Irish people treat each other as if they are brain dead, which is kind of them, but is not always the case.
If you order something in Ireland they ring and ask you if you want what you said you wanted. English and American people don’t.
I asked a friend, why do Irish people always ask if you want what you said you wanted? He said, they think you were drunk when you ordered it.
Samuel Johnson (an Englishman) said the Irish are a very fair minded people, they never speak well of one another. That was in seventeen hundred. Have we changed?
Brendan Behan (Irish) said we are a nation of begrudgers.
A Dutchman I know saw fibre optic cable being laid down outside his house. When are you going to connect the houses, he asked? Three years. He said something like that before, I said nothing. That’s the way things are here.
How long would you have to live in this country if you were foreign before being driven mad? About three days.
I saw the Dutchman at a counter talking to the (Irish) assistant. He forestalled all her questions. In case she was going to ask something stupid, like do you mean Arklow in county Wicklow?
He could get a job interpreting Irish people for foreigners.
About ten percent of bus drivers are extremely rude, telling blind people they can’t take their dog on the bus without a permit, and other games people play. If they can be argumentative and grumpy, they are. And deliver lectures on why only a state bus service works. Private companies don’t make money, apparently.
Vested interest groups rule supreme, and like to rub it in.
The majority of bus drivers are unobjectionable, some are friendly, they make up for the bad ones. Three percent of people are psychopaths, one percent of bosses, so it has been said. Should they deal with the public? What did the public do to deserve this?
That blind man was English, Ireland of the welcomes, how are you.
Still, Ireland for all your faults I love you still.
A survey asked tourists what they like most about Ireland. The pubs and the talk. Count me in. We take those for granted.
Some Irish guy said in New York if you say hello to the guy going into the apartment next door he doesn’t answer. He thinks you might be a serial killer.
The same is true of countries nearer home, naming no names. The Yorkshire Ripper, was he Irish? As English as Churchill. Oh, he was half American, sorry I spoke.
Some English writer, whose name escapes me, got rich and went to live in France, from where he wrote a letter, Damn You, England. The papers were up in arms, saying he made all his money here and now he can see nothing right about us, he thought the English had a glorious past and a mediocre present. The empire died, not with a bang but a whimper, or whatever.
Anyway, he had a bee in his bonnet. It was funny. People getting their knickers in a twist always are. Whatever he said, it was well said. I appoint him honorary Irishman.
This may seem like my Damn You, Ireland message. Not exactly, I have a love hate relationship with the country of my birth, or should I say, its people?
People make a country what it is. Ireland leaves a lot to be desired, but if we had nothing to look forward to would life be worth living? Pie in the sky when you die, and all that. Meanwhile, bread and margarine.
The milk of human kindness is not entirely absent in the land of milk and honey and saints and scholars, or so we are told we once were. Traces exist, and a plenty in the right time and place, often here and now.
Heaven and Hell are one. This place is damn good some of the time. Nowhere’s perfect, I must visit Nowhere.
I could say more, criticism may be constructive or destructive or both. Two sides of the same coin. Too much of a good thing is bad for you, alcohol is one example.
I have not mentioned the great music and horses here, but Hell, read the brochures. Take the rough with the smooth. The scenery is lovely.
Shaw said a patriot is a person who thinks a country is the best in the world because he was born in it. Shaw was Irish, a smart cookie. I’ll go along with him on that.
Ireland? You might as well be born here as anywhere else. It’ll do to be going on with. Until death do us part.
Do its good points outweigh its bad points? I would say, on balance, yes. The same could be asked about life. And I’m still here. Ruminating, like a cow.
At our best we excel. When we stop talking. Almost never. But sometimes. We live in hope. Also known as Ireland.
The charge sheet against the Irish people is by no means complete, nor are the mitigating circumstances which may be said in their defence.
I hereby sentence them to life imprisonment with time off for good behaviour.
Don’t do it again.
13th July, 2016