We took ourselves off to London for a weekend recently and thoroughly enjoyed the experience.  Our last trip, a few years ago, was to celebrate the birthday of a brother who lives there and didn’t afford much time to explore or shop. So it’s been a while since we’ve done either.  We certainly made up for it this trip.  We’d forgotten just how much there is to see, do and experience in London.  We took an early morning flight on the Friday, to give us the whole day and we left it until after seven o’ clock on the Sunday evening to fly home to maximise our time.

With weekend breaks to many other European capitals a lot more affordable in the past few years, perhaps, like us, you haven’t been to London for a while.  We certainly found it well worth the visit, so much so that we’re planning a return trip before Christmas.

How We Got There

We travelled with City Jet from Dublin and found the service prompt and pleasant.  We flew into City airport, a little more expensive than Stansted or Heathrow we know, but worth it, we feel, for ease of access to the city.  The flight left right on time, service on board was courteous and efficient and we landed 15 minutes ahead of schedule.  One of the major pluses is City’s smaller terminal building in London, it’s literally a short stroll from the plane to reclaim baggage.  On our flight, because most of the passengers were businessmen flying to London for the day with only hand luggage, ours were the only two cases on the baggage carousel which started up and delivered them to us within a couple of minutes of disembarkation. Our return flight on Sunday was equally efficient.

Where We Stayed

We booked our hotel with lastminute.com taking the leap of faith that requires booking first and then finding out where it is we’d be staying.  We hit the jackpot as it turned out, getting the five-star Grange St. Paul’s Hotel, right beside St. Paul’s Cathedral and very handy for a host of places we wanted to visit.   The price was €238 for a twin room for two nights, room only.  Our twin room turned out to be quite sumptuous with two queen sized beds, plenty of space and a luxury bathroom complete with complimentary Moulton Browne toiletries. Breakfast in their dining room was 20 pounds sterling so we eschewed that in favour of a lovely café right next door which, for a fiver, served every bit as substantial fare to start the day.

Staying so close to St. Paul’s Cathedral was a real plus as, illuminated at night, it served as a beacon to guide us back to the hotel when we’d a few drinks on board and might otherwise been unsure of our bearings!  There was the added bonus of hearing the lovely rich sound of the church bells pealing on Sunday morning.

What We Saw

by Grainne

On the Friday morning, after dispensing with our luggage, we left our hotel, taking the Millennium Bridge a stone’s throw away to cross over onto Bankside, on the southern bank of the Thames to peruse its many attractions, museums and galleries, shops and restaurants that stretches from Blackfriars Bridge to London Bridge.

One of London's most famous landmarks, Tower Bridge

The 10-year-old pedestrian-only steel suspension bridge offers great views of many of London’s landmark buildings, including the iconic ‘Gherkin’ building among the modern, and that epitome of the traditional, Tower Bridge.   The Millennium Bridge featured in the film ‘Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince’ being destroyed by some of the Death Eaters of Lord Voldemort.

The Tate Modern sits at the southern end of the bridge, near the Globe Theatre. We felt obliged to pay a visit rather than pass by but, neither of us being fans of much contemporary or abstract art, and finding little here to change our minds, we didn’t linger long.

A boardwalk stretches along much of the Bankside route overlooking the river; it turns into paved walkways at other parts and meanders strollers in and out through alleyways, under railway bridges and across cobblestone stretches best negotiated in flat shoes.

Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre is an impressive thatched-building, built in the early 1990s on the site of the original Globe. It’s construction was funded by the Shakespeare Globe Trust set up by the American actor and director Sam Wanamaker.  It opened in 1997.    It houses an exhibition about Shakespeare and the theatre of his time; features theatre productions and serves as a forum for the study of Shakespeare in performance.  Unfortunately we didn’t have time to stop by on the day we were there as we had a lunch date but we resolved to do so on our next trip.

Hay’s Galleria was one of London’s most famous wharfs back in the 1900s that’s been restored so that visitors can now shop, dine and just soak up the ambience on the same spot where the famed tea clippers from China and India docked a century and a half ago.  The huge atrium is particularly lovely here.

Moored in the Thames along this stretch is the HMS Belfast, a museum ship, operated by the Imperial War Museum.  Originally a Royal Navy light cruiser that served during the Korean War and Second World War, it was built in Belfast.  Queues to visit were long on the day we were there so we pressed ahead.

Other attractions along the way include the Bankside Gallery, The Rose Theatre, Southwark Cathedral and Borough Market and there’s an array of shops and restaurants interspersed.

Borough Market is renowed, attracting chefs and restauranteurs, gastronomes and the likes me Aine and me, who just love eating and drinking!

On the go now for over a decade, it operates on Thursdays from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m., on Fridays from 12 p.m. to 6 p.m. and all day on Saturday, from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m.  We left it until Saturday morning to visit and while it was very crowded, it just added to the buzz and atmosphere.

The range of foods on offer is staggering with most of the stallholders the ones who grow, rear, bake or otherwise produce the goods themselves.  It’s busy, vibrant and  noisy, thrumming with sights and sounds, a veritable feast for all the senses.

