Michael Moynihan: A stroll through Cork city reveals a lot about Christmas experiences

'Remember in the middle of the lockdown when people were saying they’d appreciate the small stuff and offer people little kindnesses when we could all get out and meet each other again?'

Some people have their Christmas shopping done and dusted by November while others get a thrill doing it all at the last minute. File picture: Sam Boal/RollingNews.ie

A stroll around the city recently proved instructional.

Not so much in terms of the price of everything and the value of nothing — I keep the Oscar Wilde imitations for the Christmas party circuit — but it opened my eyes to the holiday season experience.

Even using that term  — experience — is misleading, because of course there are any number of Christmas experiences according to one’s own situation. A few informal vox pops fleshed out the story for me.

The traditionalist: “I start off my Christmas shopping in Cash’s. Always have. I don’t recognise any newer terminology for the shop, though I will acknowledge there was a spot once upon a time above in Dublin called Switzer’s.

“After that I might call in to Roche’s for some messages: I have never once called it Super Valu and sometimes have problems with the receipts when I insist on them scratching those words out, to be honest.

“Yesterday I asked if I could have one of the old cardboard boxes with all my shopping kept for me until I called back in the evening for it, the way they did in the '70s.

“I thought they were going to call the guards on me.

“After that I usually stroll up along to Princes Street and I shed a tear outside the old location of Trains, Boats, and Planes. Just the one tear, I’m not unhinged. Nothing ever stays the way it should, does it?” 

The last-minute shopper: “It’s only fun if you leave it to the last minute. I don’t understand people who have everything done and dusted in November. Who could possibly enjoy that?

“I try to work back from closing time on Christmas Eve, to take 5 o’clock as a cut-off  — so I head into town around 3, have a dawdle around Patrick Street and laugh at the people with full shopping bags.

“Then I hit the shops. And I mean hit.

“In, grab, pay, and out. [That is an important order of events to remember.] The enjoyment is seeing how short a time it takes to get everything. My all-time record is seven and a half minutes, but that is because everyone in my family wanted something warm and I thought Penneys would cover all the bases.

“The brother was not too impressed with 'SMILE IF YOU’RE A PRINCESS' on his onesie, but I told him it’s a time for giving, not receiving. He saw the funny side of it eventually.” 

The Influencer: “I was hoping it would be a white Christmas, because I had it all planned out ahead of time — I'd go up to Shandon and do my best TikTok with the snow on the shoulders of the steeple behind me. I really thought that'd get my numbers up.

“It's just too bad that it's wet instead. I'm tempted to try some tricks with VSCO and Afterlight to give the place a New York-y look rather than Cork, and maybe to zone out that grey dampness for some strong yellows, to give it almost a Dubai feel.

“Cork looking like New York by way of Dubai, with me in the middle doing a dance. What could be more Christmassy than that?” 

The hipster: “I've been snookered totally by the fact that the pubs have been shut down. It’s not that I'm into the 12 pubs of Christmas malarkey so much as I'm into the 12 authentic hangouts of Christmas.

“I love the small old-man’s pubs that you find all over Cork where you can hide away in a corner and criticise the mass-produced slop they’re serving rather than the Lvivske Bily Lev that I love. Not too loudly, of course, some of the publicans don’t have much of a sense of humour when you do that.

A Cork City Council worker looks at the Christmas window on a theme at Brown Thomas on Patrick's Street, Cork. Picture: David Creedon / Anzenberger

“And yes, I know that Lvivske Bily Lev is mass-produced too. I’m being ironic. Like my Christmas jumper, which a pal sent over from Brooklyn, and which I wear ironically on Oliver Plunkett Street on Christmas Eve.

“I just wonder whether people actually pick up on the irony sometimes. If they don’t then what’s it all for?” 

The I have one thing I do every year and I don’t care what’s happening I’m going to do it this year shopper: “For the last 20 years I’ve come back from London and met the same three people in the Long Valley for a ham salad sandwich and a pint, and I don’t care if the pubs are supposed to be open or closed, I’ll climb in the window if I have to and make the sandwiches myself.

“How did I get back from London? None of your business.” 

The shopper coming up from the country: “I absolutely love coming up to Cork to do a big Christmas shop apart from one thing, the coming up part of the equation.

“Whether it’s coming in along the quay past that new hotel down by the train station or trying to be smart and avoiding all of the traffic by rolling in over Mayfield and Ballyvolane, there doesn’t seem to be any way into the city that doesn’t involve a traffic jam.

“Sometimes I wonder about the Jack Lynch Tunnel as an option, but a cousin of mine went in there last September and we haven’t heard from her since. I think she just left the car there and moved to Little Island altogether.

“I know it’s worth it when you land into the middle of town and take in the lights and the bustle and the fun, but it often seems a lot of hassle to get there in the first place. There’s got to be a better way into town if you’re coming from West Cork.”

The family shopper: “Always the same. Always. I have to get a book for Dad in Waterstone’s and say it’s from Mam, but it can’t be the same one Mam got him last year because he’ll just say ‘fine’ but he’ll be odd as a hatchet over the turkey and ham on Christmas Day.

Christmas scenes in Cork city centre. Picture: Larry Cummins

“I’ll go into the Market and get Mam some of that nice soap and put Dad’s name on it so she can say ‘oh you remembered’ and put it in the cupboard in the bathroom. With the rest of the soaps.

“I’d say they could open their own stall now in the Market with all the soap in there.

“At least the Market and Waterstone’s are close to each other. A few years ago I had to get a top in Finn’s Corner and then fight my way through Patrick Street until I landed into Mark’s for something else.

“And what is your thanks at the end of the day? Good question.” 

The retail worker: “Remember in the middle of the lockdown when people were saying they’d appreciate the small stuff and be more considerate and acknowledge each other and offer people little kindnesses when we could all get out and meet each other again?

“Remember when people were saying that? It’d be great if they remembered it themselves.” 

Happy Christmas. Look after each other.