Rith sé le hAisling/Aisling noticed: An chéad uair ar thug mé buíochas de dhuine as mé a leanúint... The only time I've ever thanked anyone for following me – Twit me!
Ní thig le hAisling fanacht/Aisling can’t wait: le Dáil Report a fheiceáil anocht (maidir le Prime Time Investigates aréir 30.05.11. Féach air anseo:
can't wait to see Dáil Report tonight re last night's Prime Time Investigates, RTÉ 1. Click link above to watch it.
Níor mhaith le hAisling a bheith/Aisling would not like to be:
i gClub an Góilín ar an Aoine beag seo, 3 Meitheamh tar éis na tuairisce sin maidin inniu ar RTÉ Radió 1 faoin tionscadal “The Wild Bees' Nest”. Dúirt an tuairisceoir nach raibh ticéid ar bith fágtha don gceolchoirm anocht ins an Leabharlann Náisiúnta, ach go mbeadh fáilte roimh chách i gClub an Góilín ar an Aoine! Cé chomh mór agus atá Club na Múinteoirí?
The Teacher’s Club on Friday night at Club an Dóilín. How big is it anyway?
31 May 2011
30 May 2011
Tweet-to-woo cum dignitate
Aisling Ní Acamé will not be blogging today. For she is on holiday. Or as the clever, ancient Romans would have put it, wandering freely over the hills.
Why? Do you want me to write a poem about it?
Nor will she be tweeting. Not in negotium anyway. Excepting any tweets to WOO, her loyal weeters. For these tweets will pewely be tweetae in otium cum dignitate or tweeti en nobile indolenza as the Italians would have it.
Now I knew you’d be asking me what THAT the hell was all about, so I asked my friends on the WWWeb and here are some of their translations or interpretations.
Otium cum dignitate: “Leisure with worthiness”, “leisure without loss of esteem”, “maintaining one's political influence in retirement.” Retirement? Ah jaysis, sure didn’t I only start me blog two weeks ago?
Anyways, my favourite version came from my “friend” Fabrizio Giudici, who being Italian and all and being more latanic than the rest of us has more clout. In my camp anyway. Otium cum dignitate he tells us is the
LETTING your MIND wander FREE over the HILLS. Thank you Fabrizio. Mille, mille, mille Grazie!
When Aisling comes back from her holidays (WHENEVER!) she has a wee mixed bag for you about elocution lessons, politicians, and elocution lessons for politicians.
PS Why is she writing in the third person??? Well try as SHE might have, Lizzie was not able to convince her to acquire an iPad. But yes, okay, it WAS her (Queenie) who convinced her (Aisling Ní Acamé) to speak in the third person. Is féidir léi! (Agus sul a dtosaíonn duine ar bith a maslú ar son ar a bheith ag scríobh i mBéarla cliste - tá fhios agat cá dtig leatsa dul!)
PPS Oh, yeah, my “friend” Fabrizio innit? Well, how would you define “friend”? Oops, sorry Queenie. Guess I slipped up on the royal she.
Why? Do you want me to write a poem about it?
The sun is shining.
In Ireland
today
on holiday
Aisling Ní Acamé
is
féidir léi
Nor will she be tweeting. Not in negotium anyway. Excepting any tweets to WOO, her loyal weeters. For these tweets will pewely be tweetae in otium cum dignitate or tweeti en nobile indolenza as the Italians would have it.
Now I knew you’d be asking me what THAT the hell was all about, so I asked my friends on the WWWeb and here are some of their translations or interpretations.
Otium cum dignitate: “Leisure with worthiness”, “leisure without loss of esteem”, “maintaining one's political influence in retirement.” Retirement? Ah jaysis, sure didn’t I only start me blog two weeks ago?
Anyways, my favourite version came from my “friend” Fabrizio Giudici, who being Italian and all and being more latanic than the rest of us has more clout. In my camp anyway. Otium cum dignitate he tells us is the
“time subtracted to negotium (business) where you do things for the mere pleasure of doing them; or just sit down and [...] let your mind wander free over the hills".
LETTING your MIND wander FREE over the HILLS. Thank you Fabrizio. Mille, mille, mille Grazie!
When Aisling comes back from her holidays (WHENEVER!) she has a wee mixed bag for you about elocution lessons, politicians, and elocution lessons for politicians.
PS Why is she writing in the third person??? Well try as SHE might have, Lizzie was not able to convince her to acquire an iPad. But yes, okay, it WAS her (Queenie) who convinced her (Aisling Ní Acamé) to speak in the third person. Is féidir léi! (Agus sul a dtosaíonn duine ar bith a maslú ar son ar a bheith ag scríobh i mBéarla cliste - tá fhios agat cá dtig leatsa dul!)
PPS Oh, yeah, my “friend” Fabrizio innit? Well, how would you define “friend”? Oops, sorry Queenie. Guess I slipped up on the royal she.
27 May 2011
Party against the Pipe (Shell's Corrib Gas Project)
Party Against the Pipe is a celebration of over a decade of resistance to Shell’s Corrib gas project. Cóisir in Éadan an Píopa. 4-6 Meitheamh/June 2011. Breis eolais/more info: anseo/here
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There's even a kids corner at athe festival. Beidh neart rudaí suimiúla ann do pháistí.
Worth seeing twice! Breis eolais/more info: anseo/here
There's even a kids corner at athe festival. Beidh neart rudaí suimiúla ann do pháistí.
Worth seeing twice! Breis eolais/more info: anseo/here
Whose calling me obsessed? You orthorexic so-and-so!
Ok, so I'm more Spanish than I care to admit. Must be 110% Spanish then so. It's just that my 'amárach' has turned into a bit of a mañana. I really did mean to tell you about the interview yesterday, but I got waylaid.
Let me tell you first anyway about this. I have given up on my health food regime. I had entered this phase of wonderfulness, good worldliness, cleanliness, zenness. After reading "Eat, Pray, Love" that is. (Yes I KNOW I'm four years behind all you perfect cleansed clever clogs). Anyway, I was really doing my best to embrace the whole zen thing.
Like getting up at 5:30 to do my Kundalini yoga. Well my own version of it. Because I'm telling you. Kundalini sounds the hell to me like something that should be done by two consenting adults. Behind closed doors. I ain't doing no Kundalini. Not until I find a partner anyway. "Jade Lady Works the Shuttles". No JOKE. Ask the eighth century AD philosopher Hsu Hsuan-p'ing. He came up with it!
