In which #2 goes native
So hot on the heels of the big fella, the little chap is off on his travels today. #2 is rather an Irish speaking whizz (the only one in our family, #1 was considered too old to start learning). He can say ‘kiss my arse’ in Irish, which is impressive in itself, but to further improve his rich Irish vocabulary, he’s off to spend a week in the Donegal Gaeltacht.
Those of you who don’t know what the bloody hell I’m on about will be pleased to know that it’s not some kind of ancient Irish torture, but a week in the beautiful North West of our green and soggy country, mixing with the locals and improving his Gaeilge. Irish speaking (or Gaeltacht) regions are dotted all around Ireland, mostly in the west, but there’s a little one quite close to us in Meath and another in Waterford. School trips to these areas are commonplace (kind of like a French exchange except you don’t have to have the stroppy, hairy French teenager making your house look untidy for the week). What he’s supposed to do is speak nothing but Irish for a whole week, thereby improving his spoken Irish no end, soak up the culture, revel in the magic and folklore and discover a little more of Ireland’s unique heritage. What he’ll probably be doing is sodding about with his mates, doing things he wouldn’t get away with at home and thoroughly enjoying his freedom, but that’s an aside.
So Donegal, then. It is, apparently, Ireland’s second largest Gaeltacht region: a beautiful and breathtaking land of huge mountains, lakes and valleys whose amazing coastline is lapped gently by the Atlantic. The beaches are supposed to be some of the best in the whole of Ireland. I’m dead jealous, frankly.
So off he went this morning, then, staggering under the weight of a holdall almost as big as he is, and armed with the spare phone (the lesson in texting wasn’t overly a success so whether we hear from him at all remains to be seen), the usual cornucopia of electronic devices, some spare underwear and his Lynx spray that smells like chocolate. Oh and he’s packed his Gaelic Football gloves and his boots. Well, you never know when you might get a game…
I am sure that your son will love it. I have to say that I still speak Irish well enough but the Donegal dialect is very different so I need sub-titles for those guys.
Aidan: Welcome! Or should that be..er…fáilte! Aw it sounds lovely. If he has half the fun that you seem to have done I’ll be very happy. I did persuade him to take ‘proper trousers’ in case there was any dancin’ to be done. I love the thought of my children speaking Irish and playing GAA. When in Rome…as they say… x
Tara: Yes, we’d like to, although life and Hubby’s job might conspire against us. My ideal would be to see them growing up here.
Sliced bread and underwear seem eminently more sensible than chocolate smelling Lynx though…
Oh, and re the verb…I was thinking ‘to vegetate’ or possibly ‘to wallow’. Although ‘samba’ and ‘do the funky chicken’ also fit…xx
(Good luck #2)
Mwah!!
J
Your post inspired me to write something related (you made me jealous!). http://faoiseamh.blogspot.com/2008/04/what-ive-lost-what-ive-gained.html
Aidan: Excellent! I’m off over to your pad to check it out now. Thanks for the link x
Sleepy: Aw you must come. As long as you like rain, it’s grand. Yep, that’s it. It’s a favourite in our house! x
Mommy will be oh so uncool in this house.
I’m hoping it may help me to start pronouncing the place names and assist the children with homework.
Being just down the road from An Rinn I should also get a chance to practice.
Em: Me too. I’d like to do one of those Irish Culture courses too. xx
Go n-éirí an bóthar leis! Good luck to him!
[...] for our Mad Professor . April saw our youngest, the Death Wish Child, hit double figures and go off on a beano to Donegal. #1 also went on a trip, this time to [...]