Saturday 10 January 2015

I won't be a local until...

When I think about the things that make me stand out from the locals here, it is not just my jarring accent and my (relatively) large stature. When I really think about it, there are three things that I will need to learn to do before I am accepted as a Sligonian, or at least a respectable ring in.

1. Learn to talk about the weather

Unlike Australians, the Irish don't post on Facebook about how hot it is (ha!) or how cold it is, or about the thunderstorm that is about to/is/has just rolled through town. No, the weather is a subject still best discussed face to face.

When an Australian friend was in town in October, she and I were walking around town in 15 degree temperatures. The wind picked up a bit and she mentioned she was cold. I said 'You watch, the next place we go into will mention how great the weather is.' Sure enough, like clockwork, each shop assistant we saw that afternoon greated us with a version of the following 'It's great weather we've been having at the moment don'tcha think?...It's a lovely day out there today is it not?....You've been lucky with the weather, so you have...its been at least a week since we've seen any real rain.'

And it is not just a one liner to get the conversation started either. There are some shopkeepers who could win an Olympic Medal for discussing the weather (yes, I know that would be an obscure and very dull sport, but so is synchronised swimming and curling).

We were in Ireland in July 2013, when temperatures reached a scorching 27 degrees for a record 5 days in a row and drought conditions were declared in parts of the country. I did not come prepared for such balmy weather and had to go shopping for lighter clothes that didn't cover my whole body in wool. All the occupants in the cubicles of one changing area started spontaneously talking through the walls about the highest temperatures they had ever experienced. These people didn't even need to see each others faces to join in (a bit like Facebook Live I guess).

For some occupants of the change rooms, that day's weather was close to the maximum they had ever experienced. So, when I piped up with my own '47.5 degrees' the room of strangers stopped talking to each other altogether. There was just dead silence. It was like I had tried to break some secret code about the weather that only the Irish were allowed in on. The tension was only broken as the sales assistant said 'sure enough, wouldn't it be nice if we just had a little bit'o rain?'

2. Share intimate personal details in public settings

As a lifetime over-sharer, this one is a bit like the pot telling the kettle to lighten up a bit, but alongside their wonderful gift of the gab comes the Irish propensity to share their soul with every passing stranger.

I think Australians have become  more uptight with every passing generation. Most would rather bite off their own lip than make so much as eye contact with the person sitting next to them on the boat, train, ferry, bus or tram. And if those of you in Australia reading this are thinking 'yep, that's just the way we like it' then you may not be destined to move to  Ireland.  On Irish transport, I have been shown appendix scars, tattoos not usually visible under an ordinary amount of Irish clothing, and not one, not two, but three sets of molars (what is with the obsession for good oral hygeine?). I have received the medical histories of every  member of one woman's family since the Spanish Armada and have heard what it is like to be imprisoned as a result of being set up by the Gardai for drug dealing (in case you were wondering, it 'ain't no Disneyland').

Only at an Irish wedding would the Father of the Bride tell an amusing anecdote about the time the bride almost drowned as a child, and would the Father of the Groom thank his son profusely for only ever breaking one tooth on the hay baler. I am pretty sure that last one was an Irish farmer's joke, but with so much sharing, it is hard for me to gauge sometimes.

If you think I am annoyed by these interactions, you couldn't be more wrong. That wedding was one of the nicest Ive been to in a long time, filled to the brim with people who shared a mutual love and affection for the happiest of couples. And some of my best conversations ever have been with total strangers on Irish transport (the aint-no-Disneyland drug dealer a notable exception).

3. Don't hang up until you've said a proper goodbye.

When I first heard the way people in the North West end a phone call, I presumed it was a joke. You see, you can never hang up just with one goodbye. You need to continually repeat the words 'bye, bye, ba-ba bye bye bye ba-ba by-eeee' until the other person has hung up at their end or the phone is at the end of your own very  well stretched arm, and they can't hear you anymore.

The problem for us non-locals is that to repeat this pattern of stuttering farewells in even a semi-convincing manner sounds like the worst form of mockery. The couple of times I've tried it, I am sure the person on the other end of the phone heard the mirth in my voice and muttered 'feckin' gobshite' before hanging up. But, to not at least add one extra goodbye makes me feel almost as bad as if I'd just flat out hung up on the person, without any effort at closure at all. My 'okay goodbye then' just hangs in the air like a single pathetic sock on a washing line, while the other person continues to make so much effort to let me know just how much they want to end the phone call.

So, until I am accepted or can better camouflage myself as a local, I will continue to poorly join in on the fine art of weather-talking, listen to an assortment of woes and wonders on public transport and end each telephone conversation with a mash up of words vaguely resembling a goodbye.

Until next time.....bye ba bye..see ya...bless.

Sunday 4 January 2015

Radio and Television Irish Style


These blogs, when I finally get around to them, (sorry about the long break) are meant to highlight the differences between living in Australia and Ireland.

