Happy St Patrick's Day

HAPPY ST PATRICK’S DAY

Byan-okht-ee nah Fay-leh Pawd-rig ur-iv

Happy St Patrick’s Day/St Patrick’s Day Blessings Upon You. 

I hope the Irish Gaelic spelling is correct as I got it from the internet.  Freetranslator as I used to call it (now use translate.reference.com) let me down, as it interpreted Happy St Patrick’s Day into Irish as Happy St Patrick’s Day!  It’s like translating Happy St David’s Day into Welsh in North Wales as Happy St David’s Day!  Blummin cheek!  Anyway I digress.

I thought I’d do a blog today on this monumental day for Ireland and those of Irish decent, or even for lovers of Ireland. 

Now you’ll have to forgive me, as an English woman with ‘rose-tinted’ spectacles who doesn’t do politics (as I believe in a good policy and good people, not a party, though also I’ve been lucky enough not to have to live in a town of politics, all I can say is sorry Ireland for the past L) or one religion per sé (as I’m an eclectic and believe most religions possess  elements in their holy books that have merit) who has travelled to many unique places in the world (e.g. China, India, Russia, Scandinavia, Europe) but not to Ireland.  I know, shame on me, it’s only across the water from Wales, but it is on my ‘bucket list’ of things to do before I die (which I hope the death knoll, for me, won’t chime for a very long time!). 

So you may think ‘what does she know about Ireland’.  I may not have researched it yet like I did ‘The Portas Review’ (for a neighbouring city to bid for funding) or ‘The History of the Hutterites’ (for a pack I sent to Bertha and Claudia Hofer and their community), but I will.  Though I do know enough to be able to write a couple of pages for this blog, which I hope you like.

What links have I got with Ireland?  Not sure, after my parents, my family tree goes a bit skewy.  My maternal grandmother was a harsh, arrogant, black haired English woman brought up by her Victorian mother.  Yet my maternal grandfather was purported to be an American soldier during the 2^nd World War, possibly with Irish decent.  The reason being that my mother was completely different to her mother and blood family…  a red head of fire, passionate about life and kind.  We always had an open house, where tea and cake were plentiful, and you always left with more cake (though if it was your unlucky day you’d have a piece of flat bland Victoria sponge cake, but if a lucky day you’d have Eccles cakes, or mince pies which my mum made throughout the year J).  There was music in the house, only records, except for me with the piano, French horn, and recorder (though I am somewhat limited as I have a different reflex in each hand, and so am never going to be a concert pianist, much that Taff thinks otherwiseJ).

My husband (better half), Taff, as you can tell is Welsh, and had/has Irish family.  Coming from North Wales, he worked on the boats from Holyhead to Dublin in the 60s as a teenager, and enjoyed the company of the Irish, a few pints of Liffey Water (Guinness) all settling on the bar at varying stages, or a drop of the finest (whiskey) during later years in life of course!  The stories he tells of the music, the laughter, and the Fathers, are amazing, as Taff role plays the scenes in a Southern Irish ccent.  He even describes a true Christmas scene, buying an enormous turkey from the Dublin market as a teenager, carrying it on his back to the boat home.  Presenting it to his mum, as a surprise.  The surprise being, not only did they have a full belly for a change, and enough turkey to feed Holyhead, it wouldn’t fit in the oven, and they had to borrow a more substantial/commercial oven in the town to cook the beast for Christmas day!

Taff, as a Celt is also musical, a self-taught acoustic guitarist (common in the 60s) and singer, he plays a wide range of music including ‘Danny Boy’, and the ‘Wild Rover’ (as well as all the non PC Naval songs, which if you’ve an open mind and just consider are funny!).  We listened to a ‘Best of the Bachelors’ regularly on a crackly tape that we bought from the car booty for 10p a couple of years ago, until our car died (replacement car alas has a CD player), singing along to songs like ‘In the Chapel in the Moonlight’ doing the harmony (well I attempt, Taff is a pro). 

Links of Ireland out the way, I shall continue, as you don’t want to hear about us, you want to hear about Ireland. 

For me, when I think of Ireland I think of Guinness, Whiskey, the Emerald Isle, musical talent, humour, kindness, marching, old fashioned pubs where drinking isn’t a sin/crime it’s just part of life, and the Giant’s causeway. 

As I said, I’m longing to go to Ireland.  Whenever I’ve come across an Irish person they’ve always been charming, friendly, polite, talkative, with a sense of humour, and have a twinkle in their eye.  In my first office job in Birmingham, England, I was privileged enough to work with a lady called Teresa who was from Northern Ireland.  I was 18, she was around 40.  We got on really well, as friends, even though she was old enough to be my mother.  Her and her husband (Max) invited me for drinks, a couple of times, driving me home afterwards to make sure I was back safe and sound.  We talked about life in Ireland, where everybody knew everybody else’s business.  You never locked your doors, people would just come in unannounced, in a nice way.  Max and Teresa discussed the culture shock when moving over to England and a big city, and the fact that people locked their doors, and didn’t know their neighbours.  Luckily for me where I lived, our home and our next door neighbours’ homes could literally have been in Ireland, so I could relate to their homeland.  Sadly we lost touch.

