It’s not often one picks up a national publication espousing the virtues of something within this newspaper’s neck of the woods, but, delightfully, just such an occurrence transpired last weekend.
In a piece titled ‘The Last Resorts’ in the Sunday Independent’s ‘Life’ magazine, Will Hanafin (also of Ray D’Arcy Show fame) carries the torch for glorious Tramore.
“Tramore in 2008 is the Christy Moore song the great man still has to write,” opines the Youghal-born Hanafin.
He cites the boy racers who are known to frequent the car park at the top of the beach without deafening everyone else along the stretch.
Further down the beachside one finds the “car sitters,” as Hanafin tags them, who “never leave the car to go for a walk or get wet”.
He adds: “All they do is drive to the beach and stare at it, occasionally opening the window or listening to the radio.”
Hanafin does not decry or criticise such an activity, it’s worth noting – he’s simply pointing out something that many of us would have seen ourselves.
The essence of the piece is enormously positive; the writer noting how all these societal subsections peacefully co-exist by the beach while collectively enjoying their environs.
During his week in Tramore, the writer happened upon a copy of The Munster Express which carried a two-page feature on the town’s amusement park.
“The feature’s stirring hyperbole would make even Bill ‘I’m beautiful’ Cullen look self-effacing,” he declares.
“When you see Waterford people hurtling around the Shockwave roller coaster – their ad calls it the third largest portable roller coaster in the world, if you don’t mind – you know there’s life in the old dog yet.”
Despite visiting a gypsy whose insights into his character left him slightly perturbed, Hanafin wrote: “(Tramore) is a fun, unique place you visit to feel alive and to feel life happening around you in all its facets.”
He also contends: “Tony Soprano would have a ball in Tramore and wake up on a promenade bench the next morning with candyfloss stuck to his face.”
So should you spot a large, balding, leather jacketed New Jersey mobster coated in candy floss on a bench, tap him on the shoulder, say “well, Tony boy” and direct him to Cunningham’s!
All in all, it was a pleasure to read a piece that hailed the qualities of a place that’s glorious to so many of us for differing reasons. Do call again, Mr Hanafin!
