Paul Malpas

After the trauma of the recent week ie. the birth of those twin boys, I have found it hard getting back to the mundane. The pen has become heavy in my hand and my brain is struggling to return to its livewire best. Perhaps it was the cocktail of champagne, cider, stout and good old Chilean Carmenere wine that has dulled the mental performance, but today, come what may, I have decided to rid myself of the dilatory rut that I have found myself stuck in.

The news from Manchester this morning is that the twins, although not thriving as well as might be expected, are alert and well and their mother, although exhausted because of the new routine, is confident that they will get the hang of the tap that controls the flow from those mammary reservoirs. My daughter says that one of the delights with feeding twins is that when you have finished with one and turn over to the other, the first scratches your back. On top of that there is a lady coming round this morning who calls herself a Breast Feeding Coordinator from the hospital and she has papers to prove it. She will no doubt add her bosomal delights to the feast that is already at the table, but formula milk is definitely off the menu.

It seems these days that wet nursing is no longer a thing of the past and we know of one 72 year old woman in Hollywood who is still at it and has been plying this honourable trade for the last 42 years with the offspring of filmstars and in the process has made herself millions. She lives in a mansion up in the hills outside Tinseltown and must have paps down to her knees by now. Fair play to the rich and famous for ensuring this profession still exists today in this fast food world we live in.

I went to Manchester last week on hearing the news. I went the old fashioned way, by train and boat and train and was amazed by the ease which everything seamlessly slotted into place. I caught the train from Boyle, walked across the platform at Connolly Station in Dublin and caught the Dart out to Dun Laoghaire, walked across the road to the Stena Line Terminal and walked onto the boat. The same at Holyhead, where we caught the train to Chester, and changed for Manchester in minutes. What amazed me also was the number of passengers who choose this form of travel. Going by car you are cocooned and are not aware of this traditional mode. Although the throng was slightly diluted at Chester, some going north and some south, those of us who made it to the end, struck up a friendship that will take a long time breaking.

I heard one amourous young English lady who seemed attracted to this langourous, tall, thin, cigarette smoking West of Ireland youth, who looked to be coolness personified, “how many pints do you drink when you are out on the tear at weekends”. “I don’t know” was the reply “the same amount as I drink during the week. I’m always pissed when I get home and I can’t remember”. This for chat up lines takes the biscuit and I hope they have a long and loving relationship.

It is a trip worth taking for anyone with the time and it took me on a happy memorial tour of all the chemical and petro-chemical plants of North Wales and East Merseyside where I spent many a pleasurable day in the past. I was recognizing the plants but getting their names mixed up. A sign of old age, I am glad I am where I am.

My first meeting with the twins was memorable, emotional and private but I will at least show you this photograph, which was taken within seconds of me arriving at my daughter’s house. The smile I think is more in anticipation of the cold glass of Weston’s Old Rosie cider that my son-in-law was holding tantalizingly out of reach, while I cuddled the delightful twosome.

Two days later, repleat with joy, I came back to Ireland in Helen’s car and stopped off in Dublin to watch the premiere of my daughter, Paddy Jo’s, performance in Brian Friel’s play “The Yalta Game”. She played the female lead, Anna Sergeyevna, in this adaption of a theme from Anton Chekov’s 1899 short story “The Lady with a Lapdog”. Although I say it myself and I am of course as biased as hell, she was magnificent and I was really proud of her in this her first professional performance after years of making a name for herself at UCD’s Dramsoc. Mark my words, look out for Paddy Jo Malpas in the future, she indeed might need that wetnurse in Hollywood in the years to come.