John Keyes

For my birthday, I received a present of some Tour de Ted body wash. The product blurb goes:

For the modern man about town who’s not afraid to change gear or multi-task, the fresh and invigorating top notes of Ozonic, Eucalyptus, Geranium and Patchouli will leave you feeling completely revitalised.

This revitalising Hair and Body Wash works in tandem with your physique to ensure you’re always oiled for choice.

I do love some fun cheese laden prose. Now I could go on about how this product will keep my frame sparkling, my levers glistening, and my saddle supple, but why would I go yanking your chain like that.

My family spent a few days down in the Mount Brandon Hotel in New Ross this week, and after dinner on Wednesday night I noticed a Give Blood Clinic was open. Some members of my family have had their lives saved thanks to people who have donated their blood. This was an opportunity for me to give some back.

The last time I donated blood was about twenty years ago. Willie O’Keeffe, a veteran of over fifty donations, brought me into St. Stephen’s school in Waterford. I don’t remember too much about the day, but I’m fairly sure I had a glass of Guinness to aid recovery.

The large room where the clinic was being held was pretty full. I joined the queue of other donors and one of the nurses informed us that it would take about two hours in total. I thought it might take about half an hour, and with two kids upstairs wondering what the hell their Dad was doing, I briefly contemplated walking out.

They arrived down with my book, and my son (five years old) said he’d give some blood too. After telling him I’d bring him a keyring when I was finished, he was happy enough to leave me to it.

A quick registration process followed, and then I was in another queue, for the haemoglobin test. I thought this might be a blood prick test (or similar), but it was even more straightforwad than that. I simply had to put my finger into a device with a rubber sleeve, and that was that. It didn’t take very long, and then I ended up in another queue to await an interview. First time donors, and those who haven’t donated for over two years, must go through this interview process.

Prior to the interview, I had to fill out a questionnaire (yes/no answers), with questions about my health, travel, and sexual activity. The interview consists of a review of this questionnaire, and then signing a declaration that basically I understood all the questions, and that I accept how my blood could be used.

After the interview, I joined the donation queue, and had a couple of glasses of water. I then spent maybe thirty minutes reading about Stephen Fry’s sugar addiction, before I was called to donate.

The procedure itself is fast. I was giving a large plastic bone to squeeze, and then they swabbed the area, inserted the needle, and let me lie there while the bag was filled. I’d say it took about five minutes to fill the bag. An audible alarm signals when the bag is full. The needle is removed, a plaster applied and then off you go for some goodies.

A glass of 7-Up and a few Bourbon Creams and I was out the door.

Most importantly I didn’t forget to bring two keyrings back to the room with me.

I’ve decided to add a Ritchey Classic Saddle to my Araya. Love the style, and lines.

Worrying about the children of today is something each generation goes through. ”Back in my day“ and other such bollocksology suggest that we know better than our parents, and their parents, and all the other parents that have ever existed on this planet. We’re special, we know more, we’re fucking awesome.

The sooner people realise that we’re not any of those things then we might set a better example for our children. My mantra of ”Doing is better than saying“ applies here.

Of course, it’s not you I’m talking about. After all, you’re not a ”knacker“, a ”scumbag“, or a ”scobie“ (neither am I sure). I’m sure you’re a respectable parent, who loves their children very much, and in general are a decent sort (of course I am).

Do you park like an arsehole when you go to collect your child from school? Do you skip queues? Do you break the speed limit? Do you just park your car wherever the fuck you like? Do you talk when others are performing? Do you answer questions like these with ”But…“?

If you do then the alarm bells should be ringing. You’re not all that.

It all comes back to respect. If you think you’re more important that anyone else, then that will trickle down to your children and they might have the misfortune of turning out like you (or me but I’m great so that’s alright).