And I don’t think there could be anything more different than local Irish radio.

Disclaimer: I need to say from the outset that I love local Irish radio.  It has become a part of our lives and I would be lost without it.  I would miss it terribly if I didn’t have it to wake up to, eat porridge over or work alongside all day.  Unlike Australian radio DJs, the radio hosts are genuinely engaging, and don’t have to resort to cheap tricks like employing their mother to read the weather or their father to review the latest album to get a laugh.  My two favourite jokes so far have also  been on Irish radio:

Her: ‘I hear that during her current pregnancy, Katherine Middleton is only eating raw food.’
Him: ‘What, doesn’t she have an oven?’ ; and

‘I bought a packet of sausages from Sainsburys with a picture of Jamie Oliver on the front.  And on the back it said ‘prick with a fork’ and I thought…they got that right!’

(Another disclaimer: I also like Jamie Oliver, but it is a funny joke)

So everything I say from this point forward is meant with the greatest respect to those who work so hard to bring me so much joy every day.

8 things I have learnt from local Irish radio:

1. Traffic conditions, and how many people have died in those conditions IS the most important thing that has happened in the world overnight.  Wars in the middle east, landslides in Asia and mass murders in the US all have their place, but not until a report on the roadworks on the Stranorlar to Strabane Road, between Killygordon and Liscooley.

2.  When a DJ refers to four seasons in one day, he is referring to rain, hail, sleet AND snow. (On the subject of weather, I could write an entire blog on weather as a conversation starter here, and may well do so one day.  In the meantime, just take my word that the expression ‘phew, what a scorcher’ is not an expression that starts many conversations in the grocers or beauticians).

3.  DJs can avoid too much repetition of current hits by constantly playing old hits. And if those hits are from some obscure Irish/Northern Irish artist from the late 80s, early 90s, even better.  I thought I had heard the last of the Waterboys ‘Whole of the Moon’ and Fergal Sharkey’s ‘A Good Heart (Is Hard to Find)’ in my early 20s.  How wrong did I turn out to be?

4. In Ireland, Christmas songs must be played, every hour, on the hour, and every minute in between, between 1 and 27 December or until someone drives off the Stranorlar to Strabane road in despair.  Who would have thought I would be sick of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ when woken by those dulcet tones every morning for a month?  (Truth be told, once was too often).  Then just to mix it up, the DJ will throw in ‘All I Want for Christmas is….My Two Front Teeth’   My father used to sing that to me as a child, and I thought it was something he made up.  Nope, it’s a real thing, and they play it on the radio here, together with Bing Crosby’s White Christmas and ‘Santa Baby.’ That last one is sung by some sultry minx and she sing/whispers ala Marilyn Monroe to President Kennedy about Santa hurrying down the chimney with a 54 Cadillac, suggesting it may not be the newest of releases.  I have to admit liking that last one, at least until the hundredth play.  

5.  Country music is not only a genre that still exists, but should be put on a pedestal and worshipped, particularly during peak radio times.  What other country would feature, as the top news item in the yearly round up, the controversial cancellation of a series of concerts in Dublin by a country and western star who hasn’t been heard of in the rest of the world outside America since 1993 (Sorry, Garth Brooks fans, apparently you are out there in abundance, I just haven’t met anyone prepared to admit it yet).

6. There is such a thing as ‘Dead and Worn out Animal Services’   This is not just a figment of my imagination, although my imagination does run wild, if I think about it too long or too hard upon hearing the morning’s Services Directory bulletin.

7.  There are English words that cannot be translated to Irish. I love listening to the morning bulletin for Irish speakers, not only because I love the sound of Irish spoken fluently, but because I can make out the occasional English word that has no Irish equivalent, such as ‘Hollywood’ and ‘Miley Cyrus’  It is somehow reassuring to know that the people of the Gaelteacht don’t miss out on trivial entertainment ‘news’ either.

And last, but by no means least,

8.  Death Notices are the most important thing on local Irish radio. These must be reported at least twice a day, from a man or woman speaking in the most reverent of tones, so you could be mistaken for thinking they knew the deceased.  In this part of the world, there is a good possibility they did.   

I had titled this blogpost ‘Radio and Television Irish Style.’  However, I can’t really comment on the television.  You see, we haven’t been able to get our television to work at home, due to a number of factors, including our location under a mountain, and the fact our television is already pre-set to search for channels, but only in Australia, New Zealand and Singapore.  (very convenient).  At least this saves us the Television Licence Fee; another difference with Australia, where the government doesn’t charge you to enjoy your favourite pastime of sitting on your bum doing nothing.

From the snippets of Irish television we have caught, and with a few notable exceptions, I am pretty sure we are not missing too much. Please feel free to comment on this blog if I have got that wrong.

As I finish this, I am tapping my feet to Glenn Miller’s ‘In the Mood’ on the radio….Until next time…..