I can’t believe it is the last day of April. Where did the month go? But it means, that starting tomorrow, I officially have one month of college left. And then I’ll be finished. But that’s an aside.

The other morning, I went for a walk along the Dodder. I often do this, as we live right by it. But little did I know the treat that was in store for me. We have a neighbourhood grey heron, who is often seen on stretches of the Dodder. He frequently appears at the weir just below us. But, I have never seen him stay in one spot for long.

The day before yesterday, when I was out on my walk, I spotted him. You couldn’t miss these herons, with their grey feahers and black caps with the little ribbon feathers hanging down. There he was, bang slap in the middle of the Dodder, just below a tiny weir, fishing. Wading through the water. Watching, spearing. About three meters away from me. I was entranced. I watched him for about half an hour as he waded up and down the river with his funny backward (compared to humans) knee joints.

All excited when I came home, I emailed SK to tell him about the wonder of the heron. I felt priviliged that he let me stand and watch him fish. He didn’t even move when a man and his dog climbed down the bank on the other side of the river to get a good look at him. I thought the fishing was a once off. That I wouldn’t see him again.

This morning, S and I went on the same walk. And just downstream a bit from where he was the other day, at about the same time, was our friend the heron. Standing in the water again. We watched him for a couple of minutes but he flew upstream a bit. Right back to the spot where he was the other day below the weir. There he proceeded to fish. Again, just below us. Again no more than a few meters away. We could see the detail of his feathers, we watched the fish in the river unaware of what was lurking over them. We watched him dive bomb his beak into the water to snap a sprat. And another sprat, and another sprat, and another sprat. We watched his gullet move as he swallowed them. Twice was no accident, next time I’ll take a camera to photograph this beautiful bird.

The Dodder, you can’t beat it when it comes to bird life. Citizens of Dublin, take a walk along it’s banks. You never know what you’ll see.

The Tsunami victims are still suffering, there is still much to rebuild.

The female authors of Ireland, after an appeal for short stories by Ciara Considine submitted short stories for inclusion in this book which was launched this evening.

It costs ten euro. Every single cent (all 1000 of them) of the cover price goes to GOAL. That is very unusual. All royalties will also go to GOAL. GOAL are working in Sri Lanka. Rebuilding houses, boats, whatever they can.

If you would like a signed copy, there will be a signing in Easons on O’Connell Street at noon on saturday. But buy it anyway. It is called Moments.

Gallipoli is a name that I first memorised after watching the film Gallipoli. It coincided with eating Anzac biscuits. I think I must have been about ten and it was my first experience of Anzac Day and the delicious Anzac biscuits. The biscuits were made by an Australian or a New Zelander, I can’t remember which.

Today is the ninty year anniversary of the landing at Gallipoli. Thousands upon thousands of Australians and New Zelanders and indeed Irish and British soldiers died in the battle that went on for months. Ninety years is a long time ago, longer than most peoples’ lifetimes.

As once was said, “We will remember them”. It continues to be so.