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2015-08-02

She beats me. Really, she does and I think she likes it. Well, all right, maybe she doesn’t actually beat me but she likes to hit me, especially when she’s losing an argument. Sure, now, haven’t I had a lifetime of drinking in pubs and bars and hasn’t my Irish gob talked its way into and out of more arguments that any man could shake a stick at? Haven’t I learnt to avoid the flying fists when the Paddies are going to town and needing to vent their frustrations on anything that moves or even might move sometime later? Haven’t I become a dab hand at ducking and diving at the right time when some drunken Mick is throwing punches left, right and centre? Sure, my auld dad would be proud of me now, wouldn’t he? Well, you see now, I know when she, the wench, is feeling she’s losing an argument for I see her right hand curling into a fist. Then the shoulder drops a bit, her arm moves behind her back and I know she’s going to throw a haymaker and it’ll be aimed at me! B’Jayzus but I could almost have a wee nap between the time she makes the fist and when she actually throws the punch and this, dear friends, is where the problem lies. Sure, I can’t just stand there and let her batter me, can I? My auld dad would turn in his grave at the thought of it so he would but the wench says I should. She says I should stand there and let her hit me. She says that’s the way with Chinese women and it means they really love their man so they hit him! Well, being a kindly auld soul and a logical one at that, didn’t I only ask her if it meant that I loved her and wanted to marry her if I punched her sweet, lovely lights out every now and then? Oh no, the wench tells me and I can see the anger rising in her eyes, that just means I hate her plus I’m just a big bully to hit such a wee, defenceless woman. Sure, now, how could any man win when faced with logic like that? Take last week for example when I was on the phone to the wee brother. The wench had heard me saying to him that she was as beautiful as a butterfly on a summer’s day, nearly twice the size but only half the weight. Well, didn’t the brother understand exactly what I meant but she, the wench, didn’t and, what’s more, she didn't like it at all. The next thing I know is she comes tearing into the room and don’t I know she has the hump with me then for she has a face on her like thunder. She’s offended, deeply hurt that I should say she’s like an insect and especially to my own brother who she hasn’t even met yet. Well, isn’t the auld brain doing overtime as she rants and raves until, a few moments later, the Irish gob opens and don’t the sweet, melliferous words come flowing out like there’s no tomorrow? Don’t I tell her that butterflies are wonderful and beautiful just like she is? Don’t I say their bodies are long and slim and doesn’t every man admire them for their beauty? (Ah, thank you, St Patrick for we Paddies do indeed have the gift of the gab.) Well, don’t I keep this up for a while and can’t I see that she’s enjoying the flattery but isn't she a determined wench who hates having to back down? Well. then don’t I only see the hand curling into a fist and don’t I know what’s coming next? She takes a step back and lets fly with a wild, swinging punch that would knock a horse out but me, well, don’t I just step lightly to one side as I’ve done a hundred times before and doesn’t she only go crashing over the sofa with arms and legs flying everywhere and landing in a most undignified heap on the floor? Well, you’re right. I know I shouldn’t have laughed as I helped her back to her feet but didn’t the whole episode just strike me as being funny? She stands up, regains her dignity and lets fly with a mouthful of abuse the Devil himself would have been proud of. She finishes by telling me to get out of my own home and, well, didn’t I think that that might be a good idea? Didn’t I just grab my coat and step outside? I’m thinking, then, I need some help with this and, to be sure, don’t I only know the perfect man to give me the advice I need? Sure, doesn’t that fella have the wisdom of Solomon and the patience of a saint? Doesn’t he know everything that’s worth knowing and even many things that aren’t? Can’t he answer any question you might care to ask and, even if he doesn’t know the right answer, won’t he tell you such a wonderful lie that you’d wish it was the truth? I must consult none other than the favourite barman, so off I trundled. Well, I had only stepped into the pub when yer man looks at me and says “Now, there’s a man with a thirst for something”. He was right, of course for he’s always right and he knew exactly what I was wanting. Then he looked again at me, giving me one of his looks as he was pouring a glass of the lovely stuff. Sure, doesn’t he have a hundred different looks to give to people, even when they’re not noticed or appreciated? He sets the foaming brew before me then gently asks “What ails you?” Sure and isn’t it marvellous the way he knows when I’m vexed about something? He takes a look around the bar and, as it’s a bit of a quiet night, he pours himself a glass of the same, sets it beside mine and comes and sits himself down next to me. “Right, then”, says he. “Tell me, for I’m all ears’. Well, hadn’t I only started to tell him of my woes when he stopped me, saying that this was a women problem and, as such things were serious matters, we should have a couple of snifters of the golden stuff too and didn’t I know he was right again? So we sat there, the two of us and didn’t I have to tell him the whole story? Didn’t I tell him about her and how she liked to hit me when she was losing an argument and didn’t I describe exactly how she’d gone flying over the sofa so gracefully only to land in a heap on the floor? Well, being the kindly soul that he is, he listened in silence to every word I said, sometimes nodding his head, sometimes just smiling. Finally, he looks me straight in the eye and tells me that women are strange. Well, wasn’t I about to tell him that I knew this when he said he’d often wondered if we were actually of the same species or just the result of a terrible accident? Then he told me such words of wisdom that I’ll bless his perspicacity for ever or, at least, until the cows come home. He says to me that women never believe anything that men tell them. Women always think we mean something else and that’s where the confusion begins. He said that we should never tell a woman the truth because she won’t believe it. So, knowing that no woman will ever believe anything that a man says, we should just have some fun and tell them lies! “Besides”, he says. Anyone can tell the truth but telling lies needs a good memory and a great imagination”. Wasn’t I just sitting there then, letting his pearls of wisdom sink in when he only comes out with the final solution, the greatest bit of logic since yer man, that Greek fella years ago, realised that two plus two really does make four? He says to me “You have to box clever with women. You have to tell them the truth by telling lies.” What? Wasn’t I gobsmacked by this revelation? Weren’t me flabbers all ghasted? So, there was the two of us, sitting cuddling our glasses of the lovely stuff and the golden stuff and didn’t we devise a wonderful plan to solve my problem? Didn’t I only wend my way home then, convinced I knew what to do? Didn’t I open the door and call out a loving “Hello, darling. I’m home”. Sure, didn’t I know her mood had changed as she stepped out from the bedroom wearing that long, tight, black silk thing that I’d bought her in Hong Kong? Didn’t she just look at me then with those big, soft, eyes and wait for me to say something? “Well, darlin’,” says I. “I hate arguing and fighting with you so let’s settle this one now. If you will admit you’re wrong, I will admit you’re right. Isn’t that fair enough?” Didn’t I look hopefully into her eyes then? Wasn’t I just wanting to hug her, hold her close to me and kiss her? Couldn’t I see in her eyes that she also just wanted me to hold her tight? Couldn’t I also see too, though, the suspicion that I was up to something as she mulled over my proposition? Couldn't I see her puzzling, thinking it over? After but a minute or two, didn’t she just repeat what I’d said? “So,” says she. “If I admit that I’m wrong, you will admit that I am right?” “Yes, my love,” says I. “That’s it exactly.” “Okay,” she says. “I was wrong.” “You’re right,” says I. She hit me when I wasn’t looking.

