Stay Golden

Pokémon Mega Evolutions, COVID-19 and slugs for eyebrows

The loud speaker called for all passengers to make their way to Gate 105 as boarding for Ryanair flight to Palma “was now commencing”.  I took one last swig of my overpriced flat white coffee, gathered up the annoyingly awkward carry- on bag I had bought in Palma (and now regretted buying) and limped heavily to my gate. Gazing out the window at the familiar grey Irish sky I heard a thick Dublin accent “ Ah Jaysus folks, do yiz want to go on yizzer holidays or wha?, will ye come on there now and board the flight please ladies and gents!” An airport worker in a high viz vest and a rain jacket summoned the Mallorca bound few. The Ryanair staff at the gate gave a few chuckles. The weather may drive you to drink at times but the Irish are a witty lot. I miss that sense of humour. 

Among the passengers were a group of ‘young ones’- mostly in their twenties- all fake tan, ripped hot-pants and slugs for eyebrows. I would certainly bet my life savings that social distancing was the absolute furthest thing from their minds. Later on as we filed into the cabin I had to ask one big chunk of a lad to take himself and his swollen pecs out of my personal space “please and thanks”. With his mask dangling carelessly under his big Magaluf awaiting head, he apologised. No harm done but virus or no virus he was invading my travel bubble big time!  Back it up there young fella! I could feel his cider infused breath on the back of my neck. Nice. And put your bloody mask on properly too while you’re at it! All that aside, the travelling to and from Ireland felt fine.

The flight 2 weeks previous out of Palma was deserted- only 7 passengers in total. It was probably the least crowded space I’d been to in months. I remained hyper vigilant but not totally paranoid. Apart from one drunken German moron immediately discarding his mask after take-off as it was "against his human rights"- poor man- *Cue long eye roll –it was largely an uneventful late night flight. Reassuringly said German mask -refuser was met by three members of Dublin airport police on arrival. They hauled his soon to be heavily fined arse into a waiting squad car in gale force wind and rain.

Welcome home!

Knocking on my brother’s door at 1.45 am on the outskirts of Dublin city, the precipitation from The Irish Sea pounding off my bronzed forehead the steady throb of the broken toe reminded me that newly broken bones don’t like flying. Not one bit. The brother, not long in the door himself after dinner and a few drinks in the city “to mark the first haircut” opened the door and welcomed me home with big yawns and a scratch of the head. With his more -on- top new crop he wasn’t too unlike a white Fresh Prince of Bel Air.  “I called up the house around 7 or 8… and said to the cabbie go home smell ya later…”  

But he is an absolute top dog so I’ll not judge his locks too harshly- this time!

“Auntie Ciz, will you come look for worms wiv me?” asked little Henry G, my best pal. His astonishing brown eyes drawing me into his innocent world of Pokémon characters, playdates and warm morning hugs. His little sister, a total character in her own right, was occupied in the kitchen -taking over the world. She’s not yet three. Reuniting with these two and hugging them in person after months of zoom calls and facetimes was incredibly special for me. I happily spent the next 3 days hobbling around the garden identifying worms with my crutch and watching award winning Pokémon Mega Evolution moves in the living room. Awesome stuff! No walks in the park or the Wicklow mountains this time but not to worry- laying on the couch like a vegetable, tasting make believe pizza and sipping pretend coffee was handsome compensation. They are pure sweethearts.

The soft drizzle welcomed me back to Cork. My mother having driven us both back to Mallow, flicked on the kettle. Due to the ‘current virus climate’ that hung the air I spent most of my time in Ireland sofa side, only leaving the house for a very short walk/hobble on the beach, and a carefully socially distanced coffee with a very special friend that has been through an incredibly tough time. Not many friends or family were on the phone with invites to their homes and I completely understood that and respected it too. Although it wasn't ideal, staying at home was the best thing to do. 

So readers,  it wasn’t exactly the best holiday I’ve ever had what with all that forced sitting around, looking out at the biblical drizzle, not being able to walk, nor drive or a ‘blessed bit’ as my mother would say. It was a reeeeeeeal test – for me and my poor Mammy. We’d both looked forward hugely to this trip home, after all, the world had all but stopped turning since we last met in December. I had envisioned nice day trips, long walks, some overnight stays, long evenings spent catching up with family but all that diminished with the quarantine “rule” and of course the restrictions bestowed on me by the digit on my left foot! But we made the most of our time together and had plenty of giggles at home and I will always be pleased I went back. Apart from one foolish argument we just eased back into each other’s company again and talked about all the usual stuff - family, the virus, friends, the virus, who had died locally, the virus, our health, the virus, the world and local economies, the virus, travel, the virus and of course-the price of wine in Spain v Ireland! We drank lots of tea and I scoffed homemade brown bread with cheese and Ballymaloe relish, with a side of cheese and onion Taytos. Mr. Tayto for the absolute win every time!

Fourteen days later I was again Palma bound and looking forward to seeing the lovely smiley George.  Waving goodbye to the Dubs, the closed pubs and those ever present dreary clouds I felt for the briefest of seconds like a bit of an outsider as I carefully climbed the steps onto the aircraft. Finally in my seat, far from other passengers, I started scrolling on my phone. I wondered what my mother was doing and if she was OK. “The Goodbye” was stirring to say the least. I was already missing the idea of not being able to see her every week for a chat and an ol’ hug. The actual act of saying goodbye- standing in the hallway trying to control your breath to stop the big tears from taking over, is always the hardest part. Then like a train gathering speed, I close the door and the chord severs a little more and life moves on. Beautiful life, in all its unpredictable, difficult and juicy glory. Once that wretched farewell is done with – I find I’m OK. But it’s not easy. It hurts in the deepest of places- that place in your heart where only your mother will ever reside and where memories of the grandest of Irish upbringings will stay forever.