It’s been a while I know. But in case you were wondering I am not in Paris…but I will be this coming Sunday.

Since my last camino in Portugal, I came back to Ireland to spend some much needed non-travelling/walking time with my best friend Katie and my extended family in Ireland. In that time I have applied for more jobs than I can remember  ( a blog on this journey will soon follow) and to see goings on of my friends and family in the Northern Climes.

I am currently in Waterford with my cousin Kate subbing as a stay at home wife….keeping the dog company, cooking dinner and attending a funeral of an aunt for our cousins….the aunt is from the other side!

She was Aunty Mary Duffy who lived to a phenomenal age of 90 and by all accounts ruled over house, land and community until the good Lord called her over. She was the sister to my Uncle Denny (by marriage)…he being the good husband to my Aunt Mary (my Dad’s sister)…who by the way gets slightly outraged when I call her Aunty….so of course I do ….for the reaction!

Anyway my cousin Kate and I were at a Gaelic football match (more on this later) when the news that Aunty Mary Duffy died, so we made plans to travel the 2 hours the following evening to pay our respects at her home where she was laid out before the funeral and burial the following day. Mary passed away late saturday or sunday and unlike any funeral in Australia, things move fast here.

It was Monday evening when we went to Tipperary to see Mary and console our cousins. Unlike Kate, I had no recollection of meeting Mary Duffy but I am certain I would have on our trips home when I was younger. I have only attended one funeral in Ireland (my Granddad) so I just went into this thinking it would be a quiet affair of a cup of tea and a few biscuits…and the obligatory chat. And I was correct or so I thought. The family were recieving mourners from 3pm at Mary’s house which, I found out, has been witness to 9….yes NINE generations of Duffy’s. Kate and I arrived at 7pm so I was under the impression that it would just be a few people milling around and I would get some quick but quality time with my cousins who I was yet to see on this trip. Well I was totalling bloody wrong…..and when I die I want what Mary had….which is apparently the norm might I add.

Arriving at the house in a small country town on small country roads the first thing I see is 3 men standing on the road in HiViz gear and Hibeam torches. I said to Kate that the road works were going on a bit late for  monday night and we might be a while getting down the road to pay our respects. Kate gave that “oh you have no idea” laugh and proceeded to tell me that these men were actually the parking wardens. “For what” I ask….and through tears of laughter she tells me these are probably the neighbours ….The Lewis’….who are on parking control for the visitors coming to the house to pay respects. “Are you serious” I yell and shatter Kate’s eardrum, “I mean seriously…parking wardens!!!!…..are we to be security checked as well?” “Yes and No….this is normal, don’t you know anything about funerals” she replies indignantly. Obviously not.

The parking wardens …with parking management plan might I add…were there to help guide and park the stream of mourners park in and around the house within the farm yards. As we were quasi family we were given preference to go to the  ‘hop yard’ but that was nearly full and the ground was too mucky that the wardens didn’t want us to ruin our shoes. A good thing too as Kate was in her new boots and they are needed for a job interview next week. So we lowered ourselves to the ‘public’ carpark (just near the cowsheds) and made our way into the house. And it was not a solemn affair at all…it was a celebration of a truly well loved woman who lived 90 years in a community that loved her and her family…..and the mourning was scheduled to go all night!

Yep you could see the locals settling in for the evening of beer, whiskey, tea and sandwiches around the fire. Unfortunately Kate and I were not going to be enjoying the music and singing through glazed eyes that would inevitably ensue, as Kate was due at work the next day…..but I was absolutely fascinated and would like traffic management plan sorted out for me please! And maybe some traditional wailing women too….I want a show stopper……

Till next time…..

I am trying out a new cafe near me and having spent the best part of 9 months in Europe I’d forgotten how utterly ridiculous cafe menus are.

Here on the Gold Coast – to match the predominant view that everyone is super healthy and fit – businesses are having a christmas breakfast party rather than buy a couple of crates of cheap beer and champagne and hope the photocopier survives the night. This is upsetting the balance of the traditional christmas party…So too are the outrageous descriptions on cafe menus for your basic food and drink.

Apparently we cafe goers in Australia are unable to consume our eggs, muesli, or ‘smashed avocado’ (don’t even get me started on that!) without knowing exactly…and I mean exactly where it came from. There is always a longwinded tale about the eggs….free range and hand massaged by a qualified shiatsu master allowed to roam in lavender filled meadows to give the extra hint of flavour to your scrambled eggs on toast. The bread is always organic sourdough or spelt or some shit  flame grilled because toasted was so yesterday…… (tasting no where near as good as my Auntie Marie’s uber fattening gluten and wheat filled brown bread made from full cream milk straight from the cow by the way). The coffee is now single origin from an organic farm deep in the Amazon or in a newly formed African country. All this so you can be charged a kidney and second mortgage to have bacon and eggs.

But really I hope this comes full circle back to a normal menu that serves good food and coffee at reasonable prices and we the customer will decide with our taste buds if it is good…not be told it must good because of the source of the food…like everywhere else in the world! Just like the humble christmas party where you wake up in the morning with shards of memories of telling your boss to Bugger Off in a sea of photcopied sheets of people’s backsides……

For now however you can enjoy your hangover breakfast or christmas party breakgast with extra “hand harvested macrobiotic unprocessed sea salt” (yes it exists) and hope the poor hand harvesters didn’t drown in the sea for your macrobiotic pleasure.