Bart, being a pharmacist, is a man with a keen mathematical brain; a very useful aptitude when you are dispensing medications for a living: it’s not a good idea to have your prescription dispensed by someone who can’t count, in fact it could be catastrophic. Marialle is pleased with the fact that Bart is so skilled mathematically, not least because it could have serious consequences for her social standing in the village if he had a bit of problem with the old addition and subtraction, not to mention multiplication and division. She’s also pleased that Meggie inherited this worthwhile talent, and as Marialle says ‘’Meggie really struck it lucky, she inherited the very best from both of us, Bart’s love of math and my love of linguistics and aesthetics’’.

Well all I can say is, as the great Oscar Wilde might have said, it would have been a cruel inheritance for the poor child if she had inherited Marialle’s math aptitude and Bart’s aesthetic sense.

Take for instance an event last year, the memory of which can still bring a tear to Marialle’s eyes, especially when her emotions are given freer rein  following, the very occasional indulgence of, a glass or three of Romanée-Conti.

Marialle is a profound believer in life-long education; she happily goes through life acquiring more letters after her name than exist in the Chinese alphabet. So three years ago, she decided it was time to sit once again in one of the great halls of learning and study for a Masters degree in philosophy, that is, her M.Phil.On successfully achieving this worthy goal, Marialle was over the moon with excitement  in anticipation of the formal graduation ceremony. An opportunity to dress up is, for Marialle, akin to mother’s milk for a newborn infant. Marialle thrives on such occasions, they are her very raison d’etre: ok, well one of them anyway, and a top priority one at that.

So, for a couple of months before the graduation ceremony, Marialle’s conversation created an almost linguistic marriage between Voltaire, Karen Millen, Christian Louboutin and Aristotle; Gucci and Socrates were bedfellows.

Once again, Marialle found the perfect outfits for herself and Meggie- ‘’Incredible value for money....marvellous quality......a snip at twice the price.... a good thing is always a good thing.......As for me, all I know is that I know nothing......I hope Bart buys a new suit...wedding suit owes him nothing....15 years.....’’etc., etc., etc.,

A flair for aesthetics would not be Bart’s strongest point- in fact the only ‘thetics he has the remotest interest in are his synthetic Farah trousers. Bart’s world nearly collapsed around him when he discovered that the factory, where this particular brand of trousers was manufactured, was closing down. He felt bereft, and went into- what any psychologist would recognise as- a phase of mourning. He had been wearing Farah men’s slacks for at least thirty years. They were like a second skin to him, perfect in every way ,the waistband sat just slightly under his expanding girth, the trouser bottoms just the right length to show off about 1’’ of sock.

 As luck would have it, from Bart’s perspective, he discovered a ‘Drapery and Menswear’ shop the other side of Ireland that had enough Farah slacks to last him a lifetime. So he bought them, lots of them; he even bought more in case he lost weight and some in case he put on weight. Bart wears these slacks with a sports-coat, a blue shirt, yes always blue, and a ‘geansaí’ (gan-zee), the latter being the Irish word for a sweater or a jumper, as we call them. In everyday language though, the word ‘geansaí’ is used describe a very specific style of sweater, designer-wear they are not! More, old school artisan, bucolic, or plain culchie, I suppose; a culchie being a person from a very rural background.  

Anyway, On this occasion, Marialle did not want to make a fuss about the issue of Bart’s choice of clothing, but one thing for sure, he was not to attend her graduation wearing his bucolic-style attire. If there was one topic on earth that caused Marialle to reduce her most cultured and refined tones, to a very colloquial, often colourful, and unrefined form of speech, it was the awful awful topic of Bart’s clothes. The items of clothing that most affected her aesthetic sensibilities were his dreaded geansaís; she hated every last one of them with a passion.

That passion had driven her on many occasions to being a most discreet and kind beneficiary to her favourite charity shops and recycling centres. That very passion had even on a couple of occasions driven her to getting out of bed very early and personally handing some of these items to the refuse collector.

