The West's Awake
by Cormac MacConnellRSS 
Recent Posts
- 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
Archives
"THEY make far better shoes today than they used to," says I last night, stretching out my right shank from the top of the barstool. "There is no comparison at all between the mens' shoes of today and those of the past".
"This shoe,” says I, “is four years old, and just look at it. Tis as good as new. You would not get that in the old days.
“The heel is not worn down along the outside edge the way they used to after six months. Look at the glitter of that leather even though it has not been polished for at least a week."
I WAS at a good wedding last week. It began in a small country chapel, and the celebrant was splendidly merry and friendly while at the same time properly marking the sacramental solemnity of the occasion.
When the bride was making her entrance, for example, he said, "Is she not looking just gorgeous? Let's give her a round of applause.” That set the tone for the service and for the day that followed too.
There was a stranger in the Honk the other night. He was an Englishman with a copy of The Financial Times in front of him, and his pint of lager, and he kept to himself.
He had the cut of a businessman on a Shannon overnight, an assured traveler and gentleman, comfortable with his own company.
Apple blossom time and cherry blossom time through all the long reaches of Clare and the wider West of Ireland, tadpoles squiggling new life in the pond, the stretching hills somehow pubescent with all their promises of new life, the most subtly beautiful moon at night.
I passed close to the Cliffs of Moher on a working jaunt yesterday early evening, the seas making buttermilk down below with soft hands. Beautiful.
