It’s Saturday night of last week, and Carol and myself are on the 2.30 Citylink bus to Dublin Airport, from where we are heading to Alicante – hopefully leaving the horrible Irish weather behind us for ten days or so.
For some reason the bus goes into the city centre before going back out to the Airport, which doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but nonetheless we are deposited at the departure area with plenty of time to spare for our 6.30 am flight.
We check in and have the full Irish breakfast, which – remarkably – is good value (for an airport) and we then make our way to the security area. The chaos that greeted us there had to be seen to be believed. There were hundreds of people queuing up to get through, as every flight in the place must have been going out at 6.30, and for some reason the security people seemed to be checking most of the hand luggage bags. Of course they decided to go through Carol’s, and it took us ages before we eventually got our clearance to go ahead.
By now it was 6.20 am, and I was strolling along with not a bother on me (although Carol was telling me to hurry up) – when all of a sudden the news came over the loudspeaker that flight whatever-it-was to Alicante was now closed.
My leisurely stroll turned into a full sprint (not really, but a little bit more than a walk) and after flying down a seemingly never-ending walkway, and a few flights of stairs, we found ourselves at the Ryanair gate, where, thankfully there was one girl still on duty. She was kind enough to allow us through. We were the last ones to get on – by the skin of our teeth – but off we went and three hours later we were enjoying some of the beautiful Spanish sunshine.
And that, funny enough, was another thing that has definitely changed over the years, because there is no doubt that this climate change thing is affecting every part of the world. Spain has had extremely windy weather for the last number of months, and in the ten days that we have been here, we have seen more wind (although they say you can’t see wind) and rain than we saw in the fifteen previous years of our visits. However, a lot of the positives are still in place; the cost of eating and drinking is way less than at home, there is still loads of warm sunshine, the craic is still ninety, and best of all, the postman can’t find you – so all the bills that are constantly flying in through the letterbox are forgotten about for a little while at least.
The Irish pubs on the Strip, particularly the Bog Road and O’Riordans, are full of interesting people too. As I sat at the counter in the Bog one night, I got talking to a fellow beside me. It turned out he was one Buster Carroll, a man I had played rugby with in Dundalk all of forty-four years ago. We had great craic reminiscing on some of the times we shared all those years ago, and I have promised to visit him in Dundalk in the near future. Knowing me and my ability (when I have a few pints) to make plans to go everywhere – which I never follow through on – the chances are that I’ll never make it to Dundalk, but it was great to meet him and catch up after so many years.
My brother, The Rasher, was out here as well, as was my daughter Lisa, and her boyfriend Brian, and so we had a few nice family nights, the highlight of which was dancing the night away to our good friend Elvis (Greg Traynor), on a couple of nights in the Slievenamon and the Randy Leprauchan.
Anyway, as I am writing this we have only one day left in the Costa Blanca, and by the time you get to read this, I will be trying to work my way through the bundle of lovely letters the postman, Michael Melia, has left for me – can’t wait to get home.
Wishing soccer violence victim Sean a full recovery
Even though I am a Manchester United supporter for a long time now, I have always had a liking for our great rivals (and almost enemies) Liverpool. To this day my two visits to Anfield rank amongst the greatest sporting occasions of my life. I have said it before – that the singing of You’ll Never Walk Alone just before kick-off is one of the most powerful, emotive things I have ever heard, and is a memory I will never ever forget.
And so to see the new Liverpool totally dismantle a woeful Roma side last week in the Champions League semi-final, when the attacking display from the Reds was simply awesome, should have been another sporting memory. In reality, it was overshadowed by the appalling violence carried out by the Roma supporters which left Dunboyne man, Sean Cox, fighting for his life, and which, a week later, he is still doing. Now obviously it’s impossible to police every club’s followers, but the Roma thugs are well-known for their mindless violence. Surely the trouble should have been anticipated in advance and extra reinforcements should have been called in.
I am writing this on Tuesday evening, with the second leg due to take place tomorrow, and I can only hope it goes ahead without any of the trouble that marred the Anfield clash. Why is it that soccer matches always seem to attract trouble makers and trouble, while you can have crowds of 80,000 and more at rugby and GAA games without a hint of violence?
The Man. Utd. side of me says I should wish for a Roma comeback, but I can’t think like that and I hope the Liverpool men make the final, and, much more importantly I hope Sean Cox wins his battle and makes a total recovery.
And finally…
Finally for this week, it’s now Wednesday morning, and after all the years coming to the Spanish resort of Cabo Roig, last night I came across a late-night bar called The Caribbean, and we had the greatest bit of craic of all time dancing to the exclusively Latino music.
I have always claimed to be one of the top jivers in the Creggs area, but after last night I realise I should have been from somewhere in South America. I don’t like boasting too much, but I am confident that there were dance moves produced in The Caribbean last night that have never been seen anywhere before. Can’t wait to go back there!
Till next week, Bye for now!
