Our lives

Ah, nostalgia

I had to drop the metallers out to Ennis today to see their metallic mates playing another gig, and didn’t get a chance to spend a couple of hours in the Limerick market.

As I get older, I discover that I’m really a creature of habit, and if a Saturday passes without a visit to the market, I feel truly bereft, in a vague and indefinable way. Like Patrick Bateman, I’m filled with a nameless dread. I love the smell of rusty old chisels, fresh bread, honeycomb, gouda, camembert, stuffed mushrooms, coffee, garden gnomes, earth on carrots, antiques, crêpes, maple syrup and bicycles. I love to wander around. Maybe get some bagels from Theresa’s stall.

A dozen real free-range eggs from the charming Mrs Miller, who always has a kind word, and maybe even a pot of marmalade, home-made (three-fruit).

A bunch of carrots from the decent Polish guy at the corner because they’re real – not some chilled, food-miled crap from Lidl. Maybe a cracked old plate from Moira’s antique shop, if they’ll take money today and not gwan gwan gwan, I’ll get you again. Maybe a stroll up to Ruth and Bob, our Chicago cousins, for real cawfee in the Wild Onion.

I like to listen to the two Romanian musicians who play at the gate: violin and piano.

I like to buy flowers there in the summer.

I like to buy spanners from tinkers and argue about the money. I bought tomato-plants a while back that kept me and my friends in fruit for months.

When I’m finished buying bread from farmers and shovels from tinkers, I like to wander over to Nancy Blake’s pub. The fire will be lit and I can have a coffee with cream, settle into a corner with my newspaper and, when I’m sick of reading news, I can do my crossword and my sudoku, unmolested.

That’s my Saturday morning, normally, but not today. Today I had to drive two metallers out to Ennis to see their metallic mates playing another gig. On my way home, I passed the bridge at Durty Nelly’s, the very first place I ever threw up because of drink.

Ah, memories.

kick it on

11 replies on “Ah, nostalgia”

‘Tis no wonder you’re always broke, buying all the shite in the market. Get those Powertinkers into production real quick and set up your own stall. Try to get one nearer the Coffees than the Coffeys, if you get my meaning. You never mentioned the small of tinkers either. I hear there’s a rival producing fake Powertinkers in China to undercut your market. The trouble is, the real tinkers won’t sell ’em, they are using ’em as teaching aids for their own kids.

Great post.The market is always a must-do every time I’m home.When I was a kid a visit there was always followed by a trip to second hand bookshop across from The Round House for 64’s and periwinkles.

It seems we may have crossed paths without realising Bock – a visit to the Market has become my favourite saturday pastime as well.

And as for the Wild Onion – you may (or may not) have noticed that some of the posts on Style Treaty are done by Margaret – well she works in the onion with Bob and Ruth!!

i also frequent the Wild know we could all be sitting in the same room next saturday and not know it..

oh i dont know, would it be a good thing or a bad thing if all us Limerick bloggers met?

oh the horror of it all!

I almost threw up in Nelly’s recently. I was having a pint when in walked a 3-man Canadian TV crew. They were making a travel program and wanted to film a typical meal in an Irish pub. They ordered a pint of Guinness and a bowl of stew. Nelly’s were out of stew and offered a chowder instead. That was accepted with the proviso that it have lumps in it. When the chowder and the pints came, the guy doing the eating dumped some of the Guinness into the chowder to darken it. He was duly filmed. He didn’t eat the concoction but he did drink the Guinness. I couldn’t finish my own pint and had to leave.

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