By Grainne

Dry your tears Mammies and Daddies of Ireland.  Your sons and daughters in Australia, from the evidence I saw on a recent trip, are having the time of their lives.  I saw and met nary a one lamenting the auld sod.  They were far too busy having a good time.

Of course there were tears at the airport when you bid them goodbye.  Then you went home, as Aine did after seeing her youngest daughter off two years ago, to cry some more, rail against the recession that doomed our children to the ‘scourge’ of emigration and curse the Government that brought it about.  I myself have been heard to decry the circumstances and those in power responsible for our young people (more usually described, Utopian-like, as our ‘Brightest and Best’)having to leave the country.  But that was before I saw proof of what I’d suspected for a while; they’re having a great time!

They probably stopped sniffling five minutes after going through the security gates at the airport as they looked forward to their first big adventure without parents looking over their shoulders.        

Forced emigration has been a richly mined vein for balladeers and poets for decades.   Disregarding the reality that many make the conscious choice to go there, offspring departing for foreign shores invoke much lamentation.  Mention of Australia in particular, brings the added and somber invocation “it’s so far away!”  It ‘tis of course, a long ways away.  A whole day away.  With flight changes and stopovers it can take as much as two days.    A little perspective anyone?

Rosie O’ Grady’s in Perth was heaving on a Friday night while we were there.  We spotted not a single patron weeping into their drinks over missing home.   The rainbow of football jersies showed that most counties were represented among the young men gathered.   The crowd was raucous and good humoured.

In another pub on a Thursday night a gaggle of Irish gals were pooling their money to see if they could stump up enough for a final round.  There was much cheering when they discovered they could and one of the two young lads in their company was dispatched to fill the order.  A young barman at that place told us he’d come over three months ago to join his girlfriend who’s a nurse in Perth; was earning 20 dollars an hour and, while they found the city expensive, were enjoying their experience.  “Sure what would ya be at at home?” he said; a sentiment that we heard echoed a few times while there.  In a park another day we met a mixed group of young Irish sitting on the grass in the sun, shooting the breeze.  All seemed happy and untroubled by the distance from home.  They were making plans for the coming weekend.   Outside an Italian restaurant we were dining in, sitting on a seat on the street, we overheard two young Irish lads laughing about an incident in work.  There was much merriment.

In the backpackers hostel where I went every few days to use the Internet I heard many Irish voices come and go.  From what I gleaned, their travels were for the most part enjoyable, even hardships encountered were related with relish, the badge of honour of the budget-conscious traveler.

Mournful Mammies and disconsolate Daddies can take comfort in the fact that their darlings are getting on so well.  Of course there are those for whom the experience may be less than enjoyable, especially if homesickness hits.  But it seems to me that by virtue of the distance they choose to go, those who opt for Australia are, by nature, able and willing to try new things and capable of adapting.

My eldest lad, doing the rite-of-passage year out in Oz a few years back, made friends that have lasted and he counts the experience among his most positive and educational.    As for Aine’s daughter, she flew from Queensland to meet us during our recent trip and while she was happy to see the Mammy and d’Auntie and hang out with us for the week, at the end of it she seemed eager to be off back to her job, her friends and her new life.  Despondent she wasn’t.  Having regaled us with stories of multiple high jinks and adventures with friends during her time there, I wasn’t surprised.   “Sure what would she be at at home?”  I comforted her Mammy after she took leave.  What indeed?  The only thing we have in our favour  here at the minute is good weather.  And they’ve that in spades over there.

By Grainne

In Australia recently I was using the public toilets in a market we were visiting in Freemantle when what sounded like an elderly lady and her two companions came in.  “Ohhhhh! “ She declared at the top of her voice. “Smells like someone’s doing poo-poo!”   As the offender, still in the stall with the door closed, until that moment happily going about my business, I was completely mortified.  There were three stalls in the toilets, the other two weren’t being used but my door was locked so she must have realized that behind it lurked the person responsible for the odour which she had felt the need to comment on.

I finished my business as quietly as possible, and pondered the possibility of getting the door opened, my hands washed and fleeing out the door without having to meet them but one had to have been waiting for the cubicle I was occupying.  So I skulked instead, waiting for them to finish and be gone before I felt I could make my escape.  They took their sweet time.  I checked messages on my phone, even took out a book I had with me and tried to read a few pages, while I waited for them to be finished.  I examined and admired small purchases I’d made at the market, checked to see how much money I still had, all the time willing big mouth to make no more comment on my bowel movements.  Maybe however her friends had pointed silently to the door that hadn’t opened since they’d come in, behind which I was still cowering, and silently warned her not to say anything more, (or perhaps they pointed out that toilets were built expressly for people to do what I’d just done in privacy and without offending common decency.  And that odours are a usual accompaniment and not something that’s generally commented on in polite company. )

In any event they left, chattering on and I let a good five minutes more pass before I left the confines of the cubicle, completed my ablutions, and dashed out to meld in with the market crowd. 

It was funny because I’d been musing for some time previously, about people’s tendency these days to say whatever comes into their heads without thinking.  Not just tactless utterings but the most meaningless stuff.  It’s like their brains and their mouths are linked in one motion. 

