My Little Green Psyche
As I've recently discovered I'm pretty much 100% Irish. On a DNA level, at least. I'm made of Irish, and probably more so than your average Irish. My lot never left the Auld Sod until my parents did in the sixties, and I betrayed their youthful hopes and dreams by returning. My moving here THIRTEEN YEARS AGO turned out to be a homecoming. And yet, you've met me. I'm pretty fucking English. How does one resolve this Anglo/Hibernian dichotomy? Well, last night my sub-conscience had a go. I'd been out shopping and, in the shopping centre, a tall, kindly Irishman held the door open for me. Double denim. Freddie Boswell hair. His family all trailed out with their shopping and, as we were going the same way, we formed an orderly crocodile: me and the patriarch at the head, the mum and kids following on behind. At one point the mum's bag became too heavy for her, and I took it off her, even though the double denim dad was carrying nothing. "His back,"...
