MIND MATTERS Shades, shorts and sandals, but no socks
There are few things that show how much Ireland has changed since we lost the run of ourselves better than the way we behave when there is a bit of sun.
People talk of Prosecco as if they had grown up with it. Most say they prefer it to Champagne and, because we are now so widely travelled, people give out yards about how it only costs four euro in Porto Wherever.
People who some years ago would have been on a deck chair in Duncannon with a knotted handkerchief on their head and flannel trousers rolled up to the knees are wearing shorts, Hawaiian shirts, Ray-Bans, and sandals. Without socks.
We really have two things to thank for our new ability to embrace summer, which, as Brendan Grace used to say, is our favourite day of the year after Christmas. One is the Celtic Tiger and the other is Michael O’Leary.
The first left us with massive debts but at least we learned what it was like to think like a Californian. The other is still with us and without him we would never get any sunshine at all to take our minds off negative equity.
O’Leary really is the patron saint of modern Ireland and has introduced us to a new kind of shopping — buying tickets to hot places when we see a good deal, and not being too bothered if we can’t use them. It is a long way from costing the price of a small car to go anywhere.
Irish men used not to possess shorts. If they did, they were khaki and looked like they were saved from World War 1. They probably were. Now they are every colour of the rainbow and brought home from shopping raids from the sun-soaked parts of Europe where they can be got for ‘half nothing’ at the market and the only thing wrong is that the zip isn’t great. Sure, they even come with matching belts and you would pay that for the belt on its own at home.
I am convinced that I saw a garda in shorts in Kilkenny this afternoon but I am told I was hallucinating. Perhaps. The police wear shorts in the south of France, and very cool shades, so it is only a matter of time before our boys in blue follow suit. Particularly if they hear any of our womenfolk talking about their stylish Italian counterparts.
We have finally learned to be casual. On sunny days we are able to not care two hoots what people think of our dress sense — or lack of it.
We bask in the confidence that whatever we look like, we are a hell of a lot better than our forebears who are the stuff of English seaside postcards that sadly were more realistic than was good for humanity.
Today’s males wander around in tight T-shirts with dodgy slogans and could not care less if they look six months pregnant.
After all, they look sexy in their sandals, shades and shorts.