On political thrillers, mocha latte minors, and the trouble with bubbles
IAM a sucker for big political dramas. I loved ‘The West Wing’, although I sometimes found it difficult to know what exactly was going on. But the excitement of all that fast walking and talking was addictive. ‘Borgen’, the Danish drama series, was the best ever, although I did get distracted by how messy Danish homes are (Hygge, how are ye?). And I have just finished watching all of ‘House of Cards’ which was deeply unnerving.
Of course, the live action drama from Washington is far more disturbing. The over-sensitive egomaniac who seems to fancy his daughter more than his wife and who is marauding around the White House, tweeting at will, could affect our lives in a way that the Frank and Carrie Underwoods (pictured), Bartlets and even Birgitte Nyborg could not. It’s a dangerous view that politics is high octane showbiz amusement, but that view is spreading.
Drama in politics, however, is another thing. As I write, I am enjoying the frisson of the contest for leadership of Fine Gael. A two-horse race between ‘steady Eddie’, thoughtful Simon Coveney, who clearly imagined he was taking part in a distance event, and Leo ‘Cupcake’ Varadkar, who by all accounts has already sprinted to the finish. It’s a bit like Miss World of the olden days when each young woman would earnestly tell us that she would like to “travel the world delivering world peace and working with children”. Our men who would be taoiseach are heavy on aspirations and somewhat short on substance.
Meanwhile, political commentators have morphed into a fantasy casting agency as they speculate on who will remain at the Cabinet table and who will be relegated. Sure, it’s all a great diversion. It’s not like anyone’s life or livelihood or home – or lack-of – is at stake, now is it?
Teens high on latte in halls of learning
OH, how delicious is May? The garden is bursting with lilac and hawthorn. There is a wee bit of heat when the clouds part. And I am finding it harder and harder to care about school lunches, the location of PE kits and clean uniform shirts. Summer freedom and the lack of rigid domestic routine is only days away, as another secondary school year fades to memories.
However, something is not right. Normally, at this time of year, it gets harder and harder to get the teenagers I live with out of bed of a morning. Well, the two teenagers I live with that is, lest I am giving the impression I live in some class of a youth hostel.
Anyway, by now I am normally hoarse from three terms of shouting up the stairs at breakfast time. But not this year. In the last few days, I have been getting requests to leave a few minutes earlier for school. Has the penny finally dropped with them, that education is a huge privilege? Are they finally realising the need to squeeze all the value possible from these last few days in academia?
No. They want to leave a bit early so we can swing by the local café where they can pick up a coffee. A mocha latte and a flat white to clutch as they enter the halls of learning.
So this is what it has come to. They’ll be buying avocados to smash onto their breakfast toast next. And then I am going to be stuck living with them forever, because they’ll never, ever be able to afford a home of their own.
Where have all the bubbles gone...
MY dear mother, who is a very wise woman, says that there is nothing as restorative as a bath. She says it can cure anything from a broken heart to a backache. And she is absolutely right. The secret to inner peace lies in a frothy bubble bath. It’s the meditative qualities of this decadent ‘me time’ that hits the spot. But it’s getting increasingly hard to find decent bubbles.
Supermarkets, what is going on please? You have shelves loaded with all kinds of shower gels (including the one that makes your private bits tingle but sin scéal eile), a dazzling array of hair products, but languishing down at floor level are only two types of bubble bath (if you’re lucky) and one will be for sensitive skin and have no smell.
This is not good enough. I have now resorted to buying baby bath foam because it has the best fragrance (the one with lavender) but the bubbles are noticeably fragile. Warm water alone won’t cure you of what ails you if you can’t sink down into bubbles that you can hear burst near your ear.