Irish men make the best lovers
The Latin lover is dead. Long live the Celtic lover: the Irish man. It's green like its island, but not behind the ears. He likes to pretend that he can't cloud a little bit of water. All just calculation! A little guide on how the Filou works and how to take it
of JOHANNA BEHREND
He is polite to women, would never lie, swear or drink. He can fight death-defyingly, also play chess and rhyme poetry. He is heroic, romantic, well-bred, educated, clever and loyal to death. There is no such thing? Really. Well, if you don't see the whole thing too closely. All of these wonderful qualities were part of the Fianna code of honor, a warrior caste in pre-Christian Ireland. Granted, that was a bit long ago. But since the green island is a country in which traditions are difficult to overcome, something has stuck with it.
The Irish man is the best storyteller in the world - if only out of courtesy. Because he would never admit that he doesn't know something or that he disagrees. He prefers to tell an adventurous story that one could listen to for hours if one is willing to forego the information originally requested.
There are also still situations in which the Irish man is death-defying. On Saturday nights, for example, when it comes to maneuvering your foot on the accelerator after visiting a pub, speeding down unlit country roads to your home village without falling into the hands of the police or even perishing. Both of these happen frequently. In addition, a TÜV - but only for very old cars - was only introduced this year. Irish roulette.
Fear of death for a united Ireland is not yet extinct either. In any case, with words, our Republican hero is always fully involved; in this matter he develops his storytelling ability to the fullest. How else would it come about that, in a poll, eleven percent of men in the republic took up the fight, but only one percent in Northern Ireland? They know real war there, and they are basically fed up. One can of course interpret this result as follows: Nobody in the north admits that he would fight. An old Northern Irish tradition says: Whatever you say, don't say anything and, if in doubt, deny everything.
Which has also expanded to so-called relationship discussions there in the country. When the Irish don't know what to say and want to prevent committing, their definitive magic word is: I don’t at least - I don't care or: whatever you want. Strength of opinion or an explicit statement, which would mean a break with the tried and tested neutrality and actual liability, would be too hot a place. It is even said that marriages are only entered into because when women make the request, the man simply says: I don’t at least
Even modern women in Ireland no longer take cursing so seriously. However, and the Fianna Code continues to have an effect, an indecent word never escapes an Irish man in female company. If he does, he's drunk and has a great excuse. In general, Irish men's apologies are the liveliest one can imagine. They form the basis of literature, which in turn is teeming with drunkards.
So now to the subject of drinking, which can only be reproduced here very briefly. It is a long story and has been described all too often. Nevertheless: Despite all the legendary alcoholism, there are really still men who never drink. You hear about them having a drink in the pub after a funeral, when some great-aunt claims that the blessed deceased never touched a drop. Those present then always lower their heads and look into the beer glass, barely suppressing their smiles.
Not that Irish men are all addicted to alcohol. At least not in principle, rather out of necessity - thanks to the Catholic Church, contraception is still condemned as a mortal sin. What is the Irish doing to circumvent this ban? He drinks loads of Guinness before stumbling into bed. Guinness - causing a feeling of fullness and flatulence, not to mention the destructive effect on straightening sensations - was and is the only legitimate contraceptive of the devout Irishman.
Of course, the Irish man never lies. He only tells beautiful stories, all according to the motto: May the truth never get in the way of a good story. It has nothing to do with lies. For example, let's take a look at sex life. There are really men who verbally explain the invitation to come in for a coffee with the excuse that they have no indecent ulterior motives, and tell their whole relationship story straight away - and yet stand in the hallway and hope for the woman's initiative.
And there are those who fall on their knees and pray before boarding the mattress. This can take time (see Contraception) if all Saints and family members are involved in prayer, and there are many of both in Ireland. In the survey mentioned above, eight percent of young men in their thirties (!) Stated that they had never had sex. This is not unlikely, given the many sons and daughters who still live with their parents in rural areas and whose idea of love consists of milking cows together and mucking out the stables. This can continue until you retire.
Furthermore, 57 percent of those questioned stated that they were dissatisfied with their sex life. This may please the Church because, in their opinion, sex is not fun, but it may be more than a little bit by the way of reality. Or is it maybe just a great excuse to try out a lot and passionately to see if the whole thing could be a little more fun? It is cheated like the devil, to be careful in every pub, as long as one knows how to interpret the secret, apparently harmless signs.
No opportunity is missed not to try your luck one more time. There is nothing the Irish man can play like the innocence of the country and thereby appeal to the superior instincts of the beloved. Or simply to leave the responsibility to the woman. By spraying his good-natured and boyish charm until the woman asks: How about a coffee with me? The answer is always and as expected: I don’t at least
JOHANNA BEHREND has lived in Ireland as a freelance writer for years
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