Éire (by stampolina)
STUFF IRISH PEOPLE LOVE. Part Two (extracts from a book)
- Claiming that Guinness always tastes better in Ireland
- Miming the National Anthem; Surely no other nation on Earth can mime their national anthem with as much pride and passion as us. What is so stirring is that although we haven’t got a clue what theyre singing, their faces are filled with emotion, contorted, infused with passion, as though they were each personally making a rousing speech to the insurgents on the morning of The Easter Rising
- Our mammies; Irish men will always cling to their mothers apron no matter what society throws at them. During the average Irish male’s lifetime the Irish Mammy will: ~Boast about your success to everyone, even if youre in prison ~Say ‘God forgive ye’ if you say something she disagrees with ~Wear the expression of a martyr
- Paddy’s Day
- Deliberately going to the airport four hours before your flight so you can go on the lash; Luckily in Ireland we still have the ancient tradition of soothing the pain of air travel by turning it into an excuse for a massive session.
- Having countless aunts, uncles and cousins
- Being drunk at midnight Mass on Christmas Eve; What strange compulsions rooted deep in the Irish psyche possess some of us to do things like going to mass so rat-arsed that we can’t recite our own name never mind the feckin’ Liturgy of the Word.
I AM LAUGHING SO FUCKING HARD RIGHT NOW
Beautiful Ireland
Wouldn’t it be Éire Álainn, and not the reverse? Because don’t attributive adjectives follow the noun in Irish? Or is ‘alainn’ one of those annoying ass exceptions? Someone should inform me. ;-;
(Source: aforceyoucannotignore)
(Source: iwokeupinacar)
Meanwhile in Ireland…
THIS FUCKING MOVIE. I watched it with my little brother, he looooved it.
(Source: allthesebucketsofrain)
research for my project essay on Irish travellers photographic representation.
In 1965, Alen MacWeeney came upon an encampment of itinerants in a waste ground by the Cherry Orchard Fever Hospital outside Dublin. Called tinkers and later styled Travellers, as they preferred to call themselves, they were living in richly colored caravans, ramshackle sheds, and time-worn tents. MacWeeney was captivated by their independence, individuality, and endurance, despite the bleakness of their circumstances. Accepted by the Travellers, he began to take photographs. Over five years, he spent countless evenings in the Travellers’ caravans and by their campfires, drinking tea and listening to their tales, songs, and music — which had been rarely shared or captured by camera and tape recorder. (The CD included with the book includes Travellers’ music, songs, and stories.) In a moving essay about his days and nights among them, MacWeeney writes: “Theirs was a bigger way of life than mine, with its daily struggle for survival, compared to my struggle to find images symbolic and representative of that life.” In Irish Travellers, Tinkers No More, Alen MacWeeney has created a superb record of a vanishing way of life and created a photographic masterwork.
No.
But like… wouldn’t that mean that Scotland and Wales aren’t Scottish and Welsh? I don’t know, someone educate me on this subject, haha.