Although I don’t live in Ireland, we have a strip of Emerald grass, with lavender and buddleia (I have brown thumbs rather than green fingers).  We live in a community, out of the rat-race.  Our door is always open (though we do have to lock it when we’re out); there is always tea, cake and savouries (usually curry) for anyone who wants it; and they always leave with something similar; everybody knows everybody else’s business; it’s like being in the 70s; oh and the majority of people are between 20 to 40 years older than me.  It’s fantastic, for the first time since a child, I feel at home, and safe.  When it’s sunny we sit on our step outside and play music (me with the kazoo which I play like a trumpet, and a maraca) and sing (though I’m afraid I don’t have much vibrato, yet sing in tune most of the time).  We get the plastic garden chairs out, and neighbour-friends stop for some entertainment, a drink and a bite to eat.  I have yet to learn the tin whistle, frustrated that it is only in one key, and doesn’t have a million notes, but then it would be as long as my arm and unplayable. 

Today (17^th March), I’m halfway through making some cakes today for St Patrick’s Day -  Chocolate (to represent the rich, soil of Ireland), in green paper cases (to represent the Emerald grass), with hopefully a green shamrock on the top made out of icing (I have yet to make a cutter as I couldn’t find one in the shops yesterday).  We’ll keep a couple and then I’ll a trundle down to the local Irish and give the cakes to them as a gift, as I hope they’ll appreciate them.  I’ll run quick just in case there’s any red tape involved (like there was on Red Nose day, see previous blog).

Yesterday I went to the local charity shop and bought a couple of leprechaun-type green St Patrick’s Day hats (with the words Carrolls on which I’ll have to cover with black felt!), for us to wear.  I’ll retrieve some of my green Riddler costume (ie green T-shirt and tights), and we’ll drive down to an Irish pub in the city later (I’ll be on the non-alcoholic ginger beer or lemonade whilst Taff has a few pints of Guinness and a shot of Tollamore Dew whiskey).  Hopefully there’ll be some live music, or singing or something. 

So, ramblings complete, my final words for now at least…

Whether you believe in Ireland being separate from the UK, or not, I am pleased Ireland is my neighbour-friend.  It will always be my neighbour-friend.  And I hope to visit it soon.

Taff and I wish everyone who wants to celebrate Ireland, and its’ people, a wonderful St Patrick’s Day. 

Sláinte

LOL

Pam

J

Twitter @pamandtaff

Red Nose Day

RED NOSE DAY

Taff (better half) said, when I first met him, that I should temper my kindness with wisdom.  Obviously, I listened, and considered, and paid heed to what he said.  However, there are some instances, particularly in the last year, where I have a need to do a particular kind act, because I can, and I believe it will make a positive difference, to one or a number of people.

So I thought it was about time I did something for Red Nose Day, as I believe it to be a really good cause.  It’s something I’ve wanted to do for years.  I even remember the first one, all those years ago in 1985.  Back then I lived in a bubble, didn’t have a social network of friends, and disliked asking money from people who either couldn’t afford it or would not get something in return.  Now in 2013 nothing much has changed, other than the fact that I have Taff, and think outside the box.  So this was the year, 2013 to do something for Red Nose Day.

OK, so I didn’t do a feasibility study, which I normal do.  But with all the enthused tweets of people talking about Red Nose Day, I thought I’d join in… albeit just 2 weeks ago when we first got on twitter. 

Plan A

First of all I decided to think small.  I’d approach a couple of local supermarkets to see if I could perhaps help people with their packing on Red Nose Day, like the Brownies and Scouts do, in the hope that they may make a donation… of course dress up as a Red Nose of some sort (even if it was just a red T-shirt and leggings, wearing a dinosaur red nose with toes!).  I enquired with one supermarket who explained that they did not do Red Nose Day, they did Children in Need.  Yet they were helpful and guided me to the other supermarket that did.  Enthused I discussed plan with customer services at 2^nd said supermarket, and was told that I would have to put a report in writing, and submit it to someone who only worked one day a week (their Charity Champion)!  Though I also go the impression that said supermarket did their own thing internally, and would not really accept an outsider to drench on their bonfire!

Plan B

So, I decided to e-mail a local radio station ‘The Breeze’.  A very nice man replied to my e-mail to say that, as they were a commercial radio station, they did not get involved with Red Nose Day per sé, but would gladly promote my event if required.  They therefore directed me to said major radio station that supports the said event.

