Sir, – Brianna Parkins’s recent article on summer in Ireland being nothing less than a shared delusion (“How to know when it’s summer in Ireland: The signs are subtle so pay close attention”, People, June 7th) got me thinking about the Top 10 of what an Irish summer means to me:
1) Salad sandwiches.
2) The “will I/won’t I wear shorts?” dilemma.
3) Wearing shorts anyway even though I know my knees will turn purple.
Women keep changing their surnames to match their husband’s. Why are we normalising this symbolic control?
As Caoimhín Kelleher is primed for a £40m transfer, which other Irish players could move?
Dublin traffic changes: Pearse Street ‘noticeably quieter’ since left-turn ban
Oliver Sears: Seeing Israel use hunger as a weapon of war is monstrous to me as someone with a Holocaust legacy
4) Queueing for ages for a 99, and when my turn comes I still haven’t decided whether I want sprinkles and/or raspberry sauce with it.
5) “Does it start in May or June?” discussions.
6) Wondering how effective sunscreen that’s five years beyond its use-by date really is.
7) Wondering where all those convertibles are the other 51 weeks of the year.
8) Wexford.
9) The smell of a freshly mown lawn.
10) Sheltering from the sun instead of the rain. – Yours, etc,
HUGH McDONNELL,
Glasnevin,
Dublin 9.
