Today’s blog is a simple one. I have one thing which I need to know– why do men not like to donate to charities? I never really thought about it before getting involved in this current volunteer phase of my life. And the evidence I have points to men just not giving the same attention to this part of life as women.
It has been a hazy, green week for a lot of people around the globe. Sore heads mix with sunshine. Pints of the black stuff copulate with swift and nifty chasers in pubs and bars from east to west. Giant leprechauns dance with shrieking lassies of Celtic delight. Gentle and not so gentlemen rediscover their love of what I like to call “Speedy Ostrich Yahoo Dancing”. This is when the male manages to extricate himself from the three deep bar, holding three pints of Guinness and three tumblers of Jameson whiskey balanced precariously on top – his upper torso remains rigid and balanced to prevent the alcohol from spilling, while from the waist down there is a rapid rhythm and flailing of legs which mimics the beats of the Bodhrán and fiddle pounding around room – his face is a blend of concentration, raspberry tongue and winks, as he nods and shouts back to his mates in the corner.
The more I write these blogs, the more I sound like a kill joy dry shite. The more I think about it the more I feel I am a sad boring old git, who just can’t cut it with the young kids anymore. It’s coming up in just over a week is Paddy’s day, and I just don’t feel like celebrating. What is wrong with me? How has everything changed so much? Who has given the fun a cull and put in the dull? All I want is a nice cup of coffee, some grub and maybe a shag wearing a leprechaun suit.