Having been involved as a consultant on the delicatessen section of Ardkeen Stores since its initiation many years ago I was particularly proud and delighted to see it used as an example of best practice in Fergal Quinn’s Retail Therapy on RTE last night.
If you missed it you can see it here on RTE Player.

Mon Mome wins last years Grand National
(and €1,300 for my daughter Deirdre)

Just last week I wrote a piece about my betting career to date, a distinguished but extremely infrequent exercise.
To save you linking here is the piece in full;

I am not at all a natural backer of horses, the risk factor always fills me with disquiet but, every so often the old genetics kick in (I come from a long line of gamblers) and I cannot resist placing a bet.

It is bizarre but two of them immediatly connect with me.
Mon Mome and I already share a marvellous history as anyone who has read my blog for the last year will know.
My only other brief successful excursion into betting was when I got a tip from the horses mouth, also in the Gold Cup many years ago, for a horse called Imperial Call.
With that success also in my mind I had to instruct Ted to put a tenner on Mon Mome (of course -and he is 150 to 1, my kind of odds ) but then I noticed that there is another horse, at much lower odds, called Imperial Commander, surely a relative of Imperial Call, so I got greedy and asked Ted to back them both.
I suppose a dead heat and a pay-out on both is unlikely ?

I got this email from my brother Ted the following day :

Martin,

Ted

In fact the same precious brother had the sense to back Imperial Commander to win and to split my tenner into a fiver each way on Mon Mome.
As a consequence I won €120 on Mon Mome being third and €90 on Imperial Commander. A nice €230 all together of winnings.
Ted also backed those same horses on my advice and so did my friend Petra.
I don’t know at all at all.
Maybe I should consider a career change to that of professional tipster .

About 25 years ago our middle daughter, Eileen , then aged four developed leukaemia. (I will fast forward before I go on and tell you that she made a complete recovery)

The shock and anguish which you face when a child has a life threatening disease can be imagined by any parent.
Our friends and family and, unexpectedly, the Irish state helped us enormously through a very tough few years.
The state immediately provided Eileen with a Long Term Illness Card, effectively a medical card which meant that all care and medicines were paid for by the state.
We were given free travel, by minibus to attend all clinics in Dublin for the duration of her treatment and granted a special hardship dole.

Thanks to this the illness gave us no financial burden over the long five years until Eileen was given a clean bill of health.

We have American friends who told us that as the same time as Eileen’s illness the child of a friend of theirs in America also developed the same disease.
They discovered that their insurance did not cover the treatment and so they sold their house and their car to pay for treating their child.

At the time I remember thinking that this was not the mark of a civilized country.
And it wasn’t, until last week when Mr. Obama got his health care bill through.

I am just back from a fast trip to Ireland, to Cork mainly to see a production of West Side Story in the Opera House.
A trip well worth making.
It is a brilliant, moving production of one of the finest musicals of the twentieth century.
The singing is terrific, the dancing fantastic and the costumes out of this world.
Click here to see the cast flash mob their way through some of the numbers on the streets of Cork last week.
The only thing that is missing with the flash mob bits is the costumes , designed by Deirdre Dwyer aka the youngest daughter.

Get to it if you can, it is selling out like hot cakes but should run for another week.

We have had a busy social life here for the last week.
Last night being St Patrick’s Day we celebrated with some Irish neighbours, Barry and Mary, (and a sprinkling of English, French and Americans) and the night before we had been entertained by some English friends, John and Pat, also in the village (with a few Scots for good measure)
John is a bit of a wine buff and he fed us a superb variety of delicious (and mostly local) wines with each course.
(I plan to go down to him with a pencil and paper next week to write down the names.)
In the course of the evening we discovered that some flamingos had decided to make a winter home on one of the beaches just down the road from us.

The following day being Patrick’s Day (and a beautiful sunny spring one) it was against our religion to work so we headed down to find them.
Unfortunately the wine had given us both temporary amnesia and when we came to it we couldn’t remember which beach held the flamingos.
We started off at Les Cabanes de Fleury,not a sign of a flamingo, and the restaurant there where we had planned to have lunch was still closed for the winter. But as we were heading back towards the east we spotted one lone pink bird flying , we thought , to Valras or Vendres Plage.

