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Country Living

Ode to an old friend that we may not see again for a time

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Country Living with Francis Farragher

On the greater scale of things, my particular difficulty won’t rate too highly in the list of current woes that we’re all enduring, but a night last week as I scurried off to bed shortly before 10pm, I came to the inescapable conclusion that I miss my local pubs.

While not everyone might agree, I don’t think I’m in the category of drinkers who needs to be carted off for a drying out course and since Paddy’s Day passed off so dryly, there’s been many’s the day and night that not a drop has crossed my lips.

Here and there on the home front if there’s a film being watched on TV or a burger being cooked outside (there’s a fancy name for that sort of thing which I refuse to use), I am partial to a bottle of Tiger, Moretti or my favourite Italian tipple, Peroni. But alas, it’s just not the same as the pint out of the barrel accompanied by an exchange of some gentle jibes about the good life that we’re all living.

They might be a dying breed but I do think that there’s something special about old country pubs. The two that I’m familiar with, also combine their trade with undertaking businesses, so I take some smite of morbid conolation from fact that they’ll look after me both in life in death, although each of those experiences, will leave me – and those left behind – with a lot less shillings in our pockets.

A few weeks back, I heard a story about a couple of old codgers who for the last 30 years had never stopped ‘picking’ at each other in the local pub. Neutrals would often remark that: “They’re at it again.” However, it has since emerged that since the lockdown started, both have independently admitted to missing each other. They just can’t wait for the ‘sparring’ to start again.

There’s something too about the game of cards in the pub whether it be a ‘six’ or a ‘nine’ in ‘25’ or a game of Spot that often seemed to endure for the night with ‘the pot’ sometimes gradually edging up to €30 or €40 as the witching hour approached. Not big money . . . no big gambles . . . but fought for as if our very lives depended on it.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.

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Country Living

A time to appreciate the jewel that is Midsummer

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Peak days in our season of brightness.

Country Living with Francis Farragher

THE other day as a few of us mused about how quickly Midsummer had come upon us, a colleague mentioned how wonderful it would be if this time of year could at least last for a couple of months, rather than slithering by so quickly.

That’s the problem with time: there’s just no holding it back and regardless of what material fortunes we might happen to stumble upon such as a lotto win, no money will buy back one second of time.

While our Irish weather, as always, might be a tad troublesome, there is, on a clear day and night of Midsummer, that wonderful phenomenon where it never gets fully dark. By the time the light of the late summer sun has retreated, the skies never really blacken and by 3am, the shafts of brightness begin to return.

Our Summer Solstice has occurred earlier this week, normally peaking between the 20th and 22nd days of June, but for of us of rural stock, the peak of the season of light was always on June 23 and June 24, the latter being the feast of St. John the Baptist.

The night of June 23 was always one marked by bonfires across the North Galway countryside with trips on donkey and cart made in the week preceding the ‘big evening’ to the local garage, where old tyres would be picked up for the big blaze.

Back then, recycling was a term used for going back to the shop if some vital provision like cigarettes for my mother were forgotten, and there was always a wow factor if an old lorry tyre could be located, sending flames and plumes of smoke to the heavens.

It was always a late night for young and old, but there was never to be any period of rest the morning after, St John’s Day, when the fair of Abbeyknockmoy drew a fair selection of stock and supposedly good buyers from ‘up the country’.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.

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Country Living

Thirst and turf were always the closest of soulmates

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The bog: a curious mixture of romance and backache.

Country Living with Francis Farragher

IN the greater scale of things, it’s certainly not a first-world problem, but the other evening, within an hour or so of a most fabulous sunset imaginable as I made my way home from an evening in the bog, there was just a little but forlorn longing to have one, or maybe even two, of my favourite beverages in the local watering hole.

The bog is a real love-hate affair with most people. I know sisters in one family, one of whom who swears that she could spend the rest of her days amidst the wild heathers as long as the sun shone, while her sibling has nothing but abject horror for the place.

