THE WAY THINGS ARE

How would the British public feel if someone stole old Nelson from his plinth, or a lion from Trafalgar Square, placed them in their museum and refused to give them back, knowing they are inherently British? Neither are as old, beautiful or as valuable as the ancient pieces held captive in England.

The Parthenon marbles were taken in the full knowledge that they were not the property of the occupying Ottomans to hand over, they were sculpted by Greeks depicting their stories, and their very obvious place is with the marbles that still decorate the Parthenon.

Where do principle and honesty stand now? They have become bartering commodities when one trader is stronger, more influential than another.  

Some leaders in today’s political fairground pick and choose where their honesty settles its gaze then turn voluntarily away. Principles are chosen depending on whom the player has aligned themselves with, even if they are behaving lawlessly.

Britain stands by its right to hold the Falklands Islands; the Argentinians disagree. Political speechifying at the UN was in focus recently, and particularly biting comments came from the president of Argentina.

I have no personal gripe with Argentina, yet, it seemed remarkably hypocritical to accuse the Brits of illegal occupation while speaking sympathetically and energetically about an Israel that is occupying Gaza and whose IDF has killed thousands there.

The late, much loved, John Denver penned a song called Rhyme and Reasons in which he sang, ‘And we wonder where we’re going, where’s the rhyme and where’s the reason?’ That’s a question some Irish asked themselves here.

It was rare cause indeed for happy, mutual celebration that the two small islands bookending the EU should hold its council presidency in the same year. There could have been more shared public celebrations as both islands have prospered, Ireland extremely well, and share a love of music and dance.

However, there was a buzz on social media among the Cypriot Gaels due to consternation over a post lauding a successful display of Irish dancing and music in Nicosia. ‘Were you invited?’ How come we heard nothing?’ Etc.

Usually the Irish embassy in Nicosia informs us in advance by email of upcoming events to do with Ireland or Cyprus-Ireland. We had heard nothing because we, the children of a lesser Irish god, were not invited, it was a sponsored ‘private’ party for VIPS, and thus, access was limited to an upper-level audience.

The embassy suggested I contact the Department of Foreign Affairs with our mutterings of hurt at being left out to ask why, as Ireland can afford it, was that EU celebration, in an island with so much shared history and similarity of nature not opened up to the Cypriot public and to those of us Irish who have lived here many years, who mix and mingle everyday with our fellow Cypriots, answer their questions about home, give a good impression as decent people, friends and neighbours and are actually the real representatives ofIreland to the locals?

I dusted off the old bod, girded my flab into a swimsuit like an overstuffed sausage as best I could and went for a swim, late September is the most blissful time to dip. I love the water, swam till breathless, sadly aware my old bones aren’t as strong as they were against the sea. I lay prone beneath the flapping umbrella.

Peace and contentment overload, then plack, plack, plack, plack, two middle-aged men playing beach hard ball. My friend sighed they’d stop soon. They didn’t until I politely asked them to move away, they obliged. What is it with men and their balls, do they have to play everywhere? Rhyme and reason?