Mammy Mary’s Musings: Shtop The Lights

Each week, Mammy Mary will be letting us know what’s been going on down her neck of the woods and making sure we’re kept up to date on all the scandal. She’s a gas woman altogether, so make sure you take a gawk at this week’s letter...

Dia duit,

How in the love and honour of God is it almost February? It feels like only yesterday that last year's Saint Patrick’s Day celebrations were cancelled… the kids had me doing shots of Mickey Finns in front of the Nine O’Clock News in a desperate bid to have a bit of craic. I don’t suppose there’s any hope in St. Paddy returning this year to run out that feckin’ shnake Covid-19?

Áine has roped me into doing online yoga classes with some Adriene one and every inch of my body is aching. I have to get down on my hunkers and contort this way and that, and if the amount of cracks and clicks are anything to go by - I won’t last much longer. Of course, nothing happens in this house without it ending up on the social media. Johnny seems to think it’s a gas sight and has it plastered up on his story. This Instagram craic keeps us better updated than the parish newsletter!

My Pádraig is showing himself up a lot these days and it gives us all a good laugh because, as they say, if you don’t laugh you’ll cry. For a man that hasn’t done a day’s shopping since he had to run into Dunnes to get me a nighty on the road to have Seán back in ‘08, he has the confidence of a thousand men. I write cucumber, he comes back with courgettes; I write Lyon’s, he comes home with Barry’s; I write bacon and cabbage, he comes home with Supermacs! He’d do well to get his head examined.

Anyway, we’ll leave it there before I say something I’ll regret. More anon!

Le meas,

Mary Mulvanerty