"Family", I have realised, is as subjective a notion as "beauty" or...you know, other subjective notions. Family means something different to everyone (yes, I realise that all the last sentence does is explain the meaning of subjectivity). I come from Irish Catholics - consequently I have a large family who drink too much and talk too loudly and love each other fiercly. You don't get away with anything in this family - no one's afraid to contradict or criticise - but your every acheivement is praised and celebrated, your every problem talked over and solved. I have grown up in this cocoon of protection, in the warmth of love. My grandma - mother of five, widow of nearly 40 years - turned 90 last week and we had parties, meals and lots of family time, and I loved it. I sometimes forget just how lucky I am, but seeing my big family all together, dancing and drinking and laughing, reminded me. I love these people and they love me, and whatever happens I will never be alone. That's an amazing promise to hold.

This weekend I went to Glasgow's Gig On The Green, to make up for my lack of real festivaling this summer. Queens of the stone age were good, Foo Fighters were very very good and the Chilis were just amazing. And there, lying in the sunshine drinking cold beer and laughing with my cousins, I knew. I just knew.

< - >

* the marks of memories forgotten
* wasting emotions, over again
* intentions, and such
* nothing unusual, nothing's changed - just a little older, that's all (damien rice : amie)
* now I understand! It doesn't make sense because it isn't supposed to