Anywho, I was doing my Chinesescher Rueckenschule the other morning (lit.Chinese Back School, fig. back exercises à la something like Tai Chi), yes at 5:30am, when it dawned on me. Talk about the straw that broke the camel's back! I was trying to "move the mountains" and "calm the waves". I was stretching my "monkey" halfway around my coiling "snake". Well if this is stress relief! I mean I was just DYING for it to be over so I could have some coffee. Lots of it. Not very zen, I know.
I'm telling you. Either I'm giving up all this shitty healthfoodi goodigoodiness, or else I'll have to stop listening to radio 1. It was going so well. Really. For ages. At LEAST a week. UNTIL I heard the news on the radio this morning. ORTHOREXIA!!! I would have thought it had something to do with writing or proofreading or approving of writing, or something like that. Like Garret Fitzgerald's anal love of commas and hyphens and the like (as described by Geraldine Kennedy on radio 1 this week) (my adjective!). That is if I had ever heard the word before.
Anyways, according to this new report in the Irish Examiner, orthorexics want to feel "pure, healthy and natural by pursuing a rigidly healthy diet." But according to journalist Mark Berman on addiction.com yesterday, some people are going too far.
Oh no. I've had it. I've had enough pathalogical s**t in my life. No way. No more. To hell with detox. To hell with C-L-eansing my body! It's back to the junk food for me then. Back to 2fm too!
Did I say 2fm? Oh no. Go on then. Gimme some of that Kundalini Yoga anyday!
The interview, innit? Suffice it to say it was a really good interview. Apart from a few blips on my part. I really want the job. I'll tell you more about it one of these mañanas.
Love, (Pray: EAT),
Aisling Ní Acamé
Let me tell you first anyway about this. I have given up on my health food regime. I had entered this phase of wonderfulness, good worldliness, cleanliness, zenness. After reading "Eat, Pray, Love" that is. (Yes I KNOW I'm four years behind all you perfect cleansed clever clogs). Anyway, I was really doing my best to embrace the whole zen thing.
Like getting up at 5:30 to do my Kundalini yoga. Well my own version of it. Because I'm telling you. Kundalini sounds the hell to me like something that should be done by two consenting adults. Behind closed doors. I ain't doing no Kundalini. Not until I find a partner anyway. "Jade Lady Works the Shuttles". No JOKE. Ask the eighth century AD philosopher Hsu Hsuan-p'ing. He came up with it!
Anywho, I was doing my Chinesescher Rueckenschule the other morning (lit.Chinese Back School, fig. back exercises à la something like Tai Chi), yes at 5:30am, when it dawned on me. Talk about the straw that broke the camel's back! I was trying to "move the mountains" and "calm the waves". I was stretching my "monkey" halfway around my coiling "snake". Well if this is stress relief! I mean I was just DYING for it to be over so I could have some coffee. Lots of it. Not very zen, I know.
I'm telling you. Either I'm giving up all this shitty healthfoodi goodigoodiness, or else I'll have to stop listening to radio 1. It was going so well. Really. For ages. At LEAST a week. UNTIL I heard the news on the radio this morning. ORTHOREXIA!!! I would have thought it had something to do with writing or proofreading or approving of writing, or something like that. Like Garret Fitzgerald's anal love of commas and hyphens and the like (as described by Geraldine Kennedy on radio 1 this week) (my adjective!). That is if I had ever heard the word before.
Anyways, according to this new report in the Irish Examiner, orthorexics want to feel "pure, healthy and natural by pursuing a rigidly healthy diet." But according to journalist Mark Berman on addiction.com yesterday, some people are going too far.
"It’s a terrible condition and those that suffer it can develop an almost pathological obsession with food," said Suzanne Horgan, director of the Eating Disorder Resource Center of Ireland. "What starts out as a desire to be healthy by eating only certain foods quickly becomes very unhealthy. It’s an almost pathological obsession with the origin of food and the desire to detox and cleanse the body." (my emphases)
Oh no. I've had it. I've had enough pathalogical s**t in my life. No way. No more. To hell with detox. To hell with C-L-eansing my body! It's back to the junk food for me then. Back to 2fm too!
Did I say 2fm? Oh no. Go on then. Gimme some of that Kundalini Yoga anyday!
The interview, innit? Suffice it to say it was a really good interview. Apart from a few blips on my part. I really want the job. I'll tell you more about it one of these mañanas.
Love, (Pray: EAT),
Aisling Ní Acamé
Maith Mo Chailín Rua!
Éistigí leis an podchraoladh (a bheas ar fáil níos déanaí) do pháistí Scoil Náisiúnta an Choimín, Gleann Fhinne, Tír Chonaill ag ceol "Mo chailín rua" ar Bharrscéalta, RnaG, inniú, 27 Bealtaine 2011. Abair le h-Enda ligint de chuid de na muinteoirí seo focal a chuir isteach ins na pleananna atá acu (má tá pleananna ar bith acu) do chibí cén rud a bheidh ag teacht in áit scéim labhairt na Gaeilge.
25 May 2011
Gearróg fuaime faoi bhás Garret Fitzgerald
Píosa cainte anseo (ní píosa cáinte!) (02:55) faoi Garret Fitzgerald le clois anseo. Sliocht le Enda Kenny, Micheál Martin, Gerry Adams agus Maire Mhic Giolla Iosa san aireamh.
Éist leis an phíosa faoi Garret Fitzgerald anseo . Buíochas le Justin Mc Carthy ar son na ngearróige fuaime!
Éist leis an phíosa faoi Garret Fitzgerald anseo . Buíochas le Justin Mc Carthy ar son na ngearróige fuaime!
Óráid Enda Kenny do Obama i mBÁC
Shíl mé go raibh Enda ag dul ar mire nuair a chuala mé an óráid sin beo. Agus nuair a chonaic mé aghaidh Ó Bama, shíl mé go raibh sé ag scigmhagadh faoi Enda. Tuigim anois caide a bhí ag dul ar aghaidh. IONTACH A ENDA! Abalta magadh a dhéanamh fút féin. Maith thú! Éist leis an óráid "dúbáilte" anseo! Buíochas le Justin Mc Carthy ar son na ngearróige fuaime!
I thought Enda Kenny was going off the head when I saw his speech for Obama live. And I really thought Obama thought the same with his smirking. But NOW I understand!
At last an Irish cowboy who can have a good ole laugh at himself. Self-effaced irony what?
Listen to the "double" speech here. Thanks to Justin Mc Carthy for the sound bites!
