of 6yr old girls at the cinema. I just bought him a case of beer. Happy Fathers Day.

Six. All she wanted today was for me to bring sushi when picking her up from school & a new frosted pink lip balm. After a week where she asked her swimming instructor to 'rethink' her grade as 'I don't accept your decision. I'll talk to you next week again' and displayed over zealous skills in micromanaging everything from her choice of birthday card to seating arrangements; she is finally 6. She is difficult, tempestuous, stubborn, lovable, hilarious, intelligent & has true grit. 'The Book of Bryn' has yet to be written. Because she will be the one to write it. She will move mountains, take on the government & will generate a storm in a teacup. But she will persuade you that she is right. If you are one of the lucky few whom she turns to smile upon, she smiles for you & you only. Her middle name is 'Helen', a split second decision as we had only 10mins to register her name before the office closed. 'The face that launched a 1000 ships', said Woody. My reply, 'she'll launch something alright'. She has yet to prove me wrong. Look for her on the campaign trail in 2032. Happy Birthday Tenenbaum-Cooper.


She has been planning for her birthday since before Christmas with all the fervour of a Pinterest addicted housewife. She has picked her own wrapping paper, party-ware, card, invites etc. Today she met the twinkly butcher who she advised, 'I haven't forgotten you. My birthday is in three days. But my party is not until the weekend. And I WILL bring you in a slice of cake. Do you have your rota so I know what day you're working?!'.

Whilst, up wessssst, I had the absolute pleasure of meeting one half of the talented duo behind the brand 'Cloon Keen Atelier'. After I had picked my jaw up from the floor after clapping eyes on the other worldly Maggie; I had to repeat the same process when seeing their Atelier. I have a long standing love affair with the brand; I first purchased from their studio in Connemara many moons ago & fell head over heels with their catalogue of scents & as a result, they were my choice of candle for our wedding. Maggie & her husband Jules are the brains, heart, soul & everything in between behind their brand. Their is a tendency in previous years for Irish brands to compromise themselves by verging into 'twee territory' reserved for that particular brand of Irishness we tend to mass market. But Cloon Keen, have managed to preserve a sense of their intrinsic values of being Irish & proud while still producing elegant, edgy & quite frankly, grown up scents, which still tell a spellbinding story. Their passion is evident: no more from Maggie herself, 'You need to feel authentic about what you are doing for others to believe in your brand'. They are extremely hands on; everything from their branding, shop fit, sourcing & creating is essentially touched by them. Maggie is a breath of fresh air; when asked did she intend on producing a body line to complement their colognes, her reply, 'I'm actually returning to study in relation to that; so hopefully in a year or two I can begin the process'. She believes in science, in doing it herself & telling a story. And that's what you get with their brand; a stunningly elegant product but one which also knows what it's about & is willing to tell you it's story. And that is something I can get on board with.

'My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die'.

Notions level: Warp.

Has refused to name the plant because; 'You tricked me by buying a new Johnny Logan. And I knew it wasn't him. And you don't look after them & I'm exhausted from doing it. I'm only 5. You're the adult'.

Woody made our cake. I rang him that morning in full on blushing bride mode & was greeted with 'What?!! What do you fecking want? There's some eejit coming at me with the most atrocious cakestand I've ever seen!' *covers phone* 'No, thanks. No, I don't need that at all, thanks. Yeah, you're grand thanks...hello, hello...?!'. I then hung up on him. The next time I talked to him was when I met him a few hours later at the top of the aisle & the first thing I said was, 'YOU are so lucky I walked up here today with the attitude you gave me this morning!'. Whilst Woody mumbled 'sorry' & I continued to give him a filthy side-eye, I turned to the slack-jawed priest & said, 'Carry on Father'.

Just in case anyone forgot to tell you today...

Just in case you ever wondered...you probably didn't. Those hens have a better life than I do, no lie.

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