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Irish Times
06-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
‘I told a story about a sex toy at my mother's funeral. The priest was mortified, but Mum would have loved it'
By the time Aoife Dunne and I finish a pot of tea in the Atrium of the College Green Hotel in Dublin, we've both cried twice, and laughed, and ranted about capitalism, and shared details of our relationships, and said the word 'dildo' repeatedly. Luckily for us, the staff in the hotel are so well trained that they pretend not to notice any of this, even if the tone of our conversation is more emotional and raucous than a typical meeting in this elegant, tasteful and respectable venue. But that's what comedian and storyteller Aoife Dunne inspires – a deep dive into earnest, open-hearted empathy, full-bodied laughs and emotional honesty. The 38-year-old, from Kinvara in Co Galway , first came to attention with her comedy videos on Instagram – hilarious dissections of Irish shame; our pathological inability to accept compliments; our refusal to communicate directly, even when it matters most. But her feed also offers sun-drenched montages of sea swims and friendships, poems about grief and healing, raw recordings of herself in tears, and reflections on the long, complex afterlife of loss. They feel like digital postcards from someone who has survived something devastating – not by hardening, but by softening, by staying present and porous. This unique blend of comedy, poetry and authenticity is the Venn diagram behind her show Good Grief, which returns to Dublin this autumn following a sell-out run in Whelan's. The performance fuses stand-up, storytelling, poetry and memoir to explore the disorienting force of grief, and the radical, joyful possibility of recovery. 'I just couldn't write a show that was all jokes,' she says. 'It would feel too hollow. Life isn't just funny, and it isn't just tragic. It's both. I wanted to make a show that lets all of that breathe.' READ MORE Dunne's mother, Maria, died suddenly of an aortic dissection in 2010 when Dunne was 23 and travelling in Argentina. 'Basically, her heart broke,' she says. 'That's the poetic version. But even doctors now, when I say 'aortic dissection', they pause. It's so rare.' Her mother's spirit lives on vividly in Dunne's stories; she is wild, generous, gleefully irreverent. 'We put this photo on her mass card where she's hanging off the back of a moving vehicle, doing this mad pose. The priest told us not to use it. We insisted. That was Mum.' Maria worked in a pharmacy. She was not a pharmacist, Dunne explains, but had a particular interest in health foods and supplements. 'Farmers would come in for blood pressure meds and leave with St John's Wort.' She was the sort of woman who would claim the wrapped present she was giving her son for his 18th birthday was a dildo (it wasn't, but his friends appreciated the slagging opportunity), but was also so respected and trusted in her community that she was once asked to prepare the body of a neighbour for his wake. At her funeral, the church was packed with hippies and farmers, and a priest who referred to her 'four children born out of wedlock', which prompted her partner – a towering man – to interrupt the eulogy to declare her his 'delicious, divine, sexy woman'. Dunne's own contribution was telling the dildo story. 'The priest was mortified. But Mum would have loved it.' After her mother's death, Dunne – the eldest of the four siblings – became the adult in a house of grieving teenagers. 'I have so much compassion now for my younger self. I thought I was doing everything wrong. I wasn't a good enough sister, partner, friend. But I was 23, trying to parent my brothers while grieving. Of course I couldn't do it all.' I was hurting myself in ways I didn't even realise – cheating on people, withdrawing, pushing people away – because I felt I didn't deserve love or joy — Aoife Dunne The support came not from within, but from around. 'I didn't raise myself. The village did. My mum's friends started a fund to help my brothers get through college. There were grants. There were no fees then. Ireland was more socialist.' She becomes animated as she talks about this form of community and State support, and rails against how increasingly isolated, individualistic and neo-liberal Irish society has become. The housing crisis and cost-of-living crisis has made merely surviving a struggle for so many people, which makes recovering from a major life event such as bereavement all the more difficult. 'That's why I'm so angry about the way things are going. We survived because of community and support. If we'd been expected to go it alone, we'd have fallen apart. Resilience isn't a personality trait – it's a measure of your resources.' Aoife Dunne: The support came not from within, but from around. 'I didn't raise myself. The village did." Photograph: Alan Betson / The Irish Times These moments of community support and kindness are littered throughout her story. Not long after her mother's death, Dunne started a Master's in human rights law. 