The West's Awakeby Cormac MacConnell
- An open letter to President Obama - some handy local tips for his visit to Ireland
- Some wonderful discoveries - relishing Irish trad session, The Gathering visitors and more
- The swallows return, beard competition, historic crimes and other musings
- A new taste of spring in Ireland- Tayto crisp’s cheese and onion chocolate bar
- Margaret Thatcher, Queen Elizabeth and the two Marys - Now it the time for a woman Prime Minister in Ireland
There is the old saying about March coming in like a lion and going out like a lamb. This one was a lamb from Day One, and she has filled the fields around the cottage with lambs and foals and calves and the ragged foundations of crows' nests in the tops of all the trees. It will only be a week or so before I am informing ye again that the swallows are back!
Under this month's moon there came a touch of milky frost every night. It was snappish and silent in the moonlight, silver on the lake, golden to the eye.
Lordy but we are an incredible and deeply damaged race.
Last Saturday morning we were all hungover after St. Patrick's Day and the Cheltenham races in England. We were aware that we were all broke, our banks were broke, we would go bust and belly-up were it not for the EU keeping a few bob in our begging bowl. We were morose.
The world was exploding with the outbreak of war in Libya, unemployment and emigration were getting worse by the hour, poor Japan was being racked by a radiation threat and the earthquake aftermath, both President Obama and the Queen of England were coming in a few weeks time and we have not enough funds in the kitty to give either of them a proper Cead Mile Failte of the necessary width and depth.
It is not just respectful to wear his shamrock and march in the parades during these special days in his honor. It is also bloody good sense and a shrewd spiritual investment in our future well-being and longevity.
Any glance at the good saint's life story proves this as plain as the nose on your face or the great green bunch of shamrock on your lapel. Mark my words.
To blazes (I say) with the chill of winter and the recession and all matters economic and political, and to hell with the darkish kind of stories I have been sending over to you for the last month.
No more of that. Enough of doom and gloom. Spring has sprung and so will I.
Things will never be the same again for my generation. A certain kind of genetic mould was broken beyond repair.
That was necessary. That is good.