Dear Rhiannon,
My old Mother was a test case in superstition, a bit of background on her, her Dad, my Granddad, Masonic, Orange order, hated Tims, if he saw a woman wearing a bracelet on her ankle, she was a Fenian, he was a hard man.
Anyway my Mother, her religion was Bingo, her purse was full of lucky charms, Crucifix, leprechauns, elves, small bottle of water from Lourdes, a twenty five pound chip from a Casino and a little cameo of the Virgin Mary.
Growing up in our household, you couldn't open a umbrella in the house, you couldn't cross your knife and fork on the plate, new shoes were never put on the table, something about death, new shoes should never be higher than your feet.
You had to salute a magpie, and sneezing, ones a wish twos a kiss three is a disappointment.
Bringing in the New Year, my Mother would not start the New year until a Tall dark Stranger crossed the doorstep, it was always my mate Steve, who we always joked, he is hardly a stranger
Gonnagle.