'I was completely disconnected. I wasn't crying, I wasn't feeling. I thought I was broken. I dropped out halfway through – I'd never quit anything before.' One day, she was sitting in her family home in Kinvara when there was a knock on the door. 'Some of the girls from my Master's, who I barely knew, just showed up. With tea and biscuits. They didn't ask if they could – they just acted like I still belonged to the world. That saved me.' She had, she says, internalised an idea of what a 'good' grieving person looked like – composed, functional, moving forward. 'I thought if I wasn't crying in the right way or being productive with my grief, then I was doing it wrong,' she says. In reality, she was self-destructing. 'I was hurting myself in ways I didn't even realise – cheating on people, withdrawing, pushing people away – because I felt I didn't deserve love or joy. I thought my sadness made me contagious.' The pandemic brought another turning point. Stripped of routine, work and relationships, she found herself collapsed on the wooden floor of her flat in Portobello in Dublin, sobbing. 'And I remember thinking, 'Is this it? Is this the thing I've been afraid of for 10 years? Just ... crying?' That was when I started therapy. And breathwork. And meditation. And little by little, I started putting myself back together.' Those things had once included acting. She'd loved drama since childhood, attending local pantomimes and community theatre, and begging her single mother to drive her 40 minutes every Saturday to attend a Galway drama school, where she met Bridgerton and Derry Girls actress Nicola Coughlan . 'It was three hours. Mum would grumble a bit, but she did it. It cost more than we could really afford, but she knew I needed it,' Dunne says. 'And that's where I met girls who really wanted it – girls who had confidence and drive. I didn't. I had the want, but I didn't believe I deserved it.' She remembers performing at the National Theatre in London with her Galway youth theatre group at 20 – an opportunity that should have felt exhilarating, but instead left her feeling unworthy and small. 'All these other girls were talking about drama schools and RADA, and I just said, 'I go to youth theatre,' and immediately felt stupid. I looked at their clothes, then looked at mine. That was the first time I realised – I don't belong in this room. Not because of talent, but because of class.' Aoife Dunne on her mother's death: 'I was completely disconnected. I wasn't crying, I wasn't feeling. I thought I was broken.' Photograph: Alan Betson This internalised shame – around money, ambition, worth – stuck. She abandoned her dreams of acting, feeling, as she says, 'like even wanting it was presumptuous. Too much of a notion'. She spent her days teaching English as a foreign language. Years later, during a deep meditative session – part of a healing process she describes as one of the most transformative of her life – she was guided to return to an early childhood memory. 'He said, 'Walk to one of your earliest memories of being a child doing something.' And I was five. And he said, 'Go to that child. She's so happy to see you. Imagine she sees you – this older version. And what do you tell her about who you've become?'' She pauses. 'Do I tell her that I hate myself? That I've spent 10, 12 years running away from the things that are good for me because I'm so scared?' [ Róisín Ingle: This new play was the best thing I've seen on an Irish stage in a very long time Opens in new window ] At this stage we're both crying, before Dunne nods with a sense of determination. 'And then I thought – no. I want to tell her that we became an actress. That we made it back to the stage. And in that moment, I just thought – oh my God, I'm going to change my life. I'm going to make her proud.' That path led to a profound psychedelic experience with ayahuasca in Brazil when she was 35. 'I saw my whole life – every tiny moment. Teaching. Helping my brothers. Laughing with friends. Every second I thought had been a failure. I saw it all. And I fell to the ground and said, 'I love my life.' That was the first time I truly meant it.' [ Six in Dublin review: Henry VIII's wives are recast as pop princesses. One above all deserves the crown Opens in new window ] After that, she started saying 'yes' more often. 'Yes' to a storytelling night, and then 'yes' to a six-month storytelling course in Amsterdam. 'Yes' to flying to New York to perform 20 minutes at a comedy club, even though she wasn't sure she was a comedian. 'Yes' to a slot in Whelan's, after MCD took a chance on her. 'I said, 'I don't know if anyone will come.' It sold out in six hours. Then we added another show, and that sold out even faster. And I just thought – oh no. I need to write a show now.' Early performances have received rave reviews, with audiences and critics praising how she fluidly combines heartbreak, wit, humour. The ayahuasca retreat is now complete with descriptions of losing her luggage, having Brazilian shopkeepers try to discern her butt size, and the attempt to reach transcendence while wearing an ill-fitting thong. (Guessing butt sizes is a rare skill, apparently.) She has more than 130,000 followers on Instagram who appreciate her honesty and authenticity, as well as her passion for social justice. Alongside her comedy videos and poetry, she campaigns for equal rights, supports Palestine, and once posted a lengthy poem criticising Conor McGregor and the far-right men who revere him. Dunne is sharply critical of gendered silence – both online and off. 