The West's Awakeby Cormac MacConnell
- Remembering Jimjoejoe’s innocent life and rare talent
- The bonding nature of the spud and a lesson the modern Irish potato and its realities
- Living off the land, GAA sporting pride and economic woes bring sad times too
- Ireland’s weather, Black and Tans, The Gathering and a song for shy singers
- An open letter to President Obama - some handy local tips for his visit to Ireland
The midsummer meanderings begin to blur. It is hard to keep up with them at this stage because I'm not as young as I used to be!
But it has been the summer to end all summers for craic, and my feet have scarcely touched the ground twice in the one county since the Bilbao wedding. Somewhere along the way the weather broke and Mother Ireland got a drink she so badly needed, and there have been showers since but they don't matter at all.
Dear Queen Elizabeth,
I Hope this letter finds you well. I know you will be surprised to receive it from one whom you would always rightly have perceived to be among the ranks of your disobedient servants in the wilds of Northern Ireland, but it is written without any malice.
It is in fact written as a gesture of thanks and is dictated by the good manners taught me long ago by my mother. You don't know me, but my name is
It is a lovely evening over the Burren of Clare, and I'm in a bit of a hurry, but I cannot ever pass the home of the legendary PJ Curtis in Kilnaboy.
He is a friend by now, but also one of the most fascinating Irishmen I've encountered. I mention him here from time to time, but the truth is I have to stop myself writing about the man about every second week.
There is a cobweb of yarns and musics and experiences spun around the head of a man who looks like a Willie Nelson with short hair. Even going in the door of his home, I know I will not be leaving for hours.
More meanderings because the summer has been glorious, glorious, glorious thus far, and I have not sat down in the big armchair in the corner for more than two or three hours at a time since May. My God, but it has been fabulous!
The longest time I've been indoors was watching with glee the stumbles and rumbles and departure of England from the World Cup. They were so jingoistic and cocky and assured in the buildup that, quite apart from our history, they bring that kind of reaction down on top of their own heads.
America departs from the scene with honor and respect, and the Dutch Nation is out of her mind with excitement as the Netherlands emerge among the favorites for the latter stages of the marathon tournament. But watch Germany closely!