Ash Wednesday, Thursday, Friday...
Ash Wednesday derives its name from the practice of placing ashes on the foreheads of practicing Catholics on the first day of Lent as a sign of repentance for past sins. So, what does it mean when the whole of Europe is covered, head to toe, in the volcanic ash that is being spewed out from beneath the unpronounceable (to us, anyhow) Icelandic glacier, Eyjafjallajökull. Are we being forced to repent for our boom and bust economies? Or maybe it is a reminder that nature will always have the upper hand and we ignore the land at our peril.
The ferry services, with their much gentler mode of transport, are fit to bursting as they travel between neighbouring countries with stars of stage and screen sitting beside the hoi polloi; mothers and children mixing with business people and all delighted to be on the move. The last time I went to visit my son in Liverpool I turned my back on the airport (the queues, the waiting, the loss of my innocent bottle of water) and walked down to the ferry in Dún Laoghaire with my own cup and tea bag and oatmilk (I’m very fussy). On board I was served boiling water without charge so I could whip up a brew and, once the boat had chugged out into the open sea, I took out my salad, sipped my tea and dunked a chocolate bikkie for dessert. I arrived in Liverpool, folded my book, gathered my many bags around me (no weight restrictions!) and disembarked into my son’s welcoming embrace.
Newscasters and broadcasters worldwide are going to have to learn to speak at least one word in the Icelandic language so here’s a quick guide to those who dare to name the offending glacier, Eyjafjallajökull, in a sentence as if they had been using it, casually, for years. The j is silent if that’s any help. Phonetically it looks like this: Aye-ya fyah-dla jow-kudl. Teach Yourself Icelandic by Hildur Jonsdottir is probably a step too far but maybe it’s now or never. After all, I suspect that this small remote island may well dominate the news in Europe for some time to come. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, Amen.
The ferry services, with their much gentler mode of transport, are fit to bursting as they travel between neighbouring countries with stars of stage and screen sitting beside the hoi polloi; mothers and children mixing with business people and all delighted to be on the move. The last time I went to visit my son in Liverpool I turned my back on the airport (the queues, the waiting, the loss of my innocent bottle of water) and walked down to the ferry in Dún Laoghaire with my own cup and tea bag and oatmilk (I’m very fussy). On board I was served boiling water without charge so I could whip up a brew and, once the boat had chugged out into the open sea, I took out my salad, sipped my tea and dunked a chocolate bikkie for dessert. I arrived in Liverpool, folded my book, gathered my many bags around me (no weight restrictions!) and disembarked into my son’s welcoming embrace.
Newscasters and broadcasters worldwide are going to have to learn to speak at least one word in the Icelandic language so here’s a quick guide to those who dare to name the offending glacier, Eyjafjallajökull, in a sentence as if they had been using it, casually, for years. The j is silent if that’s any help. Phonetically it looks like this: Aye-ya fyah-dla jow-kudl. Teach Yourself Icelandic by Hildur Jonsdottir is probably a step too far but maybe it’s now or never. After all, I suspect that this small remote island may well dominate the news in Europe for some time to come. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, Amen.
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