Saint Patrick and the Legend

2014-03-17

Much has been written here and in other places chronicling the life of Saint Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, so I'll not bore you with details that I'm sure you're all familiar with by now.Instead, I would like to speak of two indisputable facts about beautiful Ireland. The first, of course, concerns our saint, Patrick and the mysterious legend that has surrounded him for many hundreds of years. It is well known to every Irishman and woman that Saint Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland. This is true. It is more than just true though, despite the fact that there have never been any snakes in Ireland, Saint Pat did actually drive them out! How can this be? Is it possible that those rascally Irish people have concocted a story to boost their saint's appeal? Would we Irish simply invent a story, a pack of lies which could so easily be disproven, then tell it to everyone and continue telling it for all those hundreds of years? I will admit, freely, that Irish people are not renowned for always telling the truth for we can bend the truth as it suits us; we can twist and mould the truth until what you're believing is almost impossible but, to tell lies and I mean 'honest to God' lies? (excuse my little pun) No! That's not us and it's not our way. We have better things to do.We tell the story, the legend of St Paddy and the snakes and we expect others to believe it for we know it's true even though most of us don't know how. Well, sit down and pour yourself a glass of something nice and I'll tell ye how it came to be. I have to tell you now, today, for tomorrow (17th of March) is the big day and I have an appointment with the barman. St Patrick brought Christianity to Ireland and that is well known to one and all. However, ask yourself what was the religion in Ireland before yer man, Patrick, came along? Well, I'll tell you that Druidism held sway then and (are you sitting comfortably?) the symbol of those Druid chaps was a snake. Yer man, Patrick, came to Ireland, converted everyone to become Christians and, thus, drove the Druids and their snakes out of Ireland! So, there you have it and you can tell anyone that an Irishman told you so it must be true.The second fact that I want to tell you about concerns travelling through time. Now, I know that those clever scientist chaps have said that it's impossible just now but, perhaps, it might be possible someday in the future though they doubt it. Ha, this is pish and nonsense for we Irish invented 'Time Travel' a long time ago and have been doing it ever since. As tomorrow is our saint's day, I'm happy to explain and, perhaps, you might like to try it for yourself some day. First, you will need to gather those things that are necessary to travel into the future and they are: a comfortable chair, an empty glass, a smaller chair, a hat and a bottle of Irish whiskey (Bushmills, Jameson, Paddy, they're all equally good for this.) Now, the method and I advise you to follow these instructions exactly as I write them. Hold the hat in one hand and gently place it on the back of the smaller chair. Sit yourself down in the comfortable chair and pour a decent amount of the whiskey into the glass. Sip it slowly, enjoying its wonderful taste and aroma and then pour yourself another while keeping your eye on the hat. Continue pouring and drinking the whiskey as long as necessary and until you see the hat begin to move. Then, close your eyes for a few minutes and, when you can open them again, it'll be a couple of days into the future. Sure, it's easy enough. Anyone could do this.Erin go bragh

