Ah yes, it’s that rare-ish bird, the Spud Sunday that arrives on a Monday. Still, better a late spud than no spud at all, eh?
Bizarrely enough, it was a car park that I had, at first, been most excited about as I set off on my travels to Limerick.
Not just any old car park, mind, but the Potato Market Car Park (the clue to my excitement was, of course, in the name – I am nothing if not predictable in the matter of all things tuber). Established on the banks of the Shannon in Limerick around 1843, the Potato Market’s primary purpose has not, however, been as a place of trade in potatoes or any other commodity for quite some time. Though the market buildings were refurbished in the 1980s, the riverside location mainly functions as a place in which to park – though admittedly it’s somewhat picturesque as car parks go – with a series of open bays lined along the river and a footbridge leading to the Hunt Museum in the old Custom House building on the opposite bank of the Shannon. Though there was nary a spud to be seen, I think, perhaps, that I just like the fact that Limerick once had such a thing as a Potato Market, even if I can only imagine, fancifully, what it might, at one time, have been like.
The Potato Market, Limerick: nowadays, the only spuds you'll find are the ones in the signage
Top o' the mornin' granola
It is a testament to Paddy O’Connell’s superb selling skills that l would have bought his bags of granola regardless of what they actually contained. As it happens, Paddy’s O’Granola was well worth the investment, as my breakfasts lately will testify.
That granola was just one of the edibles either in my bag or in my belly following what was a thoroughly enjoyable visit to this year’s Taste of Dublin festival. The enjoyment was helped, of course, by the fact that the sun was shining. And there were lots of bubbles. Like so…
What springs to mind when you hear the word culture?
Does it conjure up images of the arts and theatre, dahling?
Or does your mind turn to those things that help to define a shared national identity?
Or do you think, instead, of buttermilk? (in which case your view of culture would appear to be rather more bacterial than regional)