Ger McDonnell - an Irish hero

The Beijing Olympics signifying man's endeavour to conquer the odds and win, against the toughest competition in the world. Limerick man Ger McDonnell reached out and grabbed his own Olympic medal by conquering K2.

He may have died on the mountain along with his ten climbing companions but it should act as some consolation to his family and friends that he died on his descent of the mountain as opposed to losing the battle to conquer the peak.

It makes for small comfort I know but at least he had the opportunity to experience that immeasurable rush of adrenaline at the summit.

Pat Falvey remembers how Ger saved his life on their climb on Everest some years back when Falvey suffered Pulmonary oedema on the mountain. This can lead to heart failure and death. Ger McDonnell help carry Pat to safety and I'll bet he was doing something similar on Saturday when he died on K2. I'll also bet he knew the risks that came with his type of adventure lifestyle, whether it was trekking to the South Pole, climbing Everest or K2. Some have said during the week that this type of accident is also tragic because it involves total waste of healthy lives.

I tend not to agree, whether it was Mallory and Irving on Everest, or Gerard McDonnell, from Co Limerick, the world is a better place for their passing through it.

Raindrops keep falling

You may well think that I continue to fraternise pointlessly with the Irish weather but I'm not bothered by your sniggering, not after the long weekend we've just had! If you didn't seize the opportunity to get out the salad cream, dust down the picnic basket and rinse out the flask then shame on you.

It could well have been our last vestige of summer, come to think of it our first as well. For the record this July just gone has had the most rain on record, ever, except for 1975 which did shade it just a smidge.

But here is the important bit, if 1975 had the wettest July on record what was it followed by in 1976? A belting great heat wave, that's what. For me as a lug eared, freckled face Cork teen it proved to be a summer I will always remember.

It was the year of the world jamboree (the Olympics of the scouting world) and millions of us descended on a place call Downe, in Kent, England for two weeks of fun, frolics, tents, smelly feet, sausages on the campfire and most importantly of all, Girl Guides.

They were, at that time of my life, the most beautiful creatures imaginable, especially the Scandinavian ones.