You think for the day that’s in it, I’d go all fuzzy and reminisce about an agriculture college, a coin phone box and somebody pretending to be a plane.
That’s so last year.
Our obsession with one exam has to stop. It’s not an exam. It’s an endurance test. Stop pretending that we all think it’s a rite of passage. Can we agree to let this year be last night of collective caring about 18-year-olds and their aptitude at rote-learning? Come 10pm tonight - as many of them will swarm drunkenly about our towns and cities - you’ll be cursing the day.
Today got me thinking about other weirdly Irish things we do. Things we don’t need to do, really. There now follows a list
1. The welcome ‘shoulder’ or wrap of a hurl at the start of matches. Why oh why. Is it some man ‘thing’? A result of Catholic guilt? Please can it stop or, god forbid, be punished? A nice yellow card or a sin-binning. Oops, that’d be too foreign. Give them a black card so their sub can get a clatter when they come on...
2. Going straight to the death notice section in the paper. I do it myself. If they were close friends, neighbours, or work colleagues, you would have heard. Trust me. I wonder is it a sign we all want to be county councillors going around funerals?
3. How many loaves of bread do you need for Chistmas Day and St Stephen’s day? I love my turkey sambos but we are living in a 24/7 age. There are shops EVERYWHERE. No need for stale bread on the 27th. Trust me, I’m Irish.
4. Tayto salt and vinegar crisps. They have their place but are they really THE crisp? Are they the best example of Irish cuisine? Sour cream and onion Pringles would give them a run for their money. There, I’ve said it.
The 12th of August. Nothing really happened in Ireland. It was a normal day.