“Epicurean ecstasy!” Aine declared it, murmuring with pleasure as she went from stall to stall, eagerly sampling the free bits and pieces stallholders happily proffered.  Delicious-tasting pates, preserves, chutneys and cheeses from artisan producers vied with an amazing array of fresh breads and mouthwatering pastries and cakes and other homemade sweet confections for our attention.  Traditional and organic butchers offered everything from pigs’ heads and trotters to jellied meats, ostrich meat, rabbit and hare.  One stall was doing a roaring trade selling dishes of paella, Thai green curry and chicken curry from huge vats.

There were juices and smoothies of every conceivable mixture and taste, a variety of soups and seafood.  The fruit and vegetable and flower stalls were a riot of colour and featured a staggering array of produce and blooms.

Aine and I spent an hour and a half there and would have happily stayed for longer.  We came away with a goat’s cheese and sun-dried tomato tart for Aine’s lunch, a Camembert and leek quiche for mine, a bunch of dried Lavendar blooms (Aine) 15 pounds worth of homemade Turkish Delight (me!) and a slab of homemade burnt sugar nougat (Aine).  That’s after slurping our way through an organic orange juice (Aine) and a cranberry and orange juice (me) and free samples of various sausages, hams, cheeses, chutneys and preserves, breads, Baklava and other sweet treats.

Can’t recommend this market highly enough.

Our Bankside walk culminated on Tower Bridge, one of the world’s most recognizable bridges.  Completed in 1894, it’s imposing Victorian Gothic design is as impressive as ever.  11 thousand tonnes of steel went into its making.  On the far side waited my son, one of the many young Irish men who’s gone to London in recent months to find work, having lost his job at home.  We went for lunch to a nearby pub where we mused as we ate at the English’s penchant for quaffing pints over their lunch before returning to work.  Does it aid afternoon productivity or detract from it, I wondered?  We were agreed that, it’s precisely because we Irish like our drink so much that we don’t imbibe at lunchtime.  Otherwise we’d never return to work in the afternoons……

The son proved an enthusiastic and energetic guide for the remainder of our weekend, accompanying us on our quest to fit in as much as possible of the sights, sounds, tastes and experiences of London.

The Big Bus Company Bus Tour of London

By Aine

We took a sight-seeing bus tour of London. Now I had done the whole bus-tour touristy thing there before, but Grainne hadn’t, and, as it was a few years since I had done it and it’s the best way of fitting a lot of sightseeing into a tight schedule, I agreed to accompany her for the craic.

The morning itself was not great, a bit breezy with drizzly rain, but, undaunted, Grainne and I braved the elements and headed for the top deck to facilitate Grainne’s penchant for taking photos!

Houses of Parliament, as seen from the river Thames

The bus tour costs £25 each and lasts about two and a half hours. A free river cruise is included in the price. The bus tour is worth every penny as it provides a great vantage point for so many of the sights of London and is also useful for getting one’s bearings.  We were given headphones to listen to the commentary which was really informative and added to our enjoyment of the tour.

You can also hop on, hop off the bus as the fancy takes you. So then, what did we see?  St. Paul’s cathedral (very close to where we were staying as Grainne has mentioned.)  This magnificent cathedral has stood on the site for 300 years and was Sir Christopher Wren’s masterpiece. Both Wellington and Nelson are buried in the crypt here.

Our tour also took in the Tower of London, home to the crown jewels. We saw the London Eye, Kensington Palace, (home to members of the royal family for 300 years).  We passed over Tower Bridge which we’d traversed on foot earlier that morning, we saw Westminster Abbey, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace and St. James’s Palace,  Marble Arch and Hyde Park, including the famous Speaker’s Corner.  We also had a bird’s eye view of Kensington Gardens which now houses the Princess Diana Memorial fountain.  We passed by 10 Downing Street, Trafalgar Square (with the fabulous National Gallery nearby.)  We went through Piccadilly Circus and Covent Garden.

We were doing really well, but were a little cold and damp when our bus came to a stop and we had to change buses half way through the tour. We decided to stay downstairs (which was a great deal warmer!) for the second leg of the tour.

However, we hadn’t bargained on the tour guide who replaced our recorded commentary on this leg of the tour. According to the Visit London website “The Company’s guides and commentary are excellent, blending humour, information and interaction.  Spontaneous, entertaining and never dull, the guide provides a raft of unusual information to hold the attention. . Not the fella we got though!

Our guide was overbearing and seemed to articulate just about every thought that entered his head, many of which really weren’t worth sharing.  His rasping voice and inane comments really began to grate and we longed to plug back in our headphones and listen instead to the taped commentary.  Because our guide was so interested in imparting information about himself and telling bad jokes, he actually was late in pointing out various landmarks and we had passed them and had to look backwards to see what he obviously thought was so much less interesting than himself!

The irritating guide aside, this tour was excellent. London seems to have spruced up a bit since I last visited some years ago.  I remember on my last trip there thinking the place looked very grimy, but some of the older buildings have been sand-blasted and cleaned up and the city looks much better for it.