'My female friends are doing the work. Therapy. Journaling. Talking to each other. And our boyfriends are ... not. They've never been taught how to speak their feelings.' Mum never judged anyone at face value. She'd always ask, 'What's underneath that?' That's why I try to ask, even when someone is cruel – what are they going through? — Aoife Dunne She's particularly incensed by the inaction of male influencers. 'There are men with huge platforms saying nothing. If you're not using your platform to lift others or say something meaningful, what are you doing?' Dunne's political views – and position as a woman online – mean she has faced her share of abuse. But she handles trolls with the same blend of empathy and clarity that her mother modelled. 'A woman once left horrible comments on three of my videos. I posted them publicly. Then she DMed me. She told me her mother had died, that she was a full-time carer, that she was having a bad day. I told her, 'If you post it publicly, I'll respond publicly. But thank you for saying sorry.' We ended up talking back and forth. And she's coming to the show now.' She credits her mother for that capacity to hold people tenderly even when they lash out. 'Mum never judged anyone at face value. She'd always ask, 'What's underneath that?' That's why I try to ask, even when someone is cruel – what are they going through?' Asked if her mother would be proud of her now, Dunne doesn't hesitate. 'Yes. She didn't believe in herself, but she believed in me. If she were here now, she'd be front row in the theatre, clapping the loudest.' She pauses, laughing. 'And then giving out that I swore onstage.' Aoife Dunne's Good Grief will be at the Ambassador on September 20th.
Irish Times
24-06-2025
- Politics
- Irish Times
Kinvara residents seek to bring challenge against housing of asylum seekers at hotel
Several residents of a Co Galway village want to bring H igh Court proceedings in a bid to stop the Government's decision to house international protection applicants at a local hotel. Kinvara residents Ruth Sexton, Mary Boyce, Chris Hartnett Dalton and Paul Collins are seeking permission to challenge the recent decision to place up to 98 people in the Merriman Hotel, which is currently home to about 50 Ukrainian people. According to court documents, the hotel has been used to accommodate people seeking international protection since 2019. The residents say the hotel has 32 rooms. The residents want to bring the judicial review proceedings against the Minister for the Department of Children, Equality, Disability and Integration and the Minister for the Department of Justice, Home Affairs and Migration. It is proposed that MLC Hotel Ltd, the hotel owner, be made a notice party in the action. READ MORE According to the residents, a meeting of Kinvara Community Council was in March informed of the Minister for the Department of Integration's decision to designate the hotel as accommodation for 98 international protection applicants. In making that decision, the residents claim the Minister failed to assess or evaluate the suitability of the Merriam Hotel to accommodate those people. They also say the Minister failed to assess or evaluate the availability of amenities in the local area, such as school places and medical services. They claim the use of the hotel as an accommodation centre since 2019 has resulted in losses of up to €13.3 million to the local area. None of the €9 million paid to MLC Hotel Ltd through its contract to provide accommodation has benefited the local community, the residents claim, leading to the closure of restaurants and reducing opening hours at local pubs. They say the Minister has failed to assess or evaluate the economic impact of his decision. Moving the application to bring the judicial review proceedings this week, barrister Mary Moran-Long, for the residents, said her clients were representing the community of Kinvara. Ms Sexton, of Sexton's Bar, Main Street, Kinvara, is a publican; Ms Boyce, of Cathercon, Kinvara; is a homemaker; Mr Hartnett Dalton, of Northampton, Kinvara, is a financial broker; and Mr Collins, of Crushoa, Kinvara, is a publican. Ms Justice Marguerite Bolger said she felt there was insufficient material before the court to make a decision on whether to give Ms Moran-Long permission to bring the proceedings. She permitted Ms Moran-Long to amend her court documents and file additional sworn statements as required. Ms Justice Bolger adjourned the case to next month. She directed that the respondents, the Minister for the Department of Children, Equality, Disability, and Integration and the Minister for the Department of Justice, Home Affairs and Migration, be put on notice of the application for permission to bring the judicial review proceedings.
