The bubbles that really need bursting

When I left Ireland in the 1980s, it was because, at that time, Ireland felt like being inside a bubble where everyone looked the same, spoke the same, dressed the same, acted the same, ate the same, and thought the same says Suzanne Harrington

Everyone seemed to be a straight, white, conservative Catholic. To a disgruntled teenage misfit, it felt like a bubble from which the oxygen of self-expression had been sucked, and replaced by rules put in place by priests and old people. Like all the other disgruntled misfits, I legged it.

Today, I live in another bubble. This bubble, however, is of my own choosing. I live in a town full of vegan yoga teachers; as a vegan who likes yoga, this works for me. Politically, the town is eco-lefty, welcomes refugees, has a significant LGBT demographic; as a lefty tree-hugging do-gooder who loves a shiny gay disco, I have no plans to move. Everyone I know thinks like I do. We are awfully nice people, and have the Go Fund Me pages to prove it.