ENGLISH MUM IN IRELAND HAS MOVED! FIND ME AT ENGLISHMUM.COM

No, I’m not gone yet. I’ve come back for a quiet moan about packing. Firstly, no-one is helping, apart from the dog who is asleep on the bed amongst the suitcases (well at least she’s keeping the lid open). Secondly, why do I have three can openers, four corkscrews, several keys of no apparent purpose, and enough tinned tuna to feed a developing country for several months.? Oh, and who bought two jars of pickled onions? Furthermore, everyone wanted pancakes this morning and I’ve packed my recipe book containing my no-fail lovely fluffy pancake recipe, and also the attachments to the blender. And a bottle of soy sauce (check out those Kikkoman ones - you can’t close them, madness) has tipped over in the back of the cupboard and every single jar is sitting in a brown sludge consisting of soy sauce and..er…dust I suppose. And yes, while we’re on the subject, I have already admitted that housework is not my strong point, and finding really gross things and drifts of fluff behind beds is not adding to my mood.

I’m never moving again.

Well, the pumpkin carving went quite well and nobody lost an eye or anything like that. I think it looks quite spooky. At the risk of causing him some embarrassment, #1 did actually faint one year after witnessing my sliding the knife into his pumpkin’s eye. It was all too much for him and he did a spectacularly funny wobbly sort of dance before blacking out, landing rather uncomfortably on the hoover. Being a family of total gits, this memory has caused us much amusement over the years, and every halloween it’s trawled out at #1’s expense. Building memories eh? It’s what parenting’s all about. Hope you have a good one, I’ll be back up and running with a bit of luck and a following wind (as my Mum says) from my new location. Prepare to be (metaphorically) packed away in a box for a while. Mwah x

Well, we spoke to my Dad over the weekend. He seems to be in fine fettle despite several titanium body parts (RoboGrandad) that occasionally give him a bit of trouble. As usual, he was up to a bit of mischief-making when talking to the boys on the phone. He was telling them that he’d try to get over and see them before Christmas to see them in the new house, and although I wasn’t really listening, I did notice that there was much ‘whoo hoo!’ing and hopping about going on. When they’d said goodbye, I asked what had caused all the excitement, only to be told that Grandad was bringing them a horse each for Christmas. Luckily, they saw the funny side when I explained that Ryanair didn’t allow horses to be carried as hand luggage and that Grandad was having a laugh at their expense.

This is the same Grandad, by the way, that last Christmas (during our previous, somewhat short, attempt at living in Ireland) brought two (toy, but frighteningly realistic) rifles wrapped in Christmas paper through customs for them. He’s naughtier than both the boys put together.

After adjusting to the fact that we were all up and at ‘em by 8.00am this morning thanks to daylight saving time, we made some rather fantastic individual brownie muffins. Sadly, I can’t take credit for them, but I do recommend you buy the equally fantastic ‘Brownies’ by Linda Collister, from whence it came. I had to improvise slightly as I’ve packed half my kitchen now ready for the big move next week when I can finally wave goodbye to the unfeasibly long school run and swap it for a more reasonable journey. You’ll be pleased to hear that we’re still going to be in the middle of nowhere, but this time we’ll be within 5 or 10 minutes’ drive of a decent sized town. Hubby is salivating at the mere thought of finally being able to get a curry delivered. I shall miss Paddy, Paddy and all the other Paddies, but no doubt they have rabbits where we’re going. Actually, as I type this, the most recent batch of new babies are tumbling around on one of the front lawns in a rather cute way. Faced with yet another new kitchen and with the C word fast approaching, my thoughts have naturally turned to gadgets. Being a bit of a wannabe domestic goddess (without the cleaning, obviously), I’m into all sorts of gadgets. There’s a fantastic shop at one of the retail parks here that has every possible gadget imaginable and I can spend many a happy hour trawling through the displays, looking at everything from melon ballers to Magimixes. At home, my favourite website has to be KitchenAid.com. If we win the euro millions I will have my dream kitchen stuffed to the rafters with everything from espresso machines to blenders, all in their delicious ice cream colours. Check out their latest ‘Cook for the Cure’ range, all in the most gorgeous pale pink, with the added bonus that money is donated to breast cancer charities with every purchase. Other faves are kitchencomplements.ie and kitchengoddess.co.uk (deliveries to any EU country for a mere £10.95!), ooh and the fantabulous francisfrancis.co.uk for the trendiest coffee machines ever. I’m off to drool on my keyboard. Note to Hubby: I’m just looking, honest x

Surprisingly, following yesterday’s comment from my ‘e-heckler’, we’ve been drawn into a little good-natured email sparring that I have to admit I’ve rather enjoyed. Needless to say I vehemently, but graciously defended myself, giving out a small amount of stick as well, and I’m sure in our current spirit of Anglo-Irish relations, he won’t mind if I quote his latest reply, which made me laugh out loud (apologies for the editing, G, but we wouldn’t want to bore our readers, would we):

