| The Joe Horgan Column By Joe
Horgan
New Ireland was on holiday this summer and like a lot of things in new
Ireland it has to be seen or it isn’t worth anything. Hey, what’s the use
of being well off if no one knows you are. As one denizen of this new republic
said recently it would make far more sense to have her new sun room built
around the back of the house, but then no one would see it.
So if you can afford to bring a pleasure boat out in to the bay you sure
as hell don’t want to do it quietly. Those of us scattered on the rocks
and the sand enjoying the wide sweep of the water and the soft afternoon
Irish sun only had the tranquillity of the countryside for as long as it
took to rev that engine. Now a lot of water craft use this bay and there
are often boats of one sort going up and down the water adding to the general
pleasure of the place and the sights. This was of a different kind. This
one had to halt just off the rocks and to idle there with as much noise
as possible. This was the young cubs of the Celtic Tiger at play. These
were the lucky souls who’d inherited a country of comfort and ease. It was
some sight. Music, drinking, swimming in the sun, who wouldn’t take pleasure
in that?
But somehow it wasn’t like merely watching people have a good time. It
had that sheen of modern Ireland about it. That crass selfishness that characterises
something essentially empty. Those watching soon began to drift away from
the spectacle, from the hard in-your-face display of it all. Which probably
spoilt the fun a bit too because wealth in the new Ireland has to be ostentatious
if it is to be enjoyed. The boat for these Irish is something to be shown
off in the bay, not something to take them away to a different country.
It is not something to leave in but something to be seen in.
Of course in isolation I realise that complaining about that does make
me sound like a retired barrister writing to The Irish Times about young
people and noise. But it wasn’t in isolation. This summer saw the new Irish
popping up on every beach you thought you might laze on. Another sunny afternoon
was brought to a grinding halt by jet skis roaring up and down the surf
and virtually driving everyone else out of the water. This was a stretch
of sand I have known since childhood and the contrast between it then and
now could not be sharper. Some local authorities have talked about banning
these jet skis but the real eye opener as you sit in the sun on the strand
and listen to those engines roaring is how gadget drenched this new Ireland
is and of how all that tortured nation building has merely resulted in big
toys for big boys. It makes you laugh all the way back to your pint.
On another sheltered beach someone tells me, on a lazy Sunday, a scattering
of people dozing into their newspapers watched in amazement as a large jeep
drove onto the beach, disgorged a small family and then drove the all of
20 yards back on to the small slip road. No point in a big off road toy
like that if you don’t go off road with it every now and then and let everyone
see you doing it. So what if you then have to walk back the short distance
to the beach with a rake of people looking at you. It might make a young
child a bit embarrassed, but not the big boys of the new Ireland.
Still I wouldn’t want to give you the impression that summer was all
play here in this sunny republic. Far from it. One more day we sat on a
small, well-hidden beach watching the children play and thanking our lucky
stars that we were there. Another family arrived shortly after, the father
rowing one of the children in on his small dinghy, the mother trailing another
well manicured child along the sand. As she called out to the kids I noticed
once more the strange social phenomenon of how as Irish society becomes
less and less identifiably Irish that those who are most successful in it
and most often like their comfortable counterparts anywhere else are those
with children whose names are Irish language names. Don’t ask me why. Anyway,
as we sat in the glorious sunshine and our kids played off in the distance
with theirs, their father walked up and down the beach the whole time speaking
loudly in to his mobile phone. Business. New Ireland on the beach. God help
us.
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