BRILLIANT Enda. (Just to point out, I stole that adjective 100% from Roddy Doyle). (Oh and I stole another phrase from Father Ted). Well fair play to you Enda!
If you want to read a novel about it, read John Water's article in the Irish Times on Friday next, May 27. Click here.
I thought Enda Kenny was going off the head when I saw his speech for Obama live. And I really thought Obama thought the same with his smirking. But NOW I understand!
At last an Irish cowboy who can have a good ole laugh at himself. Self-effaced irony what?
Listen to the "double" speech here. Thanks to Justin Mc Carthy for the sound bites!
BRILLIANT Enda. (Just to point out, I stole that adjective 100% from Roddy Doyle). (Oh and I stole another phrase from Father Ted). Well fair play to you Enda!
If you want to read a novel about it, read John Water's article in the Irish Times on Friday next, May 27. Click here.
Fear ag taisteal – go GÉAR! (686 focal)
Scríobh mo chomh-tuítire (nó mo chompánach tútach?), an scríbhneoir Thomas Gerhardt (@ThomasRHart) ar maidin: “The idea that narrowing your mind's vision makes you an "expert" at anything neglects that #common #sense itself is universal.” Béarla cliste tá mé cinnte, cé nach dtuigim focal de!
Aon nós, cuireann sé mo fhadhb i gcuimhne dom. Tá fear ag taisteal uaim! Go géar! Nó bean. Íosa Chríost, rith sé fiú liom triall a bhaint as mo mhamailíneach. Níor éirigh le sin, mar a chifeas tú!
Thoisigh mo fhadhb cúpla mí ó shin. Mo ghluaistean. Bhail níor thoisigh sé, a ba cheart dom a rá. Níor thoisigh sé achan uair ar aon nós. Corr uair thosódh sé. Corr uair ní thosódh. Toiseacht randamach mar dheá. Nó leath fhadhb má thuigeann tú leat mé. Níorbh fadhb ollmhór í, mar nach raibh mórán sriain ama orm le déanaí. DC* bhí mé ar shaoire shabóideach. Sea, idir phostanna. Bhuel idir chúrsa oiliúna agus phost. Saoire sheafóideach? Bíodh agat!
Níorbh cúis mhór bhróin dom fadhb an chairr. Bhail, chan go dtí lá an agallaimh ar aon nos. ‘Bhfeiceann tú, agus mé ar an ollscoil, ní raibh orm a bheith istigh go dtí a 10in. Agus sa tseans nach dtosódh an carr roimh am scoile, bhí mé in ann siúl ‘na scoile le mo pháiste.
Fuair mé amach luath go leor nár fhadhb chadhnra, ná fhadhb adhainte** a bhí i gceist. Fuair mé amach fosta go mbeinn togha ach mé a bheith foighneach agus tuisceanach. Thosódh sé achan uair i ndiaidh cúigear nó seisir d’iarrachtaí. Ar aon nós bhí mé ar an bhóthair i gcónaí ar a mhoille fá mo sheachtú dhícheall.
D’imigh mé liom mar seo ar feadh seachtainí sul a ndeachaigh mé chuig an garáiste. D’aontaigh an meicneoir liom ar an toirt nárbh ar an cadhnra ná ar an dúisire** a bhí an locht. Caidé bhí ann mar sin?
Mar a tharlaíonn sé, is é caidéal an umair breosla a bhí lochtach. Mise: “An fadhb mhór í sin?” Eisean: “Oh, fan bomaite go mbainfidh mé triall as rud éigin”. Mise: “Ceart go leor, ach bhail, tá sí ag imeacht inniu. Mar sin, ní bheidh tú ábalta rud ar bith..!” Eisean: Tabhair isteach chugam í an chéad heat*** eile nach dtosaíonn sí”. Mise: “Bhail, bheadh sin deacair! Muna dtosaíonn sí...” Eisean: “Oh, tá an ceart agat!”
Nach úsáideach atá an chiall cheannaigh agus tú ag plé le saineolaithe!
Le scéal gairid a dhéanamh de tharla mé lá ag an garáiste le peitreal a cheannach. Bhí an tinneall múchta. Caide tharla ach nach dtosódh an carr. Mo mhíle grá thú a chairrín! As go brách leis an meicneoir le meicneoir cúnta a fháil. Amach leis siúd le casúr ar láimh aige. Sea, CASÚR.
Luí sé síos ar an talamh agus thoisigh ag batráil an umair breosla. Umar breosla mo chairr-se! Le CASÚR! Fhad agus a bhí an meicneoir ag tiontú an eochrach! Bingó! Thoisigh sé! Bhail, nach sin cur chuige réiteach fadhbanna úr?!
Ach NACH BHFUIL an fhadhb réitithe! Ba bhreá liom thusa a fheiceáil ag tiontú eochrach do chairr, agus ag bualadh tailm air ag an am céanna! A Mhicí Glicí!
Tá fear ag taisteal uaim! Nó bean! Nó cibé! Chun caidéal an friggin umair breosla a bhualadh nuair atá mise ag tiontú an eochrach. Kinky!
Oh, rud amháin eile. Tabhair casúr leat, maith a fear/bhean/cibé.
Aisling Ní Acamé
PS Caide? An tagallamh sin? Och inseoidh mé duit faoi sin lá eile.
PPS Tá mé ag mionnú duit go raibh rudaí níos tábhachtaí agam le plé anseo inniu. Sea, cuairt na banríona (mo leithscéal, “Cuairt na Banríona Éilís II”), bás an Iar-Thaoisigh, an tUasal Garret Fitzgerald, teaghlach sínte Uí Bhama, díbirt Uí Chuív ón Dáil (nó “Díbirt an Chuíveannaigh”. Nach mbeadh sin ina ainm iontach ar thiúin!) (Fair plé dó ar aon nós – beocht sa deireadh sa Dáil!). Sea, sea, tuít amháin agus mé imigh le sruth! Brón orm!
Foclóir:
*DC – dee see – an bhfeiceann tú
** Tá fhios AGAM nach ionann an dúisire agus an adhaint. Saoirse fhileata a Ghlicí.
*** heat – babhta (i gcanúint Thír Chonaill)
Aon nós, cuireann sé mo fhadhb i gcuimhne dom. Tá fear ag taisteal uaim! Go géar! Nó bean. Íosa Chríost, rith sé fiú liom triall a bhaint as mo mhamailíneach. Níor éirigh le sin, mar a chifeas tú!
