Friday, June 23, 2006

Today

Just returned from a week in Ireland on the Sheeps Head peninsula. We've been there many times now and feel really at home. We flew Ryanair to Shannon for the princely sum of £4.99 + taxes each, were in Ireland in 50 minutes. A 3 hour drive over the Killarney mountains and we were there. The roads were mostly good or being improved with 80% grants from the EU. After a rainy start, which made us wonder if we'd done the right thing, we had a beautiful time and allowed the place to exert its healing influence on us.

We generally stay in the same cottage; when we first went there, in 1997, there only about 1/2 a dozen cottages in the village. Now there must be 50 or 60, with more going up. Ireland has not been slow to recognise its potential as a holiday venue. Plus, as the population expands, homes are needed. Let's hope they don't kill the goose.

So far, the building has not spoiled the beauty or essential wildness of the place. And, after a trying year for all of us, we needed to experience the benefits of its physical and spiritual qualities.

In My Day

We first went to Ireland in 1990. We took the girls and Paul's Mother who had convinced herself that her family came from Tipperary and that all she had to do was walk into Tipperary and people would instantly recognise her and take her to the home of her fathers.

We decided to stay in Banagher, which is in county Offaly on the Shannon. Getting there was more of a palaver than it is now, via drive to Fishguard, ferry to Rosslare and long drive along shocking roads through worsening rain. Eventually we arrived in Banagher. It had taken us all day and it was now 10 at night. We went to the address of the cottage - all was dark and we had no idea how to find our landlady. No mobile phones. With some nervousness we knocked on the neighbours' front door - after all it was now 10.30. "Ah!" they said "you want Mrs...... at ....... address just down the road. No, no problem; we were just popping out for a Guiness."

We found our landlady who let us in. "Would you be going to bed right now?" she asked. "Well, we've a few things to unpack yes and we need to unwind." "Only I've just baked you a fresh pan of soda bread and I'll be right back." So our real introduction to Ireland was to be greeted with hot soda bread which we ate at 11.00 pm with Kerrygold butter and strawberry jam.

Like many people new to Ireland we tried to take in too much that week, with drives to Connemara etc, and learnt that getting a meal outside the towns was nearly impossible. We discovered Haughey's Bar in Banagher, which was by far the dirtiest, liveliest, most crowded bar I've ever visited. There was a regular Irish folk duo - a woman with 3 teeth, the blackest hair and largest bottom who could play five chords on the piano and sing "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" in a basso profundo that shook your boots like the notes from an ocean liner and a female demon fiddler who was aged about 80. We loved it and laughed almost continually.

Ireland was still pretty poor in those days - 15 years of EU grants and the rise of IT have utterly changed it in many ways - but we had a wonderful time and didn't mind the rain.

Mum never found her relatives who, I suspect, were largely figments of her mother's imagination, but this didn't shake her faith.

I hope that the Irish stay the Irish, regardless of the new-found wealth that is coming their way, because the place and people have something irreplaceable.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Today

Took a quick spin to Brighton yesterday to view progress on the flat. The sun was shining and the temperature was in 20s.

Hopped into the Lexus - off with its top. The way in which it folds into the boot is impressive and it's fun just to press the buttons.

Slapped on some factor 60 (some for Paul, too, on his head and forehead) and set off. There was much less windiness that I'd expected, even at 70 mph, and my hair survived the experience rather well.

An unexpected pleasure were the smells - newmown hay, philadelphus blossom and so on. Going through tunnels was a very noisy experience. And we were tempted to play thumpy music - which we did, although belonging to our generation - Deep Purple.

In My Day

When I lived at the Wilmington crossing gate house, my landlords, Eileen & Andy, had an Austin Healy in which they used to whizz around. Like the Lexus, strictly 2-seater. I had no transport and either had to walk to Eastbourne (quite a trek that) or get the bus. As Eileen and I were at the same college it made sense for me to be given a lift in the Austin. Trouble was, Eileen didn't drive and anyway, Andy had to get to work too.

No real problems if the hood was down - I just use to sit up on the back parcel shelf. In this position there was nothing to hold on to. I was much higher than driver or passenger, so had the full force of the wind in may face and hair. My hair used to get impossibly tangled.

Add to this the fact that Andy drove like the 24 year old he was and that the car wasn't exactly the newest car on the road and you have to wonder how I'm here to tell the tale.

It also makes you realise that you took risks during your youth that would have made your parents hair stand on end, so there's no point in railing at the things your children do. Just have to keep fingers crossed.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Today

Wandering along North Street in Brighton today, I noticed a Bravissimo store. Those of us women who are well-endowed in the chest department know how difficult it is to get a good and pretty bra. And Bravissimo bras start at a D cup.

The standard measurement mechanisms don't seem to work well at the non-average ends of the scale - M&S came up with a 40 B which anyone with 1/2 an eye can see isn't right. I've assumed D cup and have gone for 38D which seemed OK, although variable.

So, thinking that Bravissimo must know their stuff, I went in and asked to be measured. They didn't use a tape; just looked at me in my bra and decided that I must be either 34E or 34F. Tried on a couple and it seems that they are right.

In My Day

I had the embarrassing misfortune to have a 36 inch bust by the time I was 11. My mother thought that it was bad for the bust to have a bra too early (I don't think she was right there), but eventually took pity on my embarrassment at school and elsewhere and took me off to Dorothy Perkins to buy some bras. Sure enough, a 36 C cup was recommended and several tried on and bought.

One bra remained on - "Can she keep it on - it's her 1st bra", said my mother. "36C and never worn a bra?" giggled the teenage shop assistant. Which added to my shame. She needed slapping, but perhaps Mamma was wise to ignore the remark and sailed out of the shop.

Bra technology was inferior in those days, and straps regularly broke and hooks got detached. So I suffered in a different way from actually wearing a bra. I envied the other, smaller girls who could buy pretty little flowery bras. It took me until I was well into my 20s to learn to be proud of what nature had decreed.

What I can't understand is why some women choose the trauma of plastic surgery to give themselves J cups, when I would have been delighted to have remained a C cup.