I came across a photo today. Another lifetime. My two boys having their first trip on one of Dublin’s double-decker buses during a holiday there. I’m feeling very sorry for myself George. I’m in Australia and my two boys are in Europe. I always said I wouldn’t be one of those mothers who pined when the fledglings . . . Continue Reading
George, I wish you still didn’t mention the fact that I didn’t bring you with me on my brief winter holiday here back in 2011. You well know that with your delicate legs, you’d have broken that neck of yours on Prague’s icy cobblestones. Don’t forget it took you four winters to get the hang of them after we moved here . . . Continue Reading
I will never get used to the harsh, guttural, nasal tones of the Australian accent. Even now, after all the years I have lived here, I occasionally have trouble understanding them. They love the Irish accent, or so they tell me. It’s somewhat softer. They seem to quite like the Irish too. It makes it easy for us to live here . . . Continue Reading
Any Irishman who comes here is lucky. Even if he looks like the back of a bus and is rough around the edges, he will get mobbed by the ladies. I have seen it with my own two eyes. A few years ago I knew such a man from Dublin. In Ireland we would have called him a “gurrier”. No woman in her right mind would have. . .