Usually, I can't expect to get my motivation for life until the first week of February when some editor or agent reminds me of an imminent deadline for a job I had forgotten I had. But this year my injection came from a rather more unexpected source: the red squirrel.

When I was asked if I would like to meet the people who were trying to reintroduce them into my area my answer was a firm and assertive, "no". When I have barely the energy to stand up the last thing I feel like doing is getting roped into a community project.

But with a bit of gentle persuasion from my archly manipulative neighbour, Steve, I found myself being introduced to Cyril Collins. A decorated retired garda sergeant, Cyril is one of those quiet, spangly-eyed respectable Irish men that you just know you won't be able to say 'no' to if he asks you to do something. Like, for instance, write about the plight of the red squirrel in your national newspaper column.

Eight years ago Cyril began a campaign to dicky up the muddy, scruffy council-owned woodland attached to Ballina's Beleek Castle. Recruiting a team of like-minded locals they set about raising the money and doing the legwork, clearing the pathways and tidying up the many historical monuments, making them accessible with signs - transforming the wood to live up to a new, loftier title "Heritage Park". As he told me about their plans to introduce red squirrels to the forest this May - (Squirrel Debrief: grey squirrels bad guntoting, ciggy-smoking, city-dwelling, leather-clad vermin; red squirrels lovely, indigenous, treehopping, chirpy rodents) - I realised that I was in the presence of a Great Man. Not Ghandi exactly, because not everyone can be a Ghandi - but from the same school of Get Up and Go of Ghandi and his like. A quietly spoken persuader who selflessly points themselves at a public service project and then inspires (or shames) other people into joining it.

Every town and village in Ireland has at least one of these great activators; raising money for the football pitch, putting up the Christmas lights, organizing Tidy Towns, starting up a festival - and mostly we reluctant volunteers treat them like our downtrodden wives, at best raising our eyes to heaven and reluctantly complying with martyrish bad humour, or worse ignoring them altogether then complaining about the state of our village/ festival/ football pitch as if it were their fault.

So I've decided to start 2007 by celebrating one.

Thank you Cyril for jolting me out of my January torpor with your enthusiasm. Ireland is a better place with people like you in it.

Oh, and iora rua go bragh!