An elderly relative of mine is a case in point, I don’t think she’s ever had a thought that she hasn’t simultaneously committed to speech.  No-one’s ever called her on it  and so she goes blithely on her way, shocking, embarrassing and offending by turns, as her thoughts about whatever and whomever she encounters are articulated.  It’s cringingly embarrassing to be in her company at times.

Some thoughts are best kept to ourselves, mostly the ones with the capacity to hurt, shock, embarrass or offend others.    Even more annoying though, is the kind of verbal diarrohea that causes sufferers to speak every humdrum thought aloud.   The practice seems to be on the increase. A couple of generations ago people were required to be considered in their speech, to think, in other words, before opening their mouths.   

Now the opposite seems to be the case, children, from a very young age, are encouraged to verbalise practically every thought that occurs to them.  That said, the people that I’ve noticed that are the most tactlessly verbose, seem to be more elderly persons.  At a funeral recently I heard one man say to another “will you look at you, you’ve gone as big as a house!”   Another example is an acquaintance within earshot who commented to another man we knew recently, who was walking with the aid of a walking stick that he had “gone very broken up” which was probably not news, nor helpful, to the hapless individual being remarked upon.

The tactless ones though I can deal with, they’re just boorish people who’ve never mastered the arts of discretion or civility.  Our culture too of interacting with others by slagging them off (I do it myself) has made it easier for boundaries to be crossed.  The ones who drive me to distraction though are those who inflict the minutiae of their lives on me through speech.  I don’t need, and don’t want, to know their every single thought.

By Aine

To the lady in the  golf who, while stopped at the traffic lights at Newlands Cross the other day, opened her car window and dropped her cigarette butt onto the ground, I say, shame on you – have you no pride?  Litter is on the increase – and some of us don’t like what’s happening to our surroundings.

To the man who was smoking like a chimney in his car with his baby strapped into the baby seat, I say, stop and think of the damage you are doing to your own child’s lungs. You will probably be running to the doctor soon for inhalers to help the child breathe for God’s sake. anyone else were to harm your baby you’d be angry and upset.  So why think it’s ok for you to?

To the shop assistant who served me without once breaking off her conversation with her co-worker, I say you need to take a course or be re-trained in customer service. Better still go on the dole and let someone who doesn’t mind interacting with customers have the job.

           To the junk mail delivery people who continue to dump junk mail in my post box despite my large sign saying ‘no junk mail’ I say can you not read? I don’t need another takeaway menu thanks very much all the same.

To middle aged men who wear earrings in their ears I say “what look exactly are you striving for here”?  Have you any idea of how idiotic you look?

To the overweight middle aged men who wear English football jerseys I say “Get a life, skin tight lycra pulled taut over a beer belly- isn’t a good look.”

To the media who say there is no spark of romance between Kate and William who are due to be married this week, I say: since when have royalty married for love?

To the neighbours dog who continues to pee and poop in my flower-bed I say- I bought a sling shot today and you are going to get it in the nuts at the exact moment you next cock you leg.

To the makers of the current  Spec savers advertisements I say – brilliant- and thanks for making me laugh every time!

To the people who share too much personal info on Facebook I say – be careful out there. There’s a lot of nutters around.   And the rest of us would rather not know.

To the spammers who send me daily emails about penis enlargement or buying online drugs I say…………where do I sign up???

By Aine

“Viewer fury as love rat Ronan gets an easy ride on “Late Late”. Thus read the headline by Niamh Horan, the Entertainment news reporter for the Sunday Indo.

Niamh went on to report that apparently “scores of irate viewers took to internet sites after last weeks Late Late show to voice their anger at Ryan Tubridy’s interview of Ronan Keating” of Boyzone fame.

This was the first “big” meeja interview by Ronan since his dalliance with a dancer and the subsequent media frenzy over his potential marriage split.

Apparently members of the public who vented on internet sites reckoned Ronan got off lightly with Tubs. My belief is that they should get out more.

I mean, seriously, who gives a toss what Ronan Keating gets up to? What business is it of anybody’s what he does or does not do in his spare time?

I happened to be watching the ‘Late Late’ on Friday night and when I saw Ronan Keating walk out dressed like a middle-aged dandy I switched channels.

The pint-sized purveyor of pop apparently took a snipe at the press for their relentless coverage of the affair and fall-out. Now Ronan, like our Government just wants “to move forward.”

According to Niamh, the show’s chiefs had been trying to get Ronan on the show for the past year but he repeatedly steered clear of the limelight. Maybe this was because he had nothing interesting to say? Maybe he was otherwise engaged?

Niamh has branded Ronan a ‘love-rat’ joining a long list of B-celebrities before him who mistakenly believe that you can have an affair without any recrimination whatsoever.  But it still doesn’t make it the public’s business.

Ronan may be the centre of his own little universe but I can’t honestly believe that I am alone in not giving a damn about him and his private life. I mean, who wants to hear the sordid details of a grubby little affair with a backing dancer?

Even if we do need something to distract us from our woes in this country at the current time, listening to an interview with a repentant Ronan seeking absolution is a step too far.

Maybe he only agreed to do the interview because he has an album to plug?

The fact that he didn’t have anything worthwhile to contribute to the show -now that’s enough to incite ‘viewer fury.’