This is called the “regal mirror” and is designed by Mauricio Martino of Heartworks, Tullamore. It really is very regal!!!
What the blazes does that expression mean, I hear you ask. Well at least you got the word “wigs” right and didn’t say “rigs”. I’ve been going around for donkey’s years saying the wrong expression and yet I got nods all around as if my meaning was understood.
We were told this umpteen times when we were little. “When your daddy comes home, there’ll be wigs on the green” We knew what it meant alright. No doubt in our minds. It was time to repent and to put to right whatever “divilment” we were up to.
So what does it mean? Well what it meant to us all those years ago is that there would be hell to pay or a fight to fight, that there would be a fracas as a result of some difference of opinion or other. ‘Wigs on the Green’ was originally Irish, dating from the eighteenth century, when men, or at least wealthy men, usually wore wigs. If a fight started, the first thing that happened was that the wigs of those involved would be knocked off and would roll onto the grass. Others say that the wigs belonged to the barristers and/or lawyers in dublin and the green refers to Stephen’s Green.
Whatever the explanation, it certainly is not used anymore. Not that the irish have become more complacent or anything like that or that we wouldn’t dare get in to a fight. It’s just that we don’t wear wigs anymore. If anything is to fall to the ground during a scuffle or skirmish it’ll be our mobile phones falling out of our pockets. So maybe we should adapt the expression for nowadays and say” there’ll be phones on the shopping centre floor”. It doesn’t quite have the same ring to it!!!
I did say before that I would blog about the other half of my last birthday present from Mauricio, Miguel and Shane. So here it is
It’s an old school desk, the kind they had back in the sixties in primary school. You know the ones with the ink wells? Anybody out there remember? And you kept your books inside under the table top? And the pencils and crayons always fell off the desk when you attempted to put a book in or take one out because you forgot to put the offending object on the little groove especially designed to hold it? And then before you had a chance to pick up that crayon some little foot was down on it like a hot potatoe crushing it into the floor
Surely you remember the desk. The desk that had a great big lid on it that you could hide behind when you wanted to cheat with someone across the way? Or you wanted to take a bite of the bun you brought to school for your lunch because you were so bored with what the nun was saying and eating might while away a few more minutes and help to keep your tummy from rumbling and making great big gurgly noises?
There were no mobile phones inside those desks, I can tell you. Nor was your bag strewn on the ground tripping up passers-by. There was no back answers given, no snide remarks passed to the nuns. Oh No!!. You knew too well how sore that cane coming down on your hand was going to be, the sting that lingered on for days. How you hated the “ones” that got you in trouble for being too noisy or for making a racket while the teacher was out. Or how you loathed the nun for punishing you all when only a few were the trouble makers. More often than not, you, yourself were the culprit and then how you felt guilty for getting everyone else in trouble.
But I do digress. We bought this desk in clara car boot sale a few years ago and just recently the lads took it out of the shed and painted it and varnished the woodwork and presented it to me as part of my birthday present. Bowled over I was. All the happy memories and not so happy memories came flooding back. It’s amazing how a simple desk can mean so much and hold some strange enchantment over you.
Dare I say it. Oh go on then!!!. THEY DON’T MAKE DESKS LIKE THAT ANYMORE
My poor mother would turn in her grave if she saw where the old singer sewing machine ended up. We have it in the picnic area at the back of our house where we have all those wonderful barbecues that one can have in this god forsaken country. Its one of those sewing machines that we had to work your feet on the pedal to move the machine. Here’s a picture or two of it
We stuck a slab of stone on top and ended up with a perfectly functioning side table for when we have all those wonderful barbecues (as one does in this god forsaken county, if you get my meaning)
I just came across this photo today while looking for a suitable family holiday picture among the thousands that Mauricio has taken. I was going to enter into some competition on facebook and it requires that you send a family holiday shot and then others on facebook can vote for the best one. It would probably have to be somewhere that’s not in Ireland in order to win especially if it was taken this year because I doubt that you could find a photo with all members of the family smiling and the sun smiling too.
If anyone is in need of a bit of sun maybe this photo will have to suffice for now. About the competition I’ve decided I won’t bother as I never do win . www.heartworks.ie
Earlier this year I was pleading with the rain to come back from Spain. That was when it was time to start planting potatoes and some vegetables. I wished for a drop of rain to soften the very hard ground after a period of drought. Well if I knew then that there was so much rain in store for us I might not have been so quick with my wish.
Being an atheist or agnostic or whatever it is I am, I don’t pray for rain nor sunshine . I don’t blame God when the grey clouds are coming down to meet the sodden earth and rain is pelting down. Nor do I sing God’s praises when the sun comes out intermittently, I just simply and quietly lap it all up relishing our turn of fortune. I often wonder has God, or the government or even the devil himself, put some drug into each drop of rain that falls in this country; those serotonin-laden drops falling on our heads and seeping into our brain. It’s a wonder that the five million people in this country don’t put a gun to their heads after the “attacks” of rain that they sometimes have to endure. There’s no other explanation for the euphoric comments from passers- by when you’re walking in a sort of drizzle; “lovely soft day, isn’t it”. Yeah sure!? Not unless they put Comfort (fabric softener) in the drops!
Recently when the rain didn’t let up for the whole day I quite frankly got annoyed. Annoyed because these days are the longest days of the year and we should be able to go out and enjoy them right up to sundown. We should be out until 9.30 or 10.oo every evening. We should be dragging in our children by the scruff of their necks at 10.30 amid the protests that they want to stay a little longer outside. We should be having barbecues and parties and rejoicing the long evenings. Instead, we have been wrapping ourselves up in extra layers of clothing, putting on the central heating or lighting the fire, looking out languidly and loathingly at the rain, curling up reluctantly with a book and generally feeling sorry for ourselves.
So, If there is anyone up there looking over us, please give us the summer we’re supposed to have. I don’t mind a few drops of rain falling on my head especially if you have put a drug into it. But enough is enough.
We got a load of slate last week from a supplier and we´re very excited about it. This is no ordinary slate from the roofs of old houses and building although they do come from the roofs of somewhere. They must off the roof of some old church or abbey or great house. Mauricio measured what was the biggest of them and the dimensions were 51″ x 25″.
so happy days for us making large mirrors of all shapes and sizes.