The place was awash with tourists also, even though England, like ourselves, is in a recession.  Judging though by the number of cranes dotting the skyline all across the city, it would seem they are on the upturn.  And of course there’s the massive construction of the infrastructure and venues for the 2012 Olympics that’s underway.

So if you are heading to London for a short break, you could do far worse than take in the Big Bus tour. They also sell cut price tickets for some of the more famous attractions. You can ask your guide about these.

London Dungeon

By Aine

It was difficult to choose what to see and do in London as there was just so much variety on offer. So it was a toss up between the National Gallery and the London dungeon. After much discussion we decided on the latter.

Grainne purchased the tickets (cut-price) from the tour guide on the Big Bus Tour. They cost £12 each but the usual admission price if you queue up is a whopping £22.50.

We joined the ‘Priority’ queue as we already had our tickets but still the queue was 25 minutes long. The other queue for people to purchase tickets was at least an hour long.

London Dungeon consists of 12 short set pieces with ‘live’ actors and special effects.  The tour culminates in two scary rides.

Basically we were brought from room to room (or dungeon to dungeon) where various actors tried to scare us witless. We started off in the Crypt which set the scene for what was to come. An actor, a chap not unlike Russell Brand, told us of the “horrors” that would soon be unleashed upon us before opening a door and sending us into the ‘Labyrinth of the Lost’, a maze of mirrors, very cleverly done, with seemingly no way out. We did, however, find freedom eventually and moved into another dungeon which had as its theme the Great Plague, with bodies scattered around in varying degrees of decomposition. Very gory, not to mention realistic.

From here we were guided to the torture chamber, an equally unsavoury place as you can imagine, again with what looked like bodies tied up in different ways with entrails hanging out and horrible life-like wounds and injuries. Definitely not for the faint-hearted.

We proceeded to the Courtroom where we were sentenced for our misdeeds, but not before we were taken into the infamous barber shop of Sweeney Todd of Fleet Street who was renowned for cutting more than hair!

Next we were educated about the great fire of London which took place on 2^nd September, 1666 and which, in one day, left over 200,000 people homeless and destitute.

There was a fairly plausible mock up of the dark alleyway in Whitechapel where Jack the Ripper killed five prostitutes on his murderous reign in 1888.

This year a new ‘attraction’ has been added, based on Bloody Queen Mary, daughter of Henry the 8^th, who spent her time ridding the country of supposed heretics by burning them at the stake.

The tour finished off with two rides, which unfortunately Grainne and myself had to skip, as time was catching up on us and we had to return to our hotel to change and go for dinner before heading to the West End to see Oliver.

The London dungeon tour was ok, a bit expensive for what it was, it would work out expensive a family of four for example, and I found it all a bit lame. When you’ve experienced the special effects of Universal studios and Disney in the US or Paris, London dungeon doesn’t live up to expectations.

Save yourself time and money and look up London dungeon website and take the virtual tour……. you’ll  see just as much as we did and you can read the blurb for the history bits!!

After Dark

Oliver

A lively re-working of the old reliable

By Aine

Before Grainne and I went on our recent weekend trip to London I decided to book tickets for the popular west-end musical “Oliver” which was on at the Royal Drury Lane theatre.

I booked the tickets online through lastminute.com.  When we arrived at the theatre I was disappointed with the allocated seats, as they were very far back in the auditorium and, at a cost of £37.50 each, weren’t cheap.  I have to admit however that we did have a good view of everything that happened on stage, despite the location of the seats.

The stage set was absolutely fabulous, really amazing, and the speed and ease of each scene change was nothing short of miraculous.

All the old familiar Lionel Bart songs, “I’d Do Anything”, “As Long As He Needs Me”, “Consider Yourself” “Food Glorious Food” etc. were great to hear again.

Griff Rhys Jones was playing the part of “Fagin” and he was wonderful in the role, bringing to it some of his own comedy genius (he even threw in a topical line or two about bankers and pension funds!)

Jodie Prenger played the part of “Nancy”. You may remember she won the part through the BBC’s television programme “I’d Do Anything”.  I wasn’t mad about her singing,  she was great when performing on her own but when singing with the chorus her voice seemed to be drowned out, perhaps it was the fault of her microphone, I’m not sure.

Likewise the performance of the chap that played Bill Sykes (Steven Hartley) was disappointing.  He had a very low gravelly voice, it actually sounded like he had an acute sore throat, and I found it difficult to listen to him. I remember seeing Oliver Reed playing the part of Bill Sykes in the movie version of Oliver and he was perfect, bringing the right amount of menace to the part!

The artful dodger, played by Jacques Miche, put in a tremendous performance, and Edward Holtom was very cute as the young Oliver.

All of the crowd scenes dazzled, choc-a-bloc with busy-ness, movement and a dazzling array of props.  The park scene was particularly colourful and mesmerizing, a veritable feast for the eyes.

The stage, the set, the music, the performance, the cast, everything about this musical was delightful……… a wonderful night out.  If you are planning a trip to London, I would highly recommend you go along to Drury Lane and see it.