BreakingNews.ie
24-06-2025
- Politics
- BreakingNews.ie
Galway villagers seek to bring challenge against housing of asylum seekers at hotel
Several residents of a Co Galway village want to bring High Court proceedings in a bid to stop the Government's decision to house international protection applicants at a local hotel. Kinvara residents Ruth Sexton, Mary Boyce, Chris Hartnett Dalton and Paul Collins are seeking permission to challenge the recent decision to place up to 98 people in the Merriman Hotel, which is currently home to about 50 Ukrainian people. Advertisement According to court documents, the hotel has been used to accommodate people seeking international protection since 2019. The residents say the hotel has 32 rooms. The residents want to bring the judicial review proceedings against the Minister for the Department of Children, Equality, Disability and Integration and the Minister for the Department of Justice, Home Affairs and Migration. It is proposed that MLC Hotel Ltd, the hotel owner, be made a notice party in the action. According to the residents, a meeting of Kinvara Community Council was in March informed of the Minister for the Department of Integration's decision to designate the hotel as accommodation for 98 international protection applicants. In making that decision, the residents claim the Minister failed to assess or evaluate the suitability of the Merriam Hotel to accommodate those people. Advertisement They also say the Minister failed to assess or evaluate the availability of amenities in the local area, like school places and medical services. They claim the use of the hotel as an accommodation centre since 2019 has resulted in losses of up to €13.3 million to the local area. None of the €9 million paid to MLC Hotel Ltd through its contract to provide accommodation has benefited the local community, the residents claim, leading to the closure of restaurants and reducing opening hours at local pubs. They say the Minister has failed to assess or evaluate the economic impact of his decision. Advertisement Moving the application to bring the judicial review proceedings this week, Mary Moran-Long BL, for the residents, said her clients were representing the community of Kinvara. Ireland High Court judge to rule on Athlone asylum centre... Read More Ms Sexton, of Sexton's Bar, Main Street, Kinvara, is a publican; Ms Boyce, of Cathercon, Kinvara, is a homemaker; Mr Hartnett Dalton, of Northampton, Kinvara, is a financial broker; and Mr Collins, of Crushoa, Kinvara, is a publican. Ms Justice Marguerite Bolger said she felt there was insufficient material before the court to make a decision on whether or not to give Ms Moran-Long permission to bring the proceedings. She permitted Ms Moran-Long to amend her court documents, and file additional sworn statements as required. Ms Justice Bolger adjourned the case to next month. She directed that the respondents, the Minister for Integration and the Minister for Justice, be put on notice of the application for permission to bring the judicial review proceedings.
