Alistair Crannóg, my Spin-Doctor, asked me if I was celebrating Barbie dolls’ 50th birthday. As Beckett might say, Not I, Not I. Too much plastic, blonde hair and too many changes of wardrobe. Now, ME, for example; a little Vaseline on my beak, some Olay on my wing tips and the odd filing of my claws and voila! Perfection.

What a wonderful frosty few days. Over the past weeks I headed into town late a night and danced along the arched lights in New Street, The Square and Pound Street. I stood under a tree covered in blue lights and said “Beam me up, Scotty”. When I returned very late one night to my upturned Curragh in Crennane, an irate and impatient Alistair Crannóg demanded to know where I had been as he wanted me to do a PR job for Rody Molloy, who was applying for understudy to Phil Mitchell of Eastenders. As my mother taught me “the soft word turns away wrath”, so remembering that wisdom I thought of Oliver Goldsmith and jokingly said, “the disorder of your dress shows the ardour of your impatience”. He was not amused and, there and then, I had to think up some sound bites for Alistair. Glad I didn’t take the Reindeer gig. They wouldn’t let me head the pack with my wings outstretched. One reindeer kept talking about snow, but I saw the state of his nostrils and knew it wasn’t the regular, cold white stuff. My mother warned me about such things!

George Lee is dampening our wilder aspirations. With the voice of forensic scientist, who has discovered something ugly under the sternum. He laments our situation. Having listened to folklore and myth since I came to study the ways of people, I wondered if lament comes from an earlier time when Brown Bulls were scarce, and too many Bothys were built and women called Maeve were looking for fight. Tighten our belts, recycle, knit, darn, hang used teabags out to dry for re-use, melt soap ends, cycle, walk, talk and above all LAUGH, go to the library and survive. As a visiting Emu, I can observe the spirit of the people who know how to live with backs to the wall. So there, George Lee.

And so to bed, to dream of Barbie, her pink plastic shoes and her Botox injections. Happy 2009.