Thoisigh mo fhadhb cúpla mí ó shin. Mo ghluaistean. Bhail níor thoisigh sé, a ba cheart dom a rá. Níor thoisigh sé achan uair ar aon nós. Corr uair thosódh sé. Corr uair ní thosódh. Toiseacht randamach mar dheá. Nó leath fhadhb má thuigeann tú leat mé. Níorbh fadhb ollmhór í, mar nach raibh mórán sriain ama orm le déanaí. DC* bhí mé ar shaoire shabóideach. Sea, idir phostanna. Bhuel idir chúrsa oiliúna agus phost. Saoire sheafóideach? Bíodh agat!
Níorbh cúis mhór bhróin dom fadhb an chairr. Bhail, chan go dtí lá an agallaimh ar aon nos. ‘Bhfeiceann tú, agus mé ar an ollscoil, ní raibh orm a bheith istigh go dtí a 10in. Agus sa tseans nach dtosódh an carr roimh am scoile, bhí mé in ann siúl ‘na scoile le mo pháiste.
Fuair mé amach luath go leor nár fhadhb chadhnra, ná fhadhb adhainte** a bhí i gceist. Fuair mé amach fosta go mbeinn togha ach mé a bheith foighneach agus tuisceanach. Thosódh sé achan uair i ndiaidh cúigear nó seisir d’iarrachtaí. Ar aon nós bhí mé ar an bhóthair i gcónaí ar a mhoille fá mo sheachtú dhícheall.
D’imigh mé liom mar seo ar feadh seachtainí sul a ndeachaigh mé chuig an garáiste. D’aontaigh an meicneoir liom ar an toirt nárbh ar an cadhnra ná ar an dúisire** a bhí an locht. Caidé bhí ann mar sin?
Mar a tharlaíonn sé, is é caidéal an umair breosla a bhí lochtach. Mise: “An fadhb mhór í sin?” Eisean: “Oh, fan bomaite go mbainfidh mé triall as rud éigin”. Mise: “Ceart go leor, ach bhail, tá sí ag imeacht inniu. Mar sin, ní bheidh tú ábalta rud ar bith..!” Eisean: Tabhair isteach chugam í an chéad heat*** eile nach dtosaíonn sí”. Mise: “Bhail, bheadh sin deacair! Muna dtosaíonn sí...” Eisean: “Oh, tá an ceart agat!”
Nach úsáideach atá an chiall cheannaigh agus tú ag plé le saineolaithe!
Le scéal gairid a dhéanamh de tharla mé lá ag an garáiste le peitreal a cheannach. Bhí an tinneall múchta. Caide tharla ach nach dtosódh an carr. Mo mhíle grá thú a chairrín! As go brách leis an meicneoir le meicneoir cúnta a fháil. Amach leis siúd le casúr ar láimh aige. Sea, CASÚR.
Luí sé síos ar an talamh agus thoisigh ag batráil an umair breosla. Umar breosla mo chairr-se! Le CASÚR! Fhad agus a bhí an meicneoir ag tiontú an eochrach! Bingó! Thoisigh sé! Bhail, nach sin cur chuige réiteach fadhbanna úr?!
Ach NACH BHFUIL an fhadhb réitithe! Ba bhreá liom thusa a fheiceáil ag tiontú eochrach do chairr, agus ag bualadh tailm air ag an am céanna! A Mhicí Glicí!
Tá fear ag taisteal uaim! Nó bean! Nó cibé! Chun caidéal an friggin umair breosla a bhualadh nuair atá mise ag tiontú an eochrach. Kinky!
Oh, rud amháin eile. Tabhair casúr leat, maith a fear/bhean/cibé.
Aisling Ní Acamé
PS Caide? An tagallamh sin? Och inseoidh mé duit faoi sin lá eile.
PPS Tá mé ag mionnú duit go raibh rudaí níos tábhachtaí agam le plé anseo inniu. Sea, cuairt na banríona (mo leithscéal, “Cuairt na Banríona Éilís II”), bás an Iar-Thaoisigh, an tUasal Garret Fitzgerald, teaghlach sínte Uí Bhama, díbirt Uí Chuív ón Dáil (nó “Díbirt an Chuíveannaigh”. Nach mbeadh sin ina ainm iontach ar thiúin!) (Fair plé dó ar aon nós – beocht sa deireadh sa Dáil!). Sea, sea, tuít amháin agus mé imigh le sruth! Brón orm!
Foclóir:
*DC – dee see – an bhfeiceann tú
** Tá fhios AGAM nach ionann an dúisire agus an adhaint. Saoirse fhileata a Ghlicí.
*** heat – babhta (i gcanúint Thír Chonaill)
Desperately Seeking Man, Woman or Whatever (537 words)
Fellow twit, (or is it twatt), writer Thomas Gerhardt (@ThomasRHart) twirped this morning: “The idea that narrowing your mind's vision makes you an "expert" at anything neglects that #common #sense itself is universal.” I’ll be damned if I know what he means, but it brings to mind my current problem.
I need a man. Or a woman. Hell, I even thought of trying out my preschool toddler , but this proved fruitless as you’ll see why.
It’s because of my car. For over two months now I’ve been having this problem with my car. It won’t start. Always. I mean, it won’t always start. But it sometimes does. Which makes it less of a problem. I’m currently on sabbatical. Between jobs. Just finished a university course actually. Well in fact, without a job. Ok then, unemployed.
The problem with the car hasn’t been a huge problem. Up until the day of the job interview that is. You see, while I was on my university course things were pretty ok, because the only "serious daily deadline" (sounds like a tv show) I had was the beginning of classes at 10am. My preschooler I could take to kindergarten on foot. No problem.
I learnt pretty early on in the problem that it wasn’t the battery nor was it the starter. I also found out that if I was patient and understanding, it would start eventually. It always worked. Within the half hour. So it wasn’t a major problem then. I contentedly carried on like this for a matter of weeks before I finally went to the local mechanic. He confirmed my suspicions that it was indeed not the battery nor the starter. What then?
Turns out it was the petrol tank pump. Me: “Is that a major problem then?” He: “Well, just hold on a minute and eh let me try something”. Me: “Er, well that won’t be any good. She’s, er, starting today”. He: “The next time she doesn’t start, come in to me”. Me: “Ehm, if she doesn’t start, how can I ...”. He: “Oh, yeah!”. (common sense? WHO’s the f***ing expert???)
