We are experiencing a strange weather phenomenon here in Ireland.
It happens once or twice a year, sometimes in May or sometimes in September. It lasts for a few days and is soon gone again, to be remembered and spoken about in hushed tones until winter arrives.
We euphemistically [and somewhat optimistically] call it “Summer”.
When it happens we can all forgo our fur boots and fleece lined jackets and actually walk around with bare arms and in some cases a rather alarming amount of bare flesh on view. It is a time when Dubliners all pile into their cars and sit in a traffic jam on the main roads to Wicklow. They sit in that jam for the day staring at the car in front and come evening they turn around and go home again. It’s a weird ritual, but that Dubliners for you.
I had to go to the village yesterday. While I was there I thought I’d drop into the coffee shop. Actually it was Penny who decided and she was the one who dragged me in. Anyways the terrace out front was packed with strangers but I managed to grab a quiet seat and ordered my usual.
I then realised that all these strangers were stuffing their faces and talking in very loud voices. There was one young thing who must have just returned from a trip to Australia. So for the entire time I was there I was forced to listen to every fucking minute detail about every damn place from Sydney through Darwin to Perth, all of which was regaled between mouthfuls and in a lot of cases during mouthfuls.
To make matters worse, I assume it was the same loudmouth, but someone was wearing a very cheap perfume or it may have been Factor 100 sun cream but whatever it was, the stench of it made my eyes water and my coffee taste very strange. I was tempted to do that hand flapping thing so beloved of anti-smokers.
I couldn’t stick it any more so I left.
The sooner they ban those fucking eaters from the smoking area the better.