Rosie's Ramblings

Dear Diary,

It's me again, on a different day, but with the same old dilemma. The same old decision to try and make one day soon in a gentle reminder that nothing exciting ever happens here. Not compared to Australia anyhow..

In case you didn't know already, I spent two amazing years in Sydney with my two best friends as soon as I graduated university (a business degree - not that I've used it much so far unless selling surf boards on Bondi Beach counts), but when my Nana Peggy got sick a few months ago, I came straight home to Ireland to be with her, staying by her side until we had to say our final goodbyes last December.

I miss her words of wisdom so much. I miss my mum too.

Now, it's just me, the pub, and a few adorable regulars - mainly Blinky Madden (a local farmer who's a lifelong friend), Brenda (she's like the big sister I never had) and Harry (a newcomer to the village who I get along with really well). They're a mixed bunch, but they're as close to a family as I have these days. But I've still got itchy feet. Should I stay or should I go?

External view of Rosie Ryan's Irish pub - once a well known hideout for country music stars

I'm Rosie Ryan

I'm twenty six years old, and I'm the new, if slightly reluctant, landlady of a place that has had my name over the door since the day and hour I was born.

Everyone in our village remembers when the news came out that my mum, Geraldine had given birth to a baby girl before the big turn of the new Millennium. Nana called a happy hour that lasted a week, and everyone drank and danced as they welcomed home the third generation of proud Ryan women who would one day grow yp to welcome music lovers from near and far to our family establishment.

Before I came into the world, the pub was simply known as Ryan's, but my grandmother changed it straight away, and so my destiny was set in stone.

No pressure, eh?

'Rosie Ryan's' has always been the type of place where everyone from touring singers, to household names could be found enjoying the craic over a pint with my mum behind the bar, Nana Peggy in charge and me, running around until bedtime when mum would take me upstairs and tuck me in with a gentle lullaby.

I've never known who my dad was, and I never really missed out on much, though now I want to find him more than ever. I didn't get the chance to ask too many questions as when I was only twelve years old, my darling mum was taken from us suddenly, and it was only Nana and I from that day on.

Nana took me to school, she washed my clothes, she taught me how to pour a perfect pint when I was tall enough to reach the taps, and most of all she made me promise that when it was my time to take over the pub, I'd only do so wholeheartedly, and not because I felt I had to.

'It's your choice, Rosie Ryan,' she told me many times. 'The beach or the barstool - but don't keep this place on because of me. Only do it because it's in your heart and soul. Always follow your heart and soul, and it will lead you in the right direction.'

So I promised my nana before she slipped away that I would give it a year here at the pub and then I'd make up my mind.

Is it the beach or the barstool? I've six more months to decide.

Love, Rosie.