The beginning of 2013
heralds the year of The Gathering in
Ireland. Thousands of tourists and members of the Irish diaspora are expected
to arrive on our rainy island in the north Atlantic. But when you gather here,
dear tourist, there are some things you should be aware of. If you are a non-Irish visitor in
Ireland it is very important that you prepare yourself for our most popular
topic of conversation: the weather. It is the mercurial nature of the Irish
weather that means it is a topic which keeps on giving. If you are from
continental Europe you may be used to discussing things such as art and fine
food. If you are from America you may be used to discussing how happy you are. There is little
room for such indulgences in the Irish conversation. While the weather is our
most popular topic of conversation, the weather in itself is not popular and
should only be discussed in jaundiced tones. Betrayal of merriment will be met
with suspicion. We spend great swathes of time speaking about something over which we have virtually no control. But this is our right. It is important for us to do this. The IMF controls our finances but nobody can control our weather. We comment at length on something which our interlocutor is already aware of. The weather is shared. It is not a secret to be disclosed. No matter. To point out the obvious is also our right.
Speaking about the
weather is in our DNA. Our parents and grandparents do it. We are the
inheritors of a strange and very Irish idiosyncrasy. Of course our British
neighbours too are famously fond of weather-talk. However, while we share in
our topic, we diverge in our method; our vocabulary is unique. It is the words
we use that betray the most about us. And in the weather we seem to find an
outlet for a peculiar Irish poetry.
A typical and polite
conversation with a fellow Irishman will consist of the following:
“Damp”
“It is”
“She’s to get worse”
“She is”
“It’s fierce”
“Blustery too”
“Ah stop”
“I’m not wrong”
“You’re not”
This is a conversation,
with inevitable variables, that you will need to be prepared to repeat several
times a day. If you like our country and decide to remain here (The Remaining, as opposed to The Gathering), taking up a job as a taxi
driver perhaps, this is a conversation you will need to repeat endlessly,
perhaps fifteen times an hour during a busy spell. You may find it exhausting
to begin with, but you must persevere, dear tourist. The depths of the Irish
soul can be glimpsed in a diatribe about the saturation of our slopes, our
moistened mountains, the iciness of our little islands, the fierceness of our
fogs, the unbearable swirls of our storms and the infinite whirls of our winds.
Our immediate referral
to the state of the weather is a way for us to connect with each other without
becoming personal. In your country, tourist, you may ask each other about your
feelings. One is advised against that here. If you find yourself in a traffic
accident and need to call the emergency services, a brief prelude about the
weather is advised if one wants the treatment one desires. If you begin the
conversation too hastily with “Two of my passengers are seriously injured”, for
example, you should expect a response such as, “Is it damp where you are?” We build an easy rapport through an
unthreatening discourse on something which is unlikely to invite any argument.
What is essential,
tourist, is to never betray any sense of good fortune about the weather. We may
have been Americanised in many ways, from the use of microwaves to airplanes,
but allowing oneself to become happy with a sunny day is unforgiveable. Many an
American tourist has been caught commenting favourably on the weather. If you
do this, the Irish native will find himself at a loss when confronted with your
contentment and probably move away from you. In the winter we like to complain
of the cold and in the summer we give out about the heat (if it comes).
A common pitfall of the
tourist is to describe the weather directly. This is an affront to the local
characteristic of being indirect about everything. I would recommend the use of
negatives in order to achieve this. “It’s not warm” is a popular way of
describing a cold day. Conversely, “It’s not cold” is often used during the
summer months. However, to say “It is cold” betrays an honesty and frankness
which may concern the Irishman and will probably create a distance between you.
In Ireland we like to
use female personification in order to describe things. From washing machines
to cars, there is a tradition of this. “She’s bitter” is a common way of
describing a cold day. This may be difficult for you to get used to. If you use
this you may be anxious that people will interpret it as a slight on your wife
if she is standing next to you. But worry not. We will trust that it is not
your spouse who is bitter of character but the state of the weather. We have no
interest in your wife, only the weather.
It is common for
tourists to make the mistake of initiating interesting conversations about art
and the theatre. If you say “I simply love Japanese theatre” to an Irish
person, the response will inevitably be “It’s very blustery out”. At this point
it is best to either engage with their line of conversation or else make a
polite excuse and wander off.
There are two ways to
impress your Irish hosts during your stay on the island. Firstly, we love to
forecast the weather. I am not talking about relaying the television’s
predictions. Rather, give your own analysis of what is in store for us. A
popular phrase would be “It’s due to get worse at the weekend”. Please note the
absence of any meteorological terms in this sentence. The ability to discuss
the weather without using any words directly related to the weather is the
highest form of eloquence in this country. If you can marry this technique with
the female personification – for example, “She’s due to be fierce come Sunday”
– you will be heralded as a native before long. The Normans were not described
as “more Irish than the Irish themselves” because of their engagement with
Irish traditions such as our native sports or our religious heritage but rather
for their swift adoption of phrases to describe the weather. Their example
should be an inspiration to you, tourist.
The second and most
effulgent method of impressing the native islander is to use words to describe
the state of the day which are not traditionally used for that purpose. The
most popular example is the word “close”. In the standard British lexicon it
relates to proximity. In the Irish vernacular it means “humid”. For example,
the phrase “It’s very close” should be used when you are feeling uncomfortably
warm. Use of this word can cause confusion. When I lived in London I took an
attractive young lady for a drink in a pub. When we sat down she positioned
herself next to me. To begin our conversation, of course I described the
weather on that warm evening by saying “very close”. She apologised and moved
to the other side of the table.
I hope you enjoy your
stay in our country, tourist. But be warned, don’t enjoy it too much. The Irish
like to keep general enjoyment levels quite low so as to maintain enough
material to dislike. We will welcome you with open arms.
ENDS