Adventures in Retail

by Grainne

We made our way to Oxford Street on the Friday afternoon and hit the shops with determination.  Aine fared better than I did; we separated, as is our usual modus operandi, and when our paths crossed again she was balancing several bags on either arm.

The thing about shopping in any European city these days is the sameness of the stores, branches of all the big chains are everywhere now, so it’s hard to find women’s clothing stores that are different without being overly expensive.  Oxford Street is no exception, John Lewis is really the only store we don’t have in Dublin or the likes of Galway and Cork now.

Harrods, that opulent showcase for luxury goods, is always worth a visit. Aine and I love their food hall and can be found with our noses practically pressed to the glass at the confectionary and cakes counter.  That said, we passed by as our time was limited on this trip and there were more shops vying for our attention.

At the end of our allotted time, about an hour and a half, Aine had amassed several more bags while I had three pairs of tights and a pair of shoes in a single Marks and Spencers bag.

We’d intended visiting Camden Market but just couldn’t reach on it, timewise, over the weekend.  Another time, definitely as we’ve heard it’s worth the effort, featuring alternative and vintage fashion and works from emerging designers.  For those with more eclectic tastes perhaps, but we’d have liked to savour a new shopping experience.

On the Sunday we struck out for the Bluewater Shopping Centre which is in Kent and a 25-minute drive from Central London.  This is the second-largest shopping centre in the UK with 330 shops and services.  It’s spread over two floors and features branches of all of the usual high street stores, restaurants and cafes.  Marks and Spencer, John Lewis and the House of Fraser are the anchor stores and there were two foodcourts that I could see.  Importantly too, there are plenty of toilets!

The exchange rate at present means extra good value for shoppers and again Aine (as if she needed any justification) took full advantage to stock up her Spring/Summer wardrobe.  A particularly nice buy was a lovely white mac with taupe-coloured polka dots at 45 pounds which she bought in Marks and Spencer.  I, on the other hand came away with two packs of wipes and some face cream from Boots.   Part of that was due to Marks and Spencer balking at my Northern Ireland sterling.   A sales assistant insisted on calling a superviser to check the notes were legal tender and acceptable (!!!)  but after calling for one five times with no result, I gave up, took back my money (which had been accepted elsewhere all weekend) and left my would-be purchases behind.

by Aine

Its three years this week since I upped sticks and moved out of Dublin after 27 years.   Three years on and I still regard my house as ‘new’.   When we sold our old house we left most of the electrical appliances behind, included in the sale price.

So I had to go shopping for a cooker, dishwasher, and fridge-freezer and, as my iron lay down under protest at having moved house, I had to add a new one of those to my list!  Three years on and I am still disconcerted by my appliances’ ability to startle me!

I was mightily impressed when all of my new purchases were ensconced in my brand new gleaming kitchen, and felt  I was all  set up to be the new Domestic Goddess!

The fridge-freezer is the American, double-door type, and I quickly found that if I left the door open for more than a few seconds at a time it made a pinging sound to alert me!!!   It’s hell when I’m trying to pack it up after returning from a morning’s grocery shopping.   It makes that age-old habit of opening the door and surveying the contents to see what’s palatable or usable nigh on impossible.

The dish-washer pings to let me know the cycle has finished, as does the microwave! Sometimes they ping in unison!!

My lovely hob pings if something spills on it and promptly turns itself off!

My washing machine doesn’t so much ping as emit a high-pitched squeal when it’s finished the cycle, my tumble dryer flashes a red light at me when it comes to a stop.   My new iron has a neon blue light which illuminates the appliance and it lets out an a piercing noise when plugged in!  The cat usually takes off pretty nifty if he so much as sees me setting it up!

My new house alarm talks to me – in an American accent!!

Now I’m all for smart technology but appliances that admonish me for minor infractions feels like a step too far.  It’s like living with some kind of demonic housekeeper, who wags the finger at me if I don’t act immediately.

The various pinging and other shrill noises make me nervous and jumpy and I find myself scrabbling to do whatever it is I’m supposed to with the appliance I’m using  before it starts electronically berating me.

What’s happening here?  Help!  I’m being pinged to death in my own house!

by Grainne

I was never a big fan of Summer Schools, believing them to have been dreamed up as a means of occupying the chattering classes over the more languid summer months.

Organisers I’m sure will point to the spin off value in terms of tourism revenue generated by an influx of visitors to areas where they are held.  I’m not convinced, and something I read at the weekend has reinforced my admittedly jaundiced view.

It seems that these events were being subsidised largely by the registration fees provided by members of the country’s 29 county councils, five city councils and 80 borough and town councils.

Now that the Minister for the Environment John Gormley has slapped a limit on the amount of money councillors can spend on conferences, seminars and the like, Summer school organisers are concerned that this vital revenue stream for them will be reduced.

