Riverdancing

I’m celebrating a minor triumph. Not the fact that I just got my foot stuck in the duvet and miraculously didn’t fall on my face but that tonight middle child asked for beans on toast and finding the cupboard devoid of the usual tins of baked beans I warmed some black beans instead with passata and a splash of apple balsamic and he munched it all happily with absolutely no hint of rejection. I was surprised and wondered maybe sometimes I expect too little from them.

Valentines choux with Yorkshire Forced rhubarb and blood orange

We’re on a reset here, I’m easing myself back into a different rhythm; more focus and attention on things that may have been slightly on the back burner and a better understanding of where my time and energy should be devoted. I’m constantly learning from the various interactions I have daily, whether that’s reading other writers work or spending time in the company of friends, there are always things I glean from the endless wonder and fascinating unpredictability of humans. I think it’s important to remember that you are a lifelong learner and not to ever get too big for your boots, ego is dangerous and maybe your massive (self-obsessed) annoying shadow can block out all the interesting and beautiful incidentals that make life great.

Sunshine has been a stranger

Maybe it’s the big ego of Michael Flately that has got me thinking about Riverdance completely out of the blue. We spent a good bit of time up in Churchill in Donegal when my aunt and uncle lived there in the nineties and some of the times we had there together are forever etched in my mind as ‘core memories.’ The time we walked on the frozen lake, the day we decided to climb Muckish completely unprepared, seeing the Poisoned Glen for the first time, fishing, swimming and rowing the boat on long summer days with picnics on the lake isles and that late night session in the pub when we were too young to be there but sat with eyes wide and skin goosebumpy when the crowd hushed for someone to sing.

The Sun!

We sat in their cosy living room in spring 1994, settling into the sofas to watch the Eurovision Song contest and I remember being transfixed, big time goosebumps. Even now when I watch that original 7-minute performance I am a wobbly with a sense of pride, is it pride? Everything about that show was carefully considered and resulted in a massive cultural shift for Ireland- an emergence into the modern world where our myths and legends and traditions could be celebrated in the context of contemporary life, the Celtic Tiger pounced. Our stereotype of simple people eking a living off the hills and bogs became a mystical retelling of gorgeous iconography of nymph like dancers, ancient beauty in landscape and an inherent richness of music and art.

We could turn a blind eye to the excessive commercialisation aspect, the pandering to the nationalistic romanticism of an Ireland that never really existed but when push comes to shove maybe we’re happy to accept a bit of artificial Irishism if it makes us feel good, it had a hazy green positivity that we could get behind. I was captivated. At the start of the following year Riverdance had become a full-length stage show and we went to the opening week at the Point theatre in Dublin. We were up on the balcony above the stage and I sat in total awe of the incredible performances by the musicians and dancers. Afterwards I wrote a letter to the lead dancers Jean Butler and Michael Flatley and they replied, which seems unlikely now. Though maybe it was someone in the admin department faking autographs.

I’m constantly evaluating and questioning my sense of identity as I think it’s an interesting and fluid thing; I have a sense of place and belonging but wonder in the grand scheme of things why that really matters. I am proud to live in such a beautiful landscape among amazing people but I check the listings for houses for sale elsewhere when I see or hear our politicians making such a big noise about the importance of their identity rather than solutions for the dire state of the health service, education budgets and lack of public services. I wonder why that’s their agenda when it could all be much better for everyone if people and their loved ones were happier, more secure and more comfortable in their daily lives.

We chat of such things and other absolute nonsense as we walk along the beach of our childhood. Me and my brothers have carved out an annual sibling day; this is our fourth and we hike the path we know so well with our picnic followed by pints and chips in the pub. It was a miracle that we stayed dry as along with much of the rest of this island and the UK it hasn’t stopped raining in what seems like forever.

Thankfully I’ve been able to react quickly to any dry periods this week and have had the children out for a run about along the coast when we can. Their enthusiasm not as obvious as mine. But once we’re out in the wilds they love it, coats zipped against biting winds and we watch the curlew, walk the sheep track and scour the shoreline for treasure. I wonder what sort of sense of place and identity they’ll have as they get older as the eldest already grapples with the complexities of friends in school with confident formed opinions on our history, and I have to explain how sadly one sided they sound and wonder how our society will ever move on. Maybe we need another Riverdance. This time with the beauty of diversity, representative of all the cultures of people living here, the positivity of youth, letting go of those old ideals dancing with pride into the future.

Pancake day was one of my absolute favourite days of the year but since none of the children like crepes there’s not much point making them for only me. They’ll most likely favour the drop scones that I make at breakfast sometimes or the American style stack that we all are so used to these days, though personally I’m not fussed. At the risk of pancake rebellion these little fritter things are really great and they tick the box for pancake day in my opinion. I had mine with a radicchio salad which I have been eating almost everyday, obsessed by those bitter leaves.

Put a frying pan on a medium high heat. Add a tablespoon olive oil when heated and let heat.

Makes 4 - I ate them all myself as I was starving but could feed 2 if you’ve other sides

1 egg

100g frozen peas

40g wholemeal spelt flour

5g baking powder

half a green chilli, chopped

garlic clove, grated

30g seeds- I used flax and sesame

15g grated parmesan

salt and pepper

In a bowl whisk the egg then add everything else with a splash of water and mix well to bring together. Spoon out 4 heaped mounds into the pan and fry for a few minutes then flip carefully and cook for another few minutes until golden and crispy.