As we sat down to a feed of spuds tonight Nelly and Bert kept commenting on how awesome the potatoes were. I've heard them, and Pearlie, chatting about great potatoes before but to me spuds are just spuds. Bert commented on the two I picked from the plate saying they were the last two he'd go for. He put my lack of knowing a good potato down to me being half English. If I was pure bred Irish I'd know the difference between a good spud and a bad spud.
So Nelly was asking me if I felt like I was half English and I said I did when I was younger and I thought England was brilliant and Ireland was shit but less so now that I'm older and I think England's shit and Ireland's brilliant. I think I became sentimentally Irish when I went to uni in England and I got sick of having to repeat everything I said and people making 'Irish' jokes and comments about potatoes (Ha! How ironic). And as Dylan Moran points out, English people just can't help mocking our accents. I do love the English though, hating them would be like hating myself. And there are many, many brilliant English people just the same as there are many, many Irish tossers.
2 comments:
You never said a word about us growing the spuds ourselves!
There, look see, I changed the title of my post. So they weren't the spuds I from off the Van Man then?
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