Long short, one day while I was there, actually there at the garage, the car beautifully and dutifully PERFORMED and did not start. Off goes mechanicman to get his assistant mechanic, who manoeuvres towards us, with a HAMMAR, and proceeds to lie down on the ground and wallop my baby’s petrol tank while the mechanicman turns the key. Bingo. Starts. Problem solved.
Problem not solved. Have YOU ever tried to hit the petrol tank of your car WHILE turning the key in the ignition. Smart ass!
I need a man. Or a woman. Or whatever. To hit the bleedin’ petrol tank while I turn the key.
It doesn’t take much common sense to see that I’m an expert on this.
One more thing. Could you bring a hammer with you?
PS I swear I had more important things to write about today. The Queens visit, the passing of the Gentle Giant, the extended Ó Bama family, Ó Cuiv's spectacular exit from the Dáil! What am I like? One tweet and I’m yours! Oh well, will just have to do that tomorrow. No not mañana. Amárach! (Unless I have another job interview that is).
PPS The job interview? Oh I’ll tell you about that another day!
I need a man. Or a woman. Hell, I even thought of trying out my preschool toddler , but this proved fruitless as you’ll see why.
It’s because of my car. For over two months now I’ve been having this problem with my car. It won’t start. Always. I mean, it won’t always start. But it sometimes does. Which makes it less of a problem. I’m currently on sabbatical. Between jobs. Just finished a university course actually. Well in fact, without a job. Ok then, unemployed.
The problem with the car hasn’t been a huge problem. Up until the day of the job interview that is. You see, while I was on my university course things were pretty ok, because the only "serious daily deadline" (sounds like a tv show) I had was the beginning of classes at 10am. My preschooler I could take to kindergarten on foot. No problem.
I learnt pretty early on in the problem that it wasn’t the battery nor was it the starter. I also found out that if I was patient and understanding, it would start eventually. It always worked. Within the half hour. So it wasn’t a major problem then. I contentedly carried on like this for a matter of weeks before I finally went to the local mechanic. He confirmed my suspicions that it was indeed not the battery nor the starter. What then?
Turns out it was the petrol tank pump. Me: “Is that a major problem then?” He: “Well, just hold on a minute and eh let me try something”. Me: “Er, well that won’t be any good. She’s, er, starting today”. He: “The next time she doesn’t start, come in to me”. Me: “Ehm, if she doesn’t start, how can I ...”. He: “Oh, yeah!”. (common sense? WHO’s the f***ing expert???)
Long short, one day while I was there, actually there at the garage, the car beautifully and dutifully PERFORMED and did not start. Off goes mechanicman to get his assistant mechanic, who manoeuvres towards us, with a HAMMAR, and proceeds to lie down on the ground and wallop my baby’s petrol tank while the mechanicman turns the key. Bingo. Starts. Problem solved.
Problem not solved. Have YOU ever tried to hit the petrol tank of your car WHILE turning the key in the ignition. Smart ass!
I need a man. Or a woman. Or whatever. To hit the bleedin’ petrol tank while I turn the key.
It doesn’t take much common sense to see that I’m an expert on this.
One more thing. Could you bring a hammer with you?
PS I swear I had more important things to write about today. The Queens visit, the passing of the Gentle Giant, the extended Ó Bama family, Ó Cuiv's spectacular exit from the Dáil! What am I like? One tweet and I’m yours! Oh well, will just have to do that tomorrow. No not mañana. Amárach! (Unless I have another job interview that is).
PPS The job interview? Oh I’ll tell you about that another day!
24 May 2011
Kahn kicked down the road
So they've kicked the IMFing Kahn down the road. Léigh tú anseo ar dtús é! You heard it here first!
20 May 2011
BÁS AN IAR-THAOISIGH GARRET FITZGERALD
Dúirt an tIar-Thaoiseach, an Dr. Garret Fitzgerald agus é ag caint le John Bowman, RTÉ, i 2006 nár chóir dul leis an bpáirtí polaitiúil is mó ar aontaigh tú leis, ach leis an bpáirtí is mó a dtiocfadh le tionchar a bheith agat air. Nach íorónta an rud é gur éag sé ag an am stairiúil seo, agus an Bhanríon Éilís II anseo in Éireann don chéad uair. Ar dheis dé go raibh a anam dílis.
In a major RTÉ interview in 2006 to celebrate Dr. Garret FitzGerald at 80, the late former Taoiseach told John Bowman you shouldn't join the political party you most agreed with but rather you should join the one you could do most to change. Isn’t it ironic that he passed away during the historic visit of Queen Elizabeth II to Ireland. Ar dheis dé go raibh a anam dílis.
In a major RTÉ interview in 2006 to celebrate Dr. Garret FitzGerald at 80, the late former Taoiseach told John Bowman you shouldn't join the political party you most agreed with but rather you should join the one you could do most to change. Isn’t it ironic that he passed away during the historic visit of Queen Elizabeth II to Ireland. Ar dheis dé go raibh a anam dílis.
18 May 2011
Feabhsú Póir - Irish government introduces new breed of dog to honour Queen Elizabeth II
'The Queen [...] introduced a new breed known as the 'dorgi' - a dachshund-corgi cross - and owns four: Cider, Berry, Candy and Vulcan'. From "80 things the palace wants you to know about the Queen", The Guardian.
17 May 2011
Litir Oscailte chuig Banríon Shasana
Dhiúltaigh an Irish Times an litir fháilteach, aibí seo a chuir i gcló. Chuir Gaelscéal i gcló í, fair plé dóibh! An taon nuachtán sa tír atá aibí! Féach leagan Gaelscéal anseo. Bíodh foighne agat – tógann sé 5 soicind chun lódáil, ach is fiú go mór é leis na maisíochtaí fuaime iontacha a chlois! Cur 18 isteach sa bhosca beag ag barr an leathanaigh ina bhfuil 1/40.
The Irish Times refused to publish this mature, looking-forward-and-forgetting-the-past, welcoming letter to the queen. Who is it who needs to grow up then? Fair play to the Irish language newspaper "Gaelscéal" who published it on Friday 13th (oops). The only bunch of people who are mature enough to know how to forget the past and look forward. For the printed version click here and enter "page 18" in the beautiful little black box showing 1/40. Be patient and wait the 5 seconds it takes to load! Listen to the fantabulous sound effects (preferably with ear phones). See the full Irish version and the full English version below.
____________________________
Haigh a Lizzie,
Ní thig liom a chréidiúnt nach mbeidh mé anseo nuair a thagann tú. Ar aon nós beidh an eochair faoin mhata. Bí ar do chompord!