Irish Times
19-05-2025
- Irish Times
Escape from the city to a rural refuge in the magical, mystical Burren
As a transplant from the country, long living in Dublin , I find my mind wandering every few weeks across the Shannon and further westwards to the Atlantic coast. As often as possible my body gets to follow my imagination west to Sligo , Connemara or Clare to reset, prepping me for another stretch in the city. During one of these trips to the west last year I heard about Summerage, a 1930s Land Commission cottage on a high plateau in the Burren , in the throes of a transformation into a 21st century self-catering retreat. I followed Summerage's progress to completion on social media over the past few months, vicariously living my own dream to restore a house in this part of the world one day. After a seemingly never-ending winter, my horizon needed expanding and a booking at Summerage was just the ticket. My wife, son and dog have a similar hankering for the west, so off we set, and a couple of podcasts after hitting the road, the lights of Kinvara come into view. Tales of badly behaved Roman emperors are swapped on the car stereo for Declan O'Rourke's sublime The Stars over Kinvara. We roll down the windows to see actual stars, after an 11-day stretch of endless cloud cover. In Ballyvaughan we hang a left and follow the winding, mountain road through endless fields of rock, before navigating a final farm road to Summerage. Alighting from the car, we are enveloped in darkness. Kinvara's stars are no match for the theatre of the skies playing out above our heads; with craned necks we pick out constellations and galaxies we've never seen before. READ MORE The blackness of the night is swapped for the cosiness of the cottage interior. An A-rated makeover has swathed this refuge with underfloor heating and insulated walls, and warmth radiates from every corner. We light the stove and the rest of the night is spent on the couch with Manchán Magan's 32 Words for Field , a book about the etymology of the Irish language, that suits this setting perfectly. The idea that the Irish language is at least 1,000 years older than English is a fact we all need to be reminded of constantly. The wind howls outside and we will the weather to do its worst. Aoibheann McNamara bought this house on 32 acres of hazel woodland a few years ago, and has worked hard since to bring it back to life. We follow her instructions to wake up for sunrise. Out in the rocky fields in our pyjamas, we're rewarded with a Turner-like brightening in the clouds. McNamara's Mercedes estate soon draws a line across the landscape before pulling up before us in the driveway, which is surrounded by stone walls. When not restoring Summerage, McNamara runs ArdBia, the much-loved restaurant and community hub located in a stone building behind Galway's Spanish Arch. With her costume designer friend Triona Lillis, she also runs the Tweed Project, a clothing company based in Galway that uses exclusively Irish fabrics. All the beautiful yellow and red cushions and throws on the couches and beds in the house have been made by the label. She leads me through the hazel wood with her dog Puffy in tow to find the ruins of a famine village in a hidden dell. She explains that these limestone hills absorb heat in the summer, holding on to it throughout the colder months and warming the pastures for the cattle in a process known as winterage. Hence the reverse-naming of her house. Hundreds of oak trees have been planted here in the last year, along with an orchard of apple trees and a vegetable garden and green house to supply the restaurant in Galway. I'm in awe of all she has achieved. Summerage: 'It's gorgeous to stay somewhere where every single thing has been selected because it brings joy' Summerage: The windows all frame views of the Burren Summerage: Living area with wood-burning stove. Photograph: Shantanu Starick Summerage: Kitchen and dining area. Photograph: Shantanu Starick Summerage: All the yellow and red cushions and throws in the house were made by the Tweed Project. Photograph: Shantanu Starick Summerage: The property also has a vegetable garden and greenhouse. Photograph: Anita Murphy It would be very easy to never leave this house. It's set up so beautifully that six days could be spent here among all the books and bespoke furnishings, gazing out at the Burren, the views framed by every perfectly placed window. But a lunch booking at Michelin-starred Homestead Cottage near Doolin manages to lure us away temporarily from this refuge. Chef Robbie McCauley and his wife Sophie set up their restaurant in this charming 200-year-old cottage in 2023, using vegetables from their own garden and other ingredients sourced or foraged locally. We're seated by the wood-stove, and soon plates of home-baked sourdough and brown bread appear, followed by a parsnip velouté and a starter of local oysters in a champagne sabayon. A beetroot and St Tola cheese salad sets us up for the fish course with delicious halibut, and our carnivorous son is delighted when a beef dish appears soon after. The 'build it and they will come' maxim is very much in evidence here today with a full house of diners, all equally amazed as we are that food at this level is increasingly available