Esther McCarthy: From Jessie Buckley to dogs in tiny coats, here are my reasons to be cheerful

Four reasons to be cheerful. No, really

I was in Wilton Shopping Centre the other day, browsing, and I turn around and go to coo at a baby in a pram, but it was not a baby, it was a fecking tiny DOG in a fecking tiny COAT

Yes, the world seems to be a flaming pile of doodoo at the moment, what with all the immoral monsters running amok.

Let us, in this little corner of the paper, focus on the good. Here are some reasons I find to be cheerful.

Jessie Buckley

We Irish punch above our weight in lots of things. Electing female presidents, giving to charity, science, innovation, education, sports, heritage, cultural tourism (aka gouging tourists). But it’s in the creative arts that we really shine. World-class writers, musicians, artists... and man, can we act for the gallery.

Sunny as a pound of Kerry Gold, Jessie Buckley is giving us all reasons to stick our chins and chests out with pride. (As long as we don't have whiskers and meow. Not a cat fan, our Jessie.)

She’s just got it, doesn’t she? That indefinable quality that makes her utterly compelling to watch. Whether she’s singing, acting, or just being asked who she is wearing on the red carpet, there’s an electric authenticity that makes it impossible to look away.

And she’s collecting those awards like they’re Clubcard points: Iftas, Baftas, Golden Globes, Critics Choice, tick, tick, tick, tick.

Now, there are only two downsides of this as far as I can see.

One, her performance in Hamnet has been lauded for being so emotionally raw, I’m afraid to go see it.

Genuinely. I don’t want to bawl cry in the cinema. I’d have to really psych myself up for it, and I don’t have the capacity right now. Seeing someone portraying the bottomless devastation of losing a child is too much for me to even think about, never mind pay to go to see. I’m gone soft as that pound of butter these days.

Second, if (it’s ‘when’ though really, isn’t it) she wins an Academy Award, it will stick in every Cork man, woman, and child’s craw. 

Cillian Murphy did great to straighten out that chip on our collective shoulder, but soon we won’t be able to say: ‘Imagine being a county that hasn’t won an Oscar. What’s that like, Kerry?’

Dogs in tiny coats exist

I have reached a point in my life where I involuntarily coo at little babies and grin like a loon at their parents in the hope I might be offered an auld hold of one.

I remember when my big dudes were little dudes and randomers would making smoochie noises with their mouths and say: ‘Ahh, how are they sleeping for ya?’, and offer advice on teething, and ask how old they were.

And I would smile and say: “Sleep, what’s that? HA HA HA”, and gasp at the cleverness of the putting-the-teether-in-the-freezer tip, and say their age in exact weeks and days because each one was so important.

Then, when they’d leave, I’d widen my eyes like Fr Dougal and think: “She was a bit mad, wasn’t she, Ted?”.

But now I am the mad one, I know I am, but I can’t help myself. I was in Wilton Shopping Centre the other day, browsing, and I turn around and go to coo at a baby in a pram, but it was not a baby, it was a fecking tiny DOG in a fecking tiny COAT, and I wasn’t the better for it for a good half hour.

But then afterwards, I imagined the love and the care that little dog was getting and giving, being carted around like a lord, and it made me happy. That teether would be in ribbons though.

Bin collectors are sound

It’s a long, boring story but we (husband) dismantled an armchair because he couldn’t bear to throw it out because the leather is good on it and might be handy for something, and the fact that if I had 10 skips it wouldn’t make a dent on the crap in the shed has nothing to do with anything, so why bring it up?

Our bin men took the carcass even though they didn’t have to.

They probably feel sorry for me and my front garden of shame. Jesus, that sounds dirtier than intended. I mean my actual front garden of the house that is in disarray.

Rooftop revolutions

All over this rainy country of ours, unassuming semi-ds, nonchalant cottages, and humble houses are sprouting solar panels, like they’ve just joined a very sensible cult.

The stats say that more than 30,000 households took up grants for solar panels last year through the Sustainable Energy Authority of Ireland. Not worth posting on social media — there’s no filter that can make a black panel look sexy, but I kinda like that it’s hopeful.

It used to be granite worktops we were all weak for, who knew solar panels would be the new status symbol?

So, find the hope around you. The dapper dog, the nice neighbour, the pride of someone else doing great.

We need it now more than ever.