Handel: Ireland's greatest composer!!

Did you know that Handel was actually an Irishman?

What's that? You didn't realise? You thought he was a German or something! Pfffff. Call yourself educated (or, as my greengrocer here in Dublin likes to say in reference to his much-qualified kids, "edjumacated")

Well, neither did I realise he was Irish, and, strictly speaking, he wasn't, of course, but thanks to the fact that his opus magnus, Handel's Messiah was first aired right here in Dublin, he's kinda, sorta, become an honorary Dubliner, posthumously anyway. Every year, the city hosts a big Handel festival. It was on this very week! I didn't get to anything because I'm so busy at college right now, but I know a couple of musical types who did and they said it was fabulous. So bear it in mind if you're thinking of coming to Dublin next year. I'm just saying. Also, prepare yourself for yet more surprising revelations from the world of classical music. Luciano Pavarotti? Irish! Of course! And then there was Liam O'Beethoven and Peadar McMozart.

I'm just joking of course but, really, this love of all different types of music and the sense of urgency Dubliners seem to feel to make it theirs is really quite special. Did you know, for example, that there's a whole sub-genre of Country Music known as "Irish and Country"? Now, Country Music is not my pint of stout, but I just love the idea of these Irish girls and boys getting up and singing plaintively about life on the prairie and making it really all about them when they've likely never even been to a prairie!

Well, that's really my contribution for the day. I'm off home to make some soup (I had stopped with the soup-making, but then I found my soup recipe book under the sofa and I've started again). It's dreadful in the apartment, really, because my flatmate Bepe has been training for a marathon-type event this weekend, so the whole place is FESTOONED with hurriedly rinsed sports socks (and last night he made me look at the plasters he wears on his nipples when running; apparently men runners suffer from "athletes' nipple" -- who knew?). If it's a nice day, I might go along to the race to cheer him on, if only to celebrate the impending reduction in sports socks dangling from our little balcony!