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 Niamh is just a girl, who likes to write. Believes that it�s in her blood..the Irish are quite good scribblers really. Her father is a much published poet, and although she does not write in her native tongue, she likes words. If only they came out fast enough!
DONNIE DARKO - To find out what Donnie Darko character you are, click image, or for review and link to official film website, go to the Film Reviews section of this site, or for the DVD on Amazon, click here
ET - THE EXTRA TERRESTRIAL

To view the trailer and background information for ET on the official Universal website, click image, or to view the DVD on Amazon, click here

JOHNNY DEPP

Click image for the Johnny Depp fansite, or to take the Johnny Depp quiz and find out what Johnny Depp character you are, click here, or to view his films on Amazon, click here

TRAINSPOTTING by Irvine Welsh

To read comments made by Irvine Welsh about his book, 'Trainspotting,' click image, or for more on the author, book and film, use search facility on homepage of this site. To view the book on on Amazon, click here

THE HOURS by Michael Cunningham

To read an interview with Michael Cunningham and 'The Hours' screenwriter, David Hare, click image, or to view the book on Amazon, click here

MORVERN CALLAR by Alan Warner

To view the trailer for Lynn Ramsay's film adaption of 'Morvern Callar,' click image, or to view the book on Amazon, click here

ENID BLYTON

For the unofficial Enid Blyton website, click image, or to view her books on Amazon, click here

SEAN O'CASEY

To read about Sean O'Casey on the Today in Literature website, click image, or to view his plays on Amazon, click here



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'A VIEW WITH A ROOM'
by Niamh � Leoch�in


Cup, white cup
Resting on a patterned tray
Plate, a blue plate
Adds to this view of disarray
Pot, a silver pot
Hosts a plant, a vibrant red plant
Overgrown and in bloom not
Unlike the woman inhabiting this room
One cup, one plate, one knife
One table, one chair, one life.
Evening light enters this window
Opposite like a beam
A pathway in, a focus on
The consciousness of stream
Another day, a shift of light
And my window might
Frame the remnants of a meal for one
And me, another player in the game.


� Niamh � Leoch�in
Reproduced with permission


'WAITING'
by Niamh � Leoch�in


Brandy brimming
Like tears
Not drunk
Though the bottle
Lies empty and rolling
Not crying
Though I feel
Like I�ve swallowed
My heart whole
Staring ahead
Waiting for the phone
To ring
Waiting to hear if
My world is ending


� Niamh � Leoch�in
Reproduced with permission


'THOUGHTS OF SOMEONE WHO CANNOT SPEAK'
by Niamh � Leoch�in


Mute. Paused. Silent. I don�t say much. Actually I don�t speak at all. I'm mute. Muted. I wonder if it's worse to have spoken and lost than to have never spoken at all. Most people hate hearing their own voices recorded. Sounds strange. Then there are some who love the sound of their own voices. They talk a lot without saying anything at all. I heard a story once about someone who swallowed his tongue. Wonder if he talked through his arse?

Mr Greene couldn't talk. He was a sailor. Disappeared for months - to sea, people said. Mrs Greene used to knit and sew. She made all the school uniforms in the area. One day Mr Greene's ship was hijacked by pirates. They made him walk the plank, then decided to chop his head off. He brought it home to his wife. She sewed it back on perfectly but his voice box had fallen out into the sea. Cancer really. But a better story circulated among the Greenes' uniform-clad neighbours.

You might expect me to listen more than most. Listen to others to compensate for the fact that I have no voice?? No. Maybe I think more. Think about what I would say if I had a voice. People around me don't seem to speak much either. Text messages and emails. I worked here for a month before anyone realised that I hadn't spoken a word. No need. Do this. Copy that. No one asked for my opinion. Answered their own questions for me.

I suppose I'll never perfect 'l'accent fran�ais'. Won't speak in tongues. Never scream for help or shout with joy. Nor will I call for my children, be any good at bingo, fully appreciate a football match or whisper sweet nothings into my lover's ear.

I am mute but not paused.

I can't sing but I can laugh.

I can't scream but I can cry.

I can't speak but I can write.

I can write.

� Niamh � Leoch�in
Reproduced with permission




'BLACK LABEL'
by Niamh � Leoch�in


Ann straightened her skirt and stepped out into the bright sunshine, feeling the heat on her face. She had a spring in her step as she headed towards the bar where she would be �h�tesse� for the next few months. The woman on the phone sounded nice � liked her accent. Her French wasn�t perfect but Laetitia had assured her that she sounded �charmante�, wanted to meet her in person, to see if she was presentable, Ann imagined, glad now that she had invested in that well-cut black skirt.

Taking a sharp right, she followed the road downhill towards the bar known as �Black Label�. Expecting to be met with potted plants and palm trees, she was surprised to find a heavy black door with only a peephole. Back entrance, maybe, she thought as she knocked tentatively.

The door opened and there stood before her a black girl, at least six feet tall, wearing shimmery blue eye shadow and very little else. �Eh, je�je suis Ann,� she ventured to say as she was lead into the dark. The sun was gone and night had suddenly fallen�Black leather, red velvet, sweet incense and three girls dressed in lycra. The skinny one in a white catsuit danced to the groovy sound of Manu Chao though she had a different take on it than Ann herself after one sangria too many. Another one sprawled suggestively across a leather couch, dropping peanuts into her mouth. A sign.

Speaking of signs, Ann began to look for the exit. Ole blue eyes had already gone to get Laetitia. Ann tried not to stick to the leather bar stool and avoided the burning glares of the other girls as her eyes swept around the room and rested on a table � glass held up by a reclining naked lady, a bit like the one on the couch. If she needed another sign to convince her she wasn�t in the Rovers Return, it was the landlady herself � an overweight blonde thirtysomething poured into a low-cut T-shirt � Laetitia!

�Bonsoir, ma cherie�. Ann suddenly felt very prim as Laetitia�s painted eyes dropped to take her in�slowly. Peeling herself off her perch she was lead towards a dark corner enveloped in red velvet. Team player, efficient, with an eye for detail and excellent interpersonal skills. Laetitia explained the ins and outs of the position to her. She should have an eye for the lonely men who came into the bar, efficiently convince them to buy her many expensive glasses of Perrier, masquerading as champagne. There was a special corner where she could exercise her interpersonal skills and no harm in bringing your work home with you either�

Ann stepped out into the bright sunshine once more. The light stung her eyes and she couldn�t see clearly for a moment. When her vision cleared she had a spring in her step and her skirt wasn�t so straight anymore.

� Niamh � Leoch�in
Reproduced with permission




NIAMH LIKES:

1. Moon gazing

2. Destinations (I'd prefer to avoid the travel/motion sickness� in every sense)

3. Films of course (esp Donnie Darko and ET, oh and anything with Johnny Depp in it!)

4. Reading again, recently 'Trainspotting', 'The Hours' and 'Morvern Caller'



NIAMH'S INFLUENCES:

1. Enid Blyton really stirred my childish imagination

2. Edinburgh with its eerie misty beauty, its contrasts & contradictions

3. Sean O'Casey, his realistic, character driven plays

4. Wise old people, esp Gran, soulmate and friend

5. Great parents

6. Miriam Lenehan, my English teacher & friend

� Niamh � Leoch�in
Reproduced with permission



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