The Oldie has an excellent column: Not Many Dead (Important Stories You May Have Missed). The December issue, beats me why it’s published in November unless it’s so subscribers in far-flung outposts receive a copy in a sweaty, cleft stick in time for Christmas, has two submissions.
“Wooden duck nabbed from bar” Western Telegraph
“Padlock stolen during shed burglary” Lowestoft Journal
My submission will be “Co Louth man wins election” Dundalk Democrat
In case you have forgotten, there was a post here about Carlingford in January 2019. As far as I remember it’s a rather beautiful town nestling under mountains with a Norman castle on the eponymous lough. Not quite Portofino, for climatic and culinary considerations. I am reminded of my early immersions in the lough, like a Baptist convert, when I see oysters on the menu. Like Dublin Bay prawns, I’d be surprised if the oysters originate in those waters that will divide the European Union from the United (for now) Kingdom.
There are two more posts relevant to today’s offering. This is the one I wrote in 2016, I have yet to write the other. Actually I thought I had but it seems I hadn’t and it links in with my Uncle Henty water skiing on Carlingford Lough and a POTUS so I must get round to it.
President-Elect Biden is a scion of Carlingford and went to Lily Flanagan’s pub in 2016. It is unbelievable that nobody thought to take a photograph. On the other hand I wonder if his privacy was respected and anyway he doesn’t drink alcohol. If I was going to be POTUS, highly unlikely, I would give up the bottle. Other leaders haven’t, prominently Pitt and Churchill, and they both ran good administrations. Oh well, maybe I wouldn’t.
I’m finding the social straitjacket imposed by the English government increasingly irksome. I don’t want to catch Covid particularly but I’d like to be able to choose where I go and who I meet. It’s especially frustrating that Bertie can chum up with any old dog or bitch while I lurk two metres or more away as they lick each other.