At my age, Death takes a keener interest in me than when I was a mere twenty-years-old; how much more interested must He take in my mother. 

What happens when you get dragged into your mother's political campaign against a future president of the united states? If you are unlucky, you might wind up writing limericks.

Covid is no longer novel, but it is still here. Of course, you have to test before you can prove this fact. Jim Clarken’s mother is not a fan of being tested.

My mother has spent a lifetime being discreet, but lately she has changed and predicting her next public utterance has become impossible. And all the more worrying for that.    

Prompted by a telephone call on the landline recently, my mind took off down a rabbit hole, me racing after in in the hope of catching it quickly and getting back to more mundane musings.

You can read this and other blogs on www.jimclarken.ie 

Instead of reading my blog as I usually would, I am reading the first chapter of my novel Toxic Love which has just been published on Amazon as a paperback and on Kindle. 

An Irish, Indian Summer, brought Jim Clarken out into the light of day where Blackberry bushes caught his eye and brought on  memories and reflection of hunting down berries as a child. You can read this and other blogs on www.jimclarken.ie

When Ireland’s national broadcaster promotes Bloom’s Day (The 16th of June) with a reading from a very famous scene in the book, it awakens the critic in my 93-year-old mother. As a result, I find myself contemplating commodes and my grandmother’s use of them. This leads back to Molly Bloom’s famous potty scene. You have been warned. You can read this and other blogs on www.jimclarken.ie

Jim Clarken reflects on his mother’s gambling habit, does the maths, and realizes that her Fish & Tip Man, not only has the freshest fish in town, but he also has the best tips. 

Jim Clarken reflects on the difficulty of recording a podcast in an airing cupboard and on overcoming his fear of public reading while being chased by the ghosts of teachers past.