Saturday, September 4, 2010
I've already mentioned how much I get a kick out of British understatement. Recently Ursula spent the weekend with a friend of ours in London. Arriving at Heathrow and finding her way through the check-out she was uncertain which line she needed to stand in. She asked one of the officials standing around. He pointed to a line on the other side of the room and replied: "You may enjoy the queue over there."
Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming
down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road
met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo...
(my great-great-grandmother Margaret Farrell at the time of the marriage)
Last weekend I was in Dublin. The occasion was the celebration of my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. On my very first visit to Dublin in 1998 I had did some family geneaology and actually did find some valuable information. One finding was that my great-great-grandparents Bernard Farrell and Margaret Collins were married in the Rathmines church in 1866 just a few years before they emigrated to the USA with their first 3 children.
My parents decided to renew their marriage vows in remembrance of our Irish ancestors and arranged for the mass to be held in the Rathmines church inviting our whole family for this special occasion.
Friday, September 3, 2010
I will take this occasion and excoriate the vile English practice of riding to hounds. So the sodden huntsmen can watch a beautiful, delicate fox torn to pieces by their stinking dogs. Heartened by this loutish spectacle, they repair to the manor house to get drunker than they already are, no better than their filthy, fawning, shit-eating, carrion-rolling, baby-killing beasts.