Vendres Plage was devoid of birds and also of open restaurants so, we some reluctance we headed to Valras, a place we had only previously seen in the height of summer when it is black with tourists.
Valras in winter was a quite delightful revelation having something of the air of a watering spa with all the tatty waterfront shops closed and the more genteel shops and restaurants only open in winter.
We picked at random a pretty restaurant on the prom called the Mira Mar and it turned out to be an extremely good decision.
We both had a Pissaladiere (which was the Plat de Jour for €10.50) which came as a crisp circle of flakey pastry, covered with melted onions and crisp pieces of mackerel and cuttlefish, liberally garnished with fresh thyme and capers- totally delicious.
As a very nice touch were were given a little glass of bitter chocolate ganash with the coffee.
We will be back to the Mira Mar.
After that we made a few desultory attempts to find the flamingos but we never found them.
John and Pat told us later that they are at Serignan Plage, the one we never got to.
So it looks like we will have to head off again (maybe we should include lunch.)

In November 2005 I wrote a blog about the ten reasons why I wanted to buy a house in France.

I took another look at it today and decided it was still (four and a half years after the event) reasonably true.

Ten reasons why I want to buy a house in France
(from 4/11/’05)

1. The Weather

We have spent time in France now during nearly every month of the calendar and often in very different parts.
This includes November in the Cote d’Azure and in the Loire.
Time spent by the Loire during January.
Countless Julys spent everywhere from Brittany, down through Poiteau, Charante, the Lot, The Gard, Languedoc, the Auvergne, Provence etc etc.
August in the Tarn and Roussillon, Burgundy and again the Loire.
An excellent Easter in Alsace, and on every occasion –bar one fairly miserable Easter in Normandy- we have always had better weather than we would have had in Ireland.

The evidence is clear:
The Weather is Better in France.

2. The Food

Yes I know we are getting better here and our markets are becoming much more impressive but we still have a long way to go before we reach the heady standards of the French village market.
The fact that more sun gets their fruits to optimum ripeness there is one factor, but, probably even more important, is the highly discriminatory, not to mention thrifty, French housewife who wouldn’t dream of buying any product if even the slightest bit sub standard, or overpriced.
Observe the queues outside those stalls selling the choicest fruit in the markets, then join them.
This ultimately insures the high quality and cheapness of food there.

3. The Wine

This is one of price pure and simple.
We can buy wine in France for at least half the cost of wine here, and with a little travelling and ferreting out we can spend about a quarter.
( we were buying excellent red from a local cave last summer for €1 a litre)
Add (subtract!) the consequences of that from your weekly shopping bill!

4. The People

This is not I know a popular notion in Ireland of the Welcomes but we have come across more genuine kindness and hospitality in France than we ever have else where.
I promise you that the lunettes rose are doffed, I too have come across the proverbial arrogance of Frenchmen and women but find that far outweighed by French kindness.

5. Politeness

A bit akin to the previous I know but subtly different.
The French are still trained in politeness.
In Campsites this year we noticed that children don’t pass one without a simple “Bon Jour” or “Bon Soir”or a “Bon Appetite” if one is eating.
As one enters every small shop one is greeted by choruses of “Bon Jour Monsieur/Madame”s
A small thing, but one my sister noticed in supermarkets.
The check out girls always greet you as they put your purchases through, never talk to other people in the queue when you are with them and always say “Au Revoir” as you go. Such old style manners seem to be long forgotten here.

6. The Buildings

This one is a lot to do with France’s comparative affluence during the last few centuries and also the French great respect and conservation of their history. So often we have, when ambling through side roads on moments of off motorway leisure, come across wonderful villages, unheralded by the guides, which have houses and churches untouched it seems since the 17th century.
Mind blowing stuff.

7. The Language

I just love it, from the poems I learned in my Inter cert to the songs of Françoise Hardy, the rippling “Rs” of Piaf to my current obsession Jacques Brel.
I could listen to French all day (and hope to.)

8. The Chic” ness

Men and women alike just tend to dress, and look better.
Yes I know there are exceptions to this, the women’s peculiar attachment to gold shoes and orange hair, and the mens’ even more peculiar idea that a waxed moustache is flattering not to mention their uniform when cycling, but, on the whole both sexes are a pleasure to look at.

9. The Brocantes
(for their second hand glasses)

I know my family will be amazed to see this, my well known penchant, coming in at a mere ninth but, since I no longer have a restaurant to decorate with glasses and now have about 20 boxes of glasses in storage I fell I can no longer buy with the enthusiasm I used.
I haven’t completely given up though!

10 The Culture

There are many things that make up the great charm of this country which I am now going to list under this vague heading.
In no particular order they are:

The enormous importance of food in their culture ( and the status of chefs) is music to my eyes, ears and taste buds.