I find myself somewhere in the middle of this divergence, half-enjoying short stints among the rows of turf but only if there’s a bit of company about to give me some little sprigs of hope of a ‘plot completion’.

There are friends of mine unbothered by things like deadlines who would gladly while away long hours day-after-day footing and re-footing (pronounced ‘rayfooting) the turf, but I’m inclined to go with the option of keeping handling time to a minimum.

Back in years like 2019, which seems to be a number from a different universe given what we’ve been through with the virus, we’d at least have the pleasure of a little boast to our imbibing friends in the local about how many yards we had ‘gone through’ in an evening, but now the journey home is a lot more lonesome.

True, there can be ‘the can or two’ to be consumed from the home fridge, but somehow or other, it really isn’t the same as the bit of banter, jibing or boasting that fuel the exchanges in the local hostelry.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.

Connacht Tribune Digital Edition App

Download the Connacht Tribune Digital Edition App to access to Galway’s best-selling newspaper.

Click HERE to download it for iPhone and iPad from Apple’s App Store, or HERE to get the Android Version from Google Play.

Or purchase the Digital Edition for PC, Mac or Laptop from Pagesuite  HERE.

Get the Connacht Tribune Live app
The Connacht Tribune Live app is the home of everything that is happening in Galway City and county. It’s completely FREE and features all the latest news, sport and information on what’s on in your area. Click HERE to download it for iPhone and iPad from Apple’s App Store, or HERE to get the Android Version from Google Play.

 

 

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Country Living

Ah feck it – so what’s the harm in an odd curse here and there

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Ancient Romans: First off the mark with this cursing business.

Country Living with Francis Farragher

I’m not really a television person and especially so when the daylight hours begin to stretch. There is, though, the occasional and often random dip into something that catches my eye or ear and last week, Ardal O’Hanlon’s ‘Holy F***’ programme ‘killed an hour’ before the arrival of The Sandman.

It kind of took me back to a time at national school, maybe at the fourth or fifth class stage, when we all thought we were ‘getting to be big lads’, making our way in the world at around the age of ten or eleven.

For most of us, cursing or any kind of liaison with bad language was very much off-limits both at school and at home, but being an entrepreneurial bunch, we used to organise ourselves into little groups far away from the prying eyes of teachers and pestering parents.

These were quite simply cursing sessions, where we’d all use the F word, the C word and a variety of B words to get our points across to each other. Of course, we weren’t really ‘making points’ – or much sense either – but these little championship matches of swear words seemed to give us great satisfaction.

I remember another occasion many moons ago when a brother of mine used the C word within earshot of ‘the ould ones’ at home, and for an hour or two, I thought he’d committed a crime on a par with an unlawful killing or the robbery of a travelling shop.

The short C word I never heard used again in a domestic setting, apart from our own little primary school gang in a secure corner of the playground (well a field at the time), when it would be exchanged with great enthusiasm, knowing full well that it would be supressed again until our next clandestine get-together.

Is there really anything such as bad language? Probably not, as most of the words that we consider to fall into this category of speech can all be found in the bowels of the Collins or Oxford dictionaries. They are just words, and as long as they’re not used in an abusive manner, they tend to form part of many people’s daily conversations.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.

Connacht Tribune Digital Edition App

Download the Connacht Tribune Digital Edition App to access to Galway’s best-selling newspaper.

Click HERE to download it for iPhone and iPad from Apple’s App Store, or HERE to get the Android Version from Google Play.

Or purchase the Digital Edition for PC, Mac or Laptop from Pagesuite  HERE.

Get the Connacht Tribune Live app
The Connacht Tribune Live app is the home of everything that is happening in Galway City and county. It’s completely FREE and features all the latest news, sport and information on what’s on in your area. Click HERE to download it for iPhone and iPad from Apple’s App Store, or HERE to get the Android Version from Google Play.

 

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