I recently failed to get selected for a post in Ireland. Yes, I know my job here is perfect but, supposing that we wanted to move back to Dublin, wouldn’t it be nice if I could get paid?
My family in Ireland, in the manner of families, delved into the details with more enthusiasm than I might have wished successfully bringing out the peeved adolescent in me: “How many candidates were there?” “Dunno, can you leave me alone please?”
I rang home the other day and got my brother. I heard him calling my mother “It’s John McKenna on the phone”.
“Who’s John McKenna?” I asked when she picked up. “Nobody,” she said hastily “just your brother being foolish”. In the background I heard him say “No, no tell her he’s that golfer who never makes the cut”.
And to think that the poor Princess has two younger brothers.
the way they’re acting, you’re better off in Belgium anyway.
I have no doubts that the Princess will always be able to outsmart her brothers. No doubts at all.
Jack Dalton says
This Island is a strange and wonderous place, but we have HiCos (www.davidmcwilliams.ie )enough without People Like You coming back here and spreading forei’n ways and deeds. So unless you are prepared to subscribe to the Decklander creed and live a half-life in thrall to traffic and houseprices that make God cry, stay where you are.
A returnee who probably shouldn’t have.
[More seriously, don’t be put off by one or two misses. If you really want to you’ll find a way. It’s the curse of the exPat Pat… we always do! 🙂 ]
Stop that man!
Sounds exactly like the interactions I have with my brother.