The fact that old people are seen on the streets doing their own shopping (and that they trustingly hand their purses to the shopkeeper to pay)

That children are not only seen and heard but also welcomed into homes and even restaurants (and rise to the occasion when they are there)
(Obverse side of this coin is that the same applies to dogs but, what the hell, no body’s perfect!)

The great literature, and that I have yet to read most of it!

Bakeries (heavily and correctly subsidised) in nearly every village.

Savon d’Alep, that most natural soap, made from olive oil and bay leaves which never aggravates my eczema.

White peaches, freely available even in the hypermarkets.
The taste of heaven!

I have been wanting a Lemon Tree for a while now but did realise that until we were out here full time to mind it and keep it watered and safe from frost it would be a bad idea.

Last week I managed to pursuade Síle that the time was ripe and we went looking and bought the one above.

It is not bearing any fruit but has the promise of same with lots of Lemon Flower buds.

I will keep you informed of its progress.

Síle and I have always disagreed about whether or not we should build a swimming pool in the garden of our house in France.
Basically she is against and I am for.

But she has always said that she would like some sort of water feature to give a feeling of cool water in the summer.
Just last week she pointed out a picture of a lion’s heat spouting water into a trough in a French gardening magazine and explained that that was the sort of feature she would like.

On Sunday, as part of my birthday celebrations, we went to see the huge Marche de Pouce which is on every week in a suburb of Montpellier.
There at one of the first stalls Sile spotted her Lion’s Head.
M. the stall holder told her she could have it for €25.
Síle offered him €20, no deal so she decided to not get it, for the moment.
About an hour later, on our way out of the market, we spotted that the Lion’s head was still for sale.
This time Madame, wife of the stallholder was doing the dealing.
She told Síle that the price was €50, but that she could have it for €30.

Síle protested, M. was summonsed, he said that “Yes , he had offered it for sale for €25 ” Whereby M. and Madame had a large stand up row behind their stall.
We watched in fascination, more determined than ever to acquire the head, even for the €25 first refused.
Eventually Madame thrust it at Síle and begrudgingly sold it for €25- at this stage we were convinced we had got a bargain.
But then again maybe the row was a set piece by this two to convince everyone they were getting things on the cheap.

Whichever we are now the proud owners of a rather magnificent rusty iron Lion’s Head.

I am not at all a natural backer of horses, the risk factor always fills me with disquiet but, every so often the old genetics kick in (I come from a long line of gamblers) and I cannot resist placing a bet.

My brother Ted is in Cheltenham for the races this week and I got a sackcloth and ashes text from him last night as he had done the unforgivable and forgotten my birthday.

For reparation I have commissioned him to back a horse at the festival for me and to this end have just spent the last half hour studying the names of the Gold Cup runners.

It is bizarre but two of them immediatly connect with me.
Mon Mome and I already share a marvellous history as anyone who has read my blog for the last year will know.
My only other brief successful excursion into betting was when I got a tip from the horses mouth, also in the Gold Cup many years ago, for a horse called Imperial Call.
With that success also in my mind I had to instruct Ted to put a tenner on Mon Mome (of course –and he is 150 to 1, my kind of odds ) but then I noticed that there is another horse, at much lower odds, called Imperial Commander, surely a relative of Imperial Call, so I got greedy and asked Ted to back them both.
I suppose a dead heat and a pay-out on both is unlikely ?

We are so lambasted in Ireland with notions of Le Style Francais that we get to expect that they are impeccible in terms of style and savoir faire.

In fact we have discovered that the French take to (what we call) “Bad Taste” with a relish undiscovered in Ireland.
One has only to look at their love of silver shoes, artificial flowers and the strange colours the ladies dye their hair.

We get , with our free “Publicite” every week a brochure from a crowd called Temps L.

A particularly tasteful birthday cake decoration which they offer in their pages I have taken a fancy to.

It starts life as a closed Lotus Blossom which you place on the cake and light.
Once you light it it shoots a column of flame into the sky whistling as it does so;
“Happy Birthday To You”.

Then it gradually unfolds, as it does, the individual petals light from the main flower and so become like a star burst and then it turns , all aflame and still tinkles “Happy Birthday ” all the time.
I would have, I confess, adored it as a child, (or as an adult would someone buy it for me)
If by any chance you (like me) want to see this whole process on video simplly click on to;
www.tempsl.fr

And dispair not, it also comes in blue for a boy.