So storm Emma has fecked off, the beast has gone back east and homes all over Ireland has enough loaves of bread in their freezers to do them until next Christmas. It was fun while it lasted. We didn’t starve, we didn’t eat each other…except metaphorically of course, we trudged to the pub in our wellies to meet our stalwart friends who also braved the elements (jaysis we’d do anything for a few pints) and fell back home, falling occasionally into ditches,( but then we do that every Saturday night ) and now we’re dealing with the big thaw.
Because I never go anywhere without my car, and that was stuck under a mountain of snow, I had to walk to the local shop and I met neighbours I haven’t seen in months. It was great catching up on all the local goings on.
Storm Emma brought a great sense of community to the country. Everyone helped out by shopping for elderly neighbours, helping to clear driveways and generally being nicer people. Maisie said it was like during the war when people had feck all but shared it anyway. (go figure!)
So, I had that warm and second world war during the blitzy feeling, baking bread soup ( ok the bread was from SuperValu and already half baked and the soup was from a packet, but still…) Then, Saturday morning there was a knock on the door, and when I opened it, there was two young lads with shovels over their shoulders…
- Howya missus
- Alright lads, what can I do for you?
- No missus, it’s what we can do for you
- And what might that be?
- We’re going to clear your driveway
- Ah that’s nice of you. How much are you charging?
- Ah no missus, no charge
- Aww that’s nice of you
- No bother missus. We’re doing it for all the old people in the area
I was not amused. Maisie thought it was hilarious.
“Getting old hurts doesn’t it Bernie?” says she