‘I enjoyed reading your response and I think it would be wrong to say that I am taking this thing entirely too seriously…in fact I have found it quite a laugh, and I enjoyed being “outraged of Ballydehob”…but it was all meant in that Irish thing called “slagging” - ie half serious leg pulling carried out in apparent deadly earnest. You seem to be a good laugh and take it very well and I agree some of my points are bonkers [Ed: hmmm..taking exception to my comment on Irish birds peut etre??], but the point of a little debate is to try and boost up your case as much as possible. I agree with your friend, the blog is humorous and well written and frankly going through it was a good read, you should definitely keep it up.. .Anyway I’m just off now to inspect the length of my nearest pier…I intend to give it a stroll tommorrow if the weather holds’

Ha! See, I told you I love the Irish!

It’s only 6 days until the girls come over for the weekend. I’m SO excited about it I think I might burst! I’m driving Hubby mad with my continual stream-of-consciousness conversations about food: ‘ooh, I know, let’s have like a little mini cocktail party with canapés on the Friday evening…oh, hang on though, I was going to do some different curries and naan breads on the Friday…okay, well, we’ll have the cocktail party on the Saturday evening…but then…oh no, I was going to do ‘temple food’ on the Saturday because we’ll have been to the spa…’ He’s started zoning out now like that bloke in the advert that goes ‘terracotta?’ because he’s not been listening.

Anyway, back to our weekend. My lovely girlfriends both juggle jobs, busy households and children, so I want it to be a relaxing and pampering Irish experience all round with copious amounts of alcohol and food, obviously, oh and a bit of dog walking but I haven’t told them about that bit. I have been having several chats with the lovely ladies at the Spa, who are fantastically helpful and accommodating and seem to be having as much fun as me planning my pampering weekend for the girls. Every so often one of them will ring me and go ‘ooh, what about this treatment’ or ‘how about doing this’. I think they must go to special Spa-lady training school because even their voices are soothing, and they always say things like ‘have a lovely evening then’ or ‘we can’t wait to see you’ – they’re just soooo nice. And then there’s another ponderable – what to choose? Hmmm: a wondrous hour and a half long facial, with a ‘stimulating blend of Pandan leaf and pink lotus extract to alleviate fine lines and wrinkles’ perhaps, or a deep, rhythmic massage with heavenly smelling essential oils, followed maybe by a little swim or a nice sit down and a chat, then ending up with a papaya and tamarind exfoliating hand ritual, or the hot stone foot and calf massage…ooh decisions, decisions! Then obviously we’ve got to fit in lunch at the posh restaurant there, plus chats, stops for refreshments and maybe another swim…if I was Madonna, or Bill Gates’ wife maybe (less effort and I wouldn’t suit those pointy bras), I think I’d just move in and spend my days working through the treatments until it was time for bed. Lovely.

Presumably getting into the spirit of things, B has decided to help by eating four of my lovely aromatherapy candles. I wonder if she’ll smell nice when she gets hot?

Well, dear reader, I’ve upset someone. I received a very strong message from someone who said, and I quote:

“this is a DIFFERENT country to Britain and it has a different history, a different culture, and indeed a different language, which does not “mispronounce” or mis-spell names but has a different linguistic root to English and therefore does not follow the rules of English phonetics…as you say “go figure”…ie get an Irish - English dictionary and find out that all the apparently “meaningless” names all mean something quite specific in the nations original language”.

Right, now I’m bloody cross. What I would say is this: firstly, I would never, ever be intentionally patronising or insulting to the Irish culture (in fact, I’m always pointing out how damned NICE Irish people are), and am painfully aware of how much of an outsider I am. I DO have an Irish-English dictionary thank you very much and am very much enjoying trying to learn Irish with the help of my sons who are learning it at school. I am also reading Irish history (give me a chance, I’ve been here two months), and am very respectful of the religion, culture, law and values of this lovely country (and every other country) where I consider myself to be a welcome guest. I’ve no idea where on this blog I’ve said that any Irish words are ‘mispronounced or mis-spelled’ but if the gentleman would like to point this out, I’ll happily print a retraction. If my own personal struggle with the pronunciation of the word ‘Baroimhe’ offends him then he should feel free to look away - frankly it embarrasses the hell out of me.

My wonderful, kind, funny, sweet and permanently cheerful Irish friend, J, reads my blog and has never, to my knowledge, found anything to be patronising or demeaning, and I’m sure she’d tell me if she did. If I find Irish a confusing language, aren’t I allowed to comment to that effect (on my own blog) and aren’t I to be commended for perseverance in continuing to try and learn?

Furthermore, my husband is Irish, and I’m sure he’d slap me around the head should I ever get too big for my boots on this crappy little website that has, on average, a whopping TWELVE (count them) hits per day.

Finally I would say, with respect, that this IS supposed to be a humorous diary for my friends back home.

And with that, I’m afraid, I’ve lost the ability to write anything funny. ‘Go figure’.