Sílim in ndáiríre gur Ryanair an bealach is fearr. Tá fhios agam gur pian sa tóin atá ann corr uair, ach níl sé chomh holc sin leis an Stansted Express. Nuair a bhaineann tú BÁC amach, tá bus an tAirport Coach díreach taobh amuigh den doras. An rud is fusa ná sin a ghlacadh go dtí Bewleys Bhaile na Lobhar (€8) agus as sin faigh tacsaí anseo.
Tá go leor bia sa chuisneoir. Fiú amháin crúbóga portáin a fuair mé an uair dheireannach a bhí mé ins na Ceala Beaga. Tá fhios agam!!! Tá chuile rud istigh a bheas uait tá mé ag ceapadh. Rollaí leithris srl. Fuair mé cúpla buidéal vino dearg tí Aldi. Sure, má tá rud ar bith in easnamh tá an tollmhargadh díreach béal dorais.
Anways, níl ann ach fadhb bheag bhídeach amháin. Tá’s agat Josh agus a chuid ailléirgí? Bhuel, ní bheidh do chompánach beag ábalta ‘bheith istigh san árasán. Ach NBB, tá go leor spáis sa ghairdín. (Ní an príomh-aire! Nach tú atá greannmhar! Tá leaba champa sa chlóiséad faoin staighre dósan.)
Brón orm faoi sin, ach tá mé cinnte go maithfidh tú dom é nuair a fheiceann tú an geansaí Árainn a d’iarr mé ar Rosaleen Hegarty a dhéanamh dó! Chuaigh sí i dteagmháil le Kerry Woolen Mills agus d’iarr sí orthusan treabhsar beaga den bhréidín a dhéanamh dó fosta!!! (Ach níl mé cinnte caidé mar a obróidh sin amach. Do Chorgi like.) Agus tá Hanna Hats ag déanamh caipín beag bréidín.
Cén ceann atá tú a thabhairt leat ar aon nós? Emma, Linnet, Monty, Holly, Willow, Cider, Berry, Candy nó Vulcan? Cén ceann a, ehm, chaill tú an uair sin? Phaos nó Mummy nó rud éigin mar sin an ea?
Tá súl agam nach mbeidh an stumpa beag (b-róón orm!) chomh sotalach agus a bhí an bhaclóg Bhruiséile bheag sin a rinne mún ina fheisteas álainn siúd ar Lá Fhéile Pádraig.
Ar aon nós, bí cinnte nach dtugann tú an Dotty sin leat! Nó an Dottie atá uirthi? Níl sé tuillte ag geansaí Aráinn ar bith go mbeifí ag dul i bhfiáin leis. Bíodh baint aige leis an bhanphrionsa Áine nó ná bíodh! Beidh sí i gcró na madraí muna bhfuil sí curamach. An madra, ní Annie!
Aon nós, bhí ana-chraic againn sa Meyrick i nGaillimh ag an ócáid tiomsaithe airgid údaí do Khate agus Will. No a oinseach (díreach ag magadh a ghrá), bhí an tairgead a bhailliú do Chumann na hÉireann um Chosaint Leanaí. Tá fhios agam go mbeidh tú sásta sin a cloisteáil. Tar éis a rinne an friggin Dotty sin (arís!) ar na páistí bochta sin sa pháirc.
Agus muid ag caint faoin bhainis ríoga, nach iontach an mac mic sin Will? Dochreidte gur chur sé mí na meala ar ceall leis an sean daideo sin, Nick Barnett, a shamhailt. Nach bhfuil fhios againn uilig gur thit sé d’aon ghnó, mar a d’admhaigh a bhean chéile Philomena, díreach le go dtiocfadh Wills chun a tharrthála?
Bhuel , caithfidh mé rith. Cuir scairt nuair atá tú tuirlingthe. Bain sult as an seó! Caidé seo a deir sibhse i seoid s’agaibhse an Bhéarla? "It Ain't Over Till the Fat Lady Sings"!
Barróg mhór mhillteach,
Xxx
Aisling Ní Acamé
PS Chuir mé éadaí leapa úr-nite ar mo leaba. Le do thoilllll bí cúramach ar eagla go mbeidhfeá tú ag cur fuil shróine arís.
PPS Déan neamhaird den friggin Aindrias Ó Cathasaigh sin. (Sea, sea, an punc sin a thug íde na muc agus na madraí duit i nGaelscéal 1 Márta 2011). Gan trácht ar an friggin Nora Comiskey sin (yeah, san IT, 23 Aibreán). Club 1916-1921 an ea? Tá sé in am dóibh siúd fás suas agus aibiú!
PPPS Cén fáth a bhfuil mé á scríobh seo i nGaeilge Qhueenie? Sure nach bhfuil fhios againn uilig go maith go bhfuil tusa níos Gaelaí ná na buachaillí bó sin i dTeach Laighin?
PPPPS Bí ionraic leat féin. Nach raibh ruainnín beag bídeach féin d’éad ort nuair a chuala tú go raibh Ó Bama ag téacht anseo ar dtús???? Chalaque!
PPPPPS An sin an fáth ar ordaigh tú iPad? An ceart ar fad agat! Thig leisean a shean iPhod lofa a chuir suas a thóin!
PPPPPPS Ar eagla go bhfuil tú dubh dóite leis na himeachtaí atá a reáchtáil ag na boic sin san Áras duit ar an 17ú, cén fáth nach dtagann tú ar cuairt chugamsa anseo i Muineacháin? Bheadh sé tráthúil is dóiche.
The Irish Times refused to publish this mature, looking-forward-and-forgetting-the-past, welcoming letter to the queen. Who is it who needs to grow up then? Fair play to the Irish language newspaper "Gaelscéal" who published it on Friday 13th (oops). The only bunch of people who are mature enough to know how to forget the past and look forward. For the printed version click here and enter "page 18" in the beautiful little black box showing 1/40. Be patient and wait the 5 seconds it takes to load! Listen to the fantabulous sound effects (preferably with ear phones). See the full Irish version and the full English version below.
____________________________
Haigh a Lizzie,
Ní thig liom a chréidiúnt nach mbeidh mé anseo nuair a thagann tú. Ar aon nós beidh an eochair faoin mhata. Bí ar do chompord!
