Dear God, Can You Fix The Weather

❍Charlotte loves the sun. But she won't get it in Ireland.

Dear God,

I am sorry for writing to you, because I know you are extremely busy. At least, I'm not writing entirely on my own behalf. I'm writing on behalf of all the people, and mainly the children, who live on the island of Ireland.
You see, we had a lousy summer last year. Of course, you know that.
And, despite a few reasonable weeks in May, this year isn't shaping up any better.
Now, I know that we're lucky in Ireland.
We don't get earthquakes of any great intensity. About every hundred years or so, we get the kind that might crack a pane of glass.
We don't really get hurricanes, not in the Katrina sense anyway.
We don't get tsunamis. We don't get typhoons. We don't get monsoons.
We don't get volcanic eruptions. We don't get floods, well, not real floods. not biblical events.
And we don't get plagues of locusts and we don't get outbreaks of swamp fever or beri beri or ebola.
And we sure as hell - I beg your pardon - we certainly don't get droughts.

And to be honest, I wouldn't swap all of that for a few weeks sunshine.
It's just that, well, a few weeks sunshine would be nice, especially for the children.
Last summer, poor Charlotte got to sit in her little paddling pool twice. This year, she's managed three times so far with no prospect of her having another dip for some time.
I'm well aware that it wasn't sunny every day in the summer when I was a child. Sure, who am I telling. You remember it better than me.
I know that, when you're a child, you don't actually need the sun to be cracking the rocks. As long as the rain isn't persistent or torrential, kids just get on with it.
Trouble is, recently the rain has been, well, persistent and torrential.
So I'm wondering if there's any chance you'll give us a little break?
Any chance that for, say, most of July and a bit of August, we get reasonably warm and sunny weather?
I know, I know, people start dressing silly and littering beaches and eating ice cream by the bucket.
But it would be kind of nice if, every second or third year, we had a little bit of a heat wave.
That's about it.
Hope all is well Above.
Sorry for asking, but it's for Charlotte more than me.

Paddy

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So Much To look Forward To

The splendid village of St Guilhem le desert

I’m not going to bore you, day after day, talking about my impending Bone Marrow Transplant.
Oh no.
I’m saving that for when I actually have it.
But has done one thing already that I’m not mad about, that is, in one way, bad.
It has made me wish a bit of my life away.
I wish it was over.
But it’s also good in a way.
Because I think I have an awful lot to look forward to when it’s all over.
I’m looking forward to going back to France again, for example.

There is a division in the house right now. And it’s understandable.
I’m in love with the Languedoc area of France, not least because of it’s wonderful wines. We’ve been buying Languedoc wines for years, not expensive ones mind, but wines we like.
And we’ve watched the price ratchet up as their popularity has risen.
But Languedoc is a fabulous area. It’s not as touristy as other areas though, clearly, if we’re there, tourists are there.
But you don’t tend to get mass tourism. Or caravans.
Last time we went, it was to a modern house in a village that didn’t even have a shop. Personally, I thought it bliss.
But the reason there’s division in the house now is, that when I’m well, Connie thinks we should head for Italy because of the Italian love of children.
Well, I have to agree that a house in a village containing nothing probably isn’t a bad idea with a toddler.
But the French aren’t bad with children either.
And I love the area around Gignac so much, that I am determined, one day, to bring Charlotte there.
There is, for example, the wonderful village of St Guilhem le desert.
It’s medieval wonder with a magnificent church containing an organ which sounds like it was made hundreds of years ago. Because it was.
The church, allegedly, contains a piece of the true cross. I’m always sceptical about such claims, but I gave it due reverence last time I was there, just in case.
The entire area is a scenic wonderland. The people are fantastic - especially if you speak a little French, or try to.
On one visit, the local shopkeeper even tried to teach me a few words of French every day.
Italy or France then?
Well, it’s something to ponder over the coming months, especially those which will be spent in hospital.
Before we go anywhere, though, there’s next Christmas to look forward to.
Sorry. I know.
But the middle part of my year is likely to be blank.
And Christmas 2088 with Charlotte and Connie is, as much as anything else, the kind of thing that will keep me going.

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The Joy of Winter

IF this Irish summer was a Broadway play, it would have been over months ago.
It might have earned reviews like this:
“A dismal flop” New York Times.
“A poor imitation of previous productions” Washington Post
“A bitter disappointment” New Yorker.
But because of the way the world works, we have been stuck with this dismal excuse for a warm season since the last time we had three good days in a row, sometime back in May.
So roll on winter.
Winter never lets you down. It delivers exactly what it promises. It is reliable.
It will be in about eight weeks time, I would guess, that we will see the first television ads mentioning Christmas.
There are a couple of department stores in Dublin which will, to my certain knowledge, open their Christmas shops around the same time.

Shortly after, you will begin to hear the Christmas tunes playing in your local supermarket.
Then Santa will arrive at some shopping mall.
The hour will go back.
And winter will be here.
Of course, winter brings with it, rain, cold, wind and darkness. A bit like the summer we’re having.
But winter also brings with it blazing fires in pubs and homes, hot soup, stews and casseroles, cosy nights in with the curtains drawn and the expectation of Christmas not far away.
One of the great pleasures of winter, is going home. Whether you’re going home from work, or shopping or visiting, the pleasure is the same.
The warmth of a house or an apartment after a cold day is a welcome you don’t get in summer.
If you are fool enough, as I have been for years, to stand on the side of some sports arena watching people battle, not just each other, but the elements, you will know the joy and pleasure of that pint in the bar afterwards and the warmth of your own home when you get there.
And isn’t it a wonderful, if selfish, feeling, to lie in bed, with the rain spattering the window and the covers over your head, knowing that somewhere, someone is out there trying desperately to get a taxi to bring them home?
(Don’t worry about the selfishness of it. When that person eventually gets home and under the covers, he or she will feel exactly the same way.)
Winter doesn’t have flies in the garden, those hideous midges, wasps and flying ants.
It doesn’t have people who shouldn’t be baring too much flesh, dressed in far too little far too often.
It doesn’t have all that grass mowing, hedge cutting and weeding.
It doesn’t have burned sausages, raw steaks and the runny eyes that come with barbecues.
Oh, you might say there are bad things in winter and of course there are.
But if you embrace winter, it will embrace you back.
For example, if you go to work in the dark and return home in the dark, you will know that the only real light, is that which you see shining from your home at the end of the day.
Even those who live alone, have the comfort of knowing that, in winter, television schedules greatly improve as the dross and repeats of summer are left behind for another year.
To cap it all, there is Christmas.
Christmas carols, Christmas decorations, Christmas trees, Christmas presents. Children.
Christmas and winter go hand in hand.
And Christmas is the time we most mention peace, even if most people do nothing about it.
And it's a time when we are, or should be, more acutely aware of the plight of the poor and the homeless and the disadvantaged.
Winter, in its own way, is warm and friendly and caring.
Another few weeks to go, and it will begin its slow arrival.
Welcome it.
It won’t let you down.

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