cousins and cozenage

 

Sitting around the table at Aunty Teresa's.

Cousin Frances, the scientisty one, leans across the table and indicates to me a photo on her mobile phone.

The photo is of a car in an underground car park in Dublin.

The car is submerged in water.

"I'd hate to own that car," said Frances meaningfully.

I knew there must be a point to her showing me this.

It's not like Frances to excoriate gulpens for parking their cars in underground car parks during a rain storm.

Maybe the car belonged to a polar bear who was swimming for an ice floe which had already melted due to climate change and now he doesn't even have a car.

Oh the humanity.

(Oh the bearity, surely - ed note)

As I contemplated the image Frances had show me, my feminist cousin Pauline called for my attention at the other end of the table.

"James do you remember the episode of Father Ted where..."

This was too much.

First Frances wanting to give the vote to polar bears or whatever it was and now this.

"Pauline," I interjected firmly, "you and I have enjoyed twenty years of peace because I never ever discuss Israel and Palestine with you, and you never ever mention Father Ted to me."

At this point Cousin John entered the room and began rummaging in the kitchen.

"Where are the biscuits?" he called.

All eyes swung towards me.

Being a known cookie monster has certain disadvantages.

"I think we're all out," I said brushing a few stray crumbs from the irreproachable mechlin lace of my Dunnes Stores shirt.