I’M so glad the presidential race has been sorted out.
I was forever worrying about it. Moving on, the Poor Clares were headhunting me last week.
Yes, I know, I’d be a wonderful addition to their monastery but I’m afraid I had to turn them down.
They took it quite well, I must admit, although I’m sure they are secretly devastated.
My being head hunted by the Poor Clares all began when I made an expedition to their nunnery in the name of work. I met one of the sisters and we had a lovely chat about the Poor Clares and their way of life which, let me tell you, is rather fascinating.
She and I chatted for a while, and then the oddest thing began to happen … I started to feel extraordinarily serene. It was like I was being lulled into a Poor Clare trance – I was calm and happy.
I started to wonder what it would be like: me in an enclosed order, me setting up home with the Poor Clares. They are immense fun, you know.
And, of course, I’d also get my daily dose of gossip when the folks came in to tell me their problems. I wouldn’t need celebrity gossip magazines at all.
Granted, if I were a Poor Clare, I wouldn’t see it as gossip because I would be a spiritual being at that stage, but it would still give me a lot to think and pray about, so really, I’m sure I wouldn’t be bored.
Anyhow, me envisaging myself as a Poor Clare soon passed, and as I went to exit the monastery, I shook hands with the sister I had been speaking to.
I noticed she looked down at my ring finger and, next thing I know, she began her headhunt.
“Are you married?” she enquired, very sweetly.
“No, no, I’m not married,” I replied, suddenly terribly flustered for some reason. I suppose it’s because I’m aware I’ll be left on the shelf for the rest of my days. Alone, I’ll be alone with just my cats to keep me company. And they won’t even be good company because I don’t like cats. “Oh,” she says.
Why is she asking me if I’m married, I wondered? Is she going to offer me some advice? Is she perhaps going to direct me to the Knock Marriage Bureau?
No, no, it was quite the opposite, in fact. Instead, she says: “Well, have you ever considered joining us?”
Of course, I handled the proposition extraordinarily well ... by guff awing in her face.
What I said was this: “I, er, am, nah, am, nah, I ... I wouldn’t have ... nah, no, no, no.”
Suddenly, I was acutely aware of a statue of the Virgin Mary staring at me from the corner of the room.
Oh, for gawd sake, I thought, I can’t believe I’m turning down the Poor Clares in front of the Virgin Mary. This is surely some sort of cardinal sin; I’m not religious and even I know this is a ‘no-no’.
Because I’m such a quick thinker, I decided to utter the first words which came into my head.
“I can’t join the Poor Clares because I have a boyfriend,” I said.
Excellent stuff , Mairead, I thought. Tell the Catholic nun about your boyfriend. You should absolutely, definitely keep going along this line. And so I did.
“Yes, er, well, he lives in England and we travel each weekend to see each other so ... you know yourself.”
Then a voice in my head says, ‘Keep talking. Mairead, just keep talking, you can fix this’.
And so I take a deep breath and continue to rabbit incessantly. She now knows where he is from, where his parents are from, where he currently lives, where we met, how often we see each other and a whole host of other gems. which include a promise to actually bring him to the Poor Clare monastery.
Eventually, I trail off and smile blankly at her which, in refl ection, probably looked more like a hopeful grimace.
“You won’t be joining us then, dear,” she says.
“Er, no, sister,” I say.