Northern Ireland Confidential

i love rock 'n' roll

Fewer than 24 hours until Jason and the Scorchers in London, then Paul Weller a few days after that. Some business travel and a reunion with a dear US friend are on the itinerary as well. Quite an extensive road show for Mapgirl in coming days: 5 cities, 6 days. Lots of trains. At least I'm not heading through Terminal 5.

The day before vacation holiday is always jam-packed in the Mapgirl world. There is so much time pressure I'm surprised I don't convert from coal to diamond. Pre-holiday Mapgirl is not fun, as longtime readers know, but she is doing a much better job of concealing it.

Today I was talking to a rather staid, upper level guy, and I confessed I'm going to see bands on my holiday. He perked up at the mention of Paul Weller. "I have all his albums, going back to the Jam!" he enthused. Paul Weller is an institution here. I love that.

No promises of reports from the road, but yes, I am taking a computer. And a camera. Stay tuned.

whew

This arrived about 9:30 a.m. today, ironically enough.

Download jury_duty.pdf

making friends on botanic avenue

I wanted sushi. That's why I was parallel parking on Botanic, a scenario that could only lead to problems.

It did. I was negotiating my giant-arse car into a space and I tapped the vehicle behind me. I sat in my car trying to find paper, pen, and any last shred of self-confidence about driving here.

When I eventually got out of the car, the other owner was standing there to greet me.

"You hit my car," he said. He was no more than 20 years old and he was not happy. "I was standing in the chip shop and we saw you." [We saw you. Och.]

my table linens are not a political statement

Each of us is blessed with certain gifts. Mine tend toward finding parallels between real life and specific episodes of "The Simpsons."

My mother, and so many other people I know, are gifted in making entertaining look easy. I thought of this last week when I was the guest of a hostess who prepared an incredible meal and served it in gold-rimmed china. Her gracious manner and ease in the dining room and kitchen belied the hours of preparation that go into such an enjoyable day.

When I was growing up, my parents hosted someone for Sunday noon dinner nearly every single week. The kids set the table on Saturday night, my mom pressed some buttons on the oven on Sunday morning, we went to church, and little elves came into our home and fixed a wonderful pot roast. Then we came home, our houseguests arrived, and we all ate it.

You can imagine my surprise in recent years when I realised that the faceless Sunday noon food preparation conglomerates, after the elves' failed attempt at unionisation, outsourced all their magical duties to emerging markets, so now my mother and other hostesses have to do all the hard labour themselves.

self-satisfied

Tonight I took my cloth shopping bag and walked to the local grocery store, bought some lasagna and cakes and flowers, paid with my debit card, and strolled home. Happy days.

It was a beautiful evening, everyone on footpath smiled at one another, and I had dinner sorted for my guests tomorrow night.

My triumph may seem quite trivial, but consider Mapgirl Dark Secret #39: I am shockingly unskilled in the domestic arts and entertaining.

paradigm shift

This morning it was announced on Radio 2 that "The BBC would like to wish Her Majesty the Queen a happy birthday, and many happy returns of the day." Then brass swelled and a regal version of "My Country 'Tis of Thee" was played.

Oops. I mean "God Save the Queen" was played. 

Liz, hope it was a rockin' birthday.

Uncle, I hope yours was enjoyable, even if no music was broadcast nationally in your honor.

because life is short

I bought a Paul Weller ticket. Expect better economic news out of the UK because I think this transaction must have boosted the gross domestic product in some way.

I wavered for about a week, but two people with impeccable musical judgment said something to me like, "Why wouldn't you buy a ticket to see him?" I truly could not think of any reason except money.

In fact, my friendship with that guy at the Teddy Thompson concert was cemented when he said, quite simply, "In the future you won't remember the money -- but you'll remember seeing him. And he is special."

Well said.

This has been a guiding principle throughout my life. I have seen Paul Weller before, at the Royal Albert Hall in 2003, one of the greatest musical events EVER (but not without its hassle and expense -- apparently I do still recall those parts). I remember the overwhelming wave of joy that came as I stood in the Royal Albert Hall to see Pete Townshend, Paul, and a cavalcade of British rock stars. It was worth it, tenfold.

all because of french toast

I spent a long and enjoyable afternoon as the guest of some people from my church, who live close to Bangor. At one point I stole a look at my watch and realised that all commerce would come to a screeching halt in about 40 minutes, which meant I needed to get to the nearest grocery store as soon as possible.

[Apologies to AIB: this meant Knocknagoney Tesco.]

Using my kitchen is a high priority, and using up the quickly perishable items is another, so I knew I was having French toast for dinner tonight. Even I can make that. Kind of. But where in the world was syrup?

I did about 12 laps around the Tesco, looking very calm and composed but inside wondering if there is a secret Norn Iron word for syrup, like treacle or something. I was in an aisle I felt sure would have syrupy-type products, but no luck. Finally I broke down and asked another shopper. This technique has yielded mixed results in the past. I had a rather terse reply in the digestives aisle a few weeks ago, which put the fear in me about approaching others.

This shopper, instantly picking up on my American accent, said, "Oh yes, we have syrup. It's right here," and then pointed to a shelf about 12 cm from where we were standing.

it has been known to happen

I have tea with my work group almost every day. We sit and pledge that we won' t have scones the next day, but then we do. Scones are lovely.

Today talk turned to music, and we found that we all ardently admire Paul Weller's body ... of work. Paul is playing in England on the bank holiday, and I will be just one hour from the gig. Kismet? Yes, I say. General opinion is that I should attend, and perhaps arrange a team off-site meeting in the general admission area of the Victoria Theatre.

Usually at tea time we talk about the children of the people in the work group. I keep asking when I am going to get to meet these children, because they really sound delightful. One woman's daughter is apparently as curious about me as I am about her. A few weeks ago the woman told her family that I want to have a team day where we all get together. The daughter said, "That sounds good -- as long as we can have it in America."

By America, I'm sure she meant Orlando.

Today the woman told me that her daughter asked her, "Hey, does your boss come in in the morning and say, 'Hi, y'all!!' ?"

things I've learned recently

• The Stranmillis Road does not have a cut-through to the Malone Road after Chlorine Gardens. I found this out on foot, the hard way. Silver lining: it's a really nice walk.
• Stores here close at 8 p.m. on Saturday. (Seriously!)  I found this out the hard way. That's how I ended up with Plan B, having dinner at the Pizza Hut in Yorkgate on a Saturday night. Pretty lame. Silver lining: I can say I have eaten at Pizza Huts on three continents.
• 1 stone = 14 pounds. I think everyone should start listing body weight in stone, because then it just sounds so much less. Best way to drop a stone: Stay out of Pizza Huts on three continents.
• I know the difference between University Road, University Square and University Street. The Donegall-themed streets, quays, parks, squares, passes, roads, warrens, etc. remain a cosmic mystery.
• I can leave as late as 7:25 a.m., not at 7 a.m., to avoid traffic. That's probably something I'm better off not knowing!