Today is my favourite aunt’s birthday [or possibly not, this was a matter of some dispute between the American authorities and my grandmother; to be fair, you would think she would know]. When I was forced at age 11 to move from a larger house to a smaller one, the only comfort was that my aunt lived next door. And she still does and now when we visit Cork, my children wander into her house and eat her food, watch her television and play her piano just like my brother and sister and I have been doing for 30 years. I had better not tell the children that in summer she played soccer with us in the back garden until it got dark.
Hi Belgianwaffle, perhaps you will not publish this comment but you are mistaken. We moved in 1980 and Aunt did not move next door until later – 1983 I think. Indeed perhaps I am too pendantic as one should never left the truth interfere with a good story.
I believe the 20th was the longest day of the year this year because of it being a leap year. I could be wrong.
Even though you were only four when we moved you are probably right as I have a dim recollection of Aunty Pat’s move and the constant driving across town to try to persuade Ginger to leave Bishopstown. But, you know, it’s like Al Gore’s dog’s drugs, although the story isn’t true in every detail, the message it’s trying to get across is true.
Ken, this post only seems to attract accuracy comments. You’re probably right. Sigh. On the other hand, her birthday may be the 20th so all is well.