If only I lived as a North Korean peasant in the presence of Kim Jung Un. The special one has discovered a new treatment to prevent aging and cancer – water. Water from the sacred Mt Koryong. And the benevolent leader has bottled it for his 27 million subjects to buy.
If like me, you like your water infused with rose petals and oxygen, collected from the tears of water nymphs, regurgitated by the Dalai Lama himself and spit into a bottle, then the following might interest you.
According to Nth Korean scientists “There are nano-tracks in human’s cell membrane and only smaller molecule water can pass it. Such water is absorbed rapidly into human body to promote metabolism of cells and works as antioxidant to prevent the accumulation of peroxides, retard aging and prevent cancer.”
And the water is indeed sacred, there is a never ending supply. According to reports “Geologists and management officials of the spring water factory have not yet measured the exact volume of water. However, much they pump the water, it never diminishes.”
Its claimed that is has mysterious energies, and cleverly nicknamed ‘clear water’. I suppose ‘murky water’ wouldn’t do.
I suspect Kim himself told his scientists to find the cure for cancer or else face a cruel tortuous death. Low and behold, there it was starting them in the face.. water..
What your choice of water says about you.
Coconut Water :– You are a hypochondriac totally taken in by the hype. You’re never more than 5 ft. from a yoga mat and you firmly believe that drinking coconut water will allow you to remain in a Downward Dog position when you’ve passed the 100 year mark. You don’t really like the taste, but that’s the price of being a smug health freak.
Fiji Water :- You like taking selfies of your gym body, you never pass a glass without checking your reflection to confirm that you still have it.
Tap water :- Tap water ceased to be acceptable in 1989. You are obviously very very old….
Smart Water:- You’re not that smart but you like to show everyone that you’re tech savvy. You believe the junk science behind electrolytes that replenish lost energy. You want to know what the Ph balance is but don’t understand what it means.
Evian :- An acceptable choice for a domestic Goddess. It has the ‘Je ne sais quoi’ factor. Would do if San Pellegrino not available.
San Pellegrino:- Sweet nectar of the Gods. Lets be clear, this is not merely a bottle of water but an accessory, and we all live by the old adage “Accessories doth mak’eth the woman”. Your Chloe handbag is just the right size for carrying it but you’d rather keep it in your hand.
LidlAldi own brand:- You are the intellectual superior to everyone. You know it makes sense, it’s functional, cheaper and of equal quality to Evian and you can bulk buy when doing your grocery shop. You actually understand the junk science about electrolytes in water. You think Louis Vouton plays for Arsenal and your idea of a perfect holiday is a potholing expedition in Donegal.
Tipperary Spring :- You are a country bumpkin. You prefer a night by the fire knitting Aran jumpers to a night on the tiles.
Water Fountain: – Your homeless, but hey, you have the edge on everyone else, you’re drinking free clean water…
Tap Dancing School – ‘We only use tap water.’
Is there anything quite as divine as Italian everything..Italian food, Italian scenery, Italian weather.. Italian fashion..Italian wine.
I’m still high on from spending a few days living la dolce vita where I combined all the above. My fabulous nephew and his beautiful bride tied the knot in the little fairytale village of Titignano in the hills just north of Rome. I’d run out of superlatives if I tried to describe this magical setting, so instead let me tell you a tale of two cocktails (or three, or was it four?)
Seated at our tables for the wedding feast (and it was a feast), we noted the menu seemed to have no less than five courses, each course four or five options, all delicious yummy sounding mouth watering treats for the palate, what to choose?. Before the waiter came to take orders, our first course arrived. Bruschetta, like I’ve never tasted before..
Molly informed us that an Old Fashioned was the last word in cocktails. A concoction of whiskey, sugar and bitters. My better half volunteered to sample one, take one for the team. He never drinks cocktails…his mantra ‘thou shalt drink only manly pints of Guinness’ was out the window.
And the food kept coming. Goose, wild boar..each offering more tempting than the last. Thank God I’d decided against wearing Spanx. Plenty of room for expansion..… bring it on. If someone is kind enough to invite you to join in their special day, isn’t it your duty to let your hair down, overindulge, have an amazing time? Never let it be said I’d shirk my duty..
Ahh!! St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin
When I was ten, St Patrick was a hero, the reason we had a day off school. The only downside was that it was a holy day of obligation which meant mass was required.
The parade was pretty sad by today’s standards. A procession of floats from local businesses and brass bands but the party atmosphere was always the draw. Somehow we’d manage to wiggle your way up to the front to get a look at the American cheerleaders who we thought were beyond fabulous. I would feel so sorry for them with their dazzling white smiles, freezing their butts off in star spangled outfits which showed way too much leg for our Artic temperatures. We were toasty in our newly knitted Aran sweaters.
This tradition, I repeated with my own kids when they were small, including sending them into the garden to find the shamrock. (I didn’t knit new Aran jumpers for them, even I’m not that perfect. My mother, their grandmother did).
In fairness, they kept their side of the bargain with the desecration of the sitting room sofa, and the destruction of the kitchen with green gunge.
Myself and Himself headed off for a one night stay in Westport (or as Bridget Jones would say a ‘full blown mini-break weekend’). It’s a three hour drive from Dublin so I thought I could cajole him into making it two nights, but he couldn’t be persuaded. In retrospect this was a good plan as the parting comment from my teenage son as we left “I’ll only have a few of my mates over, just one or two”(yeah right..)
On Saturday night we found a nice corner in an old pub and nestled in for the night for what we thought would be a few quiet drinking. By 9.30 the place was full. At 10pm the live music arrived, a couple of guys with guitars. For the week that was in it, they started playing David Bowie numbers to our absolute delight. A sing song of sorts erupted. A handful of girls there on a hens weekend appeared and livened up the proceedings. A makeshift dance floor no bigger than a postage stamp allowed the hens to strut their stuff. They were lets say ‘spirited’ but not messy, just givin’ it socks. The place heaving with people at this stage, encouraged by the sing song, the guitar guys decided to crank it up a notch. The usual crowd pleasers belted out ‘Sweet Caroline’ , ‘Brown Eyed Girl’, ‘Uptown Funk’ weirdly interspersed with a few traditional Irish ballads. I looked around, everyone seemed to be joining in a woozy rendition of ‘Jean Genie’ .
