What I’ll miss about Cork
Well, I’m not going to say Neighbours because they’ve already had a post all to themselves and they should know by now we’re both going to miss them
Family, but I’m not going into details because I prefer to preserve my family’s privacy.
Friends who are not neighbours…. especially the horsey ones, you know who you are!
Our lovely vets. I am going to have to learn a whole pile of new veterinary terminology.
And then there’s the food :
My newly discovered favourite potato crisp, O’ Donnells. They taste like they’re full of MSG but they’re not, so I can eat them, yum!
Rashers, O’ Flynn’s sausages & Clonakilty black pudding. Boudin (a French blood sausage) is almost an acceptable substitute for black pudding, but not quite
Barry’s Tea (future visitors take note, a box of Barry’s is ALWAYS a welcome gift)
Chowder (that’s an interjection from the LSH. I don’t really like seafood)
My Giant Mushrooms (sniff)
Going into town on a Saturday morning (another interjection from the LSH. Hey, whose blog is this?)
Going to the rugby matches (but we might look into being French Munster supporters)
Having fresh eggs every day (I’m tempted to get chooks in Provence… )
Going for lessons at Skevanish – I had hoped to get back there before I left, but that’s not going to happen
Having just had major medical check-ups, inside and out, I am pretty certain I will miss dealing with medics in my own language. I kept thinking to myself “Imagine trying to fill this form out/answer all these questions in French.” Gulp.
…. and I think that’s about it. Thanks to the internet, I’ll have daily access to Irish news, sports programs (ie rugby matches) and chat with my friends.
I don’t think I’ll miss the gloomy air of morose pessimism which pervades society at the moment, although I will miss the black sense of humour which helps us to cope with all the doom and gloom.
I don’t think I’ll miss our very creatively corrugated road surfaces, which have caused poor Jeepy to develop an interesting and varied array of squeaks and rattles.
And, finally, I don’t think I’ll miss the weather, although I have to confess that a certain 22 year old who was living in Los Angeles in 1984 got fed up with all the sunshine and craved a soft Irish day (just smack me if I ever say that again, ok?)
|A soft day, thank god!|