GUEST COLUMNIST: Maeve Higgins' A-Z review of 2014

A lot of people are clamouring to know how my year was; you’re probably one of them. You’re in luck! The Irish Examiner won a bidding war for my A-Z review of 2014.

Bere Island is where I started the year. I saw 24 stunning sunsets and one dead sheep.

Crappy’ is a word I accidentally said in front of a sensitive eight-year-old I was babysitting in December. ‘Don’t worry’ she said ‘Once, my Mom said holy shit’.

Despite my moral reservations, I began eating meat again, last year. In a clever dodge of personal responsibility, I blame the American burger chain, Shake Shack.

Every time I pass my local doctor’s office and see his name, Dr Duddempudi, on the sign, I think ‘Do your duty, Duddempudi’, even though I am so bored with myself for doing so. That thoughts are involuntary is frustrating to me.

Four hundred thousand — the number of hours I spent watching Beyonce videos online, while I was inert on my bed, curled up like a prawn.

Gray hair, don’t care! Except I do. I began using Gray Away, which is like snow in a can, except it’s made from black grit and humiliation.

How do I access the basement? I spent two nights in my sublet apartment, with no electricity, because I couldn’t find the door to the basement, where the circuit board was located.

It flew! The year flew. Not necessarily because I was having fun, although, at times, I was (see F), but because that’s just what happens.

Jewellery brightens up a dull month and I got my nose pierced in February. The stud fell out in March and my sister couldn’t jam it back in again, so my schnoz is glitz-free once more.

Kellogg’s, they’re great.

Liebling, that’s AJ Liebling — I only just found out about him, because my friend, Mark, sent me an extract from The Sweet Science. Turns out I love boxing writing.

Maeve is the name of the child living in the apartment above me, in Brooklyn. When her mother yells at her, I shiver in relief that I’m not the one getting in trouble.

No scrubs — my new rule! Ancient advice from TLC, but I’m a slow learner. So, you better get a j.o.b.

OK so, you don’t need a job, but you do need to not be a comedian and/or related to me. Girl’s got standards!

Plane travel was a lot more fun since one air stewardess TWICE recognised me as being ‘that girl from Cobh’, and gave me extra biscuits.

Quite a shame that, both times, I was off sugar, but I guess that’s the way the sweet, sweet cookie crumbles.

Respectfully, I say to thee I’m aware that you’re cheating — is just one song lyric that played on a loop in my head throughout a long, hot August. Such a catchy line! That’s why it stayed with me, not because anyone was cheating on me, unless…no. No, nevermind. I’m sure that was his lipstick. Men wear lipstick, too, you know. Faithful men, men secure in themselves and their relationship.

Some part of me wants a tattoo, I figured that out last year, but am just not sure which part. Maybe I will get Beyonce’s face tattooed onto my face, but my lawyer said there could be copyright issues.

Twitter doesn’t count as a way of staying in touch with my family, apparently: #sorrymammyanddaddy.

U are not on the list. This person knows who they are. Just in case they don’t — they are called Alan Kavanagh.

Very long way from home, that’s me, and that’s fine. The fewer preferences I have, the easier my life becomes.

Wyatt Cenac, from The Daily Show, made a personal, funny, big-hearted stand-up special that I saw on Netflix and liked a lot. It actually made me think more men should try their hand at stand-up. For too long, they’ve been shy about saying what they think. Come on guys — stop hiding your light under a bushel!

X-rated sex game — I invented one! Anybody can play; I’ll tell you how. You just put a bag over your head, paper, plastic, whichever and then…see how long you can go without sex. It’s super-easy to play. In fact, I’m winning.

YMCA — I found a set of keys on the ground and the only thing identifying the owner was a tag saying ‘Harlem YMCA’, so I posted them to the Harlem YMCA and bought myself a new notebook for being so good, and not telling anyone about it. Just being me — doing good deeds, secretly, like some kind of sexy, humble angel.

Zodiac signs are not cool, according to Richard Dawkins. I did a show with him and he’s a real cutie, but he doesn’t believe in magic.

Aida Austin is on holidays.


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