Signs From The Gods #1
Maybe it’s an over-reaction on my part.
Before I move countries there’s alway a sign. A sign that things just aren’t quite right where you are, and that maybe the gods themselves want to let you know that they’re not going to improve.
In the late 80s I attempted to end a period of economic exile in England and return to living in Ireland, even though all that had changed about Ireland in the 2 years I’d been away was the appearance of a few statues in Dublin to celebrate mass long-term unemployment reaching the 1,000 year mark.
And I nearly pulled it off. Twice I made it to the final 2 in the selection process for jobs. Both times my almost-employer gave not being able to understand how I didn’t have a job as the reason for not giving me the job. A standard case of the rich get richer and the poor get statues.
Still though, the final 2 was close so I walked into town and swanned around pretending I did have a job - to try and imagine what it would feel like to be employed in my own city. So far as I could make out it involved eating lunch by the side of a fountain. I can do that, I said to myself, and then I spent my long term savings on the paper and in the dark started the walk home.
Being a pro-active kind of person - which means I resemble a short stumpy bottle of sporting prowess - I took a detour. After walking the quays I entered the Phoenix Park at Islandbridge and headed towards the tallest structure in Dublin 8. It’s not the quickest way there but entering a stile and walking up those steps was always a treat as a kid and since I was treating myself to pretending that I was employed I thought I’d treat myself to some time travel to boot.
When I reached Wellington’s monument I sat on the granite sloping steps and took out my Irish Times. Yes it was pitch dark but there was a full moon giving ample light for reading so I turned to the job pages to plot my return to an employed life in Ireland.
And then somebody turned the moon off.
Had I taken my paper out earlier I would have known that a lunar eclipse was coming, but I know a hint when I see one. Or don’t see one, if you will. So I left the country.
I’ll detail another sign from the gods tomorrow.
More From Ireland’s Non-Boom Time:
• Feast or Famine: Unemployment Assistance
• In Dublin, Unemployed and Wearing a Suit
• Homesick Cures For Irish Economic Migrants
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
Hmmm there’s another one coming up at the end of February be warned! I’m always on the look-out for signs that I should move back. Problem is I’m just too lazy.. somebody really needs to come and get me and take me back otherwise I fear I may never leave.
our lives are in the laps of the gods…unfortunately, they occasionally stand up!
Got me. When it comes to judging the import of important portents, I’m impotent.
Difficult.
You could always pretend to be Polish.
Conortje - Somebody actually taking you, even kidnapping, could be considered a sign.
Martha - Yes, or they dance sitting down!
Sam - Prophetic. Maybe you should judge the import of Irish blogs?
Bock - In the late 1980s? Do Polish people see better in the dark?
I have it on good authority that Polish people not only see better in the dark, but that also they go down the plug in an anti-clockwise direction in any large experimental human sink.
Best regards
An Important Physicist BSc.