Now feeling more positive, as I had not been rejected by ‘The Breeze’ I e-mailed said station. I had bigger plans than the supermarket planning by now as I was more confident and was thinking outside the box, as small hadn’t worked originally, so I thought in for a penny in for a pound.

Plan C

Realising I had many skills, I offered my services to said 2^nd radio station.  I could do admin, organising, answer the phones (as one of my past lives involved working in a call centre), I could shuffle my feet in a dancing fashion, I was confident, I could sing (though not with vibrato but more or less in tune) and could also play the kazoo, I could bake, even tell PC jokes, and compile poems.  There was no end to my offerings.  I even suggested maybe I be a singogram (like a stripagram but fully clothed, no kissing or tongues) for marriage proposals for the not so confident, as I thought a donation of £25 a pop (usually a couple of hundred quid for stripping and tongues), with 4 in the day, could raise £100, and provide an interesting memorable experience for cupid’s couple.  However, said radio station didn’t even reply to proposal.

Outfit

All was not lost.  I am a stubborn mule.  I decided to make my costume.  At least I could rely on myself, and my felt artistry skills.  10 hours throughout Saturday, I succeeded, and I thought it looked good.  It fitted, it looked like said dinosaur with toes (though the feet on mine look like mermaid flippers).  Aha, I had a costume.  More positivity! 

Plan D

The next day (Sunday), I went to local major touristy shopping centre to do a feasibility study, and seek permission to become a Red Nose Tour Guide.  In that I would include some serious history, interesting facts, a couple of PC jokes (including Wonky Donkey adjusted), and free poem about said City.  Nancy and Taff would be involved also (pictures stuck to cardboard and laminated, possibly Taff with moving mouth), with burping fluffy red nose with toes to add the sound effects.  So, I went into the information office and was given the contact name of said person who would be able to say yeh or nay to proposal.

E-mailed said person that day, detailing proposal.

Plan E

In the meantime I had plans to do some cakes Tuesday for Wednesday’s carbooty (only £5 to do a stall, cake stalls quite common), to offer for a donation with a free poem or two.  Maybe a joke or even a hug (fully clothed no tongues!).  However, discovered that carbooty no longer exists.

All was not lost, I still had the possibility of being a Tour Guide. 

Back to Plan D

Wednesday came.  Chased up said person at said shopping centre by phone, and had to e-mail with urgent flag.  Had immediate response!  It was a No, as other charity was being supported in 2013 by said shopping centre, and that by the by they normally required 4 weeks notice.  I thanked said person for considering and went on my way.

Plan F

OK, so it’s Thursday now.  After a hectic day working as usual, building empire, I went to supermarket to get some cake ingredients to make crispy cakes, and chocolate cupcakes with chocolate icing and Rowntrees Red Ones to plop on top (as couldn’t get or find red noses).  Plan, to sell (well actually ask for donations) cakes on street, maybe between railway station and said shopping centre, with high footfall (I think that’s the phrase i.e. lots of people) or town centre.

Plan G

Still Thursday (tomorrow is Red Nose Day i.e. Friday).  I know, go back to said supermarket, different town (more local) to offer my Red Nose Services, now not bothered what I do.  Even just smile, and pretend to be a Red Nose.      

Alas, the person I needed to speak to wasn’t there, and would not be at work until tomorrow. 

Customer services were very nice and explained that even if they wanted to raise money on the street they would require a license, as I would.  ‘Plan F’ now gone to pot.

Plan H

Thought about having a coffee morning at home tomorrow for all neighbours, sending flyers tonight, and offering coffee/tea and cake.  But then we go back to the issue of ‘neighbour-friends are elderly and don’t have money rather need money’.  And whenever any come round, they always go home with some sort of cake or dinner, for free, as we’re a Welsh household and it’s tradition.

Plan I

Thought of doing a cake creation (e.g. Christmas Croquembouche) but with cupcakes from floor to ceiling.  But then there is the practicality of who to auction to, and next question of how to transport the beast.  So, unlikely to achieve plan I.

Plan J

Given up now.  Have realised over past 4 decades that as Cmdr Chris Hadfield on Dragon said, life doesn’t always go the way you want it to.  He’s right, it is what it is.

Plan K

Anyone want a red nose outfit, with person or not.  If not, fits human of medium/large size?  Located… East Hampshire on South Coast!

Here’s wishing everyone else a Good Red Nose Day for a very good cause(s).

Will try again next year, and do proper feasibility study, and give 365 days advance notice to whoever!

Yours disappointingly & sorry for letting you all down.

PamJ

PS Should have donated money spent on costume to Red Nose Day instead.  We live and learn!