The McGill Summer School in Donegal is one of the most well known and successful such events but even it is heavily dependent on the largesse of various local authorities to keep going.  McGill Director Joe Mulholland was quoted in the article I read, in the Irish Times, as saying his committee was dependent on the registration fees for their financing “to a considerable extent”.  He revealed that they receive registration fees of around €150 each from about 150 councillors around the country, generating over €20K in revenue. While they do have patrons and get a small grant from Donegal County Council, registration fees from councillors make up the bulk of their funding.

Dr. Mulholland was quoted in the article as saying he hoped councillors would see the school as relevant to their work, particularly as this year’s theme is reform of the political, social, economic and educational systems.  OK that does seem relevant and worthy of attendance but in other years I wonder whether the councillors were attending because of the topics up for discussion or because of the expenses their attendance generates, i.e. mileage, overnight stays, etc.  There’s a well known culture among some councillors of signing up for conferences and events and not actually attending them once they get there, indeed an established practice was to turn up, sign in, and go home again.

As no mention was made by Mr. Mulholland of other members of the public who attend, and in what numbers, it can only be concluded that they are small and the income generated not enough on its own to make the event viable.  If that’s the case why run it at all?  What merit is there in running something that not enough people want to go to of their own accord – without the sweetener of financial inducements?

Someone else who’s admitted their Summer School – actually held in October so it’s not even technically such – is completely dependent on the registration fees paid by county councillors is Wicklow Councillor George Jones who runs the La Touche Legacy Seminar.  He said that, without the 100 or so councillors who support that event with registration fees of €195 apiece, they wouldn’t be able to hold it.  In the present economic climate, with local authorities under serious financial pressure and even with Minister Gormley’s cap on spending, the question needs to be asked “is this the best use of their limited resources?”

A whole host of other such Summer Schools have popped up in recent years.  Some, like the Merriman Summer School in Clare and the Yeats Summer School in Sligo are well established and enjoy a high profile while many appear to struggle.

One of the most successful of the genre is the Willie Clancy Summer School but that’s different in that it’s dedicated to traditional Irish music and so will attract fans as well as exponents.

It’s the more ethereal nature of the subject matter the other Summer Schools deal in that make them somewhat elitist.  Which is why their dependence on the attendance of a cohort that is more comfortable dealing with the pragmatics of potholes, housing, medical cards and getting re-elected seems like folly to me.

I’m not a complete philistine, I think Summer Schools have their place, offering an opportunity for intelligent discussion and debate but they should operate, and succeed or fail on merit instead of serving as subsidized talking shops for the cultural intelligentsia.

By Aine

Have you ever thrown a party??  Of course you have.

Most people have, at some stage of their lives, thrown a party for one occasion or another. Children’s birthday parties, 18^th birthday party, engagement, anniversary, graduation party, 21^st, 30^th, 40^th, 50^th etc.

They’re usually fairly straight-forward affairs. You invite the family, friends and maybe a few neighbours. Nothing too complicated there. But have you ever had a house party and it just didn’t work because you put the wrong people together? You see some times the mix just isn’t right!

You invite people, willy nilly, and expect they will all get along and a great night is in store! Wrong!!  Some people should not be allowed in the same room together.

It’s wrong to assume that your friend from childhood will get on like a house on fire with your new neighbours. It’s wrong to assume that your husband’s family will like your work-mates. It’s wrong to assume that your family will like your husband’s family! It’s wrong to assume that your work colleagues will like your childhood friends.

I think people should think more carefully when inviting people to their homes for a house party. It’s vital to get the mix right.

I mean if you’re having a house-warming and invite your new neighbours to get to know them, you have to think long and hard about inviting Tommy, your husband’s best friend, whose party trick, after a heady mix of beer, vodka, and brandy is to drop his trousers and shake his hairy backside at all and sundry.

Or what about Jim, who although married, will hit on every female in the room between 9 and 90?  Then there’s Liz who after a few glasses of wine decides to share her complicated medical history with anybody who will listen. And Molly who’s out the back dragging on a spliff telling your 16-year-old “sure there’s no harm in it” Or Terry who dominates the sing-song although he can’t actually sing.  Or Paul who tells the filthiest jokes and believes he’s so good he should be on stage?  Nessa the lesbian whom your mother keeps asking “any sign of you to get married yet”?

Then there’s Nancy who works the room, honing in on the single guys and asking them what they do for a living before pinning them to the wall?

And who invited Ian the homophobic when there is a gay man and a lesbian at the same party? Or Joy, whose name is a misnomer, because she’s miserable and spends the night whinging for Ireland? Or Vera who thinks she’s God’s gift to men although she’s clinically obese, her hair is three different colours, her boobs are barely contained in her tight top and she has legs that any guy on the Munster rugby team would be proud of. See what I mean?

I’ve been to some cringingly embarrassing parties, all because people didn’t think through properly who they invite.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not a party-pooper, Nobody loves a good party more that me but I wouldn’t want to get stuck with any of the above!!!

by Grainne

How can one woman going braless in this day and age garner world wide media attention?  Well if it’s the wife of French President Nicolas Sarkozy, she’s a model and the occasion was a State dinner then I suppose it’s not surprising it’s created such a buzz.

