Covering up all those prized possessions we cherish most

A Different View with Dave O’Connell

Back in the mists of time, even the most humble of houses had a good room where – outside of special occasions or a clerical visit – nobody ever really ventured, preferring to shoehorn themselves into the kitchen.

In a similar vein, anyone lucky enough to own a new car kept the cheap plastic covers on the seats; covers that offered no more protection for the upholstery than a dry-cleaner’s plastic would on a newly-cleaned suit.

The racier driver purchased special covers – often in a leopard skin print – to put over the leather-effect seats, thus cheapening the vehicle in a way that would have had the manufacturer tearing their hair out.

Back home, and the good couch – which was always in the good room and therefore not really for sitting on in the first place – was covered in a throw of some sort, just in case the sun shone through the window and discoloured it.

And lest we scoff at our forefathers, look at all of the people around you who have covers on their mobile phones.

The manufacturers shout it from the rooftops when they reveal that their latest version is a millimetre thinner than its predecessor – only for the proud owner to encase it in a veritable cage to protect it from all harm.

The good room – or the parlour – was a mystery; a family of five or six theoretically had two reception rooms in which to live.

But instead of spreading out, so as not to get on each other’s nerves, they crammed into one room and left the other as empty as the Dáil in July on the off chance that it was needed for important guests.

The concept was helped by the fact that the average home had only one telly – or in many cases no telly at all – so there was no need to accommodate the Sky Sports in one room while Coronation Street was on in the other.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.