FURTHERMORE
By Gerry Moran
I found myself in Cork last week. FOUND myself in Cork! You’d swear I was lost. Actually, I did get lost which I’ll get to later. Getting to Cork is not a problem, getting around the city is the problem. We’re looking for the Wilton Shopping Centre. We’re heading there not to shop but, because it’s near our destination, and offers three hours free parking – a rarity in any city. Three hours parking in Dublin could cost you an arm and a leg. Or at least an ankle!
My wife is driving. She’s driving because she’s a better driver than me. Or so she says. And I’m long enough married not to contradict her. Huh! My wife swears by SatNav. I swear at SatNav. Why? Because SatNav can’t even direct me to my own address. And that’s a fact.
So, I’m watching the signposts for Wilton while my wife is listening to SatNav. We don’t always concur which can lead to some heated, over-heated, words. I now believe that my beloved and I need a referee in the back of the car when we are driving anywhere because it’s she and SatNav against me. Not a level playing, or rather driving, field, you’ll agree. And we need a definitive, non-negotiable, decision as to whose way is best. Anyway, we arrived in Wilton, my wife went her way and I went mine.
But come here, as Cork man Brendan O’Connor, might say, I found Cork people to be really friendly, good humoured and helpful. Which brings me to getting lost – in the Wilton car park (a huge concern) I couldn’t locate the car and asked a man for guidance. “Come on, boy, we’ll sort ya,” and he graciously escorted me along. When he discovered I was from Kilkenny the conversation immediately turned to hurling. “What’s going on with ye down there at all?” he asked. Did I know? No. And we chatted for 10 minutes or more.
Finally, did you know that Cork has its very own language? I didn’t but here’s a wee piece in the native tongue – best read, of course, with a Cork accent. Interpret it as best you can: Mollser McCarthy, a bit of a hoofler, went for a bazzer. After the bazzer, which was a bit of a bake, he had a gwall of pints. Later Mollser, who had great taspey on him now went for a scove. Who should he meet on the scove, near the cowluck, but Bridie who was a right lasher. Furthermore she had a fine pair of collops on her. “Would you like to go slocking?” Mollser asked. “Are you crackawly?” said Bridie. “You must think I’m some sawney. Besides if some connishur saw us my brother wouldn’t be long hearing about it and you’d get a right lowry in the puss. And another thing,’”said Bridie, “aren’t we a bit old to be slocking?” “You’re never too old to go slocking,” said Mollser, the caffler, with a twinkle in his eye. With that Bridie made a glawm at him. “Would you stop acting the browl.,”she said. “Go home before I give you a funt. Besides the pawny is coming.”
You got the gist of that, I assume. Or did you? Here’s a translation: Mollser McCarthy, a bit of a trickster, went for a haircut. After the haircut, which was a bit of a disappointment, he had a large quantity of pints. Later Mollser who was in great spirits now went for a walk. Who should he meet on the walk, near the derelict site, but Bridie who was very attractive. Furthermore she had large rounded calves. “Would you like to go stealing apples?” Mollser asked. “Are you stupid?” asked Bridie. “You must think I’m some fool. Besides if some gossip saw us my brother wouldn’t be long hearing about it and you’d get a fist in to the face. And another thing,” said Bridie. “Aren’t we a bit old to be stealing apples?” “You’re never too old to steal apples,” said Mollser, the rogue, with a twinkle in his eye. With that Bridie made a grab at him. “Would you stop acting the ignoramus,” she said. “Go home before I give you a kick. Besides the rain is coming.”
So, exactly as you assumed, right?