That Carla Bruni likes attention is no secret.  And she got it in spades when she left her bra off to wear a skin-tight Roland Mouret gown to the State dinner hosted in honour of Russian President Dmitry Medvedev and his wife Svetlana recently.

“Oh la la, where’s her bra?” was the headline this prompted from that bastion of moral propriety, the Sun newspaper, which also printed a photograph of the French first lady in her figure-hugging dress in which her unbridled bosoms were clearly evident.

Apart from the tabloids going ga-ga over Carla daring to show off her breasts, chat forums all over the web dissected and discussed it, reading into it far more than she probably intended.    Feminists were to the fore in seeing it as an urge to throw off the restraints of womanhood, blah blah blah.    Columnists in the women’s pages of magazines and newspapers ruminated over it, some applauding her daring, other sniffingly disapproving.  Breast size and age were the two compelling factors in any decision to go braless was the consensus; those endowed more modestly can get away with going without, those more amply bestowed shouldn’t attempt it, and it was primarily the preserve of the young.   As in early ‘20s.  Actually Carla doesn’t conform to the latter, she’s 42.  So she got it half right.

The incident also gave rise to plenty of comment from women on their own feelings about wearing a bra or going without.   This veered between dissertations on the pleasure and comfort of unfettered boobs to the more practical considerations of bra wearing; ‘the hoist ‘em up and hold them in is better’ brigade.  When it came to aesthetics, opinion was also divided, some believing the natural shape to be nicest while others thought bras made for an altogether more pleasing look.

What everyone seems to forget when it comes to Ms. Bruni is that she has no compunction about disrobing, she’s been photographed topless many times.  So dressing in a floor-length gown without a bra probably seems modest by her standards.  In any event it may have more to do with the fact that rumours of marital disharmony in the Sarkozy  household abound.

Ms. Bruni is reported to be having an affair with a French musician, the President, in turn, seeking solace with his Ecology minister.   Bruni and Sarkozy are married a little over two years, the nuptials came after a three-month whirlwind romance following their first meeting.

In eschewing underwear (well a bra anyway, whether or not she was completely naked under the dress is also the subject of intense speculation) Mrs. Sarkozy may have been sending out a subliminal message to her husband.  That she was confident and assured of the male attention it was bound to generate.  Putting her best front forward, you might say.

by Aine

Last week a wedding invitation landed in my post box.

It sent me into what can only be described as a major frenzy. My mind went into overload. I quickly ran to the calendar to check the date and also to figure out how many weeks I had to shed the half stone it would take for me to ease myself into a figure hugging dress for the big occasion!

I’d been really good last year and hit my targeted weight loss but alas Christmas got in the way (as usual) and before I knew it the aforementioned seven pounds were back on.  Panic stations! At least now I have a real incentive to lose the extra weight. I calculated that I have six weeks to shed it – seven pounds in six weeks! Perfectly do-able!

It’s time to crawl into the far reaches of the cubby-hole and find the runners, dust them off and start pounding the pavements once again, because we all know that eating less alone will not work, I must combine a healthy eating regime (you will noticed I deliberately didn’t mention the ‘D’ word here!!!) with some exercise even if my attitude to exercise normally is less than enthusiastic, that is to say I usually try to avoid it at all costs!

I should mention here that I gave up alcohol for Lent (I hasten to add that I’m not a heavy drinker, just a few glasses of rose at the weekend and I’m a happy camper!) but when I do indulge in the few glasses of wine it usually means digging into the crisps and nuts as well, and of course we are all familiar with the “false hunger” after a couple of scoops which often ends with a visit to the chipper or local Chinese.

We’re now more than two weeks into Lent and my abstinence seems to have made no difference whatsoever so I’m wondering about alcohol and the part it plays in weight loss/gain.

I have resolved once again to not eat after 9pm. This is the difficult part as I usually get an attack of the “munchies” in the evening.  Numerous journeys in and out to the fridge in search of ice-cream, chocolate, something, – anything nice to eat in front of the telly.

My mother-in-law has a famous saying “The only way to lose weight is to pull back from the table” and like all old sayings I know she is right.  Pull back from the table, and the fridge.  And the kitchen cupboards where the goodies are stored.

Back to three meals per day and no snacking in between.  This I find difficult as I don’t like breakfast, and usually start the day with about four cups of tea, waiting until around 11am to have something to eat, which means that lunch is not till about 2-3pm and then dinner at around 6.30pm.

If I’m on the go however I’ll  forget about lunch and then return to the house absolutely ravenous and eat everything I can find! Now I do know this is not the right thing to do, especially considering the fact that I am a diabetic. But old habits die hard.

I intend to walk every morning and evening. I will try to drag a friend along, failing that I’ll borrow my sons IPod and at least have some nice music to listen to as I do that which I hate most!

I’m lucky to live near the beautiful Curragh where I can walk for miles for free as I don’t want to pay out my hard earned money to join a gym because I know I’d be a lapsed member in no time.

