French Doors open into the garden, listening to the GAA on the Radio, leaves changing colour. I love this time of year! Even if my home county or adopted county are not in any of the finals.
It brings back many happy memories of my childhood. It was of topmost importance that the wireless would be brought to the town and charged ready for the big match. Times moved on and the wireless became the electric radio. Bunting was still hung from the windows, neighbours gathered. Mugs of tea were passed around with heavily buttered currant bread. When there wasn’t enough space inside people stood outside and the windows were opened to allow everyone to hear the radio. Oh the excitement waiting for the cultured tones of Micháel O’Heir describing the action unfolding in Croke Park.
Family and friends together on a Sunday afternoon
I still like to “watch” the match on the radio. Now I open the French Doors go out to the patio light the chiminee, invite friends around for the match. Inside some watch on the flat screen, some on the ipad, some on the smartphones, others just get updates on twitter. French Doors are wedged open as listener and viewer alike flit from inside to outside and device to device. People still gather to give their opinion on the games action.
Ah nostalgia is not what is used to be. Now Marty Morrissey transports us to the game. The currant bread has become ciabatta and salami. The tea has morphed into Pino Grigio or craft beer.
One thing that hasn’t changed we still love to get together for the big match as the action unfolds