Can never be too pretty, tell me your name ..."
When I was 6 years old, my family moved from County Dublin to County Kildare. While I settled into my new school quite well, I couldn't help but miss my old home, living near to my granny, attending my old school, etc.
I carried this longing for Dublin city all through my teens. I thought I still posessed this preference even these days, up until this morning.
Walking into the cafe, I was worried that I might run out of money and a capacity for caffine before I would be able to find a suitable story for this week's post. However, no sooner had I ordered my white mocha, when I (and the rest of the café with me) was faced with a comical, almost classical dispute between a man and a woman.
Starngely enough, the man (from what I gathered) was from Kildare. The woman had lived in the city for most of her life. And the feud, though full of passion, was also full of hilarity, and how on earth the two had even managed to cross paths was beyond me.
"You'd want to change yer tone fair rapid miss, I've done nahtin worth frettin' over."
"You're commentary was unnecessary. And offensive. I come in here for a quick coffe break to relax and you make foul observations, not even to yourself, but aloud! Who do you think you are?"
"I'm John Keogh, and it was nahtin got to do with you. Get yhur head out yhur arse and leave me be!"
At this stage, I think it would be worth mentioning that Mr.Keogh was in a typical farmers Sunday best, (even though it's only Friday). Hair waxed into a side parting and flattened down to his forehead, save for the mad tuft sticking up at the back. A checkered shirt with courdery trousers, and a grand pair of freshly polished brown loafers.
Our business lady was dressed in the stereotypical pinstriped suit with the clickity-clackety heels, and a bun on top of her head that was pulled so far back I was surprised that her eyeballs weren't popping out of her head.
Our dear Mr. Keogh appeared to have had enough at this stage, and was seemingly backing away from the argument, when our business woman planted a shocking verbal blow to poor John's ears;-
"Rude, ignorant culchie. Get back to doing nothing with your life and shovelling shite in between!"
Ouch.
John winced. I myself felt an indignant stab of offence. How dare she?! How unproffessional! How unpolitically correct! And just plain indecent and inconsiderate! I was furious, and if I hadn't been trying to avoid her gaze since the argument started for fear she would see me writing down nearly everything she said, I would have almost certainly stood up and said something to her.
She had no idea the work that went into being a farmer! The freezing cold 6am starts, the sleepless nights, the physical labour endured in between! What was even more infuriating (if possible) was the way she delivered the sentance. The tone she used. She may as well have spat fire.
I quickly rearranged the streotype "Business woman" in my head, from busy, hardworking and clever; to closed minded, rude and pretentious. After all, that was my turf, and my people she was genralising into one big uneducated and non-existant pile of muck. And I was disgusted. My family, my boyfriend, my best friends, all from different aspects of country life. Each as successful and civilised, as any person you might happen across in any given city.
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I couldn't help but smile, and also feel a stab of pride as Mr. Keogh peacefully retorted;
"Well, we supply yah with yer meat, and yer vegetables, and yer leather for yer shoes, and the grains for yer alcohol, and apart from anything else we beat yah more times in the shport than I can remember, so we must be doing something right. Ah sure yer only a young one anyway. What would you know?"
As I mentioned earlier, I have no idea what started this argument, but the way it ended left me proud to have roots and dealings in the land of the Lily Whites.
"And straight I will repair
To the Curragh of Kildare
For it's there I'll find tidings of my dear."
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