Today was definitely the perfect day to book a windsurfing beginner’s class.
On a calm day, one would feel a bit foolish not being able to stand on the shaggin board.
But in the pounding waves and heavy swell, it looks normal.
Even the pros a bit further out kept crashing at speed.
Tsk… Neoprene-clad lunatics…
Now, that’s an Irish summer I can identify with.
No sweating. No risk of losing the sunglasses. No fiddling with bottles of sunscreen. No wondering if I look daft in those flipflops. No ice-cream melting faster than you can lick it. No overcrowded beaches.
No hope. No harm.
Just another false alarm.
Yes, it’s that great!
Just managed to grab a quick shot between a 9 hour meeting in the Mistake Factory and a two hour meal in Avoca.
One was surprisingly enjoyable.
The other was unsurprisingly enjoyable. Top food and company.
A suburban tale of glamour, and tiny legs, many of them, and yappy sounds, and white hair on bespoke armchairs.
I think, but I am not 100% sure, that I heard her scream “mush, mush! Mush for fuck sake!”
But I may be mistaken. It could be the aul tinnitus (I may have overdone the bashing along to For Those About to Rock on Finn’s drum kit this morning before going to work…)
The last couple of days of relatively clement weather have kind of lulled us into a false sense of meteorological stability.
But not the Green Nan, oh no.
The is no lulling her.
Quite unlullable she is.
You see, she didn’t come down with the last shower. Or the one before that.
She came down 723,452 showers ago.
Hanging on to the hood, feet firmly planted in position, she looks the gale in the eye (of the storm).
‘Is that all you’ve got, buddy?’
See, Nan finds an anticyclone anticlimactic. Nothing more depressing than a weak depression.
She’s more than able for the soft weather.
The Green Nan is hard as shaggin nails.
– No, Father Joseph, the barely blessed sacrament shall not do on a day like today, we are going to give it some welly, we are […]
– Surely, Father Malachy, you are not thinking of… not the… the most blessed sacrament?!
– Precisely buddy, the most blessed sacrament! We’re losing them. The barely blessed no longer cuts the mustard for them. We need some extra oomph.
– Still, boss… the most blessed sacrament?! And for a bunch of sinners?!
– Cool the jets Joe. We’ll give them something to remember. The most blessed sacrament it is, on a Thursday in August. Those who’ve fecked off to the Algarve for a bit of sun will be sickened when they come back and find out they missed out on not just a fairly blessed sacrament, but the most blessed sacrament. That will be a reward for the hardcore fan base, the grass roots, the flock that doesn’t stray too far from the Prayers Factory.
– But… but… will it not lose a bit of its wow factor, for the truly special occasions?!
– Don’t be daft Joe, I have a special little number up my cassocks’s sleeve. The Ultimate Sacrament GTX Deluxe. For Christmas morning and Easter Monday.
– You’re the best, boss.
– I know, Joe. Now go and open the doors, there’s bound to be a crowd trying to fight its way in.