GOING HOME (HEALTH LINKS - 2002)

The questions in country towns are always the same. Did you get married? And did you hate Dublin? The more discrete ones drop their eyes to your left hand or mention children. Who was it who said you can never go home because I think they were wrong.

I moved from Dublin, home to Castlebar six months ago. And it's great. I left here with the leaving cert class of 1982 and at that point I couldn't wait to get out. There was nothing much happening in eighties provincial Ireland. Or that's how it seemed. I lived in a few other towns, as well as London and New York and 13 years ago I fell back into Dublin. It was easy and familiar and it didn't require any major decision. It was just where I lived, and where I got work.

In the same accident of choice, I lived in an apartment in Monkstown. A leafy suburb, seven miles from the city centre. Apartment living was strange. People don't really talk to each other. It must be something to do with inviting someone past the threshold into limited space and never getting rid of you. There were also irritating memoranda about lining our curtains with cream backing, security gates with codes to get in and get out.

I once received a warning from someone on the management committee about an old spin dryer stored on the balcony. It was two inches above the recommended eye level. I was slow to move it. One day it just disappeared. A workman with a ladder was called in and the spinner was dumped without any further consultation.

I used the same shops for years and no one ever knew my name.
So it was more life as a single woman in the suburbs than Dublin city that bugged me. The traffic and all the other problems people bitch about didn't really bother me. Anyway, I made a decision to move. The choice was either Castlebar or New York. My hometown won because I didn't have immigration issues and for once in 20 years, I belonged. Being a "blow in" since 18 is exhausting.

I slipped back into life here six months ago. I found a town, which had changed nearly beyond recognition. McDonalds, multiplex cinema, bowling alley, day spa, retail parks, ring roads and massive service stations.

The town planners had also moved the centre of the town from the main street to the Market Square by locating all the new stores there. There was now choice in what you ate with an Italian, two Indians, a few Chinese and nouvelle cuisine. For special occasions in the eighties we got to sit down in Cafollas and round off our chips with a Fanta Float or Knickerbocker Glory.

I'm not sure I'll miss the cultural life of Dublin. I never got to see much of it between long-term planning, credit card bookings and parking. Here, I can cycle down to the Linenhall Arts Centre. Already I've seen and heard more because it's coming in bite size pieces. I like the spontaneity.

In terms of work, I'm self employed and only time will tell if I get paid in roubles in comparison to Dublin. It's cheaper to live here. Parking fees are a shock and clamping hasn't yet arrived.

It is hard that everyone from the class of 1982 appears married with children. However, I'm planning on starting a Bridget Jones survival group. Surely there will be lots to do without turning into my maiden aunts.

On the home front, I've doubled the square footage for the price of a postage stamp in Dublin. The wild boy at school had metamorphosed into a professional estate agent who was on the level.

Of course there's a debit side to 'community'. And it centres on gossip but for the moment, I'll continue to enjoy the gossip until I hear the stuff about me. And it can be awkward when you ask for Bakewell Tart with cream in a restaurant and the woman who serves you is in your Weight Watchers class.

It's hard work dismantling one life and starting a new one. I had the energy for this move and it's working out. After 13 homes over 20 years, it's really nice to land and be one of the town's ould stock. Because even though Castlebar has doubled in size and sophistication the core is still intact. Life is certainly easier here. A town is negotiable and people not only know my name but they don't call me after a brand of tyres.

Micheline Egan