In the final week, and only the final week of my weight loss programme, will I go with Grainne on a trawl of the shops of Leinster in search of the perfect outfit befitting my newly acquired figure. The big reward! Hopefully all the sweating, puffing and panting, and hunger pangs will have been worth it.

by Aine

I love St. Patrick’s Day. Absolutely love it! Always have done since I was a child.

First of all I love the fact that it is uniquely Irish. It also signals for me the real start of spring.

I remember as a child, we were allowed to wear ankle socks as opposed to knee socks on St. Patrick’s Day; it was as if we were throwing off the shackles of winter and donning our spring wear. It was a wonderful feast day and we would wear our “Sunday clothes” first to Mass and then to the parade.

As a child, St. Patrick’s Day would not have been complete without the big “badge” worn on our coats or cardigans and green ribbons in our tied up hair!

Mam and Dad of course would sport a big clump of shamrock attached to their lapels as would most people and were proud to do so.

A traditional St. Patrick

We were always brought to ten o’ clock Mass on St. Patrick’s Day, and we stood, proudly and sung along with the choir “Hail Glorious St. Patrick” and “Dochas Linn, Naomh Padraig.  The nuns would have been getting us ready for weeks for the occasion and teaching us about the meaning behind the feast day, St. Patrick and the way he banished the snakes out of Ireland and how he went to Slieve Mish and ate the pig food and prayed. We were enthralled at the dedication of this man to our humble little island.

The highlight of the day was of course the St. Patrick’s Day parade. This was a common occurrence is most Irish towns and villages throughout the country. In many towns the tradition continues to this day. “Floats” of all descriptions lined up at the top of the town to parade down the main street. Some of these “floats” would carry topical messages for the politicians of the day, airing some grievance or other!  Most business and organisations would put forward an entry into the parade, apart from everything else it was free advertising for them!

Marching bands, pipe-band, tractors, old-fashioned cars, local minor celebrities, everything and anything went in the local parade. There would be at least one person dressed in the full garb of the holy man himself, sometimes complete with green beard!

Local people would gather early, vying for the best vantage points to view the proceedings, and deem which “float” was the best. Some of the floats would have been worked on for weeks in advance of the big day, extravagantly decorated in the hope of winning first prize, and better still, maybe get a mention on the RTE evening news!

The judging team, usually made up of local dignitaries, Chamber of Commerce members etc, were perched up on the back of a lorry from which lofty positions they could study all the participants and deem the worthy winners!

After the parade was over a traditional music band usually took over the position on the back of the lorry and played “a few sets” for the parade goers who were reluctant to go home!

Drinking of course played a big part too on St. Patrick’s Day as it was customary for people who had chosen to abstain from alcohol for Lent to enjoy an amnesty on this uniquely Irish day “to drown the shamrock”!

Writing this piece has brought back to me the wonderful memories associated with St. Patrick’s Day and above all how proud I was, and still am, to be Irish.

A good example of a sturdy but stylish ballet pump. Etty by Moda in Pelle from their Spring Summer Range

by Grainne

If ever anything should be deemed ‘unfit for purpose’ it’s the kind of shoes an awful lot of people are wearing around these days.  No, I’m not talking about those vertiginous high heels we see young women (and sometimes older women who really ought to know better) teeter around in on nights out, but the ballet flats that have been fashionable for some time.

I mention this now because it seems it’s a trend that’s set to continue. What’s this you say? Why criticise these pretty and comfortable ultra-flat pumps?

First of all, I’m not criticising all of them. I like flat shoes, per se. That is I like the sturdier ones, the ones with a proper sole. I’ve a few pairs of them myself.

It’s the much flimsier ones that are all the rage that I have a problem with. Come on ladies, look at ‘em. Constructed from cheap materials they scuff and tear, sole separating from upper in ultra quick time, leaving the wearer looking scruffy and feet unkempt. Time was when a decent pair of shoes was considered a wardrobe staple. The average flip flop, plimsoll or sandal is a good bit sturdier than these little absurdities. I’ve seen slippers made of stronger materials. But they are cheap and cheerful, I hear you say! Cheap maybe, but there’s nothing cheerful about being shod in falling apart shoes. If they really are bought by the cash strapped then it’s false economy because they simply don’t stand up to prolonged wear and one decent pair of shoes would end up costing considerably less than the half dozen pairs of such flimsy whimsies that’d be needed to see you through a season. And remember women, these are your feet we’re talking about. Pounding footpath and road daily. Do you really want to feel every stone, every sharp object, every piece of detritus that litters your path? Not to mention the more serious consequences to the wearer caused by their lack of support Put feet first, I say, and bin these shoddy little shoes.

by Grainne

It was with no small amount of pleasure that I noted, as I drove past the other day, a huge banner hoisted outside a local garage declaring “we want your trade-ins” and “no reasonable offer refused.”

My experienced schadenfreude was because, when at the height of the boom, I took myself along to that particular garage to enquire about trading in my then-seven year old car for one of the bright, shiny new ones that sat gleaming on their expansive lot, I was greeted with, if not quite derision, then certainly a less than receptive welcome.

