Saltees, Slaney, Slobs and Sliabh Buíodh are surely not for skipping
ACKASS!’
‘Medders. Let us maintain decorum. Please.’
Let us maintain decorum? We are sitting in the kitchen of our home. On a Saturday afternoon. Just the two of us. We have companionable mugs of tea in hand after a stint of weeding in the Side Garden. We are not sipping Earl Grey from the best china at the Árus in the presence of members of the diplomatic corps or representatives from the conference of bishops.
Decorum? If a man cannot let off a little innocent steam in his own kitchen, while wearing mucky dungarees, over the crumbs of his wife’s best brack, then where can he express his true feelings?
‘But he is a jackass, Hermione. An unmitigated and unprincipled jackass.’
‘Medders, I am beginning to worry about you.’ She makes a show of looking around the room and finding no one else present. ‘Who on earth are you talking about in such indecorous terms?’
‘Yer man on the radio. A jackass of the first water.’ I point to the trusty transistor as a prosecution barrister gesturing for the benefit of the jury towards the defendant in a murder trial.
That is the big difference between us. Hermione treats the radio as comforting background sound, largely ignored but somehow soothing as it murmurs away in the corner. In contrast, I make the mistake of actually listening to what is being broadcast. ‘Jackass! Did you not hear what the jackass just said?
‘I think you had better explain.’ So I explain.
The problem sticking in my craw is an advertisement devised by a motor manufacturer. Apparently their latest model is the absolute bee’s knees. And the most alluring selling point for this wonder car is its amazingly low price. The message is that, if you choose their model rather than select any one of the rival offerings, then you will make enormous savings. The actor delivering this commercial gospel conveys the impression that he is rolling in cash as a result of selecting this bargain vehicle – and he has plans for all this surplus money. Now stand by for the offending last line. ‘Guess who’s skipping Wexford this year,’ he signs off. ‘Jackass! No one should skip Wexford. How do we contact the advertising standards people?’ I can only conclude that the person who wrote the script has experienced the full horrors of a wet weekend in New Ross but that is no excuse for such disrespect. Wexford is not far short of being a temperate climate paradise. Let’s draw up a few reasons for going there.
Wexford, for example, is home of the splendid National Opera House, with some of the best chippers this side of the Ulster border within leisurely walking distance of the theatre.
Wexford boasts more splendidly sandy beaches than it knows what to do with, from Cahore in the north-east all the way round the coast to Duncannon in the south-west.
Wexford has some of the loveliest hiking country in Ireland, whether on the gentle trails of Carrickbyrne and Sliabh Buí or across the more demanding slopes of the Blackstairs.
Wexford, with the trawler fleet at Kilmore bringing in the ocean’s bounty to shore, serves up some of the world’s best seafood to gourmets and gobblers alike.
Wexford is littered with reminders of our Norman past, most notably the amazing ancient lighthouse at The Hook.
Nowadays anyone escaping from that wet weekend in New Ross can at least do so in splendiferous style. The recently opened River Barrow crossing is the longest bridge on this island and a wonder of 21st century engineering. Besides, wet weekends are of course a rarity in the Sunny South East.
No doubt the defenders of any other county could come up with compelling reasons why they should not be skipped either but Wexford really offers a good case.
Don’t tell the golfer who likes a challenge to skip the breezy demands of the Rosslare links. Don’t tell the Greenland geese which graze the Slobs to skip the sweet tasting grass of their winter haunts on the Slaney estuary. Don’t tell anyone who loves a strawberry to skip their summer treat.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ says Hermione. ‘Jackass.’