Sílim in ndáiríre gur Ryanair an bealach is fearr. Tá fhios agam gur pian sa tóin atá ann corr uair, ach níl sé chomh holc sin leis an Stansted Express. Nuair a bhaineann tú BÁC amach, tá bus an tAirport Coach díreach taobh amuigh den doras. An rud is fusa ná sin a ghlacadh go dtí Bewleys Bhaile na Lobhar (€8) agus as sin faigh tacsaí anseo.
Tá go leor bia sa chuisneoir. Fiú amháin crúbóga portáin a fuair mé an uair dheireannach a bhí mé ins na Ceala Beaga. Tá fhios agam!!! Tá chuile rud istigh a bheas uait tá mé ag ceapadh. Rollaí leithris srl. Fuair mé cúpla buidéal vino dearg tí Aldi. Sure, má tá rud ar bith in easnamh tá an tollmhargadh díreach béal dorais.
Anways, níl ann ach fadhb bheag bhídeach amháin. Tá’s agat Josh agus a chuid ailléirgí? Bhuel, ní bheidh do chompánach beag ábalta ‘bheith istigh san árasán. Ach NBB, tá go leor spáis sa ghairdín. (Ní an príomh-aire! Nach tú atá greannmhar! Tá leaba champa sa chlóiséad faoin staighre dósan.)
Brón orm faoi sin, ach tá mé cinnte go maithfidh tú dom é nuair a fheiceann tú an geansaí Árainn a d’iarr mé ar Rosaleen Hegarty a dhéanamh dó! Chuaigh sí i dteagmháil le Kerry Woolen Mills agus d’iarr sí orthusan treabhsar beaga den bhréidín a dhéanamh dó fosta!!! (Ach níl mé cinnte caidé mar a obróidh sin amach. Do Chorgi like.) Agus tá Hanna Hats ag déanamh caipín beag bréidín.
Cén ceann atá tú a thabhairt leat ar aon nós? Emma, Linnet, Monty, Holly, Willow, Cider, Berry, Candy nó Vulcan? Cén ceann a, ehm, chaill tú an uair sin? Phaos nó Mummy nó rud éigin mar sin an ea?
Tá súl agam nach mbeidh an stumpa beag (b-róón orm!) chomh sotalach agus a bhí an bhaclóg Bhruiséile bheag sin a rinne mún ina fheisteas álainn siúd ar Lá Fhéile Pádraig.
Ar aon nós, bí cinnte nach dtugann tú an Dotty sin leat! Nó an Dottie atá uirthi? Níl sé tuillte ag geansaí Aráinn ar bith go mbeifí ag dul i bhfiáin leis. Bíodh baint aige leis an bhanphrionsa Áine nó ná bíodh! Beidh sí i gcró na madraí muna bhfuil sí curamach. An madra, ní Annie!
Aon nós, bhí ana-chraic againn sa Meyrick i nGaillimh ag an ócáid tiomsaithe airgid údaí do Khate agus Will. No a oinseach (díreach ag magadh a ghrá), bhí an tairgead a bhailliú do Chumann na hÉireann um Chosaint Leanaí. Tá fhios agam go mbeidh tú sásta sin a cloisteáil. Tar éis a rinne an friggin Dotty sin (arís!) ar na páistí bochta sin sa pháirc.
Agus muid ag caint faoin bhainis ríoga, nach iontach an mac mic sin Will? Dochreidte gur chur sé mí na meala ar ceall leis an sean daideo sin, Nick Barnett, a shamhailt. Nach bhfuil fhios againn uilig gur thit sé d’aon ghnó, mar a d’admhaigh a bhean chéile Philomena, díreach le go dtiocfadh Wills chun a tharrthála?
Bhuel , caithfidh mé rith. Cuir scairt nuair atá tú tuirlingthe. Bain sult as an seó! Caidé seo a deir sibhse i seoid s’agaibhse an Bhéarla? "It Ain't Over Till the Fat Lady Sings"!
Barróg mhór mhillteach,
Xxx
Aisling Ní Acamé
PS Chuir mé éadaí leapa úr-nite ar mo leaba. Le do thoilllll bí cúramach ar eagla go mbeidhfeá tú ag cur fuil shróine arís.
PPS Déan neamhaird den friggin Aindrias Ó Cathasaigh sin. (Sea, sea, an punc sin a thug íde na muc agus na madraí duit i nGaelscéal 1 Márta 2011). Gan trácht ar an friggin Nora Comiskey sin (yeah, san IT, 23 Aibreán). Club 1916-1921 an ea? Tá sé in am dóibh siúd fás suas agus aibiú!
PPPS Cén fáth a bhfuil mé á scríobh seo i nGaeilge Qhueenie? Sure nach bhfuil fhios againn uilig go maith go bhfuil tusa níos Gaelaí ná na buachaillí bó sin i dTeach Laighin?
PPPPS Bí ionraic leat féin. Nach raibh ruainnín beag bídeach féin d’éad ort nuair a chuala tú go raibh Ó Bama ag téacht anseo ar dtús???? Chalaque!
PPPPPS An sin an fáth ar ordaigh tú iPad? An ceart ar fad agat! Thig leisean a shean iPhod lofa a chuir suas a thóin!
PPPPPPS Ar eagla go bhfuil tú dubh dóite leis na himeachtaí atá a reáchtáil ag na boic sin san Áras duit ar an 17ú, cén fáth nach dtagann tú ar cuairt chugamsa anseo i Muineacháin? Bheadh sé tráthúil is dóiche.
Open Letter to the Queen
Hey Queenie,
Can't believe I won't be here when you land! Have left the key under the mat anyways. Just make yourself at home. Hope Ryanair and the Stansted Express weren’t too bad. The cheapest way from the airport is to get the Airport Coach (right outside the door). Get that to Bewley's Hotel in Leopardstown (€8) and then get a taxi to mine.
There's food in the fridge. Even got some crab's toes last time I was in Killybegs. I know!!! Everything else you need is there really. Loo roll etc. Got a few bottles of red at Aldi. If you need anything just nip over to the supermarket.
There's just one thing though. Because of all Josh's allergies, your little travelling companion won't be able to sleep in the flat. Sure the garden will be grand. (No, NOT the prime minister, funny girl! HE’S welcome to stay! There’s a camp bed under the stairs.)
To make up for that, I've asked my pal Rosaleen Hegarty to make him an Aran sweater. She got in touch with Kerry Woollen Mills and asked them to do some little tweed trousers (I wonder how that will work out. For corgis like.), and Hanna Hats are doing a wee tweed cap.
