'fish and ships'

'Fish and Ships' -- the last big summer festival down at Cardiff Bay, wins hands down for the city's best summer celebration and best title. The last Monday in August is a Bank Holiday, similar to Labour Day weekend back home, and the rain held off, the sun shone, and everyone was having fun.

There were masted ships and working boats, food booths with better food (and even better prices) than the International Food and Drink fest earlier in the season, and fishmongers sharing the secrets of their trade and competing for the U.K. championship.

The fishmongers were selling their wares and bits and pieces from their exhibitions. For £1 I was able to buy 8 salmon tails with which to make soup broth. But the fishmonger (love that word) said I'll give you 10. When I got home with the iced double-bagged tails, I had an even dozen. That's a lot of delicious soup set to stew. Many of the tails had half a fish attached.

Airplanes flew over the Bay in an air show, however, I don't like watching them. I'm always afraid a plane will stall and spin into the water or land. Still, you watch.

This weekend marked the official end of the summer festival season. It hasn't been my imagination that the skies have been sunless and rainy. Recent reports say it is the coolest summer since 1993 -- uggh! -- though August was much better here than the previous few months.

Totally unrelated to the 'Fish and Ships', but likely related to dampness, I began reading Frank McCourt's memoir Angela's Ashes. For years I resisted this book, especially after seeing the bleak film, but though McCourt's Irish childhood was tragically marked with deaths and extreme poverty, he was a remarkable writer and he mined a deeply rich vein of humour and resilience. There are few books that can make you laugh out loud and despair so easily. Hugely deserving of all the accolades.

His story is mainly set in Limerick, Ireland and when I was waiting at the bus terminal there in May for the airport shuttle, the two Irish people who were conversing about the economy also spoke about McCourt's book. I hadn't realized before that the autobiography was set there. The woman said her mother, from Limerick, originally doubted anyone could have been that poor, but a friend of hers remembered otherwise and said, yes, we used to take food down to the very poor people.