From the kitchen, the Irish language channel shouts down the everyday English hemorrhaging from the TV across the hall through perpetually open doors. Between the deteriorating hearing of the older residents, and their obsessive, high-pitched, fear these will provide a passage way for A Terrible Draft, a Siberian dog has its paws permanently shoved in its ears.
Between impassioned pleas from Gaelgeoiri to rescue our native language, and raised brows from others at the dead-horse approach to same, a third language is quietly under attack. One that is lively, expressive, and economic: the mongrel tongue of colonial English and sideways Irish. A combination producing an index of euphemisms readily deployed to elegantly ridicule a person, lampoon a notion, or nail a nugget of wisdom in less than 140 characters.
Say that again?
Would you lock the back door please
Lock? The back door? Whad’ya mean?
Yeah, the keys are on the kitchen window
The kitchen window?
We’ve reached the point of our stay in a predominately euphemism-speaking area of Ireland when the most straight-up assembly of words is fast becoming a challenge. But I want to stay here and luxuriate it in a while longer before returning to the Real World.
Between excessive flexing of intellectual muscles, and casually revealing mental muffin tops on social media, the Plain People of Ireland mutter on from the sidelines; sometimes seeming to occupy the more sophisticated and least self-regarding high tables of chat of all. Many of them know the value of silence. And the importance of not selling their hen on a wet day.
department of speculation 
It gets a bit like that round these parts too. Of course, there is also the fourth dimension where I invent my own euphemisms and platitudes.
I bet you also talk to the birds. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t. Life is just full of disappointments. Why would you bother? *stares into middle distance*
*stares at birds willing them to answer back* Ummm…I’m quite partial to listening to birdsong soundtracks. Am also ridiculously fond of Max Richter’s recomposing of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons – mainly for the bird song; especially the single caw of a crow.
Wasn’t he Austrian? (ridiculous response but I’ve started so I’ll finish)
Dunno. I think Max is still an ‘is’ – very good at the ambient film soundtracks. Best just to listen to the music though, and not Google what the film is about. It ruined the Mars one for me – I don’t need to know about zombies.