Which one are you bringing with you anyway? Emma, Linnet, Monty, Holly, Willow, Cider, Berry, Candy or Vulcan? What was the one who, ehm passed away? Pharos or Mummie or something like that was it? Sure is a dog-eat-dog world out there!
Anyways, maybe the little outfit will join the hundreds of others in the London City Museum. Oh dear, I do hope the little mutt (soh-rry) doesn't follow in the steps of that rude little sprout of a Brusselois and pee all over it like he did on Paddy's Day!
And just make sure that that Dotty, or is it Dottie, doesn't come with you. I don't want no Aran sweater to be savaged by no bull terrier. Princess Anne's or not! Yes, I know it was ages ago. But once a terrierist always a terrierist.
We had a real blast at that fundraiser at the Meyrick in Galway for Katie and Will. No silly, the money's going to the ISPCC. I know you'll be glad, especially about the ISPCC. What with everything that bloody Dotty (again!) did to those poor children that time.
Talking about the wedding. Isn’t Will one son of a son? Really? Unbelievable that he would postpone his honeyier for to save that grandpa, Nick Barnett. I mean, don’t we all know that he slipped on purpose so’s that Will would come to his rescue. Sure didn’t his wife admit to it and all?
Well, gotta dash. Give us a bell when you get here. And enjoy the show. What’s that saying, “it ain’t over till the fat lady sings”!
Big hug and kisses,
Aisling Ní Acamé
PS I've changed the sheets and quilt covers. PLEEESE be careful if you have another one of your nose bleeds.
PPS You just ignore that friggin Nora Comiskey hon (yeah yeah, that twit who wrote to the Irish Times on April 23). 1916-1921? Frig sake, it’s about time they grew up and got over it!
PPPS Be honest. Weren't you just a teensey weensey bit jealous when you found out that O'Bama was coming to us first? Chalaque!
PPPPS That why you got the iPad? You’re dead right. He can shove his iPod!
PPPPPS In case you get bored with what them boys at the Áras have lined up for you on the 17th, sure feel free to join me in Monaghan. Mightn’t be a bad idea, what with the day that’s in it an’ all.
See the full Irish version here.
Can't believe I won't be here when you land! Have left the key under the mat anyways. Just make yourself at home. Hope Ryanair and the Stansted Express weren’t too bad. The cheapest way from the airport is to get the Airport Coach (right outside the door). Get that to Bewley's Hotel in Leopardstown (€8) and then get a taxi to mine.
There's food in the fridge. Even got some crab's toes last time I was in Killybegs. I know!!! Everything else you need is there really. Loo roll etc. Got a few bottles of red at Aldi. If you need anything just nip over to the supermarket.
There's just one thing though. Because of all Josh's allergies, your little travelling companion won't be able to sleep in the flat. Sure the garden will be grand. (No, NOT the prime minister, funny girl! HE’S welcome to stay! There’s a camp bed under the stairs.)
To make up for that, I've asked my pal Rosaleen Hegarty to make him an Aran sweater. She got in touch with Kerry Woollen Mills and asked them to do some little tweed trousers (I wonder how that will work out. For corgis like.), and Hanna Hats are doing a wee tweed cap.
Which one are you bringing with you anyway? Emma, Linnet, Monty, Holly, Willow, Cider, Berry, Candy or Vulcan? What was the one who, ehm passed away? Pharos or Mummie or something like that was it? Sure is a dog-eat-dog world out there!
Anyways, maybe the little outfit will join the hundreds of others in the London City Museum. Oh dear, I do hope the little mutt (soh-rry) doesn't follow in the steps of that rude little sprout of a Brusselois and pee all over it like he did on Paddy's Day!
And just make sure that that Dotty, or is it Dottie, doesn't come with you. I don't want no Aran sweater to be savaged by no bull terrier. Princess Anne's or not! Yes, I know it was ages ago. But once a terrierist always a terrierist.
We had a real blast at that fundraiser at the Meyrick in Galway for Katie and Will. No silly, the money's going to the ISPCC. I know you'll be glad, especially about the ISPCC. What with everything that bloody Dotty (again!) did to those poor children that time.
Talking about the wedding. Isn’t Will one son of a son? Really? Unbelievable that he would postpone his honeyier for to save that grandpa, Nick Barnett. I mean, don’t we all know that he slipped on purpose so’s that Will would come to his rescue. Sure didn’t his wife admit to it and all?
Well, gotta dash. Give us a bell when you get here. And enjoy the show. What’s that saying, “it ain’t over till the fat lady sings”!
Big hug and kisses,
Aisling Ní Acamé
PS I've changed the sheets and quilt covers. PLEEESE be careful if you have another one of your nose bleeds.
PPS You just ignore that friggin Nora Comiskey hon (yeah yeah, that twit who wrote to the Irish Times on April 23). 1916-1921? Frig sake, it’s about time they grew up and got over it!
PPPS Be honest. Weren't you just a teensey weensey bit jealous when you found out that O'Bama was coming to us first? Chalaque!
PPPPS That why you got the iPad? You’re dead right. He can shove his iPod!
PPPPPS In case you get bored with what them boys at the Áras have lined up for you on the 17th, sure feel free to join me in Monaghan. Mightn’t be a bad idea, what with the day that’s in it an’ all.
See the full Irish version here.
12 May 2011
"What's eating Ireland?" or "What's Ireland eating?"?
Sciorradh Freudach iontach de chuid an Irish Times Magazine, 7 Bealtaine 2011 - ag cur síos dóibh ar an gclár faisnéise "What's Ireland Eating?" sé an rud a bhí scríofa fá thrí ná "What's Eating Ireland?" De dheasca easpa cóid chleachtais don earnáil grósaeireachta is léir go bhfuil a bhfuil muid ag ithe, agus an chúis a bhuil muid a ithe, ag scrios slí beatha na bhfeirmeoirí beaga comh maith le siopaí beaga agus sráidbhailte na tire.
The Irish Times slipped so freudiantly in its Magazine, 7 May 2011. When describing the documentary "What's Ireland eating?" it wrote, 3 times no less, "What's eating Ireland?". The lack of a ‘code of practice’ for the grocery sector would suggest that what Ireland is eating, and why, is eating our small farmers, small grocery shops and town centres.
The Irish Times slipped so freudiantly in its Magazine, 7 May 2011. When describing the documentary "What's Ireland eating?" it wrote, 3 times no less, "What's eating Ireland?". The lack of a ‘code of practice’ for the grocery sector would suggest that what Ireland is eating, and why, is eating our small farmers, small grocery shops and town centres.
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