Ireland, A Visitor's Guide

2014-03-11

As an Irish man living in Chongqing, I am often asked to tell Chinese people about Ireland and the Irish ways of life but how can I do this? How could anyone describe, in a few brief sentences, a land with a people so contrary and perverse that they can only agree to argue with anyone and everyone about anything? For example, I have argued a point with someone at a party, (ok, debated) yet, twenty minutes or so later, was heard to be arguing the exact opposite. There are fewer than seven million people living in Ireland, can you even begin to imagine how many arguments there are on a Friday or Saturday night when we try to slake our famous thirsts? Irish people love to talk and will chat with anyone who has even just half an ear which is handy because we have what's known as 'the Gift of the Gab". It has been said that an Irish man could tell you to feck off in such a way that you'd actually look forward to the sex. Ireland is an island but it's not very big. It's only the third largest island in Europe and twentieth in all the world, excluding Australia which is such a big island that it's now a continent. Ireland isn't big enough to have mountains so we have to make do with some hills but that doesn't matter, we still like to call them mountains. It is said that, whereas China is like a cockerel, Ireland is shaped like a dog but, to be sure, 'tis a beautiful dog at that for everywhere in Ireland is green. Except the towns and cities, of course but we don't have suburbs for where a town ends, the countryside begins. Ireland isn't big enough or rich enough to afford suburbs. It is said that God gave whiskey to the Irish to stop us taking over the world and, while that may or may not be true, it has certainly worked so far. Ireland has never declared war on anyone except, of course, the English but that's to be expected. Even then, there has never been an official declaration of war, more of a tacit understanding between the two countries. The Irish people hate loving the English but they do anyway. They love hating them too but, well, that's quite normal for us. To cope with the whiskey, God also gave us 'the thirst' which we make valiant efforts to quench on a regular basis but, mostly, fail to do so and have to go back to the pub and try again. Guinness is Ireland's creamy black beer which is actually a stout and is more of a food than merely a drink. Sure, when my own mother was in hospital once, didn't she ask the doctor if she could have a wee drop of Guinness every day and didn't the same doctor say that he would insist on it? To help while away the time in a pub drinking Guinness, we can enjoy listening to traditional Irish music being played by a few locals who have nothing better to do of an evening. We actually like our traditional music and, if it doesn't set your feet a tapping, we'd advise you to check your pulse for you might well be dead or, at least, in a severe coma. Bearing all this in mind and being at a loss as to how I should tell Chinese people about my country, I have decided to include a Visitor's Guide to Ireland. I hope you'll enjoy it.... Ireland is an island to the west of Britain but Northern Ireland is just off the mainland - not the Irish mainland, the British mainland. The capital of Ireland is Dublin. It has a population of a million people, all of whom will be shopping in Newry this afternoon. They travel to Newry because it is in the North, which is not part of Ireland but, still, they'll pay in Euros.Under the Irish constitution, the North used to be in Ireland but a successful 30-year campaign of violence for Irish unity ensured that it is now definitely in the UK. Had the campaign lasted any longer, the North might now be in France.Belfast is the capital of Northern Ireland. It has a population of half a million, half of whom have houses in Donegal. Donegal is in the north but not in the North. It is in the South. No, not the south, the South.There are two parliaments in Ireland. The Dublin parliament is called the Dáil, (pronounced "Doyle"), an Irish word meaning a place where banks receive taxpayers' money. The one in Belfast is called Stormont, an Anglo-Saxon word meaning placebo, or deliberately ineffective drug.Their respective jurisdictions are defined by the border, an imaginary line on the map to show fuel launderers where to dump chemical waste. Protestants are in favour of the border, which generates millions of pounds in smuggling for Catholics, who are opposed to it.Travel between the two states is complicated because Ireland is the only country in the world with two M1 motorways. The one in the North goes west to avoid the South and the one in the South goes north to avoid the price of Guinness.We have two types of democracy in Ireland. Dublin democracy works by holding a referendum and then allowing the government to judge the result. If the government thinks the result is wrong, the referendum is held again. Twice in recent years the government decided the people's choice was wrong and ordered a new referendum.Belfast democracy works differently. It has a parliament with no opposition, so the government is always right. This system generates envy in many of the world capitals, especially Dublin.Ireland has three economies - Northern, Southern and black. Only the black economy is in the black. The other two are in the red.All versions of the IRA claim to be the real IRA but only one of them is the Real IRA. The North's biggest industry is the production of IRAs. Consequently, we now have the Provisional IRA, the Continuity IRA and the Real IRA. The Real IRA is by far the most popular among young graffiti writers simply because it is the easiest to spell.