Tag Archives: summertime

Teddy Bear

From space, I’d imagine Ireland has an even thicker outline today. The population is most certainly on if not heading to the beach. The sun, after months of heating Europe to cinders, has eventually arrived to the periphery of the continent to sur’ God help us, Ireland. Nice of ye to leave some heat for us, danke schoen, merci, grazie, gracias.

It gives the country an instant makeover, in one weekend, we will burn our own teddy bear shaped hole in the ozone from the barbecues, deck chairs will be wiped down and sun lotion by God, will be applied. There’s still a chill, we’re not talking heat high in the teens, celsius wise. No, we’re just talking the appearance of sun.

If nothing else, it will keep the farmers happy, nobody was willing to say it, but it was a little bit wet there for a while. I intentionally stopped talking about the weather. I mean it’s not as if the weather is a surprise really. There’s a reason we sing about Ireland and its’ forty shades of green. From the window, I see all forty of them today, mossy, limey, emerald, yellowish green, cabbage green, avocado (mind you) and shamrock green (we mustn’t forget) to name but a few.

The lady in the shop nearly hugged me when I said it was a nice day. ‘Isn’t it, isn’t it’ she shouted, ‘and we were starting to think the summer forgot us.’ Never, never, the summer would never do that to us. For it is the saddest thing in the world to see an Irish person downhearted. It is true, we are very friendly and we do for the most part try to keep a sunny disposition for the audience at least. The smile there for a while was beginning to fade so as part of a seasonal bailout to put the smile back on the Irish person’s face, we got some sun.

What am I doing talking to you people? There’s a beach to get to. Children to dunk into a near freezing Atlantic. Ah bless. That lovable ridiculous optimism of ours. You gotta love us. Who wouldn’t love the people from the country shaped like a teddy bear? It’s the sun, it’s gone to the head already.

O sole mio, enjoy the sun wherever it shines upon you.

May All Your Sons be Bishops

I’m right in the middle of the nesting phase in Hearthill. The fine weather has allowed me to get all the necessary baby accoutrements and clothing washed and aired and so we’re ready for the arrival of my little Brosnan. The fine weather and by fine I mean, warmish, dampish, soft (a great Irish word for describing the rain that just dampens the grass and ground enough whilst leaving the rest of us soaking) has meant that silage ground is ready for mowing. It’s an unspoken topic here really. Should he mention to the hormonal other that a silage dinner may need to be cooked in the next few weeks? Best not. But we can see the grass grow now. Everyone in Hearthill is happy and ready for what this fine Summer has to offer.

As for the title? I overheard it last weekend in the local hospital where one nurse was thanking another for lending a hand. First coined by Brendan Behan, the lovely Kerry nurse had used it in thanks. So to you who has been reading along this last while and to you who has helped the grass grow, in the Kerry way; ‘Bless you and May All your Sons be Bishops.’