From Saturday’s Irish Times:
“Hello World! I’m Jamie Duke Callaghan and I arrived on May 1, 2007. My sister Molly Mae and Mum and Dad…are thrilled. Momo, John, Momo, Donal and loads of other people have been really good to me and I am looking forward to a great life. Bring it on…”
In the unusual names segment of competition:
“…A treasured sister to Fulton, Sofia, Mia and Sabastine…”
Me: Can you believe Michael McDowell lost his seat?
Her: What, what, WHAT are you talking about?
Mr. Waffle: Well, sweetheart, you know there are people who make laws and decide what’s legal and illegal?
Her: Yes.
Him: Well, in Ireland they were picking people to do that and…
Me: They go and put a cross on a piece of paper beside the name of the person they want to win.
Him: Well, technically that’s a spoiled vote.*
Her: WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
Him: Anyway, this man wanted to be the boss but not enough people voted for him and now he’s not going to be working with the other people making laws in a big building, called the Parliament.
Her: Why did he want to be the boss?
Him: Well, some people do. Your mother and I wouldn’t like to be in charge in that kind of job but some people would like it.
Her (smiling): I would like it, I would like to be the boss.
No surprises there.
*Mr. Waffle on reading over this has said that I should explain that in Ireland we have a list system but one where you must rank the candidates in order of preference. Further he says that he is not sure that marking a cross against one of the candidates is definitely a spoiled vote as it may be taken as a clear indication of preference. Finally, he says that it is easy to use but hard to explain.
Has anyone else seen the ad for some accountancy body featuring a man wrestling with some enormous shark thing? There he is reeling in the enormous fish looking delighted with himself but, the advertisement claims, it wasn’t as exciting as the time he got his accountancy qualifications.
Me: If you knock that off the table the carving knife might fall too and hurt me.
Her: And would you have to go to hospital?
Me: Possibly.
Her: That would be terrible.
Me: Yes.
Her: Dinner would go cold.
I have just finished my first Jilly Cooper novel. Words cannot express my disappointment. No sex until page 431. What is going on here? Also a cast of characters so vast that they are listed over several pages at the start. There’s a special page for all the animal characters. It’s just as well. “Rowan had a whip roundâ€. Hang on, who’s Rowan, is she Hengist Brett-Taylor’s greyhound or the school secretary? Or is that Brett Hengist-Taylor? Furthermore, never having read any of the Rutshire (Rutshire, honestly, has she no shame) novels, I am less than interested in the fate of Rupert Campbell-Black’s (or should that be Campbell Rupert-Black?) offspring and marriage.
Her characters are largely unashamed tories. I quite enjoyed Hengist saying that he worked in a private school so that he could avoid the dead hand of the “Council of Europeâ€. If you know nothing about the EU or could conceivably confuse the European Council with the Council of Europe (different, utterly different, trust me here), then this may not provide you with the same amusement value as it did me.
She has, however, some of my prejudices which is always welcome in an author.
Hideous, sandal wearing, doubtless eco-clothing clad, new agey, know it all aggressive breastfeeding character (rejoicing in the unlikely name of Poppet): I know you’re hurting.
Paris Alvaston (equally unlikely name of leading handsome male student): I’m not and hurt is a transitive verb.
I did read it until two in the morning a couple of nights running but that really says more about my lack of self restraint than the entertainment value of this tome.
I am just back from bookclub where we read “Mother’s milk” which I absolutely loathed and all the others loved. I could not abide the main character, Patrick, who whined and whined because he had been disinherited. I could see that it was well written but I couldn’t really get over my desire to shake Patrick and tell him to cop himself on. The others saw his whininess as symptomatic of his upbringing and were fascinated by the wider theme of how unloving mothers can damage their children and whether we are destined to repeat our parents’ errors. Alas for all the nuances I missed. I won’t be rereading all the same.
“We campaign in poetry, but we govern in proseâ€. So, apparently, said Mario Cuomo. Judging by yesterday’s Irish Times, there’s not a great deal of poetry in the Irish election campaign either.
Voting takes place on May 24. Everything appears frenzied back in Ireland. As an emigrant I am completely disenfranchised. The only thing I can vote in is the Belgian communal elections which are, of course, fine in their way but perhaps lack the excitement associated with national politics. Then, of course, there are the Belgian federal elections on June 10 which I can’t vote in either. Poor Mr. Waffle has bought a comic strip book outlining the main issues. You think I’m joking? I’m not.