There I was, walking down main street in my local town looking for a nice place to eat. I am fussy about where I will eat and with whom I will break bread with. I was with The Yank (uncle who has been living in The States for about 50 years) we both had an idea of what we wanted for lunch but I had no idea where to take him.
I wanted a window seat, a nice salad, no dungeons, not too busy, loads of light, a good view of the street and, of course, super clean.
After 20 minuets of walking around town like a tourist, The Yank swung around and asked “how do you know know your local town, kid?” I chose to ignore it and flicked my long blond hair as I went to open the door of another, probable unsuitable, cafe. I slammed the door shut and said “let’s just drive to Dublin for lunch, no-where here”.
“Kid”, he lowly sung in his wanna be John Wayne accent, “How can you not know your local town?!”, that was it, I went for the Maureen O’Hara approach and spat out; “sure what do you know about Cashel, you are an American tourist here for a few weeks” , unlike Maureen, however, my retaliation ended there as he tipped his hat (I kid you not) and drawled the goings on of my home town. I fell silent while I was told put me on the straight and narrow in relation to where’s hot and not to eat, which shop burn down, who was burgled, who sold out and most importantly where served the best salad (for me) and the best bacon and cabbage (for him).
It turns out, he has been listening to Tipperary Mid West Radio
on-line all day everyday. And now, so do I. They not only tell you about local goings on but play the coolest old school music.
In the end I broke my silence and bread with The Yank and learn a lot. Thanks for being a cool uncle Stephen Maher and glad you are feeling better.
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