It took a Beast for me to see time’s up for our charming, but draughty, pile of bricks
THAT Beast from the East, the one we’re all heartily sick of hearing about, helped me make up my mind about something that has been niggling me for ages. That is our house and home. The place where we raised our family.
It’s a lovely space. Full of the fondest of memories, of course, and the sort of character that new and newish house couldn’t hope to replicate.
It is well over a hundred years old, a typically sturdy redbrick Victorian terrace dwelling that you’ll stumble across all over town. This town and most others.
It’s got high ceilings, delicate cornicing and fireplaces that a gentleman might have once leaned upon while smoking an after-dinner cigar.
What’s not to like? Nothing really, until something like the Beast comes knocking and demands to be let in.
The front door, which has welcomed in so many guests down the decades, politely obliged and the blizzard whistled through the yawning gaps.
The windows followed its example. They rattled and the curtains billowed, the old frames too bockety to hold their nerve.
The Beast came from underneath too, hissing up through the f loorboards.
And it roared down the big old chimneys with such whoosh that the dog just sat there growling.
We never had the vision, time or inclination to give this house the sort of pampering and attention that narcissistic old dames like it demand.
We made it comfy and lived in, a place that worked around us rather than the family around it. But now with two of the three moved on and the third with itchy feet we have to ask is this charming but draughty pile of bricks really fit for purpose anymore?
Our purpose, that is. Wouldn’t we be better off in something modern, dull and modest, with windows, doors and roof that shut the weather out?
A place that would be economical to run and easy to maintain?
The chilling answer is yes, I’m afraid. And it took the Beast for me to see it. An ill wind.
Even when it snows it’s all about Leo
I’M regularly surprised at the things that surprise other people. There’s been a lot of huffing and puffing, moralising and hubris about this Government’s Communication’s Unit. It is, claim the easily outraged, spending taxpayers’ money to spin for Fine Gael. You don’t say? Whoever heard of such a thing? Well, anyone who has ever paid attention.
It has always been thus except no government was ever daft to give it a fancy name before. It is, of course, irritating, as is Leo Varadkar’s insatiable appetite for self-promotion.
For the duration of Storm Emma he appointed himself ‘Blizzard Overlord’. Every snowflake was accounted for, every slippery byroad gritted. It was all about Leo.
But take any average week and wander down his Twitter feed or simply turn on the news.
Safe to say Leo is there being authoritative, beatific, inspirational, supportive.
All very transparent, of course, but it’s not old cynics like me he’s out to impress.
Instead he’s strategically performing to those floating millennials who don’t really engage in the nip-and-tuck of policy or party politics but do like their selfie moments.
The sort that warm to leaders who cry in public, like Justin Trudeau, or get snapped emptying the dishwasher, like Leo.
But there is a catch. Wooing this much desired demographic doesn’t easily translate into votes.
That’s why Brexit happened: Britain’s young, smart and educated couldn’t be arsed turning out.
Maybe Leo’s spin machine thinks it knows better. It’s certainly spending enough of our money finding out.
Hiding away from good citizenship
ARE you a good citizen, or just all talk? Here’s a simple test. During the worst of the Beast did you clear the path outside your house for the elderly, the vulnerable and those who had vital work to do and jobs to go to?
Or did you pull the blinds and melt away like a snowflake?
I’ll leave it with you.