That same passion caused her to spew forth comments like ‘’You and your oul’ geansaís’’or ‘’If I could find that flippin’ oul’ shop where that mother of yours buys those cursed geansaís, I’d personally go and put a match to it.’’ Or,’’D’ya know, I think they see her coming in that flippin’ shop, I do really.’’....’’ Sure I’d say they give them to her for nothing, or maybe they pay her to take them off their hands.’'

That same passion reminded Marialle to make a mental note to self ‘’ Must remember to dump the Christmas geansaí.’’The Christmas geansaí being one of Bart’s most recent acquisitions from his dear mother: She, his mother, is a kindly soul who possesses a big-hearted nature and a lack of any aesthetic taste in equal measure. Sometimes these utterances of Marialle led to an unmerciful diatribe against Bart’s poor mother. That, in Bart’s most loyal view was way below the belt, and he spared Marialle no words in letting her know.

So as a measure of avoiding such an episode, Marialle, gently announced one evening over dinner ‘’Bart dear, as you haven’t already bought a new suit, let’s pop into town tomorrow and pick one up, we have three days to my graduation, and I really want everything to go without a hitch, and please remember, it’s not the races you’re going to’’.There are times when Marialle forgets she is not actually dealing with a wayward pupil, when she speaks to Bart.

My Prince:

So, the following morning, Marialle and Bart headed off to BTs, one of Marialle’s favourite shops: their sole intention being to dress Bart appropriately for the forthcoming event. They didn’t so much as stop for a cup of tea until the purpose of the exercise was ‘in the bag’, in a manner of speaking.

Bart was relieved at one level, his basic human level, but not very happy at another level, his very basic aesthetic level. He did draw the line at a silk patterned shirt, opting instead for 100% cotton blue with a very discreet white stripe, as a compromise. Only when Bart was fully outfitted from top to tail, and from the skin out, did they walk over to Cafe-en–Seine for some sustenance.

Marialle was shattered at this point, but so happy with the results of their shopping trip. Bart was now the ,quite indifferent, owner of a very tasteful ‘Boss’ suit, shirt and tie from ‘Pink’, underwear from Calvin Klein and, the piece de resistance, a lovely pair of Tricker’s shoes, the same ones that Prince Charles wears. Marialle was so ecstatic, so euphoric, so elated she even took to calling Bart ‘My Prince’ for the rest of the afternoon.

Wednesday came as Wednesdays are inclined to do, but this wasn’t just any old Wednesday; today was Marialle’s graduation day. She had arranged to meet Bart and Meggie under the bell in Trinity College at 1pm sharp, allowing them an hour to draw their breath, find their seats, and all the usual preamble before such an event. It was a very chilly late Autumn day, with a suspicion of rain in the air.

 Marialle prayed that it wouldn’t rain; the very notion that her hair, not to mention her Karen Millen dress ,might get wet, filled her with fear; it was enough having to worry about walking up to the podium in her new Christian Louboutin shoes.

 At 1.25pm Marialle stood alone under the bell, the sky was beginning to spit down on her; her anxiety levels were mounting furiously, and she was overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding. She tried to remember all the positive affirmations she had learned at her personal assertiveness classes, but everything she tried to say to herself somehow seemed to morph into the song ‘There are nine million bicycles in Beijing’ ,probably triggered by the vast array of bicycles parked and moving on the cobblestoned square.

With only ten minutes left before the ceremony was due to commence, Marialle decided to go in to the conferring hall alone: she had no idea where Bart and Meggie were, they could at least have answered their phones. She was not thinking of Bart as her prince now; his current status in her mind was less noble.

Marialle walked up the steps and across the stage towards the podium to receive her parchment. She was momentarily distracted by a splash of bright red out of the corner of her eye; bright red with a large white snowflake pattern on the front. Marialle recognised that geansaí.

The provost extended his arms to catch the swooning graduand- as a 5’’ heeled Christian Louboutin shoe went flying into the auditorium.

Well- It was very chilly, Marialle.