Me (bending to pick up): How many times do I have to say it – where do shoes go?
Michael (indignantly): They’re not shoes, they’re sandals.
A More Innocent Time
I know someone who took three weeks off work to nurse her children through the State examinations which ended today. I seem to remember that my parents went on holidays before I finished my Leaving Certificate. My sister maintains it was the matric (now abolished), but you see my point.
This brings me to a story. When I sat down in the Lee Maltings (now a trendy research institute) to do my matric in 1986 (yes, alas, neither today nor yesterday), I was young and considerably less knowledgeable than I thought. The invigilator who talked us through the form on the first day said, “Where it says place of birth, put Cork; they’re not interested in the competition between the Bons and the Ville.” As I had my pen poised to write that I was born in the Bons Secours Maternity hospital, his warning was timely.
That’s enough exam nostalgia for one day.
The Longest Day of the Year
Today is my favourite aunt’s birthday [or possibly not, this was a matter of some dispute between the American authorities and my grandmother; to be fair, you would think she would know]. When I was forced at age 11 to move from a larger house to a smaller one, the only comfort was that my aunt lived next door. And she still does and now when we visit Cork, my children wander into her house and eat her food, watch her television and play her piano just like my brother and sister and I have been doing for 30 years. I had better not tell the children that in summer she played soccer with us in the back garden until it got dark.
Jam Today
Here are the gooseberries from the back garden:
Here is the jam:
Also, please note, I finally persuaded the Princess to get a haircut. I am suitably pleased with the result.
Conspiracy
Michael: I tried to go to sleep but my tummy hurts.
Daniel (doubling over): My tummy hurts too.
Michael: Boy, sleeping is dangerous.
Test
I went to see Wendy Cope at a poetry reading. I thought that she was surprisingly tetchy for someone who writes a lot of funny verse but maybe it was just the weather. There’s a joke to be made there somewhere – talk among yourselves and get back to me.
She was reading with Dennis O’Driscoll who was a lovely man and rather cowed by her, I thought. Though perhaps he did provoke her slightly.
In discussion afterwards, Dennis O’Driscoll said that Ireland was a great place to be a poet and Wendy Cope said that in England, nobody could name three contemporary poets. Both of these comments seem a bit unlikely to me but reader, tell me, can you name 3 contemporary poets? Googling will disqualify. Answering will restore my faith in humanity. No pressure now.