Bad Weather and a Good Idea to Solve EVERYTHING

Here is the weather forecast for Ireland.
It will be cloudy, there will be rain. It won't be that warm. And it might be windy.
Yes, I know we get lovely days when the sun shines and it's nice and calm and warm.
But if you want a forecast that's right 90 per cent of the time, stick to the above.
Last Friday, the RTE weather forecast predicted that Saturday would be fine, warm and sunny.
It wasn't. It rained. And it wasn't what you'd call 'warm,' well, not if you're used to holidaying in places which are genuinely warm.

People often say that we put up with too much in Ireland.
And we do.
We've been ripped off by chain stores for years, charging up to 50 per cent more in the Republic of Ireland than in the North. They trot out the usual excuses about 'long distances' and 'transport costs.'
If that was the case, the people in Inverness would be paying £5 for a pint of milk. And they're not.
We put up with lousy service in restaurants. We put up with dirty streets, we put up with extortionate toll charges on our roads. Note OUR roads.
And we put up with lousy weather.
For example, when I was in Australia a few years ago - it was during their Autumn - I was brought, by friends, to a beach not far from Sydney. 'Fantastic' I said as I changed and jumped into the sea for a swim.
They thought I should be certified. It was 18 degrees and, to them, the depths of winter.
Such little things like rain, cold, wind and cloud don't bother us.
Come the middle of May, there are those who, regardless of the weather, celebrate the arrival of "Summer' by changing into shorts, sandals and t-shirts, be they male or female.
We shouldn't put up with the lousy weather.
We shouldn't accept the Met Office telling us, like they did last Summer, that the weather is 'unsettled' when there is rain for 64 consecutive days. You don't get more settled than that.
Instead of wasting money on building roads, schools, hospitals and such like, what we should have done when we had the money, was resettle the entire population in the South of France or Spain. We'd have money left over.
And we could have left behind a United Ireland, albeit one with nobody in it bar American tourists, people from Holland and Germany playing bodhrans in Doolin and a few fishermen and hill walkers.
No more complaints about the weather. No more whinging about traffic jams, no more crowded Accident and Emergency rooms, no more inept government - just the best decentralisation plan ever undertaken.
Decentralising the entire population to sunny climes.
I wonder if it's too late...

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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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We're Going To Have To Move

Dammit, it's happened again.
Snow, two feet deep in Drogheda, we're told. Roads blocked in Donegal, they said on the radio. Pictures on television of kids making snowmen in Galway.
It's not fair.
Dublin didn't get a flake. Not one. Not a single flippin' flake.
I know, I know. You think we're lucky.
But I like snow. Connie like's snow. Eric - I mean, he's a Samoyed after all - must like snow. And I'll bet anything that Charlotte would absolutely love it.
But nothing.
We sit enviously watching the pictures on the news. We turn green listening to the warnings from AA Roadwatch on the radio.
We can't bear to watch the weather forecast, because when it comes to snow, Dublin isn't on the map.

It's worse for Connie. She's getting phone calls from Drogheda, her home town, telling her all about the snow there.
I can't remember the last time Dublin had decent snow.
Actually, I can. The trains stopped. The roads were blocked. The buses were off. People got trapped in the city centre.
The country stopped that time, back in the early eighties.
So bad was it, that the Coalition government of the day appointed a Minister for Snow, not that that's what they called it.
The late Michael O'Leary got the job.
And I remember photographs of him launching, if that's the word, two snowmobiles outside Heuston Station.
Two snowmobiles. And hundreds of thousands of people trying to get to work.
Anyway, he launched the snowmowbiles.
And then it rained.
And the temperatures rose.
And the snow melted.
And that was that.
Today, the snow is starting to melt in those parts of the country that had it.
But at least they had it.
I can imagine the giggles of Charlotte if I built a snowman.
I can imagine Eric almost vanishing in the whiteness.
I know you're probably thinking cold, icy, wind, traffic, skidding, power cuts and what not.
I'm thinking snowmen, snowballs, sliding, skating and the pure beauty of the Dublin mountains in the snow, not to mention the beauty of the garden.
But snow is a no-no in Dublin.
But for some reason, Dublin just gets wet.
And it's not fair.

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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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