Irish reggae, vanilla dreams and weather war

Google ads has apparently come to the conclusion that I want to buy sexy summer shoes. Everywhere pretty little corkscrew shoes pop-up visually chanting like all commercials: “Buy me. You know you want to. Give into temptation”. Seriously, Google should be more than aware that the only things I actively and consistently order online are books. I would have feared that our information absorbing big-brother should be able to extract a bit more accurate information by now. 

Spring might be on its way, but it is being a real tease. The dismal indecisiveness of the sky deities is forcing itself upon us mere mortals like a jo-jo. Literally every other day: sunny, warm, lovely, the next: grey, cold, rainy – repeat. Frustratingly there is no right jacket-option. 

In Sweden we have a saying: April weather – The mighty Winter’s last dead throes guaranteeing snow every April. In Germany they seem to have the little brother: March weather – which struck in puberty does not seem to know what it wants. 

Less of a tease is Easter around the corner. Back home awaits a Trivial Pursuit championship (Last winner – yours truly!) and patiently lying in my father’s kitchen is a huge box of vanilla dreams – best cookies in the world. Going back home to the comfort of family fills me with such a varm pleasure I cannot help wondering why I never seem to be able to stay. 

One day. 

From my local scenario, I have, for a change, weekend plans – actually going out plans. Feeling ten years younger I am really excited about it. A rebuild bomb shelter / brick castle is hosting a Irish Folk Festival. How awesome does that not sound? Dancing some Irish jig with stiff Germans and not work on that thing you really need to do? Oh yeah, here I come!

Getting myself engaged in the music I do a thorough Spotify search for the invited bands – one match. In my ear buds a kind of jazzy reggae is pumping. The lack of Irish flavor leaves a bitter aftertaste of hesitation. Maybe I am prejudice but this is not what I expected from the Green Island. The band is not bad, and a few trumpet solos later I almost disappointedly acknowledge that this band would probably play at another Festival.

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