Grandad July 4th, 2008
I have just realised that this is the Fourth of July.
A big day for Americans.
So I think I’ll spend the afternoon in the village.
If I find any Americans, I’ll buy them a creamy pint in honour of the day that’s in it.
And then………………
Oh, come on now! You don’t think I’d let ‘em away, do you?
Grandad May 21st, 2008
We are coming up to the 200th birthday of Jefferson Davis. It’s on June the 2nd.
Jefferson Davis was the Confederate President over there in America. A lot of Americans didn’t like him for that.
After the Civil War, they told him he could never run for president again.
In a strange twist of humanity, they removed that ban thirty years ago, so even though he is dead for 119 years, he can now stand for the presidency again.
He came to visit me yesterday.
We had coffee in the village. It was a bit crowded as we had most of the Irish Army there too. I’m not sure whether they were there to protect him, or to keep an eye on him.
For a bloke who is nearly 200 years old, he is remarkably well preserved. We had long chats, and then I fed him full of Guinness. We entertained him at Head Rambles Manor and allowed him watch Dustin being thrown out of the Eurovision. It was a great honour for him and for Dustin.
Afterwards, our K8 brought him for a drive up to the bogs, and she left him there.
He’s a nice bloke, but he’s American.
And even though he’s a president, we can’t make exceptions.
Grandad April 21st, 2008
It was a funny old day yesterday.
The first thing I noticed when I got up was the beautiful sound of Spring.
I opened the windows to listen to the blackbirds, the finches, the doves and the gunfire.
The gunfire sounded interesting, so I went down to the village to get the paper. Sure enough, the villagers had caught themselves a tourist bus, and the tourists had tried to take refuge in the church. That was foolish, because everyone knows our church is closed on a Sunday.
So I racked up my score a bit, and went home.
Last night, Herself got a bit stroppy because I was cursing at the Interweb and saying rude things about servers that blow up, so I locked her in the coal hole and went for a pint.
Pullit served me my pint and we got chatting.
“What was that all about this morning?” I asked. “It’s a little early in the year for large tourist buses?”
“Did you not hear?” said Pullit. “Some feckin’ eejit has put out a brochure advertising this village as a tourist attraction.”
“Who would do that?” I said, though I knew it was just the kind of stunt Pullit would pull.
He looked all innocent. “I haven’t a clue. But we’re in for an interesting summer.”
“What does the brochure say?”
He went off to get me another pint and when he came back he slapped a brochure on the counter.
It was beautifully printed. There were lovely photographs of the village which had been nicely enhanced to make the place look quite attractive. There was a fancy little map showing how to get here. Of course, the pub had a nice little feature spot of its own.
“It’s going to be a good summer,” I said.
“Aye,” Pullit replied. “Plenty of sport.”
Printed across the front in nice Celtic lettering was the title.
Grandad February 10th, 2008
I decided to cook last night.
I have a varied selection of interesting recipes, but none of them are written down and all rely on instinct so I can’t pass them on to The Humble Housewife or Our Grannies Recipes.
I thought I would go for my version of Hungarian Goulash.
I nipped down to the village for some ingredients, but, damnit, do you think I could find any Hungarians anywhere?
No.
There were Poles, Estonians, Bulgarians, Chinese and a clatter of Americans.
And an Italian.
We had my version of Spaghetti Bolognaise instead.
Grandad January 21st, 2008
It’s Monday morning and I’m in one of those moods.
There is a howling gale outside and I’m cold, because I have all the windows open. I have to keep them open because the wind is making the boiler smoke. I’d switch off the boiler, but then Herself would complain. Frankly, I’d rather suffer the cold and wind.
I went down to the village to cheer myself up. That didn’t work, because there are no damned tourists around. There’s never a damned tourist when you want one, and then they appear in bus loads. Damned inconsiderate, I call it.
There was no parking either. I hate that. Surely they know I’m coming? I had to park at a bus stop, on top of a Garda ‘No Parking’ cone which I squished. Serves them right for putting it there.
They tell me that when women want cheering up, they go shopping, so I’m going to try that.
I’m going to buy one of these……..
I know it’s an SUV, but I’m getting one anyway. Just in time for the tourist season.
You’ll probably find me at the Cliffs of Moher. Or maybe Glendalough. Or the Rock of Cashel.
Or maybe I’ll just drive around Dublin Airport car park?
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