Happy Mothers Day

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY

Happy Mothers’ Day to all those good mums out there.  I/we (Taff, Nancy and I) hope you have a wonderful day.  Fortunately, although the weather forecast was ‘cold’, the blackbird’s singing, there’s no wind, and it’s mild.  Here’s hoping for a dry, sunny day!

Unfortunately, I’m not able to share Mothering Sunday with my mum today, as she passed away when I was a teenager.  In fact the only time I remember Mothers’ Day at all, was buying a little china plate (the size of a saucer) with kittens on, from the local hardware store, with my brother and day, for 10p (which she put on the wall in the kitchen proudly) !

However, assuming that I could go back in time (like borrow Dr Who’s TARDIS, in fact I might be Dr Who anyway i.e. the first female Dr Who!), and I could pick my mum up, and rest of family, and come back to 10^th March 2013… then I’d plan our day something like this.

Get on what used to be called ‘My Sunday Best’, get Taff to do same, give Nancy a brush, jump in TARDIS and one second later we’d be back.

I’d have already given her a memory tablet, which would let her know about computers, and the internet, videojug, Youtube, sky, cookery channels (as Delia, Fanny, Ken Hom and Madhur Jaffrey were the only chefs that would have been around in the 80s that I can think of).  We’d catch up on those another day, as there would be lots more days, as many as we wanted J

Then I’d run my mum a bath with lovely sea salt or Radox Salts (as it seems to be the only type of thing you can get from the supermarket these days).  Meanwhile, I’d give her a massive bunch of flowers (that had been put in magic water to last forever), like the ones you get on Neighbours.  Also, a card, and some felt creation of some sort that I’d made, and a homemade cake to take home later. Oh, and a big box of milk tray, as she loved milk tray being a brummy (i.e. from Birmingham).

Once mum had had a soak, I’d get the coffee pot on (i.e. a 1950s coffee pot that my Dad got from the jumble sale in the 80s, which does amazing coffee), and warm up some pain au chocolat, and munch on those round the table whilst we listened to classical music, or Peters and Lee, David Essex, or the Beatles (those were her record collection).  Taff would sing her some songs whilst playing the guitar, but it would be too early for me to play the kazoo; and he’d also read her some poetry in one of his many convincing accents.

We’d then go for a walk along the seafront and feed the birds.  I’d hold her hand (it seems such an age since I did that, I can’t remember what it felt like, I know they were large hands though J).  

Off we’d trundle to a Sunday Carvery, a treat, we’d pay.  Our first family meal ever, as we never went out for a meal, just the four of us back then (mum, dad, me, twin brother), but five to include Taff.  Some sort of ‘School Pud’ would be for afters, stodgy sweet suet with syrup, or toffee, or chocolate or all three, with lashings of custard.  Followed by a pot of tea and the obligatory after eight mint.

Another walk by the sea, to deflate (is that the opposite of inflate, not sure, will check…  yep it is) the old tum tum, before going to some local museums, and an art gallery if we had one.  I think we’d have to use the TARDIS to go to London as well.

Then we’d come home, sit in the garden (I’d magic some sun) and do some weeding, and planting of seeds. Though I’d probably let mum watch whilst she was sunning herself, and have a rest, as she was always non-stop 365 days a year.

Then I’d pour her a few sherbets, some wine or Baileys (she loved Baileys), before going back in the Tardis as it would have been a tiring day, all that walking round museums, and emotional.  I’d give her a big hug and a kiss, and tell her I loved her (something I never did, regrettably, as I was unaware of everything and lived in a bubble L), and arrange for our next trip.  It would probably be tomorrow, as we’d have over 25 years to catch up on – something that a memory tablet wouldn’t be able to do.

But before I would leave, I’d read her this, and then give her another kiss.

Mum

I know you are, my only mum

Though I do not, always thank you

For being there, when I need help

A listening ear, or big warm hug

In fact if I, recall my past

You’ve never let, me down at all

I only need, to call your name

And you are with, me by my side

If I could buy, a gift for you

I’d buy a world, of butterflies

As you are truly priceless  mum

A golden soul, and goodly egg

Thank you for being my mum

So, that’s what I’d do.  Alas, I can’t.  But I did have a Mothers’ Day Card from Nancy this morning (left on the computer for when I got up), with some Cadburys Bubbly, chocolate which I’ve never had before… breakfast me thinks.  I believe Taff would have helped Nancy though, as although I think it’s possible for an animal to have a bank account (Rover is a name that springs to mind!?!?!), Nancy wouldn’t have been able to reach the counter, or hold the debit card to type in the pin number, at the counter – maybe in the future, but not presently. 

Anyway, enough ramblings.  Here’s wishing you all a Happy Mothers’ Day, or a Happy Day.

LOL

Pam

J