in Ireland's hidden corners. Robbie McCauley, head chef of Michelin-starred Homestead Cottage in Doolin. Photograph: Brian Arthur The Michelin-starred Homestead Cottage in Doolin. Photograph: Brian Arthur We follow the steely grey coast road home through Fanore, where giant boulders have come to a stop between the clints and grikes of the limestone pavement above the sea. The Aran Islands are just about visible in the distance and then Black Head Lighthouse comes into view, awaiting a cameo in a Wes Anderson movie. The lights of O'Loclainn's pub in Ballyvaughan beckon, and as we squeeze through the front door we're immediately caught up in an Irish music session so oversubscribed that we never actually manage to cut through the throng to order the whiskey that this beautiful little bar is known for. Even without a drink, this is exactly the scene you always hope to experience when entering a pub in the west of Ireland. Back at Summerage, the clouds have descended and there's no repeat performance of the celestial display from the night before. We light all the candles in the cottage instead and crank up The Gloaming on the speaker: the ultimate soundtrack for this barren but intensely beautiful setting. Waking the next morning, no scroll through Instagram could compete with the view from our bedroom of stone walls, cattle on their warmed pasture and rock-covered hills. We arrange to meet Triona Lillis in nearby Ennistymon. Many of the soft furnishings in Summerage have been designed by Triona and Aoibheann's label the Tweed Project and I'm interested to hear more about their process. Triona leads me up to the studio in the eaves of her riverside home, explaining as she goes how all the linen they use comes from Wexford, and their tweed comes from Molly & Sons in Donegal and from the Kerry Woollen Mills. The colours and textures of the Burren are a huge influence, and we admire tassled grey blankets shot with metallic threads. Triona asks us to bring a suit back with us to Dublin: as it turns out, the Tweed Project make all of the suits Tommy Tiernan wears on his RTÉ chatshow. I decide to visit their showroom the next time I'm in Galway. Open-air Wild Atlantic Seaweed Baths, Doolin Before leaving Ennistymon, we call in to the wonderful Market House Food Hall. Triona tells me that half of Clare keep their winter colds at bay with Moss Boss Tonic and we stock up with a few bottles of this elixir made with sea moss in Ennis. More seaweed awaits back at Doolin. Wild Atlantic Seaweed Baths operates an open air spa on the foreshore near the pier, looking out at Crab Island with the Cliffs of Moher in the distance. A cloud of steam rises from a line of oak barrels filled to the brim with seaweed and piping hot water. A rope of festoon lights is strung across the site. We spend a very happy hour soaking in the iodine-rich sea water, taking in the panorama of the cliffs. Who needs Bali? We continue the day's ocean theme by driving over the hills to Linnane's Lobster Bar at New Quay for dinner. Seamus Heaney advised visiting these parts in September or October in his poem Postscript, but the wind and the light are still working off each other at the Flaggy Shore in early spring. Linnane's doesn't feature in Heaney's poem, but the seafood being served up here is just as breathtaking as the wild ocean that we look out at from our table. Plates of Flaggy Shore oysters soon appear, and we feel it would be a shame not to try the lobster, given the location. Linnane's Lobster Bar in New Quay, Co Clare The tiny fishing village of New Quay in the Burren It's our last morning in Summerage and I repeat the ritual of lighting the stove and the candles before breakfast. We're envious that our house in Dublin can't compete in the cosy stakes, and we make mental notes about how to bring extra warmth into our own habitat. We eat our breakfast from orange-flecked plates; a local potter was commissioned to design a bespoke set of tableware to match the colour scheme of the house. It's gorgeous to stay somewhere where every single thing, from the bone-handled cutlery to the J Hill's Standard crystal glasses, has been selected because it brings joy. The walls are dotted with framed photographs of British film-maker Derek Jarman's famous tar-black house in Dungeness on the Kent coast. McNamara made a pilgrimage there last year to take these images, and draw inspiration for her own house in a similarly austere landscape. It's very hard to leave, but Summerage is now available for short-term stays and I'm sure we'll be back. [ Mysterious sweathouses were used widely in Ireland until late 19th century. Now sauna culture is making a comeback Opens in new window ] Poulnabrone Dolmen has presided over the Burren for more than 5,000 years from its perch on one of the highest spots in the area. It's just up the road from Summerage and we drop by to pay our respects before heading for home. This is arguably Ireland's most famous dolmen and for me, the unofficial symbol of the Burren. With all the turmoil we seem to be living through at the moment, it's grounding to spend some time with an ancient structure that has weathered many the storm, and survived. Fergal McCarthy was a guest of Summerage, see . For help planning your own trip to the Burren, see
