Sandra Harris Writes

A MESSI FINISH: SO LONG, WORLD CUP 2026. BY SANDRA HARRIS. I genuinely didn't know we had so many Spanish people in Dublin until last night. When Spain was declared the winner of the 2026 World Cup at around eleven o'clock Irish time, after beating title-holders Argentina 1-0, the pubs in my local area erupted in the loudest noise imaginable, then for the next few hours there was shouting, singing and dancing in the streets, cars hooting their horns and even people blowing on vuvuzelas. This is a noise-making instrument (you can't really call it music) so obnoxiously loud and dangerous to human hearing that it's been banned at major sporting events, including the FIFA World Cup, but apparently it's perfectly okay to blow one outside my bedroom window in the middle of the night during a heatwave which just will not end. I didn't really mind Spain winning as I have nothing against them, but I was kind of hoping Argentina might do it because Lionel Messi seems...

  AND NOW FOR SANDRA HARRIS’S DIARY… BY SANDRA HARRIS. © One of the inescapable things about being a writer is the urge to unburden yourself of your doings, thoughts and feelings on a regular basis to your public, by which I mean the handful of people who might be kind enough to read your blog. Enjoy my free unbosomings pertaining to the month of February of which we are, thankfully, about to take our leave. I hate February, and normally view it with the distaste which one might normally reserve for, say, a persistent itch on the sweaty underside of Satan’s ball-bag, or something equally odious. (And I’m not even gonna mention Valentine’s Day  and the Bridget Jones’s Diary film series coming to an end forever.) For one thing, the weather was diabolical, or Dia-bollock-le, if we keep with the theme of the Devil’s genitals. For about ten days, there wasn’t so much as a ray of sunshine. Now, I normally consider myself a Goth who lives only for the short, dark days of wint...