Sarah Geraghty . . . on timekeeping

A friend had organised a table-quiz in a pub to raise urgently-needed funds for a good cause. All his best friends were aware of it, if not heavily involved in it. But two hours before the scheduled start, the friend was quaking. Suppose nobody turned up?

“It’ll be grand,” I offered. “Didn’t it get a great response on Facebook?”

“That means absolutely nothing. This is Ireland. All 80 might show up. Or 10 of them. Or we could be left sitting in an empty room. It definitely might not be grand.”

No argument there. His grounds for concern were entirely legitimate. We’ve all experienced the cold dread of hosting a party and waiting, 98 per cent uncertain about whether the people who said they would definitely come would actually come.

The awkwardness of pushed-back chairs, glasses neatly lined up, bowls of crisps and nuts. The forced gaiety, nervous laughter and black jokes with the few solid family members and friends – “at least there’ll be more gin for us if nobody turns up”.

Oh for the love of God, let the doorbell ring.

Foreign friends have learned the humiliating way. Six months into living here, one was increasingly mystified as to why Irish people in their mid- to late-20s – who seemed got-together in most other ways – were so terrified at the thought of committing to a plan.

“Do you have something else on?”, she would ask, after proposing something tame, such as a Saturday coffee.

“Not really no, but …”

We can’t even commit to wedding invitations. Leaving brides- and grooms-to-be texting three weeks before – when the venue is getting antsy about final numbers – asking for an RSVP. This happens. As if they haven’t enough to be going on with.

What stops us doing that simple thing of ticking the "Yes I can attend"/"No I can't attend" box, putting it in the handily pre-stamped and addressed envelope, and slipping it in a postbox?

The foreign friends scratch their heads. “You’re the best in the world for getting excited about a fun idea. And the worst for snaking out of it at the last minute if something better comes up – or you’re hung-over or just not bothered.”

No argument there either.

The final straw came for one Italian who had invited a mix of Irish, French, Spanish and Italians around for birthday drinks. No lazy crisps and nuts in this house. The night before was spent crafting delicate antipasti treats, the quantities of which were diligently based on those who had confirmed their attendance. Let’s just say there was a major dearth of Irish and two days’ worth of leftover food.

The texts the next day – from the ones who bothered – read something like: “Really sorry I couldn’t make it, wrecked after work/dying from Friday night/had another party ...”

Translation: I didn’t really care.

And before anyone gets defensive, this is not just about the no-shows. The do-shows often have trouble following simple time schedules.

Before an American wedding last year, dinner was organised to introduce the Irish guests to the Americans. We did the country proud by turning up an hour late.

To be fair, a lot of it might be down to our innate need to fit in as much craic as possible in one night. So the engagement party invitee who showed up outside a darkened home at 4.30am was just trying to honour the spirit of his RSVP.

After a brief, baffled learning phase, a French Ambassador just decided to stop showing up on time to Irish events. “I would get there for the time it said on the invitation – and end up on my own, waiting for everyone else. So I think if you add 20-30 minutes on to the said time, it’s about right.”

Some savvy Londoners have found a way to reconcile our nations’ divergent approaches. They issue two different start times. The British guests are given the correct time while the Irish are given the time minus 90 minutes. It’s a risky move if a few renegade Irish turn up “on time”, but generally it works.

But back to weddings. After all, ’tis the season and bridal couples need not think they’re off the hook here. One church in Co Kildare has taken to reimbursing couples with €100 if they show up and get started within a 10-minute window.

An American noting the traditional very-late arrival of the Irish bride, says that if that happened in the US, their slot would be gone and they would just have to find another day to get married.

This might actually suit the guests who could then stay in the pub they “dropped in to” en route to the reception. “They’ll take ages getting their photos taken and dinner won’t be served ’til at least 7pm so we’re grand.”

But look – past the age of 25 – are we really? Róisín Ingle is on holiday