I OVERBOOKED myself last weekend after committing to two events separately and I paid for it in petrol.
Friday brought me from Dublin to the Black Valley in Kerry which, when you throw in the M50 on Friday afternoon, turns into the equivalent of a transatlantic flight.
Saturday morning I found myself on a bike for five spectacular and damp hours around the Beara Peninsula, trying to outpace the deluge. Then it was Kerry to Galway that evening for an awards event, where I attempted to stand upright in a suit while my legs wobbled underneath. Sunday back to Kerry to put the feet up. Monday back to Dublin.
It was madness. Packing for three different trips. Bananas at petrol stations. Children abandoned with cousins and then guiltily showered in 99s. It was the kind of zigzag that should leave you absolutely ragged but I have to say, ladies and gentlemen, the roads were immaculate. It reminded me of that Savage Eye sketch where voters are asked why they keep returning the same parties to power. The answer: ‘They fixed the roads!’
Well, they did. Or someone did. You can thank the EU, multinational tax revenue, any or all former governments of your choice. But after a weekend traversing the country in all directions, I can report: it has never been easier or smoother to escape from one obligation into the next.
For those of us who remember the grim pre-motorway days of Ireland, it’s never something to take for granted.
Cancelling the Normans
THAT road-induced haze somehow got me thinking about ancestry. Thanks to the wonders of Google I only relatively recently learned that ‘Tobin’ is a Norman surname. It comes from St Aubyn, a noble clan from Saint Aubin in Brittany who came over with Strongbow, built a few castles, and never left. Of course, I’m not just Norman. The blood in my Cork veins includes McCarthys, O’Donovans and Driscolls. Even a Davis in Baltimore who was bothered by pirates. But it’s the Norman bit that seems to offend certain people. Sinn Féin in particular aren’t thrilled about state efforts to celebrate Norman heritage, viewing it as a legacy of colonisation and conquest.
But if we’re cancelling the Normans, how far back are we going? The Vikings founded Dublin, Cork, and Waterford — do we revoke the Viking Splash Tour? The Celts displaced the Neolithic Happy Pear lads who had only just mastered the art of hazelnut foraging. And Neanderthals? Driven out of Europe in what can only be described as a hostile corporate takeover by homosapiens. The Sinn Féin position paper on the Mesolithic peoples has yet to be unveiled.
In truth, the Normans didn’t just invade. They married in – built towns, bridges, and castles (Trim, Kilkenny, Youghal). By the 15th century, they were more Irish than the Irish themselves. They spoke Irish, patronised poets, and the surnames remain: Fitzgerald, Power, Burke, Barry, Savage, Roche, Costello, Fitz-this and Fitz-that. Good luck fielding a GAA team without one.
I’m not defending colonialism but pretending it didn’t shape us is another kind of fiction.
Messing with memories
BONO was on with Brendan O’Connor last week promoting Stories of Surrender, his Apple TV+ documentary based on his one-man stage show – part music, part memoir, part reflective indulgence. Listen, I know he drives a lot of people crackers but I’ve grown to admire the little fella more as the years go on. In the interview, he told a story about his father, who once defined Ireland as: ‘The thing that stops my feet getting wet.’ For years, Bono believed this to be a line from Synge only to discover it appears nowhere in Synge’s writing. ‘So either I misremembered,’ he said, ‘or my Da made it up.’ It was a reminder not to get too hooked into any sort of nationalism, and a wise one, in my opinion. We all build identities, personal and national, on things half-remembered, misattributed or sometimes made up by a Dad in a pub. It serves a purpose but we’re seeing how it can be turned into a very ugly force in many countries around the world. We’d do well to watch it ourselves. But I’m part-Norman, so I would say that.