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Edited to include: please take a min to read the lovely comment below - it’s rather - er - pertinent to this gentleman

Here’s a horrific fact for you. Did you know that in a week of total carnage here in Ireland no less than seven, yes, SEVEN, young men lost their lives on our roads. It’s bloody horrific and it shocked even me into silence when I heard that yet another young lad had been killed in Cork to make up the seventh death. Now, UK readers prepare to be astonished – in Ireland, a provisional licence holder can drive unaccompanied and without passing their test. I know, madness! There are obviously conditions attached, which I’m not absolutely sure of, but it seems that after you’ve held a provisional licence for either one or two years (not sure of the legislation there), you can apply for a second provisional licence and drive unaccompanied! I pass very close to many a young lad overtaking with one hand on the wheel, mobile glued to the other, and big red L plates on the car. It’s scary. The fact is that the roads are not always fantastic here which makes driving a challenge at the best of times, let alone when you’re young, inexperienced and out to impress your mates or your girlfriend.

One of our cut-through routes back from the unfeasibly long school run is very windy and difficult, with massive pot holes forcing you into the middle of the road. We often encounter young lads taking the bends too fast and coming round the corners on our side of the road. You can read the panic on their faces as they try to regain control. This prompts a ‘you f*cking dickhead!’ from ever-understanding Hubby, still the most bad tempered and impatient driver in the world. Other classic outbursts include: ‘get out the way you f*cking BIMBO!!!!’ and similar but basically along those lines with different variations such as ‘you stupid mare!’ or ‘you f*cking brain donor!’. Sometimes it will be older people who annoy him, in which case the usual script will be altered to include ‘you f*cking old fart!!!!’. My personal favourite is ‘F*CKING WOMEN F*CKING DRIVERS!!!’ after which he tenderly pats my leg and says ‘no offence, babe’. Well, none taken, I’m sure.

Yet another otherworldly Irish experience today. Hubby and I decided on a quick coffee in Starbucks (except that in my humble opinion, coffee is the disgusting, evil drink of the devil, so I had a hot chocolate). When we finally got to the end of the line (why do you have to queue for everything here – every single ATM machine has at least ten people in the queue – I never understand that, it’s just: cash please, okay then put your pin in, how much do you want, and there’s your money – how long can it take?)

Anyhoo, as we got to the front the nice smiley Starbucks man (Lithuanian at a guess) told the lady he’d bring her order over and then added, with a winning smile: ‘you wan leave space for me?’ Well, she looked at him with a strange expression, and – just in case – asked him to repeat what he’d just said. Once again, with a cheery smile, smiley Starbucks man said ‘you wan leave space for me?’. Hubby and I were both fascinated and horrified. We did that married couple thing of raising our eyebrows at each other, then turned back to watch the fun – what was this, a dodgy attempt at a chat up line in front of a queue of people? What next, a sneaky pinching of your bum with every cappuccino? The poor lady, who was now a fetching shade of scarlet, and the poor Starbucks man, who obviously wasn’t going to get lucky, stared at each other until, suddenly, the penny dropped. At practically the same time all three of us in the queue went ‘ohhhh, you mean: do you want me to leave space for MILK’! Yes, nodded eager Starbucks man gratefully, and everyone gave a huge collective sigh of relief.

Disaster averted, I ordered my hot chocolate and hubby ordered his coffee, swiftly adding ‘and yes, can you leave some space for milk please’ before an awkward chat-up type moment occurred again, this time with possibly worse consequences. Phew.

Ah, Sunday again. It seems to take ages to get here, then it’s over in a flash. On today’s menu is roast lemon chicken (I know, boring, but everyone likes it), roast baby new potatoes, roast parsnips, peas and sprouts. Annoying little suckers, sprouts are. I mean, I really like them but they take SO long to prepare. I don’t bother with doing that cross at the base (I find it makes them soggy), but just tailing them and taking all the yucky leaves off takes ages. I haven’t bothered with dessert today – there’s still the lemon cake from yesterday and anyway we’re off to the cinema this afternoon to see Open Season, so I’m sure there’ll be plenty of ice cream knocking about. We go to the cinema at the unfeasibly large shopping centre, and they have a Ben and Jerry’s counter – oh what bliss (I can feel another top ten coming on…). It’s as much as I can do to limit myself to three scoops. No wonder my bum looks big on camera…

Okay, here it is, my top ten fave Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavours:

1. Phish Food (chocolate ice cream, gooey marshmallow stuff and little
chocolate fishes!)
2. Strawberry
3. Dublin Mudslide (kind of like Baileys ice cream with cookies in)
4. Cookie Dough
5. Caramel Chew Chew (ooh, lovely little mini rolo-type things in this)
6. Minter Wonderland
7. Chocolate Fudge Brownie (not to be confused with Chocolate Therapy)
8. Cherry Garcia
9. Vanilla Caramel Fudge
10. Chocolate Therapy (chunks of chocolate cookie in this..yum!)

Roll on 3pm, I say.