Go for it, Heathcliff

THE Irish, some of us at least and depending on the season or the situation, seem to swing between the maudlin and the exuberant. 

One day we’re so happy we’d laugh at whatever the world throws at us; the next day we’re so delicate, so very tender-spirited, that something small and unintended can send us into a spiral of despair.

This almost irrational comfort with extremes caused an historian of old to observe of the Irish that all of our wars were merry and that all our songs were sad. That historian however, did not record if we were natural romantics.