They neither needed nor wanted my car and politely but pointedly told me I should try to sell it privately.  They were, however, perfectly willing to part me from a considerable amount of money to allow me to purchase one of their pristine new models.  Just as long as I wasn’t entertaining hopes of a trade-in.

That, coupled with the fact that the salesman lost interest in me as soon as a male customer walked into the showroom, quickly abandoning me as he hastened to fawn over the new arrival, made my mind up for me.  I left him to it, but judging by the less than enthusiastic response he was eliciting from said customer as I was leaving, I doubt that he got a sale.  I, meanwhile, took my business up the road to another garage where I wasn’t treated with such indifference nor was my requirement to trade in my old car for a newer model met with such scorn.  That salesman DID make a sale that day.

There was no greater manifestation of the boom years than the huge glass and chrome citadels that rose up in every town, lavish cathedrals to pay homage to the ultimate consumer items. Extravagantly floodlit at night to showcase their automotive spoils, they bore testament to the manner in which means of transportation had become status symbols. After houses, vehicles were the yardstick by which we judged degrees of prosperity among our friends, colleagues, neighbours.

Just like the property market, when the collapse came the fallout for the industry was swift and deadly.  A number of major players, dealerships which had operated successfully for decades, were forced to close their doors.  Others struggled on, under huge pressure from banks to service large debts incurred in building their shiny new premises and maintaining large amounts of expensive stock.

Those that survive are doing so by the skin of their teeth.   Uncertainty about the economy meant people last year held out and held on to their older models to see how things would pan out.  While that’s said to be easing a little now, with sales showing some sign of picking up, there’s still a lot of people, those who’ve lost jobs and those who’ve been affected by pay cuts in theirs, who will be driving what they have for a while longer yet.

The Government Scrappage Scheme introduced in the Budget last December after much lobbying from the sector, which began operating from January 1^st this year, is due to run only until the end of year.   The €1,500 reduction of VRT only applies if the car is traded in against the purchase of a new low-emissions car and isn’t enough to be a massive inducement to trade up.  It also only applies to cars ten years old or older.  The dealerships have acknowledged that the Government’s scrappage amount isn’t great and are offering top-ups of their own to sweeten the deal.

Like most people I’ll probably be holding on to my car for the foreseeable future.  I think that when I do go next to trade in I might be treated a little more cordially than I was last time if I went back to that garage that is now so desperately trying to entice buyers.  I won’t know though because I have no plans to return.  They had their chance and they blew it.

by Grainne

Spare a thought for the Limerick owner of a back street garage – where he works on his own – whom the Health and Safety Authority came down like a ton of bricks on recently.

So what was the important safety issue which saw the HSA spring into action?  Unsafe working environment?  Dangerous work practices?  Nope.  The inspector from the HSA checked the man’s modest premises and decreed that his girlie calendars were “a display of pornographic material at the place of work” which isn’t allowed apparently.

Now wait a minute here.  Health and Safety Authority.  Doesn’t that mean they ought to be concerned with……..well health and safety?  When did morality come into it?

The State-sponsored body, which was established under the Safety, Health and Welfare at Work Act and reports to the Minister for Enterprise, Trade and Employment is tasked with ensuring safety standards are met at workplaces big and small, in the private and public sectors.  And while Enterprise Minister Mary Coughlan has been known to play the sexist card, we doubt that even she would object to a few girlie calendars.

At the height of the boom, amid concern over serious health and safety issues in the construction industry a criticism was often heard that there weren’t enough HSA inspectors to go around.  Such criticism was usually voiced after there’d been a serious workplace accident.   The HSA, in response, did eventually  hire extra inspectors.

Now it seems that, with not enough work to go round, they’re reduced to wandering around inspecting modest little business premises in back streets on the lookout for possible breaches.  Even so it’s a stretch to include images of topless women in that.

Whatever you’re views are on such calendars, it’s hard to see how the HSA official who inspected this man’s garage reached the decision that his calendars constituted a “dignity at work issue.”  Whose dignity was being affronted?  The 62-year-old garage owner said the public doesn’t have access to his garage, where he works on his own.  He’s operated his one-man garage for over 40 years and never had a health and safety issue or an accident there.  No-one had made a complaint about his calendars which were of the standard issue Pirelli type.  What about his dignity?  Was it not affected by being issued with a letter telling him to remove the calendars immediately or face the consequences?

Seeing as the welfare of workers is also meant to be a consideration of the HSA, they weren’t being very mindful of the garage owner’s.   It could be argued that his welfare was considerably enhanced by having the calendars to glance at in the course of his mundane working day, toiling away, as he does, all on his own.  Perhaps having his ‘girls’ to look at eased his sense of isolation.

After the garage owner went public on what happened to him and it was covered in the Irish Examiner newspaper and then taken up by that Great Protector of All Things Puerile,  radio broadcaster Gerry Ryan, the HSA had a change of heart and decided the calendars could stay.

Maybe this will serve as a salutary lesson to them to concentrate on proper issues of health and safety and stop them making tits of themselves in future.  Either that or they should re-name themselves the Safety, Health and Morality authority – or SHAM for short.