Was back in Dublin last weekend for Easter and had a pretty relaxed three days, not dissimilar to my favourite Nazarethean:
On the first day-
On the first day-
Jesus:Crucified
Me: Ossified
On the second day-
Jesus: Lay in the Tomb
Me: Lay in me room
On the third day-
Jesus: He Rose Again
Me: I rose at ten
All in all, it was a very pleasant weekend. Good Friday was as usual preceded by Off-Licence Thursday, where all the alcohol in Ireland is panic-purchased in advance of nationwide pub closure on the following day. Except of course in Limerick, where pubs this year were granted a special licence by Judge Tom O'Donnell to serve thirsty spectators at the Munster-Leinster rugby match at Thomond Park (Leinster won...just about).
Unsurprisingly, opinion has been divided over this special drinks exemption. Local dipsomaniac Alf O'Holic had this to say: "Sure jaysis, if the Church thinks that no one takes a drink on Good Friday, then it's completely out of touch with society." In fairness, the Church has been out of touch with society looooong before this. I for one am happy with Judge O'Donnell's decision: for years I've been persecuted for my agnosticism by being denied a pint on Good Friday every year...
Naturally, the decision has also ruffled some ecclesiastical feathers. Some have speculated that the lifting of the one-day ban in Limerick foreshadows a nationwide lifting of the ban in years to come. Others have said that it is a sign of diminished faith in the Catholic Church in Ireland in the wake of the recent sex scandals. Tsk tsk, drinking on a Good Friday, sure Jesus would be rolling in his grave. If he stayed in it long enough that is.
Saturday, the pubs reopened and all was well with the world again. I caught up with the lads for a pint off Grafton Street, though I must say town itself was pretty quiet. Hopefully this is not a sign of the times, and just an indicator that everyone was drastically hungover following the previous days mass-consumption of off-licence booze. Some of the lads thankfully made it out to the pub, and we had a heated discussion about The Wire, in which I've concluded that those who boycott it because of the hype are just as guilty as those who they accuse of simply jumping on the bandwagon. Was good to catch up with Gary too, who was enjoying a merciful night off babysitting duty. Which was apparent by the neverending stream of pints he ordered. Note to self: Guinness followed by multiple Heinekens followed by Guinness, does not bode well for a hiccup-free journey home. Gary was also kind enough to give me some blog feedback: 'Yeah it's good, though all the haiku stuff is a bit up its own arse in fairness.'
I was additionally supposed to meet up with fellow Boston'02-veteran Daire also but apparently he was stuck boozing in Chapelizod. Either that, or I misheard his slurred voicemail and he was busy Trapping a Lizard.
The highlight of Sunday was a big roast dinner with the family. Lambtastic. Afterwards, I organised a pretty slapdash easter egg hunt for the young 'uns. My nephew is now ten, and therefore apparently above activities such as clambering around outside looking for chocolate; nowadays he'd rather watch porn and drink. Sniff sniff, they grow up so fast (dabs eye). His younger sisters were happy enough though; Caoimhe and Cara darted giddily around the garden, the latter stopping every now and again to ask me some pretty cutting questions about my life: Uncle Conor, where is your wife? Uncle Conor, do you not have a car? Uncle Conor, why do you have more hair on your face than on your head? Yes Cara, I get it: I've failed you as an uncle and a role model (bows head in shame). And of course, there was two-year-old Ailbhe, who was more interested in trying to eat pebbles than in any sort of festive confectionery.
Some of the very few pictures from the weekend:
Invasion of the Bunny Statues: multiplying like... well, you know.
All in all, it was a very pleasant weekend. Good Friday was as usual preceded by Off-Licence Thursday, where all the alcohol in Ireland is panic-purchased in advance of nationwide pub closure on the following day. Except of course in Limerick, where pubs this year were granted a special licence by Judge Tom O'Donnell to serve thirsty spectators at the Munster-Leinster rugby match at Thomond Park (Leinster won...just about).
Unsurprisingly, opinion has been divided over this special drinks exemption. Local dipsomaniac Alf O'Holic had this to say: "Sure jaysis, if the Church thinks that no one takes a drink on Good Friday, then it's completely out of touch with society." In fairness, the Church has been out of touch with society looooong before this. I for one am happy with Judge O'Donnell's decision: for years I've been persecuted for my agnosticism by being denied a pint on Good Friday every year...
Naturally, the decision has also ruffled some ecclesiastical feathers. Some have speculated that the lifting of the one-day ban in Limerick foreshadows a nationwide lifting of the ban in years to come. Others have said that it is a sign of diminished faith in the Catholic Church in Ireland in the wake of the recent sex scandals. Tsk tsk, drinking on a Good Friday, sure Jesus would be rolling in his grave. If he stayed in it long enough that is.
Saturday, the pubs reopened and all was well with the world again. I caught up with the lads for a pint off Grafton Street, though I must say town itself was pretty quiet. Hopefully this is not a sign of the times, and just an indicator that everyone was drastically hungover following the previous days mass-consumption of off-licence booze. Some of the lads thankfully made it out to the pub, and we had a heated discussion about The Wire, in which I've concluded that those who boycott it because of the hype are just as guilty as those who they accuse of simply jumping on the bandwagon. Was good to catch up with Gary too, who was enjoying a merciful night off babysitting duty. Which was apparent by the neverending stream of pints he ordered. Note to self: Guinness followed by multiple Heinekens followed by Guinness, does not bode well for a hiccup-free journey home. Gary was also kind enough to give me some blog feedback: 'Yeah it's good, though all the haiku stuff is a bit up its own arse in fairness.'
I was additionally supposed to meet up with fellow Boston'02-veteran Daire also but apparently he was stuck boozing in Chapelizod. Either that, or I misheard his slurred voicemail and he was busy Trapping a Lizard.
The highlight of Sunday was a big roast dinner with the family. Lambtastic. Afterwards, I organised a pretty slapdash easter egg hunt for the young 'uns. My nephew is now ten, and therefore apparently above activities such as clambering around outside looking for chocolate; nowadays he'd rather watch porn and drink. Sniff sniff, they grow up so fast (dabs eye). His younger sisters were happy enough though; Caoimhe and Cara darted giddily around the garden, the latter stopping every now and again to ask me some pretty cutting questions about my life: Uncle Conor, where is your wife? Uncle Conor, do you not have a car? Uncle Conor, why do you have more hair on your face than on your head? Yes Cara, I get it: I've failed you as an uncle and a role model (bows head in shame). And of course, there was two-year-old Ailbhe, who was more interested in trying to eat pebbles than in any sort of festive confectionery.
Some of the very few pictures from the weekend:
Invasion of the Bunny Statues: multiplying like... well, you know.
Two ridiculously-dressed people at the airport. Trilbies and giant furry hoods: feckin Italians, wouldn't ya know..
Cara: victory is mine MUHAHAHA
Reasons why I left Ireland #24: the pointless and miniscule one-cent piece
All in all, twas a very good Easter. Yet another pagan festival successfully adapted for the Christian audience. Resurrection and confection: the perfect combination.
Peace out,
CB
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