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I am unashamedly dwelling, in the beginning of this column, on the outright triumph of Roscommon in Salthill against Galway last Sunday. I was lucky in that I was at home and had nobody with me, which meant that I could enjoy with my own company the RTÉ coverage on Sunday afternoon.
The Children’s Remembrance Day Committee at University Hospital Galway is inviting parents and their families who have experienced the death of a child before birth, shortly after birth, or at a later stage, to remember their loved ones at a special Mass of Remembrance.
This weekend Foxford hosts one of the major cultural events in the county, Fleadh Cheoil Mhaigh Eo. This is the town’s second consecutive year hosting the county Fleadh and the fleadh will continue until Sunday, May 12.
I have mentioned recently Sir William Wilde’s energetic guide to Lough Corrib - Its shores and Islands (published 1867), and his excitement as he and his family steamed across Ireland from Dublin, to begin their long summer holiday at their holiday home, Moytura Lodge, Cong, at the very north of the lake. From steam train to the Eglinton steamer, which left Galway every day to service the villages on the lakeshore, including Cong, the Wildes steamed passed the ancient home of the Blakes at Menlough (Menlo)* located just before the river enters the great lake.
GALWAY BASED writer Mike McCormack, author of the award winning, and critically acclaimed novel, Solar Bones, has been inducted into the Hennessy Literary Awards Hall of Fame.
Well I’m only coming together now after a very packed weekend. On Saturday, I had been invited to speak at the 30th Colmcille Winter School. The man in charge of it, Martin Egan, had emailed me in early December asking would I speak, and I agreed long before I knew the date of the Fianna Fáil Ard Fheis which was also last Saturday. Anyway, I had given my confirmation that I would be there, so of course I couldn’t break that.
Well, what do we make of the weather? Last week it was completely spring-like, mild temperatures, lots of sunshine, and one would really think that spring had arrived. In contrast, this week started off with cold, showery, shivery type of weather and low temperatures. So it is the old story; we think spring has come but really it hasn’t. And yet, the daffodils are out, not quite in abundance yet but they are out with their yellow blooms. In my back garden I have a small magnolia tree. Now, it is called a dwarf magnolia, but because of political correctness you are not allowed any more to say that word with regard to anything, and so it is a small magnolia. The buds are already on all of the branches of that magnolia tree, which would indicate that it is soon going to flower. But somehow I don’t think so if this weather continues. Be that as it may, well at least so far we’ve been spared the snow and wild winds which were very much the climate of 12 months ago. So let’s hope the benign days continue – and more daffodils please, and more buds turning to flower please, in everyone’s garden!
Back in the day, town twinnings were a great fashion altogether. Every little town and village had some fella living down the road, probably in on a witness protection programme or someone who said he hailed from some little Breton village named Creton-LeBlanque or Moron du Ville. And in a time when there was really nothing on the telly and it rained for eight months of the year, the temptation for a jolly to an exotic destination (anything east of Moate) was too much to resist.
Mary McPartlan from the School of Humanities at NUI Galway was honoured with the Ireland United States Association (IUSA) Distinguished Alumni Award, which recognizes alumni for their achievements and demonstrated exemplary leadership in the IUSA alumni community.
Imagine the scene in a small rural cottage. It’s nine o clock on a Saturday (the regular crowd shuffles in)...Paddy is in the jacks, clean-shaven, unusually clean shaven for that hour of the night. New geansai on him. His Sunday mass geansai. His sums copy shirt underneath. A pair of Farah slacks giving him shape. Smell of Old Spice and Lynx off him. At this hour of a Saturday, he’s normally just about to get ready for cocoa and slippers and a shout at the telly “how did that hoor Darcy get his own TV show...”